#tom!peter x reader

You physically recoiled away from Peter, grabbing his hoodie from his hands and pulling it over yourself as you stood straight behind the couch as your dad walked into the room. Nat couldnt help but chuckle at your reflexes.

"We were just talking about Bucky breaking the stove again!" You chirped.

Your dad groaned as he shot daggers to Bucky. "Stop breaking it! This is the 4th time this month, we are only half way through!" Tony rolled his eyes as he walked back into his office.

Everyone burst out into a fit of giggles as Bucky groaned.

It had been a few weeks since that close call but you and Peter had started to date. He took you out to see the stars and confessed. Since then you two have been boyfriend and girlfriend.

Obviously it didnt stay a secret within the compound.

"Wow so you two are actually dating now' Bucky stood above you two on the couch, as you sat on Peter's lap in your cheer uniform.

You rolled your eyes. "Bucky, stop being nosy" You groaned.

Peter pulled you close as he peered up at Bucky.

Bucky reached forward tossing your hair to aside and noticing a large hickey on your nexk "Oh I am telling everyone" He smirked before dashing off.

"Leave it babe.. Its not worth it" Peter shook his head.

You sighed standing up and taking his hand. "You gunna swing me to school" You smirked.

"I'll do anything for you, you know I would" Peter stood up, pecking your lips softly.

AT SCHOOL

"Fuckkk, it was so embarassing MJ" You groaned, running your hands down your face as you looked at her. "Bucky is such a fucking gossip aswell"

"He wouldnt have anything to gossip about if you two clearly didnt attack eachother" She flipped your hair to the side, as she helped you apply makeup to cover up the marks.

"Fuck off" You laughed.

"Sorry im late!! I have the colour corrector!" Gwen sped around the corner, a green colour correcting in her hands as you sighed.

"You're a star Gwen" You smiled.

Gwen and MJ were your closest friends. You and Gwen met through the cheerleading team and you met MJ through Peter. You were happy to have another girl friend who wasn't a cheerleader that you could talk about things other than cheer.

"Do you guys wanna come over, after school? We can get ready for the party together and you guys can come back and stay at mine?"

"Sounds great! Atleast I dont have to stay sober, I can get shit faced and not have to worry about lying to my dad" Gwen laughed.

"Sounds good! Im interested to people watch at this party, theres rumours Flash gets messy and trying to hook up with some of the football team" MJ laughed, causing you all to laugh.

You all walked out of the bathroom, heading towards your class for the day, you passed Peter in the corridor smiling at him softly before turning into your class.

By the time lunch came around you were starved. Not of food, of Peter. You skipped over to the table, where all your friends sat, smiling as you draped your hands over Peter's shoulders, kissing his cheek softly as you hugged him from behind.

"Finally, we were wondering where you were" Peter laughed.

You climbed into the bench beside Peter, snuggling up to him as he wrapped his arm around you, kissing your forehead, as you looked up at him. "Mhm, missed you" You pecked his lips softly.

His thumb caressed your jaw softly as he brought you into a soft short but sweet kiss that made you smile. "Missed you too"

"Ugh stop being all sappy" MJ groaned.

"MJ! They are cuteeeee!" Gwen cooed.

"Anyway, We were talking game plan on the party tonight" MJ cleared her throat.

"Im getting shit faced" Gwen raised her hand. "See if Harry will finally makeout with me"

"Of course he will, your literally the hottest girl here" You scoffed to Gwen, making her smile.

"Peter your coming back to mine, so we can pregame?" Ned asked Peter. His head turned to you, before looking back to Ned.

"Duh, of course! You're hanging with the girls right?"

You nodded. "Yep, theyll come back to the compound with me after school" You beamed.

Peter smiled, as you all engaged in various plans about the party tonight. Who's going to get with who, betting who'll be the most shit faced. Just fun chat to get past lunch.

AT THE COMPOUND

You, Gwen and MJ arrived back at the compound. You and Gwen in your cheer uniforms as you had practice after classes. MJ opted to watch, finding it very interesting for once.

"I was suprised you could do so many spins, I'd get so dizzy" MJ laughed out, as you three came out of the lift.

"Practice makes perfect!" Gwen chirped.

"That you are very right about Miss!" Bucky smirked, leaning against the counter.

"Ugh what do you want, you fucking gossip" You groaned at Bucky, he found your reaction hilarious as he laughed.

"Gossip? Me? No way, I just say what I hear and all I hear is 'yes! Peter yes! the-" You cut him off with his stupid mocking as you threw your bag at him.

"Shut up!" You squeaked, pulling MJ and Gwen up the stairs towards the room lifts. Bucky and You always fought like siblings, he was that annoying older brother you never had and now hes filled that position.

Once you get to your room, MJ and Gwen drop their bags, Gwen running straight to your closet and MJ laying out across the bed.

"Okok! So are we going slutty chic or slutty slutty" Gwen asked as she sifted through your rack.

"I think slutty slutty, why not" MJ murmured. MJ always played devil's advocate, and always had your best (worst) interests at heart.

"So true MJ" You chuckled, joining Gwen in your closet. "Oo what about this" You pulled out an extremely short black bandage dress, a mini body con that definitely fit the 'slutty slutty' category.

"Yes!" Both the girls said in unison.

"Im going to steal this one" Gwen pulled out a cute little blue number, opting for a more colourful slutty number.

"I'll just wear my regular shirt and trousers" MJ laughed as you and Gwen shook your heads, shedding yourselves of your cheer uniforms and getting changed. You could hear music now playing in your room, peeking your head out to see MJ sat at your desk, scrolling your laptop.

"Peter just texted me, him and Ned are on their way!" MJ yelled out.

You were pulling up the dress, fixing it at your chest as you fluffed up your hair, dashing into the bathroom as you leaned towards the mirror beside Gwen rushing your makeup.

"You two are hilarious to watch get ready" You could hear MJ from outside your bathroom.

"This beauty takes precision MJ, your lucky your just naturally gorgeous" Gwen giggled.

20 minutes later and you were all ready and slightly tipsy with the predrinking of the wine Gwen had brought, all 3 of you piling downstairs as you slip on your heels once you were at the bottom of the stairs. A few of the Avengers were sat in the livingroom, now all attention on you three as you came down.

"Where are you ladies off to tonight?" Steve smiled at you.

"Flash is having a party, so we thought we'd grace them all with our presence" Gwen chuckled. Gwen always had a thing for Steve, he knew it found it cute but obviously had no interest.

"Where's Spiderboy?" Natasha smirked at you.

"He's coming" You stood up, smoothing your dress down.

"God what's all the giggling about" Your dad appears across the room, beside the office.

"The girls are going out" Steve smiled.

"Girls night!" MJ cheered.

"Girls night? You guys purposely forget about us" Peter says as he walks into the room, coming straight over to you.

You flash your eyes at him as he peered over to your dad, to which he pulls himself back and leans against the wall beside you.

"Woah.. the Avengers in the flesh" Ned geeks out.

"Come on you lot" MJ laughed.

"Stay safe!" Your dad shouts out, "I'll keep FRIDAY active till your back!"

"Thanks Dad, Love you!" You chuckled, taking Peter's hand and pulling him into the lift.

"They're dating aren't they..." Tony speaks up, looking at Steve, Natasha and a smirking Bucky.

"Yup" Natasha nodded.

"Great" Tony huffed, laughing but shaking his head at teenage antics.

AT THE PARTY

Parties are interesting when its all of you. One minute you are all tipsy from your pre drinks and giggling away at one another - the next moment you are all completely plastered fucking about.

Peter was laughing his ass off as you and Gwen twirled about on the coffee table. Ned beside him, his arm around Betty as they whispered to one another. MJ had found herself buried under a wad of coats after knocking over the coat rack just 30 minutes into your arrival.

Hanging out with them was the best, even better when you all were just embracing life, the moment. Being free with one another.

"Careful" Peter chuckled, taking your hand as he held you step down from the table.

You smiled, stumbling down infront of him as you pecked his lips. Hands interlocked with his as you smiled up at the boy.

"You know, I think everyday - how am I so lucky to be with THE Spiderman" You chuckled, whispering the last part.

"Im the lucky one" Peter smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Ugh stop being sappy you two! You're making me feel sober almost" Gwen groaned. "MORE SHOTS!" She yelled, grabbing your arm ans yanking you away into the kitchen.

The night continued on. MJ found the rest of the group, joining you all for shots. Betty joining the infamous quintet.

If you Dad knew how kuch alcohol was consumed, he would be absolutely raging.

The night drew to a close, you found yourself rubbing Gwen's back as she threw up in a bush while you all waited for an Uber. Ned had opted to head back to Betty's with her, Peter took a mental note to find the details out tomorrow. MJ and Peter were giggling at one another as they stayed on the look out for the cab.

"Let it all out" You cleared your throat as you rubbed Gwen's back, holding her hair with your other hand.

"Ubers here!" MJ sounded, as Gwen stood up and wiped her mouth.

"Hold it in Gwen, please" You begged as you held her into the car.

You four piled into the back as the driver reeled off and headed towards the compound. Gwen's head was against the door as MJ sat beside her. You and Peter squished into a seat as you sat on his lap, his arms tight around your waist.

His lips pressed against your shoulder as you turned to look down at him. "Feels like a century since I've had you Stark" He chuckled, his hand sliding up the side of your neck and pulling you into a deep kiss.

Passion fueled it as you hummed, wrapping your arm around his shoulder as you moved on his lap to get more comfortable.

The pair of you wrapped up in a moment of eachother. Hands grazing over eachothers bodies, tongues dancing against once another as you nipped at eachothers lips - humming in unison.

Too wrapped up to notice the 3 times the Uber stopped so Gwen could puke out the car on the drive home.

AT THE COMPOUND: 3AM

You all stumbled out of the lift, as MJ sat Gwen down on the couch.

You giggled, pulling Peter into the kitchen. His hands on your waist as he stood flush behind you as you filled a glass of water for Gwen.

"God you just look.. fucking gorgeous" His lips founds your neck, sucking at the skin as you let out a soft moan, your hand reaching back to caress his cheek as you leaned into him - humming.

"Pete.. I gotta get this to Gwen" You chuckled, painfully and regrettably pulling yourself away from him and returning to Gwen. He followed you, like a puppy of course.

"Here Gwen" You passed her the water as MJ helped her to drink it.

"You guys can stay over, no way Gwen can go back home like this" You looked to MJ.

"Thanks Y/N" She smiled to you.

You all were pretty drunk but Gwen was wasted and far gone, by the time you guys got back to the compound you had sobered up enough to play nurse.

"Right, lets get you upstairs" Peter sighed, leaning down as he helped Gwen up and started to lead her up the stairs towards the lift to your room. You and MJ in tow.

Once in the room, you went to your wardrobe, grabbing some clothes for them to sleep in.

Gwen and MJ take the shirts from your hands as they go into your bathroom to get changed.

You sighed before turning to Peter. His smile wide as you chuckled, his hand still on your lower back.

"Mhm- help me with the zipper Pete" You hummed, as his hands slid up your back, unzipping your dress as it fell and pooled at your ankles.

You stepped out, your chest bare - braless and a skimpy lace thong. You pecked his lips softly, as Peter smirked. "God.. I'm so lucky" He sighed, sitting on the bed, manspreading wide and watching you look through the dresser.

You peered over your shoulder back at him chuckling. "Very lucky boy" You chirped. Grabbing a loose midtown high tshirt, which was definitely Peter's you pulled it over your head before clumsily pushing the drawer shut, causing your dresser to make a loud bang.

"Whoops" You both giggled, walking back over to Peter, your fingers dances across his shoulders as you snaked them around his neck before straddling his lap as you sighed, hugging him close.

"I love you" You smiled at him, pecking his lips softly as you caressed his face.

"I love you too" He smiled, pecking your lips before pulling you close as you rested your head on his shoulder. His hands softly caressed your back through your shirt, humming as he bounced his knee.

You sighed, pressing soft kisses to the skin of his neck, running your hand up the other side, dancing your manicured nails over his skin.

"Stop teasing..." Peter let out a breath as you smirked, sitting uo right and pecking his lips softly.

A couple of giggles caused you both to turn to the bathroom, where you saw MJ and Gwen emerging.

"You two are so cute!" Gwen cooed. Running and jumping on your bed.

You got up off Peter's lap as he stood beside you. His hands upon his waist as he held you up from behind.

"You guys can sleep here, I'll sleep in Peter's bed" You smiled as MJ got under the covers next to Gwen.

