#peter parker and does more showing than telling

[webslingingslasher]

Begin Again

an: this has been a long time in the making and I think it's a favorite of mine.

Pairing: Peter Parker X Mean!Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, enemies to lovers.

CW: harsh language, mental breakdowns, mentions of cheating (not peter)

Word Count: 24K

Summary: You've lived next door to Peter your whole life and the last nine years you've detested him. Now you're going through a breakup and it's nice to know someone's awake with you. Even if it is Peter Parker.

Breakups suck.

That’s it. That’s the whole message. There’s nothing else to add, except you’d never let yourself love again. It’s not like you didn’t know it wasn’t going to happen, you were aware the entire year what it would lead into, but hasn’t every girl sworn, at least once, they were the exception to a boys rule? 

Natalie Greene’s voice echoed in your mind, “don’t get involved with a senior boy. They move on and you’re left picking up the pieces in homeroom.” You didn’t listen. You got involved and it was a good year, you knew he was going to college and when he left the break up was inevitable. Still, it didn’t hurt as hard until three months into the school year he called and said he met someone else. 

You wish you weren’t so kind and understanding to him.

You called Natalie Greene the second it ended, she picked up and that angel voice of hers shined through the phone. She asked ‘hello?’ three times before you sobbed. You could feel the empathy in her tone, ‘he ended it, huh?’ All you could do is squeak back, ‘stay right there babe, I’m on my way with the break up kit.’  

She showed up with a stray grocery bag. “alright,” she stated, hands on her hips. 

“I got ice cream, a super soft blanket, movies - of all genres, face masks, a lighter-” 

“Why do you have a lighter?” 

Natalie rolls her eyes with a goofy grin, “to burn stuff, duh.“

The gesture was nice, but you couldn’t focus on the movie.

It felt like everytime you blinked there were tears that would find themselves tracking down your cheeks, you sniffled occasionally and blankly stared at the screen; flashbacks clouding your mind. Each kiss, each laugh, each touch, every fight and makeup, the first time you felt someone's hips melt into yours. 

A supercut of every moment. 

You were replaying a thousand things and all he was thinking about was the new girl under him, you were angry at everything all at once. Angry at yourself for letting yourself get hurt and feeling this much pain, because you knew it was coming, it was the whole agreement when it started. Angry at him for not breaking his promise and loving you anyway, angry at him for not telling you he’d wait for you and everything would be okay. 

Angry that you hate him and yourself but more angry how quickly you’d fall back into him if he called. 

“I knew this was gonna happen, Nat.” You sniff, a cry bubbles from your throat, “so why does it hurt so bad?” 

Your friend frowns, she’s no savor to heartbreak. She’s been where you are more times than one could take, she still loves with her whole heart and you don’t know if you could ever do it again. Natalie wraps her arms around your shoulders while you shake with a sob, you cry into her knowing you're matting her blonde hair but she just pats you and holds you close. 

“Because even though the ending was coming it didn’t feel real until the book closed. And maybe a little bit because you hoped he’d change his mind.” 

You gasp, “how do I get past this? Nat, it feels..” 

You’re tugged into her so tight you can feel her collarbone against your cheek, “like you’re dying? Yeah, that happens. But, you’ll live. It doesn’t feel like it now, but the day will come where you can think about him, smile, and thank him for the opportunity.” 

You snort, “for breaking my heart?” 

Natalie Greene holds you as tight as she can, “for making you grow.” 

Your shoulders feel like they’re falling behind you as you inch along the hallway, everything feels heavy. Your feet are like lead blocks, and your heart feels like it’s been tied down with an anchor. It hurts more to know he’s not aching like this, he has someone new to keep him busy. 

Blinking at your locker you fight back a yawn, two weeks after heartbreak and it still feels the same. You sleep like shit, tossing and turning and weird dreams when you finally dozed off. The one thing that’s helped keep your mind away from him, was your neighbor. Every night, at 3:02 am, on the dot, you hear the same movements. 

A window slams shut, two soft hops on the floor and three bumps against the wall. 

For six nights straight you kept count, it was methodical. A nightly routine, you weren’t sure what he was doing, but it was something. It made your mind wonder, your most recent theory was that he was a smoker; weed, cigarettes or whatever, and he would blow smoke out his window before landing in bed. 

Maybe his bed was against your wall and that’s why you heard so many small knocks. 

Last night you stayed up, you waited and right on the minute, like you expected, you heard a window slam shut. A small grin crossed your face, not at him, but at the idea of a constant. You lost your reliable figure, he’s thousands of miles away with his own new person, but tonight, and for the last seven nights you’ve had something to rely on. Something that couldn’t go anywhere. 

You blink and suddenly you’re staring at your open locker, you don’t even remember putting in the combination. On autopilot you grab what you need for your next three classes and shrug your backpack down. Lately, it seemed like everything moved in slow motion. 

“Are we ready to go to Flash’s party friday and makeout with a rando or are we still numb to everything?” 

Natalie smiles at your figure, when you slouch and give her a “hey, Nat,” her blonde hair bounces as she nods her head understandingly, “still dead to the world, understandable.” 

“At this point I’d do heroin to feel something,” your deadstare makes her think you might be serious. “Tell you what, if you’re still this miserable in six weeks, we’ll do it together.” 

Your eyebrow quirks, “you’d do heroin with me if I’m still this miserable?” 

Natalie Greene’s hand sticks out, her eyes ferocious. You know immediately she has something up her sleeve. 

“Six weeks, starting today.” 

You have nothing else to go on except the nightly wake up call and Natalie Greene’s plan. 

“Six weeks.” 

It’s solidified with a handshake, your fingertips turn white in her hold. 

WEEK ONE.

Natalie Greene had talked you into going to Flash’s party, not to makeout with anyone, she quickly withdrew that from the table. You had been very hesitant at first, pushing at every restraint and reason to why you shouldn’t go and she stopped you right there. Manicured hand and all, petite and poised, she stopped your path. 

“Here’s why you should go: get fucking wrecked, absolutely smashed and let it all out. I promise you, babe, it feels so, so good.” 

“You think that will make me feel better? Getting hammered at a house party on a friday night?”

“I’ll take care of you for the night, okay? I’ll get you drunk and you can cry or scream or whatever you want. Let go of anything you’re holding back, that’s why you should go.” 

You look her over, she’s been your rock the last three years in the school. Natalie is different, she protects and cares for herself like she does someone else. She also gives out more of her heart than she should, but she appreciates the burn it leaves. She tells you it’s one more ache preparing her for the one who would never make it hurt again. 

If Natalie Greene says it’ll help, you’ll listen. 

“You’ll drive me home and take care of me the next morning? Hungover and all?” 

A denim jacket covered shoulder shrugs, “I think it’s time I repay you for all these years.” 

For the first time in two weeks a real smile crosses your face, it’s small but it’s there. 

Flashforward two days later, you’re eight drinks in and feeling like you’re flying. 

You sway against your friend, “and he,” you hiccup, “he said he was like, soooo in love with me but then like, fuckin four days later,” it took you a moment to hold up the correct number on your hand, “boom, no boyfriend.” Natalie tried to hold back a laugh but her cheeks blew up when she let it escape, you pulled the most comical ‘what the fuck?’ face. 

“I mean who the fuck does that- a sick person. That’s who! And- And you know what?” you hiccup, “I thought I’d be sad, but I just kinda hate him, does that make me bad?” 

“Nah, I had some that killed me inside and some that I just shrugged off. Some moved in waves. One minute I’d say ‘fuck him!’ and the next I’d be overwhelmed with sadness because I didn’t have anyone to hold me anymore.” 

You blink at her words and swallow the rest of your cup, you hadn’t thought about that part yet. Not having anyone to call yours anymore, that’s the hardest hitting part. You really, really wanted to call him. Just one more time, maybe he misses you just as much, maybe he doesn’t know how to say sorry, maybe he’s waiting for you to call. 

“I should call him, right?” Your hands fumble at your pockets, your friend panics and grabs at your arms. “No! No, no, no! You absolutely should not call him!” You whine, “but what if he-” 

Natalie grabs you tight, it makes you look at her confused. Her tone takes a sharp turn, she breaks through your drunken stupor in a second. 

“He’s not. He’s not thinking about you, he’s not missing you, he’s not sitting around wishing you’d call him, he’s just not. He broke up with you, you don’t do that if you still care. Don’t do that to yourself, it ended mature. You have to be mature now.” 

Brutal honesty. It puts everything in perspective. 

He didn’t miss you, and that… really, really hurt. 

Natalie was right, it comes in waves. Because there comes that sadness, it starts with small blinks and suddenly fat tears skip down your cheeks. “You’re right! He, he doesn’t-” you take harsh breaths, for the first time in two weeks you had a full breakdown. Everything you held back bottled over, you didn’t know how you could hold in so much hurt. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s go, we can cry in the car but not here.” 

Your breath shook the entire way to the car, the moment you sat in the passenger seat you cried. Your voice cracked, “he said he loved me!” Natalie nodded, cranking the engine, “And I’m sure he did, babe. Sometimes these things run their course and it’s no one's fault.” 

It went like that the entire car ride, until she stopped at a McDonald's and got you a milkshake so you could focus on getting the liquid up the straw instead of saying the same three things on a loop. Once you got fries in your mouth the thought of him was erased from your mind, choosing to sing loudly and stick your head out the window on the way back. 

Stumbling and giggling quietly at the late hour while you swayed on the walk to your door, you stretched freely and yawned when you stumbled in. Home alone for the weekend, just how it should be. “I’m getting naked,” you started stripping while walking to your room to change into pajamas, your heart lurches when you see one of his shirts. 

You flop backwards on your bed, the room slightly spins and you close your eyes tight trying to ground yourself. Wriggling into the sheets you sigh, and yawn again. Your head buries into a pillow and sleep is imminent. 

“Sleepy?” 

Natalie Greene stands in the doorway with water and some advil, you smile and pat your bed, inviting her to join. 

“Natalie Greene, you are so great, did you know that?” 

Your friend laughs, you nuzzle into her hand while she strokes your hair, “I did, but a reminder is always nice. Go to sleep, babe. I’ll make toast in the morning.” 

Her gentle touch makes it easy, you yawn one more time. Your voice flutters while you talk into sleep.

“Do me a favor?” 

“Anything,” she whispers. You don’t think he ever loved you this soft.  

“Make sure he gets home for me.” 

Natalie Greene asked who but all she received were soft snores. 

The birds were screaming the earth back awake. 

At least that’s how it felt, your ears were ringing and there was a dull, present thud in your head. The sunlight has never been so bright, you hold your eyes shut but the ache gets louder and you can’t get comfortable. 

There’s two pills and half a glass of water waiting for you, god bless Natalie Greene. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” You wince and choke on your gulp of water, a knife has pierced your eardrum. “Oh my god, everything is on dial eleven, I think I’m dying.” 

“How are you feeling? Besides the obvious, I mean.” 

She means about him, you take a moment to really think about it. 

“I think… I think I’m doing okay.” 

Your friend smiles and throws her hair into a ponytail, “good, I’m making breakfast. Come join.” 

After ten minutes and infinite pep talk you rise on shaky knees, stumbling towards your door and barely making it to the couch where you spread wide and gulped for air. Your friend snorted at your exaggeration over her shoulder and carefully walked towards you with a piping mug of tea. 

Sitting up you bring a blanket over your shoulders, you squint at her before taking the handle. Taking a sip while you turn the TV on, searching for a midmorning throwaway show. A re-run of The Wendy Williams Show wins, you rest your head on a cushion and stare blankly at the screen. Natalie Greene humming up a tune in the kitchen. 

You hadn’t even checked your phone yet, “what time is it?” 

“Noon thirty.” 

Your eyes widen, “my god,” you mumble to yourself. 

Listening to Wendy your eyes lull shut and suddenly you're sinking back into sleep, you roll over and smack your dry lips. Until your friend is kicking at your shin with two plates in her hands, stacked full of the breakfast nines. 

Your queasy stomach grumbles and any drowsiness is ripped away with hunger. Nearly drooling, you stuff a piece of french toast in your mouth and moan, “Nat, you’re the greatest thing I got.” She bounces her shoulder into yours, “I know.”  

You fall into silence while you scarf breakfast down, booing and applauding when deemed necessary by Wendy. Leaning back you rest your hands over your full belly and pat gently. Swiping your tongue over your gums for any crumbs, you sigh happily. 

“Hey, what did you mean last night? You said to let you know if he got home safely.” 

You wave her off, “drunk stupidness, I hear my neighbor every night around the same time moving around. This last week, I dunno, it felt nice knowing someone else was up too?” 

“Have you ever-” 

Both your necks turn to look at the front door then back at each other, the knocking that caught your attention continues. 

“Who’s-” 

“Did you-” 

You swallow and stand up, not so shaky anymore. Looking through the peephole your forehead hits the door at the sight of said neighbor, you know what they say about devils and appearing, groaning you take a moment to collect yourself and open the door. 

“What do you want, penis?” 

Peter Parker in all his glory, is knocking at your door with a plate of… cookies? 

Neighbors forever, close pals never. You’d played together as kids, mostly elementary age but since you were eight you’ve had a disdain for Peter Parker. You’re not sure where it went wrong, but just looking at him you wanted to roll your eyes. 

“I was going to say, ‘wow, how could a guy ever dump you?’ but now, I’d say that’s how.” 

Normally that wouldn’t hurt, but the recent circumstances made it a cheap shot. 

“Is this your sorry attempt to be a rebound? Because if it is, I want to make it extremely clear I’d rather eat glass than-” 

The plate is shoved into your face, “May had me bring these over, she said your mom told her you’ve been a weepy, miserable mess because some dickhead thought he found someone better.” 

You huff at him, your fingers wrap around his wristwatch as you pull it down, all you heard was weepy and miserable.

“I know you wouldn’t know anything about someone loving you but-” 

“Is that Peter B. Parker?” 

Natalie Greene reminds you of your hangover in record timing, you wince at her shriek. Peter gives a polite, dare you say charming (?) smile. It makes you fight back a gag, “hello, Natalie Greene.” Her eyes flash from his, to the plate, to the cracked open door across the hall and she gets a wicked grin. 

The person you’ve hated and bickered with the most is suddenly the one you listen out for in the middle of the night. The look on her face, the glance she shared with you, proved she knew. 

“Cookies?” Natalie nudges your arm, “he brought cookies and he’s right across the hallway, how nice.” 

Peter’s oblivious to her tone, he has his goofy smile on and it makes you seeth. He’s always so god damn happy, it’s annoying. 

“Well, actually, my aunt made them. But I am delivering, so I can accept some praise.” 

She laughs, full on cackles and nudges you again. 

“You know, in all the times you talked about Peter you never mentioned how funny he was!” 

You don’t know what she’s playing at but you’re shutting it down immediately. 

Peter looks at you, he seems almost hopeful and you have to settle the urge to toss the plate to the ground. “You talk about me?” 

You cross your arms and sneer, “don’t worry, nothing good.” 

His smile drops, “yeah, sorry. I don’t know why..” his curls bounce as he gently shakes his head before pushing the glass into your chest. “Here, eat as many as it takes to feel somewhat okay again.” 

You grip the plate and look down, they’re your favorite. 

“We, um. We have more over here, so if you want more. Or if you wanna hang out or something I’m here, so…” 

Peter’s never been a friend like this before and it was some pity party you wanted no part of now. 

“It’s a breakup. I’m sure I can manage without you just fine.” 

His eyebrows turn in, “right. I just thought- nevermind, enjoy the cookies.” 

Natalie gives him a sympathetic frown and sulks back inside, you keep your glare on his figure until he reaches his door. As you’re about to retreat he stops in the doorway, “for what it’s worth, I think he’s stupid and he’s gonna realize what he lost when it’s way too late.” 

It’s almost nice, sometimes it sucks when the person you’re supposed to hate has human peek through their armor. 

Too bad you’re more guarded than ever. 

“Well, then. It’s a good thing you’re not worth much.” 

Maybe it’s his resilience that troubles you, no matter how hard you push him away or beat him down with words he’ll pick himself back up and hand your words back in a package of self reflection. 

Today is no exception, Peter flashes you a sad smile, this one actually is filled with pity. 

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” you didn’t have a chance to fire back. His door was already shut.

Heartache throbbed but the cookies were damn good. 

