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starlordsandrockets · 1 year

Text

The Bet

pairing: college!Peter Parker x Reader: 18+ , fake dating

word count: 9k

summary: You find yourself in attendance of a Gala with Peter Parker as your (fake) date. The two of you end up making a bet: Peter tries to make you fall for him by the end of the night.

a/n: sorry, i found myself in the worst case of writer’s block i’ve had in awhile. ANYWAY, i hope this makes up for it

“All I’m saying is that you’re going to look ridiculous,” Tony spoke. The rim of an almost empty glass of whiskey sat against his smiling lips, “Even Nat’s bringing a date and you two are two sides of the same coin. I don’t see how you can’t put up with a man for just one night,” Your gaze made him choke on his drink slightly, “or, or a woman?” He questioned, unsure of the reason for your deadly glance.

“I-I could get a date,” You stuttered, bringing your own glass to your lips. You crossed your legs, the black dress sat tightly against your knees. A pair of equally dark heels sat on your feet. The shoe dangled off your elevated foot, “I just chose to go stag, more of my vibe, you know,” You laughed it off.

“You’re a real lone wolf,” Tony spoke, “Are those still called bitches? Or is that just dogs?”

“Fuck off,” You groaned, finishing off your glass, “I’ll find a guy at the gala, alright. Spare me,”

“No, spare me,” Tony spoke, placing a hand on his chest dramatically, “Stark bringing along a virgin of an intern. All brain and no game,” He almost slurred, “But I guess that modest dress makes you kind of sexy in a mysterious way,”

“Forgive me for not breaking out my little black dress,” You told him, “It’s a gala. At an art museum, it’s not like we’re going to some night club”

“Oh, we’re not?” Tony questioned, “Then why are you totally pregaming with me right now,” He poured you another glass of whiskey with a shit eating grin.

“It’s the only way I can deal with you,” You admit with a smile, “This way you get a little more tolerable,”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Tony spoke, raising another glass. However, his toast was cut short as someone caught his eyes, “Ah! Pete! Perfect, absolutely perfect,”

You turned your head, your loose, y/h/c waves twirling, “Come on, Mr. Stark,” Peter spoke, a sigh passed through his lips as he noticed Tony’s buzzed state, “There’s still like, an hour ‘til we leave,”

“Yeah! Perfect, enough time for you to have a drink with us,” Tony smiled, walking towards Peter. He took hold of Peter’s arm, dragging him into the lounge.

Peter wore a black suit, nothing fancy besides the luxury brand Tony had paid for. His hair was gelled into place and it made you laugh to yourself, “What?” Peter questioned as he heard you almost giggle. A subtle blush sat on his freckled nose. A drink found a way into his hand as he stared at you, “Mr. Stark, you know I won’t feel a thing from this,”

“Humor me, kid,” Tony spoke, “Er- us,” He motioned towards you.

You were reclined on Tony’s expensive couch as you bounced the heel that sat loosely on your foot, “Please, I’m being held here against my will,” You spoke, making Peter smile. You extended your arm, placing it on the back of the couch. Stretching, you pinched your shoulder blades without a thought. However, Peter’s thoughts were racing, the position pushing out your chest, drawing all of Peter’s attention to you. He did not think you could consume any more of his thoughts than you already did, but here he was. Knocking back whatever liquid was in the glass Tony had given him, he swallowed it in hopes of also swallowing his dirty thoughts. As he expected, it did not work.

“Y/N needs a date tonight,” Tony spoke as you took a large sip, making you instantly choke. The action was not comical, like in the movies and books, but had you embarrassingly gasping for air and coughing up a lung, “As charming as she is in this very moment, do you think you could do me a favor and not let her show up like that,” Tony spoke, “She’s my intern and I’d hate to have her overshadowed by me, and Pepper, of course. So what better than my intern showing up with my totally-not-an-Avenger, and totally real intern,”

“Are you sure this isn’t another, against her will sort of situation?” Peter questioned as you continued to cough, physically unable to say no.

“She’s not objecting,” Tony placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder, giving him a drunken shake.

***

“After the carpet, I’m finding the drinks and leaving your ass,” You spoke, “I don’t care if people think I’m alone, okay.”

“Yeah… right,” Peter spoke as he sat next to you in the long limo. The two of you sat somewhat isolated from the others. The group was paired off and in their own world, leaving the two of you to realize just how alone you really were, “Me too, I wanted to come alone anyway,”

“Me too,” You added, repeating your previous claim. Your hand found the vodka cranberry that the limo’s bar provided, “I’ve always been alone,” You informed as you brought the glass to your lips, “Why start now,”

***

You felt your stomach turn as the camera flashed. You had yet to place a single one of your black heels on the red carpet of the gala and you instantly regretted the drinks you downed to calm your nerves, “Hell no,”

“You’ll be fine,” Peter spoke, “They probably won’t even bother us if Mr. Stark’s around, not to mention everyone else,” He spoke, “Literally everyone but us,”

“That makes me feel so much better,” You almost laughed, “Thanks,” Your word was blunt. You were used to being in others' shadows. You rushed before Peter, wanting to spend the night the way you were used to: alone.

“Hey,” Peter spoke, unsure how he had upset you.

Since Peter could remember, you had always been standoffish, never reaching out for company at the compound. Always shutting yourself off in the lab, you would get your work done and leave if it was not too late of a drive. You would crash on the couch whenever Tony refused to let you leave after 1am. Tony never wanted to feel guilt of you overworking yourself in the lab only for you to fall asleep at the wheel on your drive home.

Peter recalled the sight of you sprawled out on the lounge’s large couch, a blanket tossed over you as it barely covered your exposed skin. Peter could not help falling for you after he caught that sight more than a few times. He had helped you through a few too many drinks, holding your hair as you emptied your night into Stark’s million dollar toilet. Peter was unsure if you remembered nights like that.

Peter knocked into you, bringing him back to reality as you stood frozen in front of the flashing cameras, “You’re Tony Stark’s intern, aren’t you?” Someone from the crowd questioned, voice booming over the other shouts, “Is it true you work on the Avenger’s upgrades?” The man asked.

“Y/N calls all the shots for Avengers’ upgrades,” Peter spoke next to you. Your head spun, not only from the attention, but towards Peter, “I- They’d be lost without her,”

He was not wrong. You fixed nearly all the flaws you found in Spider-Man’s suit. They were only flaws due to Peter’s way of thinking. Tony had designed the AI with himself in mind and not Peter, “Smile,” Peter whispered in your ear, sending a shiver up your spine. You could barely see, the white flashes blinding you. Reaching out, Peter placed his hand on the small of your back. Your lips parted, about to snap a sarcastic remark at Peter’s advancement, however, you felt his clammy hold through your dress’s thin fabric, making you smile.

***

“So,” You said, “You’d be lost without me?” Your question teased Peter as the two of you finally made your way into the gala’s main room.

“I can admit it,” Peter spoke, “I don’t have some weird complex like you, or Mr. Stark,”

“Don’t compare me to Tony,” You told him, still a little buzzed from not only the alcohol in your system but also the camera flashes, “God, if I get that bad kill me,”

“If you didn’t fix my suit, I might have by accident,” Peter admitted. He had eventually gotten the hang of his suit’s AI, however the changes you had made allowed him to fully master his potential, “but, yeah,” His words were smooth, “I would be lost without you, honestly,”

“Including now?” You questioned, now realizing you did not wish to face the night alone. Especially now that you have seen the amount of older men that would surely harass you if you found yourself alone, “so, leaving you behind would be a terrible idea,”

“Absolutely terrible,” Peter played along, a smile threatening to curl his lips. He knew your games and when you were hiding your true emotions, “I’m not sure if I could make it through this boring gala by myself. You’d be doing me a huge favor,”

“Yeah?” You questioned, “Then you owe me,” Your eyes searched for any amount of food you could ingest before you had more drinks to get you through the night.

“How is that fair?” Peter laughed, however, he had not made it known that he knew the facade you were putting up, “You know what, fine,” He gave in, “I owe you, whatever you ask,” As soon as the words left his lips he caught you smile, “No, no, no,” He rambled as he heard you laugh.

“Oh you can’t take it back,” You laughed, “This is going to be fun,” Peter followed you at your heels as you searched the huge gallery for food or drinks, “Maybe I’ll hold this over your head for a while,”

“Y/N,” Peter groaned, meeting your eyes. His regret faded as soon as he saw your smiling eyes and grinning lips. He was just glad that you were having a good time.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Your name was called out, attracting your attention as well as Peter’s to a man who seemed to be in his late thirties. He was cute. Peter must have read your mind, or maybe caught on to your swooning gaze, as his hand found the small of your back once again, “Pardon my interruption,” the man questioned Peter’s touch.

“No interruption,” You spoke, stepping out of Peter’s warm touch, “Just simply company, to get me through the night,” Peter stiffened at your words but your back faced him, unable to see the consequence of your claim, “Y/N Y/L/N,” You spoke, extending your hand.

The man smiled at Peter’s misfortune, “I’m glad to have caught you, I’m the gallery’s director,” He watched as your eyes lit up for a moment, “Phil Weston,” Phil introduced, “I was wondering if we could rent some of your work. Give you your own exhibition,” He watched as you stumbled over your thoughts before him, “Or should I be going through your assistant here?” He motioned towards Peter, “That’s what you are right?” He almost degraded.

“I’m a little more than that,” Peter spoke, unable to shine light on just how important he truly is. But you knew, he was sure you would back him up.

“Sure,” Phil spoke, “Well, Y/N,” Turning, he retrieved a tall glass from a woman who appeared behind him mid conversation. The glass of champagne made its way into your hand, your rings knocking against the thin glass. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small card, “Here’s my card,”

“Thanks Weston,” You smiled around the glass. Sticking the card between your two fingers, you flashed it to Peter, “Keep this safe for me,” You jokingly instructed, “assistant,” You heard Phil laugh as he departed.

“You’re ridiculous,” Peter spoke, not taking the card out of your grasp. The dark paper still waved in front of his face.

“Me?” You questioned with a bat of your lashes, with a smile you took a large sip of your drink.

“I know we’re playing a part here,” Peter spoke, “but you’re just standing there while that guy humiliates me,”

“I’m not playing a part,” You told Peter, “I call the shots, remember. And you owe me, I could have said something but then you’d owe me even more,” Alcohol coated your words as you studied the Avenger. A laugh bubbled between your lips as you began to tuck the business card into the small purse that sat at your side, “Forget it, Parker,” You informed, finishing off your champagne, “just help me find something else to drink,”

“I think you should eat something,” Peter spoke. Watching you walk away from him he reached out, taking hold of your wrist, “I mean, with how much you’ve been drinking,”

“Are you worried about me?” You asked with a sly smile, “I know you’re my fake date, but you don’t have to act like it,” Your eyes found a large table ordained with finger foods and drinks, “but I’ll humor you,”

“I just don’t want you finding yourself doing something you regret,” Peter spoke, thinking of Phil. He knew that you had more confidence when you drink. Hell, he hated it. You flirted with Peter almost every time you had one too many but in the morning the two of you could be mistaken as strangers, “Or make a complete fool of yourself,”

“That so?” You questioned as the two of you crossed the tiled floor of the museum.

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” Peter spoke from where he followed at your heels, “Little do you know, I have a decent amount of blackmail on half the compound. Sure it sucks that I can’t get drunk like the rest of you but, not going to lie, I think I have more fun watching you all make fools of yourselves,”

“What are you, a masochist?” You tease as you turn to him, drink in hand. You caught Peter’s stern glance, “Right, right,” You raised your free hand, retrieving a small sandwich, “See, food,” You stuffed the sandwich between your red lips, “Yum,” You spoke sarcastically, mouth full of food.

“How’d I land such a classy date?” Peter questioned, taking a drink from the table. He knew the alcohol would not affect his system but he did not want to look out of place.

“You wish you could land me,” You washed your food down with a large sip of wine.

“Ouch,” Peter spoke around his wine glass. He was unsure if he was just experiencing placebo from the wine but found himself speaking with newfound confidence, “I could land you… if I wanted,”

“Yeah?” You laughed, “I’d like to see that,” You admitted. You would be lying if you said you did not find Peter attractive. You have seen him at work, in the gym, you have seen him change in and out of his suit right in front of you. Peter might have not known but each time, you glanced at his toned body and mentally drooled. You would not mind if Peter pursued you, you just knew better. Peter was awkward and did not show much interest in you until tonight. He was just doing you a favor, keeping you company. He never spoke to you in the compound besides when he needed to, or when he said hello whenever the two of you passed each other in the large building, “But I know better,” You smiled, “know you better,”

“You think I won’t?” Peter questioned, watching you shrug your bare shoulders. He watched as another glass found its way into your hand, making his job a lot easier. You were a horny drunk and he was about to use that to his favor.

“Are you betting me?” You questioned almost excitedly, “Is this a bet? Please tell me you’re giving me another thing to hold over your head,”

“Sure, it’s a bet,” Peter spoke, taking another sip of wine, “But you have to be completely honest with me. No burying your feelings for me,” He informed, “Any time I ask, you have to tell me exactly how you feel,”

You almost gagged, but Peter was right, you should play fair, “Fine,” You rolled your eyes, feeling yourself begin to sway, “When’s the game start?”

“Right now,” Peter spoke, finishing off what was in his glass. Setting it down, he took yours from your grasp watching you shoot him an angry glance, “and you need to start off by telling me exactly how you feel about me,” His words were smooth, somehow forgetting that he normally had to build up the courage to just say hello to you but in this moment he was closing the space between the two of you, “I want to know what kind of a chance I even have,”

“I don’t think you have to work too hard,” You smiled, your lips beginning to numb. You stared up at Peter. Your eyes were able to count almost every freckle on his boyish face and god did you want to kiss them. Kiss him, even, “I’m kind of drunk,”

“Yeah,” Peter smiled, “I figured that much Y/N,” He whispered as if it was a secret.

“And it’s making you look cuter,” You whispered back, watching your words shoot through his heart like an arrow, freezing him in his tracks, “Even cuter than before,”

“Good to know,” Peter muttered to himself as he watched you take the wine glass back from his hand, your fingers brushing against his clammy hand.

***

“How’s the lone wolf holding up,” Tony questioned as he had excused himself from a conversation Pepper found herself in; checking in on you and Peter, but mostly you. Tony’s eyes followed you as you swayed, Peter’s hand supporting your lower back, “I see you’re holding her up,” He motioned towards Peter as you took another sip of wine, “How much has she had,”

“I lost count, but you know her,” Peter spoke, “She’s almost as bad as you,” He somewhat joked, watching Tony smile.

“I’m fiiiinne,” Your voice drew out, “I’m just bored, so I’m drinking. Sue me,” You groaned, turning to Peter, you studied him and how close he stood next to you, “Can we go dance,”

Peter’s eyes widened as he met Tony’s gaze. Tony sent him a suggestive gaze, “Yeah Pete,” He smirked, “You two should go dance, that’d be a much easier way to hold her up,”

“Pleaase,” You almost begged, “I can’t drink if I’m dancing,” You set your glass down, throwing up your hands in your defense.

“I guess that’s true,” Peter agreed, “Excuse us,” He spoke to Tony who sent him a lovey-dovey look, “Mr. Stark, please,” He muttered, leading you away from Tony and to the gala’s live string quartet.

“I love the violin,” You drunkenly gushed, “I’ve always wanted to play,” You twirled out of Peter’s hold as you entered the floor, bumping into a couple who slowly swayed to the sound. A laugh bubbled from your lips.

“I’m sorry,” Peter spoke, “Sweetheart, be careful,” He played along with your roles for the night.

“Hm, sweetheart?” You questioned as his hands fell against the fabric of your dress, “Out of all the pet names, you pick sweetheart?”

“What? You want me to call you dear? Like we’re sixty and unhappy,” Peter’s claim made you laugh, “I know better than to call you baby,” He spoke quietly, watching your nose wrinkle, “That’s what I thought,”

“It’s just so formal,” You teased, “I thought the gala was formal enough, but sweetheart? I’m swooning, darling,”

“Ah, darling,” Peter spoke as you brought a new pet name to light, “I still think sweetheart fits you,” The two of you moved in sync without a second thought as your conversation could barely be heard over the romantic strings.

“I know,” You smiled, “I’m a delight, the sweetest at the compound,” You played along.

“No,” Peter continued, “I think that’s Mr. Stark. But you’re a close second,” He spun you in his hold. His eyes studied you as you twirled before him, your hair bouncing as you smiled, a laugh falling between your lips. Your red lipstick no longer sat evenly on your skin from the amount of drink you had. Peter wondered if he should tell you, wondering if you wished to reapply the seductive red shade, however his eyes took you in instead, “You’re pretty,” The words slipped almost silently past his lips.

In an attempt to cover his claim, Peter pulled you back in, making your head spin. His action was quick, or so you thought, maybe you were just drunk, “Did you- did you just?” You stuttered, somehow his quiet claim made your heart flutter slightly. Peter’s dominant hand left the small of your back as it found its way to the side of your neck.

“How do you feel about me right now?” Peter questioned, it took everything in him to hold your eye contact, his body begging his gaze to fall to the necklace that sat against your skin.

You stared into his brown eyes, his gaze reflected sickly sweet puppy love back into your lone glance, “You called me pretty,” Was all you managed to speak, lost in Peter’s imploring gaze.

“Yeah… yeah I did. And how’d that make you feel?” Peter questioned, “Do you like it when I call you pretty?” He was no longer hesitant, realizing you probably will not remember most of the night, in the morning. Peter stared at your stunned expression, taken aback by his words, “You’re not saying no,”

“I’m just-“ You stuttered. The room twirled and you were unsure if it was from your moving feet or Peter’s sweet words. Returning to Peter’s hold, your hand fell to his chest defensively.

“I-I didn’t think you could get any prettier,” Peter spoke, words intertwining with the playing strings. Clearing his throat, he attempted to recover from his stuttered claim. Although he we determined to win your bet, you always managed to make him nervous, “Your hair looks nice curled and your eyes,” Peter rambled, “Your eyes are somehow making me more nervous than usual,” Your gaze was soft and intent, “and your dress,”

“Spare me,” You spoke, “Tony already gave me shit,” Your fingers fell from the fabric of Peter’s suit, touch trailing. Hand falling, it smoothed over the curve of your hip, “I guess I should have gone shorter,” Your eyes found a handful of women in short dresses.

“No-” His voice was almost desperate, “no- I mean. I like this dress,” He watched you raise your brows, eyes narrowing. Peter pulled you closer to him, building up the courage to express his next claim, “I’d rather think about what’s under it,” His voice was somehow smooth, “rather than seeing you in a short dress,”

“Y-Yeah?” You questioned, looking up at Peter’s blushed complexion. You felt your system warm, the alcohol still having an effect over you, “Want to see what’s under it?”

“W-What?” Peter questioned, his dancing pace slowing, “Y/N,” He laughed nervously. You were doing it again, being a horny drunk, “You’re drunk,”

“And you’re winning,” You admitted, “as much as I hate to say it,” The two of you stood on the dancefloor as the others danced around you. Your hands found their way to Peter’s chest, snaking up to his neck until your fingertips brushed against his warm cheeks, “You’re hot,”

“Y/N,” Peter spoke your name, as if he was trying to make sure that all of this was not a dream.

“Bathroom,” You interrupted.

“What?” Peter questioned, wondering if he heard you correctly, “Bathroom?” He watched you nod, feeling nerves rush through him, thinking all that alcohol finally caught up to you, “Yeah- yeah okay,” He helped you navigate your way off the dancefloor.

“Slow down,” You spoke, a little out of breath from keeping up with Peter’s gate in your heels.

Peter felt your fingers tickle against his skin, not realizing he had grabbed your hand to lead you through the crowds. He felt his confidence begin to crumble as he grew further and further away from the crowd.

The two of you traveled down the museum’s large stairs to the lower galleries and bathrooms. You felt the room begin to spin as you attempted to navigate the large concrete steps, “Shit,” You laughed, “These stairs are going to kick my ass,”

“Here,” Peter spoke, his hand fell from your hold. Reaching out, he wrapped an arm around you.

His hold steadied you but equally weakened your knees. Peter’s fingers dug into your shoulder as you looked towards him.

“What?” Peter questioned. Your gate slowed as you studied his face. You never thought he could get more handsome, but here he was helping you down a large staircase like you were some princess in a giant castle.

Did that make him the prince? Of course it did.

“I’m fucked,” You laughed, your claim was under your breath, however Peter’s hearing still picked up on it.

The claim, unknown to him, was because you found yourself falling even harder for him; however, he thought you were about to get sick. Slipping his free hand behind your knees, he easily scooped you up, literally sweeping you off your feet.

“What are you-“ You felt your face heat up at the sudden advancement, “What if someone sees- there’s cameras-“

Peter did not respond, he was far too focused on getting you to the bathroom. The remaining flight of stairs passed quickly under his shiny black shoes. Turning the stair’s corner, he brought you to the bathroom door that was tucked under the concrete stairs.

“What-What was that?” You questioned, hands gripping Peter’s shoulder, while the other found his hand that gripped underneath your thigh.

“I- What? What do you mean?” Peter questioned right back, “I thought you had too much to drink,”

“I just wanted to freshen up,” You stared back at him, realizing just how close the two of you were.

“Oh,” Peter spoke, embarrassment reddened his ears as he stared right back at you. Walking towards the wall, he pressed your open back against the concrete wall.

“Pete-“ You vocalized as the cold wall touched your heated skin. Your back arched away and towards him in his hold. Realizing your tone, your gaze fell to the floor.

Peter watched as your chest rose and fell heavily in front of him. The skin of your chest was peaking out with each intake, and it silently begged for his lips. He wanted to kiss you- well, he wanted to kiss you every moment he spent with you- but especially in this moment. Rounding his shoulders he brought his face in front of your downturned gaze. He grew closer and closer with each passing moment, eyes fixed on your own. He breathed a shaken breath, palms growing sweating as he inched closer to your lips.

Like ripping off a bandage, Peter was quick and rough. His lips pressed against yours, pushing you against the museum’s wall. You groaned against him in response to the impact, before kissing him back slightly. However, before you could fully reciprocate, you heard a pair of heels descending the stairs.

“Peter-” You stuttered against his lips, hands pushing against his chest. You buried yourself further into the wall in an attempt to escape his advancement, “Get- Let go-” You watched as your words finally registered in Peter’s brain, his hands dropping you to the floor. You struggled to keep your balance in your black heels. Without a thought, you turned and rushed off into the bathroom.

You placed your hands on the porcelain sink as you stared at yourself in the mirror. If you were not wearing makeup you would have probably splashed your face with cold water, or hell, you would have even slapped some sense into yourself. Suddenly the sound of the bathroom door made you stand up straight. You did not dare to turn your head, to check if it was Peter. You watched as a woman, a little older than you, smiled at you through the mirror. You gave her a weak smile in return, head still spinning in response to the kiss.

You needed to pull yourself together. You were slipping right into Peter’s grasp, not that it was a bad thing, you were just way too competitive. You wanted to win. Opening your small purse, you removed your lipstick. As you applied the shade to your lips, you were far too lost in thought. Staring back at yourself, you were surprised to see that you had mindlessly applied the satin formula.

The woman who had made her way into the bathroom now stood next to you at the sinks. You rubbed your lips together, blending the color evenly, “Having a good night?” You questioned her, preparing yourself for any conversation you would have with Peter.

“Oh yes,” She smiled, washing her hands gingerly, not wanting to bump her diamond bracelets against the porcelain, “I’m sorry for asking- you probably hear this a lot but, what is it like working for Tony Stark?”

Peter rocked up and down on his expensive dress shoes. You were taking fairly long. Peter had already calmed himself down in the men’s room after your heated kiss. But now, he knew he would have had time to relieve himself instead. What was wrong with him? It would not have been the first time he had touched himself to the thought of you, but it still felt wrong.

He kicked at the concrete floor, frustrated that your kiss was interrupted so quickly. Suddenly, Peter was pulled out of his thoughts as you exited the bathroom with the woman. You laughed beside her as you locked eyes with Peter, “It was a pleasure talking to you, Y/N,” The woman smiled, lightly setting a hand on your arm, “I’m sorry for keeping her,” She spoke to Peter.

Peter nodded out of courtesy as the two of you watched her climb the large stairs, “What was that about?” Peter questioned, taken aback by the sound of his own voice.

“Oh,” You spoke almost too casually, “She was asking me about Tony. Wanted to know what he’s like outside of the public eye, you know?”

“Yeah?” Peter laughed slightly, “I can imagine you only said nice things,” He joked, knowing how you and Tony bicker, “Obviously,”

“Oh of course,” You joked back. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. You watched Peter laugh beside you, leaning into you, and that is when you remembered the kiss. You must have visibly stiffened because it caused Peter to freeze as well.

“Y/N,” Peter spoke, watching you hesitate to meet his eyes.

You wanted to touch him, pull him against you and into the kiss that was so rudely interrupted. You wanted him to fill your free time, to watch his eyes squint whenever he smiled at your crude, dry humor, “You win,”

“What?” Peter questioned, laughing slightly. Then it registered, the smile faded on his lips and a slight red flush occupied his ears and cheeks, “Oh,”

“Yeah,” You nodded slowly, “It pains me to say it, but,” You groaned, “God I hate this,” You felt Peter’s fingers tickle the skin of your wrist. Your gaze flashed to the skin on skin contact and then the bathroom door.

“What?” Peter questioned again.

“Peter,” You motioned towards the door with your eyes.

“W-Wha- No! Y/N,” Peter stuttered, “No,” His voice was assertive as you almost pouted in front of him.

You bounced on your feet, silently pleading with him. He stood his ground, “Fine. But maybe I’ll change my mind later,”

“I don’t think you will,” Peter spoke, watching you physically wither, “Come on,” He took your hand and began to lead you up the staircase. You reluctantly followed at his heels, dreading what was to come next.

***

You have made it through three separate conversations with complete strangers, all while Peter’s hand rested on the small of your back. To make matters worse, you now locked eyes with Tony. The fake smile that once parted your lips completely faded in his presence, “The kid still needs to be holding you up?” Tony teased as you gave Pepper a genuine smile.

“Pepper, I don’t know how you put up with him,” You spoke, “Sadly I’m sober,” Tony raised a brow at your statement, watching Peter’s hand return to his side.

“I’m surprised she didn’t bite your hand off,” Tony smiled as a woman approached your group with a tray of champagne, “Thank you,” He spoke to her before he passed the group glasses. He brought his lips around the rim of the thin glass, “You starting to warm up to my intern?”

“He’s tolerable company,” You smiled back, taking a large sip of champagne, “Couldn’t say the same about you though,” The tension between you and Tony hung in the air as Peter and Pepper both apologized to each other silently.

“Why don’t we get some air,” Peter suggested, hand returning back to you. He watched you finishing what remained in your glass before giving him a pressed smile.

“Sure,” You nodded, “Nice seeing you Pepper,” Your eyes did not dare fall over to Tony. You watched his hold tighten on Pepper as Peter’s did the same to you.

The two of you made your way towards a secluded exit, avoiding the paparazzi that waited for everyone outside, “Can’t you just play nice for a night?” Peter questioned after your long silence.

“It’s not like- He does that shit on purpose,” You spoke, motioning back towards the door you found yourself outside, “He always has something to say- something to get under my skin. And it’s not like you stepped in and told him to stop,”

“I like seeing you all worked up,” Peter spoke, not realizing how his claim sounded until it passed through his lips. You looked up at him, “Not- Not in a weird way- Well-“ He stuttered. Peter did like it in a weird way. He liked seeing you flustered.

You watched Peter stumble over his words, his gaze falling off of you, “Mm,” You hummed, your tone was teasing.

“I said not in a weird way,” Peter spoke, watching you lean into his, studying his blushed skin, “Y/N,”

“How then?” You questioned, “I’m dying to know,” Bringing your fingertips to a hair that hung against his forehead, pushing it back into his gelled hair, “Your hair looks so dumb,” You teased.

Taking your wrist, he brought you around the building’s corner, out of sight from anyone who would exit the door. He listened to your mumbled complaints before he took hold of both of your arms. Peter pushed you against the concrete building. The cool surface made you hiss before Peter’s hands snaked up your arms to your face. He cupped your cheeks roughly as he brought his lips to yours for a second time.

And you were so glad he did.

Your hands found his black tie, tugging on it. You loosened the fabric, feeling Peter sigh out of relief. You do not know why you started undressing him, but now your fingers fumbled against his white shirt’s small buttons, “Hey, hey,” He almost laughed against your lips, “Slow down,”

“I just want to touch you,” You admitted, pushing aside the white fabric, studying the soft skin of his neck and chest.

“I thought you loved Prada,” Peter joked. He watched you study the suit. Your eyes scanned his body before falling right back to his skin. Little did you know, Peter had asked Tony specifically for a Prada suit after he heard you obsessing over their latest campaign.

“I-I do.” You spoke, “But… I told you- You win,” Your hands held both sides of his shirt’s collar, “Swing me somewhere,”

Peter watched as you pulled yourself closer, your eyes studying his lips. He was clearly an idiot, not acting on impulse. Peter had wanted you for so long, and he hated how this was all happening now, “I, I don’t have my suit on me,” He rambled, watching you pout in front of him. Words mumbled past your lips as you tried to protest, “It’s not like I can just swing you off as Peter Parker, Y/N, I’m an intern tonight. Right? So I can’t just swing you through the city to do whatever I want to you,”

The words fell from Peter’s lips, making yours curl into a subtle smile, “What would you do?”

“What?” Peter questioned, watching you lean back against the building.

“You’d do whatever you wanted to me?” You repeated, “What would you do to me?” Peter stood, disheveled in front of you. His once pressed and buttoned shirt was wrinkled by your hands.

Peter took a step back from you, “Please,” He mumbled, fixing the collar of his shirt. Your eyes studied him before wandering, “What?”

That is when you spotted Tony’s empty limo.

“Y/N,” Peter’s voice warned as you took hold of his wrist.

“Please?” You questioned, dragging him towards the parked limo.

“Someone will see,” Peter argued back, however, he still allowed you to drag him into the lot of limos and cars.

“Yeah, in a self driving, tinted, bomb and bullet proof limo,” Your words were sarcastic and the two of you neared the limo, “Friday,” You spoke, reaching out to the limo’s hidden keyboard.

“Y/N,” The system responded, “How may I be of service?”

“Unlock the limo please,” Your hand slipped from Peter’s wrist to his sweating palm.

“Mr. Stark has installed a security protocol for you entering the limo,” Friday explained, making you scoff, “The question is: Who is the world’s greatest boss?”

Your lips pressed into a line as you dreaded answering the question, “Tony Stark,”

“Incorrect,” Friday spoke, making you groan out loud.

Your hold on Peter’s hand tightened, “He made me say it and then- and then he just made the answer some bullshit I won’t figure out-“ You felt Peter’s fingers slip between your own, calming you for a moment, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, Friday,” Peter spoke, “Hey. It’s- It’s me, Peter,”

“Hello Peter,” Friday spoke.

“Yeah, h-hi. Would you be able to let us in please?”

“Of course, Peter,” The two of you watched as the limo door opened.

Turning towards you, Peter studied your annoyed expression, “Still want to go in?” He questioned with sweaty palms.

“I’m not letting Tony kill the mood,” You scoffed, bending your shoulders in order to enter the low limo, “I bet he planned this,”

Peter followed you, listening to your mumbled complaints, “Friday, could you go offline? Please?”

”Of course Peter,” The system spoke, “All audio and video recording will be offline until further instructions,” You whipped your head towards Peter, pampered hair twirling slightly, “Uh- Unless you don’t want to do anything anymore,”. He felt his heart rate begin to accelerate as you crawled towards him on the leather seat.

“I thought there was so much you wanted to do to me,” You teased, watching Peter’s shoulders stiffen slightly, “Unless you don’t,”

“I do,” Peter spoke at an embarrassing rate, “I mean… yes,” His words slowed as he studied the fabric of your dress. His gaze trailed over the dark fabric until it found your neckline, the fabric dripping as you leaned in front of him. Peter quickly brought his eyes to yours, not knowing which sight made him more nervous.

“Okay,” You responded. Picking up your knee, you brought it over Peter’s legs. You slowly lowered onto his lap, “This okay?” You felt as if your heart could pound out of your chest.

“Yeah,” Peter chuckled nervously. Your actions were killing him and he did not know if he would be able to hold back. Peter felt the weight of you on his lap, hoping you would not feel just how hard you were making him. Bringing his hands to your thighs, he pushed past the soft fabric of your dress. The fabric pooled around his wrist as his hands trailed up your legs, “shit,”

“Peter,” His name fell quietly past your lips as you placed your hands on his chest, fingertips on his collarbones. You heard him hum in response to his name, “What- What are you going to do?” You attempted to keep up the act, however, being this close to Peter was making you crumble.

“R-Right,” Peter breathed out, feeling his lungs shake as he took in a sharp breath. He studied the skin of your neck as you stared at him. Peter closed the space between the two of you, lips finding the skin he had been studying. His kisses varied, some soft yet some hungry. Peter’s lips parted, his kisses becoming more sloppy as his fingers dug into your plush skin coaxing a whimper from your lips.

The limo air hung heavy with every heated kiss and breath the two of you exchanged. Bringing your hand to Peter’s head, your fingers took hold of his hair. You pulled him away from your neck before you brought your lips to his. Your kisses were equally as hungry and making up for lost time. Hands still exploring his hair, you raked through the gel that held it in place.

You let out a sigh of relief as you messed with Peter’s gelled hair. A slight smile curled on your lips as you kissed him, “What?” Peter questioned, lips not even an inch away from yours. His eyes studied your smile, teeth appearing between your lips.

“Your hair,” You spoke, leaning back to study it, “Did Tony tell you to wear it like that?”

“N-No,” Peter replied, “I always put gel in. I just used more this time,”

“Yeah well,” You played with a piece of hair that hung out of place, “I like it better like this,”

“Yeah?” Peter smiled.

“Mhm,” You hummed, fingers running through his locks.

“Then I guess I’ll have you do my hair for the next gala,” Peter added.

“Okay,” You answered quietly, eyes now falling to his lips.

“Alright,” Peter smiled, leaning back into you. His lips found yours once more, finding the rhythm the two of you previously shared.

Peter had no idea how he ever survived this long without kissing you. The feeling of your body and lips pressed against him was enough to drive him insane. He melted against you, fully giving into you. His touch continued to trail up your skin, fingers now tracing the curve of your hips and waist, “Y/N,” Peter breathed out, “Are we doing this? Because I feel like I’m losing my mind-“

“Y-Yeah,” You stuttered, coming back to reality, “We better hurry before Tony realizes we’re gone,” You watched as Peter’s brows furrowed for a moment, “What?”

“I want to take my time with you,” He admitted, “I’m not really a quickie kind of guy,”

“Quickie? What are you, a teenager?” You teased slightly, “You can have me when we get back to the compound,” Peter’s gaze fell from your eyes to the tinted window out of embarrassment, “Yeah? Sound fair?”

“Yeah,” Peter spoke, hands leaving your waist and falling onto the fabric of his dress pants. The sound of his zipper made you realize that you were actually about to fuck him and none of this was a dream, “Let’s make this quick then,”

You brought your lips to his in a rough kiss, pushing Peter’s back fully against the limo’s seat. You raised yourself off of Peter’s lap, allowing him to push the fabric of his pants down his thighs. Suddenly, you felt Peter’s finger push your underwear aside, finger running through your wet folds. This caught you off guard, making you jump, body freezing against him.

“You’re so wet,” Peter almost laughed, “How long have you been like this?”

“The Prada got me pretty quick,” You admitted slightly.

“Yeah?” Peter smiled, “It wasn’t the fake dating?”

“S-Shut up,” You stuttered as Peter’s touch returned for another swift motion between your legs, “We d-don’t have time for this,” You spoke, hoping Peter’s teasing would cease as embarrassment flooded your cheeks.

“Right, no foreplay,” Peter spoke, “Not that you seem to need it right now,” He teased, watching your brows furrow, “Right, right,” Peter spoke, pulling a condom out from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

“You, you brought a condom?” You stared at the foil in disbelief, for some reason Peter’s action stirred the butterflies that sat in your stomach.

“Y-Yeah,” Peter admitted, “I have one on me if I ever think I have a chance with you… and also when I don’t,” Opening the condom, he attempted to distract himself from your quiet laughter above him.

The laughter continued to bubble past your lips. You were not laughing at Peter, but at how stupid you were for waiting this long to act on your feelings. Somewhere between your laughs, Peter had rolled the condom down the length of his dick.

“What?” Peter questioned your laughter as he pushed the fabric of your underwear aside.

“N-Nothing,” You stuttered, catching your breath from your laughs, “I just- I feel like I don’t deserve you,”

Reaching out, Peter covered your mouth. He somehow felt himself grow even harder as the claim left your lips. His dick bounced, attracting your gaze. You felt your face heat up as you took in the sight before you.

Removing his large hand, Peter caught you in a heated kiss. It was a kiss by definition, however it was sloppy and hungry with barely any rhythm to it. As you lost yourself in decoding it, Peter had lined himself up underneath you and began to enter you.

“S-Shit,” Peter stuttered at how tight you sat around his dick. You were so wet for him and he entered you easily, “fuck,”

“P-Peter,” You returned his stuttering, his name falling past your lips as you felt the size of him, “God- shit, you’re big,”

“Right,” Peter laughed as you gave him the classic, cliche line. But he was big and you were not sure if you could thank the spider bite for that or not.