"Don't be too loud" MJ smirked winking at you.

"You can stay hereeee! We wont impose, just watch" Gwen slurred, causing you all to laugh at her.

"Someone's has too much to drink" You chuckled, patting Gwen's head. "Night you two" MJ smiled at you.

You took Peter's hand as the pair of you left your room, shutting the door quietly behind you as you walked down the hallway.

"Isn't it a coincidence your dad keeps us on difference floors of the compound?" Peter whispered.

You chuckled, nudging him as you approached the lift. "Probably because your insatiable" You pulled him in as you pressed Floor 4. You were currently on Floor 2.

Peter stumbled into the lift after you as the doors closed behind him. He chuckled, lifting you up. Instinctively you wrapped your legs around his waist as he kissed you softly, pushing you up against the back of the lift wall.

You hummed, your arms around his neck as you ran your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to you. Soft pecks land on his lips, as you tease him.

A shit eating grin plastered across his face as he pushed you harder against the wall, the tent in his jeans pressing into you as you let out a soft whine, eyes locked on one another. Soft pants leaving your mouthes.

Nothing could escalate further as the lift chimed and the doors opened. You pulled away as Peter put you down, you cleared your throat as you took his hand, leading him down the wall. He smiled, interlocking his fingers with yours as the pair of you strided down the hall.

As you got to Peter's door you pushed it open, giggling as you pulled him in. Slamming the door shut behind him, before letting go of his hand as you jumped onto his bed, facing him, giggling.

Peter laughed, leaning back against the door as he stared at you.

You pulled his shirt off your body with a harsh yank, throwing it across the room as you sat up staring at him on the bed. Your hair perfectly framing your body, your chest bare, the tiny bit of lace of your thong peaking between your thighs.

"Fuck.. don't look at me like that" Peter sighed, walking towards you.

"I dont know what you mean" You chuckled, flicking your hair back as you peered up at him, completely bare chested. You reached out for him, pulling him in by his jeans, yanking him forward at the waist as you began to unbuckle his belt, slowly sliding it out and tossing it aside, with a loud clank. You ran your fingers down over his bulge, smirking as you held his gaze. His breathes becoming shaky as you unbuttoned his jeans and yanked them down along with his boxers. Peter gulped, audibly as his bottom lip connected with his teeth as he stared down at you, painfully hard.

You pushed his shirt up, running your fingers over his toned chest, leaning in as you licked from his v-line up to his nipple. "Take this off Petey-"

Which he did before you could even finish your sentence as you shimmied forward, your index finger running up and along his shaft, your eyes locked on his as you wrapped your hand around his cock, your manicure decorating your fingers as you smiled at him. "Such a good boy for me, arent you.." You hummed, pressing the base of your tongue flat against his shaft before placing your mouth over the tip, sucking softly.

Peter's hands instantly went to your hair, tugging it as he bit his lip.

You pulled away, shimming your way out of your thong as you kicked it away before kneeling back on the bed comfortably. You grinded against the air as you bit your lip. "Fuck... you make me so wet Pete" You pulled his arm to sit on the bed as you crawled ontop of him

You straddled his thigh, sighing as you rutted your hips against him, grinding down against his muscly thigh. Your hand, sliding up and down his shaft, jerking him off as you sighed.

"Fuck-" Peter groaned, reaching forward to grab your breasts as he kneeded them between his hands.

You ducked down, taking him whole in your mouth, forcing his full length down your throat as you choked lightly before bobbing your head up and down, your hips matching rhythm with your head as he grinded against him. You hummed against his cock, which he let out a whiney moan at each time.

His hands tangled in your hair as he guided you. Your tongue flat against him as you slowly pulled back, flicking it against the tip, before pulling your head back and perking him off with your hand.

"Mhm.. you like that? Going to be a good boy for me?" You hummed, looking at Peter.

He nodded, a soft whine leaving his mouth as his hand wrapped around your neck, applying soft pressure as he pulled you in for a kiss.

Your hand continuing to jerk him off as you kneeled above him, pulling your heat off his thigh.

His free hand, snaking down between your legs as he rubbed between your folds before dipping his middle and ring finger into you.

You gasped into the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as you squeaked at his sudden pace. You placed your hand on his chest to steady yourself as you matched his pace to yours as you jerked him off.

You broke away from the kiss, your foreheads touching as you panted, his hand tightly lightly against your neck as you hummed, nodding at him.

"Good girl.." He groaned, licking his lips as he held eye contact with you. "Such a good girl f'me, arent you"

You nodded, gulping as he tightened pressure against your neck.

"Fuck-" You watched as his eyes rolled back, his lip quivering as his top two teeth dug into it, letting out a shaky breath. "M'ma cum" He gulped, as you sped up your pace, his fingers diving deeper into you as your eyes widened and you gasped.

Your hand slid to his shoulder as your nails dug into his skin as you squeaked. "Fuck!- Im cumming" Your body quivered as your hips jerked.

The pair of you releasing at the same time, you gasped, Peter's hand tight on your neck as you rode his fingers, riding out your high as he fucked your hand - doing the same.

Peter's hand left your neck as he held your waist, pulling his hand from you as he locked eyes with you.

You shuddered, sitting back against his thighs as you removed your hand from his cock. Staring at him as you both panted.

He held his hand up, glistening with the sky lights outside, as he licked up his fingers smirked at you before placing them in his mouth, sucking them clean before releasing them with a pop.

You hit his chest as you let out a breathless chuckle. "Dirty fucker"

He laughed, pulling you into him, as you snuggled into his chest as he shimmied to yank the covers from under him, pulling them over the pair of you.

"Perfect way to end the night hmm?" He hummed, kissing your forehead.

"Nothing is more perfect than hearing you whine for me" You smirked up at him.

"Don't look at me like that, I'll get hard again" He looked at the ceiling causing you to laugh.

You climbed ontop of him, sitting ontop of his lower chest.

"Get hard again Petey.." You pecked his lips softly, sliding your hand down, jerking his length a few strokes before running his tip along your slit. "Want you to cum in me this time" You whispered softly. His eyes go wide as he stared at you.

"Y-Yeah?..." He gulped, his hands holding your hips instinctively.

"Mhmm yeah" You nodded, sinking down on his rock hard length, as you bit your lip, rocking your hips back and forth with a huffed.

"F-fuck!" Peter cursed, his fingers digging into your waist harshly as you grinded down against him.

"That feel good Peter? You like feeling me whole?" You cooed, your hand caressing his cheek.

He nodded, his face completely fucked out, like he was in a daze as you giggled, speeding up your pace as you pressed your hands down against his chest as you bounced up and down on his dick.

"H-holy fuck!-" His eyes rolled back as he brought his hands up to knead your breasts, holding them as they bounce in his hands.

You leaned down, pecking his lips softly as you turned to licked up his neck, nibbling at his ear, before whispering "Fuck me like you mean it Parker. I want you to fuck me so hard".

With that Peter flipped you over, him now ontop as he lifted one of your legs to rest over his shoulder as he began to slam into you. You yelped, scratching down his back as his pace became erratic.

"Mhmm- Yes! Yesyesyesyes!" You moaned, pulling his head towards you as you kissed him deeply. Your tongue shooting into his mouth as his body collided with yours.

His bed shook aggressively with each thrust, the loud creak of the rusty bed, as the posts scratched against rhe wooden floor. The room full of creaks from the bed and skin slapping of your bodies colliding.

You break the kiss, throwing your head back as you continously let out a high pitched whine. Peter's head buried in your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin as his body recoiled into yours. Grunts and groans coming from him with each thrust as his body ploughs into yours.

A string of loud bangs sound on the wall behind you, that doesnt go unnoticed but the pair of you too wrapped up in the moment you couldn't care less.

"Oh- oh fuck! I'm cumming-" You shriek, your body jerking against his thrusts as you come undone. His thrusts gain faster, his pace quickening, causing the bed squeaks to gain louder and faster.

"Oh fuck!-" Peter groaned, biting his lip as he face scrunched as he gained closer to his high.

"Peter!- I cant-" You groan, your body overstimulated as it uncontrollably shakes under him.

"Fuckkkk-" He threw his head back, his hands on your hips holding your lower body up as he continued to thrust quicker as he came inside of you. Fucking you through your second high as you screamed out, gripping the bars of his bed as his pace began to slow.

He dropped your body down onto the bed, as he hunched over you, panting heavily, one hand on the metal bedpost, supporting himself up as he stared downbat you.

"H-holy.. shit" You gasped, panting heavily as you pushed the hair from your face.

Peter looked down between your legs, pulling out and watching the cum spill from you before collecting it with his tip and slowly pushing himself back into you.

"Pete- I cant-" You pleaded.

He kissed your forehead, pushing deeper as he locked his hips to yours as he layed beside you, hugging you from behind.

"Wanna stay in... pleass baby" He hummed, kissing your shoulder.

You let out a hum, reaching back to caress his hair as you placed your arms over his as you snuggled bag into him, as the pair of you let sleep take over.

The next day you woke up, fucking sore. You had to pry yourself from Peter's arms then let out a guttural moan as his dick slid from you- completely forgetting thats how you ended the night. You looked back to Peter who didn't shift, as you tiptoed into his bathroom.

You had to shower, normally you would after fucking but you mustve been tired.

You sighed as the water hit your skin, humming as you closed your eyes. The steam of the warm water enveloped you as you stood there basking in it.

It wasn't long before you were interrupted by arms around your waist and a kiss to your neck.

"Pete.." You sighed, chuckling as you turned to look at him.

"Fuck.. Let me take you here.. please" His pleading eyes staring into your soul. His rock hard cock rubbing against your back.

Before you could even think your body was speaking for you as you dropped to your knees infront of him.

After your shower and two more rounds of god knows what. You pulled on a pair of Peter's boxers and hoodie. Taking his hand as he finished tying up his pyjama bottoms as he wore his matching Star Wars bottoms and tshirt.

You pecked his lips softly as the two of you got into the lift, going down to the living area.

As the lift chimed, you took Peter's hand pulling him from the lift and down the stairs as you approached Gwen and MJ sat at the island eating a breakfast Steve had made.

"Ooo smelly lovely" You smiled, taking a seat beside MJ as Steve slid a plate over to you.

"Gwen is painfully hungover so I thought I'd make a breakfast for all of you" He smiled. Such a good man.

"Thank you Steve, its so good" Gwen smiled, while munching away at her bacon and egg.

"You sleep well MJ?" Peter asked, standing behind you, arms around your shoulder as his head rested ontop of yours.

Steve slid a plate of Bacon and Eggs to you as you started digging into it. Peter's hands finding its way to your plate sneaking a piece of bacon.

"Suprisingly well! Y/N your bed is very comfy" MJ chuckled.

"Im glad you slept well because I didnt" Bucky groaned, appearing beside Steve on the othersidenof the island, eyebags covering his face as he held a cup of coffee.

"Why not?" You questioned.

Bucky stared at you blankly.

"What?" You shook your head.

"You and fucking Spiderling! Fucking SO LOUD" He groaned. "I don't need to be hearing you both moaning and groaning, and ontop of that hearing his bed!"

MJ snorted beside you, as you grew red hot in the face. Gwen was giggling away and Peter froze behind you.

"To be fair.. you two were quite loud. I think the whole compound could hear" Steve scratched his neck as he let out a soft laugh.

"The whole compound...?" You stopped eating.

"Yes, the whole compound" Your dad stood at the kitchen door. You and Peter froze for a few seconds before scrambling away from one another. "Too late hiding it now, we all heard it. I wouldve rather gone without it.." He groaned.

"Mr Stark- Its not-" Peter started.

"Save it kid. I dont care, nor do I want to know. Just please... keep it down" He grimaced before exiting into the office down the hall.

It was the most convenient place available, and the arrangements were truly supposed to be temporary but so much happened in between that you didn't have the time to look for a new place.

Between College, your side job, and your relationship—-yeah no chance. A majority of your weekdays were spent slaving for good credits, and a good chunk of your nights were used for work. Somehow in between that, Peter time.

So it all boils down to this. 

You had been taking a nap when you heard the first sets of screams down the hallway. The nap was very much unplanned, you’ve been elbows deep in another textbook, reading in advance for the upcoming week of lessons so you can focus a bit more on your job.

You worked as a waitress in some retro-style diner a few blocks away. They’re open 24 hours so you were able to take the graveyard shift while juggling classes. 

Peter was very much worried for your lack of proper sleep but you always made up for it on your rest day. He also knew how stubborn you are, so there was no use arguing over your schedule. As unhealthy as it is.