On your third, you down half a cup of milk. You reach for a fourth and Natalie hasn’t said one word. Instead she cleaned the kitchen and packed up her overnight bag, before settling next to you for an episode of Jerry Springer and her own deserved treat. 

“So, do tell, my friend. Is Peter the one you wanted to know was home safe?” 

Deny till death. 

“No way, I’m talking about Mr. Harrington, he’s like a hundred years old.” 

Natalie takes her time chewing and swallowing, “your hundred year old neighbor is up in the middle of the night?”

It’s dumb to lie, you and her know the truth. 

You shrug and take a fifth cookie, “he may have a routine, I dunno.” 

Your friend hums, “I just thought it may be Peter, cause you share a wall and all.” 

Gagging at his name you shake it off, “Gross! It’s bad enough knowing the plate these were on were in his hands.” It takes you a second but you’re able to plow through another bite. 

“I just… why do we hate Peter so much?” 

You don’t know, you think you blocked it out. Every time you look at him a weird feeling bubbles up and it makes you want to scream, cry, fight and hug it out with him in one second. It’s easier to bark at him than confront him about your feelings. 

“I don’t know. He’s just a pest to me, every time I turn around he’s there. And I swear to god he spilled the beans about that party last year.” 

Natalie Greene knows three things to be true. 

One: Peter Parker likes you, you just don’t know it yet. 

“What if you talked to him?” 

Cookie crumbs fall over your shirt as you talk, “I’m sorry, what?” 

Two: You like Peter Parker, you just don’t know it yet. 

“If you need me and I’m not around, if you need someone to support you through this and I can’t be here, promise me you’ll knock on his door.” 

You scoff at the idea, “yeah, sure.” she’s not very confident you mean it. 

“Seriously, promise me right now if I can’t be there for you, you’ll ask him.” 

She was serious, something in her tone made you shift and agree. It’s not like she’d go anywhere, Natalie Green was your lifeline. 

“Alright! If you aren’t around and it’s literally life or death, I’ll ask… him.” 

Three: Things get worse before they get better, you just don’t know it yet.

WEEK TWO.

Your mornings always started the same, a routine was important to you. It was consistent. It was wake up, hit up the bathroom, change, yawn and rub your eyes through breakfast before leaving to thrive in silence before school. 

Today, when leaving, right as you’re pocketing your keys, your neighbor speaks out. 

“Hey.” 

You freeze, it’s rare you run into Peter in the mornings. You figure he leaves way earlier, or later than you. But when you do, you ignore each other with silence. You really don’t like the sudden change. 

“How are you doing?” 

You wonder if he heard you crying last night, you thought you got rid of it after the party. You didn’t understand how you could be happy one moment and miserable the next. What made it worse was when 3:02 am hit and you heard his window slam, your sniffles settled. 

“Like I was dumped, thanks for the reminder.” 

Your foot hits the first step when he calls out, “and the cookies?” 

Biting your bottom lip you turn, it really was a nice gesture. You may not like him, but you loved May and she’s the one that put in all that hard work. Peter lights up when you face him, if he had a tail he’d start wagging it. It makes you bite down on your cheek, he doesn’t deserve unprovoked rage. 

“They were really good,” you take three steps before turning back around. 

“And, I uh, took your advice. Ate the whole plate, I mean.” 

Peter fumbles, his key chain drops but he stays looking at you. His thumb shoots behind him to point at his door, “we have like, twenty left. Want some more?” 

You shake your head softly, “maybe later?” Peter nods exuberantly, “yeah, yeah. I’ll bring them over.” 

You curl your lip up and stomp down the steps, “thanks for the warning, penis!” 

This was it. 

This was your worst nightmare. 

Not only did things get shuffled around until you were sitting next to Peter at dinner, where you made it a point to scoot your chair away from him when his shoulder touched yours and immediately swiped the area clean- But now you blinked blankly at your dinner while your mom droned on and on and on about the guy who dumped you. It didn’t matter if it was good or bad, you just wanted her to stop. 

“And he was so sweet, wasn’t he? Honey, are you sure he hasn’t reached out? It’s not too late to call him, maybe if you-” May didn’t deserve to see you upset, and it kills you that Peter saw that emotion. Your mom didn’t even deserve it, you were so sick of trying to keep it together. 

Your chair screeches with how quick you jump out of your seat. 

“He doesn’t give a shit, he dumped me! So why do you think he’d call? He doesn’t want me, I mean he’s made that clear right?” Your eyes shoot to May’s, “I’m right, right? You don’t break up with someone if you still care, or want them, right?” 

Tears haze your vision, “he ended it with me mom, and you know why? It’s cause he found a new girl! He fucking-” water rushes down your cheeks but you don’t stop, “he,” you collapse on the word, you can’t get a good inhale on breath. 

“He left me to pick up the pieces, that’s all he did.” It clicked full motion, he left you behind and ended it. He got a fresh start and you were left trying to hold it together, like how it was, how it was supposed to be. 

You sob, your chest has never felt so tight. Shaky breaths fade into sharp inhales, you can’t fucking breathe. Gasping you put a hand over your heart, you know in the back of your mind it’s a panic attack but all you feel is imminent death. 

Peter stands and blocks your body with his, you don’t know what’s happening but you’re trying to get away. Each step you take backwards he takes one forwards until you're wheezing in your room, your ears are ringing and it feels like a heart attack is in approach. Your eyes squeeze shut and in an instant you feel calmer, it’s not because of your sudden blink. It’s because Peter has his hands over your ears pressing in, your back against the wall and front against his chest.  

It’s the last place you want to be but you’re angry, and he’s there, and it’s all coming out. 

You’re able to breathe but at what cost? You grip Peter’s shirt as tight as you could and wail into his chest, it’s the first time you’ve ever actually felt him against you. He’s more sturdy than you thought, as you push more and more weight on him he doesn’t stagger one bit. His arms held you to him, keeping steady until you’d push him away. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you coughed the words into his shirt, you held tighter when his only response was resting his chin on your head. You apologized and cried until you ran out of tears and your breaths were nothing but sharp inhales. 

When reality hits and you realize you've been crying into Peter’s hold for minutes you push him away and wipe your nose. Avoiding his eyes, you look to the carpet, you have a fresh cry glow and mindset, it’s the good kind of emotional numb. 

“I, um, I still have those cookies?” 

Those being his choice of words after a troubling breakdown was warming, it made you feel like you weren’t so crazy. Or at least, Peter didn’t see you as crazy, which when thinking about didn’t mean much. 

You can’t help but laugh, it’s so loud and opposite of every other emotion you spilled tonight it makes him jump, you see him setting up for the attack. The moment you snap at him and call him a weirdo for cornering you and throwing himself on you. 

Tonight, you were full of surprises. 

“Yeah,” you nod your head and wipe your nose one last time, “I’d love to come over for cookies.” 

You had to look away from his smile, it was too blinding. 

You broke the rule, you went lurking and hurt your own feelings. She’s all over his instagram, and she’s pretty. He’s all over hers, dating back to five months ago. 

You do a double take, five months? 

He had been cheating on you for months before he ended it. You feel sick. He told you he loved you while he was in bed with another girl. You felt so much rage inside you couldn’t hold it in, Natalie was too far away and Peter’s already seen you at your worst. 

You move without thinking, slamming your fist on his door. 

Wide eyes open it, Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared he was the subject of attack. You swerve past him, if you were in a cartoon, steam would be billowing from your ears. You didn’t get angry often, and you’ve never felt upset enough to punch someone, but all you could think about was screaming and slamming your fist into the wall. 

“I hate him, I fucking hate him so fucking much. If you ever hear me crying I need you to come over and tell me I’m absolutely pathetic for crying over a fucking cheater.” 

While he’s glad you’re not there to yell at him, his heart sinks for you. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“It was right in front of my face, too. She’d been claiming him since the second week of school. I’ve been a fool, god, I fucking hate him. I hate him so much I… I want to break something.” 

Peter eyes his science notebook, he doesn’t have anything for you to break, but he has something that will make enough noise to drown out the voices. He grabs it and holds it out, you gently take it giving him a confused look. 

“Wack it. Beat the absolute shit out of it on the counter.” 

You look unsure, you don’t want to ruin his things, even if you don’t like him. 

“Right on the edge, go on, do it.” His egging you on makes you follow his command, it’s gentle. 

“Harder,” you test it. 

“Harder,” you give a smack, it makes a popping sound and you jump, it feels good. 

“Like you mean it, like you need it.” You do it again, it’s louder. You strike down without instruction, Peter starts barking at you, it makes you angrier. 

“Harder, don’t be so weak!”

He hit the right nerve, you can’t stop, you’re moving so quick and using so much force the spine starts to rip from the cardboard. It feels good destroying something, it makes you beat the laminate harder. Loud cracks echoing from the walls. 

You heave for air, every bit of force directed into your diminished trust. You yell between each blow. 

“Fucking!” 

“Piece!”

“Of!”

“Shit!” 

You start to slow down, Peter’s notebook is fucked. You feel bad. Gasping for air when you’re done, Peter gives you a head nod, “better?” 

You nod, “lots. Sorry about your book.” He doesn’t look bothered in the slightest, “it’s a good excuse to get a new one, I hate green.” You peer over the contents in the pages, “that’s a lie, everyone knows science is green.” Peter laughs, he nods like he’s saying ‘you got me there.’ “Doesn’t mean I like it though.” 

Looking down at the notebook, you peer up at Peter. He looks soft, the sleeves of his zip up hoodie covered his thumbs, he has sweater paws. His hair framed his face nicely, his cheeks have a natural pink hue, it’s like he’s always sunkissed, or calming down from a laughing fit. 

The sun is backlighting him perfectly, it makes his eyes look even more honey golden than they already do. You don’t know why you find him slightly cute at the moment, it makes your stomach tug and not in a good way. The last time you thought someone was cute you got burned, and you’ve always had a disdain for Peter. 

Peter was the worst kind of rebound to have because you can’t decide who’d get more hurt from it, and the thought of that makes you want to avoid him forever. 

“You’re looking at me funny.” 

You are, it’s because you’re noticing him for the first time, at least since you were eight. Suddenly you can remember why you cut him out when you were a kid. 

“I had a crush on you when we were younger. I think that’s why I stopped being your friend.” 

Your confession made Peter’s eyes widen, he looks to the ground and hides his smile. When he picks his head back up he looks to the side, his cheeks a bit more flushed than normal. “That’s cute.” 

It was. It was innocent and juvenile, his small response made you laugh. “Yeah, it really was.” You shouldn’t entertain it any further, but you can’t stop. Something about seeing his blush makes you want to keep going, “Wanna know when it started?” He looks curious, “sure.” 

You go quiet for a minute, you haven’t thought about it in years. The moment it clicked you were freaked out, the first time you liked a boy and he was your best friend. You went from wanting to play in dirt to holding his hand. A smile spreads over your face when you watch the memory replay in your mind. 

“We were at the complex playground and we were digging by that droopy tree across from the swingset, and I saw a lizard in the grass and I pointed it out to you. I told you I always wanted to hold one but they moved too fast and scared me, but you held out your arm and said ‘I got this.’” You laugh, replaying it once more. 

“And you dive bombed and picked it up, and you were so fucking proud to have caught it. Then you placed it in my hand but I felt it move around and freaked out, but you held your hand over mine and said ‘don’t be scared.’” 

There’s something about an eight year old Peter Parker with glasses and dirt smudged cheeks that had child you giddy.

Peter’s smiling, it’s like he’s reliving that day in his head too. “I fulfilled your lifelong dream and you fell for me.” You shrug, “maybe.” Setting his notebook on the counter you look around, you feel like you’ve said too much. 

“Hey, um, thanks for the whole… unleashing my anger thing.” You're setting yourself up for a goodbye, Peter can sense it. 

“Are you hungry? Wanna go get some pizza?” 

No matter what was said, or thought, you still have that pinch of annoyance at him. But his brightness was what you needed today, and you hadn’t had lunch. You have a sinking feeling you’d regret it, there was something that felt like it was a bit more than friendly and it had you throwing up every wall possible. 

Still, you find yourself agreeing. 

“Sure. Let’s get some pizza.” 

It was a stereotypical pizza place and those were the best ones. The wall is covered in pictures of random people, terrible paintings and red checkered tablecloths covered wobbly tables. They had a permanent sticky residue, your elbows peeled when you raised them up. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t judge me on my hawaiian choice.” He always did, he told you it wasn’t authentic and childish.

“Hey, I’m a pizza guy, alright? Anything you put on a pizza belongs on it. I mean, I get the appeal, sweet and savory.” Your face brightens, he understands. “Exactly! And the warm pineapple just hits differently, it’s like-” Peter can read your mind, you say it at the same time. “Fries and ice cream.” 

Another thing he found gross, your head tilts, it just kind of clicks with Peter. Your ex would sneer when you’d go for a dip, you begged him to try it a hundred times, you promised he’d like it but he’d tell you it was ‘fucking gross’. 

“Hawaiian and pepperoni, can I get you kids anything else?” You shake your head while Peter responds for the both of you, ‘no thanks, we’re good.” Peter’s slice has a pool of grease in a slice of his pepperoni, it looks delicious. He sees you eying his choice and holds it out, “you want a bite don’t you?” Your eyes flash to your slice, “only if you take a bite of mine.” It’s only fair. “Swap with me,” you trade plates and tap slices as a cheers, humming when you take a bite Peter nods impressively. 

You swap back and take a bite of yours, it’s heavenly. “I’m glad I got mine.” Peter agrees with the statement, “I’m sorry, babe, but pepperoni is superior. It’s all about keeping it simple.” You know he meant nothing by it, you know it meant it in a friendly way, you know it’s a regular pet name to use in passing, but he called you babe. 

Hearing the term of affection makes your skin crawl, you swallow a lump in your throat. You want to snap at him, but instead your voice comes out soft. “Please don’t call me that.” Peter’s eyes soften, he almost tells you he didn’t mean it like that, but he knows you already understand that. 

“No problem, old lady.” It took a second, but you couldn’t stop the laugh. “What did you just call me?” Peter bites his bottom lip, “well, that’s the opposite of babe, isn’t it?” It makes your smile bigger, it’s funny, if you had asked him something that simple he’d fight you on it, ask a million questions and push it until you gave up. 

For the first time in a month you really can’t remember why you thought he was so great. 

WEEK THREE.

Natalie Greene has her hair pulled slick back in a ponytail, a determined look and hands on her hips. 

“Let’s fuck some shit up.” 

Lunch with Peter had really pushed you forward, you had strayed away from him the last few days. You still listened for him nightly but avoided him in the hallway and at school, he was everything he was not, and it made you feel queasy. 

It was time you removed him from your life, you started with blocking him on everything. From instagram to duolingo. Then, you piled up everything he left behind or things that reminded you of him, but you couldn’t touch your closet. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Enter Natalie Greene.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard for me, everything else was fine.” Natalie shrugs, your closet doors are open and she’s itching to start rummaging. “It’s not for me. What are we thinking, trash, donate, burn? Dare I say detonate?” 

You snort, “think I could do some black magic?” Her eyes light up, “I’ll look up the dark arts right now, don’t dare me.” You sigh, “I don’t care what you do with them, I just need them out of here.” Natalie Greene understands, she’s been there too a few times. Everything that reminds you of him burns like hell. A constant reminder of what’s no longer. 

It’s only five shirts and some sweatpants but it feels paralyzing. Once his clothes are gone he’s no longer, like the last year never meant anything. He cheated but you still feel like it was real for the time you had him. 

“Shit, can we raincheck the disposal?” Natalie is staring at her phone in her hand, a worried line where her lips were. “Family stuff.” You tell her it’s fine and send her out in a second, staring at the bag you started to twitch. 

It felt daunting- a looming presence. You almost got rid of him but couldn’t. It was five minutes of harsh breathing, then you drag it across the hall hoping Peter was home. You needed them gone. 

 May answered the door and you feel slightly flustered. 

“Hi, May. Is Peter home?” 

She welcomes you in the door, skipping over the makeshift laundry bag and giving a quick but squeezing hug. “How are you feeling?” If you had been asked that a week ago you’d fly off the handle, but this week it feels like you can breathe a bit better. 