However, as the single thought crossed your mind, it soon left as Peter began to bounce you above him, his fingers digging into the skin of your thighs, “Ffffuck,” You moaned from the pressure of Peter’s hands combined with the rhythm he started.

“God you sound so pretty,” Peter groaned as his head tilted back against the seat’s headrest. Your hands, once bunching the fabric of his dress shirt, now traveled to his collar. Your fingers fumbled to unbutton his shirt, hungry for the sight of his soft skin.

As soon as the skin of his chest was visible, your shoulders rounded and lips attached to his collarbone. His skin passed your lips as your teeth marked him, earning a moan from his parted lips.

“Y/N-“ The pain from your mark making only made Peter thrust into you harder and faster, “shit,”

Your hands fell to either side of Peter’s head, holding onto the seat as Peter fucked you. Peter was still holding back, but at this strength, you were still going to be hurting in the morning. You bit into the skin of his shoulder, trying to suppress your moans that only grew louder; screams threatening to replace them, “P-Peter-“ You somehow attempted to speak his name.

“I-I,” Peter almost stuttered, “hate to say it but I’m really close,” He watched as you pulled your face out from his neck, now studying him. He was falling apart below you, everything about you making him weak. Somehow, he felt as if he was becoming weaker just at the sight of you, “Y/N,”

Peter looked as if he was holding on for you, brows furrowed as his teeth dug into the skin of his bottom lip. As you studied his lips, you decided to bring yours to his jaw, showering him in kisses. Some were sloppy and some were rougher than others as you attempted to help Peter over the edge he was holding onto, “Want you to cum,” You whispered against his skin, “Cum for me. Please?”

“S-Shit,” Peter breathed out. The curse rang with a slight laugh as you relieved him. With a few more rough thrusts, Peter filled the condom that was deep inside of you, “I-I wanted to last longer,” He informed, however his claim was cut short by your lips finding his own.

“Later,” You reminded him, “If you still want to-“

“I do-“ Peter interrupted. Clearing his throat at his desperation, he spoke again, “Yeah, yeah I’d like that,”

“Yeah,” You smiled, “I’d like that too,” You studied him as you still sat on his lap. However, that is when you remembered where you two were, “Shit-“ You raised yourself off of his lap. A shutter traveled through you as Peter quickly exited you.

“W-What?” Peter questioned awkwardly as the filled condom fell against the fabric of his shirt. Pulling it off of his dick, he tied it off before tossing it in the limo’s trash.

“How long has it been?” You questioned, nervousness rushing through you at the thought of the gala being over.

Your question made Peter’s shoulders round, wishing the limo’s seat would engulf him, “Was… was I that bad?”

“What?” You questioned as you collected yourself, looking out of the limo’s tinted window, “Wh- No- No. I-I meant how long have we been in here,”

“Oh,” Peter spoke, attempting to make himself look presentable as well, “We should get back to the gala, “Hey- hey Friday, could you come back online please,”

“Of course Peter,” The system spoke as you placed your hand on the limo’s handle.

“W-Wait- hold on I’m almost-” Peter spoke but his claim was interrupted by your low voice.

“Maybe we shouldn’t get out at the same time… in case anyone sees,” Your words were cautious as if you were dancing around an insult, “Anyone being like the media… or-”

“Or Phil?” Peter questioned quite quickly.

“You know what I mean,” You spoke back defensively, “We don’t need any attention drawn towards you or a Stark controversy,”

“I know,” Peter responded, however you were already halfway out of the limo’s door.

Stepping into the cool night air, you took in a sharp breath. You did not mean to hurt Peter’s feelings, but it was just second nature to you. You always said the wrong things and somehow found yourself in arguments, but Peter was the last person you wanted to upset.

“Needed to cool off?” You heard Tony’s voice call out.

“Not now,” You groaned, however you dropped the attitude as you saw the rest of the group not too far behind him, “Party’s over?”

“Yeah you missed it. Where’s Pete? Was he holding your hair after all those drinks?” Tony asked, eyes scanning for Peter. You walked back towards the limo, hoping to warn Peter of the group’s presence before they could catch up. Opening the door you stuck your head into the vehicle, “I’m surprised Friday even let you in there,” Tony spoke as he approached you from behind. He waited for a remark from you. After all, he programmed the question just to mention you, however you were silent. Sticking his head in, he caught the last glimpse of what exactly was going on in his limo.

You pushed Peter away, who as soon as you entered the limo had caught you in a quite passionate kiss, “Not- not now-“

“Do I even want to sit in this limo?” Tony’s voice questioned, making you jump away from Peter’s hold. You sat down, putting a seat between the two of you, “My limo, may I add. God, I don’t even want to think about what you two did in here. And where you did it”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter spoke, the group’s presence unknown to him after he stopped you in your tracks as you entered the limo to warn him, “We didn’t…”

“Yeah Pete, real convincing,” Tony looked around as he climbed into the limo, calculating where the safest place to sit might be, “Could you please just let me know if I’m about to sit in the splash zone or something,”

“I…I swear to fucking god,” You groaned, fingers now rubbing circles into your temples, “Can we all just get in and leave?”

“Why?” Tony questioned, attempting to hold eye contact with you as the rest of the Avengers piled into the limo, “Is there just something you’re dying to finish when we get back?”

“If something did happen tonight, shouldn’t you be glad? Took them long enough,” Natasha spoke, giving you a slight grin. Her red hair, once pulled back taut, now had a few loose pieces that fell against her cheekbones, “Plus, spare me. I’m getting a migraine from all that wine,”

“I’m trying to spare you” Tony spoke, fingers falling against his chest. Raising his opposite hand, he flashed the foil wrapper that sat between his fingers, “I don’t know what seat is safe,”

“Peter,” You groaned, covering your eyes as Tony tossed the wrapper towards you. You rubbed your temples as you heard Peter stutter from where he sat on your left.

“I mean,” Tony spoke, pouring himself another glass of whiskey from the limo’s bar, “I didn’t think you’d actually do it. Good for you kid, she’s way out of your league,” Taking a sip, he looked towards you. “So much for lone wolf,”

897 notes · View notes

literaila · 2 years

Text

just barely

tasm!peter x fem!reader

summary:

“okay, peter. are you afraid of spiders?” “no.” “then can you go get the one in my apartment?”

warnings: angst, grief, mentions of gwen, arachnophobia, fluff. neighbors au.

a/n: i am. so sorry. and actually i love this one so much so feed my ego, thanks

peter met you four months into college.

sitting in his apartment, sewing up a suit that he should've gotten rid of years ago. pricking his fingers with the needle and telling himself that he was going to be more careful this time.

he never was.

and when you knocked on his door for the first time, he pricked his finger again.

he almost swore out loud--flinging his hand in the air like the pain was going to fall off--but briefly remembered how thin the walls were.

maybe because he could hear you breathing on the other side.

it was late. peter always knew when it was late.

and it was raining. he was inside because it was raining.

and someone was knocking on his door.

peter, with his finger in his mouth, sucking away the very essence of his life and every ounce of patience he had, did not want to deal with it.

he didn't quite feel like a human being that night.

and besides, if it wasn't someone delivering a pizza to his door--no, he didn't order but he might pay if that was the case--peter didn't want to know.

and then there was another knock.

so peter, begrudgingly, sliding on a jacket because he was only in sweatpants, went to the door.

just barely sighed as he swung it open.

and there you stood. dripping from the rain.

"hi," you said, the word quick, breathless, like an afterthought. "we haven't met. i'm y/n. i moved in two weeks ago. i've seen you carrying books around and coming in late sometimes but i haven't--" you took a breath in. shook your head. "nevermind. my point is, i'm y/n."

peter stood there. unsure what to say. he barely took it all in.

he stared at you and your shaking hands and dripping hair.

he wondered how you got on his doorstep.

"okay," you said, in lack of an answer. "this is really weird. you probably think i'm crazy. which was... not my goal."

"i don't think you're--"

"i have arachnophobia."

peter blinked.

"and it sounds crazy--because it is--but there's a spider in my apartment and i just--i can't. i'm cold, and i just got home from work, and there's a spider, like, right by the door, and i can't get it. or walk through the door." you paused, staring at him with wide eyes. "because i'm crazy."

in a lack of words or any description for this situation, peter ran a hand over his jaw.

he watched water drip from your hair. drip on the ground.

you blinked at him. "you have a cut on your thumb, by the way."

peter looked at his hand. clenched his fist until it was so tight that pain meant nothing but a blur of emotion.

"oh," he said, stupidly, unknowing. "yeah, i know."

you cleared your throat. "what's your name?"

"peter."

"okay, peter. are you afraid of spiders?"

he might've laughed at the irony, if not given the fact that any conversation skills--that he may or may not have had--seemed to evade him.

"no," he shook his head. "no--i, um. no."

you breathed out, laughing a bit manically. "would you help me with the spider in my apartment then? i'm sorry to bother you, really, but i would like to change my clothes."

"oh," he said, again, stupidly. "sure. sure."

"you will?"

he shook his head. tried to put on a smile that didn't exist. "yeah, of course."

the words were slow and slurred and nothing like he'd meant them to be.

peter, just barely, recognized the fact that you were his age. that you were pretty.

and that you looked almost insane. like you'd said.

"thank you," you breathed out in relief. "do you want to... um, put some shoes on first? if you're busy i can--"

"probably shouldn't try anyone else," peter responded, assuming and stupid, and just. "it's three in the morning. i don't think they're awake."

you opened your mouth, maybe to say something--peter couldn't tell--and then shut it.

you stared at him like you were sure he was lying.

like you were annoyed with him.

he cleared his throat, walking forward a bit, and simultaneously pushing you back. "i don't need my shoes. uh, lead the way."

he shut the door quietly behind him.

you nodded. taking ten steps forward to the apartment right across from his.

"you live right there?"

while unlocking the door, you nodded your head. water dripping onto your shoes.

peter briefly considered that he was an asshole.

"why haven't i seen you before?"

you looked back at him, swallowing. "i usually work night shifts. um, i mean, i've seen you before, so."

peter nodded his head dumbly.

and then you took a step back, staring at him.

expectedly.

"oh, you want me to go first?"

"please."

so peter walked through, searching the floors for any specimen that he may or may not have been related to.

you just barely followed behind him. slightly lagging.

"where was it?"

"the wall in the back. it was big."

peter looked back at you, a bit concerned by how nervous you looked just from walking through the door.

"i don't see it."

peter looked up and down the walls. followed his feet to the floor, making sure that he hadn't stepped on anything.

and this is the point where he figured that he'd leave. let you get back to your business.

maybe think about being more cordial to his neighbors.

but you just barely said his name. quiet against the rain.

he looked at you. "hmm?"

"this is ridiculous, but, would you just--just look for it. like. in the other room. i won't be able to fall asleep, and--"

peter was quick to nod. "yeah. i got it."

and so he searched through your living room. feeling only slightly weird that he was looking through a stranger's house, while said stranger stood right at the doorway.

but after around three minutes, he noticed a spider crawling on the opposite side of the wall. about an inch big.

but he wasn't judging.

"okay," he called to you, allowing the bug to crawl up his hand. "i got it."

"the window doesn't have a screen."

peter allowed himself a quick laugh--because, above all else, this was the weirdest three am he'd had in a while--and let the spider crawl outside, whispering a quick goodbye.

and then he walked back to you, scratching at his thumb.

you awkwardly thanked him, reaching your hand out to shake his.

when peter stared for a moment, confused, you dropped it.

and then you waited.

and peter probably should've just left your apartment.

that was what a considerate neighbor might do.

"you're really that afraid of spiders?"

"um, yeah," you shook your head, scratched at the back of your neck, and looked more uncomfortable than peter had ever seen another person. "it's--it's a feeling thing."

peter tilted his head, curious.

"well, like, just imagining them crawling around. or up and down my skin." you shivered, and peter assumed it wasn't from the cold. "i mean, i know that most spiders can't do any harm."

peter coughed.

"but still... it's hard to explain."

"no," peter nodded, watching as your eyes fluctuated from the wall to him, from the ground to the ceiling. "i understand. they're creepy."

"i guess. i know that they're important. thanks for not killing that one."

peter just barely blinked.

"well," you said, smiling at him. "you should go to sleep. i'm sorry for keeping you up."

"it's no problem." peter swore.

he'd forgotten all about the rain. or his suit. or the tiny little cut on his thumb.

"have a good night, peter. thanks for your help."

you smiled at him--this time, sincere and appreciative--one last time.

peter met you four months into college. he'd whispered his goodbyes in the rain and was unfathomably interested in his neighbor.

and maybe he'd always known that he was going to fall in love with you.

"hey," you whisper, late enough for the words to feel strange on his spine.

"hey," he says back, but only because it's what he should do.

you run your fingers along his forearm, leaving terror in your wake.

"how are you?"

you ask him.

and peter can't really answer that.

when peter saw you again, it was with his backpack slung over his shoulder.

with papers and the weight of thousands of dollars in debt piling up in one bag that probably shouldn't have been carrying it all.

but when you smiled at him, peter shrugged it off, and just smiled back.

"hey," you said, quickly and carefully, unlocking your door. "how are you?"

"good." peter nodded. "um, you?"

you laughed, maybe because of the long pause between the words. "i'm okay. it's nice to be out with the sun."

"yeah. haven't seen you around."

"not like you did before, either."

peter nodded again. his eyebrows were ready to run right off of his face.

you were carrying bags in your hands, one on the ground, turning back around to your door because peter hadn't offered anything significant to you.

so he cleared his throat. "did you--do you want some help?"

you looked down at the ground, seemingly surprised by your own grocery bags. "oh, yeah." eyes met his. "i don't want to bother you again."

"it's no bother."

and so peter picked up the bag on the ground. he reached his hand out and barely felt it when your fingers passed his.

or when you smiled at him, grateful again.

"i don't mean to keep using you," you said to him, finally unlocking your door. "you just seem to be there."

"it's only twice."

you nodded, moving back so that he could walk in. "for now."

peter snorted, feeling uncomfortable as his shoes hit your carpet.

"i like your apartment, by the way. it's nice."

more trinkets than his. a home full of things that peter didn't recognize.

and still, it was brighter than his apartment.

you lead him into the kitchen, pointing to where he should set the bags down.

peter could feel your eyes on him. sort of creeping. sort of subdued in a casual way.

"thanks. i like it," you answer. "or, i like it when there aren't any bugs crawling around."

peter let his lips twitch. he moved back, giving you the room to start putting the perishables away.

"are you always getting pulled into everyone else's apartments?" you asked him, biting your lip and looking up.

your eyes were quick, lit, and less emphasized than they'd been when it was three in the morning.

peter frowned. "what?"

"yesterday i helped someone move a couch into their apartment. and last week mrs. rivers needed some help with her tv. i just meant that you seem helpful. dependable." you shrugged. "do people ask you for help a lot?"

"no, not really," peter answered, words still confused. "i don't 'run into' people very often. and i don't think they would ask me."

you blinked, closing a cabinet and turning away from him.

"why not?"

"i don't know anyone very well."

peter breathed out and you hummed, unbagging things that peter couldn't see.

"sometimes mr. smith from down the hall asks me to water his plants when he goes to see his son."

you nodded, like this made perfect sense to you.

"but that's about it."

"how long have you lived here?"

"almost five months."

"hmm."

you emptied another bag, not watching as peter leaned against your counter.

he felt like he should go. that he was intruding on some boundary that he shouldn't have been.

but he stayed because you hadn't asked him to leave.

"what?" he asked, shaking his head.

"are you a busy person?"

in this game of twenty questions, peter seemed to be answering everything.

and ignoring the gentle curiosity aimed his way.

to complain would be hypocritical.

"i guess. school and work. why?"

you shrugged, again. "that's probably why you don't know your neighbors. if you're not here a lot..."

peter crossed his arms. there was something in your tone of voice. something in your eyes and strange way of speaking.

"i know my neighbors."

you just barely smiled. "yeah?"

"yeah. you're y/n. you've lived here four weeks, and you're afraid of spiders."

you laughed. "that doesn't count."

peter frowned. licked his lips and let the adrenaline control any next statement.

"mr. smith lives in 3C. he's got two kids. if you listen late enough at night you can hear him calling his son in florida."

you looked at him again, pausing.

so peter continued.

"ms. baker is divorced. she got the cat, which is good because she loves that cat more than life itself. she makes brownies and then leaves them to rot on her windowsill. or she used to. until she started leaving them in the mail room."

you laughed. leaned against the counter next to him and crossed your ankles.

"david, the building manager, loves halloween. if he could, he would decorate the whole place. but it's a fire hazard, so he just decorates the laundry room."

"isn't that a fire hazard too?"

peter considered it. "probably."

you laughed again.

"the girl in 6B, moira, is a single mom. her daughter doesn't like thunderstorms, so she's always crying. unless moira swaddles her and puts on old sixties music. and mrs. alvera gets flowers every week. jason blasts music on the weekends but no one complains because everyone is scared of him."

peter continued. he wasn't thinking about leaving.

"there's a little boy down the hall, henry, who loves trains. his dad sends him some in the mail. mr. johnson has a dog who he hates."

and there's something in your eyes.

peter breathed out, chest a bit tight. he'd never been very good at defeat.

"so," he said.

"so?"

"so i know my neighbors."

you smiled at him. turned towards the fridged and grabbed two water bottles, one to offer to him.

he took it, but only for something to do with his hands.

"and you're peter," you say, slowly.

"parker."

"peter parker. you're always coming and going at odd times. you're a student--probably at esu--and you're nice."

and then peter smiled. he was willing to admit that.

"what're you doing?" you ask him, stepping into the room and dropping your bag on the floor.

peter barely flinches at the sound.

he blinks up at the clock, noticing numbers that he should have an hour ago.

"hey," he says, dumbly. "you're home."

you lean down to kiss his head. he can feel your smile. "yeah. what're you doing?"

"just fixing some holes."

peter gestures down to the suit. looks up at you and tries not to falter at your eyes.

you’re staring at him.

you look tired, had been at work all day, and still--you offered him a smile.

the same sweet smile he'd been getting for a year and a half.

"don't hurt yourself," you whisper to him, laughing just a bit.

peter looks down at the needle between his fingers.

he barely just caught the joke as you walk out of the room to go change into your work clothes.

and theres the tiniest part of him that feels relieved for the silence.

relieved to not have to stare at you.

and face the goddamn reality.

peter had been getting used to the knocks on his door.

he recognized your specific weight, the sequences, and cadence in whatever you needed from him.

and he wasn't as hesitant to open the door.

"hey, peter," you said to him, a bit breathless. "do you have a wrench?"

peter blinked. "what?"

you made a strange hand gesture. "you know, the thing that you twist stuff with?"

peter's brow furrowed. he opened the door a little bit more, noticing your wet pants and the lack of shoes or socks.

"i know what a wrench is," he said. "why do you need it?"

"sink's leaking."

his lips pursed. he waited for more of an explanation, but you offered him none.

"yeah," he said, finally. "i have a wrench. come in."

and then he swung the door open and left you to fend with it yourself.

and listened to your footsteps as you followed him to his supply closet.

"i don't think i've ever been in here," you said from behind him, voice echoing in his empty hallway. "not what i expected."

peter looked back at you with a raised brow.

you raised your hands in defense. "you seem like a poster kind of guy."

"there's a poster in my room."

"of what?"

"a spider."

you scoffed from behind him, and peter had to pay close attention to his face--just so that he didn't laugh back.

he dug through his shelves, looking for a tool kit that he'd hidden away.

unused, because he didn't want it.

because he didn't need it anymore.

"here," he said, handing you the wrench, initials branded on the side.

"why thank you, peter parker."

you smiled up at him, a mark on the side of your face--peter couldn't tell what it was.

"sure," he agreed, shutting the closet behind him. "why don't you just call maintenance?"

"hmm?"

"for your sink."

"oh, um. well, i need to use it. and it's almost six so there's no time to call."

"do you know how to fix a sink?" peter allowed a cautious raise of his brow. a curiosity that he wasn't really allowed appeared in his throat, swallowed right back down by guilt.

"i know how to use google."

"so no."

you raised a finger at him, looking defensive. "it can't be that hard."

peter laughed.

"what?"

"i hope that your apartment doesn't flood."

"mean, peter," you frowned at him. "i could have a talent for fixing sinks."

and then you turned around, leaving him no room to argue, and headed for the door. calling another thank you as you opened it.

but peter opened his mouth before you could leave.

"why didn't you ask?"

you turned back, wide eyes. "what?"

"if i could help. you didn't ask."

"can you fix a sink?"

"yes."

peter would've liked to lie. maybe if you had been any other person, he might've.

you grinned. "i've already used you enough. i'm working on my dependency."

peter shrugged. "never hurts to ask."

your lip twitched the barest amount.

you played with his wrench, swinging it from hand to hand. "i'll bring this back."

"okay."

peter let the interest fall off of his shoulders and onto the ground.

he had things he needed to do. like, putting a cup of mac and cheese into the microwave.

and read for his class tomorrow.

and consider every failure he'd ever made.

but you called his name, just once more.

"yeah?" he opened the door, a little bit wider.

"wanna help me fix my sink?"

peter, now, considers that you might've been pitying him. poor peter, all alone on a saturday night.

but then he just blindly nodded.

forgot all about consequences.

"peter, you can't just get ice cream."

peter looks down at his shopping bag. he frowns. "there's chips too."

"where are the meals?"

he smiles at you. "in your basket."

"we already agreed that i'm not cooking for you anymore."

peter pretends to consider this. "you know, i actually changed my mind about that. statistically, you probably won't burn down my apartment again."

"statistically, i'm going to hit you one of these days."

peter holds a hand to his heart, mock offended. "violence," he protests, taking a step back as you try and push him.

"go get something to eat."

"i'm going to eat all of this."

"okay," you grin at him. "go get something that you probably won't eat."

peter groans. this time, you actually push him.

"we'll order pizza tonight if you get some actual groceries."

"why are you always nagging me?"

peter says it, but with a smile on his face.

you laugh back at him. pat his cheek like you're his grandmother. "go."

peter sighs and listens.

and it's fine. for today.

surely enough, peter couldn't manage to avoid you.

it might've been that you lived right across from him. peter realized that.

or it might've been the world, laughing and laughing at him.

because he really wanted to avoid you.

he wanted to stop answering the door; to keep you at a safe distance--that being ten feet away from him at all times--with a wall between the two of you.

he wanted whatever he felt when he saw you smile--which was nothing, he swore to himself, over and over--hidden in a closet somewhere.

someplace that he could just forget about it.

but he couldn't seem to forget his neighbor.

his neighbor who, like always, seemed to leave the house at the same time as him.

"oh, hi," he said, carefully avoiding running into you.

you looked up, hands cradling a pizza box, bag dangling from the side. and you smiled at him.

because you were a smiley person.

peter hated it.

"hey, neighbor," you said, easily, stepping past him. "going out?"

peter swallowed. "just to the store. i need some... salt."

what he really needed was to get out of the house.

what he needed was to stop going through the pictures under his bed this late at night, and stop allowing himself to feel any sort of adoration for the girl in them.

what he needed, peter thought, was a reality check.

a time machine.

but he wasn't going to tell you any of that.

"salt?" you repeated, laughing. "i have salt."

"no, i need, like, a salt shaker. a big one."

your brows furrowed.

peter rubbed his hands together, slightly cold. slightly irritated.

and guilty, because he hadn't wanted to be rude to you. he wanted to be polite, a gentleman like may taught him.

but time did strange things to people.

and he'd been living alone for more than half a year.

"the grocery store is probably closed by now," you said, checking an invisible watch.

"i'm just going to the cvs down the block."

you laughed. "i don't think they have salt shakers."

he scratched at the back of his neck. considered clawing his own eyes out.

"you can borrow mine, though," you said to him, softly, as if no one else was supposed to hear. "if you're in a pinch."

"no," peter shook his head. he repeated the word in his mind until it was branded against his skin. "that's... okay."

you raised a brow.

"i don't--i'm not, like, using it, right now. i've just been meaning to pick some up. and i don't have anything to do right now, so."

if peter could go back and tell himself not to say a single thing, he would've.

he would tell himself never to speak to you ever again.

but you laughed because peter was funny. because you felt bad for him, in some strange, uncomfortable way.

"do you have anything to do tomorrow morning?"

peter shook his head. still.

"then why don't i give you enough salt for breakfast tomorrow, and then you can go to the store and get a shaker afterward."

peter swallowed. "i wouldn't want to... impose."

"i'll even give you a slice of pizza."

"that's okay."

"peter," you sighed, almost begrudgingly. "c'mon. i owe you, at least one. and i can't eat a whole pizza myself."

he bit the inside of his cheek.

if there were warning bells, he would hear them clearly in his ear.

"or, i can," you smiled. "but i probably shouldn't. and you probably shouldn't go out this late."

peter frowned at the implication.

"it's okay," he said. "you shouldn't--"

"you don't even have to stay. just come and get some salt."

peter's eyes flickered down to the pizza box in your hands.

he thought about being alone.

about going back into his room and running into memories that would punch him right in the face.

that would beat him until he couldn't feel anything else.

he thought about salt.

about your smile and how much he wanted to stay away.

he thought way too much.

but nodded anyway.

probably because he was an idiot.

"lead the way," you said, finally opening the door.

and peter went.

"come on," you say to him, voice soft and haunted.

quiet and eery.

and peter doesn't want to.

he doesn't want to be close to you right now.

but your hands are soft against his shoulder, warm and welcoming, and he knows that you're waiting. he knows that you don't deserve this.

he knows you.

"peter," you say to him, calling and calling. "it's alright."

your voice is different.

not as smooth. not as beautiful.

"come back to bed."

peter lets your hands lead the way.

he lets you pull him down, push him under water and sit on his chest. laugh as he struggles to get up.

he lets you wrap the covers back around his back, saving him from the cold.

he cuddles close to you, breathing in your skin, cheek on your chest, listening to your heartbeat until it's the only thing he can hear.

"it's okay," you say. "it'll be okay."

and he knows you're lying.

peter is familiar with the concept.

with breaking the rules until no glue can help repair them.

and he hears a very specific gasp in his head. a pleading and crying and dying all over again.

but your heartbeat is right in his ear.

your words are close to him, holding him down.

"i swear to god--" you kicked at a rock somewhere on the ground.

peter blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus.

"--i'm going to murder someone."

he squinted at you, trying to see anyone else. held his jacket even closer to his body.

"hey," he whispered, hand jerking out when you startled at the sound of his voice. "sorry," he said, keeping you steady. he could see his breath in the air.

"peter. was it you?" your voice had a hint of an edge. your eyes were fire.

he frowned. "what?"

"did your smoke detector go off?"

"no," he shook his head, looking back at the building. "i was asleep."

"okay." you nodded, seeming to believe his lie. "i'm going to go ask everyone else."

peter kept his hands on your shoulders, holding you back. "woah," he said, looking into your eyes. "what's the rush?"

"i'm going to punch whoever was burning down their kitchen at four in the morning."

"i think maybe you should take some deep breaths."

you mocked inhaling and exhaling. "there. mr. smith!" you called.

peter clasped a hand over your mouth.

you glared at him. speaking against his hand.

peter quickly moved away, trying to remember himself. trying to remember that he was only three feet away from you.

which breaks the foundation directly in half.

he raised a brow, a bit amused, slightly delirious from exhaustion. "you should stay here. it'll only be ten minutes till we can go back inside."

"who starts a fire at four in the morning?" you whine to him, almost falling against his chest.

his hands go back on your arms, keeping you up. "an asshole," peter agreed. "were you asleep?"

"no. i got home thirty minutes ago."

"ah. were you trying to go to sleep?"

"i was trying to..." you paused, looking away from him. "nevermind. yes. i was sleeping."

peter laughed. "okay. you can get back to..." he shakes his head, an allusion. "whenever the fire department shows up."

"it's cold," you complain to him. "and i didn't have any time to put on my shoes."

"i'm glad you're alive."

that night, peter avoided his sensibility. he didn't want to talk to it, thanks.

he took off his jacket, handing it to you. "here."

"peter. you'll get cold."

"you're in shorts. put it on."

because you were fed up with every other thing, you didn't argue. just hurried to put it on, snuggling into your own skin.

"thanks."

"no problem."

it was silent for a moment; no sirens in hearing distance.

other people had gathered into groups, neighbors gossiping about neighbors.

peter thought that you might've been one of them if you weren't stuck next to him.

"bad night?" he asked you, avoiding the silence.

"what?"

"i've never seen you... angry? irritated?"

"oh." you looked down to the ground, a bit sheepish. maybe embarrassed. peter couldn't see your eyes, so he couldn't tell. "yeah. i worked two shifts in a row. and it's tuesday, so everyone was mad."

"where do you work?"

"a bar a couple of blocks away."

peter nodded.

"sorry about..." you laugh, gesturing to something he couldn't see. "all of that."

"it's okay. you're tired."

"yeah."

so was peter.

and he was insane because he really couldn't stop looking at you. he couldn't even have an internal debate about it.

"peter?" you whispered to him, smiling a little bit.

"what?"

"your jacket smells nice."

peter listens to you speak, appreciating the gentle smile in your voice.

he watches as your eyes change. as your hand gestures towards something.

he watches you.

and there's no one there to tell him to stop.

this particular night, peter knocks on your door.

he'd decided, after lots of thinking, that the best way to avoid you--was to just get over himself.

was to just pretend to be a normal neighbor.

to start acting normal and stop being an idiot.

which, in all fairness, wasn't as easy as peter thought it might be.

especially when you opened the door in a big t-shirt and no pants.

but of course, you just smiled at him. didn't even blink.

"hey," peter says, quickly. "are you busy?"

your eyes met his, a gentle question behind the smirk on your face. "no. what's up?"

"i was gonna, um," peter's face twitched. he cleared his throat, trying to smile even though he'd forgotten how. "i was going to watch a movie. alone. but--" he shrugged. forgot how to speak. "i thought that you might be home. and, just, do you wanna watch with me?"

you were amused at him. but peter appreciated that you didn't laugh right in his face.

"what movie?"

he handed you the case, biting a hole in his lip.

"back to the future?"

"if you wanna watch something else, we can--"

you shake your head, handing him the case back. "no, that's good. let me go grab my phone."

and then peter had you over to his apartment for the first time.

he watched a movie with you and didn’t even feel guilty about it.

peter needs a break.

just a night, an hour, a couple of minutes away from you.

away from the possibility and the words stuck in his head.

the words that he would like to avoid.

the words that he wants to throw in a hole somewhere. bury them where no one will ever find them.

especially not you.

especially not him.

but that's not an option, see. because the words are printed on his arm. they are wrapped around his heart in a brand of shackles they don't manufacture anymore.

and peter lost the key.

so he needs a break instead.

conveniently, you're working. you kissed him goodbye, walked out the door with a smile on your face.

and peter felt so bad that he was relieved to see you go.

relieved because he doesn't want to tell you.

he doesn't want the words to slip.

he doesn't want any of this.

and he needs this break.

he needs a moment to repair his intelligence. to stop acting on a whim. to distance himself from the idea--from the guilt that pounds on his chest like a knock on his door.

he needs a break.

a break from sensibility and rational thinking.

and peter doesn't really need a break from you.

but he's taking one anyway.

he can't wait for you to come back.

"you have class tomorrow?" you asked him, chewing on a piece of popcorn.

"yeah. eleven am."

"who takes a class at eleven in the morning?"

peter frowned. "it was convenient."

you laughed at his face, throwing some popcorn at him. he caught it in his mouth and pretended not to feel some pride at your awed expression.

"this movie sucks," you said to him. but you were still watching it anyway.

you'd been sitting on his couch all day. just entertaining him with commentary about whatever movie was on cable.

peter was glad for the company.

he was trying to get out of the mood he'd been in.

trying to get comfortable in this friendship.

"we can watch something else." he moved to grab the remote, but you stopped him with a nudge of your foot.

"no," you said. "it's okay."

and so it was.

"you're going back home next weekend, right?"

peter nods. he chews on a cookie that you've just pulled out of the oven.

you glare at him, playfully.

he smiles back, mouth full.

"gross, peter." you toss a dish rag at him. he catches it without a blink.

"may asked if you wanted to come."

you blink at him, curious. "she did?"

"yeah. she likes you."

"oh, she likes me from the one time she stopped by your apartment to drop off a box and caught a glimpse of me in the hallway?" you ask him, dryly.

peter appreciates how your voice shifts from high to low. a style of music all on its own.

"she likes you because i tell her about you."

you frown. "you do?"

peter nods, curious about your reaction.

"what do you say? 'the annoying girl from across the hall asked to use my shower again because--'"

he pulls you in a little bit closer, ignoring the protests as you drop a spatula on the counter.

"i tell her that you're nice. and about your cookies."

you smile, reluctantly. "she wants me to come?"

peter nods, letting you go, returning to his cookie.

"would you mind?"

peter freezes.

he prefers not to think about it.

he prefers to pretend that there is no significance in this interaction.

because there isn't.

peter kisses the top of your head, looking down at you. he shakes his head, nonchalant.

"really?"

"i wouldn't mind."

"because i love may."

peter laughs. "i know."

"i will ask her about your baby pictures."

"don't think she has any," peter shrugs.

"oh, you liar."

he laughs again. grabbing another cookie.

"peter," you walked through his door with no greeting, going immediately to the spot on his couch that you'd claimed as your own. "i want a cat."

"you can't get a cat."

you pouted and peter laughed at your face. at the very idea you were in his house.

"why not?" you whined, sliding down his couch. "give me one reason."

"the building doesn't allow pets."

"give me two reasons."

"you'd have to leave the cat alone all day."

you smiled at him. "not if i had a co-owner."

"i'm not getting a cat with you."

you waved a hand, offended. "i didn't mean you. i meant jason."

"jason would kill the cat. then you."

"he's really nice."

peter raised a brow at you, sitting down on the couch finally, just waiting for whatever purpose there was for this visit.

"hey," you said. "don't you have work tonight?"

"i switched shifts with a coworker."

"oh. how come?"

"they had a birthday party to go to tomorrow."

you smiled at him, teeth showing. "that was nice of you."

peter shrugged. "i don't have classes this week, so."

and here, peter knew, was the last warning sign.

it was that night that he stopped caring.

"why aren't you that nice to me?" you put a bare foot on his leg, trying to get him to flinch away.

he just pushed it off of him. "because i like you."

"that's twisted, parker."

"want to watch a movie?"

you moved back, rubbing a hand over your eyes. "can we play a game or something, instead? i might fall asleep if we watch a movie."

peter frowned. "you're tired?"

"no," you shook your head at him. "not really."

"you should go to bed."

"are you kicking me out?"

and peter, despite what he wanted to say, shook his head again.

not sure what he meant by it.

and then you beamed at him.

you blinded him until he didn't care about seeing anything ever again. you broke him down until peter was sure that you were his friend.

that you were his best friend and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

"how do you feel about connect four?" you asked him.

and you stayed.

peter wasn't sure how he felt about that.

gwen.

peter had nightmares every month.

he had conflicts and ideas and non-relenting feelings that wouldn't just leave him alone.

they didn't escape, even when you were around.

despite what deliberate mistakes peter kept making. despite the conscious failures he kept bundled up in his pockets.

and whatever peter wanted to feel for you.

he couldn't.

he wouldn't do that to her.

he wouldn't do that to you.

he wasn't allowed.

the first time peter kissed you, it was a mistake.

it was reckless. it was pushing and pulling at him until he was stretched thin, until he was so close to you that he couldn't think.

and peter had been thinking about it for a while.

he noticed the lingering at your lips.

he noticed how warm you were.

how intriguing how perfect.

he noticed everything about you, no matter how many times he'd told himself to stop. to stop being your friend and stop thinking about anything except being close to you.

when he kissed you, it was stupid.

it was nothing.

it was so so much.

"what?" you'd asked him, in the dark, on his couch.

he was already having a bad day. he was already too close to the edge.

he'd had a dream about you the night before. instead of her.

he'd dreamt of your skin, and your hair, the smell that you left behind when you walked out his door.

he dreamt of touching you, of being closer than he would ever dare himself to be.

and he was having a bad day.

peter shook his head. he swallowed and told himself to stop looking at you. "nothing."

so you turned away from him.

so you were still close.

and it only took a split second for peter to forget.

to forget about guilt and all of its complexities.

to allow himself to like you, for just a moment, for just a second too long.

and then his hands reached out--heart clasped in their grip--to touch your arm.

to feel your skin and savor it.

your brows furrowed. you looked at him, confused.

and peter couldn't get anything more than "i just--" before he closed the distance between the two of you.

before he slammed the door in his own face.

and kissed you.

neither of you put a name to it.

you had agreed, peter knew.

you weren't his girlfriend.

you weren't his friend.

but you stayed the night. you watched movies with him. you made out with him on his couch and it wasn't much.

it wasn't anything.

there was no name for the thing between the two of you.

and peter liked it that way.

at least then he could pretend that it was all okay.

"peter," you were trying to get him to pause.

you were trying to track him down because he hadn't talked to you in a week.

he hadn't dared to see you since that night.

"peter, hey--"

he unlocked his door, feeling the guilt pour down his stomach like gasoline.

it tasted the same.

"i just want to talk," you pleaded with him. "you don't have to say anything."

"i've gotta go," peter answered, short and stern.

"please. just two minutes."

"it's been a long day, y/n."