Busy schedule aside, you managed well. You were just studying, but you must’ve dozed off because you woke up disoriented, and there was so much smoke. It was all you could see, smell and taste when you pushed yourself off the couch.

Smoke clouded your vision, you could barely see your apartment through the thick veil of it. You coughed after getting a good chunk into your lungs from the gasp you let out, you instantly try covering your nose and push get up. 

You reach the kitchen in a set of rushed steps, almost tripping over your coffee table.

Looking around your kitchen, you grab a dish rag and turn your faucet on (thank god there’s water running this time) to wet it. You squeeze out the excess water and replaceyour hand with the wet dish rag, you allow yourself to breathe through it as you look around for anything worth grabbing before you went.

It was as if a switch had turned in your brain. Fire. There’s a literal fire in your apartment! What the actual fuck!? Honestly, you’ve ran over this situation many times in your head. It’s one of those things you hear about in the news and imagine yourself in the scenario.

But the imaginations pale in comparison to the real thing. Being here, trying to find your way through your smoke-covered apartment.

Because at least then you can turn off the scenarios in your head and you’ll be back to your very safe reality. In here, this is very much real and the danger could very well be right outside your door.

Fuck.

So much for studying, you are so gonna hold this over yourself next time you decide sitting down and studying in advance was a good way to spend your only rest day. You should have just gone to Peter’s.

Also why now? Couldn’t this have happened while you were away at least? You would totally mourn your belongings, but at least there won’t be the need to fight your way out of the apartment.

Oh shit, you lived on the 7th floor. 

Where’s the fire? No clue. There’s no use trying to find out anyway, you grabbed your phone. The only thing worth carrying at this point, and headed to your fire escape. You hurriedly climbed on only to look down in absolute shock.

The entire floor below is almost covered in fire, smoke escaping through the windows.

The flames are also big enough to reach the fire exit, your route is blocked. You also did not think trying to run through it would work, must the stairs give up on you on the way down.

You turn to your left and saw the next set of fire escape stairs remain unscathed. Okay, if you hurry now you can break your way into the apartment a few doors down and use their fire escape before the flame swallows it too.

It’s the only option you’ve got left. The stairs and the elevator down are out of commission.

You hardened your resolve and rushed out of your apartment. Your legs are shaking from the panic but you powered through it, this is not the time to trip and fall on your face like an unfortunate horror movie character.

Your door knob felt hot to the touch. It was enough that you recoiled with a hiss at the contact, but you twisted it open anyway, rushing out and feeling the heat on your skin now. You look down the hall in horror to see how close the fire is to your own apartment—it was inches away from your face. You had to step back before you get burnt. You were that close.

If you hadn’t woken up, you’d probably be waking up in heaven next. No time to dwell on that, you turn to the other side of the hall ready to proceed with your plan but stumbled on your way as if the floor had suddenly turned to jelly.

You must’ve inhaled more smoke than you thought before waking up, because your head is feeling light. You hold out your hand to steady yourself, probably flat against the wall. Focus. By pure sheer will to live, you commanded your legs to keep going.

There’s no time to collapse now. You can worry about the state of your lungs later, you just need to get out. So with much effort, you forced yourself to keep going, and you were so close to victory when barely audible, barely there—you heard a baby.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck indeed, because instead of just proceeding on your merry way to safety, you abruptly stopped and turned to the sound of the cry. It was that instinct again, the one your Mother told you would kill you one day.

She always told you, you should keep your head straight and eyes cast down low. New York streets were dangerous, and the people ruthless at times. She told you to mind your business, to keep to yourself and maybe this city and its people won’t eat you alive.

But you’ve never been one to listen to your Mother.

You didn’t keep to yourself. You saw a boy getting bullied and threw your whole backpack at Flash Thompson. That was how your fates intertwined with one Peter Parker. You didn’t mind your business like you should have.

And your Mother might be right, like she usually is about everything. Because instead of proceeding with your plan, you allowed your sharp ear to pick up where the cry was coming from, walking down the hall to where the sound appears loudest. It was the apartment right across yours.

Who the fuck left their baby alone?

You ran the fastest you’ve ever ran your whole life and slammed your whole weight onto the door. It opened and you ran to the sound where the baby’s crying was coming from. Barely able to see through the cover of smoke and running on pure adrenaline, you picked it up the baby. You thought to cover its face with the wet dish rag but it wouldn’t be enough.

You rushed to the kitchen, tripping on the many toys scattered on the floor on your way. You hurriedly unwrapped the baby’s blanket and grabbed a pitcher of water from the fridge. You took the lid off and dunked the whole blanket inside, making sure it absorbed enough water.

You have no fucking clue what you’re doing, your brain is mostly shut off and you’re running on pure instincts. But you wrapped the baby in the now wet blanket anyway.

You can hear the crackling of the fire and just how warm it’s getting. It’s like being inside an oven, and the heat is rising and rising and rising. You have to get out now..

You grabbed the crying baby and rushed out that apartment only when you did, the flames have reached farther down your hallway that the flames managed to get a lick of your skin. It happened so fast, you barely had time to react and dodge out of the flames’ way. You scream out in pain, your skin sizzling at the contact.

It’s probably small, you hope. But it’s somewhere in your right arm, the pain travelling all the way to your back. You grit your teeth, looking down to find the baby is still crying but otherwise unharmed.

That is gonna be one sexy scar for sure.

You then do your best to rush back to the apartment you were aiming for before getting distracted, only to find that it’s locked. You grit your teeth and try your best to channel your remaining strength and consciousness, before full-on body slamming the door. 

It didn’t give the first two tries and the baby’s crying continues to ring in your ears. The fire appears closer and closer but finally, with the third try, you push it open. But you must’ve been too disoriented by all the smoke now, that you lost your footing and landed on the floor.

Like a scene in slow motion, you fell to the floor with all the noise overwhelming your senses and the warmth from the fire wrapping you in a very uncomfortable blanket.

Your body moved on instinct to shield the baby from the fall so you just ended up injuring yourself more, probably applied pressure to your singed skin and just gave yourself a giant bruise as well. You definitely hit your head during it too, feeling like a headache will be paid in full tomorrow if you survive this. Hissing out a curse, you push yourself up and adjusted the baby in your arm.

This is officially the worst day ever.

With a light head and an aching body, you head for the fire exit. 

You felt like your soul had escaped your body when it was finally a good feet away, a blue of red and blue swooped int through it. You scream at the shock and jostled the baby in your arms. Holy fucking shit, Spider-Man appeared out of nowhere!

You can feel your tensed muscles relax a bit, but it’s still nto enough. You’re still in the building.

“_____!” Spider-Man called out.

You frown. “Spider-Man?” How did he know your name?

You had no time to ask when he looked down and found a baby in your arms, you blink down at the baby all of a sudden having grown tired of crying, and managed to blurt out a quick: “It’s not mine!”

Why would Spider-Man even care to know that? You cringe at yourself and turn back to Spider-Man. He looks very tensed and ready to jump, which is honestly normal, given the situation. You’re only grateful he’s finally here now.

That doubles your chances of survival for sure. You don’t even remember what he said, or what happened next when your body having recognized your saviour finally decided to shut down.

Last thing you remember was your vision fading as Spider-Man rushed to grab you, or at least you hoped that’s what he planned. Oh, you sincerely hope you did not just drop the baby you were holding as you passed out.

When you came to, you were in a sterile hospital room. What greeted you first and foremost was the blank white ceiling. You had mistaken it to be heaven at first, until you trailed your eyes down and found yourself lying on a hospital bed.

Okay, hospital is better than heaven. You tell yourself with a sigh of relief. 

Oh god, how is Peter going to react? You’re not even sure you managed to take your phone successfully, you could have dropped it from all the running you did. And that baby—he better grow up to cure cancer or something. Or something equally amazing. Or just… healthy, that’s good too.

How fucked up would it be if the baby you saved grow up to be some big bad villain for Spider-Man to have one mega battle with?

Your brain is running laps again, it’s something you did to cope with intense emotions and situations. You groan and try to shift in your position only to find your back hurts, like a shit ton. You don’t even wanna know how much of your skin was actually burnt and how badly.

You were halfway into fiddling with your hospital bed’s controls to hopefully raise your backrest higher when the door opened, in came Peter who looks like he had been losing a full week of sleep. 

His eyes widened at the sight of you awake and moving about. You managed to plaster on a giant grin, greeting your boyfriend like normal, like you weren’t currently bedridden. Peter rushed to your bedside in an instant, crossing the distance in a hurry.

“_____,” he called out and you felt yourself melt, he must have worried so much when he heard about Spider-Man saving you from a burning building.

“Hey,” you greet him and take in the bags under his eyes. “How long was I out?”

Peter heaves a tired sigh, his hand reaching for your face. Caressing your cheek lightly, as if to prove to himself that you were real and you’re very much here, alive. 

“2 days, you inhaled too much smoke and you got third degree burns on your back.”

You cringe at that answer, the extent of your injuries just now dawning on you. Well, a burn scar is a small price to pay for having survived with your life. And of course—

“The baby—”

He cut you off, “Safe. The Mother was very grateful, she was just down to get her laundry, she didn’t think the short time she was away that a fire would break out.”

Still shouldn’t have left her baby alone, you thought bitterly but you’re just glad the baby is safe in the end. 

There was a short moment of silence. The reality of it probably settling in, for both of you. You just survived a fire, not without injuries, and he probably worried so much he lost 2 whole days worth of sleep over your well-being.

You grab his hand on your face and bring it down to settle on your lap, yout thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand. Peter has been your boyfriend since high school. You’ve been together for almost three years now, and you can always tell when he has something eating away at him.

He looks almost the way he did when his uncle died.

“Peter,” you called out, testing the waters, “what’s wrong?”

He hesitated, inhaling sharply. Then retracted his hand. “It’s my fault.”

Your eyebrows stitch into a frown, scoffing at his words. “Unless you’re about to confess your arsonist tendencies, then I doubt it was your fault.”

That was one of his flaws, he always took on so much. So much work, so much blame. He didn’t even know! How could any of you know that a fire would just start one random afternoon? Hell, even if you had predicted it, it still would not be his fault.

He was at work, taking pictures of Spider-Man or whatever it is Jameson has him doing this time. He was nowhere near the apartment, and even if he was, it’s not like he can swoop in and save the day.

You actually preferred that he was away. That is was just you. You don’t think you would have reacted as well as you did if Peter was there, because you would worry too much over him and most likely panic and just endanger yourselves more.

You said those words as half jokes but he seemed very much affected either way, you try and reach for his hand again but he avoided your touch. Okay…

“What’s going on?” You ask, wondering what on earth could he be thinking. Just how could he spin this to be his fault?

“I should’ve gotten there faster,” Peter mumbles, barely enough for you to hear. But he said it with that defeated expression of his, like he carried the sky and it was up to him to keep upright must it all come crashing down on you all.

You cannot fathom it. “And then what? Just put us both in danger?” Because realistically, what could he have done? He’s no firefighter, and there was no way he can rush to the seventh-floor and save you.

“No, it’s—” Peter abruptly stopped, letting otu a sharp exhale of frustration. Your frown only deepened, what’s going on? Why is he so angry? “I should have been there. But there was this robbery nearby that I had to stop first and—”

You stop listening after that, did he just say he stopped a robbery? You know your Peter. He’s someone who kept his head down… mostly, he knows how New York and its people worked. But he always lectured you on safety, especially at night.

So what is he saying about stopping robberies now? None of it is makign sense. Perhaps you truly inhaled too much smoke.

“---I almost lost it when I saw you still inside the building.”

You try pushing yourself up again, sitting upright now to face him with a conflicted look on your face. You take in his words, although confusing and how defeated he looks. You carefully choose your words before speaking again.

“Peter, I know it was scary. You almost lost me, I would be terrified too, if the roles were reversed but… you couldn’t have helped. I was only lucky Spider-Man showed up last minute. But I’m okay, I’m here.”

Peter was not at all comforted by your words. “But that’s exactly it! I showed up at the last minute—”

It was like a chord was snapped. You blinked once and everything came rushing to you. Oh my fucking god. There was no way but—the timing lined up too well, all the missed dates makes so much sense now, and the mysterious bruises. He had used the Spider-Man excuse, saying he had to be onsite to snap pictures.

It was for his job, but that was only half-true.

Oh my god, your boyfriend is Spider-Man.