“I think I’m doing pretty okay. It helped to know he cheated, it makes me miss him sixty percent less. The other forty makes me feel pathetic.” May frowns with empathy, “my college boyfriend cheated. Betrayal and hurt is a weird feeling when mixed with love.” 

You laugh, “yeah, it really is.” May clears her throat, “Peter’s in his room, he may be busy with some homework.” You thank her and move down the hallway, the plastic bag follows, half of you hopes it rips because it’s what he deserves. 

You knock and wait for his response, grunting when you swing the trash bag over the threshold and let it drop. “I have an odd request for a man.” Peter seems surprised to see you for a second, then looks at the bag and back at you. He seems a bit more weary. 

“Uh huh.” 

“I’m getting rid of his things and Nat had to dip, wanna come with?” You follow up with a wince, “I’m sorry, this is super weird and out of place.”

Peter shrugs, “if it helps, it helps. And if you’re serious, I’ll go with you.” You take a deep breath, healing and growing isn’t always comfortable. “Fuck it, let’s donate some shit.” 

You feel like you stand straighter walking out with Peter behind you, he’s carrying the dead weight and you feel accomplished. May has a raised eyebrow, you hold out your hand and settle her curiosity. 

“Don’t worry, justice is about to be served.” 

May grins at her nephew's soft smile, she’s seen and heard about you more in the last two weeks than she has in the last nine years. “It’s sounding a lot more like twenty percent.” 

The moment things started turning south was at the donation center. You weren’t even standing super close to Peter, or radiating an aura that even suggested he was anything more than a conveniently close acquaintance. But the volunteer at the front thought differently. 

“Aw, I wish more young couples came in, it always seems to brighten up the place!” 

You feel like a force of wind caught you breathless, every inch of you froze on the spot. When she says couple you think of him, but you’re not a couple anymore. When she says ‘couple’ you feel your heart encapsulate with rubble, the idea of him makes you feel sick. 

You don’t think you could ever love again. 

Especially not with Peter, not even when he shies away with pink cheeks and tries to shrug her comment off. It’s not worth the awkwardness of announcing you’re not a couple, you both know you’re not, and she doesn’t really care if you were or not. 

“We were just in the mood to donate today,” he plays it off well. You chew on your lip and watch him fill out the donation slip, it’s second nature for Peter to take care of you, it was something he mostly failed at. 

Before the attendant can take the bag, Peter stops her by hovering his hand over it, he turns his neck and makes eye contact. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

Your heart pounds, threatening to crack the rock. 

“I’m sure.” Because, you really are. 

Peter smiles, “any last words?” You try to think of something, nothing comes to mind other than a blur of frustration and confusion. Raising your hand you give it the middle finger, Peter’s laughing at your blank face, “c’mon, you know you wanna double it.” You do, so you did. 

It feels freeing, you’re not healed but you don’t have a daunting weight on your shoulders anymore. A satisfied smile spreads, your hands drop for a second before Peter’s high-fiving you. You’re tucked under his arm after saying his thanks to the confused volunteer, bumping your hip against his and caged in his hold you feel safe. Safer than you’ve ever felt. 

A crack in the rocks, your heart thumps wildly when he drags you opposite from where you came. “Let me buy you a hawaiian.” 

Peter is pretty. You could admit it. Never out loud, but you’d admit it silently. He’s on fire tonight, keeping you laughing and talking. He’s a perfect story teller, he has a way of pulling you in. He’s charismatic and throws himself into every role, voices and body movements.

Your chin is resting on your hand while you focus on every word of his, entranced in his excitement. A lamp hanging over your mini booth makes him look a tad yellow, but his eyes shine brighter than all hell, you never knew brown eyes could suck you in for hours. 

For a second your mind blips and you truly can’t remember his eye color. But you know they’re nothing like Peter’s. 

You forget to react, because Peter cut himself off and waved his hand in front of his face. You blink alert, he has a very charming smile, you look at a table of older women. “You good? Felt like you were trying to look into my soul.”

You can’t stop it, it's a knee jerk reaction and the moment you say it you regret it. 

“Your eyes are very pretty.” You won’t stop looking at a slice of mozzarella on a grandma’s plate. Peter hums, nodding his head like he understands, “so you weren’t trying to sacrifice me, you just got lost in my very pretty eyes.”

The crack splinters, a chunk falls off. You meet his eyes, he’s not making fun of you. You sit straighter and reach out to steal a piece of pepperoni from his slice, acting like you’re not blatantly flirting with ease.

“I just haven’t noticed them before I think.” 

Peter’s quiet for a moment, his arms are crossed on the table, fingers tap on his elbows. 

“Well, I’m glad you are now.” It’s a little too much, he’s not allowed to entertain you back, he could hurt you too. 

You clear your throat, “I need to ask you something.” Peter stops tapping, it’s like he’s been waiting on you to say it. “Yeah, anything.” 

You lean forward a little, “did you tell my mom about the party last year?” He looks slightly disappointed that was your question, “nope.” Your eyes narrow, “I’d rather us not start a friendship built on lies.” 

Peter lights up, “friendship?” A displeased expression was shared, “thin ice, Parker.” He seems a bit more determined to tell the truth this time. 

Peter sits up and interlocks his fingers, “I promise I didn’t tell her. Mr. Harrington did. And I know how much you like him and I thought you would stop going to see him if you knew and he’s super old so I just kinda… let you believe it was me.” 

Your heart breaks free, it’s loud and pumping and it’s making you feel alive. A sense of urgency to do something to him makes you itch, you have to pull your hands to your lap. In that second, for whatever reason, all you want is to feel his skin on yours. 

He’d be willing to do anything for you, even at the cost of you hating him. 

“You’re the most selfless person I know and it’s kind of insufferable.” Peter rolls his eyes, “just admit you like me, god.” Your breath stutters, but you move right past it. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep talking about the petting zoo.” 

Peter jumps back into character, “alright, so I’m down on-”

For the first time in weeks you slept through the night, until three am. You woke up on your own, a mental alarm had you looking out for him. After you hear the comforting chorus of movement, you hide under your pillow and go back to sleep.

Your world is falling apart. You were on the track to healing, each piece of your heart was slowly mending back together. Until news of Natalie Greene going out of town hits, you collapse to your bed with an arm over your eyes. Facetime carries her into your room.

“Why couldn’t your grandma die next month?” She nods her head, folding a tank top to drop it into her carry on. “So true, she should’ve known you were having a crisis.” You nod, “it’s so hard knowing the world doesn’t revolve around me.” 

The room goes quiet as she moves around and packs. You contemplate telling her, you didn’t want a spectacle and you didn’t even know if or what you wanted from Peter. But damn if you hadn’t been thinking about it for days. You wonder if she’s picked up on the hints, you’d been relying on her less and less. 

“Are you going to hang with Peter while I’m gone?” Your mind flashes to him, the past few nights he’d sent you a few videos that he thought you’d like. And you did, even if he didn’t know you as deeply as he has until recently, he still makes you feel seen. 

He would send you things he found funny. 

Peter sends you things he knows you’d find funny. 

“Maybe. He buys me pizza so he’s cool to have around, I guess.” Natalie Greene snorts, “and I’m sure he makes fun of your pineapple.” It feels like your heart shines, “no, actually. He gets it.” Your eyes flash to the top of the screen, a text from Peter pops up, you waste no time hitting the notification. 

‘Wanna come have some brownie cookies?’ 

You bite your lip, rising from your bed you shuffle into your slippers. “Hey, Nat, I gotta go. I’m really sorry about your grandma.” She rolls her eyes, “she was super old and I didn’t really know her, it’ll be cool to see my cousins though.” 

“Have fun on the trip!” 

A wicked grin, “have fun with Peter.” You don’t even fight her on it, she knew exactly what you were doing. 

Your knuckles tapped on the door, it was opened in seconds. Peter had a glow like you’ve never noticed, he only got more and more pretty. A smile stretched across his face, you love how it always meets his eyes.

“Hi.” 

Your slippers softly scrape the wood floors when you enter, “hi.” Peter gestures you towards the kitchen, and for whatever reason, you reach behind you and tug him along. 

“Okay, okay, so what did she say?” 

Your legs swing on the counter, mumbling between mouthfuls of the dessert fusion you’re fully invested in Peter’s story. He had caught Mrs. Hopkins and the chef that lives on floor two in an argument, and it turns out Mrs. Hopkins was the complex's porch pirate. 

Peter swallows his own bite, “she asked me to back her up! And I was all like, ‘hell no, you stole my aunt’s juicer.’” You gasp, “not May’s juicer.” Peter holds a finger up, ‘nah, I caught her red handed. She was so pissed and on the spot she snapped at me like, ‘it wasn’t a juicer, it was a butter dish.” 

You slap a hand over your mouth, “oh no.” Peter’s eyebrows raise, turning his back to grab a glass of milk. “I wish you could’ve seen the look on her face when she realized she told on herself, it was awesome. She was spewing shit all the way to the elevator.” 

Finishing your treat your tongue feels thick, holding out a hand in a silent request for a swig of his milk. Peter looks between your hand and his glass, he looks weary. 

“Are you sure you wanna drink after me? I figured you’d be scared of my cooties.” You motion for the cup, he passes it over and you wrap your palms around the glass. 

“Oh, you absolutely have boy cooties, they just become non-contagious at puberty.” Peter runs his tongue over his teeth, “I think I forgot that lesson, what else can I expect from puberty?” You laugh on a gulp of milk, “trust me, Parker, puberty hit you like a bus. 

He steps closer, you set the glass down next to you. 

“Is that a good thing?” 

You look over his face, he’s got a defined bone structure but soft features. A boyish charm coats over him, it’s just enough of a hint of innocence you beg he never loses it. It’s a no brainer, he was attractive, your eyes flash to his mouth, it’s a wild instinct and you try your best to shake it off. 

“Yes. I’d say puberty was very kind to you.” Peter takes another step, “how so?” Pretending to think about it, like you weren’t already, you take a second to respond. You don’t notice him taking another step. 

“Well, you have a nice jawline.” Peter tilts his head slightly, “is that all?” You’re not sure what it is, but there’s an undertone and it fills you with excitement. 

“And very nice curls.” 

“I don’t think that has anything to do with puberty.” You suppose he’s right, “you’re taller than me now.” You had an inch on him when you were kids. Peter’s suddenly right in front of you, “especially now.” He has to look down at you while you blink up at him from the counter, “yeah, you’re like a giant.” 

Your mind betrays you, his lips are unnaturally pink, they look like they’re the right amount chapped. “Anything else?” You’re struggling, all you can think about is him but you can’t follow a train of thought. 

“You smell really good,” you take a deep breath when his hands rest on either side of you, he’s caging you in and everything builds with anticipation, you fight the urge to pull him in. “You’re just complimenting me now.” 

You shake your head, “do you know how many teenage boys smell bad?” It’s not your fault, he’s so close his scent has invaded your senses, you wanted to inhale him until you turned blue. 

“One more.” You try to think, he’s making it very hard. It takes a second but you have one, proud to have pulled it from the chamber, a sly grin takes place. 

“You-” Lips on yours, it happened so fast you couldn’t catch up. Mind spinning when you realize Peter Parker was kissing you, you know you should shove him off, but it feels right. It’s over as quick as it started. 

You just got out of a relationship, one that tugged you to one of the lowest points of your life so far. It’s not lost on you when you weren’t the one to pull away, but you’re the first one to comment on it. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” You weren’t mad, you were warning him, he doesn’t know what lies ahead.

“But I really wanted to.” His eyes keep looking you over, was he expecting you to scream? 

It’s dangerous territory, your voice feather soft when it comes out. “And do you want to again?” Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.

It felt like the air went still in the room, everything slowly melted into the background until it was only you and him. The quiet hum of the air conditioner faded into silence, the scene music from a movie on the tv in the room behind you diluted to nothing. 

It was just you and Peter, and he was getting closer. It was achingly slow, you know what he’s doing, he’s giving you a chance to escape. Bail before it became too real, but has he thought about the possibility of you leaning closer? 

What are you doing?

His lips hovered over yours, when you closed your eyes he took it as permission. 

You’d always heard of the fireworks, that kisses are like explosions of happiness. And they were, and you loved them, but there were no fireworks. At least with him. 

With Peter, your entire sky brightened. Little prickles of electricity dolly chained up your spine, an explosion of color in your mind. It made you starving and whole in one touch, his body made to fit against yours perfect. 

You wonder if he has the same feeling, you think he does when his hand cups your face, the other one tugs your hip so you fit him better. It’s bold of you, but when you feel that entranced you don’t know how to stop. Your tongue swipes on his bottom lip, it’s very clear he doesn’t know what to do. 

You pull away for air, Peter’s pupils blow wide before looking at the floor. His head feels like it’s spinning, the girl he’s always wanted, wants him right back. Peter feels very aware of his surroundings, how hard his heart is pounding, how you’re holding him to you, how you’re tracing his bottom lip with your thumb, how you’re leaning back in, how he’s holding you into him. 

You take the lead, it’s slow but you build his confidence, he’s a quick learner. 

In minutes you’re nearly laid back on the kitchen counter, you’re about to suggest he takes it to his bedroom, but the thought of breaking away from his kiss keeps you stationary. Peter’s locked to you too, your legs hooked around his waist, keeping him as close as he could get. 

All you can think is Peter, Peter, Peter.

He claims he doesn’t know much, but it feels like he’s intune with your body. Peter matches you perfectly, you never knew a makeout session could bring so much tension. A moan pulls from the back of your throat when his thumb peeks under the cotton of your shirt. 

Peter breaks the kiss, little huffs of air billow from your mouth while he kisses down the side of your neck. When he finds the spot that makes you squirm he nibbles gently, a hand tangled at the back of his hair lets him know he’s doing something right. 

Especially when you arch into his touch as his hand confidently slides under your shirt, digging his fingers into the plush skin over your ribcage. “Fuck, Peter,” it’s breathy and eggs him on, he wants to hear nothing but that for the rest of his life. 

Caught up in the moment neither of you heard the door, or noticed the third person in the room, until shock spewed from their mouth. 

“Oh, wow!” 

Peter rips himself away, his instinct is to hide your face into his chest. You’re grateful, it saves the embarrassment of looking his aunt in the eye after she watched you fold under his hands. Peter’s mind is racing, his only priority was keeping you comfortable.

Fuck, he kisses so sweet. Shut up!  

“Hey, May. Get anything good at the farmers market?” 

Blatant ignorance and casual conversation was the route he took, and it seemed to have worked. Cloth bags hit the counter, you stay hidden, Peter’s hand pressed into the back of your head. He’s sturdy, your head lays perfect on his sternum, it was made for you. No, stop.

“Yes! I got more of that european bread we really liked.” As much as you would like to be ignored, May wouldn’t let you. A pat on your knee sent your arms curling around Peter’s waist, he tried his best to settle the clench of his heart. 

Fits perfect, fits perfect, fits-

“You’d love it, it’s roasted garlic, real pieces too!” 

It may be rude to ignore the owner of a home, but you weren’t looking at her for another ten lightyears. At least you give a muffled response into Peter’s chest, “sounds good.” May giggles a little, you hear the fridge open and rustling. 

“Are you gonna hide from me forever?” 

If Peter could play pretend, so could you. You pushed him away softly, “Peter made brownie cookies.” May raises an eyebrow, directing her attention towards her nephew. “Ever since that first plate of cookies Peter’s been baking like it’s his job.” 

He’s perfect.

“You made the cookies?” Peter had told you May did, you’re sure of it. He nods quickly, “I figured if I told you, you’d think they were poisoned.”

You want his touch, you want him pressed into you again. This has to stop.

It’s dramatic, but you’ll bite. “Smart boy.” Peter has a gleam in his eye, “I really am.” 

May knows when she’s third wheeling, she makes an excuse to move to the living room, Peter nods towards his room. You accept his hand down and look behind you at the door. He was frustratingly magnetic, you wanted to do nothing more than fall into bed and stay forever attached to his lips. 

It was a new rush of feelings, most of them new and almost dangerous. You wanted to explore and learn and take some of Natalie Greene’s advice and grow. But more than wanting, you knew you had to leave. 

You were still healing, and if it hurt this bad with him, where nothing felt like this, you can’t imagine the burn this could leave.

“I should go,” you can’t look him in the eye, he’d suck you back in. You’d never be able to leave, you have to leave.