"it's been a long week," you hissed at him, stopping his door with your foot. "this isn't fair."

and peter knew that.

god, he was aware.

but he shook his head. "not tonight. not right now."

not ever, he thought but didn't say.

"please, peter," your eyes were desperate. your voice had softened, like maybe if you used a euphemism all of this would mean so much less.

it didn't work.

"i'm sorry," you whispered. "i didn't mean to."

peter couldn't have asked what you meant even if he wanted to.

none of this was your fault.

he had burned his own bridges. and now, amidst his own problems, he was hurting you.

so he was just going to stop.

"it doesn't have to mean anything,"

you said the words, so smoothly, so truthfully.

wide eyes, as scared as peter had seen them on the first night. he was the new spider on your wall.

"it doesn't mean anything. we can pretend it never happened."

peter might've been able to do that.

he might've been able to just pretend it was fine.

but he'd kissed you. and now he couldn't stop thinking about it.

even as you stood by his door, pleading with him. he was staring at your lips. he was waiting for that smile so he could kiss it away.

"peter. you're my best friend. i don't want to lose that."

if the words meant anything peter couldn't hear it.

"i'm sorry," he said, and he wasn't sure to who he was apologizing.

"please."

"i can't."

"i'll never bring it up again. i won't kiss you. i won't even complain when you pick out a bad movie. i just want--" you breathed out, a bit panicked.

peter could see it in your eyes.

"i just want you peter. that's all. it doesn't have to be more."

and it didn't.

he could see it in your eyes. your voice. the quick ticking of the clock in the background.

peter saw his own desperation, reflected in your eyes.

so peter opened the door. he let you inside.

and he told himself that if he kissed you again, well. it didn't have to be more than that.

peter presses his lips against yours.

he can feel your smile; leaking into him like poison. like a steady stream of toxin, infecting his blood.

but he doesn't stop.

he pushes against you, pulls you even closer.

he teases at the hair against your neck, he cradles your jaw in his fingertips, and marvels at how soft and smooth you are.

he bites down on your lip, appreciating the gasp that falls from your lips.

his hand slung around your waist, traveling up and down your back in a steady motion.

peter feels as you press against him. as you crave that distance that he's been trying his best to avoid.

he presses his lips against yours.

he does it over and over again.

and despite the gasps of air the two of you need, peter doesn't ever want to stop.

he could live there; in a blinking moment.

he applies glue to the edges, tells himself that none of it is going to fall apart.

his lips travel down to the skin of your neck. tasting you until the rest of it is a blur.

peter kisses you.

he tells himself that you don't mean anything more.

the feeling in his chest is just guilt.

"hey," you poked his shoulder. "what's wrong?"

peter blinked. tried to focus again. shook his head. "nothing."

"you look..." you tilted your head, looking right into his eyes. "concerned?" you guessed. "worried?"

"i'm fine." he grabbed your hand and kissed the knuckles.

it made up for the lie, peter was sure.

"what're you thinking about?"

"nothing."

you laughed. "peter parker, you mean to tell me that nothing is going on in that giant brain of yours?"

"nope."

and you just smiled at him. he appreciated that; you didn't press on the wound.

only stood there idly while he bleed to death.

he preferred it that way.

"are you hungry?" he asked, pulling you up from the couch with him.

"not much."

"do you want to go to the park?"

you'd been teasing him about going earlier. about sitting on a bench and staring at all the birds that walked passed.

you frowned at him. "you hate the park."

"i like the park."

"you like the pretzel cart right next to the park. you don't actually like the park."

"i can like the park if we get a pretzel."

you snorted. smiled at him, because you were happy.

because peter knew you.

because he was sure of it.

"i suppose we can arrange that," you said to him, rubbing at the skin of his palm.

and so the two of you left.

peter forgot all about it.

how he was looking at you instead of a box of pictures under his bed.

how that killed him, just a little bit.

peter paces around his apartment.

you're not there.

you're not here.

peter takes a moment to think about where you might be.

you had plans tonight.

you had things that you were supposed to be doing with him.

"dinner and a movie," you said, smiling at him as if he'd just told you a secret.

and peter smiled back because you were just that cute.

but you aren't here.

you aren't answering his calls.

and you didn't come to your door.

so peter paces around his apartment.

he waits for you to arrive, but the time spent thinking about it only allows him to overthink it.

to picture you, somewhere alone.

someplace that he won't be able to get you back.

"what's this?" you plucked the picture right off of his shelf.

you intruded on every carefully sanctioned rule peter had.

you were in his room.

and peter didn't have time to stop you before you drifted over to his bookshelf; before you unlocked a secret that he'd been struggling to keep.

you looked over to him, just curious, eyes just soft. "who's she?"

as soon as you said the words, peter knew that it couldn't have gone anyway else.

he knew that he couldn't have resolved, reflected, or kept himself from saying anything he wasn't supposed to.

like a selfish child, he grabbed the picture from your hands. he put it back on the bookshelf, reminding himself how to breathe.

he couldn't look at you to know that you were concerned.

he couldn't see beyond the boundaries that had been broken.

gwen, and gwen, and gwen.

and you.

because you were a pest on his wall.

peter breathed out. he considered stopping right then and there.

"peter?" you asked, "are you okay?"

eyes unmoving, dangling off of the edge of the world. his world.

gwen.

he looked at the picture--the one from graduation. the only one he had the heart to keep.

the only one he'd forgotten to lock away.

"peter?" you repeated, carefully, a gentle hand on his back.

as if to keep him grounded.

and that was enough.

he kicked you out of his apartment.

it was a bad night.

it was one of the nights when peter woke up in a sweat. where he panicked and fought and tried to kick his way out of any reality he lived in.

it was a night where only one image was burned into his brain.

where there was only one person to blame.

and it wasn't you.

it wasn't you when your hands grasped at his face; when you tried to bring him back down to someplace safe.

someplace where he could breathe.

bring him back to you.

it was a bad night. one of the nights when peter just forgot to breathe.

where he just forgot how to think, how to be a person instead of a shell of anger, of denial and grief and all of the things that he'd never managed to break free from.

it was a night.

another one and she still wasn't there.

he still hadn't woken up from the nightmare.

"gwen," he gasped out because he'd forgotten.

because you were there. you were right there next to him.

and you weren't supposed to be.

you were breaking the rules.

you were betrayal, knocking at his door every night, ridiculing him with every cruel word.

"peter," you say, softly, bringing him back down. reminding him of where he is.

and he breaks free.

he breaks all over again.

right into your hands.

he doesn't have a word for it, the way you look at him.

he doesn't have a firm grasp on how much he cares about you.

but he worries all day.

he worries about you, about where you are, about what you're doing.

he worries that he cares too much. that this is too far. that this means too much.

that everything has intruded on his careful nothing.

and he misses you when you're gone.

and he calls you when he gets the chance.

and he smiles at you.

doesn't know how to define the way he feels.

but it doesn't have to mean anything.

"i'm sorry," he tells you. "that wasn't fair."

you haven't said a thing.

you haven't pushed him, having kept your eyes from handing him a letter of resignation.

i can't do this anymore, you say, with just your eyes.

"i'm sorry," peter repeats.

"what do you want, peter?"

he shakes his head. he contemplates the idea until he forgets where he is.

"i don't know," he says. "i don't--i'm not sure."

"well, i am."

the words are short.

they are the end of an end.

peter watches you, waiting for you to leave him--knowing that you'll only hurt him this once.

that this feeling won't drift into another decade.

two years of knowing you, he thinks. two years of this.

"i can't do this anymore, peter."

he hears you but doesn't understand.

he thinks but draws no obvious conclusions.

"i'm sorry," he whispers.

he doesn't know what he's sorry for.

"god," you scoff at him.

a reprimand is thrown against the wall. it ricochets back into his chest, tearing his heart out. reminding him of the things he’s done, again and again.

he kicked you out.

he threw you away.

he pushed you so hard and so far that he barely recognizes your face, even now.

even as you stare at him--begging him to change. begging him to do the one thing he feels most incapable of.

he'd refused to love you for so long that he'd left bruises fighting you.

peter breathes in.

"i love you."

the words throw him a branch. he drops it. he pushes it even further into the ground. dirt and disease and all of the things that he deserves.

he waits for you to leave and leave and leave.

"peter, i love you.”

it’s a different sentence. it hurts even more.

“are you sorry about that?" you ask him, your anger burning holes in his heart. "are you sorry for letting me love you?"

he says nothing.

this means nothing.

"i can't--i won't sit here and pretend like i don't anymore. i won’t be your statue.”

a beautiful statue, peter realizes.

something to return to. the thing to remain when everything else has been turned to ash. something hidden and secret and just for him.

he thinks of you, stone and iron and every impenetrable thing.

he blanches at the prospect.

“i'm sorry, peter,” you say, and it’s cruel. “because it's not fair to you. i know it's not. but it's not fair to me either."

tears gather in your eyes. they drown peter in their silence.

he tries to speak but his words are too quiet. he tries to tell you but his voice has been stolen.

"i'm sorry," you tell him.

and then you're gone.

"you don't have to tell me," you'd said to him. a long time ago. "whatever it is, i don't care."

peter thought that you might. that if you knew the truth, you might care.

that you might not want to be around a murderer like him.

but he didn't say that.

"peter," you'd wrapped an arm around him, supported him with all of your weight. "i care about you, you know?"

it was a question that didn't require answering.

peter couldn't say it back. guilt had its chains wrapped around him, and was controlling his every move.

"okay. as long as you know."

"i don't care," you'd said to him.

but you would.

peter sits in his apartment alone.

it's the first time in weeks.

usually, you're there. usually, you're filling his rooms with laughter. brightening every doorway you walk through.

you’re there with a warmth peter doesn’t care to describe. a smile he doesn’t want to see; eyes that go beyond a simple conclusion.

you’re there, changing everything. one second at a time.

you distract him until he doesn't need distraction.

but tonight he's alone.

tonight he's staring at the pictures he still has of gwen.

and despite the pain.

despite the guilt.

despite all of his attention focused on the photographs in front of him.

despite it all.

he's thinking about you.

when peter knocks on your door, he tries not to wince.

he tries to collect himself into a neat picture. into a semblance of a person. a complete idea.

he struggles and scrambles around for something spare, something he left behind.

but he can't manage to find it all before you open your door.

before you're standing in front of him, eyes puffy.

it's been a night.

one night without you and peter's already back.

some cruel part of him laughs.

"hey," he says.

he repeats apologies in his head. tries to print them out into the world. he wants you to know. he wants to tell you.

he wants to just fix this.

you stare at him, mouth open the tiniest bit. unexpected and shocked and everything peter was worried about.

peter scratches at his neck, ashamed. "i know you're still mad. and that i shouldn't be here. i wanted--" he swallows his courage. "i wanted to give you some space, but i..."

he stops. looks at you. your eyes. a phantom of a smile. and idea he’s lost one too many times.

"i don't want to lose you."

he repeats the words like a record in his mind.

your words, he realizes.

"i can't lose you," he repeats. he feels the grasp on his heart loosen. he breathes out, shakily. "can we talk? i want--i just want--"

and he falters on the edges of the words.

he can feel the pain, steady as air, crawling up his skin, laughing at him over and over. it presses up against him, whispering that he can’t do it. it ceases to exist at all.

it holds him hostage. he’s not allowed to do this. he’s not supposed to be here, looking at you.

but he wants to feel it. he wants you to hear him clearly. he wants to push this wall away. and he—

if he could just say it.

you open the door.

because you've always been more forgiving than him.

its a couple of weeks later.

a couple of weeks of finally understanding what denial can do to a person.

of finally defining the meaning of you.

of you and your smile and your forgiveness.

the strength you've leant peter, even when he hasn't deserved it.

it's a couple of weeks later, and you're sitting on peter's couch.

you're there, now, and peter doesn't feel guilty about it.

he can't.

he doesn't let himself think about what it means.

instead, he runs a fingertip up and down the skin of your arm, he tries to pay attention to the movie you're both watching and fails.

he looks over at you, admiring the light on your face.

the depths and lights and pictures that a camera could never capture.

he smiles at you, unknowingly.

you look over to him. "what?" you ask, teasing voice, a brow raised.

but you're smiling too.

peter shakes his head. he tilts your chin up with his finger, getting a better view.

there's a look on your face that peter never wants to go away.

there's a feeling in his chest--more than pounding, more than strength--that he recognizes most.

you mean something to him. that much is clear.

"peter," you sing, trying to get his attention.

"what?"

"you're not even watching the movie."

peter smiles. "that's okay."

"want to change it?"

peter shakes his head, he doesn't need to say a single thing.

you sigh and look away from him, but there's a grin on your face that peter wants to put in his pocket.

for a rainy day.

he keeps staring at you.

doesn't need to watch a movie when you're right next to him.

and peter defines it.

because he knows.

and he's pretty sure--amidst all of the mistakes and lies--that he always has.

“hey,” peter says.

he doesn’t need to worry about restrictions. about ideas and actions that he’s made.

you smile at him, despite it all.

“change your mind?” you ask him, so very close.

he can feel your breath on his skin. can taste the eagerness in the air.

yes, he thinks,

you wait for him. you stare at him until he speaks. “peter,” you whisper, like a beacon of hope.

like a light to go home to.

peter smiles again, ready.

“i love you.”

my masterlist here.

tags: @moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf

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t-lostinworlds · 8 months

Text

A Strange(r’s) Comfort | Peter Parker

A/N: had this idea right after i saw nwh which was...years ago now lol. rewatched it again recently so here’s me dusting off a wip that’s been sitting in my drafts. basically, this is just me giving peter some comfort in a way, bc that boy really needs one :((

》 PAIRING: peter parker x female!reader 》 TROPE/GENRE: strangers to lovers (mostly implied); soft angst; hurt/comfort 》 SUMMARY: Peter found a strange comfort in the graveyard, no less. But hearing about your day-to-day had been the highlight of his. And when one night led to the both you showing vulnerability, suddenly, Peter didn't feel so alone anymore. Maybe a stranger's comfort wasn't so bad. 》 WARNINGS: Spoilers? (i mean it’s been a while); bad jokes/puns (one about chicken & one about sex lmao); peter eavesdropping (sorta...ya know, enhanced hearing); it’s mostly set in the graveyard so...; mentions of: death, car accident, drunk drivers, being in jail for a moment, petty theft, peer pressure; and overall just dealing with grief and peter & reader bonding over their experience with grief. 》 WORD COUNT: 5.2k+ (issa baby fic)

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ P. PARKER MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

Some might consider it unhealthy, but was there really a 'right' way to deal with the loss of someone you hold near and dear to your heart? They might even say it was excessive, but who were they to police him? They didn't know what he was going through. They could never understand what he was going through.

A part of him had excused it with his wounds being fresh, that with time, he'd be able to learn not to dwell too long on the remnants of the people he loves. Maybe with time, he'd be able to move on, something that seemed so impossible at the moment. But he'll get there—well, he hoped so, at least.

Either way, there was no doubt that everyone handled grief differently.

For Peter Parker, that was visiting May's grave every day.

Once was enough.

That was what he limited himself to, at least.

But still, it was barely enough to settle the demons in his head. Barely enough to stop him from replaying the scene over and over.

Peter had been recalculating in utter desperation as to what else he could've done better, what else he could've done more to save her.

That was what it was like most nights.

Some nights, though, his mind would switch things up a bit, thinking that maybe he was going about it wrong. Maybe it was a case of what he shouldn't have done.

Those nights Peter sometimes found himself picking apart every choice he'd ever made before it led to that point.

Maybe if he hadn't chosen to go on that stupid school trip to Europe then this wouldn't have happened. Maybe his identity wouldn't have been revealed and it wouldn't have led for that first domino to tumble, knocking over the rest that made his life turn for the absolute worse.

Or maybe, he didn't need to go that far back in the past. Maybe he simply shouldn't have chosen to question Dr. Strange's decision to send those villains back to where they came from immediately.

But sadly, that was all there was to it.

Peter's thoughts were simply and only just a whole bunch of unanswerable maybes.

Maybe this, maybe that. Maybe he owed it to them to try his best and fix things, maybe he didn't owe them anything at all. Maybe it was the wrong choice to try and save everyone, maybe it was right.

Aunt May said he did the right thing.

But it didn't feel like it sometimes.

Hell, it didn't even feel like it was even worth it. And no matter how much he tried to tell himself that it was right, his thoughts still managed to convince him that every. single. choice he made was simply wrong.

It wasn't even difficult to come to that conclusion anymore. Because ever since he got bitten by that spider, his loss considerably outweighed all his wins. And from then onwards, it just felt like he kept losing, and losing, and losing, and losing.

Right now, the most mundane thing he'd been losing lately was sleep, at the very least.

He'd gotten a job as a delivery guy at this small chicken joint a couple of streets down his apartment. Some might call it cheating—in his opinion, it was simply taking a shortcut—but he'd leave the bicycle they'd lend him in an alleyway and just swing the chickens to their destination. Sure, changing in and out of his suit was a bit tiring but it was definitely far better than dealing with New York traffic.

Apart from that, he'd also begun with some freelance photography work, dusting off the old DSLR camera Ben and May got him. He got decent at it a while back. But it got long forgotten the minute they bought him his first video game console, two years later.

He was starting off small, from random birthday parties to taking photos of restaurants or any establishment that was looking to use the pictures for ads or whatever. He was up for anything, anyone who didn't mind getting an okay photo at best.

There wasn't much to it, though, since nobody was really keen on hiring someone who didn't have experience. As a matter of fact, he didn't even have a high school diploma. Which had now led to him sacrificing countless hours of studying for his GED tests.

So, it was safe to say that he was handling a lot, especially juggling it with his still ongoing nighttime patrols.

Yet all of that seemed so much easier compared to what he had to deal with once he was lying in bed, wide awake even if it was past midnight. What went on in his day-to-day was only a fraction of the reason why he was losing sleep because his damning thoughts just had a habit of being so loud once everything else had quieted down.

It was hard as it was dealing with grief, even though he for sure had dealt with it more times than needed in such a short amount of time.

But what was more difficult about it this time around, was dealing with alone.

And Peter Parker was truly and utterly, alone.

No fellow Avenger to advise on ways to deal with this. After all, they were the only people who could understand even the slightest bit of what he was going through.

Saving the rest only to fail at saving one, losing someone in the midst of fighting for the rest of the world.

No Happy to offer some guidance on dealing with the loss of someone near and dear to you. Or for him to just be there as someone Peter could relate to, just like when Tony had died.

No Ned and MJ to give him company, offer their different ways of comfort as best as they could. They weren't there to simply make him laugh, offer that tiniest moment of reprieve, distract him with their theories and arguments about anything and everything to help him escape from, well, everything.

Right now, Peter had no one.

Going from having the people he truly cared about be only one call away, to suddenly being someone labeled as 'unknown number' in their contact lists, it was difficult.

But maybe he would just learn to live with it.

And maybe the first step to being able to live with his grief was to visit May frequently.

It didn't matter what time of the day it was. Whether it was early morning or just a few minutes after lunch, or when the sky started tinting orange as the sun slowly set. Midday or midnight, dusk or dawn, it didn't matter as long as he could visit her just once.

Maybe a part of him was hoping that by some miracle he'd hear her voice again, telling him, even if it was the last time, that you're going to be okay.

Peter needed it, so badly. He needed to be told that things would turn out alright because him being fine? It seemed like a far-off dream at this point.

He'd been to space, been to the mirror dimension, fought villains from other universes, been the center of a spell that erased people's memories and made them forget who he was.

Surely hearing the voice of a loved one that had passed wasn't too much to ask?

Yet every day, every moment he ventured into the graveyard, he was met by silence.

Well, aside from the distant hum of New York as life moved on. There was also the deep howl of the wind at night, a few cracking branches accompanied by the soft coo of crows.

Some would probably find peace from all the white noise, but Peter couldn't say he found any comfort in it. He'd only grown accustomed to it, used to tuning out the rest of the world to avoid being reminded of a life he once had.

Still, quietness had always been typical during his visits.

That, until one Saturday afternoon.

•••

Peter sensed another person approaching before he could even see them.

The soft crunch of fallen leaves was what he heard first, followed by a soft humming of some holiday song.

He looked up from the book he was reading, curious eyes landing on someone carrying flowers, a slight pep in her step which was unusual given the location.

Still, there was something about you that Peter couldn't help but be drawn to.

"There we go, all nice and clean," he heard you say, rustling of dried leaves and the soft brushing of clothes following suit. "And flowers well hydrated with bottled spring water."

You were talking to yourself.

It was a habit, he assumed. You just seemed comfortable doing it, as if you were having a mundane conversation with someone else.

Peter found it oddly endearing.

"I brought your favorite this time Dad because I am sure you're complaining to Mom why I always bring her favorite flowers," you explained with a soft laugh. "I sometimes forget you're a flowers type of guy, too."

No—you weren't talking to yourself.

You were talking to the gravestone.

His curiosity piqued even more.

It wasn't that you were being loud, either. Not at all. You were speaking softly as you typically would if you were by yourself in a graveyard, no less.

But because of his enhanced hearing, he simply couldn't help but listen.

"Sorry I haven't been here for a little while, just been busy with you know, moving, college, finding a job with a minimum wage that will not cover rent alone so what even is the point? We look for a job to survive but when we do find a job it doesn't even pay you enough to get by? Some people don't even hire you because 'not enough experience' and I'm like, duh? I'm trying to gain experience hence why I'm applying? Who even invented this shithole?"

Peter found himself nodding along, unable to argue with your claims when they were filled with nothing but the truth.

"Sorry, sorry, it just doesn't make a damn sense," you sighed. He could almost hear you rolling your eyes. "Anyway, I then have other adult things I really don't want to deal with like learning how to deal with taxes and stuff which is so dumb given I'm close to broke and—where does my tax go, anyway? Some politician's tenth vacation to the Bahamas, probably."

For the first time in a long while, Peter cracked a smile.

"Ugh, I am sorry, I promise I don't come here only to complain to you guys," you said, "But I am doing okay…"

He couldn't really explain the 'why,' but the soft tug in his heartstrings was definitely real when he heard the melancholia in your voice.

"The holidays are coming up," you said softly, the slight shake in your tone unmistakable. Yet as it rushed to the surface, it was just as quickly replaced with a chipper one.

"They always tell me how you both are watching over me now. But I don't know if I really want that," you sighed exaggeratedly. "Not because I hate you guys. But imagine if I was having sex? I really don't want to think about you 'watching over me' because it's really uncomfortable."

Peter couldn't stop his snort, his eyes widening as he spared you a glance. He was as grateful that you didn't seem to hear him.

The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was eavesdropping—well, maliciously, at least.

"It's a joke, Mom. See, Dad gets it."

Silence hung in the air after that, a sudden gust of wind blowing away the leaves that littered the snow-covered grass.

But he had a feeling the shake in your voice wasn't because of the cold.

"I really miss you guys…"

Peter left at that.

He didn't see you again for the next few days, probably because he never did visit at the same hour of the day. He never actively tried to see what time you were there, either—if you went every day at all. He'd just become a stalker at that point.

So, every time you did cross paths, it was entirely by chance.

The next encounter was when he brought his lunch with him to the graveyard. He'd caught sight of you sitting on a pink blanket that was laid out on the grass, legs crossed with a box of pizza to your right.

Instinctively, you looked up and over your shoulder when you heard his footsteps.

Your eyes immediately locked with his.

Pretty was the first word that came to his mind.

Beautiful, when you offered him a sweet and warm smile.

"Hello," you greeted.

Peter couldn't help but smile in return.

"Hi."

Nothing else was said after that.

You both respectively ate your lunches in your little corners, your soft humming bringing a comforting peace, one he still couldn't quite explain.

And from there on out, Peter learned that you did go there every day, but it was only either at lunchtime or late in the afternoon.

Because whenever Peter went during those times, you were always there.

As he said, he never actively tried to be there whenever you were. He didn't change anything with his routine. He still went there at random times of the day.

You and him crossing paths simply happened.

And most of those moments, Peter couldn't help but listen in on your rambles.

It might have been wrong, otherwise, creepy, but it wasn't like you were unaware of his presence. You weren't being loud, but you weren't exactly whispering into nothing either. If it were an unenhanced being, they would still hear you, but maybe only slightly inaudible. Peter just had the ability to make out your words a little clearer than the average person.

Besides, all your stories had been mundane at most, quite adorable at best.

Like that one time you ran into a post because you saw a cat wearing some boots and a clear raincoat across the road. Or that time you missed your stop in the subway because you kept talking to a Corgi who was lounging comfortably in their owner's backpack.

"His little legs were so cute!"

Like he said, adorable.

But if it was something personal, though, he'd learned to tune it out. He made sure to keep those matters out of his ear, leaving your private conversations, well, private.

Yet your silly and terrible jokes, your gripes about society and the unfairness of the world, to your little story times and mundane gossip of what you'd heard on the street, Peter couldn't help but tune in as if he was listening to the morning radio.

It made Peter feel lighter somewhat, a feeling he never once associated when being in a graveyard.

He didn't know if it was your stories, or if it was simply hearing that soft tone of your voice. Either way, he found it comforting, which was so strange.

Never had he ever thought he would find comfort from a stranger, no less.

A strange comfort.

•••

"People always ask why did the chicken cross the road. They never ask why the chicken didn't cross the road."

Peter perked up in curiosity, ready to hear another of the many jokes you'd completely ruined.

He found it absolutely hilarious how you were churning typical and old punchlines into horrible ones.

The funniest part was, it seemed like you were doing it on purpose.

"Why, you ask? Because they physically can't anymore," you said, pausing for added effect. "People enjoy eating chicken legs way too much."

Peter's eyes grew wide, gaze landing on the chicken leg he just finished. He couldn't stop the sound that escaped his lips.

It was a mix between a wheeze, a laugh, and a cough.

Loud enough to get your attention.

"Hey," you called, voice sounding closer. "Are you okay?"

"Oh—uhm, hi," he stammered, caught off guard when you were now suddenly in front of him. Clearing his throat, he nodded. "And yeah, I'm good,"

"Do you need some water?" You offered him a bottle.

"No, no, I've got my own," he declined, lifting his bottle. "But thank you."

"Oh okay," you said, smiling sweetly. "It just sounded like you were choking or something so I wanted to make sure if you were alright."

Peter blushed.

"No, I was…uhm—" He scratched the back of his neck. "I was holding back my laugh."

You tilted your head, bottom lip jutted out and Peter found himself thinking of ways to smooth out the little crinkled on your forehead, maybe kiss—wait what?

"Why would you do that?" you asked.

Shit.

Did I say that out loud?

"Sorry?" He blinked at you.

"Why would you hold back your laugh?"

"Oh," he sighed, mostly in relief. "Just didn't want to seem creepy and I wasn't…eavesdropping or anything but I uhm—heard your joke." Chuckling shyly, he smiled. "It was pretty funny."

"Funny because it was bad?" You raised a knowing brow. "If you say it was good then I'm really going to question your sense of humor."

"It was really bad," he admitted, breathing out a laugh.

The way your smile brightened made Peter's heart do a funny thing.

"Thanks," you giggled. "I pride myself in my bad jokes."

"Yeah," he breathed out, willing his heart to stop being so goddamn weird, what is going on with you? "And sorry for not helping the chickens cross the road."

You stared at him confused.

That was until he pointed towards the bag on the ground that had the logo of a chicken on it.

Your hearty laugh rang in the air.

Peter found himself growing warmer at the sound, the burn starting right in his chest and spreading to the whole expanse of his body.

"I—whew, sorry, wow," you heaved after a moment. "Haven't laughed like that in a while."

Both of you fell silent after that—not an awkward one. If anything, it was pleasant, like there was an unspoken understanding being exchanged with a simple look.

"This may seem like weird advice but try and talk to them," you softly said.

Peter looked at you, confused.

You gestured toward the tombstone with a sympathetic smile.

"They might hear it, they might not, there's really no way of knowing," you explained. "But what more could you lose if you try? Plus, you'll get it off your chest and that's always progress."

"I—" Peter nodded, the corner of his lips curling up. "Thank you. I'll keep it in mind."

You smiled at that. "I'll see you around."

"See you around," he hummed, gaze never leaving your figure even as you left, his eyes steady on the path you walked on as he mulled over your words.

It was kind of weird advice, but at the same time, it made perfect sense.

Peter didn't question it nor did he judge—who was he to judge? After all, everyone handled grief differently.

But as he sat down on the ground, eyes steady on the lettering of May's name, he found the words flowing out so easily.

"Hi, May I—" Peter took a sharp breath, blinking away the sting that started to settle in his eyes. "Wow. It's been a while since I've talked to you, huh?"

It started out simple, filling her up with what was new with his life recently—the job, his education, all those mundane stuff.

But then as he shifted from one topic to another, he inevitably started talking about all the things that felt so wrong. And once that train left the station, it was so difficult to stop.

It wasn't a complaint. It was an unloading of the baggage he'd been carrying around alone for quite some time now.

All the loneliness and grief, the boiling anger and consuming regret, the love and the love lost, to the bleak look of what his future held.

Peter didn't realize he was crying until a soft gush of wind brushed his cheeks, the coldness making him catch his breath with a shiver.

And then, a small white butterfly flew right in front of him, stopping momentarily before disappearing into the now setting sky.

Peter let out a breath.

Lighter and relieved.

It could've been a coincidence, or maybe it wasn't at all.

But what more could he lose if he took that as a sign that she heard him?

So with a small, tearful smile, he sighed,

"Thanks for always hearing me out, May."

Since then, he'd grown to tell May about his day. Some were tougher than others, while some were snippets of his new life—mundane and simple but starting to become fulfilling the more he looked at it from different perspectives.

As the weeks passed by, Peter's everyday visits became every other day. At first, the guilt of missing a day was heavily consuming. But it didn't take long for it slowly turn into a soft lull—still there, but not as bad as it used to be.

There was one other thing he hoped for whenever he wandered into the graveyard, though.

To see you again.

If it was one last time just so he could say thank you, then he'd take it.

That didn't mean he wasn't wishing for it to be more.

•••

The hair on every inch of Peter's body stood up when he heard it.

It was definitely not his spider sense going awry. This was very much a human reaction.

Well, he could imagine that when the first thing a person would hear as they venture into a graveyard in the dead of the night was crying, even the toughest men would get spooked.

But as soon as Peter located the source of the sound, his heart broke.

He wasn't expecting to find you, sat on the cold ground alone, hugging your knees to your chest, body shaking with sobs.

His first instinct was to fight whoever it was that made you cry because how fucking dare they?

But with a controlled breath, Peter walked over to you, making sure to step on dried leaves so you'd be aware of his presence.

Your head snapped up at the sound, puffy red eyes landing on him.

His frown could only deepen as he slowly sat beside you, offering you a tender smile with his arms wide open.

You stared at him with furrowed brows, eyes switching between his face and his open arms, downright confused.

Peter couldn't blame you. After all, you didn't know him.

He was ready for you to yell at him for being a creep, to scream at him to get lost. He was prepared for you to push him away—hell, punch him in the face—and run as fast as you could.

But instead, your lips quivered, a broken sob following suit. With your head hung low, you fell into his embrace.

And Peter hugged you as tightly as he could.

He didn't say anything, didn't feel like it was needed. He simply held you close, rubbing circles over your back as he gently rocked you from side to side.

Crying it all out until you couldn't anymore was, most of the time, the best thing you could do at the moment.

So he let you.

Only when your sobs turned to sniffles to soft shaky breaths did you pull away.

"Your shirt," you gasped shakily, bottom lip jutting out as your eyes began to water again. "Oh no, I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," he reassured, squeezing your shoulders before reluctantly letting you go. "I wouldn't have offered you a hug if I minded."

"Thank you," you whispered. "I really needed that."

"No worries." He nodded with a small smile. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's just—" you sighed, wiping your face with the sleeves of your coat. "It's my first holiday alone so it's been kinda tough."

"Me too," he hummed, smiling sadly when you looked at him, a mixture of surprise and understanding crossing your face. "My parents have been gone since I was a kid, and I was left with my uncle and aunt. My uncle died a few years ago so all I had left was her but now she's…"

"I'm sorry," you softly said, your hand finding his.

You gave it a squeeze.

Peter squeezed back.

"I only had my parents growing up," you started, gesturing at the tombstone. "Didn't get to meet my grandparents, never really met many of my relatives because they're all halfway across the world, so now it's just me."

Peter didn't know what it was, exactly. Maybe it was the warmth of your hand still holding his and your kind eyes bearing no judgment or pity. Maybe it was the sheer comfort you provided, one that he still couldn't quite explain.

Either way, he found himself sharing what it had been like for him. Sure, he left out details to keep his deepest secret uncovered, and to come and think about it, it was mostly things connected to Aunt May. But Peter definitely spilled way too much to someone he barely even knew.

He did not regret it one bit.

"I promised to protect her and I—"

"I'm sure you gave it your all," you assured.

"Not enough to keep her alive," he scoffed, tone far more bitter than he intended to. He caught himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, sorry—"

"Never apologize for how you feel," you said firmly.

Peter nodded, his attention caught by your thumb that was absentmindedly running circles over the back of his hand. You'd been holding onto it as you listened to his story, and he found himself not minding it at all.

If anything, a part of him wanted you to never let go.

"But I get it," you breathed out. "The whole 'this is my fault' thing."

"Was it an accident?" he asked softly.

You nodded. "Car crash. Some drunk frat boys thought it was a good idea to test out how fast they could go in their new truck into an open road."

He frowned. "That's not your fault."

"It is," you insisted. "They wouldn't have been out on the road in the first place if they weren't coming to pick me up in the dead of the night." Shaking your head, you scoffed, "I wish I could say I was at a friend's house but they were coming to bail me out of jail."

Attempting to lighten up the mood, Peter softly bumped his shoulder with yours. "Am I in the midst of a troublemaker?"

That earned him a teary chuckle.

He took it as a win.

"Not quite," you sighed, your smile fading. "Got hung up with the wrong crowd. They kept teasing me that I was too much of a miss goody two shoes and that I should live a little."

"Peer pressure is one nasty thing."

"Yeah well, I still did it." You shrugged, anxiously gnawing on your bottom lip. "A group of us were walking home from a party and we passed by this random minimart on the way. My so-called friends thought it was a good idea to dare me to steal one thing from the store, to break my 'good girl' streak as they put it.

"They all gave me ultimatums, one of them was either I steal something or they'll tell the whole school that I was the real definition of 'The freaks in bed are always the quiet ones' so my loser reputation is no more. They said they can't hang around me anymore if I kept being the loser of the group. It was tough because they were all the friends I had."

Peter couldn't stop the surge of pure anger that ran through him. "They sound fucking horrible."

"Yeah, and I was stupid enough to go along with it." Shaking your head, you chuckled, tone void of humor. "It wasn't even the owner who saw me, it was some random white woman yelling bloody murder as if I was burning the goddamn place down. And the second my friends saw the security guards? Oh, they ran, left me there to fend for myself."

Peter unclenched his fist, settling to rub circles on your back instead.

"It was one candy," you choked back a sob, gesturing towards the tombstone. "But the punishment feels—"

Peter wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in for a side hug when you started crying again.

"And you know what hurts most?" you whimpered, fisting his jacket as you laid your head on his shoulder. "Knowing that the last memory they had of me was just filled with disappointment."

"I'm sure that's not true," he said softly, squeezing you close. "They loved you."

"I know they did I just—"

"Wish you could go back and change every decision you made?"

You lifted your head off his shoulder and looked at him, eyes glossy yet he saw the flicker of gratefulness in them.

Peter felt it in himself too, an appreciation to finding someone who could understand even the littlest bit of what he was going through.

"Yeah," you shakily breathed out, letting out a soft laugh as you wiped your nose. "God, what a way to celebrate the holidays, huh?"

He chuckled at that, nodding.

It was definitely something, crying your heart out, spilling all your trauma to a stranger in the dead of night at a graveyard.

But there was only one thought that stayed at the forefront of his mind.

Peter didn't feel so alone anymore.

"Yeah," he hummed, a shy smile playing on his lips. "But I'm glad I'm not alone."

Your whole face brightened, your fingers interlacing with his.

"Me too," you said, smiling. "We're going to be okay."

Peter felt some weight lift off his entire back at those simple words of reassurance.

"We're going to be okay."

Teasingly bumping his shoulder with yours, you hummed, "I'm Y/N, by the way."

You both laughed at the absurdity of it, getting to know each other's pain, regret, hurt and grief before even getting the chance to know a name.

"Peter," he sighed, squeezing your hand. "Peter Parker."

Later that night, he somehow gathered up the courage to ask if you wanted to get some hot cocoa with him. And when you said yes with that smile he'd grown to adore so much, Peter had an inkling that you wouldn't stay a stranger to him in the long run.

But for now, as you laid your head on his shoulder, your soft breaths visible in the cold air, tiny snowflakes on your lashes, face glowing underneath the moonlight, warmth and contentment bloomed in his chest.

Peter was smiling.

Genuine and pure, and perhaps a sign of a new beginning.

A stranger's comfort wasn't so bad, after all.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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findmeinasunshower · 2 years

Text

𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒏 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔: 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓 (𝑴𝑪𝑼)

word-count: 2k

summary: fluff, takes place after spider-man: no way home

warnings: none :)

Anyone else wouldn’t have heard the near-silent sound of someone landing on your balcony. But after nights and nights of waiting for that telltale noise, it rings through your head loud and clear. You hop out of bed and throw open your double windows before Spider-Man can even knock on the glass.