Well, maybe there had been signs all over. But it’s not like you wanted to dive head first into believing that yes, your boyfriend, your sweet, adorable Peter, is the vigilante in red and blue spandex swinging around the city saving civilians.

What kind of crazy person would you be if you just assumed that?

In hindsight though, it makes too much sense now. Only Peter would have the heart big enough to put on that mask and go out every night to look after the people of New York. Only Peter would have the conviction strong enough to be a… a superhero.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out in exaspheration, “holy fucking shit, Peter.”

Peter’s entire body froze as he took in your expression. Shell shocked, your eyes blown wide open as you slowly lift your head to look at him. As if you were finally seeing him for who he is, for all he is.

He’s not just Peter anymore. He’s also Spider-Man, and he was too late.

He came way too late. You had gotten hurt and he almost didn’t make it in time.

“Shit…” you are probably cursing too much, but that’s the least of your worries when your whole world had just turned upside down. “Oh god…”

Peter is not sure whether that reaction is positive or not. He cannot get a read when you’re raining curses while looking like you are going crazy, he moved on instinct to put both hands on either sides of your shoulders.

“____, breathe,” he tells you inn a soft voice, trying to calm you down must you trigger a panic attack from his unprompted identity reveal. “It’s just me.”

Oh but it’s really not. It’s also Spider-Man now. And you’re gonna have to take some time to sit down and process that your Peter is the very same hero swinging around fighting villains and stopping crimes.

Is that what he’s been doing all this time? Of course it is, and you were oblivious to all of it. You didn’t know—why now?

“Were you ever planning to tell me?” You ask, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“I wanted to keep you safe, away from all this. From Spider-Man and all the danger.”

You nod slowly. You know Peter too much, much more than he probably knows himself, so it was safe to assume that—”But you just learned that danger will come anyway, whether I know, or I don’t.”

Peter’s silence was the confirmation you needed. 

Peter fell forward, grabbing your face in his hands and levelling his gaze with yours. You look into his doe brown eyes, unable to get angry. Were you even supposed to? You’re not entirely sure.

You’re entitled to being pissed that he hid an entire other identity from you, for three whole years, or probably more— Spider-Man has been around for four years. But you can’t get angry, because you hold too big of an understanding for everything involving Peter.

You will always choose to understand him, no matter what. Because you love him. That’s right, you… “I love you,” you tell Peter. A reminder to him and yourself, and his hands on your face trembled at the declaration.

He was afraid he wouldn’t get to hear it again. First, when he almost lost you to the fire. And second, when he revealed the truth that he had been lying to you all this time.

“I love you,” he repeated.

And you know he means it.

the end. masterlist

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You didn’t want to go out that night.  

You had much preferred to stay at home and read your current novel of choice, but your fiancé, Harry, had insisted you accompany him to the circus performance across town. 

“Come on, sweetheart. You know the people will talk if they don’t see you by my side. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Harry says, crystal blue eyes so heavy on your back, you can feel them.

Your relationship with Harry was strictly business. One created for societal appearances and financial security. 

You didn’t quite detest it, however, because despite your affinity for fantasy books featuring great romances, you knew the difference between reality and fiction; True love didn’t exist. And Harry Osborn wasn’t a bad man. He bought you extravagant gifts, never treated you with disrespect, and he was a man of wealth and many prospects. He was the sole heir of the Osborn family business, one that remained successful to this day, and after the passing of his father, Harry became the richest man in all of New York. 

You were born from money as well, of course; however, your riches had run dry thanks to a business misfortune that led your father to relinquish his role in the family. 

Permanently. 

You were now the only one who could guarantee any form of security for you and your mother, and with the help of your good friend, Gwendolyn Stacy, a well-liked member of high society, you were introduced to Harry Osborn.

The first meeting wasn’t anything of romance either. After a walk in the Stacy estate gardens, he admitted why he was so interested in you.

“There’s a deep sadness in you. It’s in your eyes and the way you carry yourself.”

You nearly pause mid-step but keep your composure, an apology ready to be uttered. A sad girl would not make a desirable wife, you can almost hear your mother hiss.

As if he can tell your concern, he chuckled. “I like it. It's of comfort to me,” he reveals, an odd twinkle in his eyes.

You stare at him, expression unmoving, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest.

It was an internal conflict that ended quite quickly when you realized that there was no point in dwelling on it at all; all that mattered was for Harry to want you, whether it be genuine or for more... peculiar reasons. As long as he asked for your hand, you were guaranteed a secure future, and that’s all you cared about. Plus, you admired his honesty, because honesty was one of the many qualities of a good man. 

And Harry was a good man. 

You didn’t mind that your marriage would be loveless or void of passion. In fact, it was easier that way. You could remain living in your own little world, just how you liked it. He even promised to let you read at all hours of the day as long as you allowed him to do what he liked most as well—Go out drinking with colleagues, smoke tobacco in the parlor room, casually entertain pretty women. Not anything too far, but just enough to be fun for him.

It was the deal you two had that made him beyond susceptible to marrying you. And in marrying you, he would take care of you. A good man takes care of his wife.

And Harry was a good man.

“You've become a very valuable asset, sweetheart,” he had told you after your walk, blue eyes squinting as he smirked, his left eye hidden behind his dark hair. 

You can imagine all the women who would absolutely die to have the Harry Osborn look at them like that. You were very lucky. There might have been no sweetness in the way he spoke to you, but there was also no aggression, like how your father would speak to your mother whenever she would come into his view. Throughout the walk, he honestly made you feel like you were a pet of some sort. Or another business deal. 

But you knew there were worse ways to feel. So when Gwen headed over to you once he left, asking giddily about how it went, you said, “He’s quite the gentleman. I think he plans to propose next week.”

Her big blue eyes widen. “And?” she questions.

You linger on her expression, noticing the excitement she can barely contain. Her hands fidget anxiously as she waits for your response, and you find it comical how she looks more giddy about your possible proposal than you are.

“I’m saying yes,” you confess, and Gwen immediately jumps up, taking you into a hug. “Oh my goodness, this is amazing! You’re getting engaged!” she squeals.

You try not to overthink your lack of excitement in comparison to her. You don’t dwell on how you feel nothing at all. Instead, you plan in your head what you’ll be wearing to the planned proposal and if you can make do with what you already have in your closet.

The proposal, as planned, arrives the following week. Harry invites you and half the city to a party at his luxurious estate, and after light appetizers and a champagne toast, he gets down on one knee and asks you the question you practiced answering in the mirror for days leading up to it.

“Yes, of course,” you say simply, a smile plastered on your face. 

Everyone around you erupts into cheers. Bottles pop, men clap each other on the back, women squeal with excitement, and you can hear your mother and Gwen sobbing happily. The sounds are loud, the celebration grandiose, yet it all fades into silence. The world slows around you, each movement unfolding in a blur as your vision softens. You almost fell numb to the ring being slid up your finger. 

It's gaudy and not even close to something you would have picked out, with a diamond so obnoxious, you're sure the money could have been spent feeding half the city. Harry stands up and snakes an arm around your waist, smiling as cameras pop up from the crowd, flashes blinding you completely as he pulls you closer to him.

“Take it in. As the future Mrs. Osborn, the world is your fucking oyster,” he whispers in your ear with a low chuckle, the kind that makes it clear he expects this level of admiration because everyone else exists a level beneath him. You ignore the sick feeling in your stomach and continue to smile.

The next day, that same smile is plastered on the front page of the Daily Bugle. 

You spent the next few weeks leading up to the wedding playing the part of 'perfect fiancé'. Attending social events with Harry, standing by him in support during public appearances, and most importantly, agreeing to whatever he requests. So, when Harry asks to go to the circus, you say yes despite not wanting to, because that would make him happy. And you knew that the key to a successful marriage was a happy husband. 

Anything else you craved, the books you spent hours devouring could give you. 

═══════════════════════════════════════════

The big red-and-white tent is an eyesore. There are strings of lights hung all around it, and crowds were walking in with a giddiness you couldn’t imagine exhibiting, but it was enjoyable to observe. Harry is chatting with his friend, Eugene ‘Flash’ Thompson, while his girlfriend, Elizabeth Allan, is clad by your side.

“Oooh, you’re so lucky. I overheard Flash talking with Harry, and he said that he’s planning on having your ceremony at the Met! Is that true?! Oh, you’re going to have the most romantic wedding the city has ever seen. You have to let me be your maid of honor; I could absolutely plan the best…”

You don’t remember anything else about the conversation because, like most times, you zone out and just watch the world around you: the kids running gleefully into the tent, couples holding hands and giggling, the man on a unicycle greeting people in. 

You’re grounded back to reality, though, when you reach your seats on a row of bleachers, and Harry tugs you into the seat next to him.

“I’m really hoping they have those freaks in the show. You know, like the bearded lady and the guy with lobster claws for hands,” Flash gushes obnoxiously, waving his hand over at a vendor walking his way.

Harry chuckles, passing the vendor a bill once he approaches, grabbing a box of popcorn and a bag of peanuts.

“You’re a freak yourself, Thompson, if you’re into those weirdos.” 

He passes the box of popcorn to you, and you take it, despite not wanting any, because you know Harry just intends for you to hold it for him. 

Suddenly, the lights dim and a single spotlight appears in the middle of the ring. A voice booms throughout the walls of the tent, and you can feel the nervous energy radiating off of everyone inside of it, anticipating the spectacle that’s to come.

“Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, welcome to the greatest show on earth!” A strong, boisterous voice announces, and the audience goes wild in applause and cheers.

The energy is like this throughout the entire show: constant whooping and hollering at the clowns and lions, and stuntmen shooting out of cannons. It was all a sight to be seen, and even you were completely entranced. 

The lights dim once more as the previous act makes its way out of the center of the ring, and the announcer once again begins to speak. 

“And now, prepare to be completely astounded by our most amazing act yet. Ladies and gentlemen, I advise you to keep your eyes wide open, for you will not want to miss what will surely be the first time you have ever seen such a spectacle. Behold, a man and a spider combined as one!”

The audience cheers, Flash near you stomping his feet on the metal below you as he whoops and hollers. 

Your brows furrow, mind going through all the possibilities of this being possible. Was he a man with extra limbs? Extra eyes on his face? Capable of shooting webbing out of his-

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Amazing Spider-Man!” 

A spotlight focuses on the top of the tent’s ceiling, and the whole crowd collectively gasps when they realize there’s someone there. The Amazing Spider-Man is clad in a blue and red suit with his hands and legs sticking to the top of the tent, causing a riot as he begins to crawl all around it. 

“No fucking way!” Flash shouts in disbelief, and Harry laughs, reaching over to slap him on the shoulder.

“There’s your freak, Thompson,” he says, but you try your best to ignore them as you’re completely captivated by this ‘Amazing Spider-Man’. 

Suddenly, Spider-Man stretches one of his hands out and shoots what looks like a web, attaching it to the other side of the ceiling. 

The audience goes crazy, and your eyes widen in astonishment as Spider-Man jumps and swings down at the crowd. 

He does this for a bit, doing flips and spins as he shoots web after web, swinging and diving down at the audience. Finally, he lands at the center of the ring, and the audience all stands up, including you, to give him a standing ovation. 

He bows, waving his hand before 

And that’s all you could think about as the show carried on: The Amazing Spider-Man who defied logic and did the impossible. It made your heart race, hands vibrating with excitement. You don’t understand why you’re feeling this way, never having been like this before, but when the show ends, a thrill stirs inside of you. Which is why, as you trail behind the group as everyone exits, your eyes immediately scan the crowd for the red and blue suit.

And as if the universe was curious about what the plot would entail if you did, you spot Spider-Man walking towards another tent in the distance. You don’t know what comes over you, certainly not logic, as you had a feeling that left your body as soon as he performed, but you quietly escape the group to pursue him. 

You quickly enter the tent, back against the fabric as you close your eyes and let out a deep breath you were keeping in. Once you open them, you take in your surroundings. There was a humble bed, a rack with men’s apparel, and a small dresser that had seen better days. On top of the dresser, there were photo frames, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing one. The picture was that of an older woman with gray hair and kind eyes. You wondered who she was to this mysterious Spider-Man.

“Uh… can I help you?” a voice booms from above, and your head immediately snaps up with a jump.

There he was, Spider-Man hanging upside down from atop the ceiling. 

You gasp as he lowers himself towards you, big white eyes staring straight into yours. Up close, you can see the details of his suit: the black web details artfully crafted throughout it, the spider emblem displayed in the middle. Your heart races with a mix of fear and excitement. The Amazing Spider-Man was right in front of you, staring you down, yet you couldn’t find it within yourself to look away.