“Is this because of May? Cause we can leave and..” You shake your head fast and take a step back, he’s too kind, too understanding, too new and thrilling and, and… loving. You don’t deserve him or what he brings, you can’t bear the imagination of what his heartbreak would feel like. 

“No, not May.” There was only one thing that kept you from him before, you were still pulling the same childish tricks. Something about Peter Parker caused you irrational terror. 

“I told you, you shouldn’t have done that.” 

Peter tries to look at you, you take another step back. “You asked if I wanted to do it again.” He can’t use logic, it won’t work here. “That didn’t mean do it again.” 

“You sure? Cause it really seemed like you wanted me to do it again.” You feel choked for air, he’s backing you into a corner. 

“You understood wrong. I need to leave.” Your footsteps paused when Peter called out your name, a timid look over your shoulder made him continue. 

“Don’t do this. I know what you’re doing, and it doesn’t end well for either of us. We’re not eight anymore.” Your game was called, you didn’t want to do this, you don’t want to be mean. Why did he have to make you do this to him? 

“Desperation isn’t a good look on you.” 

Peter crosses his arms over his chest, his tongue swipes over his top teeth before poking out his cheek. “Of course it isn’t.” You’re very aware that he expected this to happen, he expected you to push him away and close the gates. If he did, then he shouldn’t have kissed you. He brought this on himself. 

“Nothing is.” What’s a final blow if only to tie the bow on no future contact? Peter took a deep breath and gives you the escape you were looking for, “I’ll see you later.” You shake your head, “no, you won’t.” 

The hallway is cold and so is your heart. Removing Peter as a potential threat didn’t do much, somehow you think it feels worse than what it would be like to love and then lose him. 

Too bad he wasn’t worth the risk. 

You knew dinner was going to be awkward. You did your best to get out of it but it was deemed impossible, you were about to gouge your eyes out of your head just for a solid excuse. But your mom said that you weren’t allowed to do that. So you didn’t. 

Peter on the other hand, looked like he was having the time of his life. Especially when May shot you a wink across the table when he reached over your plate. You threatened your eye with a fork, your mom gave you a nasty glare. 

“Butter, please?” 

You cross your arms and scoff, “get it yourself, penis.” Your mom gasped out your name, appalled you would say something like that. She told you to look him in the eye and apologize, using his real name. Peter showed no reaction, chewing on a buttered biscuit. 

“I’m sorry for calling you a penis, Peter.” It was the least authentic apology he’s ever heard. 

“Aw, let them be kids, they’re in love.” 

Your knife hits your plate so hard it chips, Peter chokes on his bite, crumbs fall from his mouth as he tries to speak as fast as he can. “No, no, May… no.” 

You feel the walls closing in, the more you run from it, the more it’s announced. You can’t win. It’s brutal silence on your end, you’re shutting down into a shell of a human. 

“Oh? I thought after-” 

Peter has your back. “After we made pizza? It was one time, May. It wasn’t like I planned it, it just happened. We were hanging out and I just really wanted pizza and I didn’t really stop to think if she wanted pizza, I just made it.” 

May plays right along, and asks you directly. “Does that mean you’re not coming over for pizza anymore?” Does that mean you’re not dating my nephew anymore?

Peter already knows the answer, he just wonders if it’s different if his aunt asks. 

“The last pizza I had burned to a crisp in the oven and it tasted really, really bad. And if that was a pizza I thought I loved, I can’t imagine how bad it would’ve been if it was my favorite.” 

Your mother has never seen you so passionate about pizza. May quirks an eyebrow, she looks at Peter while she asks. 

“You don’t trust Peter in the kitchen?” 

You’re doing your best to ignore Peter’s eyes on the side of your face, you’re trying to pretend you’re not being vulnerable. 

“He’s the only person who could burn it all down.” 

May clicks her tongue, she’s more focused on cutting up her dinner. “For what it’s worth, as Peter’s aunt, he’s a great chef. He takes his time in the kitchen, he doesn’t mind waiting for the yeast to bloom. Because when the dough is ready, he’s really gentle at scooping it up and helping it turn into whatever it needs to be.” 

You turn to Peter, he gives a shy smile. “You’re not scared of burning yourself?” 

A shrug, “It’s a precaution you take each time you cook, but from what I’ve learned, burns heal.” 

“Scars don’t.” 

Peter tilts his head, “they fade over time, don’t they?” 

May speaks up, she’s looking right at you. It goes past the depth of high school love, it goes to the deepest mark one could leave on a heart. A lover lost too soon. 

“They do.” 

WEEK FOUR

Peter Parker has been on your mind for four days, (and nights,) straight. Each morning you wake at 3:02 and hear his muffled metronome. You’ve gotten avoiding him down to a T. The first morning you woke up early to watch him leave, then planned a ten minute window in case he was running late one day, and left around that. 

You’ve been successful so far. But there was an underlying tug that wanted to be caught, you wanted him to hold you close to him and tell you that he wasn’t going anywhere and nothing safe is worth the risk. 

Is that why you let yourself be caught by him this morning? 

“Good morning,” it was shot over his shoulder while he locked the door. You grumbled out to him, Peter doesn’t mind you didn’t use words, you were directing expression towards him and that’s enough. “Wanna walk together?” 

The idea sends flutters to the middle of your stomach, a brief image of his hand in yours while your hip bumps against his every so often and you laugh at whatever he tells you takes over your mind. “If you want to walk near me while we go to the same location, that’s on you.” 

Peter’s hot on your heels down the steps, “that’s a total yes.” You ignore him and try to subtly shut the main door on him, it doesn’t work. “How have you been?” Walking faster, you hope he catches the hint. Peter matches pace perfectly- damn him and his puberty bus and his big strides.

“Personally, I have been mourning the loss of my favorite neighbor coming over.” Peter blinks at the side of your face while carrying a grin. “I mean you, by the way. In case you needed that hint.” 

“Got it. Thanks.” You know you need to pick a side, but something in you won’t let you ignore him. 

“Welcome. You know, if you’re free, you’re invited for dinner tonight.” You pout sarcastically, “tell May I’ll miss her presence.” Peter bumps your arm, you feel like dropping to your knees. “She keeps asking about you, I’m running out of excuses.” 

You scoff, “excuse what? You can tell her the truth, penis.” Peter almost loses you when you swerve around a stranger’s shoulder, in one second he’s next to you again. “And what would the truth be?” 

“You pushed yourself onto me,” you stare at Peter in shock when your wrist was grabbed tightly, you came to a stop on the sidewalk with him. He maneuvered to stand in front of you, noticing every inch he had on you; it seemed like his playful mood vanished. 

“Hey, I was just messing with you, okay? I thought you just didn’t want to talk about it, but pushing myself on you is the last thing I want you to think I did. If I made you uncomfortable, I’m really sorry.” 

Your features softened, your words sent him into a shame spiral. It was annoying how upset he looked with himself, even if you had to swear him off forever, you didn’t want him to think he sexually harassed you.

“I was kidding, Peter. I don’t think you pushed yourself onto me, you gave me the option to back out and I pulled you in. I’d just rather never speak or think about it ever again.” 

A weary smile, “that bad, huh?” You pulled your coat tighter around your chest, the cold making the tip of your nose numb. “Quite the opposite, really.” Before you could fall into temptation and kiss him in the middle of the city, you pulled away to keep heading towards school. 

“Can I ask what that means?” You nod, “sure.” You offer up no more explanation. 

“Well?” You look at him for a second, “oh, sorry. You can ask all you want, doesn’t mean I’ll tell you.” 

“You’re gonna inflate my ego, you’re telling me it was so good you can’t put it into words.” 

You give him a side eye, “I wasn’t aware there would be so much talking when I allowed you to walk next to me.” 

“That’s not denial…” His cadence was sing-songy. 

“You’re in denial.” 

Peter shook his head confidently, “I’m not in denial, I am very okay with the fact I like you.” 

You came to a halt. He’s not allowed to feel this way, he doesn’t know what it could bring. Has he not seen what love can do to a person? Has he not watched you crumble into a thousand pieces over and over throughout the weeks? 

And why did his confession turn every piece of rubble into stained glass? 

Peter’s not allowed to like you because reciprocation leads to temptation which bleeds into dating where it comes to a crashing end in heartbreak. 

You tried to put on a serious face, but you know Peter sees the mask. “Don’t.” Pointing a finger at his chest, “don’t say that, don’t think that, and sure as shit don’t act on it.” 

Peter must think you’re joking because he pushes your hand down before lightly laughing. “Don’t act on it? I already did.” Is that what he did? Did he plan that moment? You thought it was a spur of the moment thing, but maybe he’s been planning it for weeks. 

How long has he liked you? 

It doesn’t matter. You’ll be the adult and end it before it can start, he doesn’t know what this can do to a person. You can do it nicely, or at least try. Maybe he’d find it more sincere if it comes from the heart. 

“Peter, have you ever had your heart broken? Like, really broken? Because I wouldn’t put that on my worst enemy. It’s a type of emotional pain that turns physical, I mean, have you ever been so heartbroken you throw up? Have you ever been so sad you don’t eat for days? Have you ever cried so hard you almost fainted? It’s shit, Peter.” 

“But was it worth it?” 

Did he not hear anything you just said? “What does that mean?” 

Peter adjusts the strap of his backpack, “you loved him, right?” You don’t need to give an answer, he already knows it. “Do you regret it? Even with the heartbreak, did that undo all the good that came out of it all?” 

You lick your bottom lip, it’s been a circulating thought. Love opened up doors you didn’t know were closed, in the end it was a beautiful tragedy. But that’s the worst part, with Peter you don’t know what it would feel like. You’ve only had a glimpse and it tells you that it’s something that’s going to change you forever. 

If Peter leaves, if Peter cheats, it’ll kill you, it’d be nothing like when he did it and you can’t take the gamble. 

It was worth it with him, he made you grow. With Peter you’d take ten steps back and never be the same. 

“There isn’t always a silver lining, Peter.” You refuse to answer. 

“So, what, you’re never going to fall in love again?” Peter’s matching your pace again, you can’t wait until you’re in the four safe walls of Midtown. 

“No, I just can’t fall in love with you.” 

“Can’t is a funny word choice.” 

“Won’t.” You exhale sharply, “I won’t fall in love with you.” 

Peter has no interest in your claim, “it’d be easier if you just said you didn’t like me, but you’re not.” 

You don’t have to answer, you can choose to ignore him entirely and you’ll be doing just that. 

“I don’t like this conversation anymore and I’m ending it.” It works, only for twenty seconds, but it worked until Peter thinks he has a brilliant idea. 

“Break up with me.” 

Your steps slow, his did the same. Peter’s hands were tucked in his jacket pockets, the urge to kiss him breathless unmeasurable. You fight past it, “huh?” 

“You said I don’t know real heartache, so I want you to break up with me. Right here.” He’s entirely way too amused for you, even the idea makes you feel sick. 

“I’m not going to break up with you, Peter. I can’t get another tardy slip.” You keep walking, Peter hopped to keep up. “Ten seconds, just end it.” 

“No.” 

“C’mon, it’ll be easy. Dump me and break my heart.” 

“We’re not dating. I can’t dump you, even if I wanted to.” What happened to ending the conversation? 

You hear the smirk when he speaks. “If.”

“I’m not playing your word games, Peter.” Because you’re not. 

A laugh, “then break up with me.” 

You thought he was supposed to be smart. How has he not gotten any of this, does he think it’s a joke, does he think you’re playing? Peter has no idea what this means, but you do. 

Tugging at his elbow, you stop him in his tracks. Staring into his eyes and daring yourself not to get lost, you try to make things extremely clear. “I can’t break up with you, Peter. I barely made it through him. I wouldn’t know how to handle losing you. You’d hurt me too bad and I can’t take that risk.” 

Peter’s voice is soft when he answers, you want to close your eyes and have it carry you to heaven. “I can’t break up with you either. You’d be able to hurt me just as bad.” It takes you from your trance, “you would. Because I’m a bad girlfriend. If I wasn’t he wouldn’t have replaced me before he could end it.” 

Peter’s eyebrows pull together, you stuff your hands into your coat pockets to keep from smoothing them out. “Hey, woah, let’s pause there. You did nothing wrong. Even if you were a bad girlfriend, and trust me, you weren’t, that would never justify him doing that to you. Nothing could.” 

It’s nice of him, but he doesn’t know that. “We didn’t talk, you don’t know I wasn’t a bad girlfriend.” Peter scoffs, like the idea of you calling yourself a bad girlfriend offends him personally. “He made you cry all the time,” the words followed by your name. “Bad girlfriends don’t cry, bad boyfriends make their good girlfriends cry.” 

Peter heard you. Every time you cried, every time you felt unloved, every time you sobbed out an ‘I’m sorry’ for something you didn’t know you did. He listened, Peter listened like you did each night. How did you never notice the universal gimmick?

If you think back, most of the bad moments were at the hands of him. And for Peter to notice when you were worlds away from his person, makes your heart wrench inside your chest. You know you already drew the line and there’s no crossing it, but it’s nice living in a moment make believe. 

“You’d never be able to call me babe.” It was a shitty pet name. You never liked it. 

You get flashed with a toothy grin. “That’s okay, I have a million to choose from.” 

Or the obvious hang up, “May would totally hate me too, she knows I’ll take your virginity.” Peter waves you off, “we don’t know that.” You quirk an eyebrow, “we don’t?” Peter corrects himself, “she doesn’t have to know that.” 

You chuckle from the back of your throat. “But she will. You wouldn’t be able to hide it. I definitely wouldn’t be able to hide it.” Peter looks down for a second, you follow his gaze, you wonder if you’re both zoned in on a black skid on the side of his shoe. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I don’t know. It’s like, you just get a lot more… touchy, I guess. Nothing’s off limits anymore.” 

A monotone reply, “yeah, that sounds like a total nightmare.” 

It gets too real. Make believe time is over, now you have to be an adult and stick to your guns. 

“It wouldn’t work between us, Peter.”

You feel sad, there’s no good answer and both of you would be left with a bruise. He wanted more than you’d let yourself give and you wanted more than you’d let yourself have. Peter was right, you could hurt him just as bad, and you’d never forgive yourself. 

Peter made himself a constant, someone you could really rely on the last few weeks, and if you lose that you don’t know how you’d ever be okay again. 

“If you think so.” His kind smile doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s a quiet journey the rest of the way, both of you receiving a tardy slip and parting ways in the hall without a word or glance.

Peter Parker had gotten his wish. You just broke his heart. 

This was all Natalie Greene’s fault. If she wasn’t stuck states away at a funeral she would’ve held you accountable and used every means necessary to stop you from going to Peter’s. 

It could also be Peter’s fault. He should’ve never kissed you like he did, he should’ve never made your heart beat with purpose and left a sear where he touched. Doesn’t he know you could never forget it? 

It also didn’t help that you were drunk. Not drunk enough to be slamming into walls and slurring words, but enough to stop that part in your brain to hold you back from the things you truly wanted. Like your neighbor. 

It had been three days of nothing and that wasn’t Peter’s choice. He respected your decisions too much. If you didn’t want him in your life, he wouldn’t be. Doesn’t he know that just makes you want him more? 

Peter wasn’t at the party, you didn’t expect him to be, but you were a little hopeful he’d surprise you and show up. He didn’t. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t on your mind with each shot you took, or when you stopped for pizza with a group of friends, when everyone teased you for pineapple but you knew Peter wouldn’t. 

You grabbed him a slice of pepperoni without thinking. Or maybe you were. It was an excuse to talk to him, to see him, to touch him. You could take it home and reheat it in the morning, or you could lean into your excuse of a few too many and knock on his door. 

It’s Peter’s fault. He really shouldn’t have kissed you like that, he doesn’t understand his power. 

Harsh banging. It’s over your head how late it is, you have important things to do. Like, lay over his body in his bed like you kiss down his neck, or squirm with harsh whimpers when he kisses down yours. You bet he likes to cuddle too, he never did, but Peter seems like he couldn’t get enough of you. 

If you couldn’t date Peter you could use him as a rebound, right?

Faster knocking, why isn’t he answering? At your loudest, the door opens. He was sleeping, you could tell by the puffy eyes but you didn’t look at his face too long, no, Peter was in nothing but a pair of boxers. 

