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izzylovesyou2022 · 2 years

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The Poet And The Beat~ TASM!GUITARIST!Peter Parker

Plot: Peter meets Evie, a poet looking to make a name in a new town. He’s a guitarist looking for a new start. They won’t fall in love.....or willll they?

Tropes: friends to lovers, guitarist!au, poet!au

Evie Cast knew too much about writing to be called a beginner. After all, she’d been writing since the age of seven. She’d published a book of poems when she turned twelve.

Unfortunately, the world didn’t treat her like her friends did. Her rounded face made her look too young for most publishers. Evie was young for publishing standards, having just turned eighteen six months ago. Not that she really cared what people thought of her. She’d publish on Amazon if she had too.

Little detailed snowflakes slipped into her hair and blanketed the ground as she walked along the streets of New York.

Evie had moved here from a small town in upper New York. She’d dreamed of living in the big city her whole life and she jumped at the chance to work at a newspaper firm as an editor.

As Evie moved along, carefully watching her step, her thoughts wandered to a new book she’d been editing for the last few weeks. Nature being one of her favorite subjects, she believed it was high time she published a book about it.

As so often happened when her brain wandered to thoughts of poetry, Evie lost track of her surroundings. She’d stopped paying attention to where she stepped and didn’t notice the large mark of ice until it was too late.

Up went her legs into the air as her arms twirled, trying hard to catch herself. Evie winced as she braced herself for impact with the cold surface but got quite the shock when she felt a pair of strong arms embracing her instead.

“Hey, you gotta be careful on these streets. Are you alright, cookie?”

Any other day, Evie would’ve been pissed at a guy calling her a nickname like that, but she allowed herself to be wrapped up in the warmth of the voice saying it and dared to look at him.

A pair of hazel brown eyes that looked like a nice cup of hot chocolate were locked on hers, a concerned frown tugging at his lips. She observed brown waves of hair sticking out under a royal blue beanie and the gold flash of a chain around his neckline.

“Oh, um, yes, thanks to you,” Evie breathed, steadying herself against him as he placed her back on his feet. His muscles heaved under her fingers and she had a quick flash of how those arms would feel wrapped around her in another way.

“I’m Peter,” the boy offered, flashing Evie a sweet smile that could’ve melted her into a puddle on the spot if she hadn’t been shaken up.

Evie licked her lips in an attempt to swallow her shock and gave Peter a smile in return.

“Evie. Evie Cast.”

She noticed a flash of something....maybe familiarity....spark across Peter’s haunting hazel eyes and noticed his hands reaching for the straps of his backpack.

“Weren’t you the girl that published a poetry book when you were 12?”

Evie stared and nearly choked in complete shock. How had he even come across her book? She didn’t even think it had made its way to the “Big Apple!” Wait....had he read her book? If he’d read her book, she’d pass out right here on the sidewalk.

“Um, yeah, I was.”

Peter suddenly took her by the elbow and steered her in the direction of a nearby coffee shop. Evie went along with it, mostly because her brain had short-circuited too much to ask any questions.

That her book might have actually been read by people living in the biggest city in the country was made than she could handle. And the cute boy next to her might have read it! How was she going to get through the rest of the day?

The blast of warmth from the coffee shop tore Evie from her reverie and she gasped in a huge breath of air, thankful to be out of the cold.

Her eyes wandered around the room as Peter steered her towards the counter. At the table right next to the counter was a man not much older than herself. His pen tapped along the rings of his notebook as he whispered to himself. He must’ve been talking himself through his next writing, Evie thought.

In the far corner of the shop stood a black bookshelf with tons and tons of books. Evie hoped there might be an Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman novel waiting for her to open.

“Hey, cookie? Do you know what you want to drink?”

This time, it was Peter’s voice that withdrew Evie from her daydream and forced her attention upward towards the menu hanging on the ceiling.

“Just a hot chocolate for me, thank you,” she told the worker as she dug into her purse for her wallet.

She had just placed her golden yellow wallet up onto the counter and made a movement to withdraw her card when the clucking of a tongue caught her attention.

“Tsk, Tsk, cookie. The man always pays on the first date.”

Evie opened her mouth to protest but one quick glance into those hazel eyes and all arguments flew out the window. This was so unfair. She wasn’t supposed to be tongue tied. After all, she’d been using words all over the place her entire life. But this devil named Peter Parker somehow snatched away her ability to say a word.

She swallowed hard and shook her head to clear it as Peter handed her the drink.

“You’re not normally this tongue-tied, are you, cookie?”

Evie managed to find her words and regain control of herself as she and Peter took seats near a wide window near the front of the cafe.

“No, Peter, I’m not. Can I ask why you pulled me into the cafe?”