He pauses in his knock with his hand midair. “Hi.”

You smile and pull yourself up onto your balcony. “Is the city safe?” you ask.

The hero sighs and turns so his back is away from your bedroom, leaning his elbows on the railing. “Yes, it is. Everything’s fine now.”

You nod. “Good. I didn’t think you were going to visit tonight after seeing the news.”

Spider-Man turns his head towards you, giving you the impression that he’s looking at you through his white lenses. “And miss spending time with you?” he jokes. “Never.”

You snort and roll your eyes, turning back toward your bedroom. “Alright, cornball. Well, I’m glad you came, because I still brought these up–” You pull the huge Ziploc bag of M&M’s off of the table by your window and hold it out to the web-crawler, who gasps and takes it greedily. “I’m always prepared,” you say proudly.

Spider-Man lifts the bottom of his mask, and you blink in slight surprise at the sight of the lower half of his face. It’s always strange seeing something other than the red and blue covering his visage, but you lose the reverence immediately as the hero shoves a handful of M&Ms into his mouth and lets out a truly ungodly sound. “You are a chocolate angel,” he moans.

You laugh at his enthusiasm and join him in leaning on the railing of your balcony. Earlier that day, you had been caught in the middle of a small battle between Spider-Man and a group of bank-robbers, who were engaged in a shootout with the cops. He had (very unnecessarily) scooped you up off of the ground and swung you three blocks away before depositing you on the ground. He gave you only a salute before he took off again, back toward the fight.

But he had saved your life. It’s not like you didn’t notice the guns that were turned on you when the thugs saw a civilian within their range–A shot civilian makes for a good distraction. But your late-night friend had stopped that from happening. You frown when said friend puts your bag of M&M’s on the ground but he explains by muttering “big dinner” which makes you smile. He doesn’t pull his mask back down.

You tilt your head at him, examining the way his mask and the small area of skin shine in the moonlight, and decide that a thank you is in order. While he was still looking toward the street, you raise up on your toes, softly and quickly brushing your lips against his cheek. Or at least that was what you meant to do. You meant to only kiss his cheek and then thank him for saving your life earlier that day, but apparently, your sudden proximity had spooked the spider. His face shifted the second your lips had neared his cheek, turning his face towards yours ever so slightly. Just enough so that your lips brushed the corner of his mouth.

Just enough to seem accidental, but enough that you’d felt just how soft his lips are.

You can imagine his eyes widening beneath his mask, just as yours currently are. Your noses bump as you very obviously try to put at least some distance between the two of you, but not enough to be out of reach, and never enough to not be able to feel him close.

A millennium could have passed, or just two seconds. Neither of you could be sure. Your warm breaths mingle in the cool night air, and Spider-Man becomes suddenly hyper-aware of everything that makes you you. Your bright (e/c) eyes are expectant, waiting to see what his next move will be because you sure as hell aren’t moving anytime soon.

“(y/n),” he whispers. “I think I’m going to do something really, really stupid.”

Stupid, because he’s a superhero. And you’re a girl from his class...before he disappeared off of the face of the earth. But you … you are just so beautiful and filled with absolute grace and courage, and if the two of you were in another world, you would have him knocking on your window every single day. Every day until you would have him for good. He can see it and although you would never admit it, you can see it too.

But you don’t move. And even though you don’t know it, your captivating eyes are gazing directly into his through the mask. He can only imagine what’s going through your head. Peter realizes that he has two choices: He could run away and keep the semi-normality that is his fucked up life; or, he could just fall. Risk the inevitable explosion that he knows is there.

He decides to fall. Consequences be damned to hell.

He closes the distance between the two with far more confidence than he actually feels. Spider-Man’s gloved hand frames the side of your face and his lips press against yours softly, but curiously, feeling just how soft they are and just how right they feel against his. If he was being honest, the hero’s only intention was a mere brush of his lips against yours, just to get a little taste of your warmth.

He was also sure that you were going to reject him, push him away, and he was already half-braced for what he thought was imminent rejection the moment he feels your fingers close around his wrist. But you don’t shove him back, much to his surprise. Instead, you stand up on your tiptoes and kiss him back, pulling him ever closer. Encouraged by you, Spider-Man’s other hand slides towards your waist before resting on the small of your back, and he curses every god that exists and could possibly exist for the gloved hand that prevents him from actually touching you.

You shudder against him, and he realizes that his hand is resting on the bare skin of your back, and it occurs to Peter that he might be going too far. He should stop. He thought you would stop him! This wasn’t why he’d started stopping by your balcony, or why he’d wanted to get to know you.

But then your tongue brushes timidly over his bottom lip, and Peter loses every ability to think coherently. His grip on you tightens and he presses his hand harder against the exposed skin of your back, drinking in the gasp that comes out of your lips. Sparks shoot all through his nervous system, and just like that, a soft and sweet kiss turns into fire. Whatever voice that was pleading for him to keep a hold on his sanity is exiled to the hidden corners of his mind the minute he feels you tug his face down closer to you.

You run one of your hands over his scalp and whimper, mourning the fact that you can’t run your fingers through the hair you feel shifting beneath the spandex. Peter is happy to oblige and give you the closeness that the both of you desire. His hand slides from your face to your neck, and the movements trail goosebumps along your skin that he can’t feel as he deepens the kiss, pressing your body flush against his.

He could kiss you for hours, but after a couple moments of letting his lungs scream for oxygen, Spider-Man breaks the kiss so your panted breaths meet between the two of you. Neither of you moves or even think about moving. For once, the city that never sleeps seems to be silent around you, and the stars watch with bated breath as the hero very reluctantly extracts himself from your embrace. You immediately miss the feel of his torso pressed against yours as the cool, night wind weaves around your body.

When you finally feel the pressure of his fingertips disappear from your neck, you manage to look up at him shyly. Your eyes meet nothing but a pair of swollen lips and two, blank white eyes. you blush deeply and, although you can’t really see it, Spider-Man does too.

“I have to go,” he whispers. You nod and look down at your bare feet on the metal of the fire escape. He takes hold of your wrists. “I don’t want to.”

You lift your gaze back up to him and blink up at him timidly through your lashes. He resists the urge to groan at how beautiful you look at that moment. As much as you’d like him to stay and kiss you all night, you know that he can’t. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” you inquire.

The boy beneath the mask grins and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, tomorrow.” You giggle at the way his voice cracks slightly, and you’re grateful that he seems to be just as nervous as you are. Spider-Man takes a step back and pulls the bottom of his mask back down to cover the bottom of his face. After tucking it into the fabric around his neck, he allows himself to look at you one more time. “Good night, (y/n).”

You smile fondly and cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to ward off the sudden chill in the air now that you’re not wrapped in the superhero’s arms. “Good night, Spider-Boy.”

He chuckles nervously at your teasing and gives you a smaller version of his signature salute before vaulting over the edge of your tiny balcony. You sigh in content and raise your trembling fingers to touch your lips. You can still feel them tingling with a glorious energy, and you smile to yourself, laughing almost incredulously at what just happened. Spider-Man just kissed you.

And you know that there will be consequences. There will be conversations about what this is, and what you want it to be, and how it’s going to work. There are complications that come with any relationship, but ten times more when it comes to a romance with a masked superhero. With someone who you don’t even know his name, and the unavoidable secrecy that hangs over the both of you like a cloud.

You lean your elbows on the cool metal railing and sigh to yourself, staring blankly into the street below. You think about the numerous nights that the boy has visited you, and the two of you have shared bags of M&M’s and various other snacks. You think about the late-night conversations about the most random of things, or more serious subjects where the two of you just lay it all out on the table. You realize that any sort of problem would be worth it as long as the two of you at least had a chance.

A loud bang rips you out of your stupor and you gasp at the feel of your fire escape shaking beneath you. When you look up from the alley, it’s to see Spider-man perched on the opposite side of the railing. “I’m sorry, I just had to do this one more time.”

And with that, he slams his lips against yours, and you don’t care that there’s a layer of fabric between the two of yours’ mouths. Kissing him through his mask is a strange feeling, but it has the same effect on you. Fireworks explode in your chest as you lean forward to cup his face in your hands. You feel him smile beneath his mask and you respond with a giggle of your own. You’re just two teenagers reveling in the wonderful, confusing feeling of newfound love.

Spider-Man leans back just enough that you can’t reach his lips with your kiss anymore, no matter how far you lean over the edge. “Good night,” he repeats himself, and with that, he lets go, spiraling into a free fall before he catches himself and swings off into the night.

Yes. It’s definitely worth it.

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stevenssacrab · 5 months

Text

Three More Minutes

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Summary: A simple grocery run turns into the most traumatizing night of Peter's life

Rating: 18+ (minors, do not interact)

Warnings: Physical assault, mentions and usage of knife, strong insinuation of rape, stabbing, description of reader actively dying, Peter in utter despair, reader death

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: This is a sad ones my dudes, I teared up a little writing this, be safe out there :)

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

"Don't worry, Pete, I'm paying right now," you say calmly to Peter over the phone, inserting your card to pay; you reach for your bags, but the bag is weak and rips from the bottom. All the contents were scattered across the floor, apples rolling every which way.

"Shit, ugh, of course," you curse out loud; you bend down to pick up some apples.

"What happened?" Peter asks in your ear, slightly concerned

"The bag ripped from the bottom," you say; Peter hears the annoyance in your voice and chuckles.

"Ah, I hate when that happens," Peter says apologetically.

"Ugh, the apples are all over the place; oh, thank you," you say softly. You grab the apple from the kind stranger's hand. He suddenly grips your wrist tightly, and you gasp loudly, confusion etched across your features.

"Don't trust a stranger's kindness," he said harshly, spit flying out of his mouth; you wince at his firm grip.

"Let go of me," you say timidly, trying to pull your hands away, but he only holds on tighter, looking at you with wide eyes.

"Y/N? What's happening?" Peter is trying to remain calm, but feeling completely helpless, he should've gone with you.

"I said let go," you say louder; people around you look at the scene unfolding before them, but not a single person moves to help you out of this escalating situation; you look back at the stranger digging their claws into you, letting out an audible "ow." Tears start to fill your eyes; you look around for anyone, just one person to help you, but everyone just watches

"Y/N?!" Peter's panic slipped through his voice. Peter moves to race over to you, but he hears a scuffle and then screams.

"GET OFF ME!" you scream. Security pulled the assailant off you; he kicked and screamed as security dragged him away.

"Hello? Peter?" you ask, your hands shaking violently.

"Yes! I'm here! Are you okay?" he asks, terrified.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm just a little shaken up," you say, voice wavering, adrenaline still high, heat beating out of your chest; you try and control your breathing.

"Can you please walk me home?" you ask, trembling. Your eyes scan everywhere, still on edge.

"Of course, baby, I'll be right there," he says compassionately.

"I'm leaving right now; I'll see you in a little bit; just wait for me," he says firmly.

"Okay, Pete," you say, hanging up the phone; you look around the store; everything is just too much; you can hear your blood flowing in your ears, and the lights are so bright you can barely open your eyes. You try to stand, and your knees buckle, but you manage to stand. You decide that you can't stay here any longer. You walk one step at a time, gripping the walls for support; you feel your knees will give out from underneath you at any moment.

"Okay, one foot in front of the other, you can do this," you say under your breath, trying to get your breathing back to an average pace; you make it to the front entrance; you know you told Peter that you would wait, but you can't stay a second longer, crossing the threshold, and are met with harsh winter winds, cursing yourself, each wind slicing through your clothes like a thousand icy needles against your skin.

"I'll just meet Peter along the way," you whisper; you bury your hands deep in your pockets and start your trek home; you feel eyes following you in the darkness, and your lips pull in a tight line. From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of someone tucking behind a corner.

"Hello?" you ask, uneasy slithering through your body, every alarm bell going off, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up. You pick up your pace, trusting you'll run into Peter soon.

"Hey, pretty girl," they say, much closer than before, almost stopping you in your tracks, blood running cold; you know that voice.

"Hey beautiful," you hear directly behind you, and your hair stands on end; you feel a knife press into the small of your back, and your breath hitches in your throat.

"Turn around for me," he says ominously, smiling from ear to ear. When you turn around and meet his eyes, your eyes widen; it was the man from the supermarket who attacked you, but now there was no security to save you, and still no sign of Peter.

"I don't want any trouble; you can have everything I have; just let me go, please," you say, your voice showing how terrified you are.

"Oh, I know what I want," he smiles maliciously, the insinuation very clear.

"No, NO!" you screamed. You wanted to run, but he had the advantage.

"Please don't, anything but that," you cry, tears blurring your vision.

"Y/N?" you hear Peter's sweet voice call for you; you gasp; your salvation has come, and your fear melts away; you attempt to turn and face Peter, but a hand stops you mid-turn and pulls you back, as quick as your fear left, it returns, you feel a hot, stinging pain; your attacker was long gone, you look down and see red, on your clothes, hands, and arms, the realization sinks in, You turn around, and lock eyes with Peter, his face twisted in terror, dread filling every part of his being.

"Peter," you say breathlessly, reaching your hand out for him but tripping over your feet, your body falling limply to the ground. You taste metal in your mouth; you feel everything, the searing hot pain from the stab to the rough concrete nipping at your skin, the air filled with that strong metallic smell; you're gasping for air, desperately trying to take in a full breath, your hearing is muffled, you faintly hear Peter's footsteps growing closer.

"Y/N!, no no, no!" he cried out, grabbing your hand and gripping it tightly.

"Karen, what do I do?" he shouts, his heart pounding like a drum in his ears, every fiber in his being panicking, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.

"Put pressure on the wound and lift her feet higher than her body to increase blood flow to her brain and heart; I'll alert the authorities," she said calmly.

"Okay," he whines, following Karen's instructions, body shaking violently, sobs ripping through his body.

"Peter? What's happening?" you ask weakly, gently squeezing his hand.

"Y/N, it's okay; help is on the way; I'm right here." his throat is aching.

"Am I dying?" your voice barely above a whisper, your face contorting with anguish.

"I don't wanna die, Peter, don't let me die," you whimper out, eyes red and swollen from crying. You try to sit up, but Peter holds you down.

"No, no, just lay down," he sniffles, caressing your face, gently wiping your tears away.

"Peter, I'm so cold," you whimper out, body shivering, your blinks becoming slower and slower, eyelids so heavy, sleep slowly pulling you in, it comes in waves, slowly lulling you to eternal rest, you close your eyes.

"Y/N? Y/N?!" Peter screams, shaking you, your eyes heavily opening, looking up at Peter with despair in your eyes

"I'm so tired Pete," you say sluggishly, your grip on Peter's hand loosening slightly.

"Just stay awake for me, Y/N, okay? Don't go to sleep, oh god, please, don't do this," Peter speaks through his sobs; he holds your body close to his like you'll turn to dust before his eyes.

"Peter," you say weakly; you feebly raise your hand to caress Peter's damp face.

"I love you," you say with a smile, tears slowly falling down your face, getting lost in your hair.

"No, don't say that, please; they're almost here, just a little longer," he chokes out through sobs, rocking you both back and forth.

"Please, Y/N, I can't do this without you. Don't leave me, please," he cried into your hair, body quivering.

"Karen, how much longer?!" he shouts, weeping loudly

"T minus 3 minutes," she said evenly.

"See? 3 minutes, just hang on for 3 more minutes, for me, baby, please," he says hopefully, smiling down at you.

"Okay, 3 more minutes," you say lightly; you can faintly hear the sirens, relief washing over your body; you're almost there.

"You hear that Y/N? You're gonna be okay," he sniffles, moving the hair out of your face.

"You're gonna be okay," he cries in relief, ambulance pulling up in a flash.

"What happened?" The EMT asked, pulling Peter's hands away from the wound.

"I-I, s-she was stabbed, I don't know who," rage filled his body, what he'll do when he finds them.

"We gotta move, now," the EMT says to his comrade; they nod and move you onto the gurney, swiftly moving you into the ambulance. Peter hops into the van, watching the EMTs work quickly; you look so weak, breathing shallowly, until Peter hears the dreaded flatline.

"Y/N!" he stands up, reaching out to you until the EMT forces him back down. The ambulance pulls into the hospital's emergency entrance. Peter follows feverishly behind you until a nurse pushes him back.

"Sir, you can't go back here. I'm sorry," she says apologetically. Peter sits on one of the chairs in the hall, uneasy settling in his stomach, waiting for what feels like an eternity.

"Peter?" the doctor calls out, eyes scanning the room.

"That's me; how is she?" he asked, Peter searching the doctor's face for the answer.

"I'm so sorry; we did everything we could; she lost too much blood." The doctor said apologetically; the world muffles around Peter; you flash through Peter's mind, all the memories; he feels nothing, utterly void of all feeling. Peter doesn't find the strength to move until May wraps her arms around him, but he just stands, eyes glued forward.

"Peter, I'm so sorry, honey," May said with sadness dripping from her voice; she pulled back and cupped Peter's face.

"Oh, May, she's gone, I lost her," he cried

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x you #marvel fanfiction #peter parker angst #marvel angst #mcu!peter x reader #mcu!peter parker #mcu!peter parker fanfiction #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #spiderman fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #spiderman fluff #spiderman angst #jennys.work

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hppjmxrgosg · 24 days

Note

I keep thinking about death before inaction and have exhausted all of ur available memes.

Here's some more!

period these are all fantastic. Thanks pookie. <3 (I love them and you)

#ao3 #death before inaction #spider-man #spider-man fanfiction #in universe memes

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kitcat992 · 4 months

Link

Tony had absolutely no trouble tracking down Rhodey, and subsequently the Space Oddity Squad in tow — who seemed to have boldly embarked on a full-scale mission to colonize his compound.

Even if he hadn’t been able to pin-point their location so quickly, it was far too easy to follow the lively tempo of electronic rock music blaring at volumes only he ever dared to use, reserved strictly for his soundproof workshops.

♫ Sun is shinin' in the sky There ain't a cloud ♫ in sight ♫

Tony managed to reach the top of the staircase that led into the lounge a whole whopping second before Peter — an impressive feat, considering Peter’s hyperactive impatience to lead the way. He could actually feel the inside of his eardrums vibrating from the sound overhead, the beat of drums and synthesized piano keys so loud that it practically shook the banister railing.

“What the hell is this music?”

It shouldn’t have been his first question.

No, Tony’s first question should’ve been asking why a man more muscular than the great Captain America was bent over the kitchen sink; eating hummus dip with his bare fingers, all while looking positively repulsed by the food — only to go back for more, this time making the serving size bigger than the last.

Or better yet, he could’ve asked why the young girl with antenna’s on her head was jumping childishly from one sofa to another, springing each leap like it was a dramatic climb to Mount Everest — with high-pitched giggles, to boot. Giggles that he swore matched the activity of her antenna’s, moving freely on her forehead with a glow as dim as the afternoon sun shining through ceiling skylights.

Hell, it wouldn’t have even hurt to ask why the green-skinned woman, sitting casually on the only armchair in the lounge, was using a goddamn sword the size of her arm to slice through individual pieces of almonds — eating one half of an almond for herself, and handing off the second half to the tiny tree perched on her shoulder.

Tony furrowed his brows, watching as the tiny tree’s limbs — legs? — dangled with a breezy innocence, both small hands holding onto the piece of almond as he went in for a large bite. With wooden covered eyes closing shut, his tiny head bobbed along to the beat of the music, all while he happily chewed away on the nuts given to him.

On Tony’s ever growing list of concerns, Natasha’s stash of unsalted almonds suddenly ranked the lowest.

Using the banister as a standing perch, Tony leaned his back against the metal railing while he surveyed the energetically charged room.

“It’s my tunes, man!” Of all people to answer his question — Tony noticed that Rhodey was blatantly ignoring him with a painfully obvious cold shoulder — it was the man across the room, dancing freely and without any care, who wound up providing an answer. “Mr. Blue Sky, Electric Light Orchestra, 1977!”

Quill pointed to the ceiling with one hand while the other showed off a small rectangle device Tony barely made out as a music player. He furrowed his brows, tightly. The word ‘outdated’ didn’t do the poor technology justice.

“I got your thing to play my thing, and your thing plays it so much better — listen to that volume, I can’t even get the Benatar to sound that crisp!” Quill spun on his feet with a carefree twist, clapping his hands all at the same time. “And hey, now that we’re all here, everyone’s game to jam like a band — how sweet is that!?”

Tony swore he heard the crack in his neck when he shot his head up to the ceiling.

“FRIDAY—”

“Sorry, boss,” FRIDAY knew to apologize just by Tony’s tone, adding a bit of contrition to her own artificial voice along the way. Almost immediately, she lowered the volume of music down to a somewhat reasonable level. “My protocols were overridden by—”

“You’re gunna play like that?” Tony pointed a sharp finger across the room, where sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop and paperwork surrounding him was Rhodey; looking every bit displeased as he did on the video call minutes earlier.

In fact, Rhodey’s deadpanned expression only intensified as he met Tony’s finger with a heated glare — seen only in fragmented snapshots as Mantis hopped sofa-to-sofa, obstructing his otherwise clear line of sight.

“Weeee!" Mantis cheered as she made one leap larger than the last. "This is so much fun!”

Tony was forced to stare at her just to catch a glimpse of Rhodey in-between each jump, and vice-verse for Rhodey, who only managed to look even more disgruntled with each jump she took.

Mantis remained oblivious to them both.

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adgaea · 2 months

Text

Bad Things Happen Bingo

Chloroformed - ADGAEA - Spider-Man - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

Chloroformed

Peter always manages to get himself into trouble.

TW: chloroform, unnamed character death, overdose, vomit, kidnapping, ransom

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my plot.

#bthb #bad things happen bingo #fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #i love fanfiction #i love writing #i love reading #peter parker #kidnapped peter parker #marvel fanfic #tony stark #may parker #tw overdose

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amberlynnmurdock · 1 year

Text

Lost and Found Chapter 2

Summary: While chemistry is not your favorite subject, at least this class seems promising.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Chapter 2: Chemistry

A/N: I watched No Way Home again and got all in my Peter Parker feels. I hope to consistently update this story for you because I really want to tell it. Enjoy :)

Archive of our Own Link

“All right, class. Remember these seats because these will be your seats for the rest of the semester, and the person you are sitting next to is your lab partner,” Dr. Connors announces before starting his lecture. You were lucky to pick the back row and the back seat. It was a preference of yours.

And it was lucky that Peter Parker ended up sitting next to you. You wrote your name and date at the top of your notebook, ready to take notes. Peter nudges your arm. You look at him.

“This coffee is really good,” he whispers. Your heartbeat picks up in your chest as you smile.

“I’m shocked you’re still drinking it,” you whisper back.

Peter shrugs and takes a sip, “I–uh–had to do some errands before class and got distracted.”

As the class went on, you noticed how fast Peter takes his notes. It was like everything Dr. Connors said about something boring about chemistry, Peter wrote it down verbatim. If you missed something Dr. Connors said, all you had to do was look over at Peter’s notes, which he gladly shared.

“Some of these things Dr. Connors didn’t even write,” you say out loud, “how’d you know all this stuff?”

“Well, I’m a science and biology major,” Peter says sheepishly. You feel silly. Other people are here for their majors, not just gen-ed requirements like you!

“Oh, well, I got really lucky then, huh?” You laugh.

“What’s your major?” Peter asks.

“English,” you tell him.

“Well, I suck at English,” Peter says, “maybe we can help each other out.”

“I’d like that,” you reply. “Do you live on campus?”

Peter shakes his head, “no, just at an apartment off-campus. It’s not too far from here. Housing was too expensive and my scholarship didn’t cover dorm fees.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you reply, “but that’s cool you already have a place. Are you from the city?”

Peter is silent for a moment. “Yes. Queens.”

“Really?! Me too,” you say to him. “What high school did you go to? I feel like I would’ve seen you.”

“I was homeschooled,” Peter tells you, “I didn’t go out much.”

“I see,” you reply.

“Parker!” Dr. Connors shouts. “Are two atoms of the same element identical?”

Peter clears his throat. You look at him.

“No, sir,” Peter answers, “two atoms can react differently if they are in different states.”

Dr. Connors slowly nods his head. “Just making sure you’re paying attention.”

Peter looks at you and gives you a shrug. It’s silly, it’s charming. You can’t help but stifle your laughter. Peter laughs, too.

After class, Peter walks you outside.

“Do you have another class?” Peter asks, scratching the back of his head.

“I do. A class that is actually related to my major. American Poetry,” you say.

“Oh, okay. I don’t, but can I walk you to your class?” He asks. You nod your head.

“Sure. It’s this way.”

You and Peter walk in tandem through NYU’s campus. It’s nearly 4 pm. It’s starting to get dark out earlier now that fall is on its arrival. The leaves are starting to change color and the air is getting cooler. You and Peter don’t say much save for the small comment on how cold it’s getting, and when you’d be working at the coffee shop again.

You and Peter arrived at the English building. You stop at the front door and turn to Peter.

“This is it,” you say, “thank you for walking with me.”

“Of course,” Peter says. He smiles, but something is in it that you can’t quite figure out. His warm brown eyes hold yours. He’s holding his notebook in his hand still. The veins on his hands stick out. You notice a purplish bruise on his knuckle.

“I’ll see you around?” You offer.

“I hope so,” Peter says. “Can I… maybe get your phone number? Maybe we can study together for chem or… American Poetry,” Peter says with a shy smile. You smile in return and nod your head.

“I’ll write it down for you,” you tell him. You graciously take his notepad and pen, scribbling the numbers down fast because you don't want to be late for class.

“Text me,” you say, meeting his eyes again. His gaze never left your face. You blush, realizing this.

“I will,” Peter states, like a promise. “You work tomorrow?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll be back for more maple pumpkin.”

“I’ll have it ready for you, how about that?” You smile.

“Enjoy class, ___,” Peter says.

Peter turns on his heel and walks the way the two of you came. You watch as his shrinking figure disappears. Finally, you head inside.

Peter Parker doesn’t have class the rest of the day, which means there is more time for him to do his part-time job.

He rushes to his apartment. Instead of taking the stairs, Peter finds the back alley of the building and shoots a web at his window. He doesn’t have much time.

He opens the window to his apartment and smoothly slides in the window, shutting it closed behind him. Peter rips off his jacket, shirt, and pants and changes into his red and bright blue suit.

Taking his police station phone from his bedside drawer, he sits on his bed with his mask hanging from his lips as he listens for… anything. His heart is racing, the adrenaline is pumping. It’s been so much easier for him to fight crime at night now that no one knows Spider-Man’s identity anymore. No one knows him, which means no one has to worry, or ask questions.

Peter has gotten used to living in the shadows, living a quiet life. After passing his GED test with flying colors, it was time for college admissions. The dream of MIT died long ago. Peter came to realize New York City will forever and always be his home. It only made sense to go to school here, too. Plus, NYU gave him a scholarship he couldn’t pass up.

Police dash: we’ve got a disturbance at Times Square, a man with a weapon threatening tourists.

Peter pulls his mask over his head, and dashes for the window again.

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ichorai · 1 year

Text

spiderling ; peter parker.

sequel to particles!

pairing ; peter parker x stark!reader

synopsis ; peter was supposed to find you after strange wiped everyone's memory of him away. instead, you found him.

words ; 2.0k

themes ; angst, mild fluff and comedy

warnings / includes ; lots of feels crammed into this, peter is a flustered mess, reader is an insanely smart kid of tony’s, mentions of may and the rest of the spidey gang :(

main masterlist.

Ever since Peter had asked Strange to wipe the entire world’s memory of him, things had been… uneventful to say the least. He studied, he worked two boring jobs for a low minimum wage, and he visited May’s grave every afternoon.

There wasn’t much else to do when nobody knew him as Peter Parker.

Sometimes, he’d go out in his itchy, make-shift spider suit that he’d fashioned with bright fabrics from a corner store that also sold his most favorite orange-flavored popsicles, stopping common crime as the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Other than that… he slept. He played Crossy Road on his phone—or he’d rewatch the Star Wars movies for the billionth time.

He thought of his best friends, Ned and MJ. He thought of his brothers, Peter 2 and 3. He thought of his Aunt May, and Happy, who visited her grave almost as frequently as he did. He thought of the closest thing he had to a father figure, Tony Stark. He thought of Mr. Stark’s oldest kid—which he used to refer to as his significant other.

The love of his life.

Y/N Stark.

Peter missed you. He missed you more than anything in the entire world. He missed your wide smile and the specific way you’d throw your head back and laugh so hard you’d be grabbing onto his arm, gasping for breath. He missed how you’d press your chest into his back and kiss along his neck while he did his physics homework, quietly mumbling corrections to his calculations when he’d distractedly scribbled down the wrong formula. He missed how Mr. Stark would pull him to the side to give him the ‘Responsible Dad Talk’ just about every time the two of you hung out together, and how you’d have to tell your dad that you could make your own decisions and you didn’t need him to hover over the two of you.

Besides, you used to say with a soft smile, it’s Peter. You know Peter. He’s… he’s Peter. He’d never hurt me, pops.

But he did hurt you. He erased all the memories you had together—he completely wiped himself out of your life.

You loved him—and he had taken that away from you.

“I love you,” you had whispered into him as you hugged him tight, a tear slipping down the corner of your misty eyes. Peter wrapped his arms around your waist and held you all the closer. “Come back to me, Peter. Or… or I swear to fucking God—I’ll find you myself and—”

Your words died on your tongue as he surged forward and kissed you, hard and desperate. The kiss tasted of salt from your tears, of coppery blood from his throbbing, split lip. Neither of you cared.

You hiccupped a sob when he reluctantly pulled away, pressing one last kiss to your grimy forehead, before letting you go entirely. He turned before he could see you crumpling into MJ and Ned, who had roped you into a pained embrace, your shoulders trembling with wracking cries.

That was five months ago. Five months after Strange wiped everybody’s memories of him.

He’d wanted to find you again—he really did. Obviously, you were an extremely busy person, not only being the oldest kid of Tony Stark, but also a genius student, a researcher, the heir of an entire company, and an older sibling to Morgan. But, if he was completely honest, he didn’t really know what to say.

Hey, I’m Peter Parker and I’m in love with you, but I never got the chance to tell you because this wizard that’s sort of a friend of your dad’s erased everyone’s memory of me because the multiverse broke and a bunch of bad guys from other universes slipped into ours because I ruined my friend’s chances of getting into their dream college—

Yeah. That wouldn’t really work out, would it?

So he put it off.

Put it off for a week, which rolled into two, which became three, which became three months.

All of a sudden, it was summer, and he still hadn’t seen you.

He made sure to go to the coffee shop MJ worked at, just to see how she and Ned were faring. From what he heard while he eavesdropped—they were doing great at MIT.

Peter tried his best to keep up with you through those news articles that kept flashing him ads like You Wouldn’t Believe What This Celebrity Looks Like Without Makeup! or Learn All About Steve Rogers’ Exercise Routine!

There wasn’t much that he could find about you, other than a couple pictures of you with your little sister, Morgan, chowing down on cheeseburgers at McDonald’s. After all, you’d always been a rather private person, which was the one jarring difference between you and your infamously public father.

Your social medias were, expectedly, all privated. Peter doubted you’d accept his follow request, anyway.

It was an ordinary Tuesday—Peter had a shift at a car garage in a couple hours, which left him quite a bit of time to burn. He had ACDC softly playing in the background—a band that both you and your dad had been completely infatuated with—half a dozen books spread out around him as he multi-tasked studying new chemical compounds for his web fluid, and rotational mechanics for an upcoming exam.

Then, much to his surprise, the doorbell rang.

It’s probably the landlord, Peter thought with a grimace, thinking of the old woman who always had a cigarette between her coarse fingers, despite her own strict policy of no smoking in the building. He turned the music down to a low thrum, before swinging the door open.

And… there you were.

Peter could feel his heart drop to the floor.

You were… God, you were beautiful. There wasn’t much about you that changed—you got a new pair of glasses, he could see, and you’d cut your hair shorter. There was a tattoo peeking slightly out of your loose-hanging t-shirt etched over your skin, depicting a sketch of an arc reactor, in memory of your late father.

Besides that, you were the very same. The same bright, intelligent eyes, the same lips that puckered ever so slightly to the side in thought, and the same brows that knitted together whenever you were concentrating.

Your hands were shoved into your jeans as you cocked your head, studying him with narrowed eyes.

“Erm,” Peter started, mouth opening and closing as his brain struggled to comprehend that you were here. In the flesh. Fuck, you were gorgeous. “Wh… Y/N?”

Your eyebrow arched high up, closer to your hairline. “First name basis already, huh?”

“I’m—”

“You’re the Spiderling, aren’t you?” you asked abruptly, nearly giving him whiplash. Before he could say anything else, you were swiping your phone open, a hologram of a Youtube video playing right in front of his face. The video displayed Spider-Man swinging from building to building, stopping a car from ramming into an elderly woman crossing the street with nothing but brute strength. Peter didn’t even remember that happening. To him, that was just an ordinary day. “That must’ve been, what—like, thirty-five hundred pounds, about fifty miles an hour? Impressive.”

“Wh—”

You brushed past him into his tiny apartment. Peter cursed himself for not throwing away the pizza boxes stacked on his kitchen counter, and for leaving his sketches of web shooters out on his desk.

A small smile graced your lips as you spotted the blue and red scrap fabrics discarded into the trash can. “Hm. You make your own suit? My dad did, too. God—are those goggles?” You picked up his vision goggles from his unmade bed, peering through them as you snorted in amusement. “How on earth do you see anything though these?”

“I—”

You turned to him with an intrigued grin. “I’m sure you already know who I am, seeing as you knew my dad. It’s nice to finally meet you, Spiderling.”

Peter blinked. The overwhelming sense of deja vu washed over him like a tidal wave—you were behaving eerily similar to when Mr. Stark had approached him to go to Germany back in 2016.

“I… how…”

“What’s your name?” you asked, gingerly stepping over his textbooks to stare at his pinboard, where his calendar hung.

“Peter,” he finally mumbled in reply, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “And it’s Spider-Man, not Spiderling. What are you doing here? I mean, not that I don’t want you here, but, uhm—how did you find me?”

You looked over your shoulder with a knowing glint to your eyes. “I keep tabs on everybody my dad used to work with. Honestly, it wasn't too difficult to track you down—given the radius of where Spider-Man usually frequents and his response times to local crimes, it was easy to pinpoint where you lived. After my AI ran a couple voice recognition tests and estimated bodily proportions, that led me right to you.” You leaned against his rickety wooden desk with a curious grin. “Thought you’d be a bit older, though. Looks like you’re around my age.”

“I… that’s… wow.”

Wrinkling your nose in amusement, you turned back to his full calendar.

Peter prayed you wouldn’t flip over to your birthday month—he’d circled your birthday with bright red sharpie and drew loopy hearts all over the little square. Thankfully, you stopped skimming through, pausing at the relatively empty weeks where he had nothing planned other than a few work shifts.

“Looks like you’re free from school in a couple weeks,” you said. “I know this is really sudden and very abrupt of me, but—I’d love to offer you a job at Stark Labs. You must be crazy smart to design synthetic webs with a Young’s modulus that’s off the charts. Could really use that brain of yours at my company. Plus, you’ve got a lot of work experience in the bag.”

There was a beat of silence. Peter stared at you with parted lips.

A bit more timidly, you added on, “And… it’d be nice to work with someone that knew my dad.”

Well, Peter didn’t want to brag, but he’d definitely say that he didn’t only just know Tony Stark. But you didn’t need to know that right at this moment.

“Yes,” he blurted out, a bit louder than necessary. “Are you kidding me? That’s… that’s amazing! Yeah, oh my God, I’d love to! Thank you!”

Before he could stop himself, his body moved out of pure muscle memory and excitement, stepping forward to wind his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. Your familiar perfume made his eyes well with tears—fuck, he missed you so fucking much.

“Oh—” you began to say, muscles tensing. “Okay, then. You’re welcome, pal.”

Rouge flushed hotly over his cheeks as he realized that you weren’t his significant other anymore—in your mind, this was the first time the two of you were meeting. Quickly, he let you go, backing away with a grimace.

“Sorry,” he winced. “Sorry, I just—”

“Have we met before?” you asked, cutting him off. “I don’t know… it just feels like… nevermind. I’d probably remember a cute face like yours.”

Peter’s face burned an even brighter shade of red.

“Here’s my contact information. I’ll send you any contracts, NDAs, legality issues, dates for any research projects you might be interested in joining, payment negotiations, all that jazz,” you told him, placing a card onto his desk. “I look forward to working with you, Patrick.”

“Peter,” he corrected.

A smile played with the corner of your lips. “Right. Peter. Nice music taste, by the way. I love ACDC—I can see why my dad liked you so much.”

With that, you ambled over his scattered belongings on the floor, flashing him one last beam, before striding straight out the door.

Peter stared at the open doorway for a minute—or was it an hour? He really couldn’t tell.

He collapsed into his bed, the goggles you’d dangled digging into his back. He arched up just enough to pull it away, clutching it to his chest with a goofy smile.

You found him.

Against all odds, you’d found him.

Fuck, Peter loved you so much.

Telling you though—now that was a different story entirely. One that Peter knew was going to take time.