When the fuck did he get so toned? You would’ve reached out for a light graze, but he stopped you. 

“You’re so lucky May’s on overnight duty.” No, you’re lucky because he’s half naked and sleepy, you’ve never seen anyone so tempting. It feels like you’re dying and only he could save you. 

You can’t help it, your palm connects with his chest, it’s there longer than a second. It’s less about pushing him aside and more about touching him, and he knows that. Peter talks at a normal volume for the hour, “what are you doing here?” 

Your thumb traces his collarbones, “I brought you pizza.” Your breath skips when he turns his head to the side to check the time on the microwave in the kitchen, his jawline ultra toned. 

“At one in the morning?” Peter’s amused, you don’t think he would’ve ever been so kind if you disrupted his sleep. You nod, “I was thinking of you.” You raise the small box, just as proof as you really did get him a slice. 

Peter takes it with a smile. “Thanks, kid.” You don’t know why, but you really like that one. 

“Can I come in?” If he thought all you wanted was to share a midnight snack, he was terribly mistaken. The door widened in response, you made sure to brush against his side, he said nothing.  

Following him into the kitchen, you have a flashback. It’s one you want to reenact, maybe if you sit in the same spot he’ll catch the drift. A blue wave of light washes over him when his snack is stored for morning, he looks angelic. 

You don’t think you’ve ever been this fascinated with him. 

“Now I understand all the song references about refrigerator lights.” Peter looks over his shoulder, his grin makes you feel like you’re flying. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He emerges with two water bottles, cracking the lid on yours and passing it over. His rests on the counter. He doesn’t need water but you do and he’s not about to make you feel singled out. 

You think it might be too late. You think you might already be falling. 

“I don’t know, but I just get it.” He’s letting you do all the talking, it’s odd, you’re not used to being listened to. If Peter realizes what you’re doing, he says nothing. Maybe you just have to point it out. 

You gesture to yourself, the real reason you came over finally announced. 

“Do you see where I’m sitting?” 

Peter nods, “I do.” 

Your fingers tap on the countertop, “remember the last time I sat here?” Peter breathes deep, you wonder if he’s thinking about it right now. “I do.” 

You wait. He makes no move. Where’s your kiss?

“Well? Are you gonna do it again?” You pucker for good measure, just in case there was an inkling of uncertainty on his end. You’re making it clear what you want. A faulty smile, you don’t like it one bit. 

“No,” at least he sounds sorry about it. But he likes you, he told you himself, why would he deny you? Doesn’t he know how much you need this? 

“Why not? If you think this is a trick, it’s not. If you want, I’ll kiss you first.” You jump down but you’re held back by a hand, he’s literally pushing you away. It’s a feeling that causes a tug, you really don’t like it. 

“You’re drunk,” Peter follows the statement with your name, he’s not mean but he’s also not going to change his mind. 

You scoff, buzzed would be more accurate. “I’m not drunk.”

“Drunk enough you’re allowing yourself to have this conversation.” 

He has a very fair point. 

“Liquid courage, kiss me?” Peter shakes his head, “you made it clear nothing would happen, so nothing is going to happen.” 

You grin, “consider it practice then.” Your words make him frown, “you don’t want this.” Who is he to tell you what you do or don’t want? 

“How do you know I don’t want this?” 

“Because this isn’t you.” 

You feel a tightness in your chest, he doesn’t get to think he knows you more than you do. “You don’t know me, Peter. You just have an idea of me.” 

“You’re hurt and confused. I won’t take advantage of that, being mad at me won’t make me change my mind.” 

Where was his care coming from? He didn’t care about you this much and neither should Peter. It wasn’t normal, was it? But it’s also not fair to compare Peter to him at every chance, especially because Peter only ever seems to outshine. 

“Why didn't you act like this a year ago?” If he truly cares, where was it before?

“You mean when you had a boyfriend?” 

Is that why he waited until now to be a friend? Did he think you’d be sad and have weak defense, making it easy for him to get first in line? “Is that what it is? You waited until I was dumped to put on this act and lay it on me while I’m all confused? How long have you had this planned out?” 

Your words are like daggers, the things you’re alluding to, he would never do them. Ever. 

“Don’t. I’ve always liked you but you had a boyfriend and the last thing on my mind was trying to get with you when it ended. You were so miserable, I just wanted to be a friend or something, but it changed and maybe a little piece of it was me being selfish. I made the first move, several times. I kissed you, I asked you out, I told you I liked you. And you said no. I respect your no, why don’t you?” 

You could tell him the truth, tell him that he was right and his love terrified you because you haven’t felt something so raw before in your entire life. Peter wasn’t yours, or anywhere close to it. It shouldn’t be natural to feel magnetized to him. 

You could tell him the truth, but you’re better at hiding behind false walls. 

“I liked you better when you didn’t care about me.” 

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” 

He knows you’re lying but he won’t make you admit it, no, he’ll push you into your corner of lies until you force your way out with the truth. Peter Parker will not chase you. 

Would it be wrong to push him so far away he wouldn’t let you chase him too? 

“You have a superiority complex. That’s why you can’t find a girlfriend, or any friend really. You think you’re better than everyone else and it’s a natural repellent.” You back up towards the door, you spit words as they come to your mind. 

“I was willing to do it. I was willing to give you a shot but you ruined it for yourself. You’re going to look back on this moment and regret it.” 

Peter really doesn’t care for your dramatics. It’s impressive he can one, handle it and two, make you check yourself. “Regret not taking advantage of a drunk girl? Is that what you’re insinuating?” 

“No! I just meant that… I don’t know what I mean, Peter! I don’t know anything and you’re not helping in the slightest and everything about you makes me want to fucking cry or scream or, or… I don’t know.” Your voice trails, it’s the most honest you’ve been in weeks. 

“I don’t know anything anymore, Peter.” 

Everything you’ve ever thought about love has been wrong.

He made you feel flightless. But Peter, Peter made you feel free. Peter made you feel like you were flying at full speed, like the wind washes over your cheeks so harshly you’re in a permanent grin. You’ve never seen the world from this high up, in this much color, it’s never been so beautiful. 

The flight is amazing, thinking about stopping it hurts you. How would it feel to be on the ground again, to walk around, to be without wings and treetops and colors and wind? How would it feel to be without Peter? 

Would it feel like an agonizing death? 

Would your wings ever be patchable again? 

Questions that make you realize the closer you get to him, the harder you’ll hit the ground. You’re okay with falling, you’re able to brace yourself the best way you can. But will Peter be there to catch your landing? 

It looks like he’s trying to stop himself from hugging you, it’s a good thing he is. He might be thinking you’d yell or push him away, you think you’d just cry. 

Peter looks tired, and more than just because you woke him up. You wonder if it’s because he’s up late every other night, you want to ask him about the routine and why he broke it tonight. You won’t. 

Your back hits the door, there was only one thing you were sure of, it had been a chain reaction since. This was Peter’s fault, he’s the one that kissed you. He started it. 

“You shouldn't have kissed me, you really, really shouldn’t have. You’ve fucked this all up, penis.” 

Peter’s tired of the blame. “You came here,” he ends it with your name, like he’s pleading. 

It’s annoying, at least you tell yourself it is. If you can replace feelings with antonyms you’ll trick your brain and you’ll be right on track to hating him again and only seeing him as a void object. 

You open the door, it’s the last time you’ll allow yourself to look at his face.

It’s Peter’s fault. 

“Because you made me want to.” 

WEEK FIVE. 

It’s way too early for the hysteric buzz of a mosquito in your ear, yet, it still sings to you while you’re locking your front door.

“Good morning.” 

You nod your head, “penis.” 

And just like that, the mosquito’s squashed. 

You yawn so harshly that you rub at your jaw. You’re unable to sleep and miserable. You’ve tried everything under the moon and stars, nothing worked. Staring up at the ceiling you tried to count sheep but they kept turning into the tiny freckles that dotted over Peter’s cheeks. 

It wasn’t fair to keep thinking about him, you’re doing your part. You cut him out and you decided to hate him. You’re just finding out that that’s not how it works. 

3:02, you hear his window. 

3:04, your eyes finally get heavy. 

3:07, you’re dozing off. 

3:10, you’re asleep. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Three nights later, It’s 3:02 in the morning and a window slams shut. This time, it isn’t your neighbors. This time, it was your own. You should be scared, but you don’t feel threatened, you’re curious. You pull your head from under your pillow. 

Spider-Man is at the foot of your bed, his shoulder hits the window frame when he pulls his mask off. He’s racing for air, he looks beat up, a gash crossed over his chest. 

If you didn’t have as much distain as you did, you’d be slightly shocked. 

“If you get blood on my carpet, I will fucking kill you.” 

Peter must be dizzy, because he’s imagining you in his room.

"Seriously, if you get blood on my carpet I'll have you come over tomorrow and scrub it out with your toothbrush."

Peter tries to swallow, it's hard to do. His head feels like a brick, his hands won't stop shaking.

“Hey, pesky pete, I mean it. Get the fuck outta here.”

When he holds his eyes close, then opens them, he still sees you there. Peter looks down at his hands, turning them back and forth. They go in and out of focus, it’s dizzying, at one point he has five hands. 

He says your name questioningly, it’s hard to get words off his tongue, his brain is moving too slow. “Yup, that’s me. Now get out.” Peter touches his chest, it’s beet red. His shoulder is killing him, he stumbles and slams into the wall- now you’re sitting up in bed. 

“Peter, are you okay?” It’s pure worry, the act is dropped for a second, he’s not normal. He’s not answering, you think he’s trying but he can’t bring himself to speak, he’s lagging in real time. One foot hits the floor, the rest of you perched in your bed keeping an eye on his frame.

“Peter.” You need his focus on you.

He presses his hand to his wound, a last ditch effort to protect your carpet. Then, he hits the floor. You jump up, “Peter? Peter, are you okay? Peter,” he’s passed out and tore up to shreds. Every bit of you wants to scoop him into your lap and hold him tight, but instead, you get to work. 

Peter flies up from the bed gasping for air, his face is cold and wet. The source is your twisted grin above him, a water glass held tightly. 

“Oh, good. You’re up.”

Peter pats his chest, a blur of last night follows. He sits up in a haste, a tug in his side makes him cradle it, you both wince at the same time. 

“Yeah, I tried doing the best I could, but I wasn’t sure if there was something under that.. Or how to take it off. You probably have significant damage.” 

“Thanks.” His mouth is dry and his voice crackly, it sends a zing up your spine. Peter’s never felt so weak after a rough night, his head is pounding and he can feel the crunch of dried blood under his suit. 

“Can I get some of that or are you still punishing me?” The only reason you give him the rest of the glass is because you like Spider-Man. He has a job to do, Peter on the other hand, could die of thirst. 

“You passed out on me last night.” 

Peter chugs the glass, you almost think about getting him another. “I did.” 

You nod, “I had to lug you up here, you’re extremely heavy when you’re dead weight.” He almost smiles at the imagery, instead he glances down and realizes you did your best attempt at working on the gashes over his chest and arms through the spandex. 

Even as he was passed out and rendered useless. You must not hate him as much as you say. It's still nice to know he's not getting special treatment because of who he is, not even Spider-Man could make you like Peter.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have excellent bedside manner?” 

“Oh no, anything I could do to make it worse?” 

“I think another water and some advil might kill me.” 

“Perfect, coming right up.” 

Peter takes another ten minutes before trying to sit up, “I should go home and shower.” Your hand gently pushes his shoulder back down, “easy, tiger. May isn’t home and you’re not about to turn your shower into a personal slip and slide.” 

Before you could regret the words, “if you want a shower, you’re doing it here.” He paused under your touch, scared you made the wrong impression, your eyes widened. “Not with me or anything, I just meant so you’d have someone around.” 

Peter doesn’t care how it has to get done, he wants the suit and dried blood off him. He nods his head and sits up a little slower before tugging at his neckline. You look away for a minute, unsure where to settle your eyes. 

“Help me get my arm out?” Your hands pull at the suit, his arm escapes, it’s covered in small knicks. It’s a subconscious move, you gently tap the cuts with your thumb. Peering into his eyes you hold a frown. 

“Does it hurt?” 

Peter feels like you might kiss his marks. “Not really, it’s mostly my side.” 

You rub his chest, “you got a gash right here.” It’s over his heart. 

“Guess we’re twinsies now.” 

If he wasn’t in pain, you’d slap his arm for the comment. Instead, you watch him carefully remove the red and blue until he’s left in his boxers. You do your best to keep your eyes on his face, Peter looks amused. 

“You’re trying really hard not to look at me.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Parker.” You offer a hand to pull him up, he accepts. A slow stand, his back’s more defined than his front, you almost bite your fist. Peter has the same shower as you, but you still explain how to use it. And allow him to use your products. 

“Got it.” The tap is turned on, the water hits against the ceramic. You make no effort to move, instead watching for a moment. Peter’s fingers pull at the waistline of his briefs, your eyes dart right to them. 

“You know, this is the part where most people leave.” It’s teasing. 

“I just wanted to make sure you got in okay, it’s a high step.” It’s a quarter of the truth. 

“I’ll be alright, I’ve been doing this alone for a few years.” Peter says it like it’s an inside joke, but it just makes you feel sad. He’s never had someone to be there for him, or patch up his wounds, or make sure he’s okay to shower. You wonder how many times he’s passed out on his bedroom floor with no one to drag him to bed. 

“You okay?” A hand on your skin wakes you back up, clearing your mind of Peter. 

You nod, it was a flash of empathy. You couldn’t imagine what it’s like for him. 

“I’m just sorry you’ve had to do it all alone. It doesn’t seem fair, Spider-Man does nothing but take care of other people. He should have someone to take care of him for a change.” 

It may sound like you’re insinuating, especially the way he looks at you when he responds. 

“Yeah. That’d be nice.” 

Seconds tick, it’s getting a little weird, mostly because you want to tackle him into the shower and race your mouth over every inch of skin. You clear your throat, “you want me to get you anything from your place?”

“Sure. Go shopping for me.” 

You use the copied key May left for you several years ago when you tended to some plants while her and Peter went on vacation, and it feels weird being in their home alone. It’s too quiet, the Parker’s are expressive in everything they do, when they're not around everything lacks passion. 

Peter’s bedroom is almost the same as it was the last time you were in it, the same furniture but moved around. His posters looked updated and there’s a few extra awards he’s tucked away, you frown, he should be proud of his achievements and hang them high. 

A new picture of him and May from last year, you ignore the part of your brain that says he has very kissable cheeks. His closet is clean and he’s made it easy for you to search around, each drawer is dedicated to a different clothing and everything that should be hung up, is. 

It’s something you hadn’t considered, but a man taking care of his laundry creates an entire new standard. 

Peter handed over the control when you said to get what you wanted, that means you can dress him how you please. And wouldn’t he look yummy in sweatpants and a white shirt? You don’t see how he couldn’t, it’s the male version of a sundress. 

Arms full of cotton, you tap at the bathroom door with your foot. You shout over the water, “I have your clothes.” It’s muffled but you hear him and gently push the door open, a faint outline on the shower curtain suddenly makes you shy. 

“They’re right here,” patting the clothes for good measure. Peter shoots out a ‘thanks!’ and you slowly back out until you’re sitting patiently on your bed, listening closely when the tap turns off. If he goes falling, you’re busting the door down. 

No struggles, at least not until he emerges. Peter’s fine, but you’re speechless and choked. There was no one you punished but yourself with the outfit, the t-shirt is tight on his arms and the sweatpants hug his hips just right. 

“I feel human again, thanks, kid.” You turn on manual breathing mode and distantly nod, his biceps are stretching the cotton, you lick your lips subconsciously. “No problem.” You watch a water droplet fall from his hair to his shoulder, your eyes stay hooked in place, his arms flexed when he dried it with the towel you lended him. 

“Where should I put this?” You point to your hamper, if he put it anywhere else you’d be half tempted to sniff it. “Did you tell May I was here?” You nod and finally find strength to talk to him, “yeah. I sent her a text last night, I wasn’t sure of her Spider-Man knowledge so it was a little cryptic.” You take a breath and choose honesty, no doubt he’d get a third degree. 

“I think she interpreted it as us hooking up.” Another breath, “I did not correct her.” 