At this, you fiddle with your hands, cheeks warming up at the realization that you, in fact, had no solid reason for approaching him. 

“No, umm…a-actually, I just wanted to say that I very much enjoyed the show. Especially your act,” you state, and you're sure he can tell how flustered you are.

But even if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, even with the mask covering his face, you can tell he seems taken aback. 

“Oh. Uhh…thanks. You know, I never had someone enjoy the show so much that they follow me home, but I'm flattered,” he says, and with a yank of his wrist, the web attached to the roof breaks off, and he flips to a standing, upright position.

Standing in front of you, you feel your breath hitch in your throat, realizing how tall and intimidating he seems. You try to keep your composure. 

“I’m sorry. I know that was very forward of me to do. I just…I honestly don’t know what’s come over me,” you say, realization washing over you. 

You just followed a strange man into his ‘room’. What is going on with you???

“I sincerely apologize. I…I’ll just….”

“Why did you?” he asks, eyes remaining on you, making you feel even smaller than you already felt. “Follow me, I mean. Did you want to see if I had spider eyes or extra limbs I'm hiding? Curious as to how much of a freak I am?” There’s something in his tone that throws you off. A mix of amusement and bitterness. 

You shake your head, fully embarrassed. “N-no. I…I just really liked your act. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I just wanted….” You pause, realizing you had no genuine idea what you intended to happen. For the first time ever, you just did something for no reason at all other than that you just wanted to. 

“I don’t know why I did it. I just…did,” you admit, and he studies you in silence. 

Just when you’re about to let out another apology and excuse yourself out of his tent, he suddenly steps closer to you, causing you to flinch lightly at his rapid movement. He doesn’t utter a word or a sound, his face hovering above yours as he stands just inches away from you. You feel your heart beating fast against your chest, and you're worried he can hear it too.

His masked face tilts slightly, as if he’s drinking you in fully. You should be afraid, you know it, but instead you feel…exhilarated. You hold your breath, waiting for whatever he says next.

“You sound like you make very rational decisions,” he finally says, catching you off guard, and you surprise yourself with a breathless laugh.

“Believe it or not, I normally do. I think the show just messed with my head,” you admit, and you feel a warmth in your chest when you hear him reciprocate the laughter.

“Yeah, this place can do that to you. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Miss…?” he says, and outstretches his hand towards you.

You stare at it for a moment before slipping your hand hesitantly into his, allowing him to give it a shake, and it’s something in his skin touching yours, despite it being completely covered by his suit, that sends shivers down your spine.

You reveal your name to him, which he repeats, and you feel a slight flutter in your chest at hearing his voice say it. He releases your hand from his grip, and you finally avert your eyes from his, knowing you probably look flushed.

“Are you here with your family or…?” 

You look back up at him, not expecting him to ask anything like that.

“Umm..I’m actually here with some friends. And, uh… my fiancé,” you admit, and you think you see his body stiffen.

“Fiancé, huh? I shouldn’t be surprised. A pretty girl like you? Makes sense you’d be spoken for,” he says, and you feel your face heat up.

What you’re feeling at this moment, this bashfulness and warmth that sends shockwaves throughout your entire body, is like nothing you’ve ever felt. It’s foreign, and it makes you nervous, but it also excites you.

This man excites you.

So you have to be pardoned when you make a complete fool of yourself and say:

“I don’t love him, though,” you confess before you even have a chance to realize what you’re saying. 

You immediately wish that the ground would swallow you whole, especially when you can almost feel him being completely thrown off. 

“I-I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that. That was completely inappropriate. My apologies, I will be going now…”

“You don’t?” he questions, and despite not being able to see his eyes, you once again can feel something coming off of them. Amusement? Curiosity? 

You process his question as your mouth opens and closes in a failed attempt to form coherent words. 

“I…”

The way he’s seemingly sizing you up now makes you want to run away. 

Oh, what a stupid fool you’ve made of yourself.

Spider-Man shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I was just not expecting that response, but I also know it’s not right of me to ask. We can just forget it happened and start over. Hi, I’m Spider-Man,”  he states and lifts his hand to you once again.

You stare at his hand for a moment, slightly hesitant, before a small smile forms on your lips.

“Thank you,” you say gratefully, taking his hand once again.

“I take it this is your first time seeing our show?” he asks, and you nod.

“It’s my first time seeing anything like this, actually. And I have to say, it’s the most thrilling I’ve ever felt,” you confess honestly.

He chuckles softly, finally stepping away from you to stand a comfortable distance.  “Really? Wow, then I’m honored. Although trust me when I tell you that, despite what the boss says, we’re far from the greatest show on earth.”

You giggle at this, surprising yourself with the sound. You can’t remember the last time you ‘giggled’. You didn’t even think you still could.

Suddenly, he pulls his wrist out, and with a thwip, a web shoots out and sticks to the wall of the tent behind him. You gasp as he swings towards it, staring up at him in awe as he lands, hands and feet sticking to it perfectly.

“See, that’s incredible! How do you do that?” you ask, and you feel a giant giddy smile take over your face.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I got bit by a spider not too long ago, and then I started being able to do things like this,” he confesses as he begins to crawl up towards the ceiling and then back down the wall behind you. 

You turn around, eyes fully glued to his every movement. “Amazing,” you say breathlessly, as he lands on his two feet in front of you once again. 

“That’s my name; don’t wear it out,” he jokes, and you laugh.

He’s funny. 

“Are you busy right now?” he asks suddenly. 

Your mouth forms a small ‘o’, suddenly remembering the group you came with. You turn around and slightly lift the fabric of the tent up so you can peep outside. Your eyes search the crowd, and you immediately spot Harry scanning the groups of people who are still exiting the tent. 

“Right. Your fiancé, huh?”

You look back at him, an apologetic expression on your face. 

“Yes. I…thank you for such an amazing show. Really, I think this will be the highlight of my life. I wish you much success, Spider-Man,” you say with a small smile, mustering up the gratitude you feel towards him.

But what you don’t know is that your eyes clearly betray the smile on your face, a sadness he notes immediately.

You turn around, and just as you’re about to exit the tent, you feel him gently pull your arm to turn towards him. 

“Please don’t feel any pressure to accept, but we’re actually going to be here all week. We have a contract to put on the show every night. And since you really enjoyed yourself, I think you should come back tomorrow so I can give you a tour. You know, meet everyone, find out some behind-the-scenes magic. Maybe even let you pet the elephants,” he suggests, and your eyes light up in excitement. 

“R-really?” you ask in awe, and he nods, responding with a simple “Absolutely.”

The sad look in your eyes immediately shifts to excitement, and it stirs butterflies in his chest. Despite having just met you, the light in your eyes and smile felt intoxicating. He wanted to drink it up as much as he could. 

So when you say yes to meeting him tomorrow, he’s ecstatic and promises to give you the best time of your life. You say your goodbyes, and he watches you run off to your fiancé, who looks less than pleased at you having disappeared.

He notices the way you shrink in place, and in his head, he replays your conversation and the sudden mention of not loving your fiancé. It was strange and disturbing, and anyone else would think it too forward, but he understood that you must have been feeling exasperated enough to have confessed that to a stranger like him.

Yet, something about you felt familiar. Like he knew you from beyond this moment. Like this was meant to happen, and he had been waiting for you to stumble into his tent all this time. 

He finally rips the mask off his face and sighs heavily, flopping onto his bed as he faces the top of the tent.

The worn-down steps you routinely followed every morning were usually joined with the infuriating pitter-patter of the leaky faucet, destined to become the death of you. Today was no different; Until it wasn’t. 

The constant beating was suddenly disturbed by an eccentric commotion coming from the room next door, separated by a cheap, thin wall–situational abnormality growing due to its long-time abandoned status by its last inhabitant as a result of ‘slumlord’ exploitation. Whoever fell for the old man’s tactics must be desperate, you thought, brushing it off, but not enough to extinguish your growing curiosity. So, you continue getting ready for your internship, one that pays you just enough for it to be worth it. 

The ruckus becomes amplified as you fight your way out the door, the janky doorknob refusing to cooperate. Just as you find yourself standing near the source of the recent clamor, a figure rushes past you, the only thing you catch being a cardboard box labeled ‘Star Wars’ in rushed, Sharpie lettering, and slams the door shut to their new residence. 

You walk up to the door, raising your hand to knock on the door lightly, but you're cut short by the light reflecting off your wristwatch, catching your attention.

Remembering you’d rather not be chewed out by your manager again this week, you rushed down the creaking stairs and out the entryway, to be met with the morning rush. Taking a deep breath, you let yourself mellow back into your routine. Finding the identity of this mysterious person will have to wait until you come back.

…

Trudging back up the stairs in your scrubs, you glance at the door residing next to yours, and wonder if you have the energy to work up the confidence to finally feed the curiosity that's been bubbling inside all day.

But you come back to your senses when you remember the aching throb on the side of your abdomen and the hassle with the doorknob, the only obstacle between you and your bed.

Frankly, after the day you had and all the people who decided to make your job harder than it already is, all you needed was a quiet atmosphere to help wind you down. But as you hear the whir of a sewing machine from next door, you realize your fantasies of a relaxing evening have very low chances of becoming reality. 

Finally getting the door to budge open, you feel the presence of a headache blooming. “This is going to be a long night,” you mutter, dragging your hands across your face.

The ambiance of the room shifts with the hazy, evening sun, soon filled with feelings of euphoria as you strip from your sweat-infused work clothing and tread into the shower. The steam manages to distract your bodily aches and mental exhaustion as your soul escapes from their grasp. 

Even as you make an effort to scrub every resistant community member’s misdirected anger, it’s obvious that they aren’t going down without a fight, so you step out and throw on a less restrictive ensemble and collapse on your bed. With the creaking of your mattress springs trailing behind, you reach over to turn off your lamp light, allowing darkness to envelop the room with the hug of night.

Lying on your bed, twisting and turning, trying to get comfortable, couldn’t be any more difficult as you hear the continuing angry whir of a sewing machine passing through the paper-thin walls.

You groan as you realize your trusted home remedy of taking on the persona of a housecat was not fixing anything--absolutely nothing at all. It got to the point where you actually had to try to find a solution, and not ‘Wanda Maximoff’ it into existence.

Pushing yourself off your bed, not even caring about rehearsing the first meeting, you shuffle your way to the door. But for the third time today, the doorknob had a personal vendetta against you and decided to make life a little bit harder than it should be--that was your last straw.

You huff frustratingly and knock-no-bang on the door of the source of that belligerently annoying sound. You can tell the person on the other side has the same problem with the doorknob as they struggle to open the door. You realize the culprit revealed themself when you look up and are met with soft brown eyes, belonging to a guy around the same age as you--a cute one at that.

“Hey I know we haven't met but I’m your next door neighbor and I've had a very long day at work and I would really appreciate it if you could keep it down whatever..” you peer past his shoulder and see some kind of full bodysuit at his desk but he swerves to catch your eye before you're able to distinguish any details. “..craft project you have cooking up in there,” you hesitantly finish, becoming slightly confused.

You look back up at him, frustration filling your eyes as he stands there, seemingly frozen. Just as you’re about to turn around to head back in, he speaks up, apologizing profusely.

“I am so sorry. I honestly didn’t realize I was bothering anyone. I can totally stop if that would make it better?”

“No, you’re fine,” you countered, not wanting to cause any issues. “Just-” you started, “- could you keep it down a bit?”

“Y-yeah, of course. At least you told me about it and not the elderly guy a few doors down,” he offers as a way to ease the agitation filling the surrounding atmosphere. 

It didn’t work very well. You half-heartedly chuckle when you realize the conversation was over just as soon as it started.

“Um-” you click your tongue lightly, “I’m gonna head back, so I guess goodbye?” trying to sound neighborly, only for it to come out in a pissy, tired tone that only shows up when your body can’t fight exhaustion any longer.

“Oh, oh yeah, it was nice meeting you and I-I’ll make sure to keep it down over here!” 

A ghost of a smile paints itself on your face in response as you slide back into your studio. Slipping back into bed, you fall asleep much more easily due to the sudden change from the hums and bustle from next door to complete and utter silence.

…

..Beep Beep

You woke up to the sound of your ringing alarm- the only sound you woke up to that morning. 

“I guess he really did keep to his promise,” you muttered, still fighting the morning grogginess.

Relishing the only breath of freedom that your job has to offer, you make a plan to spend your Sunday catching up on miscellaneous work and getting ahead of due dates.