But for you…

He’d wait centuries.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x you #marvel fanfiction #peter parker angst #marvel angst #mcu!peter x reader #peter parker fluff #mcu!peter parker #mcu!peter parker fanfiction #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #spiderman fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #spiderman fluff #spiderman angst #peter parker x stark!reader

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starlordsandrockets · 1 year

Text

Snowed In

pairing: college!Peter Parker x Reader: 18+

Word Count: 4.4k

summary: Your plans to return home for the holidays were ruined by a snow storm. Now, you found yourself spending Christmas with Peter, the neighbor you had a crush on.

a/n: Many apologizes for the wait, I started this fic months ago to ‘get ahead’ but here we are lol... I’ve been super sick as of recent so if some of my writing doesn’t make sense, I apologize and will proofread it after a nap, lol.

Peter watched the snow fall outside his apartment window as he heard the sound of heavy boots climbing back up the stairs. Your groan hummed through the building’s thin walls. Slowly, he made his way to his apartment’s door. Placing his hand on the handle, he swung the door open, eyes shut. Opening his eyes, he took in the sight of you.

You pulled your gloves off of your hands awkwardly from where they were tucked into your large, black coat. You were laughing under your breath, however, your laugh stemmed from frustration.

“You… okay?” Peter finally questioned, announcing his presence. He watched you jump before slowly turning your head.

“P-Peter,” You stuttered, feeling your face heat up out of embarrassment. Your handsome neighbor now leaned against the doorframe of his apartment. A, clearly thrifted, sweater sat over a black shirt that peaked out from the neckline, “Yeah- Yeah I’m fine,” You dug into your purse, attempting to find your keys, “I just planned to head to my parent’s tonight- you know, for Christmas,” You watched him nod, taking in the luggage that sat at your feet, “But I’m snowed in and alone,”

Peter took in a deep breath, holding it. He knew you had no idea about what he went through and that your claim was harmless, however, it still hurt, “Yeah… me too,”

“You were going to your parents?” You questioned, not knowing anything about your neighbor, besides the fact that you had the biggest crush on him.

As soon as you heard that you had someone living across the hall, you just had to sneak a peek. You had your hopes up for a friend, or at least anyone besides an old man. To your surprise, it was Peter, and you found yourself hopelessly falling for him in a heartbeat.

“I, I actually don’t have parents,” Peter spoke, “I mean, I did- obviously,” He rambled, “They died and I lived with my Aunt but a year ago, she…” He still could not bear to finish that sentence.

“I-I’m sorry-” You turned back towards your door, “I should leave you alone now,” You laughed, “I didn’t mean to…” You stuck your retrieved keys into your door, “Have a nice night,” You shut the door behind yourself, leaving your luggage in the hall, far too embarrassed to retrieve it. Not until he left the hallway.

You stood there, back pressed against the door, sweating in your winter coat. You were an idiot- a bitch even. Why the hell did you ask him that? I mean, it was not like you knew. But on Christmas Eve, that was a new low for you. There was no way Peter could ever like you now.

Peter wanted to hit his head against the old, landlord painted door frame. Why did he say that to you? You were already upset that you could not see your family, so why did he make it about him? You did not even bother to grab your luggage, you would rather just get away from him. Peter debated turning around and just escaping into the cold night to get his mind off of you, however, he was afraid your things would get stolen from the hallway.

That is when he heard your door creak open. He watched your head poke out from behind the white door, “Jesus Chri-” You gasped. Peter wondered just how long he had been standing there thinking about you.

“Sorry,” Peter spoke, “I just didn’t want someone walking off with your things,”

“Thanks,” You replied, your voice quiet. Reaching out, you watched as Peter stepped closer to you.

“Here-” Peter picked up your bags effortlessly, “I can get them- I didn’t mean to just dump all that on you before- About my family,”

“No- No! I’m the one who brought it up,” You stuttered, “It’s my fault and it’s almost Christmas and I was being an asshole-”

“Did you want to spend the night with me?” Peter questioned, interrupting your sentence, “I mean- Christmas- Christmas Eve and Christmas! Not like spend the night like-”

“Yes,” You replied, “I mean- Yeah, sure,”

”Cool cool,” Peter spoke through his nerves, “But uh- could we actually stay in your apartment?”

”M-Mine?” You questioned, staring back at your handsome neighbor.

”Yeah mines…” Peter trailed off. He really did not want you to find his suit, or his web shooters, or his scrap fabric from his suit, “I don’t really have much furniture, or food, or- well really anything,”

“Sure,” You nodded, “Yeah- yeah no problem,” You held your door open, allowing him to slip by with your luggage in hand, “Sorry if it’s kind of messy, I haven’t really been up to doing anything once I get home from work,” You were rambling nervously.

Peter took in your small apartment. It was much more decorated than his and it made him feel at home. He had always wondered what your apartment looked like every time he passed by you in the lobby or hallway, “It’s nice,”

“Yeah?” You laughed nervously.

”Yeah,” He spoke, “You have a couch and a bed,” He emphasized, watching you laugh. Your smile turned his stomach. He always thought you were pretty, beautiful even, and he never thought he would ever be in your apartment; Peter was surprised he even worked up the courage to talk to you.

“I’m sure you’re apartment isn’t that bad,” You responded.

“I don’t know, I’m kind of broke,” Peter shrugged, setting your bags down at the end of your bed. He studied the few stuffed animals that sat on your bed. A quilt was tossed on top of your bedsheets in an artfully messy way.

The old building’s poor insulation allowed a chill to hang in the room each time the wind blew outside. Peter’s head turned towards your window, “I was planning on taking a nice train ride home on the Amtrak,” You began to strip yourself of your warm outer layers, leaving yourself in a new sweater that you had bought recently. Part of you was glad you had no way out of Queens because now you were spending Christmas with the neighbor who you had a crush on since the day you moved in. And that is when you fully processed that Peter Parker was spending the night in your apartment, “I need a drink,” You spoke aloud to yourself.

Peter laughed at you quiet claim, watching you turn to look at him, “Sorry,”

”No, no-“ You stuttered, “Do, Do you want some? Spiked eggnog? Spiked coffee?” He watched you moved into the kitchen, watching as you began to make yourself a cup of coffee.

“Coffee’s good,” Peter answered, “Whatever you’re having is fine,”

“Right,” You spoke, “Sure,” You gave him a weak smile as you felt your cheeks heat up due to your nervousness. Peter now moved towards you, entering the kitchen.

Peter studied you as your back faced him. He felt his heart race slightly as he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, “Need help?” He questioned, watching you jump slightly, “Sorry,” Without a thought, he reached out, placing his hand on the small of your back. You froze in his grasp, the sound of the coffee machine brewing filled the kitchen.

Your heart was beating in your ears as Peter’s hand lingered a bit longer. The coffee maker began to spit hot coffee into your mug, allowing you a few more moments to collect yourself. As soon as the humming stopped you spoke, “Fine- It’s fine,” Peter’s hand fell back to his side. He watched as you reached up towards a tall cabinet. Your fingertips pressed against the glass of the large bottle of vodka.

“Here,” Peter spoke, reaching out. The front of his body pressed against your arm, making you jump. He watched as the bottle tipped, your fingers leaving the bottle’s surface. Instantly he caught it before it could fall towards you, “Careful,”

“Sorry,” You spoke, “Thanks,” You watched as he set the bottle on your small countertop. You studied his hands, his fingers were long and slender. The sight made your stomach flutter slightly as you longed for them to fall against your skin once again. Unscrewing the cap of the bottle, you poured the liquor into the black coffee, “Uh-“ You cleared your throat silently at the sound of your own awkward voice, “Sugar’s on the counter and the creamer’s in the fridge,” You pushed the mug towards your smiling neighbor, “I have peppermint mocha and hazelnut I think,”

“Coool,” Peter’s lips drew out, he moved towards the refrigerator although his eyes stayed on you. He watched you prepare another cup of coffee, your hands fumbling while completing the task. Finally grabbing a creamer, Peter studied it in his hand before closing the fridge. Pouring the cream into the black coffee, he watched the colors swirl as he grew lost in thoughts of you.

You turned your head, watching Peter stare into his cup. That is when you realized you forgot to tell him where the utensils were, “Sorry-“ You spoke, heading towards the drawer of utensils. Grabbing a spoon you held it out, in his line of sight, “Sorry,”

“What?” He questioned, snapping out of his thoughts his eyes fell to you.

“Here, to stir your coffee,” You informed him.

“Right,” Peter took the metal from your hands, watching you give him a weak smile before you grabbed the other cup that had finished brewing. You weaved around him in the small kitchen and it made his heart flutter slightly. Something about it felt comforting and it made him feel complete.

You returned to Peter’s side with creamer in hand, “What kind did you put in?” You questioned, watching Peter stir his coffee. Your eyes caught the shining metal as he brought it to his lips. His lips parted, as he placed the warm metal against his tongue, catching some dripping coffee.

“Hmm?” He hummed around the spoon, “Oh,” Peter muttered, the word freeing his once occupied mouth, “Hazelnut,” He answered. Without a thought, Peter placed the spoon into your mug. He watched you stiffen for a moment, unsure as to why, “Thanks for the coffee,”

“Y-Yeah,” Your eyes left the spoon’s handle and met Peter’s eyes. His warm brown eyes mimicked the swirling coffee that sat between the two of you, “You… want to watch something?” He nodded, lips around the ceramic mug, “The remotes on the coffee table. If you want to look for something to watch,”

“Sure,” Peter smiled, leaving the small kitchen and heading towards your couch.

You waited, hearing his cushioned footsteps cross onto the carpet of your living room. With your back facing him, you stirred your coffee slowly before taking out the warm spoon. You stared at the metal, your distorted reflection staring back at you as you recalled Peter’s lips around the handle. Then, you brought the same spoon towards your lips. The metal passed your lips, caressing your tongue as it did Peter’s moments before.

Did that make you a freak? You would take the indirect kiss in a heartbeat. You could only hope that Peter did not see your desperate action.

Replacing the spoon with the edge of your cup, you took a large sip of the hot coffee, “It’s A Wonderful Life?” You heard Peter question from the couch.

“Hmm?” You hummed, being pulled out of your thoughts of him. Turning your head, you studied the tv, “Oh- No, too sad,” You watched Peter’s head turn away from your gaze, “If we’re drinking, I’ll cry. Plus that movie is so long,”

“We have all night,” Peter reminded you, “Unless you’re trying to kick me out,” He laughed, hoping you still wanted to spend the night with him.

“No- No, I’m not,” You walked to the couch, taking a seat next to him, “I just, I really don’t want to cry in front of you. Please,” You laughed into your coffee.

“Fine,” Peter continued to scroll on your tv, “Elf?”

“A classic,” You responded, “Sure,” Staring into the cup, you drank the rest of the spiked drink, “Do you want more?” You asked, looking at Peter’s, half empty cup.

“I’m good,” Peter smiled up at you as you rose to your feet.

“Cooool,” You drew out, “I’ll be back then,” Turning, you visibly cringed at yourself. The movie began to play. Taking the bottle, you eyeballed a shot of vodka and poured it into your empty cup. Bringing it to your lips, you swallowed it, wincing slightly before you prepared yourself another spiked cup.

“I don’t remember the credits being so lonnnng,” Peter called out to you over the movie.

“I do,” You smiled to yourself, “That’s why I’m making another cup now,” Your gaze locked onto Peter as you saw him jump up from the couch, “What are you-“

“Do you have hot cocoa?” Peter questioned with a slight bounce in his step. He watched as a smile threatened to curl your lips, “What?”

“Nothing,” You tried to play off.

“Tell me,” Peter groaned, placing his cup on the counter that sat in front of you, “Y/N,” Your name left his voice in a whining tone. He leaned on the counter next to you, his body heat radiating against your skin.

“You- You say hot cocoa,” You spoke, giving in due to his close proximity.

“And what do you say?” His eyes studied the side of your face as you refused to meet his eyes.

You felt as the shot began to affect you, making you mentally curse. You waited for the coffee maker to begin brewing, however it was taking far too long, allowing an awkward silence to fall between the two of you, “Hot chocolate,” You informed, looking at Peter out of the corner of your eyes.

Peter stood next to you with a stupid grin on his stupidly handsome face and it made you want to scream. You thought that the alcohol would help you survive the night with him, but now you were second guessing yourself.

“Hot chocolate,” Peter spoke, imitating your voice, “Do you have hot chocolate?”

“Nope,” You answered, moving past Peter and towards the fridge, “Sorry,” You listened to him groan. He headed towards the couch, pausing the movie, “What are you?”

“I’m going to get some cocoa from the corner store,” Peter spoke, heading towards your apartment’s door.

“But the snow,”

“I…” Peter dug through his head for an excuse, “I’ll be super quick, don’t worry- I use the fire escape,”

“The fire escape?” You questioned, a laugh lacing your tone, “You’re insane. No, I’ll just go with you,”

“No- No trust me,” Peter spoke, “Stay here and… get some blankets for the movie,” He watched you stare back at him, “Do you need anything? From the store?”

“Just ‘hot cocoa’,” You somewhat mocked, watching Peter throw you a playful look.

“Yeah, you’re not coming with me,” Peter smiled before heading through the door.

You watched as he closed the door behind him, listening to the sound of his door unlocking from the hallway. A deep breath passed through your nose and into your lungs, feeling your shoulders relax.

Your fingers fell against the fabric of your sweater as you looked at the paused movie on your tv screen. Remembering Peter’s words, you headed towards a closet that you kept your spare blankets in. Pulling out a large blanket, you paused, realizing you would probably die from shock if you shared a blanket with him. Throwing the large blanket onto the couch, you retrieved a second, smaller one.

You turned on the lights of your small tree that was tucked into a corner of the room. More sets of string lights lit up that lined a few surfaces of your apartment. Staring out at the city through your window, you studied the heavy snow that fell, wondering how Peter’s trip was to the corner store. Dimming the lights, you allowed the string lights and street lights to provide a calmer ambiance.

Walking past a mirror, you studied your reflection. You should probably touch up your makeup and change into something more comfortable.

Gathering some loungewear, you entered your small bathroom to change. Setting the plush fabric on the closed toilet, you removed your sweater and jeans. Staring at your reflection, you slipped a pair of fuzzy brown pants over your black underwear. The alcohol that ran through your system convinced you to slip the matching cardigan over your bralette, showing a little skin under your cozy loungewear.

Leaning in closer to the mirror, you studied your light makeup a little closer. However, you were unable to reach for your makeup bag, hearing someone coming through your front door.

Opening the bathroom door, you peered through the opening. You hoped it was Peter and not a total stranger walking through the unlocked door. Your gaze looked onto Peter as he carried two small bags with him, “That was fast,”

“I told you,” He smiled, closing the door behind him with his foot, “Super quick,”

“Yeah,” Your voice was skeptical as you exited the bathroom, “I’m surprised you even made it out the front door,”

“What do you mean?” Peter questioned, walking towards your kitchen. He set down the bags and began to dig through them.

“I couldn’t get out to catch the train,” You laughed, “Not that it would have mattered since they canceled it anyway,” You studied him as you made your way to the kitchen. Not a single inch of him was wet from the snow.

“They must have shoveled or something,” Peter shrugged next to you. He searched his head for the next possible excuse he would have to use. It was not like he could tell you that Spider-Man swung by the corner store just to get the ‘super cute girl that lives across the hall’ some hot cocoa, or hot chocolate.

“Our landlord? Shoveling?” You stopped a laugh from bubbling past your lips, “You’re funny. Did you slip on some ice on your way back? Hit your head?”

“Nope, just swung by the corner store,” Peter spoke, holding back a sly smile.

Somewhere between the banter, a pot of water was heating up on the stove as the two of you emptied the packets into your empty mugs. The alcohol that was once warming your system began to fade as you felt yourself grossing more nervous by the second.

“Did you… did you want to play a drinking game?” You questioned carefully. You watched as Peter met your eyes, a smile playing on his lips, “What? We don’t have to- if you don’t want to that’s fine I just thought-”

“Sounds fun,” Peter laughed. However, he felt a bit guilty, knowing the alcohol would not affect his heightened system.

“Cool,” You smiled to yourself, yet Peter could still study your face.

Before the tea pot could whistle, Peter took it off of its hot surface. His action earned your gaze as he poured the steaming water into your cups, “So are these the chasers or are you still spiking these?” He questioned with a smile that made your knees weak.

You were going to need all the help you could get, “Hand me the bottle,” You spoke, watching his smiling eyes close.

***

The two of you tipped back another shot, wincing, “You picked the worst possible things to drink to,” Before you could put the cup down on your coffee table, another keyword was spoken through the screen.

“It-It was the first one I googled,” You slurred slightly, feeling the alcohol’s effects, “You- Why are you complaining? You seem fine,”

“Do I?” Peter questioned from next to you on the couch. Stretching out his arm, he placed it along the couch’s back as he looked at you.

The two of you heard another ‘Santa’ come from the tv and regrettably reached for your cups, “You-” You winced as the vodka burned your chest, “Yeah. You seem fine,” You scooted a bit closer to him, your movements obscured by the alcohol in your system. The room moved slowly around you as you attempted to study Peter.

Embarrassed at your close proximity, Peter found the large blanket you had thrown on the couch, tossing it over your head, “Trust me, I’m feeling it,” He lied. However, his feelings for you were having a full effect on him.

Taking the end of the blanket, you tossed it over him, capturing him underneath with you, “I don’t beli-eve youu,” You slurred slightly, trying to locate him under the dark blanket.

“Y/N,” Peter spoke, hands beginning to sweat. He wanted to kiss you.

“Hmm?” You hummed, finding him after your eyes adjusted.

“How do you feel?” He questioned, watching you shift in front of him.

“How do I feel?” You laughed, the movie’s audio a deafened hum, “Wh-What is that supposed to mean?”

“Are you drunk?” Peter questioned. He did not want to make moves on you if you were not capable of saying no.

You shook your head, eyes falling to his lips, “No,” You vocalized, “just… more confident,”

“Mhm,” Peter hummed, lips pressed in a straight line as he nodded. He removed the blanket from both your heads, not realizing just how hot and heavy the air had been.

You studied your neighbor, a subtle blush sat on his skin, but maybe it was from the heated covers, “We missed a bunch of shots you know,” You spoke.

“Yeah?” Peter laughed, “Why don’t we just have some hot chocolate,” He emphasized the word, watching a smile curl your lips.

“Mm, yeah, hot cocoa,” You reached out towards the mug. It was positioned closer to Peter on the table, making you move a little closer to him on the couch.

Bringing the warm drink to your lips, it calmed your nerves. But that soon ended as you felt Peter adjust the blanket over the two of you. You stared blankly at the movie, watching it come to an end. You prayed for the movie to continue, not wanting to have to interact with Peter once again.

The credits began to roll. Your heartbeat began to race as you watched Peter reach for the remote, “I don’t think we would make it through another drinking game,” He almost laughed. However, he was just doing you a favor.

“Yeah,” You spoke, “Right,” Shifting under the blanket you felt your breathing grow irregular as you attempted to calm yourself.

“You okay?” Peter asked, hearing your heartbeat and staggered breaths from his spot on the couch.

“What? Yeah- yeah,” You lied through your teeth, staring at the paused screen.

“Your heart’s beating super fast,” Peter leaned closer to you. Taking a breath, he tested the water, “What d’you have a crush on me or something?”

“You-You’re funny,” You spoke, taking a sip of the remaining hot chocolate. You winced, the once hot drink was now cold. The thought of Peter knowing about your crush overshadowed the fact that he could sense your heartbeat.

“Why don’t we play a game?” Peter turned to face you, watching you nod from behind your mug, “like Never Have I Ever,”

“Mmm,” You hummed around the rim. Setting the cup down, your heart dropped with it, “Sounds suupper fun,”

“Come on,” Peter groaned, “It is fun,” He watched as you threw him an unconvinced glance, “You can even go first,”

“Fine. Never have I ever invited myself into my neighbor’s apartment to spend the night,” You spoke, waiting for Peter to put down a finger.

“Fine,” Peter gave you a forced smile, putting down a finger. “Never have I ever called hot cocoa, hot chocolate,”

You put a finger down, “Never have I ever gone out in a blizzard just for hot cocoa,” You watched as Peter shifted under the blanket. A smile crossed your lips as you watched him put a finger down.

“Why don’t we start playing fair,” Peter spoke, watching you physically groan.

“Finnneee,” You agreed, head rolling on your shoulders, “But I’ll need a shot so I answer,” Peter’s eyes narrowed at your comment, “I’m fine and you want me to play fair and me playing fair would be me, buzzed enough to admit whatever you’re going to start asking me,”

“Fine,” Peter crossed a leg over his knee as he watched you stand from your spot next to him, “Never have I ever drank because I’m too nervous to sit next to my neighbor,”

You fell silent, hoping Peter would just drop the claim. A shot found its way into your hand as you brought the small glass to your lips.

“Is your finger down?” Peter smiled from his spot on the couch.

You could hear the amusement in his voice and at that, you took another shot.

Peter watched as you returned to the couch slowly, as if you were regretting each step, “We don’t have to play,”

“No- No,” You sat back down next to him, but not nearly as close as before, “I took my shots just- let’s get it over with,”

“Good,” Peter threw the shared blanket back over your legs, “Your turn,”

“Right,” You looked at the two fingers you had already put down, “Umm,” You searched your head for a fair turn. Staring at the ceiling, you only heard Peter shifting closer to you on the couch, “Never have I ever…” Your eyes slowly fell to Peter as he stared back at you, “You’re making this harder than it should be,”

Peter placed his elbow on the back of the couch, his fist holding up his head as a smug smile crossed his handsome face, “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re staring at me,” You spoke, “and I can’t concentrate,”

“I’m just looking at you,” Peter spoke, leaning in a bit, “Do I make you nervous?” He watched as your gaze fell to the floor, “Mm,” He hummed in a confirming tone.

“No- no,” You spoke, looking into his brown eyes, “Peter- No! No-” Your words fell short as Peter extended his arm towards you, it now resting on the back of the couch.

“Okay, just wondering,” He toyed, watching you almost crumble before him, “Never have I ever, what?” He studied your wide eyes that stared back at him. God, he wanted to kiss you.

You took hold on the blanket, bunching the fabric in your hands as you searched for any words to pass through your parted lips. You watched as Peter’s eyes fell to your lips, where they lingered for what felt like an eternity, “wanted to kiss your neighbor,” The words were barely audible, spoken under your breath.

Peter attempted to hold back the smile that threatened to curl his lips, “How many shots did you have?”

“I don’t know why I said that?” You felt as if you wanted to curl up and die. You wanted to pull the blanket over you to shelter yourself from Peter’s eyes.

So that is exactly what you did. Pulling the blanket towards you, it covered your head, allowing you to sink down on the couch, “Y/N,” Peter almost laughed, his tone almost laced with pity. You were silent under the fabric, “...Did you put your finger down?” Peter asked, hearing you almost immediately whine.

Throwing the blanket over his head, he crawled towards you under the fabric, “Peter… please,” You raised your hands, rubbing your temples. The embarrassment ate away at you and you wished you had not taken those shots that made the claim roll off of your tongue.

“How else am I supposed to see if you put your finger down?” He watched as you shot him an unamused look from under your furrowed brows, “Fine,” Peter raised his hand that had two fingers down. He watched as you stared at his hand in the dim lit space the two of you shared, “If you didn’t put your finger down, you’re winning,” Peter spoke as he put down a third finger.

Your gaze left his hand and moved to his eyes. Parting your lips, you searched for the words while your eyes fell to his lips, “I…What neighbor?” You were not sure if you were just playing dumb, or if you had convinced yourself that there was no way Peter could ever like you.

“We’re like the only ones on this side of the stairs,” He laughed.

“Right,” Was all you could reply with as Peter inched, somehow, closer to you.

“Are you putting a finger down?” He questioned. You stared back at him and he studied every inch of your face. Your gaze had fallen, unable to look him in the eyes as you raised your hand. Peter almost held his breath as he watched your finger fall, giving him permission to make the first move.

So he did.

Before you could say a word, Peter’s lips found yours. His lips pressed against your own forcefully and hungrily as he waited for you to reciprocate.

Parting your lips, you let him in. The kiss deepened as Peter brought his hands to your face. His fingers trailed into your y/h/c locks before pulling on them slightly. Pulling you away from him, he stared at you, “I just wanted to make sure, before I kissed you,”

You nodded in his hold, “Yeah- Yeah… thanks,”

“Mhm,” Peter hummed, before bringing his lips to your neck. You jumped at the contact, a small gasp from your lips filled the stale air.

The space you shared under the blanket was dark and stuffy, the air feeling hot and heavy as Peter took the opportunity to explore the bare skin that peeked from under your open cardigan. You almost felt as if you were suffocating, Peter smothering you in affection.

Pulling the blanket off from over the two of you, you took in a generous breath of fresh air, “…Peter,”

At the sound of his name, he bit down on your skin, making you whimper, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” You responded almost immediately.

“Then what do you want me to do?” Peter questioned.

You did not have the courage to vocalize all the things you have dreamt of, “Whatever you want,” Whenever you found your mind wandering it was bringing you to Peter having his way with you.

“Be careful who you say that to,” Peter smiled against your skin, “You don’t know all the things I want to do to you,”

Peter’s claim made your knees weak, “L-Like w-hat?” You managed to push out.

Above you, Peter was pouring adoration. It was almost as if it fell, blanketing you in lust, “You want me to tell you?” He questioned, “or… I could show you,” Peter stared down at you, waiting for any sort of response but you would not meet his gaze. You crumbled beneath him, folding into yourself. You wanted to disappear and hide from the lustful thoughts that filled your mind, “Yeah?”

You nodded, face buried into your own shoulder.

“I need to hear you say it,” Peter spoke. He brought his fingers to the soft fabric of your pants, playing with the elastic band.

“Say what?” You managed to ask, looking at Peter out of the corner of your eyes.

“Tell me you want me to touch you,” Peter spoke, watching your eyes widen for a moment, “or kiss you, or anything else,”

“Peter,” You spoke, far too embarrassed to speak those words.

“Or I can stop,”

“No,” Shaking your head, you felt your face heat up from embarrassment.

“Right,” Peter smiled, “Then?” His touch trailed, dipping under the fabric.

“...touch me,” You breathed out, “Peter- please,”

“There ‘ya go,” Peter smiled, “Anything for you,” Hand moving down, it traveled between your legs over the fabric of your underwear. The fabric was soft, almost silk-like against his rough fingertips.

“Mm,” You whimpered as Peter’s touch was gentle, stopping right over your clothed clit. After a quiet laugh, Peter applied some pressure, fingers moving. A small moan made its way past your lips.

“That feel good?” Peter questioned, watching you finally stare back at him. Something behind your eyes shifted, almost as if you were handing him the controls. Your lips were parted as he waited for you to respond.

“Mhm,” You moaned, feeling Peter press down harder. You wished the barrier was gone, wanting to feel Peter’s skin on your own, “P-Pete,”

“What?” Peter asked, “Use your words sweetheart,”

“T-Touch me,” You stuttered.

“I am,”

“For-for real,” Your words were simply, dumbed down under the building pressure of your embarrassment. Peter looked at you, a smug smile on his lips as you fell apart at his touch. You wanted more.

Without a word, Peter’s fingers retreated back up the fabric of your underwear. You were afraid that they would not return, however, you held your breath as his fingers stopped at the waistband of your underwear. Pushing past the fabric, Peter’s fingertips were now lightly grazing your skin, making a shiver travel through you, hardening your nipples.

Peter had no idea how he was being so bold. Maybe because he was acting on his feelings for you alone? He had wanted to do this since you moved in, months after he had found himself all alone and looking for a place to stay. Everyone that once knew him had now forgotten and you were the first person he could start fresh with and he found comfort in that, and in you.

Moving past your clit, Peter’s touch kept moving lower and lower until he reached your wet entrance, “You’re so wet,” Peter almost laughed.

“S-Shut up,”

“It’s like you wanted this for as long as I have,” He spoke, absentmindedly.

Before you could reply, he dipped a finger into you, making you moan.

“So you want me to just touch you?” Peter questioned. He met your gaze from under your lashes. With each thrust of his finger your lashes batted slightly. His middle finger was only knuckle deep but you forgot just how long and slender his fingers truly were, “Hm?”

“Fo-for now,” You replied, focusing on his finger that moved in and out of you.

“Okay,” Peter said, “How’s this?” He questioned, a second finger finding its way into you. The action made you squirm, feet kicking off of the couch’s surface as if you were attempting to run off, “Need you to tell me, Y/N,”

Your heart was racing, rattling inside you as all of your thoughts scrambled inside your head. Surely any words that passed through your lips would not be cohesive ones, “F-f-fine,”

“Just fine?” Peter questioned, taking that as a hint to pick up the pace. So he did and his fingers dipped in and out of you with ease. The rhythm and speed sent waves of bliss through your system, feeling as if Peter’s action could bring you to climax alone.

“N-No,” You whimper, earning a confused remark from Peter, “Your-You’re gonna make me cum,”

“Good,” Peter smiled, “Need me to go faster, baby?” He watched you shake your head in agreement, “Want you to cum for me, okay?” Using his strength to his advantage, he fingered you as fast as you could take it, your quiet moans now became louder and breathy.

“Pe-Peter-” His name left your lips as you felt yourself growing closer and closer to your climax.

“You gonna cum?” Peter questioned, face now lowered. He placed a wet kiss to your jawline as he felt you nod against him.

With each moan that escaped you, you felt your head feel lighter. Peter was making you see stars in more ways than one.

“S-slow- slow down,” You barely spoke, “I’m getting lightheaded,” However, Peter did not stop. He was determined that he could make you cum beforehand.

Leaning back, he brought his other hand to your face. Covering your mouth, he continued to stimulate you, “I’m not going to stop til you cum,”

Your brows furrowed, eyes squeezing shut. You focused on the building climax that you longed to reach, “Peter-“

“Come on baby,” His words were soft as they pushed you over the edge. A smile crossed his lips as your moans became stuttered, “Therrreee you go,” From his tone, you could tell he was pleased with himself. His fingers did not slow as he worked you through your climax, “I can feel you cumming all over my fingers,” He spoke, removing his hand before placing it on the couch next to your head. With his new found leverage, he leaned over you, listening to the moans that still escaped your parted lips.

“You- You gotta stop-“

“But you’re cumming so good for me,”” Peter spoke smoothly in your ear. He watched you physically react to his sensual claim, crumbling next to him.

“I’m going to pass out,” You somewhat laughed, never experiencing this much pleasure before, or at least from just being fingered.

With that claim, Peter slowed his fingers before stopping completely. Then, he realized his strength had completely left his mind, “Did I hurt you?” Peter questioned, studying your face.

“N-No,” You spoke while attempting to catch your breath, “I just- it’s been awhile. And I normally don’t… cum from that,”

“Hm,” Peter hummed, leaning in and placing a kiss on your skin.

“What?” You questioned.

“Nothing,” Peter smiled back at you, “I’m just glad I could make you cum,”

A blush heated your skin as Peter talked about the subject so openly.

“Do you want to stop?” Peter questioned.

“S-Stop?” You asked, wondering what else Peter was planning.

“Or did you want to keep going?” He sat back, thighs flexing under the fabric of his jeans. Seeing the puzzled look on your face, a smile crossed Peter’s lips, “C’mere,” Sitting back against the couch, he motioned you towards him.

Crawling towards him, Peter helped you onto his lap. You swung your legs, straddling his waist. A smile sat on Peter’s handsome face as you studied it shyly. Your eyes followed each freckle that subtly peppered his nose, darker freckles dotted his soft skin, guiding your gaze.

“What?” Peter questioned, watching you study him a bit more intently now.

“Nothing! Nothing,” You quickly replied, embarrassment flooding through you now. You watched Peter laugh as he placed his hands on your legs. His touch trailed up and down, massaging your thighs. The soft fabric of your pants made him forget the weight of his advance, “Peter-”

Leaning forward, he brought his lips to your chest, kissing the skin above your bralette. Removing his hands, he brought them to the button of his jeans. Raising his hips, you felt just how hard he was, as he pushed the fabric of his jeans down his thighs.

His hands fell to the band of your lounge pants, pushing them down slowly, “This okay?” Peter questioned, “If you want me to stop,”

You wanted to reply, tell him how badly you wanted him but your breath caught in your throat. So you kissed him.

The kiss was forced, hungry and out of practice. You moved above him, allowing Peter to remove your pants, “I want you,” You finally whispered, lips inches away from Peter’s.

“Yeah?” Peter questioned with a laugh, “‘Gonna make you feel good,” Pushing his boxers, you watched his dick leap past the fabric.

His heated skin felt relieved by the room’s air, “P-Peter,” Your voice spoke over a sigh that passed through Peter’s lips, “do you… have a condom,”

“Yeah- Yeah,” Peter nodded. Reaching down, he dug his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a small box of condoms, the kind that you see at gas stations.

“Did… did you get that at the corner store?” You almost smiled, “With the hot chocolate,”

“Yeah,” Peter spoke as he rolled the condom down the length of himself, “Why?”

“What a purchase,” You almost teased, watching Peter’s gaze shift. His once soft and considerate gaze was now far more dominant, which sent a chill up your spine.

Peter hooked a finger around your underwear, pulling them aside. As Peter lined himself up with your entranced you closed your eyes, preparing yourself for the size of him.

Placing a firm grip on both of your forearms, Peter pulled you down the length of him. A loud moan bubbled from your lips, making your cheeks heat up out of embarrassment, “Therrre you go,” Peter spoke as you began to move above him, “Shit- yeah, just like that,” You bounced on his lap.

You would be lying if you said you felt confident in your actions. However, it had been awhile since you had done anything like this. While you were lost in thought, Peter’s hands wandered over your skin, exploring every inch of you.

“You’re so tight, baby- Gotta relax,” Peter assured. His gentle hands began to slip your cardigan down and off your arms, “You’re squeezing me,”

“Sorry it’s- it’s just been awhile,” You informed him. You watched Peter, he looked as if your claim went in one ear and out the other. Fingertips tickled the skin that sat underneath the band of your bralette, “Peter-“

“Hm?” He hummed, pushing the fabric up and over your breasts.

Your hands flew towards your chest, covering your newly exposed skin. However, you were not modest for long, feeling Peter grab your wrists. Pulling your arms firmly to your sides.

Peter felt you struggle in his hold, making him smile. He used his strength against you and it turned him on. Within the struggle, you stopped riding, warming his dick, “Let me see you,” Peter spoke before realizing your lack of movement, “Did I say you could stop?”

“W-What?” You stuttered at his dominance. Before you could wait for his reply, his hold tightened on your arms, raising you off of him. Your brows furrowed at the strength of Peter’s hold before he pulled you back down on him forcefully. The sound of your skin hitting Peter’s echoed through your small apartment.

Peter moved you, your arousal coating his dick and making him fuck you with ease. His eyes found your breasts, mesmerized as they bounced with each hard thrust that entered you, “Fuckkk,” Peter groaned, “so pretty”

Your dim lite apartment echoed with the sound of skin and your loud moans. The string lights almost illuminated your skin, a slight sweat covering your body as Peter tossed you around above him, “Peter- I’m gon-“ The words could barely vocalize between your moans.

“Hold on, need you to wait for me-“ Peter spoke, teeth taking in the skin of his lip. Picking you up and off of him, he heard you whimper. Throwing you onto the couch, he bent you over the back of it.

“What are you-“ You questioned, watching Peter move behind you. He pulled his pants down, kicking them off his legs before his hands returned to your skin. Cupping your ass, he rubbed your soft skin. His gentle touch was soon gone as it fell into the fabric of your underwear, beginning to rip them off of you, “Peter!”

He brought a firm hand down onto your skin, spanking your ass. With no warning he entered you again, coaxing a loud moan from your throat, “Want you to cum when I tell you to,” Peter spoke, “Don’t cum until I say so,” His thrusts were equally hard as fast, sending you further over the couch’s back. Your hands reached out behind you, fingers finding the fabric of Peter’s sweater, holding on for dear life.

Peter’s strength was almost unbearable, but you could tell just how close he was so you physically held on until he reached his climax, “Are you going to cum?” You managed to question. Reaching out, your fingers left his sweater, holding yourself off the couch, battling against Peter’s strength, “Please-“

“Yeah- yeah, shittt,” His head fell back slightly as he focused on chasing his high. You almost melted around him, filling Peter’s mind with the dirtiest thoughts, “I’m going to cum, sweetheart. Need you to cum with me, okay?” He watched you nod before focusing on your own orgasm as well, “I’m close- fuck I’m going to cum,”

“Mm please cum,” You begged, arms weak. However, you could not hold yourself up, body falling against the couch’s hard back, “fuck,”

Peter’s swears mixed with your own as he came, filling the condom that was buried deep inside of you. His hands fell, resting on the couch’s back on either side of you. Peter’s head felt heavy as it hung, eyes studying your ass as he pulled out of you slowly.

You groaned below him, sore from how rough Peter had been moments before.

“Sorry,” Peter spoke quietly, “Was I too rough?” You were silent below him, “I was, wasn’t I?” Dipping down, he placed a kiss between your shoulder blades. His kiss traveled to your neck, peppering it in kisses, making a shiver travel through your warm body, “Sorry,” Peter apologized again with a small laugh.

“You’re fine,” You finally spoke, your throat hoarse from your loud moans, “I’m just… sore,” You laughed. Sitting next to you, he helped you get more comfortable on the couch, “Peter,” You spoke, meeting his eyes, “I have a bed, it’s literally right there,”

“…Right,” Peter spoke, eyes leaving yours and falling onto the bed that was literally steps away, “I just… I really needed you,” He looked back towards you, unable to meet your embarrassed gaze, “and you also said how bad you wanted me, sooo,”

“I’m- I’m just saying,” You stuttered.