Peter has a boyish smile spread, it squeezes your chest, you want him in your hold more than anything. “Nice.” You scream and cheer and thank your lucky stars when he sits next to you. He used your products, but he still smells like Peter. You want to stuff your nose into his shirt and breathe him in until you physically can’t. 

“May knows, by the way.” You nod absentmindedly, “anyone else?” “A couple friends.” You almost make a quip like ‘wow, you have friends?’ but you really can’t find it in you to pretend to hate him anymore. Especially when he almost died on your floor and all you wanted to do was tell him that you were sorry and you were mostly in love with him. 

“Can I ask a question?” 

“Shoot.” 

“Do the webs come out of you?” Peter lightly laughs, it’s always the same question off the bat. “No. I make a special web fluid and I have these bracelet kind of things to shoot them out.” 

“Oh. Cool.” You’re hiding the burn in your lower stomach at the thought of him over his desk creating a new form of technology. He’s so fucking smart it’s unfair, he’s too smart for his own good. 

He’s grinning at you, “is it?” You can’t stop staring at his mouth, “yeah.” You’d do anything to kiss him again, the last time you truly felt alive was when his lips were on yours. “Any other questions?” There’s one. But it’s not about Spider-Man. 

“Not really.” Your interest could be explored later, right now, all you needed was him. Peter finds it surprising, “I think you are the least curious person to find out about this.” You shrug, shifting your body more towards him. Peter rejected you last time but if you move like he did when he kissed you, if you move in slow for the kill, you might just get your way. 

“Give me the cliff notes.” Peter starts ticking them off with his fingers, while he’s distracted you move in closer. “Bit by a radioactive spider when I was fifteen. Heightened senses plus a cool sixth sense where I can sense danger. Super strength-” You stop listening right there, your eyes are all over his build, no fucking wonder he’s a contender for worlds fittest man. 

You shuffle in, your knee brushes his thigh, if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. You thank the sweatpants, the material too thick to give you away. “-Oh, and I stopped needing my glasses which is pretty cool. I think that’s pretty much it, but if you want me to expand on anyth…”

 Now or never.

You push up and straddle Peter’s waist, his hands immediately hold your hips. You lean down, his grip tightens. Peter mumbles out your name, you answer with a slow kiss. Your fingers drag through his hair, curls wrap themselves around your fingers, you hold them tight. When Peter licks your bottom lip, when Peter takes control, you need to feel every bit of him. 

Your hands fall down his neck and over his shoulders, then they fall to his arms, your nails lightly drag up the skin. A hum from Peter, your lower stomach clenches, you answer with a roll of your hips, he sighs into your mouth. You drag your palms over his chest, his heart is at the same pace as yours. 

You break the kiss, both of you breathing fast, it doesn’t last. You kiss over his jawline, you can’t hold it in, you can’t fucking stop yourself. “You’re so fucking hot,” wet marks are dotted down his neck. “I wanna take you right here, I wanna make you feel so good.” Another grind, this time, Peter moves with you, it pulls a moan from the back of your throat. The favor returned with a hickey at the bottom of his neck, it sent him falling into your hold. 

You’re kissing anywhere you can reach, “you gotta stop,” it comes out in a puff. “You’re killing me here.” Too bad, not so sad, you’re latched onto his mouth again, this time, you tug at the bottom of his shirt, it takes three times before you realize he’s not catching the hint and you pull it up yourself. 

You study him when it goes flying, his eyes are more pupil than brown, his lips pouty and pulling a red hue. “Lay back,” he does, you lean over him, you’re marking up his collarbones while his hand has a fistful of your hair. Then… the kisses get lower, you're grazing over his chest, delicate brushes across the semi-healed cuts, you must’ve blocked out the advanced healing perk. 

Your hand trails over his side, you soak in the grooves and muscle, your fingers brushing against the waistband of his sweatpants. Peter’s breathing hitches, you keep teasing, then bring your lower body into play. Bumps and grinds have Peter panting in your mouth, you pull back, even as he’s heaving for air, Peter’s trying to follow your kiss. 

Your fingers slip further under the elastic, holding his gaze when you tell him about your intentions. “I wanna suck you off.”

There’s a pause, then he sits up on his elbows. 

“Does this mean you want to be my girlfriend?” Does it? You don’t think so. You just want him, you want his mouth and his hands and his body intertwined with yours. But to fall into him and have him see all your worst parts, to have him hold your heart between his hands and trust he’d take care of it is too much. 

“No.” 

He’s sad. It’s not just something you think, it’s something you know. Your heart tumbles with his face. You want to hug him, you try, but he tossed you off his lap like nothing. 

“May told me to get groceries today, so I should probably head out.” You swallow tightly, you’re not liking how this is sounding. “Are you mad at me?” You feel nothing but shame at his sigh, it’s debilitating when you hear his cutthroat tone. “I’m not a fucking rebound.” But he wanted to be. He wanted this. He wanted you. 

Peter doesn’t use the f word, not ever.

“Whether I’m your girlfriend or sucking your dick, you’d still be a rebound.” Silence rings around the room. Peter’s voice is tight when he answers you. 

“Is that all you think of me? Just a rebound?” 

You don’t know how to be honest with him. You never have. “Would I be wrong?” 

“Very.” It’s clipped. You’ve never heard Peter with an edge and you don’t like it. You really don’t like being on the other side of his frustration. He’s only ever been soft and kind with you, you can’t handle any more change in your life. You need Peter to keep being Peter. 

You were so scared of losing him you went and filled his head up with words of affirmation, used your mouth on him, then turned around and shut him down. If this is only a fraction of how it stings when Peter’s upset you don’t know if you could handle more. You’ve never felt Peter’s cold shoulder before and it hurts.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” It’s bullshit, Peter can sense it too. “You did.” You chew on your bottom lip, “I did, but not like that.” Peter seems taller than normal when he’s standing over you, you can’t look him in the face, it’s nothing but being mortified. You really put your foot in your mouth. 

“Do you even like me or are you just horny?” You can’t allow yourself to answer him. 

“I’m an idiot.” Your face turns in, Peter’s laughing at himself. “I’m such an idiot. I really thought you liked me. I thought you were trying to fight it but no, that was just me daydreaming.” You’re looking up at him but he’s already standing at the door with his shirt on and suit tucked under his arm. 

“You don’t like me. You never did and now I’m trying to make pieces fit where they don’t.” He’s staring right into your eyes, he says it louder, he’s saying it for himself. “I’m not a rebound.” 

“You’ve never been properly loved and it shows.” 

And that’s the most brutal thing he could’ve ever said to you. Your lower lip trembles with the tears pricking at your eyes, he started it and you can’t stop it. 

“I fucking hate you. I hate you so fucking much, Peter.” 

No surprises there. “Yeah, I know.” He sounds just as defeated. 

When he leaves you cry harder for Peter than you ever did him, and that says something. But you’re not listening. 

WEEK SIX.

You finally broke down and told everything to Natalie Greene. She held you in her arms while you cried about losing what you could’ve had. “I’m sure he’ll come around babe, he likes you a lot.” You shake your head, “not anymore. He hasn’t answered any of my texts in three days.” 

You can at least give yourself the benefit of trying to do damage control. He wouldn’t let you. You’d sent a flurry of texts, each one more apologetic than the next, begging him for a chance to see you but he refused. 

You think you broke him. 

“Have you tried talking to him? In person?” You shake your head, he doesn’t want to talk to you. You blew everything up and for the first time you really hate it. Two weeks ago you were begging for this but now you just feel terrible. 

“Nat, this is nothing like what I had with him and I don’t know what that means.” Your friend hugged you close, “it means you love him more than you ever did him.” You swallow hard, you knew the truth but it was different hearing it. 

It doesn’t matter anymore. You ruined it and Peter won’t talk to you anymore. 

“You should’ve seen the look on his face, Nat. He was fucking crushed. It’s like…” You take in a sharp breath, you’ve been beating yourself up over it since he walked out. “It’s like I used him.” Natalie Greene doesn’t bullshit but she’s still soft as ever with her response, it’s purred out while her acrylics scratch your back. “You did.” 

She’s your best friend. She should be on your side. “But I didn’t! I just-”

“Yeah, you did. You knew how he felt about you and you said no so he stopped trying. Then you showed up drunk and threw yourself at him, he said no and you got all butthurt. Then he comes over and somehow passes out on your floor and you offer him a blowjob.” 

Well, when she puts it like that… 

“Of course he’s going to think you flipped your script, you’re the one who kept pushing after you told him no.” Peter’s words echo in your mind, ‘I respect your no, so why don’t you?’ Because you can’t allow yourself to have him, that’s why. But… you already do, don’t you? Or, you did. 

“He’s gonna wreck me, Nat. He already is.” 

“Because you’re fighting it. I get it, babe, I’ve been where you are a dozen times. But you don’t get over heartbreak by hiding from love. I know it’s Peter Parker and he’s been your enemy since you were eight, but no matter how fast you try to run, he’s right there matching your stride.” 

You sniff into her arm, she smells like lavender and it makes you snuggle further. “I think I’ve always liked him.” You could finally admit it. Natalie’s been there for months, years possibly. “I know. You always talk about him.” 

You scrunch your eyebrows, “no I don’t.” Natalie thinks you must’ve said a funny joke because she’s laughing like it. “Yeah you do. Sure, it might have been mean things but if you truly hate someone you don’t notice everything they do.” 

You noticed everything about Peter and made sure to fill Natalie Greene in on the gossip. 

Like when he cut his hair way too short in middle school and his curls disappeared for months. 

When he slipped in mashed potatoes in the cafeteria and fumbled until he could steady himself. 

When his cheeks flamed pink because he forgot to silence his phone during a test and the Game of Thrones theme song blasted through the room as he awkwardly tried to silence the call. 

Then there’s the time he stuttered when giving an answer in biology because Lindsey Snipes was twirling her hair at him. A small tug in your stomach, the answer suddenly clear to why you’ve always hated her too. 

And when he bumped a friend's coke all over his notebook and he just watched with an open mouth while all his hard work was ruined. 

When he stumbled up the steps. 

When he hit his head with his locker.

When he stepped on his glasses. 

When he was tackled in flag football. 

When he tripped over his shoelace. 

When he got glue in his hair. 

When he winced while dissecting a frog. 

When he cracked his phone because he dropped it and a guy on the football team kicked it clear across the cafeteria while he laughed. That one didn’t make you laugh. That one made you so angry you made a point to tell Kristina, said player's girlfriend, so she could give him a well deserved tongue lashing. And not the good kind. 

When he fell asleep at the library and had a red mark on his cheek to prove it. 

When he spit milk everywhere because the one he grabbed was expired. 

When, no matter what, each time you met his eyes he’d send you a smile. And how each time there was something that made you want to give it back. 

“Natalie,” you can hear it in your voice. It’s dangerous. It’s terrifying. 

It’s worth it. 

“I think I’m in love with Peter Parker.” 

Natalie Greene and you had carefully conducted Operation: Get Peter Back. 

Step one: Tell him, (IN PERSON) how you feel. 

Step two: See above. 

There were no other steps. Natalie Greene told you that’s all you could do. 

One day later you knocked at his door before you could lose the small amount of courage you had, it’s soft enough you hope it’s unnoticeable, you could quit and say you tried. Your heartbeat’s in the bottom of your throat, your palms itch as you rub them over your shirt. 

A smidge of relief, no one heard you. You’re about to quietly escape, May doesn’t let you off that easily. She’s surprised when your name comes from her mouth, you wonder how much she knows. “Hi, May. Is Peter home?” She’s got a weak poker face, her eyes dart to the side of the door before she’s smiling sweetly. 

“Sorry, honey. He’s out with some friends.” You know he’s right behind the wood. You speak up, you want to be sure he hears you too. “Can I leave you with a message?” May stands straighter, she wasn’t expecting this. “Of course.” 

“Can you tell him I’m sorry? And that I’ve been way too selfish and mean and a complete and utter fucking bitch to him for no good reason for nine years? Can you tell him that he’s the last person I ever wanted to hurt like this and that I really want to say it to his face?” 

May ignores the colorful language and you’re thankful for it. Her eyes trail to the side again, she smiles softly. “I’ll let him know.” There’s no need, he already knows and you both know it. His answer lies in the fact that he’s allowing May to keep up the charade. You don’t know if Peter is bad at forgiveness or just that you don’t deserve it. 

“Thanks, May.” You watch the door slowly close, when there's just a crack left you stop it with a hand. “He’s… He’s okay, right?” Your heart thumped slowly, you’re reading her face like it’s your job, you need to know he’s okay. 

A tight nod. “He’s okay.” You can breathe a little better. “Good.” 

You stare at his door for another two minutes after it shuts. 

Is this an asshole move? Yes. 

Is this worse than what you’ve already done? Possibly. 

Peter still wasn’t talking to you and you only had one card to pull. He was home, but he wasn’t answering your texts. You think it’s time to fight fire with fire. You’re standing by his apartment door, and loudly talk into your phone. No one’s on the other side, but he doesn’t know that. 

“Hello? Yes, I’m looking for J. Jonah Jameson?” Your eyes twitch to his door, nothing. You speak a little louder. “I understand he’s busy. Well I just… Uh huh, right, I understand, yes ma’am. Is he interested in Spider-Man’s identity?” 

You hear something drop inside his apartment. 

“Yeah, I know who Spider-Man is.” Peter swings the door open, your phone is ripped from your hand. He glares down at the screen, you’re not connected to anyone. “That’s a low move.” You lightly shrug, “did you expect anything more than that?” 

A scoff, “with you? No.” Your lips twitch, you have to fight the frown. You catch his arm when he turns around, there’s no trying, he’s an unstoppable force, you’re moving with him. “I’m sorry! Peter, please! I’m sorry, I am so so sorry and I need you, okay? I need you to not be mad at me.” 

Was that honesty? Were you actually being honest with him? Your shoes squeak when he stops pulling you, you’re looking at him desperately searching his face for emotion. There is none. “You’re not a rebound. Not at all. I should’ve never called you one.” 

There’s a lot you’ve done to Peter you never should’ve done. Maybe it’s time you start owning up to it. 

“I should’ve never said you were a rebound, I shouldn’t have kissed you, I shouldn’t have shown up here drunk, I shouldn’t have kept coming back for more after I told you no. I shouldn’t have ignored you for nine years, I shouldn’t have shut you out when I was eight, I shouldn’t have hurt you.” 

Peter’s not saying anything and you don’t mind. You need to say this, you need him to know. 

“I shouldn’t have hurt you. I meant what I told May. You’re the last person I ever wanted to hurt like this. You’re Peter. You’re nice, you’re warming, you’re always positive and you buy me pizza without making fun of me and you sign off on donation slips and you let me rip your notebooks apart and you bake me things.” 

You blink through your tears. “You were there when I really needed you and you are anything but a fucking rebound to me.” Your chest feels tight, “you’re so good to me, even when I don’t deserve it. I really don’t deserve it now but I really fucking need you, Peter. I know I went on this whole speech thing where Spider-Man needs someone but-” 

“I’m here.” Relief fills you, Peter has you tucked into his chest with his arms around you. “I’m right here, okay?” It’s the selflessness that really gets you. You’ve been nothing but mean and standoffish but Peter’s hugging you because you need it. 

But really, it’s because he knows he was right. You do like him. You like him more than you’re willing to admit to him yet. 

“Can you catch popcorn with your mouth?” 

Peter tosses a piece up and catches it with his eyes closed. You grumble and throw your own at him, he also catches that with his eyes closed. 

“Okay, turn off the powers and try again.” He laughs at you, “it doesn’t work like that.” You huff, “well, make it.” Peter tosses a piece up and dodges it, it satisfies you. “Ha. Loser normy.” 

“Did you just call me a normy?” 

“You’re just a boring normal person, I hate to tell you, but it’s true.” 

There’s been a brief pause in the actual relationship aspect of your friendship. There’s no more kissing, but you’d really like there to be. You think Peter’s starting to sweat you out and you have no issues with it. If he wants you to make the first move, you’ll do it. 

But it’s all in the timing. 

“Did I ever tell you that six weeks ago Nat said she’d do heroin with me?” Popcorn spills on the couch, Peter’s darting his eyes over your arms looking for track marks. “We didn’t do it! She said that if I still felt miserable after six weeks she’d do it with me.” 

“Miserable? What, about the breakup?” 