She eyed Peter with an arched eyebrow and smiled around her cup when his face painted cherry red.

“Well,” he began, fumbling with his cup in an attempt to avoid Evie’s eyes, “I’ve always wanted to meet you. You just have a way with words that could really fit in with my music.”

A thoughtful hum exited her mouth and she lowered her cup, steam swirling from the open lid.

“You’re a guitarist, then?”

Peter looked down at the table and slowly nodded.

“And you would like to have me as a song writer.”

Peter’s eyes widened to an almost bizarre amount as he finally gathered the courage to lock eyes with her. Could this girl actually read his mind?

“Yeah.”

A smirk played at the edge’s of Evie’s lips as she tossed the purple straight hair away from her eyes. Song writing was not so different than poetry writing. She’d done both but found that, basically, they were one in the same. Except lyrics had music behind it.

“When do you want me to start?”

*******************************************************************************************

Fate felt very determined to pull Peter and Evie together. They’d run into each other more times than could be counted in that next week. They’d spent most of that week discussing the song over text and phone calls. Most of those phone calls were interrupted by shouts from Peter’s Aunt May about one thing or another, but Evie couldn’t really say she minded all that much.

“Have you given a lot of thought to the melody yet, Pete,” she asked on a snowy Saturday afternoon at the same coffee shop. Their table bore two different notebooks: one was Peter’s and the other was Evie’s.

Peter’s red guitar case leaned against the window still. He’d been fingering with the zipper, lost in thought until Evie’s question brought him back to reality.

“I kinda have something but it’s not exactly finalized, ya know?”

Evie hummed and glanced down at the words she had written down. Peter wasn’t expecting perfection, she knew that, but she’d started caring enough for Peter over that last week that she wanted his song to be a marvel.

She eyed Peter’s guitar case and, with great finality, slammed her notebook shut.

“Let me see your guitar, Pete.”

If Peter in anyway felt confused or concerned at the sudden eagerness in Evie’s voice, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he simply did as she asked and took the guitar it’s case.

The once clean guitar held dents and scars from years of being played. A particularly nasty dent lay right near the bottom guitar string (the “E” string), but in their eyes, a guitar sounded much much better as an older, imperfect instrument.

“What do you have in mind there, cookie,” he asked, sitting up much straighter in his chair than he had been.

Evie paid no mind to his question and swayed in her seat as she delicately plucked each string. Her slender fingers danced over the strings as her booted foot tapped lightly against the floor. She hadn’t told Peter that she had once played the guitar before she gave it up due to writing taking her main focus.

She stared down at her closed notebook and shivered. The thought of picking up guitar again moved something inside her. Like her heart screamed at her to go back to the days of playing the guitar and writing little songs.

“I’m thinking we should do an acoustic song, Pete. Something beautiful that will draw people in,” she decided, tilting her head at Peter as her fingers played with the strings.

Peter’s lips quirked dangerously to the side at the sight of Evie staring at him with those big green eyes. Those eyes that held so much light and joy. If he held the melody, she held the very words into his soul.

Was he falling too fast? Yes, but that wasn’t for him to decide. His heart needed to have her.

*******************************************************************************************

It had been about two months since Peter and Evie met but the sparks between them grew stronger every day. For them, meeting up wasn’t just about the songs anymore. No, the meetings were for them.

On this particularly warm winter day, Peter walked the two blocks from his apartments to Evie’s work to take her on a surprise date. He’d decided to dress up a little by wearing a purple collared shirt, khakis, and a new pair of winter boots. Evie would be coming out of work any moment.

“Oh! Peter, I thought you had to go into the studio today,” Evie exclaimed as she stepped around the corner of the door. Not that she wasn’t pleased to see Peter, he always managed to make her smile.

She smiled even wider and her heart beat a little faster as Peter took her hand in his. His huge fingers engulfed hers but she welcomed the size-difference. Peter had called her “shorty” so many times the last week, it became an inside joke for them.

“Well, cookie, it just wouldn’t be a good day without seeing your pretty face,” Peter sang out, causing Evie to laugh in spite of the blush on her cheeks.

“Not too loud, Petey! Don’t want all of New York to hear,” she giggled.

A tight squeeze on her hand made her look up into Peter’s gorgeous hazel eyes.

“I forgot you’re more of the quiet type. Sorry, cookie!”

Another laugh echoed from Evie’s throat and she rolled her eyes good-naturally at him.

“Where are you taking me, Petey? A secret hideout?”

“No, cookie. I’m taking you to the studio.”

Evie gasped and looked at him in complete shock. He was finally taking her to the studio? She’d dreamed of visiting there for two months!