Even as you build time in your week for this kind of stuff, making sure to work around your clocked-in hours, becoming on-track to earn your bachelor's earlier than you thought was soon discovered to be something you shouldn’t have signed up for so blindly. 

Yet as you make your way to get dressed for the day, you can’t help but feel this nagging feeling in the back of your mind, like you’d done something minuscule, yet the memory will sit dormant in your head, only making itself known when it taunts you in the middle of the night. And as you make your way around the time-passing jobs you set for yourself, the once nagging feeling starts to propel itself to the forefront of your mind and becomes more prominent every minute. You fear for the worst–that you’d actually have to confront it.

Hearing the slam of a door outside your studio apartment made you realize the reason for your endless guilt. You didn’t think telling someone to keep it down would cause you to feel this bad, and yet, you can’t help but feel the need to apologize.

Normally, you're not the one telling others to keep it down, and he obviously didn’t mean to disturb anyone, but he was the nut using a sewing machine in the late hours of the night. And living between walls like these, you could hear everything: keeping it down, especially at night, would be common sense. Right?

No, no, you just needed to stop the back-and-forth debate about the guy whose name is still a mystery to you and just set things right so your mind wouldn’t be at war anymore. 

But- I should apologize for my tone, or at least give a proper, neighborly welcome, you think. At least it was you who told him to keep it down, and not one of the residents who make a noise complaint when someone makes the faintest bit of noise at night.

You would know; being their target when you first moved in was not enjoyable.

Frustrated, you slip your shoes on to do your favorite thing to calm down–taking a walk through the real-life manifestation of the definition of overstimulation. Maybe it’ll help you decide on which route to pick with the next-door neighbor situation. Do you ignore it, let it pass, or attempt to make a bond with your newfound neighbor? Lord knows you need one. At least to grab the results of your night-time online shopping before it gets stolen.

It all came to an end when the smell of a savory concoction started swirling around you from around the corner, leading your feet right to the answer of your latest debacle. 

“Pizza,” you muttered, “you can manipulate anyone into forgiving you with that,” you sputter to yourself as you start to make a fool-proof plan. Operation neighbor-truce was officially a go.

…

Trudging up the ancient stairwell, with the cheesy delight practically burning your hand off, you run through your scripted re-introduction while working your way over to his door. You knock on your neighbor’s door, sentences practiced to perfection.

Yet as he opens up the door, every bit of your plan flees, leaving your mind blank; only improv could save you now.

“Um,” you blank, struggling to break the tension as you retain eye contact with the man you confronted yesterday. He beats you to it, somehow making you feel even worse.

“Did I disturb you again? I am so sorry,” He starts anxiously sputtering, “I truly didn’t mean-” You cut him off, wanting to accidentally Pavlov him into apologizing every time you see his face.

“No!” you interrupt (a tinge too loud), cringing at your hypocrisy, “I hated the way we started yesterday, and I totally get it if you couldn't care less,” pausing your rambling to catch your breath, “But I really want to restart.”

You take a deep breath to regain your composure. “Hi, I’m your next-door neighbor, Y/N, and I wanted to welcome you to this state-of-the-art building," gesturing to the greasy box. Your free hand juts out as you leisurely introduce yourself.

 “Also, as a sorry for your first impression of me being my wonderful self post-work shift,” you quickly add on. 

He stares at you for a second before taking your hand and introducing himself with a smile.

“Hi, I’m Parker-” he pauses and shakes his head, seemingly messing up, “um Peter Parker; not just Parker,” He awkwardly chuckles. “And I accept your welcoming-apology combo pizza. Please, come in,” he says, opening the door wider as he gladly gestures to you inside.

“I hope it’s pepperoni,” was heard muttering behind you as you shuffled around each other, entering Peter’s apartment, similar to yours. 

…

“So you’re telling me that someone almost started a fire because they forgot about their turkey in the dryer?” Peter questions, not believing anything about your other neighbor next door.

“I swear!” you exclaim, “I know it sounds fake, but I spent days afterwards struggling to get rid of the burnt turkey smell that somehow permeated into my apartment walls!”

You and Peter fall into a comfortable silence, the buzz of New York’s nighttime traffic backing it up. Your legs splay comfortably in front of you as you lean your head against the metal bars of his fire escape. Lying down the half-eaten piece of pizza in the box, you ask the question that’s been dying to be answered-

“I know I came here to put yesterday in the past, but I have to ask, what in the world were you doing using a sewing machine quarter till midnight?” 

Peter’s content expression falters for a split second, trying to come up with a believable lie.

“I um,” He stammers, closing his eyes for a second, trying to regain his composure, “I just had a hole in my um.. My work clothes. You know how it is, coming out of high school, trying to survive in New York City. The last thing I needed was to waste more money than I needed to.”

“Tell me about it.” You agree, succumbing to his lie, while he lets go of the breath he didn't know he was holding, shoulders slumping in relief. You reluctantly nod down at your watch, not realizing what time it is.

“Shoot,” you start panicking. 

“Hey, what's wrong?” Peter asks, confused by the sudden change in emotion.

“I didn’t realize how late it was. I’ve got to go, I have work in the morning. I’m so sorry!” you hurriedly explain, scrambling to stand back up, bummed by the sudden ending of your hangout.

He senses your guilt and reassures you that you did nothing wrong. You both climb back into the small studio apartment.

But before you were able to head back into your place, he catches your attention, “hey, uh… sorry that I held you up so much,” as if he was expecting you to interrupt with a flurry of reassurance, he continues, “I know that we just met but I’m kinda going through something right now and didn’t know how much I needed that until you came over.”

You give him a sweet, tender smile. “I’m glad I could help, and if I’m being honest, I don’t think I realized I needed that, too. Maybe we could hang out again sometime?”

“Yeah, I’d really like that,” He responds, “And I’ll try my best not to give in to the addiction of my sewing machine.” He adds on, giving you a playful smirk.

“I might just have to come over again if you do.”

You both gaze at each other, seemingly locked in a trance, until a loud crash from the next floor up brings you both out of it. Giving him a sheepish smile, you pad back into the privacy of your identical studio apartment, not realizing your “operation neighbor-truce” kickstarted a tradition neither one of you was willing to break.

…

You’ve always had the habit of doing “spur of the moment” actions, and most of the time, you’ve come to regret them–not this time. The moment you realized your most recent “spur of the moment” didn’t come back to haunt you was when Peter came knocking on your door, exactly a week later, staring at something on the wall with a hot, fresh pizza taking residence in his grasp when you opened your door. 

From him teaching you about the wonders of Star Wars to you showing him how addictive trashy reality shows were, you’ve never spent another Sunday bored or lonely. And with the collection of residents that live there, it was truly a wonder that you found each other, the only bright light in each other's lives at that point.

But then Peter started acting off; something obviously wasn’t right. The signs started showing up when you started seeing him sport bruises that weren't there the previous week.

And it became more and more obvious as time went on, no matter how hard he tried to cover it up. There would always be an injury he would fail to cover that you couldn’t help but glance at every so often; the injury that he would always have an excuse for, ready to blame a new inanimate object every week. 

And it sure didn’t help when scrolling on social media, you would see Spider-Man stopping more and more crimes, even more violent than the last.

The thought couldn’t help but creep into your mind that-no, no. That’s impossible; there’s no way that Peter Parker, your next-door, awkward, nerdy genius, would be Spider-Man. Every time the conspiracy popped into your mind, a detail would extinguish the theory.

So, in the end, you just brushed off any new injury, bruise, or healing wound as a result of clumsiness and continued with your weekly traditions. You thought this Sunday would be the same, ignoring any new discoloration for both of your sakes.

…

It was your turn this week to provide the “Sunday dinner” and you couldn’t be happier, even though your boss asked you to come in on the only free day of the week. As retribution, she let you off earlier than expected, allowing you to grab the pizza earlier than you initially expected, opening up to you the possibility of more time together. 

Walking home from the pizzeria, you skimmed the most recent article about Spider-Man’s latest debacle, not paying attention to your surroundings, when a wave of people came surging out of a random restaurant, almost knocking you to your feet. Just as you regain your balance, you realize your hand is several pounds lighter. You start to dread the fact that your box of pizza is currently missing, and you’d have to pay for another. Just as you are about to turn around, a sound recognizable to any given resident of New York City draws you out from your headspace. You look up to see not only your pizza webbed to the restaurant's awning but a red and blue figure swinging in the distance.

You take the sudden pause in everyone's life as they pull out their phones, grab the pizza from its sticky webbing, and weave through the frozen crowd. Coming into the vicinity of the run-down building, you slow down as you enter through the sturdy doors and start to climb up the ancient stairwell up to the all-too recognizable fourth floor.

As you reach the door, you take a quick peek into the pizza box to make sure nothing fell off during your little escapade. Seeing as nothing was wrong, you nod in satisfaction, proud that you were able to get from your work to the pizzeria, and finally back home in under an hour while your pizza went through a romp. 

You knocked on the door once, twice, maybe three times, and yet you were met with silence.

“Huh,” you muttered, confused about why Peter didn't answer the door yet.

 You had his schedule down to a T. He never had anything planned during this time; neither of you did. You double checked your phone, internally crossing off the idea that you forgot to tell him that you were getting dinner tonight early. You fished out the “emergency” key Peter had given you, internally damning your overcrowded keychain, and let yourself in.

“I’ll just surprise him when he gets home,” you softly spoke to yourself as you forced the finicky door open.

Re-locking the door, you were met with the rustle of the window across the apartment opening. You felt your heart fall to the pits of your stomach as you rushed behind the semi-wall, the only thing separating you from the intruder. Just as you hear the window closing, you peek your head out from the wall to get a description of the intruder, if you had to resort to fleeing the premises.

“Holy shit.”

…

Both you and the figure stared at each other. The only difference was that your mouth was gaping open in shock, and his face was overtaken with fear.

Looking back, you were your missing neighbor, drenched in sweat, and dressed in Spider-Man’s suit with his mask hanging from his hand. You push the pizzas onto the nearby counter and start the seemingly long trek to Peter with your face still glued together in shock, mouth sputtering open and closed like a fish out of water. 

Peter’s face morphed from fear to cowering in on itself, trying to protect the last bit of warmth from your friendship before it would inevitably end-

“How are you not dead yet?”

He looks back up to meet your eyes, filled with worry instead of disgust.

“I mean seriously,” you start, huffing incredulously, “With all that I’ve read, how have you not gotten yourself killed from what you put yourself through?”

Peter's tensed-up shoulders started to melt with relief as his true identity was met with a genuine worry and comfort for his well-being, and not fear and horror for what he was accused of.

“You aren’t scared of me? Like not even a smidge of worry that I might..” He trails off.

“What…like you might kill me? Of course not!” You answer with humor woven through the worry and relief of your tone. 

Your smile starts to fade when you realize Peter’s expression hasn’t wavered.

“Peter,” you grab his attention, “You aren’t actually worried you might hurt me…right?”

Right as you finish your sentence, Peter’s face starts to contort to prevent any tears from spilling over, and his breathing turns erratic as he melts to the ground. You rush over to catch him before he can hit the floor, and you lower both of your bodies till you are both secure on the ground.  

“Hey,” you grab his face, making his eyes connect with yours, “It’s ok, you’re ok. I’m here, I’ll always be here”, You inhale and exhale, “There's nothing you could do to get rid of me. I’ll be here, even when we’re angry, or sad, or even when you just don’t want me to; I’ll always just be one thin wall over”. 

Releasing the dam that held the wave of tears, Peter breaks down in your arms as you hold him close to your heart with his head tucked under your chin.

“It’s ok, just let it all out,” you say as you steadily rub small circles on his back. You stop rocking when the tears fail to continue. Hearing a sniffle, you look down and meet his bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, I’m sorry for all of this,” Peter starts, “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, and now I’ve made a mess on your sweater”.

You follow his line of sight to where his eyes meet your chest. “Peter, it’s just a sweater, and I can throw it in the wash”.

Grabbing his attention, you scratch the crown of his head, making his eyes shoot back up to meet yours. “There’s absolutely nothing to be sorry for; it’s not healthy keeping this all bottled in, and I don’t know how long you’ve kept it in, but it was bound to come out one way or another; it just happened to come out with me.”

Releasing him from your hold, you start to stand up.

 “You know what’ll make you feel better? Some lukewarm pizza and trashy reality TV.”