“Yeah,” you shove a handful of buttery styrofoam into your mouth. For the first time in weeks it doesn’t hurt to talk about. It’s not even a little sore, there’s no bitterness or resentment. There’s nothing there. It’s pure indifference. 

You pushed Peter away because you didn’t want him to be a rebound, you didn’t want to use him to get over someone else. But you haven’t thought of him since… since… you can’t remember the last time you actually thought of him. 

But when you think of Peter your heart races, your palms feel warm, your stomach flutters. His kisses ignite you. You wake up in the morning and think of him, you wake up every night to make sure he’s home and go right back to sleep. You walk with him every morning, you wave and smile at school, you come over everyday. 

You’re in love with Peter and only Peter. 

“I don’t know why I ever thought he was worth that.” 

Peter has the answer, it’s muffled around popcorn. “Cause you loved him.” You pick a piece off Peter’s shirt and crunch down on it. “Yeah, I don’t think I knew what love was. How embarrassing.”  

He smiles. Your eyes catch the screen again, you shuffle more towards Peter, then stop yourself. “Is it weird if we cuddle?” Peter rips the popcorn bowl between you away, he’s never cuddled with a girl before but he’d be an idiot to say no. 

“Weird for who? Weird for me? Weird for us?” Peter doesn’t care about the answer. “Those are rhetorical, just come cuddle me.” It’s all you needed, you press up against him and wait, he’s not moving. Fine with you, you halfway lay on him, head on his chest. You’ve never been this close to him, you’ve kissed him and you’ve made a bold move that backfired, but you’ve never been this soft or domesticated with him. 

Peter’s heart is drumming a little fast, you make no comment. Yours is beating at the same rate. 

You expected Peter to still like you but you haven’t asked. After what happened maybe he decided you’d be better friends. It wasn’t talked out, you both skimmed over what happened and started hanging out like nothing happened. 

But it did and you’re glad. It puts things in perspective. It made you realize how much you like him. You just need to know if it made him feel the opposite. 

“Do you still like me?” 

“I’m sorry, I’ve never cuddled with anyone before so I don’t really know what-” 

“No, I mean do you still like me?” Peter knows what you mean. He doesn’t know how you think he doesn’t. “Of course I do.” You peek up at him, he’s already got eyes on you, it makes your cheeks feel warm. 

“Even after I was shitty to you?” Peter laughs, a hard laugh, you move with his jostles. “Honey, you’ve been giving me shit for nine years, it hasn’t slowed me down one bit.” 

Honey. It has a nice ring to it, you like it. But the one you’ve always liked hasn’t ever been uttered with endearment and you really want it, you want it to come from Peter’s voice and have it wrap around your ears while your heart bubbles up with giddiness. 

“Can you call me sweetheart?” 

“Is that the one you like?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

It’s so much sweeter than you imagined. 

You’re not sure what details May knows, but she knows you hurt her nephew. She hasn’t said anything but you can feel her watching your back every time you’re with Peter. Her tone isn’t clipped and she’s just as welcoming as before, but you can feel it. You can sense that she isn’t fully trusting. 

May had stared at you for a good thirty seconds when she caught you spread across Peter’s lap while he studied. You tried to focus on his rubix cube in your hand, even going as far to prove you’re not a threat by giving him a light kiss on his cheek. She didn’t seem convinced, but she left it alone. 

Two days ago she burst into Peter’s room and made it very clear that when you were over the door stays open. Peter tried to fight it, he said that you were just hanging out but she was dead serious, going as far as saying that if he couldn’t handle her rules, he wasn’t allowed to have company. 

Peter didn’t tell you that you were the only person with this rule, but you knew you were. 

“I just don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this, May. She’s just-” You weren’t going to be involved, you weren’t going to give May more ammo. 

“Door stays open, Peter. If May says it, we follow it.” Peter doesn’t agree with you, you can tell by the way he nods his head and clicks his pen. When did you start being able to read him? And why do you like it so much? 

But the real hint was when you weren’t welcome to stay for dinner the previous night. There’s never been a time May denied you food, most of the times she’d come over begging you to join so they wouldn’t have so many leftovers. But last night she just suggested you go home and prepare for the next day. 

You watched Peter’s jaw clench in frustration, then you sweetened him up with a smile and told him you were planning on leaving anyway. You don’t think he bought it. You needed to talk to May, you needed to know she was okay with you and Peter, if she wasn’t- no matter how hard it would hurt, you’d stay away from Peter. 

May is all he has and you’re not going to put any strain on their relationship. Not over you. 

Peter was staying late at school for math club and it’s your perfect opportunity. A light knock, May answers almost instantly. She’s surprised but she melts into a smile, it’s lacking something. “Oh! Peter isn’t here.” 

“I know. I wanted to talk to you.” Now you’ve got her interest. May opens the door wide, you go straight to the kitchen for the batch of cookies Peter made you last night. You can taste the love in them. 

“May, I need you to level with me here. Do you have a problem with me dating Peter?” There’s a beat of silence, “are you dating him?” You swallow a bite, “not yet. I needed to make sure it was okay with you.” 

“You’re asking for my blessing?” You slightly nod. “More or less. You’ve been really nice but I feel like there’s a little tension. I feel like you don’t totally trust me with him.” Confirmation, but it doesn’t hurt like you think. 

“Peter’s a sensitive boy. He does everything a hundred and ten percent. If you want him, he’ll give you more than his all. Can you say the same?” Can you? Yes. It’s without a doubt. You want him and only him and you’d lay your life on the line. There’s been so much wasted time, Peter could’ve been your first but you were too stubborn. 

Peter wasn’t your first, but with everything in you he’s going to be your last. 

“Yes. I’m in love with him. I love him more than I ever loved anyone, I love him more than I thought was possible. I want to be there for him, I want to support him through the bad days and I want to be by his side for the good ones. I want him and only him, I was just too dumb to see it before.” 

May’s mouth etches into a smile, this time it reaches her eyes and she’s hugging you. A whisper in your ear, “I always knew this is how it would end.” You grin into her shoulder, “really?” 

“Peter’s nothing but determined. It was only a matter of time.” You know what that means. “Are you giving me your blessing?” She laughs and pulls you closer, “you always had it. I just needed to know you were serious.” 

Time passes quickly, you’re three cookies down and you’re itching for a fourth. You swear he puts crack in them. You talk animatedly with May, you’re fawning over her own love story and hoping that that would be your future with Peter. When the door unlocks you perk up, you can’t bite back your smile or tapping feet. 

“Whatcha doing here? Hi May.” Your arms spread wide, Peter fills them. “I came to talk to May, I stayed to see your handsome face.” How did you once see it as annoying? How did you once find his smile revolting? He’s the prettiest person you’ve ever seen. You want to kiss him more than anything, May gave you the green light, you press up on your toes to give him a peck. 

“I missed you. How was math club? Were you the smartest hunk there? Don’t answer, I already know it’s a yes.” Peter’s still reeling from the kiss but he powers through. “I wouldn’t be too confident about that, sweetheart.” Your heart clenches, him saying it makes your knees feel weak. “Mathew Ryan is in the club with me.” 

“I hate blondes. I only like cuties with brown, curly hair by the name of Peter Parker.” His eyes squint at you, it makes you feel warm, you hide back in his chest. May’s watching with heart eyes, she’s never seen you so happy. “You’re laying it on thick today. You must need something.” 

“Just you, handsome.” Okay, you might be laying it on a little thick, but you can’t hold it in. You just love him too much, it’s uncontainable. He’s perfect. “May, she’s up to something. I don’t trust it.” His aunt keeps grinning. “I do.” 

Peter pats your back, “if you trust it, I guess I have to, too.” You squeeze him tight and mumble into his chest, he still hears you. “What, now?” You asked if you could talk to him, it had him looking down and giving you his full attention. 

“What’s up?” Your eyes shoot to his door, message received. Peter leaves a small gap in the door, you pause and poke your head out to his aunt. “Can I shut the door?” A three second count, “permission granted.” It clicks shut, you spin, you have all his attention. 

“You said I was never properly loved.” 

Peter feels his heart drop, it was the nastiest thing he could ever say to you. Part of him wished you had forgotten but that’s not something that’s forgettable, that’s something that sticks with you forever. He never meant to say it, it was something he spewed out to make you feel just as bad but that’s not who he is and that’s not what he does and he really should’ve apologized way before now. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. It was a shitty thing to say and I-” 

“You weren’t wrong. I haven’t been properly loved. But I’d like for you to show me how it feels.” 

Your pulse rises with his silence, Peter holds out a steady hand. “Just to be clear, you’re asking me-” 

“If you’d be my boyfriend.” 

You let out a soft groan, you’re spinning in his hold and pushing at his arms. “Peter!” He doesn’t care, your feet lightly dangle, you’re laughing with him. “Nuh uh, you’re not allowed to push me away anymore, I’m your boyfriend.” 

Boyfriend. Peter Parker is your boyfriend. What a rush of feelings, there’s a new one you haven’t felt before. Pride. You’re prideful that Peter’s your boyfriend, you’ve got the greatest person in the world tethered to your hip and he’s going absolutely nowhere. Ever. 

“I’ve been waiting for this day since I was fifteen.” A flurry of kisses over your face, “holy wow, you’re my girlfriend. I can kiss you whenever I want, and I can touch you! Oh, and now I always have someone to eat pizza with. And the science museum! No one ever wants to go to the science museum with me!” 

“Holy wow?” You giggle at a string of kisses to your jawline, you never knew someone would be so excited at the thought of dating you. “Wow, wow, wowie, my girlfriend’s a hottie.” You push him away with a disgusted sound, “that’s so gross, Peter.” 

“Oops, let me repent with a kiss.” 

It’s the fireworks again. This time they’re blinding. Your back burns with his touch, you want to swallow him whole. It’s not lacking passion, but it’s soft. You reach for his shirt collar when he pulls away, this time he laughs. 

“I was going to ask if I was a bad kisser but-” 

“No.” This time you’re keeping him chained to you with your hands behind his neck. “Best kisser ever,” you give him a chaste one to prove it. “My handsome baby.” Your waist is squeezed, “you’re too nice.” He doesn’t understand, he’ll never be able to understand. 

“I wasted so much time, Peter. You were right there and I was so… so stupid that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. I have no idea why you like me, I was so mean and cruel and I never appreciated you.” 

Peter has secrets too. “I was friendly, but I didn’t like you. You were super aggressive and made a point to say something mean… but then Ben died.” The oxygen runs from your lungs, it wasn’t something you thought about, you thought he didn’t either. 

It was brutal watching him and May go through that. You remember that night vividly, the night May got the call. You could hear her screams from your room, it’s something you’ll never forget. Her wails, the way she begged to God that it was all a dream. You knew what happened before you could see them and the one thing you thought of in that moment was Peter. 

You can still remember the panic you felt, the overwhelming urge to make sure he was okay. You remember your feet skidding across the carpet, the cold hardwood in the hall, the way your middle knuckle split you were knocking so hard. 

‘Peter,’ it’s all you had to say. Then you were scooping him into your arms, holding him tight as he sobbed. You kept telling him you were sorry, you brushed his hair back and rubbed circles on his back. You kept him tucked into your neck while he cried, you didn’t tell him it was okay, nothing about that night was okay. You remember holding in your own tears, you swallowed them down and held Peter all night. 

Fourteen hours. You had him curled up with you while you kept telling him sorry, you had stayed up all night with him and took care of him. You got him water, you made him eat a snack, you did what you could while they slept. You did laundry, you did the dishes, you made cookies. 

Peter’s uncle died and you made him cookies. 

Your boyfriend dumped you and Peter made you cookies. 

You basically lived there for a week, you slept with Peter, held him with each bout of sadness, and never ever told him it was okay. You held his hand at the funeral and kissed him on the back of it before he gave his eulogy. You made sure he was minimally functioning, you tried to keep him busy with dumb tasks. 

After two weeks he didn’t need you anymore and you slowly faded away until it settled into how it used to be. You think Peter liked it a little, not everything had to change because Ben died. But you never went out of your way to hurt him anymore, he didn’t need your help in that department. What used to be petty attacks turned into silence and gentle name calling. 

But you were there for him when he needed it. Just how he was with you. 

“You pulled an Uncle Ben on me.” 

A twitch in his lips, “you were there for me when my world ended, I had to return the favor.” It’s not fair for him to compare the two. “I was broken up with, I didn’t have my-” 

“Devastation comes in all forms. It’s not about whos is worse, it’s about being there for someone you care about.” He doesn’t hide his smile, “even if they claim to hate you for all eternity.” 

“I don’t hate you anymore.” 

“Spoiler alert, you never did.” 

You’ve been caught. Peter knew the whole time, he was just waiting on you. “Are you sure you don’t hate me? Cause I’ve been really terrible to you the last month.” Your boyfriend rolls his eyes before giving you a big hug. 

“That’s because you’re stubborn and didn’t want to admit you liked me.” You poke his ribs, “you knew?” 

“Sweetheart, I knew the day you said I had very pretty eyes.” 

“Yeah, you do. Let me see them again, boyfriend.” 

The last six weeks you detested love and what it brings. The disaster, the heartbreak, the pain. You never thought you’d love again and definitely not with the neighbor you hated. But right there, in his room, you felt your heart crack open and ooze onto his bedroom floor. 

And you watched love begin again. 

“Anything for you, girlfriend.” 

----

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#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker blurb #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter smut #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #my writing

[selfcarecap]

Never Have I Ever [p.p]

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: When Peter meets you at college and you two bond over your lack of sexual experience, you quickly become the best friend he’s ever had. But while he falls madly in love with you, he doesn’t know if you feel the same. You hold his hand when you’re out together, talk to him about the vibrator you want to buy and bless him with that beautiful look in your eyes that is reserved only for him… yet he’s not sure if you see more than a friend in him. Little does he know, you’re wondering the same about him, hoping for the same outcome.

Warnings: smut (all first time, oral f + m receiving, dry humping (semi-public? but it’s completely uninterrupted and unseen and in a remote location lol), masturbation (f with a sex toy and m with the reader’s underwear), vaginal sex – the second half of this is basically all smut), a sprinkle of jealous Peter, Professor Garfield lol, a little bit of angst ig bc Peter keeps doubting himself and thinks he’s a pervert but he’s just dumb as shit and oblivious, (all Peter’s pov <3), fic starts off with an awkward and embarrassing story lol, alcohol/drunk!Peter, (btw if first year of college sounds a little young to you you can always imagine they just took a break between hs and college), idk how college works in the usa, also I mention Peter's enhanced senses but it's not a Spiderman fic at all lol

Word Count: 23k omg, the longest thing I’ve ever written (if that’s too long for you i’ve put four ‘dividers’ in total so it’s split into 4 more or less equally long parts (the first is like 4k, second is 7k, then 4k again and the last is 8k) but of course you can ignore that and just read all of it in one go, all 23k are in this post, it’s a one shot)

It's finally here! Thank you for all the love I received for the teaser and just talking about this fic already 💘 This has been on my mind for so so long and I’ve been (sporadically and inconsistently) writing it since like September. I’m so glad it’s finally finished, this was one of my favourite wips I‘ve ever worked on, I really loved writing Peter and the reader and their dynamic and experiences and I hope you love reading it just as much 💖

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★ﾟ･:*:･｡

It’s Peter’s first week of college and so far he barely knows anyone. The guys in the rooms next to Peter’s are cool, but he figures it wouldn’t hurt to know a few more people, so he decides to go to this party he’s been hearing about all week.

The party is exactly how he imagined it; loud music, drinking games, a pretty girl sitting next to him. So pretty that he doesn’t dare look at you for too long because he’s worried you’ll catch him staring and think he’s being weird.

The game you’re all playing started as a simple never have I ever, but somehow people are now telling their funniest sex stories. Peter doesn’t realise it’s part of the game that everyone tells a sex story until it’s your turn and he notices how the last few people all told a story, one after the other, going around the circle you’re all sitting in.

His heart starts thumping harder in his chest. He doesn’t have a sex story to tell. But if he gets up now it will be obvious that he’s avoiding his turn, right? 

Fuck.

Besides, he wants to listen to your story. He just has to hope that his usually clever brain will help him come up with something when it’s his turn.