Awkward silence hung in the air as the two of you sat there.

“I should probably…” Peter trailed off, acknowledging the filled condom that still sat around him.

“Yeah- yeah,” You replied. He stood before you, giving you a small, and kind of awkward, smile. He walked off, disappearing into your bathroom and leaving you to reflect on what exactly just happened.

“How was that?” Peter asked, catching you off guard and making you jump slightly, “sorry,”

“No no I was just-“ You turned your head, “I was thinking about it. Not in a weird way- But how I’d think about doing that and it actually happened-“ Your lips shut as your words played in your own ears. God you sounded like a freak.

“You thought about fucking me?” Peter questioned, finding his spot next to you after putting on his boxers. He watched you crumble, turning your body away from him, “Nooo, no. It’s cute- I thought about you too, but you already know that,” You must have forgotten just how exposed you were to him right now, so he reached out, pulling your bralette back down and over your breasts, “I’m glad I wasn’t the creepy neighbor who thought about fucking you almost every time I saw you,”

“Straight to that?” You questioned, teasing him slightly.

“I know what foreplay is,” He joked back, watching you laugh, “but no, I think about eating you out a lot,” With that claim, he watched your eyes widen, making him laugh, “Maybe I could wake you up that way? On Christmas,”

“Christmas,” You spoke, remembering that you were supposed to be on a late night train back home but instead, you fucked your neighbor.

Reaching out, you grabbed your phone that was on your coffee table. Checking it, the time read 1:02 AM.

“Merry Christmas,” You spoke, eyes leaving the bright screen and falling into Peter’s warm brown gaze, “I kind of wish I got you something… you know since we just did all that,”

“Would…” Peter searched for the words in his head, “How about a date?”

“What?” You questioned. You were worried that tonight was going to be a one night stand, so Peter’s question washed a wave of relief over you, “You want to go out with me? Or I mean- like- a date. You want to go out on a date? With me?” Peter laughed as you rambled before him.

“Yeah,” Peter smiled, “I mean, that’s why I asked. Because I like you,”

“Oh, yeah- Yeah,” You spoke, “Yeah I’d like that,”

“Okay,” Peter laughed, bringing a hand towards your face. Pulling you close, he met you halfway with a sweet kiss, “Merry Christmas,”

564 notes · View notes

literaila · 2 years

Text

reverence; rebellion

tasm!peter x fem!reader

series masterlist.

summary: finally, a decision is made. and spider-man finds your room.

warnings: fluff. angst. i find sopping wet spider-man hilarious

a/n: just pain. thanks for reading <3

"what is this?"

in the span of a week, you have come down to one conclusion.

"a book. i promised you."

"you promised me a replacement--"

"don't recall saying that, but--"

"--not the beginners guide to carpentry."

he shrugs. leans even further against a wall that isn't there. "you need a hobby."

spider-man has been there for around ten minutes. he has taken all of your sensibility and thrown it directly off the roof.

"i was thinking about taking up assault and battery," you say with an evil smile on your face. a glare pointed directly at him.

he doesn't seem to get the hint.

he points at you. "my written complaint just keeps getting longer..."

you sigh.

contemplate slamming the door in his face again. swearing to yourself that you're not going to come back up here and that this doesn't matter. that this is nothing but an irritation.

but you've been considering this all week.

and there's a part of you--the sensitive, overwhelming, stupid part--that has a debt to pay.

you owe spider-man in this strange, confusing way.

how he's done anything to earn your respect, you aren't sure.

"you smell like smoke," you say, dryly, just to get the words out of your mouth.

to fight the angry thoughts back with a threat of never letting them out.

the scream in terror.

he looks down at himself. "yeah," he clears his throat, unnerved. "sorry. big fire in an apartment building."

you frown. "tonight?"

in this maladaptive daydream, he's laying down on the roof, ankles swinging as he crosses them back in forth. in reality, he's just staring at you. "earlier this morning."

"you do... this all day?"

spider-man tilts his head. "well, i have a mandatory thirty-minute break around lunch."

"what happens when you're up here?" you ask him, choosing to sit down on the ledge.

choosing to trust that if you fall off, fate has made it's choice.

"hmm?"

you raise a brow. "the crime just stops once you go home?"

"one, i'm not at home. and two, yes."

"how convenient."

"very."

you sigh, rubbing your fingertips over the book in your hand. it's seriously worn, and torn at the edges. the spine has been cracked so many times that you can't read the title on the edge. spider-man is cheap.

"i don't want this."

you try and hand the book back to him--because it's ridiculously heavy and you have no room for it in your house.

he takes a step back. "you need it."

"i'm not taking up building cabinets."

"hey, my suggestions have worked so far," he crosses his arms, daring you to argue.

which you will do, happily.

you hold a hand up as to grasp at the words. "your one suggestion," you hold up a finger for emphasis, "was to go to a coffee shop. and i did not take it."

he's silent. staring at you.

"i was thirsty. it was right there."

"you just happened to walk into the shop?" spider-man asks you because he knows you're lying.

you nod.

he laughs. "and there wasn't even a little part of you that recalled what i had said to do--"

"nope."

spider-man leans back again, accepting. "okay. influenced or not, you went to a coffee shop. out into the world."

"what do you think i do all day?"

he chooses not to answer that. "you had a great time," he says, as a reminder.

"i was threatened by the eyes of thirty people wanting to claw through me just to get a piece of you."

he shakes his head, waving you off. "they were just curious."

"what do you think would happen if i told them what you were really like?" you put the question out into the world and smile deviously at its result.

"what?" his voice is amused. "that i'm charming, funny, and give really good advice?"

"that you're a thief," you correct, and pretend not to notice the smile on your face. "and that you waste your time talking to me when you could be--"

"we've already discussed this. and i gave you a book."

you throw it at him. it hits him directly in the chest, then falls to the concrete.

you're both silent for a moment.

if you could see his face, you're pretty sure that his eyes would be wide. that he would be staring at you, trying to decide between shock and anger.

and without a second more of consideration, you burst out laughing.

"what was that supposed to be?" he asks, shaking his head. he picks the book off of the floor and dusts it off. "do you know how long it took me to find this?"

you just laugh even harder.

"we're even now," he says, "just so you know."

and after that, he laughs with you.

the next day, you don't even have to think about it.

before peter can ask--because he sits right next to you and he always asks.

"here," you slide the paper toward him without a glance.

you pay him no mind when you're supposed to complete a lab together.

you don't need to channel resentment, to decide to be angry at him. you don't need to speak to him, carefully choose your words, or agree to a safe distance between the two of you.

peter doesn't have to say anything.

you barely even hear his voice.

a small part of you wants to feel ashamed--because this is something you shouldn't be depending on--or guilty.

but it's so small and uncertain that you can barely hear it whisper in your ear.

you eagerly follow the rules.

and simply pretend that peter parker doesn't exist.

see, it only took a week to consider it.

a week after you'd met spider-man for the third time, and realized that despite any desirable reaction you'd like to have to him, he was a shift.

he was laughing in a coffee shop--glaring and fighting and pushing back--when you felt most like burying yourself in the ground.

a steady stream of water when your heart needed to be washed off.

like a stimulant.

like he was keeping you awake, even when your eyes were heavy.

it was a half-glanced reality that you didn't care to think about. so what that spider-man was good company?

but the drug lasted. for three days.

it took three days to fall down the hole of unbearable things, and feel as tired as you were before. three days, and he hadn't even spoken to you.

careful reflection, playing with possibilities in your mind until they were stained with the oil from your fingertips, and every possible excuse you could think of.

but you can't avoid conclusions. they leave you no room to run.

and there was something about him.

something unknown, shifting, moving on the turn table, and pulling you along.

something that you didn't want to think about, nor understand, but knew. in the simplest of terms.

if you wanted to forget--

and you didn't really. you wanted to remember. you wanted resolve, solutions, and any type of affection on the tip of your skin, studying and never falling asleep, laughing over the austerest of things.

you wanted to remember everything.

maybe it was self-pity that led you up these stairs. maybe it was loneliness.

but it didn't matter. you didn't want to hide in the dark, to suffocate in the cold, anymore.

if you wanted to forget peter--and everything, every complication that came with him--well.

spider-man was a perfect brand of amnesia.

when there's a knock on your window, you barely even blink.

unsure what time it is--how long you've been awake, sitting at your desk and reading a textbook that is definitely written in another language because you can't understand any of it--you turn around.

thinking to yourself that it could just be a tree branch.

even though you're probably 300 feet in the air. and there are no trees outside your window.

you look at the clock, numbers blurring, and sigh.

you want to fall back asleep right in that spot.

but then there's another knock, and you can't just pretend that it's all a dream you'll laugh about in the morning.

you push away from your desk and turn towards the window.

and then fall out of your chair when you meet the eyes watching you.

your hands hit the floor first, stinging as you use them to keep yourself up. in a better reality, your head was the first thing to go and you're no longer conscious to experience this.

spider-man waves at you.

you groan and fall even further into the floor.

it's hard to tell if he's clinging to the wall or flying. either way, it's unpleasant.

and stupid.

and you know that he's laughing at you.

he knocks again. waving a hand and telling you to hurry up.

to get your ass up off of the floor and just let him in.

you consider falling into your bed and leaving him out there. he'd be fine.

probably.

but your conscience doesn't trust that kind of qualifier. so you push up off of the floor, hissing at your already sore wrists, and stomp over to the window.

you stare at him a moment, wanting to make him uneasy.

he pokes the glass at the very point your head would be if you weren't protected by the pane.

you sigh and unlatch the locks. sliding it open.

"jeez," he says, falling into your room--just barely shivering--and forcing you to move back.

he could be a disease.

"it's cold out there."

you eye him blankly. then move to close the window. "doesn't seem too bad to me."

"you're in a heated apartment complex."

"so are you."

spider-man huffs. runs a hand down his spandex-clad sleeves, and shakes his head at you. "you're not a very welcoming person."

"sorry?"

you're mostly amused at his indignation. a strange sort of annoyance--not at you, you don't think--that you've never noticed before.

he points to the chair you just fell out of. "can i sit?"

"sure," you say, with a raised brow. surprised he even asked.

when he sits down--limbs sprawling across your floor and the chair, too long for any type of furniture--he leans his head back, takes a deep breath, and sighs out.

you secretly wonder if he's actually fifty years old.

"what're you doing here?"

he leans a head up, eyeing you. "what?"

"how'd you find me?"

"are you going to compare me to a pirate? or a burglar?" he asks, sullen and dry and every opposite thing. "because i don't think i can argue right now."

"you're tired?"

there's a pause.

a tiny little moment where you linger on the way he's breathing. where you stop and make sure that he's actually alive.

you consider that you haven't complained once.

ignore it.

"yeah, there was, like--" spider-man gestures into the air, painting a picture with his hands.

you can't see it.

he sighs. "a lot of water. a little of me."

"is that why you're wet?"

his head rolls over to you--now sitting on your bed, playing with the blankets and staring at him. "no. i just thought i'd take a shower in my suit before i stopped by."

you roll your eyes. "are you hurt?"

your arms are crossed, protecting a hidden idea sunken deep into your chest. you're sure that if you looked, you might see it poking out, threatening you.

"not hurt," spider-man says. "or, not badly hurt. bruises and cuts." he waves a hand because that is insignificant to him.

but your brow furrows.

you've never seen him like this--somewhat exhausted, still, and smooth, waiting for something more.

his feet remain firmly on the ground. and instead of snooping around your room--like you might've assumed he would--he sits there. watching you.

you're about to say something, but he goes first.

"i'm fine," he says, the words a bit knowing. "i just..."

and he's looking at you.

speaking words without saying them.

you misinterpret the meaning until it has none at all.

you clear your throat.

spider-man does the same. "i just wanted to see how you were liking your book."

he might be smiling. you can't tell what his voice means.

"i hate it."

and he laughs. "you read it?"

you owe him something, at least.

"i opened the title page and considered making a cabinet out of the book."

he points at you. "you'd have to read the book first to know how to do that. and carpenters make more than cabinets, you know," he says, crossing his arms, high and mighty. "there's kitchens, and dressers, and tables. all of that."

you push him off of his ivory tower, and ignore everything he says.

"or i could just tear it up," you say to yourself. "make a collage out of my hatred."

you're sure he's smiling now.

and has enough energy to argue with you.

you cross your arms. stare at him. "you didn't answer my question."

spider-man sits up, copies you. "what?"

"how'd you find my room?"

"there's a directory in the lobby."

"no there's not."

he leans back again. "okay, well, you're the only person with their light on at two in the morning."

"not true," you say, challenging him. "mr. jones like to have his pie at two in the morning."

"because you and mr. jones look exactly alike," he deadpans. "i wouldn't be able to tell you apart."

"lots of people think we're related."

finally, spider-man sighs. he spins around in your chair. "i knocked on three windows before yours."

you snort.

"although," he interrupts you, "none of them fell on the floor at just the sight of me--"

"okay, don't--"

"so i wonder what that says about you."

"it says that you interrupted me when i was on the verge of falling asleep."

"i saved you a day of pain tomorrow. you're welcome."

you stare at him. unamused.

and slightly delirious because it's two in the morning. and because you don't want to go to sleep at all.

"i kind of like this version of you."

spider-man freezes. he turns towards you. "what?"

"grumpy, old-ish man you."

he stares at you.

"it's a lot more tolerable."

he breathes out, ready to speak--

and, okay.

maybe spider-man is your friend.

my masterlist here.

tags: @moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @random_writer1021 @spidermoony @doexoeyes @horror-eye @bachiracore @uwiuwi @remuslupinsdocs @khayhuij @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @feestyles @localrockstargf @reymaybe @yesshewrites1 @mrsgweasley @20fandomfangirl

813 notes · View notes

t-lostinworlds · 1 year

Text

I Spy, No Spy | Peter Parker

》 PAIRING: peter parker x avenger/secret agent female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: friends to lovers; fake dating-ish; fluff

》 SUMMARY: You're a trained spy, Peter was not. But you two ended up on a mission together where he was needed to be less of the chatty superhero in red & blue tights and more of a debonair undercover agent in a suit & tie. It shouldn't be too difficult, right? No mask, no web shooters. Just you and him pretending to be fiancés, hiding and making out in a closet to avoid getting caught—simple. Unless he included his overgrowing feelings for you, of course.

》 WARNINGS: peter being down bad & horny™️ for r (my fave genre of peter by the looks of it), slight self-deprecating peter, pet names (darling, my love, babe, angel), peter x suit x glasses (a dangerous combo), mediocre spy-ish stuff, canon typical violence (i.e. guns, knives, fighting, ass-kicking), slight jealousy/possessiveness (both parties), slight pettiness from r, closet make-out, little peter got excited (idk why i said it like that lmao it’s just a boner), cuddling w/ boob grab (not sexual lol).

》 WORD COUNT: 21.3k+ (is anyone still surprised)

✘ MOODBOARD

A/N: this idea has been in my drafts since sept or oct 2020? I think? basically i plotted this a decade ago a.k.a this happens after Endgame but before...anything else (NWH who? lol) this is more an alternate universe tho. i honestly have no idea how i feel about this but i did enjoy writing it. a pretty tame, fun lil spy au fic so nothing groundbreaking sksks anyways! i hope you enjoy!

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ PETER PARKER MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

The sun rays that leaked through Peter's bedroom window tickled his eyelids, making them flutter open as he yawned.

A tired smile curled on his lips as he buried his nose into his pillow. It was rather comforting, hearing the faint chirping of birds, the soft rustle of the tree just outside his room, and hell, even the chants in the far-off distance of people training.

It was a peaceful Saturday morning, and Peter really liked that.

To top it off, summer had just begun, so no college work to worry about in the meantime. He was finally having a much-needed break from obligation and responsibilities—well, not entirely since the superhero gig didn't really have actual breaks. But he was hopeful that today was a quiet day, at least.

There were plenty of activities that could take up his whole day. He could start with a morning run around the large stretch of land, maybe pack up some breakfast and eat it by the lake, located at the edge of the area. He didn't mean to sound like some guru, but he could really use being one with nature for a little bit. Maybe he could meet his friends for lunch if any of them were free, or maybe he could spend the afternoon relaxing by the compound's private pool—

"Good morning, Peter."

Peter jumped with a squeak, limbs tangling with his sheets, making him fall off the bed with a loud thud. Groaning, he slowly sat up on the floor, rubbing the back of his head to soothe it.

That was certainly one way to get the sleep out of your system.

"Emergency meeting in conference room A-One in ten minutes."

Well, so much for his plans to relax.

"Got it, FRIDAY."

It was still a bit odd hearing the A.I. as an alarm early in the morning most of the time. She was certainly very helpful though. From scheduling to reminders, simple google searches to more complicated equation-solving whenever he would need help.

FRIDAY was like the compound's own Alexa but much, much more advanced. Well, she certainly wasn't meant to be used as such but nobody could truly blame him for not taking the perks for granted.

And there were a lot of perks living in the place—the Avenger's compound, to be specific—and despite being here for almost a year now, Peter still hadn't gotten used to its extravagance, much less exhausted all its resources.

It was a drastic change from the little apartment where he and May used to live, and he wasn't talking about the size alone.

She was living with Happy now, Peter visiting over for dinner whenever he could. She was a bit reluctant to let him move out at first. It was expected when they'd practically been living together for a good chunk of his life. But he was grown now, so wanting to dabble into independence shouldn't come off as a surprise.

Sure, it was more him being available and closer to saving the world type of independence, but independence, nonetheless.

Plus, Peter simply wanted to give them as much privacy as he could.

Happy and May were like teenagers in love and the things he heard despite the thick walls thanks to his enhanced abilities…he'd rather not think about it. His super hearing definitely helped in making the decision.

He still hadn't stopped patrolling New York, of course. If it was a quiet day on earth—more so, the universe—he still swung about the city, stopping any petty crime he would come across. But when an Avenger's level threat would arise, Peter was now only a couple of doors down, equipped and ready to join the mission.

It was difficult to juggle: his normal life, attending college, being Spider-Man on top of being an official Avenger.

Nonetheless, Peter wouldn't have it any other way.

Maybe it was because he enjoyed the thrill of taking the superhero gig to the next level. Or maybe it was because he was granted the opportunity to live lavishly in the compound. Maybe it was the sheer feeling of accomplishment and pride to be able to save the world.

Or maybe it was because he got to see you every day.

You, who Peter has an insanely huge crush—no, who he really, really liked.

He might even go as far as to say that he was falling for you.

The two of you had moved in at the same time.

He could still vividly remember how he'd just placed the last box on his bed when the building shook. He peered out his window to see what the commotion was about, just in time to catch the Quinjet landing on the well-kept grass. His brows had furrowed in curiosity when the door opened, watching Sam and Bucky come out first, then a third figure trailing right behind them.

Peter didn't really believe in love at first sight, but God did it feel like that when he first saw you.

Okay, maybe it wasn't exactly love—or maybe it was, who knows—but he really couldn't deny how intrigued he was of you, intimidated even. And that was when you walked into the common room in simple jeans and a pink hoodie.

He swooned the minute you smiled at him when you introduced yourself, his knees wobbling the minute you shook his hand.

It was later on that he found out that you were a former (more like forced) member of HYDRA, abducted at a young age, trained to be one of their elite spies, and brainwashed to do their bidding. Which was why it made so much sense how the one and only Bucky Barnes had a soft spot for you—quite surprising for someone who was known to be a huge grump.

You actually came from Wakanda that day, to erase whatever it was HYDRA planted into your brain. Now, you were a recruit on the team, willing to do good with the skills you now had.

You and Peter were around the same age—part of the young ones, as Bucky pointed out—so it didn't really take long for you to become friends.

Well, a friend he kept ridiculously fawning over, a friend who made his heart race whenever you were nearby, a friend who Peter didn't really want to remain as such.

He was thankful though, being your friend was better than being no one to you at all.

But still, it was difficult to suppress his feelings, especially when you were one of, if not, the sweetest and kindest person Peter had the pleasure of knowing.

Whenever he would stumble into the compound late at night, all badly beaten and bruised, somehow, you'd be the only one awake, helping him up to his own room where you'd then clean his wounds for him.

The first night it happened, you had said FRIDAY alerted you of his presence. You had rushed as fast as you could when the A.I. mentioned he was injured. After that, it simply became a routine for you both.

It was like an unspoken rule around the compound, how you were always the one who'd patch Peter up after missions—unless you weren't present, of course. There were even a handful of occasions where Peter would be the one patching you up, a rare instance where he'd be home from campus while you'd come back from an intense mission that rewarded you with fresh bruises and cuts.

He was convinced you were simply being nice to him, though. You did consider him as your friend and you were kind enough to help with an ailment or two. You were such a caring person overall. He was sure if it was any other person, you'd do the same. So, Peter wasn't exactly special in that regard.

But then you got assigned to help him train every weekend, which only made his overgrowing crush for you, well, grow some more.

It was a new requirement for recruits, learning how to fight without much use of technology.

From the wise words of the new captain: Gadgets and tech should be there as extra sets of tools, not as a replacement for your arms and limbs. If you rely on them too much, they're going to become crutches.

Bucky stared at Sam funnily at that—since his vibranium arm was both a tool and a replacement of his limb—but everyone got what he meant. Being able to take down bad guys with only your bare hands was definitely more helpful than not.

Peter didn't know if someone was secretly spying on him, or had overheard him gushing about you to Harley—or if said friend himself had ratted him out—that led to the two of you being paired together.

Bucky said that you were the best woman for the job to help improve hand-to-hand combat or overall fighting skills. You'd been training since you were young after all, and that was saying something. Peter was probably still learning his additions and subtractions while you had already mastered the art of jiu jitsu. Wanda added that the two of you were already close hence why you got paired together, simply to skip through that awkward phase of introductions.

Peter had a feeling the two were playing matchmaker. But he chose to ignore it.

Either way, it certainly didn't help his predicament.

Being so close to you in that regard, with you wearing those tight leggings and tank tops, grunting and sweating, your bodies getting tangled and just…yeah.

Training with you was enough to make his head—both heads, if being honest, but he'll keep the other one to himself—explode.

You were incredible.

So it didn't take much for him to get distracted by you during your sessions, either.

More often than not, Peter would find himself watching you in awe rather than trying to dodge your punches. You called him out on it a few times, and each time he'd turn pink, the tint on his skin turning darker when you'd order him to do push-ups as a means to discipline. You were strict at times, but he was still so lucky that you were also being patient with him when he couldn't get it quite right the first few times. Although, you being in command and in control only added to his endless list of things he was swooning over you for.

It was admirable the way you would have him so out of breath after a spar and he was the one with superpowers. You were being smart with it, tactical with the when, where and how to hit rather than just throwing a punch for the sake of it. You'd dance around him, gracefully, swiftly, strongly, each move precisely choreographed to outmatch him as if you'd already looked into the future to know what he was going to do next.

Peter was a goner the minute you pinned him down on the floor for the tenth time in that one session.

He didn't know if it was the smug smirk on your face, your knees on either side of his hips, the way you had his hands above his head, or everything all at once. But Peter's blood was definitely boiling with every touch, rushing up to his brain that quickly turned it to mush—or maybe it was rushing down. He really couldn't tell where the pulsing was coming from. If it was his heart or some other organ that gets filled with blood.

By then, he couldn't stop thinking about you, couldn't stop talking about you, head over heels like he was living and breathing for you.

Ned and Harley said it was an obsession at this point but in his defense, you were way out of his league.

And he hadn't even taken into account how you felt about him.

Sometimes, Peter would have an inkling that his feelings were reciprocated. With the way you'd smile at him, the way you'd say sweet things to him, and the lingering touches from time to time, how could he not?

But, what if that was his rose-colored glasses making them seem like something they're not? Was it truly acts of affection and adoration or was it Peter's brain just romanticizing the shit out of simple kind gestures done for a friend?

Then came the thought that you were sweet and kind to everyone. It was just who you are, a ray of sunshine through and through—a ray of sunshine that could kick your ass ten times over but still. He'd rather not give himself too much hope. It was safer to assume that you were only seeing and treating him as a friend and nothing more.

Besides, it was too far-fetched, someone like you feeling something for someone like him.

You'd walk down a hallway with your head held high, while Peter would keep his eyes trained on the tiles. You'd stare your enemy down with no hesitation, your presence commanding, threatening, both words and actions carrying that certain chill that would make anyone second guess crossing you. While Peter would dance around them to avoid proper confrontation, going for silly jokes and sarcastic quips to mask any nervousness he would sometimes feel.

You're one hell of a powerful, strong woman and that's without any enhancements or superpowers involved.

While Peter…well, he's just your dorky, other times clumsy, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

As he said, you were way, way, way out of his league.

So he really couldn't do much but admire you from afar—or up close, but discreetly—until he would grow the extra set of balls needed to actually do something about his feelings for you, especially with the possible outcome of rejection.

He'd like to believe he'd grown quite a bit of confidence after entering college. It was a slow progress but he did manage to break out of his shell. With the number of parties Harry Osborn had managed to drag him into, how could he not? He was quite glad that now, he was able to talk to pretty girls without much stuttering and blushing involved.

But somehow when it was you in front of him, he would suddenly revert to his old high school self again. His cheeks would either be red or pink, barely able to get his words out as he would sometimes stare at you for longer than he should, all awestruck and dazed with admiration.

Peter's point was painfully proven right once again when he saw you down the hallway.

You were wearing black leggings and a black tank top along with your favorite running shoes. It was your usual getup whenever you would train or workout. Yet no matter how many times Peter had seen you in them before, it never failed to make his heart skip a beat. It was nothing fancy at all, but God did it look stunning on you.

It was mostly unconscious, and well, his rational brain did sometimes take a backseat when it comes to you. But his eyes drifted over your body, from your exposed shoulders to your collarbones, flitting momentarily on your chest, before they went to your legs, your tight leggings leaving so little to his imagination as they hugged your thighs. He tried to move his gaze back up to look at you more appropriately but simply got stuck on your hips. There was a slight sway in them as you walked—in slow motion, he was sure of it—with such confidence, and the way you held yourself with power and poise was breathtaking.

Shit. Did the AC malfunction? Why is it suddenly so hot—

"Hi, Pete."

Your voice snapped him out of his stupor. But your bright, beautiful eyes and your so-goddamn-pretty smile all while you stood right in front of him was more than enough to have him swooning again.

"H-Hey," he squeaked, painfully aware of how hot his cheeks had gotten. Add the fact that he hadn't been out under the sun much, he was sure you could see how pink it was. That knowledge alone probably made it a shade darker. Then came the fleeting thought that you might've caught him practically eyeing you up—

He quickly cleared his throat, keeping his head down to hide his blush as he opened the door to the conference room.

"After you."

"Thank you," you hummed, reaching a hand out to squeeze his arm before you moved past him.

It took a lot for his knees not to wobble at the gesture, even more, when he caught a whiff of your shampoo…or was that your perfume? But if you had just gone on a morning run and taken a shower—no, that wasn't your body wash. You didn't look like you'd just got out of the shower, so maybe it was just your scent. God, you always smell so nice.

"Holy—get your shit together man," he grumbled to himself, hastily wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, fixing up his hair before entering the conference room.

It was relatively empty—well, the whole compound was given that the rest of the Avengers weren't at headquarters in the meantime, caught in other obligations whether personal or otherwise. The only other person in the room was Wanda, sitting across from you.

"Pete," you called, tapping the chair beside you before he could even choose a seat to take. There were plenty of vacant ones. Trying to calm his raging heart, he walked over to your side and sat down. But each beat only grew faster when you tilted your head at him with a smile. "Did you go on a run this morning?"

"Oh—uh, no, not yet," he said, trying his best to keep his eyes on yours rather than let them wander, like…down your lips. Shrugging to seem unbothered, he added, "FRIDAY announced the meeting just when I woke up."

"I haven't either," you hummed. So, it was just your scent earlier, the same one that was filling up his nostrils now as you leaned a little closer to him. "Maybe we can go—"

"Another day, another robbery," Sam cut you off as he and Bucky entered the room.

You moved away from him then, leaning back on your seat, attention now on the captain. An unconscious frown made its way onto his lips, because yes, he was slightly—greatly—annoyed at the interruption.

"Only this time, it calls for a national emergency," Bucky added, taking the seat next to Wanda.

"Global, if we don't stop it in time," Sam sighed, connecting a flash drive to one of the USB ports installed on the table.

"Oh no, did they steal the president's nudes?" Peter joked, immediately shrinking in his seat when the two men shot him a look. "Sorry, sorry, bad joke and definitely not the time—I'll shut up."

"That was funny," you whispered, flashing him a smile and Peter's face immediately burned. He wasn't given much time to respond when Sam cleared his throat.

"As much as that would be horrifying, it's something much worse." He pressed a button on the table that made the hologram come to life. There was only one item shown, a rectangular, gold-colored device, probably the size of a credit card but thicker by half an inch. Sam pointed at it and said, "The Gold Codes."

"The Gold Codes?" Peter muttered, brows furrowed in confusion.

"The president's nuclear launch codes," you answered, always willing to help him out on things he wasn't too well versed on.

"Oh." Peter nodded, smiling at you appreciatively before his face fell, eyes widening in realization. "Oh. That's definitely worse than his nudes."

You laughed, and it made Peter's heart do flips.

"And of course, its partner, the nuclear football. But instead of it being a whole briefcase, it's been reduced to this—" Sam flicked through the hologram, a black device coming up beside the gold codes. It looked like a plain external hard drive, roughly the same size as a pocketbook. It wasn't that big so it was definitely easy to carry around and, by the looks of it, easier to steal.

"Technology advancing sometimes isn't the best," Bucky grumbled.

You sat straighter in your seat, forearms resting on the table as you eyed the devices. There was a furrow between your brows, lips pursed as you tilted your head.

Peter couldn't stop his smile.

He always found your thinking face adorable.

You turned to Sam after a moment and asked, "Don't they change the codes every day?"

"Yes, but as our hundred-year-old resident said, technology is advancing so the card automatically syncs up to any changes made," Sam explained.

"That's the stupidest thing ever," Wanda scoffed.

Peter nodded in agreement. "Why did these even get stolen in the first place?"

"The one who was carrying the nuclear football was a double agent," Bucky said.

"Classic," you scoffed. "And have we found where it is?"

Sam nodded at Bucky, the super soldier rummaging around a bag that Peter just noticed he brought with them. He slid across a black envelope with gold detailing, your brows furrowing as you took it in your hand.

"Oh wow, an invitation to a charity gala tonight at The Aces," you gushed, scanning through the glossy, black paper before you turned to look at Peter. You probably saw the confused look he wore because you offered him a sweet smile before explaining, "It's one of the fanciest ballrooms in New York, most of the galas they hold are very exclusive for the rich and the rich-rich, like filthy 'I can end world hunger but I'm an asshole so I won't' rich."

"Thanks," Peter hummed, smiling.

"I got you." You bumped his shoulder with a wink, which quickly made him blush.

"But it's a smokescreen," Sam continued. "The real party happens later in the night."

"That's what she said," Bucky interrupted enthusiastically, earning a heavy eye roll from Sam and laughs from you and Wanda. The technically old man looked around the room. "What? Did I say the joke wrong?"

"You got the spirit," Peter chuckled.

"As I was saying, they're holding a black market auction later in the night in the small underground theater a floor beneath the building." Sam continued, swiping up the hologram until it showed a floorplan of a theater along with a couple of photos of high-tech armor, guns, and a whole bunch of things Peter couldn't exactly name. What stood out the most to him, though, was the logos: Stark Industries, Oscorp, Pym Technologies, Sable International, and the likes. "Stolen technology and weapons being sold to anyone who has the money to buy them."

"So, it's like the dark web, but fancier," Wanda quipped.

"Stealing items and then selling them to the highest bidder," Peter hummed. "Sounds like the British."

You snorted, quickly covering your mouth when everyone turned to you with raised brows.

"Sorry," you mumbled, kicking him under the table playfully, probably as a warning to stop making you laugh. Peter only grinned proudly in response. He always felt proud whenever he made you laugh.

"Anyway, the nuclear football is easier to find. It's locked in a room along with the other items they're planning on selling," Sam started, flicking through the hologram to show a floor plan of the whole building. He circled the large room in the middle before tracing a pathway leading up to another, much smaller room. "It's located on the east wing, right side of the main ballroom. It has double doors so you wouldn't miss it, especially with the armed guards."

"And the card?" Peter asked.

"Would be much more difficult to retrieve. It's going to be with the person who orchestrated this whole thing. The problem is—"

"You don't know who it is," you finished.

Sam nodded grimly. "Whoever is the mastermind of this grand scheme has been quite good at maintaining anonymity. The only time they're going to reveal themselves, along with the codes, is during the secret auction, which you can't get into unless you're chosen to be there."

"If you think the gala was exclusive, the auction is on a different scale," Bucky explained.

"We don't know what code or secret handshake will be needed to be able to attend the auction. Our best course of action is to attend the gala, scope the scene, and hopefully, get intel on how to join the auction without much breaking and entering involved," Sam said. "I had Harley tap into the security system of the building and guess what?"

"You found an even bigger problem," you and Peter said at the same time.

Sam nodded. "The whole building is now armed with sensors fit to detect every single Avenger's superpower, any Stark-grade weapons and also, vibranium. Bucky's metal arm, Wanda's magic, my wings, so on and so forth. Neither of us could simply swoop in because the second those silent sensors go off, or any commotion will start, poof goes the codes along with our criminal."

Bucky shifted in his seat. "Even if we discard all of that and try not to use it, going in there as, quote-on-quote civilians won't work either because—"

"Everyone would immediately recognize who we are," Wanda finished.

"Since there are only two people here whose faces aren't known publicly"—Sam looked between the two of you—"Peter and Y/N, you two are going to be the ones to retrieve the codes and the football."

"W-What?" Peter choked, eyes wide as he stared at the captain. "Don't they have my powers in the sensors?"

"They only have it for your web shooters and suit, and as far as I know, both are detachable."

"But that's me, that's how I operate," he stammered. Going out there as himself wasn't part of his skill set. He'd feel too exposed without his suit. Not to mention he was going with you. Which of course wasn't a bad thing at all but it only added this pressure to not mess things up. He couldn't live with himself if he'd fail this mission, fail you—or worse, have you get hurt because he wasn't capable enough. "How am I supposed to be Spider-Man without those?"

"You have to give yourself more credit, Pete," you said, placing your hand over his own, the one resting on his thigh. Peter's eyes followed your touch before he met your gaze again, his blush prominent, heart thumping so loud he was scared you might hear it. "You're more than just a suit. And you need to remember how you've managed to make your synthetic web in the first place. So I'm sure you'll do fine with your brain alone. Even then, you still have other abilities, and you have me."

Peter looked at you fondly, a smile curling on his lips as he turned his hand so your palm was over his, squeezing it to silently say thank you. He wasn't even aware of what he was doing, not until he saw your smile turn slightly shy. It was the quick glimmer in your eyes that made him realize he was absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

"Seconded." Wanda smiled at the two of you, chuckling when you and Peter jumped slightly away from each other. You pulled your hand away, Peter frowning at the loss of contact. But he shook his head, turning his focus back on the mission.

"Y/N here also said you'd gotten really good at your hand-to-hand combat skills," Bucky said, an all-knowing smile on his face as he glanced between you two. "So, I don't think you'd need your web shooters as much if ever it comes to a fight."

"Which we hope won't result in that," Sam quickly added with a reassuring nod. "The plan is simple: scope and mingle, assess the scene, try and get some information as to how to get into the auction. Once you've done that, sneak into the vault to retrieve the nuclear football. I've already assigned Harley to make a duplicate device to swap with the real one so it won't trigger the alarm.

"Then, you sit at the auction and wait until the codes come up. I'm sure it will be presented by the anonymous seller so by then, we will be able to put a face on the mastermind. Our agents should already be blocking every single exit of the building by that time so all you have to do is to retrieve the code calmly. Try and ease your way into the main stage, charm and persuade, or whichever way works. Any more questions?"

You and Peter looked at each other, before you both turned to Sam, shaking your heads.

"Good. We've already set your fake identities up, google searches running for miles, the last thing we need are photos, together, individually, candid and professional which would only take a few minutes. Your fake names are already on the guest list, your outfits and everything else you need will be waiting for you at the hotel you're getting ready at as part of the whole ruse," he instructed. "You two are the best and only shot we've got in this. Plan your moves wisely and rely on each other. We can't afford to lose those codes."

"Yes, Captain."

•••

The hotel suite was fancy.

Peter had never been in one this expensive-looking before.

It had its own living room, a minibar, a huge bathroom, a king-size bed, and then a massive window that overlooked New York City. He definitely indulged himself with their complimentary champagne, and given the fact that he couldn't get drunk, he mostly did it for the taste—which was flavored expensive, to those wondering. Hell, even the chocolate they had tasted expensive.

Then again, the two of you were undercover as a rich, engaged couple so it was part of the whole thing. You never know whose eyes and ears were for who in these types of missions.

But still, it was quite the treat and he'd be stupid not to make the most of it—without getting too distracted, of course.

Peter was now all suited up, not in spandex this time. It was a crisp, black, formal suit made with fabric he wouldn't dare guess the cost and a brand he couldn't even begin to pronounce. He had a white dress shirt underneath, paired with a black tie. The one he was currently having a hard time doing as he stood in front of the floor-length mirror in the living room.