…

It’s been two and a half weeks since Peter’s secret identity was accidentally revealed to you. But since then, your bond has just steadily strengthened to where you knew exactly what the other needed from one glance at their face. 

It was a simple Wednesday evening; spent heating yesterday’s leftovers and swaying around the studio floor to the music blasting in your headphones-

BANG

You jump up, causing your headphones to clash on your counter, pushing a drying pan to clatter on the ground. You swing around to try and locate the noise when you see a red and blue figure standing on your fire escape, pointing to the lock on your window. 

Walking over to unlock the latch on your window, you let Peter in, and instead of going straight to the couch, he falls into your arms with a grunt. You watch as he struggles latching onto his mask to take it off while you readjust your grip under his arms. When he finally gets a good grasp and pulls it off, you take a sharp breath, scanning his face and taking in the numerous bruises, cuts, and abrasions.

“Jesus, Peter, what the hell happened to you?” you mutter, holding his chin to take in the damage, causing him to hiss. “Sorry Pete”, you exclaim, dropping his chin to regain your grip on his arm. 

“Let’s get you to the bathroom, yeah?”

You drag him to the small room at the end of the hallway and lift him onto the toilet seat, causing Peter to groan.

“I know, I know. I think I have a small first aid kit somewhere, but if not, I’m just going to grab some stuff to clean you up, okay?” You pat his cheek as you stand up to locate the kit; lord knows you won’t even attempt to fight him to see someone qualified. You start to dig through the junk drawer and pull out the small first aid kit you got the day you moved in. You reach over to grab the hydrogen peroxide and a bottle of water. Rushing back to the bathroom, you tap Peter’s head repeatedly to make sure he didn’t die, and start cleaning up the blood. Peter squints his eyes open, adjusting to the brightness of the bathroom.

“Hey, pretty boy, let’s keep those eyes open, yeah?”

Peter lazily watches you struggle to clean him up, at some point hissing in reaction to you pushing too hard on one of his cuts.

“Sorry!” you wince, dropping his face to wring out the bloodied rag, “It would be really helpful if you could direct me around this. I thought I told you this, just because I intern in health, does not mean the scrubs aren’t performative. You need actual medical attention beyond this bathroom.”

He mumbles something, too quiet to make out, while you run the rag under water. 

“What was that, sweets? You gotta speak up for me. I know it's hard, but we gotta make sure you stay awake, ‘kay?”

“M’kay,” Peter drawled out, spidey-senses catching the tremor in your hand and voice, “You don’t gotta do this for me.”

“And let Spiderman bleed out in my bathroom? I’m good,” you sarcastically replied, “And besides, I could never let you deal with something while you're hurting, that's what friends are for.”

While you turn away to grab the hydrogen peroxide from the counter, Peter lifts his head, eyes dimming, as they meet your back. 

“Yeah.. friends” he whispered. 

You turn back around with the rest of the needed supplies and finish fixing Peter up, with hisses and following soothing apologies. 

“There, all fixed. I have to say, this is probably my best work,” you joke as you use two fingers to softly move his head around to inspect while his eyes are glued on your face and eyes. “You hungry? I think I have some leftovers?”

“No, I think I just need to sleep. If I can crash on your couch?”

“Yeah, no, you’re sleeping in an actual bed; I am definitely not letting you out of my sight tonight, nor am I letting you sleep on that dingy couch in this state.”

Peter puts his weight on the counter as he pulls himself up from the toilet and trudges behind you back into the main area, too tired to fight back. He lets you lead him to your room as you fight with his suit to peel it off. Running around to your dresser, you pull out a worn t-shirt and a pair of sweats he left over a while ago. It takes a couple of minutes, but Peter and you manage to get the clothes on, fighting with his half-conscious state.

He doesn't even have the energy to question the sleeping arrangement before he falls onto the bed, a blanket quickly following. His eyes become heavy with every second, as he feels a dip on the other side of the bed. Right before he fully let himself rest, he felt a slight pressure on his forehead, like a fluttering kiss.

“Goodnight, sweet boy,” you whisper, “You’ll be okay, I won't let anything happen to you, I promise.”

…

Peter wakes up the following morning to rays from the sun penetrating through the sheer curtains you refused to get rid of. You, however, were nowhere to be seen. So, he does the most reasonable thing–follow the smell of food cooking. 

“Hey Pete, I got some breakfast cooking up, you’ve got to be hungry by now.”

He grunts in response as he treks over to the small kitchen area. You push a plate full of breakfast foods into his chest as he comes into your presence. As you join him at the small table, silence quickly fills the room, only forks scraping across the ceramic plates daring to break it. You drop your fork and quickly rub your face.

“Peter,” you start, “you can’t just..”

“ I can't do what?” he challenges.

“You can’t go around, putting yourself in harm's way, like you have nobody caring for you or worrying about your well-being.”

“That's because I don't.” Peter stares you directly in the eye

You falter, “What do you mean ‘you don’t’?”.

“I mean ever since I 'killed' Mysterio, I have lost people left and right, and now, because of a single decision, I lost everyone; I have no-fucking-one, that's what I mean.”

Silence quickly and suffocatingly fills the room again. As Peter stares down at his plate, jaw clenched, you whisper, “You have me.”

Peter lifts his head to meet your dimmed eyes.

“You have me, Peter, and I don’t think you realize that. You don’t know how scared I get every time I see your alias in a headline or how sick I become with worry every time you have a new injury. Seeing you last night in that state scared me so badly.”

You stop and take a breath before you continue: “You're not invincible, no matter how many times you put that mask on. Like it or not, people do give a shit about you, one of them being me. So this is your choice, you can either start to confront your past and put your wellbeing first, or you can keep on ignoring the hurt inside of you.”

Peter continues to stare at you, with tears starting to dim his vision.

“It’s a decision that you need to make by yourself. Now I’m gonna go for a walk, I want you to call me when you make up your mind.”

You start to get up, not breaking eye contact until you turn to grab your shoes and keys. As you go to turn the doorknob, it starts to act up. You turn around, using your back to push open the door, catching Peter’s eyes again, the last thing you see being the tear falling down his face before the door burst open and you slipped out, leaving Peter alone to defeat the war waging in his brain.

…

Peter watched as the food on his plate lost its warmth, growing cold as the love and security he had watched walk out through the door, forcing him to come face-to-face with what he had become so accustomed to before he had met you. 

Trying to bounce back–all alone, after losing friends, family, and mentors–was hard. He knew it would take a toll on him, but he didn’t know just how much it would hurt. He threw himself back into the world that he found comfort in–the world he’s able to hide behind a mask in, and paradoxically hold a sense of control.

 And yet, he never realized how much he missed having someone in his “regular” life. He didn’t know which gods answered his wishes, or what finally fell into place, but deciding to fix up his suit, a layer that took everything away, would change his life for the better and give him back something he thought he had lost forever. 

You pounding on his door late at night threw him back into the life he had to let go of. He knew someone would get hurt if he continued trying to separate his two sides, but they started to muddle together.

He became greedy–sloppy in following the rules he initially set for himself, in return for the comfort of it all, for the pounding in his chest, the ringing in his head. You’ve seen the good, the bad, and the ugly: the world slamming its weight onto his shoulders, being labeled as a murderer, and giving everyone reason to run, and yet, you stayed. He knew he was taking the warnings for granted. 

Now? He’s coming back to the fact that he’ll lose what he cherishes yet again. 

Peter has two choices: move past his past and continue as he was, or learn to face his history and overcome it with someone by his side. He eyed his cellphone, lying on the counter, tossed onto the surface after being dragged in from the previous night.

He’s one call away, either from being shoved back to the dark prison of his mind or learning to heal, even if it hurts. 

His chair scratched against the floor as he moved to make his decision. Grabbing the phone, his fingers shook as he started to type in the number he had memorized time and time again, seared into his brain as the one person he could always go to after having nothing and no one. The phone rang, breaking the suffocating silence.

“Hey-”

You abruptly interrupt him with a frantic tone, making his heart plummet.

“Peter, baby-thank god-there’s some fucker down here by that one pretentious record shop you dragged me to last month, in some huge metal suit-oh shit- you just need to get here no-,” the call hangs up on your distraught tone, but not before Peter booked it to your bathroom to grab his still blood-stained mask.

…

“-Get here now! I know your super-self is a hot topic, but I need you,” you yell into a phone that disconnected you from a holy grail. 

You hold your hand to your forehead, stuck in the middle of the same situation you argued with Peter about. Turning around in a state of hyperventilation, you see an alleyway tucked between two miscellaneous buildings ahead, and book it.

Twenty feet away, you feel the ground vibrate with the steps of what looks like an oversized metal rhino headed straight toward-

“OH MY GOD,” you begin to screech as you lift into the air, only stopping when your vision begins to focus, a familiar scheme of colors enveloping your body. 

You shift to grasp onto Peter’s abdomen and shoulder, digging your head into his neck so as not to watch him swing across buildings hundreds of feet in the air, until you feel your feet slowly descend onto solid ground. Opening your eyes to meet the white covering his own, you shudder out whatever air you held in your throat. 

Peter takes hold of your shoulder, checking your state, ensuring your safety before his own.

“Are...are you ok? He didn’t hurt you or anything?” his head frantically moving like you were the only one capable of keeping it on straight, ensuring your safety before his, “I need to go deal with him, but you?  You stay put right here until I come back, alright?” 

You nod your head, eyes shellshocked, and eyebrows furrowed in a state of frenzy as he places his gloved hands on your cheeks to slightly pull down your head, placing a chaste, fabric-covered kiss on your forehead, “Good girl.”

You snap your head up as he swings off, back towards the scene of the crime. You take a second to look around at your surrounding environment, at the moment, of a roof, with a feeling of heat invading your cheeks, and crawling up your ears. 

“There's nowhere I can go,” you mutter, allowing your feet to lead you to the ledge to attempt to keep an eye on him, only able to see flashes of glinting nickel, red, and blue in the distance. So, you lower yourself until you feel the gravel underneath your still-shaking body and take several deep breaths as you wait for him to come back to you.

…

The overcast clouds ahead swirl, mirroring your body pulling itself in and out of a daze. Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you pull yourself back to earth, yelping at the contact.

“Woah, woah, it’s just me,” he pulls off the mask, “it’s just your Peter,” not wanting to frighten you further. 

You clamber back onto your feet and throw your weight onto him, shoving your face into his chest as he reciprocates fully, “I know you’ve dealt with much worse, but it’s so much worse than I thought it would be in person.”

“I know, that’s why I’m scared.”

You snap up your head, but not before he lets go, instead moving an arm to hug your shoulders as he leads you to the edge, giving you a signal telling you to hold on, and leaps off the rooftop. Sweat, a tinge of iron, and the musk that you could only associate with the feeling that being with Peter brings–the only things grounding you as you fly through the wind of city smog and the smoke of defeat.

This time, however, your eyes stay open, prancing around as you spot your apartment fire escape up ahead. As he lands both of you safely, you take this chance to confront the man. You know him too well to know he won’t take this excuse for avoidance for granted. 

“Peter, wait-” you clasp onto his wrist as he tries to leave “-we can’t just not talk about this, please don’t shut me out, not now,” you plead with him as you feel him slipping away, both physically and emotionally.

You search his face for any sort of reaction, yet it remains blank, his tell-tale sign of shielding you out. You reach out and find nothing, you feel nothing, even as he still stands there with a guarded look you’ve waged an ongoing war against for months.

But this time it’s different; you pull back and wave your white flag, letting go of his wrist, dragging your arms to closely guard what you’ve given to him so openly. You let your face fall so openly, watching as his eyes widen slightly, the only reaction you’ve been able to coax out of him.

“I can’t do this, Peter. I love you, but how can I trust that you reciprocate it if you can’t give yourself the grace to fill your soul with your love?”

Silence, but not without eyes pleading you to take back your surrender. But you refuse to fall so easily as you force yourself to squeeze both your body and bruised heart through the unlocked window.

…

It’s been several weeks of radio silence- no Sunday pizza, no friendly banter, nothing. And granted, the last time you saw him, you gave him a taste of his own medicine, but your body was still adjusting to the lightness that comes with a bare heart. You’re beginning to tell how much it’s actually impacting you; you’re barely holding onto your scholarships at this point, while also struggling with your community health internship (it’s become obvious how you were able to snag it with so little academic experience).

But you refuse to be the one to reach out–Peter’s a grown adult too, with the free will to at least say something, and yet, crickets.