“My manager’s been asking about you,” he explained as they stomped up the steps, “she wants to meet my little muse.”

First cookie and now muse? Was Peter intentionally trying to hold Evie’s heart in his hands? Did he ever understand how unfair she was actually being?

The smirk on Peter’s face as he pushed open the studio door told Evie he did, in fact, know exactly what he was doing.

Now she just needed to decide if she wanted to kick him or kiss him.

*******************************************************************************************

Evie hadn’t wanted to commit murder in a long time. Normally she was super cool with handling sexist or rude remarks from men, but this time, her emotions bubbled to the top of the surface.

She’d been working on the sports section of the newspaper when the ink slipped right out of her hand and smashed onto the floor. A moment that Evie no longer found truly embarrassing. She’d done it and seen it way too many times.

Her manager had been working with another employee at the time but when he heard the crash, he spun away and caught Evie’s eye.

“That’s alright, Evie. Just clean it up and try again.”

Evie gave her manager a thumbs up and trotted away to grab some paper towel. Her manager was the nicest guy in the world. She’d found out that he, too, had read the poetry book she’d published at twelve. He’d complimented her on her writing skills at such a young age.

“Not every one can write like that so young, Evie,” he’d told her.

As Evie cleaned up the spill, she overheard a coworker--James-- who’d always had an issue with her speak to the manager.

“How many times has she spilled ink, boss? That ain’t a good look for her.”

The manager shot James a look and warned him to get back to his job.

“She’s one of the hardest workers here, James. Everyone messes up once in a while.”

James rolled his eyes as Evie walked away to toss the paper towel into the trash.

“She doesn’t even belong here, boss. She should be in the kitchen making us some food. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Evie’s body trembled as tears stung at her eyes. She’d known James was a jerk but to say a comment like that? He was far more sexist than she’d believed.

“How about you shut your fucking mouth, James? If I made you a sandwich, I’d sure as hell make sure there were ink stains on it!”

Then, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the building. The manager never even stopped her. He was too busy ripping James a new one.

Evie kept on walking, ignoring the cold, ignoring the snow, ignoring the fact that in her hurry, she’d forgotten her coat. Anger traveled through every inch of her veins and her blood ran between hot and cold. Her teeth clattered from the harsh wind but Evie barely noticed.

She just kept walking until she reached a familiar front door. She banged three hard knocks on it and took in huge gasps of air to control her breath. Her eyes were so full of tears she couldn’t see.

“Cookie?”

Warm arms wrapped around Evie and lead her inside. A thick blanket was placed around her shoulders and someone pulled her into their lap.

“Hey, cookie, what happened?”

Evie looked up at Peter as her lower lip trembled again.

“My coworker! He’s awful! Just so sexist! H-he made a comment at me and n-normally I’m okay b-but this one just really got to me.”

The entire story tumbled out of Evie like waves upon waves of a dam finally breaking. She clung tighter to Peter with every single word she spoke and by the time she was finished speaking, her head was buried into his shoulder to try and muffle her sobs.

Careful hands stroked through the waves of her thick hair and kind lips pressed against the top of her head. Evie had never felt this exhausted from her emotions her entire life.

“He’ll get what’s coming to him, believe me, cookie.”

Evie pulled her head off her shoulder to stare into his eyes. She must’ve looked like an awful mess but the light in Peter’s eyes and the lines softening the corners of his mouth told a different story.

She reached up her hands, wrapped around the oversized sweater she’d been given sometime during her breakdown, and shakily cupped Peter’s cheeks. This boy was more than just a guitarist: he was an artist in every sense of the word. Although the songs had no words, his melodies hit Evie in the soul right where a piece of her was missing.

If he had been missing the words of a true poet, than she’d been missing the plucking of the strings of an old guitar with dents and scratches carved into the wood. The dents and scratches telling a story that would outlast even the oldest of songs.

“You finish that melody yet, Pete,” she murmured, lowering her head to touch Peter’s forehead with her own.

Peter gasped quietly as her skin touched his. His guitar-worn hands carefully slid along her back before coming to rest on her hips. In front of him sat the most marvelous, beautiful, and exquisite masterpiece he’d ever seen or heard.

Her little poems, those words flowing endlessly through pen or her own divine lips, were the lyrics his heart had been missing.

“No, cookie,” he whispered back, his lips almost touching hers.

Evie brushed her nose against his and giggled at the nose scrunch that followed.

“The Poet and The Beat,” she whispered before her lips connected with his.

Peter didn’t need any further information to understand what her words meant. They, together, poet and guitarist, created one word where sound and lyrics collided. That was to be their moniker, their brand, their way of life. The Poet and The Guitarist together as one.

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