He groaned in frustration when he once again messed it up. He didn't wear this kind of clothes often, so he really didn't have much of a reason to learn to master the art of…tying?

"Need help?"

Peter turned around, the breath knocked out of him once he saw you come out of the bedroom.

Wow.

Oh wow you looked gorgeous in red.

It was an off-shoulder, long-sleeved dress, your arms covered in lace as the fabric hugged your figure. The skirt was long as it fanned onto the floor with a really high slit on your right leg to show off the silver heels you were wearing. Your hair and make-up were done to marry the whole style, all while enhancing your natural features rather than covering them. Your red-painted lips though—

"Wow."

"Yeah," you laughed softly, your gaze falling over yourself as your hands smoothed the fabric of your dress. "I don't know who picked it but it's really pretty and it fits really nicely. Perks of having body scans for our suits, I suppose."

"You look beautiful," Peter breathed out, still frozen in his place as he stared at you in absolute awe.

"Thank you," you said, your sweet smile turning into a smirk as you eyed him up and down with a nod. "You clean up nice, too, Parker."

"Oh—uhm, t-thanks." He blushed, shaking his head before gesturing both hands at you. "But you, I—wow, you look, wow."

"Shut up," you laughed, your dress flowing as you moved closer to him. "Here, let me."

Peter wasn't even given much time to recompose himself when you once again took his breath away by simply standing so close to him. Every inhale was just filled with your scent, his heart skipping a few beats as he scanned your face, only a couple inches from his and God did you look even more beautiful up close.

His blush deepened when you reached for his tie, your brows furrowed in that adorable way he'd come to familiarize as you slowly did it for him.

Peter honestly didn't know what to do with his hands, yet there was some sort of pull that he couldn't resist, like an instinct as he gently rested them on your waist. He was distracted by how close you were, but not enough to miss the way your breath hitched at the contact. Testing the waters, he squeezed it gently, biting his cheek to stop his smile from growing when he saw your fingers falter.

But oh did the pride bubble in his chest.

You shook your head, finishing up his tie with a smile. It was Peter's breath that hitched this time when you smoothed it over his chest, your palms flat against the muscle, touch so sweet, skin so warm. You looked up, your smile faltering when your eyes met his.

He didn't know how long you stared at each other. He also didn't know who moved a little closer first, but he definitely wasn't complaining. Not when he was so close that he could count exactly how many eyelashes you had. And he gladly would've if your voice hadn't snapped him out of the trance that nobody could ever put him under but you.

"We should get going," you whispered, but you still lingered for a few more seconds, more than enough for his brain to run its course, thinking that maybe, his feelings for you weren't as unrequited as he thought.

It was the sound of a beeping alarm that broke you two apart.

"Come on, we can't be late," you said after a breath, flashing him a sweet smile before going to grab your things.

"Wait," he cleared his throat, patting around his pockets before finally retrieving a velvet box. You turned around just as he'd opened it, showing you the ring that resided inside.

Your eyes widened, lips opening and closing as you gawked at the sparkling diamond for a few seconds before you met his gaze. "Peter—"

"Oh shit! It's not what it looks like!" he panicked.

Peter did always find himself daydreaming about you often, and he would be lying if he said he hadn't already pictured something similar to this moment. But even he could recognize how many steps he'd basically jumped over by showing you a diamond ring. And as much as he would love to fast-forward to that part, he'd also like to take you out on a date first. Well, if he'd even get the courage to ask you that, anyway.

"I-uh, you know, us, covering as an engaged couple? So, of course, uhm, you'll need an engagement ring?"

"O-Oh," you fumbled, nodding quickly before you offered him your left hand. "Yeah, of course."

Peter took it in his delicately, fingers running over your knuckles before he carefully slipped the ring on. Squeezing your hand, he reluctantly let go.

"Did you pick this?" you asked, bringing your hand up to your face, fingers wiggling as you admired the ring.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I did—well, Bucky helped."

"It's beautiful."

"It looks even more beautiful on you."

Your eyes snapped up to look at him, your smile growing as you hummed, "Charmer."

"It's the expensive suit." He shrugged, a teasing grin with a blush to match.

You laughed that lovely laugh of yours, adoration and pride swelling in his chest.

"Oh, Harley asked me to give you this," you said after a moment, pulling out a familiar pair of glasses before handing it to him. "He said it's all you need to do your magic."

"Nah, it's just a little tool kit I put together, really, kinda like a small computer so nothing magical about it," he chuckled, waving the glasses before putting them on. "It's carbon-based nanotech, passable through metal detectors. I've managed to look up what security system they had installed in the safe and there's sort of a minicomputer inside so it should be easy to bypass the system. I already have the program in here that would run through all the probable security codes so all I need to do is activate the glasses and it would automatically unscrew everything and connect to a hopefully pre-existing female micro-USB slot with the male counterpart in this old thing and—" he paused, face heating up as you gazed at him with a twinkle in your eyes. "What?"

"Nothing, just—you're amazing," you sighed, smile widening before you nodded. "Let's go?"

Peter ignored that way his whole body tingled at your praise and offered you his arm.

Not like it was a new reaction whenever he was around you, anyway.

"Let's."

•••

"Mr. Reid, the car is already waiting for you."

That was the first sentence Peter heard when you reached the hotel lobby. He looked behind him before looking at the man in a suit, pointing at himself in confusion.

"I'm not—"

"Lucas, honey, come on," you cut him off, slipping your fingers in his. You flashed him a knowing smile, squeezing his hand before you tugged him along as you followed the guy.

Right. Fake identities.

"Woah." Peter gawked at the car in front of him, leaning closer to you as he whispered, "Is that a Rolls Royce? Like, the new one?"

"Sort of. It's the Phantom Extended." You nodded with an amused smile. "The best way to blend in with the rich, don't you think?"

Peter was about to open the door for you but then the butler—at least, he assumed that was who he was—beat him to it. So, he opted on helping you with your dress instead, making sure it didn't get caught on anything as you settled inside.

"Thank you, my love," you giggled.

My love.

Peter luckily didn't slip on the expensive lambswool floor mat as he got into his seat.

It's pretend. Get a grip.

Once the car started moving, you pressed a button on the center console, the clear glass that separated the front and back immediately turning into an opaque white, completely secluding the two of you from the driver. He looked at you curiously, nervous—okay, and maybe a bit excited—as to why you decided you suddenly needed privacy. Peter had heard a lot of stories about what goes on in the rear cabin of expensive cars, especially with the partition up, so could it be—

"Did you get to read about our fake identities? The one Sam sent?"

Thinking with the wrong head again, aren't we, Parker?

"I, uhm, no, got too preoccupied with the ring and getting dressed," he admitted, looking at you guiltily. The mission had barely started and he was already messing it up. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, no, it's okay," you reassured with a smile, hand on his thigh, squeezing for good measure. He wasn't able to relish in the warmth of your touch for long as you shifted in your seat, turning around to face him. "I mean, everything is very last minute. I'll just tell you about it.

"Lucas Reid, the young 26-year-old and dashing CEO of Reid Enterprises. You inherited the company at nineteen when your father died of illness," you started.

Peter scrunched his nose. "So, basically, I'm a trust fund baby?"

"Sort of, but you do prove that you did the work," you said. "Company sales skyrocketed when you took the seat."

"What about you?" Peter gestured at your ring, blushing. "Well, apart from being my fiancée."

"I run my own fashion company." You shrugged, winking at him as you added, "Can't be living in my future husband's shadow now, can we?"

Future husband.

God how Peter wished for that to be true.

He shook his head, hands rubbing on his thighs. "Do we have a backstory? Like, as a couple?"

"Not much. Five years ago, we met in Milan during fashion week—"

"Let me guess, sparks flew right off the bat?" he chuckled.

"Love at first sight, obviously," you scoffed, rolling your eyes teasingly.

Not too far off from reality.

"Besides that, it's all the basics from there. Dates, extravagant gifts, and then two months ago, you proposed."

"Right," he started, bumping your knee with his lightly. "So, when's the wedding?"

You laughed, "We're not sure yet. Too busy."

"Of course," Peter sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. "Can't get me out of my office, now can you?"

"I have my ways," you hummed, wiggling your brows at him.

Peter was so sure his face had gone so red.

"You always do," he chuckled shyly, shaking his head before smiling at you. "Can we go over the plan real quick?"

You smiled. "Of course."

Peter knew what to do, obviously. He'd already gone over the plan probably a hundred times in his head. But he simply wanted to make sure he wasn't missing anything, especially something that could potentially jeopardize the whole mission. He couldn't afford even one single misstep, not when you and your safety could be put at risk—and the millions around the world that would suffer if those weapons got into the wrong hand, of course.

"We're almost there," you said once you've gone over the plans twice, eyes scanning across the windows. "It's just on the next turn."

Peter's heart quickened.

He didn't even notice that his emotions had gone evident on his face. Not until you squeezed his arm.

"You okay?" you asked, brows furrowed in concern.

"Yeah! Yeah, of course," he said quite unconvincingly. It was when he heard the ticking of the turn signal did his nerves shift to overdrive, his eyes wide as they met yours. "Shit, I don't think I can do this. I mean, I'm not usually out there with my face showing, you know? And I'm so so so not James Bond, I'm the farthest from James Bond I'm like, Lame Bond. I'm not smooth o-or charming or suave enough to be a spy—oh no. No, no, no, what if they find me out right away? I'm going to mess everything up and this is going to go horribly wrong and—"

"Hey!" you interjected, hands cupping his face, squishing his cheeks slightly as you pulled him closer, eyes boring into his with determination. Peter didn't know if it was the proximity that shut him up, or if it was your scent that overpowered his senses—probably both. "You're going to be fine. You've got this."

He gulped, nodding before letting out a shaky breath.

You smiled reassuringly, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, his skin turning redder with each caress. "Be observant, you don't have to talk. With this kind of crowd, trust me, the quiet ones are the most intimidating. If there's anything you feel like it's a bit off, trust your gut, and let me know, okay?"

"Okay," he breathed out, nuzzling into your palm absentmindedly, finding a sense of comfort from your warm touch.

"And if it gets overwhelming, just follow my lead."

•••

Peter got out of the car, nodding curtly with a tightlipped smile at the driver who opened the door for him.

He decided at the last minute that Lucas Reid was going to be a stoic, passively quiet CEO with a resting 'serious' face that only means business.

Peter straightened up his suit before he offered you his hand, the huge rock on your finger glinting underneath the city lights as your palm met his.

He gently guided you out of the car, helping you fix up your dress before offering you his arm. Your fingers curled around his bicep as you kissed his cheek with a soft thanks. Peter smiled at you warmly, pulling you closer to his side as you made your way inside the building.

Stoic and passive except towards his lovely fiancée, of course.

He might or might not have stumbled upon a few Mobster Spider-Man fanfictions on some website not too long ago. And he might or might not have taken some inspiration from it.

"Please take a basket to put your phones and any other electronic devices in and step under the detectors one by one," one guard instructed.

Adjusting his glasses, he pulled out his newly upgraded phone. It was sponsored by the Avengers obviously since he couldn't exactly rock up with his old, cracked one, with him being rich and everything. He smiled at the lock screen photo—it was of you and him, your lips pressed against his cheek, taken just a couple of hours ago to have photos to make this engaged couple gimmick believable—before he placed it in the basket you were holding up for him.

You smiled reassuringly before you stepped under the metal detector first, Peter following just closely after.

He let out a nervous breath when he saw how heavily armed the guards were. A variation of M17s and a couple of AK-47s were in the hands of fully uniformed men from head to toe. They look like your typical SWAT team, but Peter knew they were more dangerous than that, especially when their morals were as corrupted as he'd presumed.

He was an enhanced superhero, yes, but he sure as hell wasn't bulletproof. And as much as he could probably dodge a few shots, he would rather not take the gamble of finding out exactly how many he could avoid.

That wasn't what he was worried about, though. Because as he felt your fingers slip back into his, he was reminded of how vulnerable and defenseless you were. No superpowers, no bulletproof vests, still an amazing badass who without a doubt could take on two guys in a fight and win, but still a human who could get badly hurt by a simple pull of a trigger.

There were only so many bullets he could jump in front of you for.

"We're going to be fine," you whispered, squeezing his hand as if you could sense his worry. "I got your six."

Peter squeezed back. "And I've got yours."

The two of you stayed close to each other, arms linked as you headed towards the ballroom. But once the huge archway came into sight, you leaned closer to him.

"You go ahead," you whispered in his ear, squeezing his bicep. "I need to go to the bathroom."

Peter nodded.

He knew that some agents had already hidden some of your equipment hours before. Well, he hoped they successfully did, anyway. If not, then, you both might have to compromise.

Peter didn't know what exactly he was expecting when he entered the ballroom but it definitely wasn't as fancy as this.

The ballroom was grandiose in itself with its ornate marble columns and crown moldings, complementing the beautifully impressive murals that covered the ceilings. Even the red curtains that draped along the walls seemed far too luxurious for the mere fact that they were curtains for crying out loud.

Peter had never seen so many chandeliers hanging all in one space, not to mention, ones that seemed to be decked out in gold and crystals…or were those diamonds?

Everything was decorated with a color scheme of cream, black, silver, and gold, from the round tables and accompanying chairs. To contrast were various glass structures illuminated by some kind of light as they glinted and shimmered even from the corner of his eye. There was an open bar in one corner, a long table of finger foods and various desserts, and live music coming from the string quartet on a rotating, circular stage right in the center of a—is that an indoor fountain?

"Wow," you gasped as you appeared beside him, your eyes twinkling underneath the chandeliers. "It's gorgeous."

"Yeah," Peter sighed, eyes trained on the way your face glowed in awe as you admired the space. "Gorgeous."

Your smile brightened as you tilted your head, gaze meeting his. Then, your brows furrowed, stepping in front of him and eyeing the top of his head. "Come here. I need to fix up your hair."

Peter ducked his head without question, hands around your waist as he let you settle the mess of his windswept curls. He found the furrow of your brows absolutely adorable, but the way your tongue slightly poked out of your red lips made him want to just pull you in and kiss you senseless.

You tucked a few short strands behind his ear, gently pressing your thumb into his concha, the earpiece fitting snugly before he heard a faint crackle and then a deep voice.

"Parker, can you hear me?"

"Aye, aye, Captain," he muttered.

He heard a few snickers in the background followed by Sam scoffing sarcastically.

"My, aren't you two cute."

Peter's brows furrowed, confused eyes meeting yours. "What does he mean?"

"I answered the same way," you giggled, shrugging as you smoothed over his tie and buttoned up his suit jacket.

Peter's heart fluttered at that.

"We'll be on the line listening. Be discreet. Only communicate what's necessary."

You and Peter shot each other a look, grins widening into a knowing smirk.

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"Jesus Christ."

The line went quiet, presumably Sam muting their end until further notice.

Peter shook his head, chuckling before turning to you. "So, what now?"

"Scope," you said, waving back at a random woman who was making their way over to you both. You turned to him with a smile. "And mingle."

•••

Peter was so far out of his element.

He was already a terrible liar when under pressure, stuttering and blubbering until he would end up telling the truth. And that was around people he got along with.

Now how was he supposed to make small talk with the rich all while pretending to be rich himself when he clearly was not?

His best course of action? He didn't talk.

It fit well with the persona he'd created, anyway.

He was mostly following your advice—well, more like literally following you around. He was like your trophy fiancé in some way, and honestly, Peter wasn't opposed to it.

You were taking charge, and all he had to do was scope the scene, nod and smile whenever he was acknowledged while mostly speaking only to you.

From an outsider's point of view, he probably looked like such a puppy for his girl, only meeting your eyes, hovering by your side, his attention and touch always on you. A hand on the small of your back, an arm around your waist as he hung onto every word that slipped past your beautiful red-painted lips. For them, he was simply a man completely enamored by his soon-to-be wife. So it definitely sold this whole fiancé gimmick you two got going on.

Then again, it wasn't like he had to pretend that much, either. It wasn't hard to act all smitten with you because he already was. And, okay, he was playing it up a little. Peter would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy acting like you were his and he was yours, even if it was only for a mission.

Other than that, he also quite enjoyed indulging in the food and beverages that were paraded around by the waiters. It tasted so good, so obviously made with high-quality and expensive ingredients, but most importantly free. Could you blame him for taking advantage of it?

He was being an opportunist, he was well aware, which was why he didn't think much about downing the very tasty champagnes they offered, especially when he was free from any consequence that the drink brought—well, one of the consequences.

Because as much as he was immune to the buzz of the alcohol, he couldn't say the same for the effects it brought on his bladder.

It didn't really expand when his abilities got enhanced.

With how utterly gorgeous you looked tonight, it shouldn't have surprised him that the second he left your side, some men in this gala would take his absence as an opportunity to make a move.

He might've been acting like a guard dog, he admits, glaring at anyone who dared to glance at you wrongly. You were "his fiancée" after all, he was simply playing the part of your possessive protective husband-to-be.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

But still, when he came back after his little bathroom break, Peter wasn't too keen on what he saw.

You were talking to some dark-haired man wearing a bold, fully gold-colored suit and an even bolder beard. He didn't look old, but he didn't exactly look young, either. Or perhaps his facial hair played a part in that regard. He was—as much as he hated to say it—well-built and good-looking. If Peter was to guess, he was probably in his early 30s.

The interaction looked innocent enough, and Peter wouldn't have found it a big deal if this guy wasn't eyeing you up like you were a piece of meat.

"Amelia Devonché," the man greeted, his French accent thick, his flirtatious tone, even thicker.

So that's your fake name.

"The one and only," you said, smiling as you tilted your head. "Although I don't think we've been introduced."

"Halbert Auclair," he said, bowing as he held out an open palm.

Halbert? What kind of name is that?

"Pleasure to meet you," you hummed, slipping your hand into his.

"Pleasure's all mine. You look quite lovely tonight, mademoiselle," he crooned, bringing the back of your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

Peter's jaw clenched, an intensely heated emotion boiling his blood, only relaxing slightly when he heard your fake giggle.

He'd heard your real one enough to differentiate the two.

"Why, thank you, monsieur."

Clouded by his emotions, Peter took long strides towards you, swiftly wrapping a possessive arm around your waist and pulling you to his side, kissing your temple and then, without thought, near the corner of your mouth.

Your eyes snapped to meet his, a fleeting look of surprise on your features before you quickly masked it with a smile. "This is my fiancé—"

"Lucas Reid, one of the youngest yet richest CEOs here today," Halbert interjected, offering his hand out to shake.

"Hmm," Peter said with a curt nod, his grip a little tighter when he shook it.

"Man with few words, I see," Halbert chuckled dryly, flexing his fingers once they were free from his hold.

Peter bit his cheek to stop a smirk, pushing his glasses up before slipping his hand into his pocket, looking at you with a much more relaxed smile.

"My fiancé isn't great with crowds. Always stuck in his office, he is. The only thing in his mind is the business, and well, me," you gushed, resting your left hand on his chest, tilting your head to flash him a smile. "Am I right, handsome?"

"Very much so, darling," Peter said, unaware of how his voice sounded. He was still running on jealousy that he couldn't help but gently take your hand from his chest, bringing the back of it to his lips and then kissing the diamond ring on your finger. He smiled at you sweetly as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. "You still owe me a dance, my love."

You blinked a few times, lips parting before you shook your head with a soft laugh, "Oh, yes! How can I forget."

"Have a lovely night, madem—"

Peter didn't even wait for him to finish his sentence as he gently ushered you towards the dance floor, just in time for the string quartet to play their version of Quando, Quando, Quando.

So…he didn't quite think this through.

Peter had no idea how to dance.

His boiling jealousy was quickly replaced with nervousness and dread as you guided his hands, one on your waist, the other curled around yours.

You were so blatantly staring at him that his nerves could only grow tenfold. It was only a matter of time before you realized just how jealous he acted. Hell, he only just realized it after the emotion had left his system. And despite avoiding your eyes, he could still sense it, how you were trying to figure out why he'd done what he just did.

Peter cleared his throat, "Something wrong?"

"Are you okay?" you countered, placing your hand on his shoulder before moving to the music.

He didn't know if he should be thankful or slightly embarrassed that you were the one leading the dance. But then again, there probably would never be a time when Peter wouldn't follow your lead—dancing or otherwise.

He'd follow you to the ends of the earth if he could.

It was working, though, bodies synchronously swaying to the sound of strings as if you'd done this plenty of times before. It was either a testament to how good you were at basically everything—a quick learner, a leader, a teacher and hell, a dancer—or just how well you two complemented each other.

Peter believed it was both.

"Yeah," Peter chuckled timidly, eyes trained on the ground to avoid your eyes and to make sure he wouldn't step on your foot. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seemed…" you paused, hand squeezing his shoulder lightly. "Angry."

Peter blushed.

Jealous. Not angry.

"I'm not," he brushed off, shaking his head. "Got nothing to be angry about."

"Right," you hummed, and it sounded like you didn't believe him at all.

"Did I mess up?" Peter sighed, worried eyes finally meeting your curious ones.

"What? No. You just came off as quiet which isn't a big deal," you reassured, smile widening with amusement. "Where did that South London accent come from, though?"

"Wait." Peter blinked, frowning. "I did an accent?"

"Yeah, you did," you laughed. "Which I didn’t even know you could do."

"I guess I was too nervous to even realize," he admitted, chuckling. "I've been binge-watching The Great British Bake Off lately, maybe I just picked it up."

"So nervousness makes you do accents," you hummed, smiling. "Interesting."

"What?" He narrowed his eyes at you teasingly. "Don't tell me you like a British accent too, like, half the world apparently."

"It's cute," you admitted with a shrug. "But I like your accent more."

Peter blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah, I like the kid from Queens," you said nonchalantly.

Peter almost stepped on your foot. If you weren't a trained spy with quite good reflexes, you might've gone home with a bruised toe.

You shook your head, giggling as you pulled him back to the rhythm of the dance. "You're going to have to keep the charade if you speak to other people, now, though"

"Yeah, didn't really think about that." Peter scrunched up his face, clearing his throat before he looked at you shyly. "I really don't dance."

"Well, you're doing great so far," you hummed, pulling him closer as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Peter secured his on your waist then, both of you gliding across the dance floor to the symphony of the strings as you held each other's gaze. It was impressive, really, that this was the first time you both danced together, but danced like two spiders spinning their silks in a synchronized choreography to create a large heart-shaped web.

Then, he felt bold, confident.

He didn't know if it was from that same pull from earlier tonight, his senses being muddled by your overpowering presence, your warm body pressed so close against him, or the sweet lure of the music that added something to the air.

Perhaps it was everything all at once.

But Peter couldn't help but lean even closer, the tips of your noses just a hair's breadth away.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, his gaze fluttering across your face before meeting your eyes.

Peter reveled in the way your smile got shy.

"You've said that already."

"Once will never be enough."

You shook your head with a giggle, eyes twinkling, "And you said you aren't smooth."

"Like I said," he started, lowering his voice, shrugging with a teasing grin, "It's the expensive suit."

Peter's heart warmed at your sweet laugh, that certain pull growing stronger at the lovely sound. He dipped his head, noses touching before he pressed his forehead against yours. He squeezed your waist when your breath hitched, warm and inviting as it tickled his lips, tempting, oh so close—

"Ahem."

You both jerked back, eyes wide with surprise.

"Sam! You've ruined it!" Peter heard Wanda hiss through the earpiece.

"He was finally getting somewhere!" And that was Harley.

Peter's whole face grew hot with embarrassment, squeezing your waist, still keeping you close as he looked away.

He completely forgot about the comms being live and open to everyone back at the compound.

Then again, all of them had been suspiciously quiet until now.

"Well, damn, I'm sorry? But this is an important mission, not a radio drama?"

"You just had to cockblock—"

"I'm surprised you even know what that means, you white fossil—"

You cleared your throat, smiling at Peter shyly. "Any intel?"

"I think that French dude is our bad guy," he answered swiftly, ready to change the subject or else his knees might go out.

"Auclair?" You raised a brow at him with a smirk. "How so?"

Peter might sound like he had a vendetta against the guy who shamelessly flirted with you. But, he did have a few points to back his claim.

"It's kinda weird how quickly he knew about us. Unless he stole the guest list and researched every single one of the names or he's the host. Also, he really made a point in stating how rich I am. You only do that when you want money for the auction. And if that's not proof enough—" Peter pulled a black and silver playing card out of his pocket, the same one Halbert gave to him during the handshake. "Seven of hearts, well, kinda. It's more arrows than it is hearts. All of them are pointing downward no matter which way you turn it. Look—" He turned the card, an almost holographic effect as the arrows remained south. "That's not how normal playing cards are. So I assume it means downstairs to the secret auction. And we've got about an hour max until it's seven. And if that's not obvious enough—" Peter showed you the back, tilting it to the light to expose the words 'Big Toys, Bigger Guns' in the middle in gold lettering.

"Cheesy, but it works," he finished.

"That's a really good catch, wow," you praised, grinning proudly. "Someone's getting the hang of this already, huh?"

"Watching those James Bond movies finally paid off, I guess," he chuckled, nodding at you. "Plus, I got a good teacher."

You smiled. "Keep a careful eye on him," you instructed, snorting a little when he all but glared when he found the man. You squeezed his slightly tensed shoulders. "Subtlety."

"I don't think I need to be subtle because he keeps eyeing you like he stands a chance as if the rock on your finger isn't big enough. You're my fiancée. So me glaring at some guy with too much beard who looks at you far too long for comfort let alone appropriate isn't out of the ordinary," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Men are pigs I tell you."

"Someone's committed to the bit," you teased, smiling far too bright for it to be innocent. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're jealous."

Peter quickly snatched a champagne flute from the tray when a waiter walked past, handing it to you with a small curtsy.

"You look parched, my darling."

You rolled your eyes but took the glass anyway, your grin telling him that maybe you like the accent more than you were letting on.

But she likes your accent more.

Peter couldn't stop his heart from melting at the thought.

He was also glad that his distraction worked, his jealousy hopefully forgotten as he guided you toward the bar once the song finished.

"Door's unguarded," you murmured against the glass, sipping gingerly before you handed it back to him. "Stay here and keep an eye out. I'll find us a key."

Peter nodded, sitting on one of the stools as he carefully and deliberately followed your movement. Not that he thought you couldn't handle yourself, but an extra pair of eyes will always be better than none. Also, he was being observant of his surroundings, his enhanced senses helping in making sure there wasn't anything suspicious going on, keeping him on high alert in case he needed to jump in.

He watched with pride as you slyly stole a keycard from a gullible enough guard who was too distracted by your flirting. It was an impressively swift sleight of hand that if he wasn't paying attention enough, he would've missed it.

Still, Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes at how stupid and easy these guards tend to be, any focus and rational thought out the window all because of an alluring smirk, a teasing touch and a glimpse of skin—the simplest seduction from one gorgeous woman.

But then again, he wasn't exactly one to talk. Because as innocent as a bright smile from you, Peter would literally do anything you ask him to.

He was far too focused on you that he didn't even realize that someone had replaced your seat, not until he heard his name—well, the fake one.

"Lucas Reid."

Peter turned, eyes landing on a woman wearing a gold dress, curled, long hair framing a somewhat familiar face. Peter wasn't blind, he could see she was objectively pretty. But she simply could never hold a candle next to his gorgeous fiancée—fake or otherwise.

"Greta Auclair," she said with a smile, holding out her hand.

Peter didn't miss the flirtatious undertone in her actions. How could he when she was so adamant on fluttering her eyelashes at him, or the way she wasn't subtle at pushing up her chest, the low-cut top doing so little to hide…it? Them?

Not that he was looking. It was simply in his line of sight.

"Auclair," he hummed, shaking her hand briefly as he tried to make sure his accent didn't sound so forced. He honestly didn't know why he decided to make things harder for himself. "Any relation to Halbert?"

"Twin sister," she waved off, flipping her hair to one side.

Peter nodded without another word, attention swiftly shifting to search for you in the crowd.

"I must say, I've heard a lot of things about you," she hummed as she leaned forward, fingers curling around his bicep, gold-colored, manicured nails glinting underneath the light as she squeezed the muscle. "Apart from being a quiet man, of course."

Peter's resolve faltered a little, the gesture completely catching him off guard.

What's up with this family and overstepping personal space?

"Good things, I hope." He smiled tightly, crossing his arms over his chest, subtly shaking her hand off.

"Oh yes, very good things," she giggled, hand on his thigh as she leaned forward with a smirk. Winking, she added, "Naughty ones, too."

Peter gulped as he leaned back.

"O-Oh, uh—"

"Lucas."

He quickly spun around on his stool to the sound of your voice, facing you fully. His eyes widened in surprise as you gently nudged his knees apart but he didn't even hesitate to make room for you to stand in between. He placed his hands on your hips when you pulled him closer, your arms snaking around his neck.

Peter didn't know exactly what was going on, but he certainly wasn't complaining. Besides, like he said before, he would always follow your lead.

Yet still, he looked up at you in both curiosity and confusion, trying to gauge what was going through your mind. But you certainly were better at reading people than he was. Or perhaps that was you simply being a master at masking your emotions. Because apart from the slight edge on your smile, he was coming up empty.

"You must be Amelia," Greta interrupted.

Your grip on Peter's shoulder tightened, eyes rolling with a scowl before you turned to Greta with a forced smile. "Yes, hi."

Peter's brows raised at your uninterested tone, even more when you didn't even bother prolonging the conversation as you turned back to him, body leaning closer.

Interesting…

"Can you help me find the bathroom?" you purred, tone seductively sweet to match the implication of your words. You pressed your chest against his, faces only inches apart as your fingers played with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

Peter short circuited.

He merely stared at you in awe, blood growing hot, heart pumping erratically as his grip on your waist tightened.

Peter would be lying if he said he wasn't at the least bit turned on.

"Please?" you added with a pout when he didn't manage to speak for a good few seconds.

It was the slight pinch on his skin that snapped him out of it.

"Of course, my love," he said, clearing the lump in his throat as he hastily stood up.

Peter wasn't even given the time to get his bearings straight when you immediately took his hand in yours, pulling him away from the bar and down the hallway. He squinted at the sudden brightness of the ceiling lights, greatly illuminating the cream wallpaper with intricate gold-colored patterns, similar crown molding from those in the ballroom, and various paintings hanging on the walls for guests to admire. The space was obviously still for public access, but it was relatively empty.

Once you two were alone, you didn't bother hiding your emotions. And Peter could clearly tell that you were angry.

It was making him slightly nervous.

"Is everything okay?"

You ignored him.

Peter frowned when pulled your hand from his and put some distance between you. He watched as you tensely opened a metal door, entering in haste without looking back. He ran after you to avoid getting locked out, the two of you entering another much smaller hallway that could only fit one person at a time. It was more of a tunnel, to be honest.

He never liked it when you were upset, especially during a high-risk mission. But most of all, he hated disappointing you, and with the way you were acting, he could only assume he'd done something wrong.

Peter was hot on your tail, carefully watching your every sharp turn, just to make sure he wasn't going to lose you. Though, it wasn't long until you two emerged into a hallway that was similar to before.

You were staring straight ahead, heels clicking angrily as the skirt of your dress rapidly swished with every harsh step.

Oh you were pissed.

"Did I do something?"

"You shouldn't be distracted on the job," you said, tone clipped.

"But I wasn't distracted," he defended, his frown deepening.

"Flirting, distracted, same thing," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "It's not the time to woo girls. This is not a frat party."

Flirting? Woo girls?

"But I wasn't flirt—wait," he paused, his smile breaking out as realization dawned on him.

He could be quite oblivious sometimes, but he was not dumb. This wasn't going over his head, not when the way you were acting looked far too familiar. He'd seen the same thing happen only a couple of minutes ago, after all.

Because you weren't angry.

Much like how he wasn't angry moments before your dance.

Peter stopped, looking at you carefully with arms crossed over his chest, smirking as he quoted your words,

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're jealous."

You halted in your tracks, shoulders straightening with a huff before you continued walking.

It told Peter everything he needed to know.

He couldn't wipe off his smirk, pride bubbling in his chest, confidence boosted that little bit more as he jogged after you.

"There's going to be two guards at the door," you instructed monotonously once he reached your side, eyes avoiding him. "I'll distract one. You take care of the other one."

Peter stood straighter with a salute, still grinning from ear to ear.

"Yes ma'am."

You rolled your eyes, but he didn't miss the way the corner of your lips quirked up.

•••

"Excuse me, ma'am, this area is restricted."

"Oh, dear! My apologies, is this not where the bathroom is?" you gasped, and Peter was impressed at how clueless you sounded. If he didn't know you beforehand, he never would've guessed that you'd be one of the most elite and smartest spies there ever was. "Would either of you fine gentlemen guide me to where it is?"

Peter heard the two guards grumble before one spoke up gruffly, "Go. I've got this covered,"

"Yay!" you giggled, clapping your hands excitedly. "Thank you so much!"

Peter couldn't stop his grin at how cute you were.

When you and the other guard were out of sight, Peter made a run for it. Guard Two only caught a split-second glimpse of him before his fist harshly connected with their jaw, wincing when he heard a faint crack.

"Sorry," Peter whispered with a grimace, standing straight and adjusting his glasses. "Didn't mean to hit that hard."

He quickly turned towards the sound of grunts and hisses, fists colliding against muscles and then a body falling onto the floor. He rushed towards where you disappeared, entering the hallway just in time to see you fixing up your dress. Your eyes met his when he walked over to you, your smile sweet yet proud.

"Need a lil help carrying this guy," you said, gesturing behind you.

He nodded with a chuckle, eyes trained on your face once he reached your side before his brows furrowed.

"You got a little—" Before he could think about it, he reached a hand up, thumb rubbing over the corner of your mouth, attempting to get rid of the smudged lipstick.

He couldn't help but stare, easily putting him in a trance as he smoothed his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it away slightly before letting it plop back, your warm breath tickling his skin when your lips parted.

Your little outburst of jealousy earlier might've boosted his confidence a lot more than he'd initially let on.

"Peter," you murmured. "The guard."

"Oh! Right," he cleared his throat, moving over to the unconscious guard, hauling them over his shoulder effortlessly as if they weighed nothing. He walked over to the second guard, doing the same over his other shoulder. When he turned around, he saw you standing there, brow raised. He shrugged, smirking. "Super strength."

You shook your head, rolling your eyes, "Show off."

Peter laughed.

After carrying both guards into the room—unlocked thanks to their keycards and fingerprints—you busied yourself with their weapons.

Peter was looking through the various crates and boxes, all labeled with familiar and not-so-familiar logos, some in different languages, while others were completely blank. Some items weren't hidden at all, from high-tech guns in glass displays to alien guns in wooden crates, various iterations of vibranium shields, and holy shit, is that a Wakandan spear?

"Where the hell did they get all of these? This is so much ammo in one room—"

Peter's words died in his throat when his eyes landed on you.

You were leaning over, one foot resting on one of the boxes on the floor, your fingers grazing your leg as you carefully pulled your skirt up inch by tempting inch until your thigh was exposed to him. Your gun holster later came into view, the straps squeezing the supple flesh tightly and fuck—

Peter had never wanted to be an inanimate object so badly ever in his life.

He quickly averted his gaze when you pulled your skirt back down. He pretended to read the labels on some crates as he cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt because Jesus it's getting really hot in here.

"Take this," you said, walking over to him with your hand extended, your fingers curled around the barrel of a gun.

Peter's eyes widened as he looked at the gun and then at you. "We haven't gotten to this part of my training yet."

"Come on, you've seen some movies."

"Since when did movies become tutorials?"

You stared at him for a moment, shaking your head with a chuckle before holding up the gun before him to demonstrate.

"Safety on when you don't want to shoot, safety off when you want to shoot," you said, flicking the pin on the side of the gun. "Cock it only once. It's semi-automatic so after that, all you need is to pull the trigger for continuous shots. Grip with two hands, dominant hand tight around it, other hand on top. Don't try to be arrogant by holding it with only one, especially when you've never fired a gun in your life. Point and shoot, simple. Make sure you aim at the bad guy, though."

You took his hand and placed the gun in his palm, smiling at him sweetly as if you hadn't just given him a loaded weapon.

"Got it?"

Peter stared at you dumbfounded, gulping as he held it to his chest, "That's definitely not all there is to it when using a gun."

"Hey, don't worry," you said reassuringly, squeezing his shoulder. "It's just for precaution. You might not even need to use it."

Peter nodded with a sigh, staring at the gun in his hand before he slipped into the hem of his pants, snuggly kept there by his belt.

Rookie mistake.

"Make sure the safety is on before you put it there, wouldn't want an accident to happen."

Peter froze before he quickly pulled it out, aiming the barrel as far away from him as possible.

He groaned in utter embarrassment when you laughed.

"Can you just carry it for me?" he asked, pouting for good measure. "Please?"

"You're fine," you giggled, gesturing at your leg. "And I only have one thigh holster."

Yeah. I saw.

"I really don't want to shoot myself in the balls," he said, physically shuddering as he screwed his eyes shut. "And I think you're aware of how clumsy I get sometimes."

You laughed out loud, shaking your head as you moved back toward one of the unconscious guards. Peter watched you curiously as you started checking their suits, a faint 'aha!' leaving your lips before you started taking one of their jackets off.

Peter's brows shot up. "What are you—"

"Jacket off," you interjected, showing him a shoulder holster. He did as told as you walked back to him. You helped him slip the harness on, clicking buckles and adjusting the straps before taking his gun and slotting it in soon after. You tilted your head as you smooth it over him. "Better?"