Maybe if you hadn’t forced the ultimatum on him, if you hadn’t gone for the walk, he would still be in your life, still making outdated pop-culture references, still nudging your knee in the late evenings, still invading your heart and mind at all times, still-

No, you force yourself out of your spiral, I told him, it was his decision whether or not to let me in, it’s not fair to play this one-sided game of cat and mouse. It doesn’t matter if the world is ending, again, he needs to make his choice… your manic pondering halted as you come up with the conclusion that he made his choice.

Yeah, he made it the second he refused to engage, even after you played his damsel-in-distress. Maybe it’s delusional thinking, but you don’t have time to dabble into healthy coping mechanisms-you’re already late at this point- as you slam your door, leaving your spiral to brew.

…

Peter jumps at the unmistakable sound of your door; each time you leave, becoming more aggressive as he continues to avoid and push away his problems. He doesn’t know why he’s actively avoiding you; who is he kidding? He knows exactly why. Phone in hand, he stares at it, begging for Strange to take him back in time. 

He was ready–he had his decision ready–but too much time had passed. If he had just called after you, begged you to stay, he wouldn’t have psyched himself out–he wouldn’t have single-handedly proved to you why you’re right. You always are; you’ve weasled past his built-up walls and watched in the dark, studying his every tell and give, until you knew how to break him down.

But he knows you could never; instead, you’ve dedicated your craft to supporting his weight, but he refuses to accept it.

Days pass, and nights are spent lying awake. He can’t figure you out, or he can–his mind won’t let him figure out why he’s so hesitant to let you back in after kicking you to the curb. His heart, on the other hand, knows exactly why.

As much as he lets his mind think that it’s safer to continue on this track and continue to shut you out, he knows he can never truly do that to himself, to do that to you.

So, he continues to let his mind wander until he can figure out how to muster up the courage to face you, to face the truth and the reality of the situation at hand. 

Soon enough, it becomes too much but not enough to claim defeat, so Peter does the next best thing: surround himself with you in theory. His days blend–wake up, go for a walk, trashy reality TV, patrol, rom-coms, and repeat.

Sometimes, he catches himself hoping you hear, hoping that the walls convey his pining and need for your presence, and yet you don’t respond. 

…

It was a particularly grueling evening of patrol, one of those days that he knows will leave an annoying ache in his back for him to deal with in the morning. Peeling off his suit, he goes through the usual steps of the rest of the night, finally dipping into the couch and grabbing the remote near the movie rack.

He doesn’t know how it happened, but he subconsciously gravitates towards the DVD you left behind on a random Sunday. He doesn’t know why he still has it, but he doesn’t complain. It was one of your favorites, one you would always turn on after a difficult couple of days, several of those watches being with him. The Princess Diaries: It wasn’t one he fully paid attention to, but he still recognized the plot and bantered with you as the characters make stupid decisions, and continue to prance around the truth. So, he plops it in the player. He realizes why you like it so much. 

Maybe it’s the distance between you that makes him crave the memories. Maybe he finally decided to listen. But nearing the end, Peter comes thrashing around for the remote, pausing on a certain scene, one that feels all too familiar to him.

As he watches Michael be delivered a M&M-covered pizza, his head flares with a radiating flash of heat, chest pounding, as he finds his answer. It was in front of him all along, you. His worldview comes crashing down as pieces click together faster than he can control them.

He didn’t need some multiversal answer; he just needed you, he always does.

…

It felt like you didn't even know what day of the week it was, your body reverting to the monotonous routine of going through the motions. You trudge through the apartment building, one foot in front of the other, until you stop.

Your brain malfunctions as you look up in confusion. You see his door, and your heart does a small flip, until you push it down, and push through until you reach your door and practically slam your way into your home.

Peeling off your scrubs, you push through your state of exhaustion and continue going through the motions until you end up in your worn college freshman t-shirt and a pair of lounge shorts.

You practically sink into your couch, comforted by a lack of silence that hugs your mind, still stuck in a state of overstimulation. And you just relish in it. 

It isn’t until a series of knocks, a sound you knew exactly who it belonged to, disturbed your state of solitude. Against your better judgment, your heart leads the way as you pad to the doorway. You open it, just enough to see him standing there with the facial expression morphing from hopeful to a kicked puppy when he catches your reaction. And there he stands, holding a pizza.

“It’s not Sunday.”

“It’s been a lot of Sundays, just making up for lost time,” he gives you that grin that almost makes you want to swing the door all the way open.

You eye him, “What do you want?”

He drops his expression, licking his lips like he has the gall to prepare to talk to

Your eyes drop to the pizza box he opened up. It takes a second, but it hits you. Down, sitting on the top of the pizza, were a handful of M&M’s arranged in one word: sorry. Your eyes shoot up to meet his–sheepish and shifty, until they meet yours. Your mouth opens and closes, head shaking in disbelief, as you open up the door wider and step aside. 

Peter takes the unspoken invitation to silently slide inside and walks over to place the pizza on your kitchen counter. You pad back inside, opting to sink back into your couch, once a source of comfort, now barely supporting you from going down. Peter opts to stand, walking around, something stemming from his nerves.

“The Princess Diaries, huh? I knew I wasn’t crazy when I heard ‘Stupid Cupid’ coming from your apartment,” you’re words cutting through the silence. Nothing followed.

You open your mouth, ready to offer up another retort, until you’re interrupted.

“No, I…I need to to get this out before I decide to turn around and walk right out that door,” he stares everywhere but you, “The past few weeks have been nothing but torture for me. I mean I resorted to watching ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’  and…”  gesturing towards the candy-covered pizza, “‘The Princess Diaries’ to fill the space because I missed you, and I needed you. I didn’t know how to reach back out and grab your hand, to interlock, because I was scared, I am scared. I know I don’t talk much about what happened in my life before this apartment and before meeting you. But I lost people, I lost everyone I loved, because of who I am. I mean, I was scared shitless when I called you, and the only thing I heard was you in danger. I…I,” he takes a shuddering breath, not realizing your eyes began to glass over.

“I couldn’t lose you, not when you’ve made such an imprint on my life–not when you taught me how to love again. And I know it doesn’t excuse my actions, and I know I don’t know how to truly make it up to you, but I am so sorry I hurt you when I thought I was helping you, that I was pushing you away when I thought I was protecting, saving you. I don’t know if you truly know just how much you, our Sundays, and everything in between mean to me. I don’t think I knew it at the time, but when you saw me in my suit for the first time, and your first comment was about being worried for me, I was gone–long gone. And I don’t care if this ruins everything, but I would do anything to be able to grow with you forever. If you even loved just half of how much I love you, I would be the luckiest-”

You cut him off, reaching to cup his cheeks, as your lips softly meet his. It’s sweet, tender. It catches Peter off guard, standing there in shock, until his heart kicks his brain into motion. His hands curl to rest on your neck and pull you in closer at the small of your back. Your ears buzz with frequency as his lips gently glide against yours.

It’s nothing like you thought it would be; instead of fireworks in your head and butterflies swarming in your stomach, the world silences itself for once. White noise of adoration and contentment fills up your ears, blocking out anything and everything as you can only focus on this.

You pull away, a giddy smile resting across your face as you search his eyes for more. And he follows up.

He captures your lips again, this time impatient, making up for lost time. Your hands slide up to tangle your fingers in his hair, butterflies starting to flit around in your stomach as you begin to grin into the smile, lips slotting against each other as you reach a rhythm.

Each caress against him injects life back into your palpitating heart. It isn’t until you let go, him chasing after the loss of warmth, that you chuckle. Peter lets his forehead fall against yours as he has a relieved smile that paints itself on his face, ears tinged red, cheeks flushed. 

“Hi.”

“...hi,” he manages to breathe out.

“Took you long enough, a bit too long in my opinion.”

He gives you a breathy laugh as he captures your lips again, now instead placing familiar, chaste kisses, and picks you up as you both land on the couch.

You aren’t sure when you lingered over to the furniture, but you didn’t complain as both of your eyes searched each other, finding relief in the burning cheeks and dilated pupils.

You can’t help but shake your head, smiling, as you slide off his lap and tuck into his side. Taking a deep breath, you melt into him, head dropping onto his shoulder, as he turns to kiss you on the crown of your head while his arm snakes around to hold you close. 

“You know, before all of this, I was ready to leave and move to some place halfway across the country–somewhere smaller, and a little less lonely. I spent days hoping for someone, something, to show me my silver lining in all of this; something to tell me I’m not crazy for sticking it out. And then someone decided to send you my way–you and your sewing machine,” you lean your head up as his eyes meet yours. 

“I didn’t know it at the moment, but everything finally just fell into place, even when I thought it was just a myth.”

Peter gives a smile, one that can tell you everything–every crease and slope holding its own message. In that moment, it didn’t matter what was going on in the world, what role you had to fulfill, because you had each other, fully and wholeheartedly incandescent.

And so, the sun begins to set outside your window, its final rays spilling over the curve of Peter’s nose and onto your features.

With that, your current chapter in life is coming to an end, one filled with highs and lows. However, endings are never truly set in stone, but rather marked by a transition crafted with hope. Although the sun’s descent falls over your little apartment, it will soon rise again. And even as the moon marks its absence, the light will still shine upon your soul.

You can’t count on life to stay still; everything it creates is born to be ephemeral, so as long as the light shines, you must grow. But you never have to truly do it alone. Even as one of life’s true constants, the sun always changes–and so will you.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you” Peter smiled back, his tone amused, before turning his chair and taking off his glasses.

“Things are weird at mine and you weren’t answering your phone, soooo.” you shrugged, dramatically falling onto his bed earning a laugh in response. 

“Got caught up studying, sorry, baby.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“C’mere” he motioned his head. You smiled, getting up and moving to sit on his lap, legs draped over his thighs and back against his armrest. 

Peter smiled at your giddiness and moved some hair from your face. “You look pretty, you always look pretty.” 

You tilted your head, bringing your shoulders up as if to hide the way your cheeks got warmer at his compliment. “Thanks, Pete.” 

“Course,” he brushed his knuckles over your jaw. “You okay?” Peter’s voice was softer, recalling just a moment earlier when you mentioned home. You hummed a quiet “mhmm” in response, giving a small smile of reassurance that you really were. 

He nodded tilting his head, “‘M glad you’re here, I needed a break.” Peter’s voice was quiet, fingers still lingering on your skin. 

“Did you just admit to needing a break? Where’s Peter Parker? What did you do to my boyfriend?” You started laughing halfway through your questions when Peter dug his face into your neck, chuckling into your hair. 

His hand finally fell from your face and you were able to catch a glimpse of the silver band wrapped around his pointer finger. “That’s new, was it Ben’s?” you asked softly, running your nails across the nape of his neck. He hummed in response, not quite ready to move but that hadn’t stopped you. 

Your free hand moved to hold his hand and you patted his shoulder with the other so he would sit back up, and when he did, you had already begun searching his drawers for any form of a string you could find. 

Peter watched, silent and confused, a small frown settling on his face to match his furrowed brows. Though he was grateful he had shoved away any spidey gadget you’d be able to find.

With a quiet ah-hah! Sound you picked up a piece of string you had no doubt left there when making friendship bracelets for whatever concert you had that week. “I told you to throw away the scraps” You smiled at him, shutting the drawer. Peter couldn’t help smiling back as he took it from you and stretched it out. “This is a perfect length. I couldn't let you waste it.” 

You giggled and took a ring off of one of your fingers, the most dear one you’d had. Then you held out your hand for his. Confused once more, Peter gingerly twisted the ring off of his finger and set it in your hand. 

“What are you doing?” he finally asked, watching you tie the rings onto the string. 

“Predicting the gender of our first baby.” 

Peter let out almost a cackle at that, throwing his head back. “Sweetheart, don’t you have to be pregnant for that?” He certainly wasn’t going to fight you over the belief of old wives tales, no harm no foul. 

You smiled, “shut up, hold out your hand.”

He did as asked, of course, and chuckled as you steadily held the rings over his hand. 

“Okay, back and fourth, means boy, circle means girl.” 

“I really think we’re supposed to be married and expecting for this-” You shushed him with a quick kiss before repositioning yourself and letting the rings swing. 

“Circle, it’s a girl.” Peter said, nodding. You furrowed your brows, “that is clearly back and fourth, our baby is a boy.” 

He chuckled, “From my angle, that is a circle!” 

You smiled, “Peter, it’s a boy!” “You know what?” Peter took the string and abandoned it on his desk before swiftly taking your face in his hands. 

You giggled, “what?” 

“Long as she’s healthy,” Peter murmured, pressing his lips to yours.

“He”