"Much," he breathed out, smiling at you gratefully as he slipped his jacket back on. "Thanks."

You returned his grin, patting his chest before you went and looked for the safe.

Which didn't take too long.

"They could've at least made it inconspicuous, shit's too easy," you scoffed, gesturing at the safe that had a huge American flag on it, stars and eagles, too, as if it wasn't obvious enough. You looked at him with a knowing smile. "Do your magic."

Peter squatted in front of it, taking his glasses off and twisting the nose bridge. There was a soft whirring sound before the glasses turned into a mini, android spider.

Carbon-based nanotech will always impress him. Imperceptible to metal detectors all while never losing its function and durability.

"Of course it's a tiny spider," you muttered, delight laced in your tone.

"What?" He looked at you over his shoulder with a teasing pout, holding up the spider in his palm. "You don't like him?"

You purse your lips, shaking your head before meeting his eyes. "He's cute."

"And hopefully he works, too," he said, turning back to the safe before carefully placing the little guy on the keypad. It took a few moments for the mechanical spider to do its thing. Peter let out the breath he was holding when the safe opened without a hitch. He looked at you with a grin, gesturing at the device inside. "Voilà."

You scrunched up your face. "And that proves that you can't be good at everything."

"Hey!" he gasped. "It wasn't that bad."

"Just leave the French accent alone," you teased, though your eyes were shining with admiration. "But that brain of yours is definitely something else."

Peter blushed, waving your compliment off, "Nah, it's just—"

"Shut up, Parker," you scoffed playfully, but your smile was genuine. "You're incredibly smart and annoyingly amazing. It's not up for discussion."

"Thanks," he chuckled shyly, cheeks turning redder. He gestured at the nuclear football, before looking up at you. "You have the decoy, right?"

"Oh, right." You nodded, reaching into the neckline of your dress before you pulled the rectangular device out, showing it to him with a proud grin.

Peter stared at you, mouth agape.

"What?" you snorted, shaking your head at his surprised face. "I don't have pockets!"

"You could've asked me to carry it."

"I can't exactly bring you with me into the ladies' restroom now, can I?" you said, shrugging. "And I couldn't just hand it to you in the middle of the ballroom with all those people."

"Touché," he hummed, taking the device from your hands. His brows furrowed as he turned it in his palm. "Is it supposed to be warm?"

"It's been with the girls in the past hour or so, of course it's going to be warm."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he tried not to let his curious thoughts wander.

He was failing, though. Miserably so.

Because holding the device when it's been in your boobs made him wonder exactly how warm your boobs would actually feel if it was direct contact, right in the palm of his—

"What?" you asked, none the wiser, briefly. Because then it was immediate, the realization crossing your face, probably noticing just how red his face had gotten. "Oh my god—Peter!"

"Sorry!" he squeaked, hurriedly turning his back on you, focusing on the task at hand.

"My boobs are clean, by the way."

"That wasn't the route my thoughts went to," he grumbled.

"Yeah, I figured," you giggled. "Just wanted to confirm."

He rolled his eyes even though you couldn't see him.

Focus. You got this.

But just as he was about to switch the devices, you moved closer to him, bending over until you were at eye level with the safe, your scent overpowering to the point of being distracting.

"Y/N," Peter sighed, head hanging low as his hand fell onto his sides. "You're making me really nervous when you're breathing down my neck."

"Sorry! Sorry," you laughed, heels clicking as you moved further behind him. "I'll just…step back."

With bated breath yet careful fingers, Peter swiftly switched the devices, blowing out his cheeks in relief when nothing happened.

"Great job, Pete."

He shot you a smile over his shoulder and closed the safe, letting his spider friend reverse its steps before taking him off the safe, pressing its tiny tummy for it to turn back into glasses.

Peter put it back on, running his fingers through his hair before turning to you.

You beamed and held out your palm.

But just as he was about to hand you the device, he quickly pulled it back with narrowed eyes.

"Are you putting this in your boobs again?"

You stared at him in amusement. "I didn't grow any pockets at the last minute, so yes."

"Don't you think it's dangerous?" he reasoned, carefully waving the device to get his point across. "I mean, this is the real thing."

"It's not radioactive," you chuckled. "It's not going to suddenly blow up."

"We don't know that—"

"Hey, don't worry," you hummed, your reassuring smile turning mischievous. "I'll still have my boobs at the end of this mission."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm concerned about you, like, as a whole person."

"Yeah, I know, and that includes my boobs."

He groaned, "Is this becoming a thing?"

You shook your head, laughing, "No, no, I just didn't think I'd find out that you're a boob guy, during a mission, no less."

"I'm not a boob guy," he scoffed.

Peter was a you guy, to be honest, as in you as a whole person—eyes, boobs, lips, butt, thighs, everything included.

And personality, obviously.

You laughed, leaning close to kiss him on the cheek, throwing him off-guard that you were able to take the device from him without breaking a sweat.

Peter sighed in defeat.

He really wasn't any better than any of the guards in this building.

"Come on," you called, hands now free, the device properly hidden with 'the girls' as you opened the door for him. "We need to get going."

•••

You both were navigating your way back into the ballroom when the hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood up.

"People incoming," he warned, grabbing your hand as you pulled you down a hallway. His enhanced hearing just about picked up the sound of guns being loaded. "Armed."

"How many?" you asked, your free hand picking up your skirt as you walked even faster.

He tried to listen closely, calculating the footsteps that echoed down the hall sans both of yours

"Four," he confirmed, brow raising. "Maybe Five."

"That's too many. The minute they'll see us, they're going to get suspicious. It's going to be too late for both of us to take all of them down without at least one sending a signal," you rushed, testing out every door down the halls in hopes that you'd get lucky. "We need to find a place to hide."

"Shit," Peter cursed, looking from left to right of the hall. "They're coming from both sides."

"In here!"

He wasn't given much to process your words when you all but grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pushed him inside a room. The space was quick to grow smaller when you followed suit, your dress knocking over a broom on your way in.

Of course it had to be a janitor's closet.

As if his life wasn't already filled with enough clichés.

Peter grabbed the handle to pull the door close, darkness swallowing you both as it clicked shut. He felt around the metal knob only for his fingers to fall on an entirely flat surface.

"There's no lock," he said, so deathly confused. "What kind of door has no lock?"

"Quiet!" you hissed, pressing your palm over his mouth.

Peter stared at you wide-eyed, his pupils slowly adjusting to the lack of light that he was only now able to gauge just how close you two were.

"Listen," you whispered.

He nodded, closing his eyes as he concentrated on distinguishing the voices.

"The guards have been knocked out."

"Nothing is missing in the room."

"Still, check everything. Be on high alert for anything out of the ordinary."

Peter's eyes snapped open, panic settling in as he heard the footsteps growing nearer.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, voice muffled by your palm. You removed your hand, eyes confused yet expectant. He explained in hurried whispers, "They're not suspicious of anything being stolen yet but they're coming this way. If we get caught, they're going to immediately find out what we're up to and we're doomed."

Peter watched as your face went through different types of emotions. First, it was worry, a flicker of panic crossing your eyes only to be replaced by something else entirely. The crease between your brows deepened, lips pursed as you tilted your head.

It was that all too familiar thinking face he'd grown to adore.

A second later, your brows shot up, eyes wide, and—if he didn't know any better—twinkling as if a light bulb lit up on top of your head.

"Not unless we make them believe we're just some couple needing a quick fix."

"What?" Peter asked, confused.

You only gave him a sheepish smile and a barely-there whisper of,

"I'm sorry."

Peter wasn't given the time to ask what you were apologizing for when you suddenly grabbed him by the nape of his neck and crashed your lips against his.

He stumbled, his back hitting the shelves. Although the way his head was spinning was definitely not because of the impact.

Peter groaned, kissing you back immediately and with fervor, his hands gripping your waist, head tilting as he pulled you closer.

He shivered when your hand moved down his chest before moving inside his jacket, only realizing that you were slipping the nuclear football between the holster, tugging the straps a little tighter to stop it from slipping out.

Then, you guided his hands, much like with your dance earlier. Yet this time, one landed on your exposed thigh as you hiked your leg against his waist, placing the other on top of your ass.

Peter felt like he was about to faint.

But with every bit of respect he had for you—which was a lot—he still hesitated.

He was unsure as to how far he was allowed to go, deeply worried to cross the line of no return. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable by pushing your boundaries.

He also didn't want to ruin everything he had with you. Whether that was you being his friend or you being his teammate, he really didn't want to lose any of it.

Peter didn't want to lose you.

"It's okay," you whispered against his lips, probably sensing his inner turmoil. "Touch me, Peter."

That was the last thing that made any sliver of his self-control snap.

He growled, squeezing your ass and your thigh simultaneously, pulling your body flush against his as if you could go any closer.

Your gasp was met by a low groan, your hand fisting his jacket as the other took home in his styled hair.

The door swung open, a momentary stream of light illuminating the tiny room. There was a disgusted growl before the door slammed close, darkness covering you both again but neither of you stopped.

Peter gripped your hips, pushing you back slightly until you were the one pressed against the closed door. He cupped the back of your neck, arm curling your waist as he slotted his thigh in between yours in a desperate need to be inhumanly closer.

Your soft moan just about made his knees buckle.

It also made him feel daring enough to gently tease his tongue against your bottom lip. You let him in with his ease, both of you moaning as your tongues did their own dance inside your mouth.

It was intoxicating.

The faint taste of champagne mixing with the taste of you.

It was something that Peter probably spent a great amount of time thinking about yet nothing in his imagination ever came close. No matter what his brain had conjured in the past, it could never do you justice.

It was addicting.

Your pretty little sighs in response to his soft groans, how you were everywhere, your scent, your taste, your overwhelming warmth engulfing his very being. Peter was drowning in all things you, the very thing that could make him breathe again.

It was too much, yet he needed more.

You were so close, but not close enough.

Peter's hands glided down your body until he was cupping your ass, their warmth settling on each of his palms. But just as he was about to tell you to jump up into his arms, you placed a firm hand on his chest.

Your lips detached with a soft pop, the back of your head softly thumping against the door. You gasped for air, hands fisting his jacket before you rested your forehead against his.

He really needed to remember the fact that he could hold his breath longer than any average human could.

Peter put his hands back on your waist, fingers squeezing as he nudged your nose.

"Y/N, I—"

"Like you, too."

Peter's eyes widened, head pulling back as he stared at you in shock. Whatever confession he had left his brain, a lump caught in his throat, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he failed to string any letter into words.

Oh boy he was flustered.

The thought of you, you, someone so confident, someone who is way out of his league liking him back, him, little nerdy, dorky, stumbly old Peter Parker, it made his heart soar.

"I'm a trained spy, Pete, I know how to read people," you giggled when he stayed silent for a few seconds. "It's written all over your face. You really haven't been subtle about it the whole night, either."

"I don't think subtlety is my specialty," he whispered, a shy smile growing on his lips as he pressed his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses brushing in the sweetest of ways.

"It really isn't." You nodded in agreement with a wide smile of your own.

"So I don't think I need to be subtle about this," he started, gaze holding yours. He was nervous, but if he didn't say this out loud, he might just explode. "I'm falling for you."

"You're so cliché," you giggled, his cheeks growing hot, his whole body melting, his heart jumping out of his chest and landing straight into the palm of your hand when you added, "I'm falling for you, too."

"Really?" he asked, surprised yet his voice came out a little shy.

It was obvious enough. The words had been said. But he wanted to make sure because this just seemed like one big lucid dream and he'd actually die if he were to wake up any moment now.

"I mean, I haven't been subtle about it either," you giggled, kissing him briefly yet sweetly, brushing your nose with his as you breathed out, "But yeah, I do. I feel so strongly for you Peter that I just—I feel nervous, I feel giddy, I feel safe and appreciated and I just feel so, so happy whenever I'm around you and I just, whatever I did in the past didn't matter because you accept me for me and I trust that you've got the best intentions, I trust you with my life, and you're just the sweetest most thoughtful and I'm just glad to have known you and—" you paused, shaking your head with a soft laugh, "I'm such a sap."

God this felt like a dream come true.

"I like you being a sap," he chuckled shyly. "But I'm just…me, though."

"Exactly," you confirmed, smile genuinely laced with pride. "You're brilliant, Peter Parker. How can I not fall for you?"

Peter's cheeks were starting to hurt with how wide his smile was, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining.

"You're so way out of my league," he whispered, arms wrapping around your waist.

"I could say the exact same thing to you," you giggled, pecking his lips. "But let's debate about this another time, yeah? We still got some codes to find and a bad guy to catch," you said, turning around swiftly to face the door before he could even have a chance to stop you.

"Wait, don't—" Peter sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on your waist tightening as his face landed on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. Your back was against his chest, bodies pressed up far too close. "—move," he lowly groaned against your skin.

"Oh."

Peter felt his whole body heat up from embarrassment. Because he knew you could definitely feel it behind you. He could hear the fast pace of your heart, and if that wasn't a tell-tale sign, he didn't know what was. And no matter how much he tried to pull away, even just slightly, the small space of the closet wasn't letting him do so.

"I'm sorry, I am so, so, so sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen I—"

He tried to move away from you again, but clumsily elbowed the shelf on his right instead which made a few empty buckets topple over from the top. He quickly pulled you back to avoid you getting hit by the falling cleaning supplies, but in turn, it made your ass press against him a little harder.

"Fuck," he groaned, body going rigid when you gasped. You probably think he was a proper pervert now. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that either. And I tried to control it I swear but it's just—my senses are enhanced and you're so close and that kiss was really hot and you're even hotter and your ass really feels nice in my hands—shit! I shouldn't have said that, I should not have said that. I mean not! Not that it's untrue, it's very, very true. You've got a really pretty and nice ass and I should really shut up goddammit—"

You cut him off with a giggle, head tilting to the side as your fingers reached up, burying it in his now messy brown hair.

"I feel flattered that a kiss got you this excited," you teased, earning a soft whine from him.

"It's not just a kiss when I've been wanting to do it for so long," Peter confessed, kissing your shoulder softly before he mumbled, "And it's not my fault that you're out here looking like a goddess."

"Look at you," you giggled, squeezing his forearm that was wrapped around your waist. "That expensive suit is really doing wonders with your smoothness, huh?"

"It brings out the suave in me," he hummed, grinning. "Makes my eyes pop, too."

You let out a sweet, hearty laugh.

Peter chuckled, heart warming as he buried his face into your neck.

"How about you take this because I really don't want to accidentally drop it," he started, pulling the device out of his jacket and handing it over to you, kissing your shoulder with a deep breath, "And just give me a second to calm down."

You giggled.

But what you said next did anything but help.

"Yes, sir."

•••

It was quarter to seven when you both made your way down to the underground theater.

There were fewer people this time around. Peter supposed it was expected. What, with a secret auction selling dangerous weapons, you simply couldn't hand out invitations like it's free candy. It could land in the wrong hands—well, right hands, in this case.

He fiddled with the card inside his pocket, free fingers pushing up his glasses, eyes narrowed at the guards by the entrance.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, noticing how they were ushering people into the theater individually. "I think it's a card for each person and we only have one—"

Peter stopped when he found no sign of you.

"You're not supposed to disappear without letting me know," he said through his comms.

He heard you giggle in response, "I was supposed to be back before you even notice."

"Point still stands," he grumbled. "Where are you?"

Peter grinned when he felt a familiar warmth behind him, your arms wrapping around his waist as you rested your chin on his shoulder.

"Hi."

"Hi," he chuckled, taking your hand to pull you by his side. He circled his arm around your waist, brow raised. "Where'd you go?"

You smiled innocently, yet the proud glimmer in your eyes was unmistakable. You held a hand up, a black and silver card pinched between two fingertips.

Always ten steps ahead of him.

It made him want to push you against a nearby wall and kiss the living daylights out of you.

"Now, how'd you get that?"

You winked. "You know I have my ways."

Before Peter could respond, everyone suddenly turned around to the sound of a commotion.

"Sir, you're not allowed without an invitation," one guard said.

"But I had it!" a man with a stark white beard exclaimed, patting around his pockets, "It was here!"

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir."

"Well, you just lost your highest bidder!"

Peter turned back to you, impressed. "You need to teach me how to do that."

"I can't teach you all my tricks—" your laugh died once you walked by a lamp, illuminating both your faces in this otherwise dimly lit entry hall. You pulled him back under the light, your eyes widening. "Oh shit."

"What?" he asked, worried. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just—" you snorted, gesturing to get him to come closer, hand cupping his cheek. "There's lipstick all over your mouth."

Peter blushed, chuckling, "Would it be so bad to just leave it?"

"You look like you just ate a can of tomato sauce."

Peter pouted.

You shook your head with a laugh, thumbs brushing as much lipstick stain as you could. Just when he thought you were done, you cupped his face, pulling him closer to kiss him firmly on the cheek.

"There," you hummed, giggling, "Since you want my lipstick on you so bad."

"It's hot," Peter shamelessly admitted with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes but grinned anyway, taking his hand and pulling towards the entrance.

"Come on. Let's go spend the millions we don't have."

•••

It took a few more minutes for everyone to settle in their seats. You and Peter choose the front-right corner. It was near the stage but not at the center of attention.

As the clock struck seven, the main stage lights lit up. There were a couple of marble statues littered across—for decoration he assumed—and vases filled with wildflowers he could never name. Right at the center was a white podium, a huge projector screen behind it.

Then, a flash of gold appeared on the stage.

Peter immediately knew who they were.

"Welcome, everyone," the Auclair twins said in sync.

"Why is it always evil twins?" he said.

Obviously, he knew about Halbert, he was the one who gave him the card. But he didn't expect his twin sister to be in on it, too. But then again, the guy seemed to be all beauty with no brains.

And no, he wasn't biased.

"I knew there was something off about her," you scoffed, arms crossed over your chest, pout prominent as you glared at the stage. You were starting to look like you were throwing a tantrum. But Peter decided not to say anything.

Yet.

"I think you all know why we've gathered here so I won't bother you with unnecessary semantics," Greta started, waving her hand at the projector, now showing a live feed of the room you broke into earlier. "Any or all of those high-grade toys could be yours tonight, if you're willing to empty out your pockets, of course. But, to lift everyone's spirits up," Greta paused, giggling wickedly as she dug her fingers into the neckline of her dress, procuring the star of the night, and the bane of yours and Peter's existence.

"The Gold Codes and the nuclear football, available for bidding at the end of the night," she purred, waving the card around as if it wasn't one the most dangerous items on the planet. "We have to save the best for last, of course."

"So hiding things in your boobs is a common thing then," Peter said, catching the sour look on your face from the corner of his eye. He was trying really hard to bite back his smirk.

"So you found the codes before anyone else did."

"What?" Peter looked at you confused. "But I didn't."

"You did," you said, jaw ticking. "You just didn't know you were already looking at it."

It took Peter a moment.

"I was not looking at her boobs."

"Sure you weren't," you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"Darling," he drawled teasingly, playing up the accent, the fire in your glare unmistakable as you met his eyes. He pinched your chin between his forefinger and thumb with a grin. "You've got nothing to be jealous of."

Huffing, you pulled your face off his grasp, "Shut up."

"You know," he started, daringly throwing his arm over your shoulder. You were never one to cross when you were angry. But Peter simply wanted to have some harmless fun. After all, this was the first time he'd ever seen you like this. "I still haven't decided if you're cute or hot when you're jealous."

"Don't tempt me to punch you."

He chuckled, leaning to press his lips against your temple. His smile widened when he felt your whole body relax beside him.

"So, what’s the plan?" he murmured against your skin.

You shifted in your seat, resting your head on his shoulder.

"We wait until the codes and the football are up for bidding," you mumbled. "Then, I'm going to be a show-off, placing a higher bet over anyone while moving closer to the stage. Once I'm in good proximity, cause a distraction and I'll swipe the codes."

"Got it," he confirmed, flinching in his seat when he heard the bang of a hammer.

"Your numbered paddles are under your seats. Now, let's begin."

Peter had only seen auctions in movies, and they always seemed to be the most boring thing ever.

He never expected them to be as anxiety-inducing as this one.

It was probably the fact that these were dangerous and deadly weapons, carelessly sold to anyone who had the money to buy them.

His heart would sink every time he'd hear that fucking hammer.

Peter was fidgeting with the bridge of his glasses, eyes sharply trained on the stolen Chitauri gun being wheeled off the stage.

"Relax," you whispered, hand on his knee to stop it from bouncing. "We've got backup near the premises. Once we secure the codes, they'll immediately interfere. None of those weapons are getting out of this building."

"They're buying it like it's candy," Peter grumbled frustratingly. "As if lives won't be put at risk if it gets out there."

"Next up, Oscorp's drone satellite," Greta introduced excitedly. "Bigger, better, deadlier than the one by Stark Industries."

Peter's fist clenched. "Why do they always find the need to one-up each other?"

"Egomaniac billionaires," you supplied, hand curling around his fist, bringing his knuckles up to your lips before you intertwined your fingers together.

It helped him calm down a little.

"Things are starting to get boring, don't we think?" Greta laughed, waving around the controller. It was either she wasn't aware of how dangerous the device in her hand was, or she simply didn't care. Her wicked grin told Peter it was the latter. "So how about we do a little test run?"

"Shit," he cursed, sitting upright. "That's not part of the plan."

"You're the faster one," you said, tone calm as you tugged your skirt discreetly and pulled your gun out. "When I give the signal, immediately run towards her and secure codes."

"What signal?"

You stood up, gun raised.

Everyone froze as you shot at the wires that held the scaffolding that was hanging on top of the stage. It immediately gave way, dropping onto the wooden stage and blocking both exits on each side.

Chaos erupted then.

The people running towards the small entryway made it difficult for the guards to get in right away.

But Peter was still staring at you in shock.

"Go!"

He snapped out of it, taking long strides towards the stage, reaching the twins just in time before they could even manage to escape.

"Mr. Reid," Halbert chuckled darkly, pushing Greta right behind him before pulling out a revolver. "You should've bought a gun."

"Well, good thing I did," Peter quipped, reaching inside his holster only to find nothing. He looked up, eyes wide. "Shit. I dropped it."

"Oh my God—" Peter heard you groan in disappointment, and he could practically hear that eye roll.

He would've found the time to be embarrassed if Halbert hadn't started shooting at him. He dodged every bullet easily. His enhanced reflexes paired with how inaccurate this guy's aim was, it wasn't really much of a challenge.

And no, he wasn't showing off.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

Peter couldn't stop his chuckle when he heard the familiar clicking of an empty cylinder.

"Well, looks like I didn’t even need one," he bragged as he stalked towards Halbert, yanking the gun out of his hold before hitting him on the side of the head with the butt of his own gun, rendering him unconscious. He turned to Greta with a mocking tut, "Your twin isn't the wisest, isn't he?"

"No," she scoffed, smile widening as she glanced over his shoulder. "But he bought us time."

Peter saw the entryway clear of civilians, the armed guards swiftly invading the theater.

"Shit."

A flash of red caught his eye, your sharp heels clicking rapidly before you slid on the floor, picking up the gun Peter dropped. You knelt on one knee, gun in each hand, aiming it toward the guards and raining hell on them motherfuckers.

You didn't miss a shot.

He shook his head in awe, "And you said to hold it with two hands!"

"I've fired guns since I was twelve!" you said, tilting your head to throw him a smirk. "I think I can be an exception."

How could he argue with that?

Peter swerved to the right, heart thumping as the glint of a knife covered his periphery. He grabbed their wrist, pulling him forward in one swift motion and throwing the culprit towards the seats.

"Who brings a knife to a gunfight?" he huffed as he kicked away the knife that fell out of their hand.

Peter's attention got stolen by your growl.

His eyes landed on you just in time to see you grab a man's forearm from behind, using all your body weight and the right momentum to throw him over your shoulder, a pained scream when you undoubtedly dislodged his arm, the knife clinking onto the floor. You kicked the guy on the head, his eyes rolling back as he turned limp. You stepped on the knife's handle to fling it into the air, catching it with your left hand before flipping to your right, holding your skirt taught before cutting a new slit on your skirt. Then, you spun, red dress flowing with the motion as you kicked the guy running towards you on the side of his throat.

If Peter wasn't in love before, he sure as hell was now.

"What?" you panted when you caught his gaze, brows furrowed.

"That was so hot," Peter breathed out, your eyes rolling for the umpteenth time before they suddenly widened.

"Down!"

He ducked as you threw the knife, the blade soaring past him and landing into the guy's shoulder, the gun that was aimed at Peter's distracted ass dropping onto the floor.

He looked back at you in absolute wonder.

And did his pants grow a little tighter?

"Will you marry me?"

"Jesus—focus!"

"Is that a 'no'?!" he called out teasingly, elbowing one guy on the chin before hurling his unconscious body toward his allies. He called it the bowling move. Taking a gun from the floor, he turned to you with a pout. "Can't believe you'd reject me, babe!"

"Kinda in the middle of something here!" you yelled back, shooting a guy on the leg before knocking him out with the butt of your gun. You stood straight with a deep breath, tilting your head with your lips pursed before nodding behind him. "How about you help me get those codes first?"

Peter turned, seeing Greta dragging her twin towards the side exit.

"Oh yeah, right," he chuckled sheepishly before going after her. "My bad!"

Fully catching him off guard, Peter flew forward and landed on his chest when Greta swiped his legs. He rolled onto his back, narrowly avoiding the six-inch heel she dug into the floor where his head was supposed to be.

"So you can fight," he breathed out, doing a kip up to get back on his feet.

"I bite too," she hummed, winking. "And I've been wanting to sink my teeth into you, pretty boy."

"Uh, thanks?" he chuckled dryly, face scrunched up. He swerved the knife she threw at him, looking back only to see she got two more, one on each hand. He sighed, "Great. You throw knives."

"What?" she asked, tone mocking as she flipped one in the air, catching the blade in between her fingers with ease. "You don't like knife play?"

"That doesn't sound like fun," he grumbled, running towards her, swiftly ducking as she kicked her leg before grabbing her by the ankles.

Greta fell on the floor with a thud, yet she was quick to kick his knee with her other foot, Peter hissing as her sharp heel dug into his skin. She used this slim window to pull her leg forward, dragging Peter with it and making him land right on top of her.

"Quite a handsome face. Maybe we can go out for dinner sometime," she purred, running her tongue over her lip as she traced his jaw with a knife, sharp tip teasing his throat. "The real party happens later in the night, of course."

"Yeah, no thanks," he breathed out, pulling his head back and quickly grabbing her arms, flipping her onto her stomach in one swift motion. Peter pinned her down using his body weight as he knocked the knives out of her hands. He pulled her wrist towards her back, his knees tight on either side of her hips as he sat up. Holding her wrists with one hand, he undid his necktie with the other, tying her up securely before letting go.

"Kinky," she huffed out a giggle.

Peter rolled his eyes, pulling her up by the shoulders until she was seated on the floor. He walked around, dusting off his suit and adjusting his glasses—they got sticky tape on the sides to not let them fall off during fights. He thought about this ahead, thank you very much—as he stood in front of her.

"I guess it's true what they say about the quiet ones," she said, head tilted as she shamelessly ran her eyes down his body before meeting his eyes. "You're a different kind of man, Lucas Reid."

"The name's Parker," he said with a deep voice as he buttoned up his jacket with the utmost seriousness on his face. "Peter Parker."

You scoffed loudly.

Peter immediately spun, his landing eyes on your figure standing behind him, your jaw tight, arms crossed over your chest, a scowl on your pretty face with that fiery glare to match.

Oh you were pissed.

But Peter had a feeling it wasn't at him.

"You've been itching to do that the whole night, have you?"

"Maybe," he chuckled.

You rolled your eyes, nodding towards Greta.

"Just take the codes."

Peter stared at you like you'd grown a second head.

"What?" you asked, voice taut, so clearly getting annoyed.

"You take the codes."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I respect women?"

You blinked a few times before dropping your head with an exasperated groan.

"What? You know where it's hidden!" he exclaimed in defense, gesturing towards the bound woman. "I'm not just slipping my hand in there!"

"I have a feeling she won't mind," you muttered to yourself, but thanks to his enhanced hearing, he heard you loud and clear. "You've practically been humping each other."

Peter decided to keep quiet, scared that you'd actually punch him this time.

Though the glare you shot him was proof that you knew he heard you.

You shook your head, another eye roll before you walked over to Greta, bending at the waist until your face was level with hers.

"Let’s make this quick. Left or right?" you asked.

"Dégage, salope," she hissed.

You gasped, hand over your mouth in feigned shock. "Now, that's not nice."

"Wait, what did she say?" Peter asked as he stood by the sidelines, not too close but not too far. He was giving you the space to do your thing.

"She called me a bitch," you cooed, pouting condescendingly. "Fine. Since you don't want to make this easier for us—"

Before Peter could even question what you were about to do, you stomped on a knife, catching the handle mid-air and straight up slashing the blade in front of Greta.

"Woah!"

Peter downright expected you to have chopped her whole head off—okay, maybe slit her throat because the knife wasn't that big.

But nothing happened.

No chopping, no slicing, no blood, nothing.

Well, not until a split second later when Greta gasped, the top half of her—really expensive, he assumed—dress sliding down her body.

Peter looked away immediately, face hot as he screwed his eyes shut, turning his back on her for good measure.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," he muttered, taking his glasses off to rub his face with his palm.

But he couldn't wipe his smile off.

Peter knew you could take the codes without having to cut her dress. You were simply being petty. And it was safe to assume it had something to do with the way Greta had been shamelessly flirting with him for the whole night.

Your jealousy fed his ego a little bit.

"You can look now," you said, tone low. "She's covered."

"Are you sure?"

You scoffed, "It's not like you don't want to see it, anyway."

Peter swiftly turned, only catching a glimpse of Greta now wearing Halbert's jacket with the matching gold tie gagging her mouth.

He immediately turned to you who was standing to the side, looking anywhere else but at him. He walked over, rubbing up and down your arms until you uncrossed them. He pulled you closer by the waist, nudging your nose while mirroring your pout.

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad."

"Then why did you do that?"

"I had to get the codes."

"Yeah, but it didn't have to involve boobage exposure."

"Boobage exposure," you snorted, the corner of your lip twitching as you finally met his eyes. "I feel like that's something you enjoy."

"I didn't even look!" he defended, his smile widening when you tried your best to hide yours. "I promise. I didn't want to, either."

You shook your head, sighing, "You're such an annoying dork."

"Your annoying dork."

That made your smile appear.

"My dork, huh?" you hummed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Peter smiled, pulling you closer, tip of his nose brushing yours. "Well, if you'll have me, that is."

"Have you as what, exactly?"

"Your boyfriend," he said, slightly surprised by his own boldness. But then again, you two had already established what you felt for each other. The fear of rejection wasn't there anymore. Shaking his head with a smile, he added, "Wait, answer that on our date this Friday?"

"Love the newfound confidence, Agent Parker," you said, giggling. "And yes, to both questions,"

"I really like the sound of Agent Parker," he hummed, wiggling his eyebrows at you. "Am I a certified spy now?"

"Eh, if you don't drop your gun next time, then sure."

"Come on," he sighed, pouting. "I could use a name change, you know, like Spy-Dork-Man."

Peter burst out laughing when you physically cringed.

"Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't kick you because of that god awful pun."

"Because I'm your dork now, bad puns included, so you're going to have to get used to it from early doors."

"Touché," you laughed.

Peter looked at you adoringly, but just as he was about to kiss you, a sudden ruckus of applause made you both jump, stance on defense reflexively.

It was the team, right in front of the stage, clapping and wolf-whistling like a bunch of assholes.

Peter groaned, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he wrapped his arms around you.

"About time you two solved this…tension you have," Wanda said as she reached the stage, gesturing at the two of you before she held her hand out to Bucky. "Hand it over, Super Soldier. She technically kissed him first,"

"Maybe I shouldn't have held Sam back from unmuting the line in the closet," Bucky sighed, pulling out his wallet and handing over twenty dollars.

"You had a bet?" you gaped at the two of them.

Peter turned to Sam. "You tried to interrupt us again?"

"I wouldn't have to if you guys didn't constantly forget that your comms aren't reserved for the two of you only," the Captain chuckled.

"You guys were so cute, though," Wanda said with a smile.

"The smooching sounds were a bit much." Bucky grimaced.

"Don't forget the abundant talk about boobs and ass," Harley laughed, appearing from behind everyone with a bag in hand. "Good thing you finally grew those balls though, Parker. I've grown really tired of hearing you whine about your obsession—sorry, I mean, crush on her."

"Shut up, man," Peter groaned, burying his face back on your shoulder to hide.

"Leave him alone," you laughed, rubbing his back in comfort.

"I wished I could've hacked the cams earlier so it would've been like watching a James Bond movie meets rom-com live," Harley said. "But the audio was good, popcorns still definitely enjoyed."

"Lives were on the line and you guys enjoyed popcorn," you deadpanned.

Sam laughed as he patted both of your backs. "Nah, we just knew you two got it handled."

"What are you guys doing here then?" Peter countered, glaring at them.

"Clean up," Wanda said, cracking her fingers before adding, "I also need to erase your faces off of people's memories because blowing your covers wasn't exactly part of the plan."

"And this guy practically gave out his real name," Bucky chuckled, patting Peter's shoulder before moving over to the unconscious men lying on the floor.

"I couldn't let the opportunity slip!" Peter protested. "It's probably going to be my only James Bond moment, I had to take it."

"That was pretty stupid," you said, scrunching your face at him with a laugh.

"I know that now, thanks," he grumbled.

"Here." Harley tossed him his web shooters and mask, and Peter felt a sense of comfort as he snapped them onto his wrists.

"Pete, you think you can swing us home?" you asked, slipping your fingers into his.

"Yeah, of course," he chuckled, squeezing your hand. He could definitely get used to feeling your affectionate touch constantly.

"Right, we're going to leave this to you guys, now bye!" you called out before you all but dragged him towards the exit, Peter's groan and your laugh echoing down the hall when Sam yelled,

"Use protection!"

•••

You both were honestly too tired to even attempt and continue what started in the closet.

Well, you did try to.

When you landed back at the compound, you both decided to go to your separate rooms and take much-needed hot showers first. But getting to your quarters in itself probably took around ten minutes, all because Peter simply couldn't help but stop every couple of meters down the halls, pressing you against the nearest wall to kiss you senseless.

It took you shutting the door on his face for you both to finally wash off the sweat and grime of the day.

After he was all cleaned and clothed, he didn't waste any time making his way out of his room. But when he opened the door, you were already standing there, fist in the air, mid-knock.

Peter chuckled as he grabbed your waist and pulled you into his room, giggles and satisfied sighs bouncing off his walls as his lips covered your own. He grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you with ease, a murmured comment from you about him showing off his super strength as he carried you to his bed.

But the second you both hit the mattress, it was simply far too comfy and soft that the intense heat of the kiss gradually simmered into a mellow warmth. His body was covering yours, fingers intertwined, lips moving slowly, lazily yet just as sweet.

And after a few more moments of you two languidly kissing, you ended up settling with cuddles for the night.

Now, here you were, being the little spoon with your back pressed against his chest, limbs tangled, bodies warm and snug under the covers. He was drawing lazy circles on your stomach, his eyes growing heavier with each rise and fall of your chest, the steady beat of your heart lulling him.

Peter thought you were already fast asleep. And he was just about to follow suit until you spoke up,

"Are your hands cold?"

"Not really," he murmured, voice a little rough. "Why?"

"You can always use my boobs in case you need to warm them up."

He groaned, burying his face onto your shoulder. "Are you ever going to let this go?"

"What?" you giggled softly. "You just seemed so interested in their warmth earlier. I'm allowing you to quell your curiosity."

Peter lifted himself a little, just so he could get a clear view of your face.

"Is this a genuine invitation for me to cup your boobs?"

"Only if you wanna," you said, turning to him with a soft smile, eyes half-lidded. "No playing, though."

He nodded with a laugh, settling behind you and gently sneaking his hand under your shirt, no pressure or anything so that you'll be able to move away whenever you wanted to. Then again, you were skilled enough to break his wrist, anyway.

But you didn't do that, not at all.

Instead, you shifted in your place, providing more space for his arm to fully wrap around your torso until he was cupping a boob in his hand.

You sighed, body melting into the mattress even more, your back warmly pressed against his chest as you nosed his pillow.

"They are really warm," he hummed, his whole body relaxing as he let his hand just…be there, without any malice whatsoever. "This is oddly comforting."

"Yeah," you mumbled, a loud yawn following suit. "Like stress balls."

Peter chuckled, "That's one way of describing it."

You hummed, yawning out a soft, "Good night, Pete."

Peter smiled. "Good night, angel."

The next response he got was your soft snores as you finally drifted off to sleep,

Peter didn't expect his night to end with you sleeping in bed with him, all cuddled up in his arms, let alone, with him cupping your boob—which he surprisingly found comforting and adorable rather than anything else.

But he did expect to fall asleep with a huge smile on his face.

And then later in the morning, the thing that would wake him up wouldn't be the sunlight anymore, it'd be your warmth, tickling his skin as you cuddle closer to him. A tired, yet satisfied smile would curl on his lips as he would bury his nose into your hair, breathing in your sweet scent. It was much more comforting, hearing your little snores and sighs, or even your occasional mumbles about whatever it was you were dreaming about.

It was new, but definitely something he could get used to.

It was going to be a peaceful Sunday morning with you, and Peter really loved that.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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