“Most memorable sex experience…” you hum in thought as you lightly drum the bottle in your hands against your lips. “Oh wait, this one’s funny. The guy I was with asked me if I peed myself when he took off my underwear because he didn‘t know that women get wet when they‘re turned on. I explained it to him but he wouldn’t believe me. 

“He was sweet about it and told me it happens to the best of us — and that he sometimes pees himself too. So at that point, I just saw it as a second chance from the universe to show me what this guy was like and I left.” 

The students around you laugh and comment on the story and as you look over at Peter a few seconds later he realises the other people are doing the same. 

They‘re expecting him to tell a sex story now. His mouth goes dry and his brain is empty. Think. Think. Think. Think of something. Anything. 

But he has nothing.

You speak up again, pointing at the guy next to Peter, “Oh my god, Brandon, you remember that story you told me earlier? You need to tell that one, that was the funniest thing I‘ve ever heard.”

A weight is lifted off of Peter‘s shoulders when the attention simply shifts to the guy next to him.

What felt like overthinking for hours when he couldn‘t come up with anything to say was probably only a short moment, less than five seconds, and not a single person noticed that they skipped over Peter. He lets out a breath of relief as other people tell stories and no one demands anything from Peter. 

He keeps glancing at you, trying to figure out if what you did was deliberate or not. 

The only thing he‘s gotten from you so far is a second of eye contact, your face neutral but your eyes holding something positive. The next time you stand up to refill your drink, Peter follows you into the kitchen.

You smile at him when you see him enter, offering some of the diet coke you‘re pouring into your cup to him. “No thanks,” Peter says, watching you fill the rest of your drink with rum. 

“I don‘t know if you did that on purpose or not but uh.. thanks,” he says, clearing his throat after, annoyed at himself for sounding so nervous. You’re gorgeous, but he doesn’t even know you yet. You’re a stranger, yet he finds himself caring about what you think of him.

You muster him for a few seconds before you realise what he’s talking about.

“Oh. You mean during the.. the sex stories? That was no big deal. You just looked a little uncomfortable so I tried my best to get the attention to shift to someone else,” you smile.

“Thanks, that... that was really kind. Although I was kind of hoping it wasn‘t obvious how nervous I was. I just don‘t have any special or funny sex stories to tell... or any sex stories at all,” he avoids eye contact when he says it but you immediately get what he means. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You say, taking a step forward to stand closer to him, his cheeks heating up. He nods.

“The story I told? That was completely made up. I‘ve never had sex with anyone either. And I‘m not ashamed of that fact, I mean I‘m so young and there‘s nothing wrong with waiting or honestly I‘ve just never... been in that type of situation with a boy…”

“I get it. You don‘t have to explain yourself. Same boat,” he smiles and nudges your shoulder but regrets it instantly.

Nudging your shoulder? He has never nudged anyone‘s shoulder. Especially not the shoulder of a pretty girl he just met. 

You don‘t take any notice of it though, much to Peter‘s relief, and you continue. 

“Even if I personally don‘t care how old anyone is when they have their first time, I just felt nervous saying it in a room full of frat boys. I know this year has barely started but so far all the frat boys I’ve met live up to their reputation and I didn‘t want them making any stupid comments. 

“If I was my ideal, confident self - or just a little tipsier - I probably would have just said that I don���t have any sex stories to tell but... I don‘t know. I was nervous.”

“I get that. That‘s exactly how I felt too. Only I wasn‘t creative enough to think of a story. My mind just blanked, I must have looked crazy when it was my turn to say something. You were calm though, the story seemed as real as all the others... maybe even more real, I mean what you said sounds very realistic to me considering how little most men know about women’s bodies.” 

“Yeah,” you giggle, “But you didn‘t look nervous either. It‘s just that I knew I might not be the only one too nervous to admit that I don‘t have any experience so I was hyper-aware of it, I guess.”

“Okay, I‘m glad. Thanks again.” The conversation is slowly dying but he doesn’t want it to end yet.

He holds his hand in front of him, “I’m Peter by the way. Biochemistry and computer science.”

His fingers tremble for a second. Who introduces himself like that? God, he’s messing this up before it even started.

But you grin, trying not to laugh and tell him your name and introduce yourself in the same way, “Oceanography and computer science.”

He takes a second to release the breath that he was holding in, “Oceanography? Wow, that sounds really interesting. You‘ll have to tell me more about that.” 

“It is. And I will once college starts. I‘m really excited.” 

“Me too. And computer science? That means we‘ll probably have a few classes together right?”

“Probably. Do you have your schedule yet?”

He takes out his phone and shows you the picture he took of it, and you lean in to look at it so closely that he can smell your lovely perfume.

“I don‘t have it on my phone but I recognise that professor’s name,” you point at a name on the screen, “I‘m in that class too, I heard professor Garfield is really good. I have two classes with him.”

And that‘s how you two end up talking all night. Peter walks you home and you realise your dorm rooms are merely minutes away from each other and you make a vow to meet each other again. He really hopes you don’t forget about him, or that you weren’t just being nice.

Peter falls asleep with a smile on his face and you on his mind. 

*

The next day, he realises with disappointment that you didn’t exchange numbers. He would like to text you and meet you in front of the lecture hall so it would be less nerve-wracking to go to his first-ever college lecture.

It would help to have someone he already knows with him and in case you were nervous he’d love to be there to calm you down too; make you feel less alone–you can do this together.

He knows one of his first classes on Tuesday is one that he shares with you. But he hopes he can see you on Monday to be each other’s support, or at least to see you for five minutes between classes.

He looks for you all day, but doesn’t see you again.

He’s giddy all night, knowing he’s definitely going to see you tomorrow. His plan is to get up extra early and casually and totally coincidentally lounge around in the hallway that your room is in, and then you can go to class together.

But one missed alarm later he‘s running through the building, trying to find the lecture hall that was shown to him during freshers week, but he didn’t quite manage to remember each one of the hundreds of rooms.

Time is running out and he has one minute until the lecture starts. He runs around the next corner and finally finds the hall he’s supposed to be in.

There are hundreds of students though, and he seems to be one of the last; he can’t even see if there are any seats left.

While his eyes scan the rows for an empty seat–but more importantly for you–he sees some movement directed at him. A wave.

His eyes travel down the arm that's waving at him and soon he’s making eye contact with you. He’s only met you once but he can’t stop a huge smile from taking over his entire face.

Peter blushes while he’s walking up the steps, on his way to you, but once he’s close he can see your bright smile and he’s immediately reminded of why he likes you so much.

“Hi,” Peter plops down next to you on the first seat of the row. You lean in and Peter’s breath gets caught in his throat when he realises you’re hugging him–just a friendly side hug, but it’s a hug nevertheless.

He takes his water out of his bag, trying to calm himself down by focussing on the cool drink running down his throat. It does clear his mind, the water, but he’s more and more comfortable with every second that he sits next to you. Your aura is so kind and calming, and he finds his shoulders losing the tension as you start talking to him.

“I thought you weren’t going to make it or something. We forgot to exchange numbers so I found your Instagram and was gonna message you there. But you‘re private so I couldn‘t.”

Ever since you said goodbye the night after the party, Peter has been worrying that that was all. That it was just an in-the-moment type of thing and you wouldn’t think it was anything special – or worse, you’d forget about him. But now you’re here, keeping a spot for him, telling him you’ve been thinking about him and wanted to message him. The warmth in his chest spreads when you smile at him.

And sure, just because you remember him doesn’t mean you’re best friends, but it confirms that Peter isn’t the only one who thought you had a connection that was worth remembering.

Peter most definitely also stalked your Instagram. It’s public but he didn’t want you thinking he was weird for spam-liking all your pictures–which he definitely wanted to do but he stopped himself in time. 

He put a timer on Instagram for the app to remind him when it’s been twenty minutes of looking at your pictures. Not that there were enough to be scrolling for twenty minutes straight – he simply enjoyed looking at you.

He takes his phone out and accepts the follow request you sent him and follows you back.

“Put your number in,” you place your phone in front of him, opened on a new contact card that Peter fills out with his number and name. You look at it and add a <3 behind his name and Peter prays he’s not blushing as hard as it feels.

You text him You up? and if his cheeks weren’t red before then they definitely are now. He can tell you’re just teasing but the fact that you’re already comfortable enough to joke around with him makes him grin.

He feels like he can be himself with you and you’re doing the same. You’re not holding back with showing Peter that you like him and it makes him feel good about himself. 

But his smile fades when he hears your next words

“The professor is so hot, I have no idea how I‘ll concentrate. I talked to him before I sat down and he has a really nice voice too. And that accent… But wait till he turns around and you see his face – or you could just stare at his ass.” 

Peter doesn’t know why it feels like someone stabbed him right in the heart. And when he sees you further staring at the man, it’s like that knife is being pulled out of his chest and Peter bleeds out. 

“I-it’s not even that big,” Peter tries.

You look at him and now he feels stupid for having said that. 

“Butts don‘t have to be big to be hot. Little booties matter. And they’re really cute sometimes.”

“W-well yes, of course, but.. he‘s really not that hot,” Peter says, and then Professor Garfield turns around, “...okay he is that hot.”

“Told you,” you sing, a smile on your face, and he can’t be mad at you when you’re looking at him like that. He couldn’t be mad at you no matter what you did. While Professor Garfield, or Andrew–as he tells you all to call him–starts the lecture, Peter tries to figure out what’s got him so mad.

Yes, of course you’re pretty. You’re gorgeous. But that doesn’t mean that he has to have a crush on you immediately. Just because you’re a girl and he’s a guy doesn’t mean that this has to go beyond a friendship. Men and women can be just friends. He can’t just fall in love with the first pretty woman who’s nice to him.

Okay, maybe he already has a crush on you. So what? Who can blame him?

But Peter doesn’t want to rush anything with you. He’ll give you the time to figure out what you feel for him, and he’ll just follow your lead. He may think you already like him as much as he likes you, but it’s still only the second time you’re ever seeing each other. 

That and he just doesn’t want to overthink it all and end up losing the first person at college who genuinely feels like someone he could be friends with.

He tries to ignore how you giggle at every joke the professor makes and tries to focus on the warmth of you next to him instead. Not too much though, he’s already let your teasing get to his head and maybe even to a body part further down.

Even if it means he won’t have to witness you laughing at Professor Garfield’s jokes anymore, Peter is sad when the lecture is over. It’s the only lecture he has today and therefore also the only one he has with you today.

As you pack your things and people swarm out of the lecture hall, you and Peter stay back, taking it slow.

“What’s your next class?” You ask, looking him right in the eyes–like any normal person–but he’ll really have to get used to that. He can’t lose his mind every time you just look at him. But he's so attracted to you.

“I, um, I no. I mean, I don’t have any other classes today.”

You smile unexpectedly, “Cool, me neither. You wanna do something? We could get lunch together.”

You say it with such ease, showing your interest in him like you don’t know how it’s making Peter feel warm and bubbly inside.

Even if Peter still gets nervous around you, simply because he wants to impress you and doesn’t want to fuck this up, he realises quickly that he has no reason to be. 

Your friendship blooms effortlessly and quickly. 

A week later you’re texting like you’ve been best friends for years and he finds himself too happy around you to worry about what he’s saying or how he’s acting. You like him the way he is and he can feel it deeply and confidently. 

Yes, he still stutters a lot around you - but he does that around most people, to be fair - and once you part ways for the day he overanalyses every little thing you’ve said to him, overthinks every little touch of yours for some form of affection that is more than platonic.

And it’s hard, figuring out whether you like him as more than a friend.

But this friendship is so new and so exciting that Peter thinks it makes him just as happy as an average relationship in the honeymoon phase would. So even if he does crave more intimacy with you, it’s hard to complain when he has a friend like you.

*

You show up at Peter’s door at midnight on a Friday. His sleep schedule has been surprisingly healthy for a college freshman so if anyone else disturbed him when he was already in pyjamas, he’d be annoyed.

But with you, he’s ecstatic. He’s awake immediately, grinning from ear to ear at your surprise visit. You never left his mind but he thought he’d have to wait until tomorrow to see you again.

Peter is more than aware of the contrast between your done up state and him in his ratty old pyjamas. You’ve seen him in pyjamas before and he knows better than to think you’d judge him, but he can’t help but to want to at least try and match you when you’re looking as gorgeous as you are.

“Oh sorry, I thought you’d still be up,” is the first thing you say, ready to leave if you’re bothering him in any way.

“No, no, I am, don’t worry. What’s up?” Peter asks, trying to look cool as he leans against his door frame. He ignores how it hurts like hell where his elbow meets a sharp corner.

“Well… I was gonna ask if you wanna go watch a movie with me,” you give him a charming smile not knowing he’d say yes no matter what you asked of him.

“Now?”

“Uh, yes. Now. But it’s fine if not, genuinely I won’t be mad. I can see that you had other plans,” you smile at his pyjamas.

“No. Don’t worry, I’d love to go. Do you have tickets or…?” Jealousy bubbles up inside Peter when he realises you might have been planning to go with someone else. With some other guy. Maybe he bailed on you and Peter is the second option (which he would still be grateful for, but he hates the thought of you with another guy).

“No, but I checked online and they have plenty of tickets left. It’s the last day they’re playing this film. The one I told you about, the horror one.”

“Oh God.” He’s trying to pretend that you still need to convince him when really Peter just needs a second to realise he was just overthinking again. He is your first choice. Not another guy.

“Pleeeease, Peter,” you grab his arm and pout. 

Peter has been convinced since the moment you showed up at his door.

“Give me a second,” he smiles and you grin back, “Really? You’re the best,” you kiss his cheek enthusiastically and he goes back into his room fast enough to hide his blush.

He picks out an outfit, brushes his teeth and puts on deodorant just in case.

You take him to the cinema with your hand in his. Peter knows it’s not a romantic gesture, you’re just treating him like you’d treat a female friend, but his brain doesn’t know the difference. He’s just happy to be touching you.

When you buy the tickets the guy at the movie theatre shows you the available seats on his screen. He points to one of those love seats where two seats are joined together so you can cuddle.

You nod and when the guy gives Peter a congratulatory smile, Peter’s cheeks heat up. The guy probably thinks you and Peter are a couple. It’s not just good for Peter’s ego and the fake scenarios with you that he’ll imagine before bed, but it’s also better for the guy. Peter saw the way he was eyeing you, and Peter doesn’t know what he would have done if the guy had asked for your number.

“We can cuddle,” you grin as you sit down and pat the seat next to you. You’re almost alone in the theatre, you could sit anywhere you want but you want to be close to him.

While you wait for the trailers to start you take Snapchat videos with Peter, asking him if you can send them to your friends at home. His heart swells when you say that you’ve told them about him.

He takes pictures of you looking all pretty and perfect and he wonders if it would be too much to set it as his phone wallpaper. Your head is on his shoulder as you scroll through the pictures that he just took of you and your perfume is hypnotising.

How is every little thing about you so captivating? Peter has never met anyone like you.

He’s fucking scared during the movie, but with his eyes mostly closed he manages to be the guy you can hold on to during the creepy scenes. Your fingers around his bicep squeeze every time there is a jumpscare and at some point he has to force himself to watch the film after all if he doesn’t want to get hard from your touch. He knows it’s pathetic, but he can’t help it.

You look beautiful in the light of the stars as you two walk home, your hand still around his arm, gushing about the film and thanking him for watching it with you despite the spontaneous change of his plans.

You spend some time in the common area by your dorms. It’s late and everyone else seems to be at some party elsewhere or sleeping. You cling on to Peter, still jumpy from the horror film and he nearly asks you if you want to sleep in his bed.

He nearly says it about five times, but he can’t quite get the words out. He doesn’t want to give you the wrong impression, even if you may be about to ask the same thing.

Peter sits there nervously, gulping as he’s about to ask. He really will say it this time. But before he opens his mouth he hears your deep breaths and notices how your body has gone slack against his side.

He kisses the top of your head in content and soon, sleep finds Peter too. He doesn’t have to dream about being close to you because it’s already his reality.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ 𝒕𝒘𝒐 ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★ﾟ･:*:･｡

It’s a few weeks into the semester and it’s become a routine for you two to study together. Whether you’re helping each other with the classes you share, or silently working on other things and enjoying each other’s company, your study sessions have even managed to make studying a rather fun part of college. 

Especially when you’re both sitting on Peter’s bed, and your knees or legs or arms are always touching.

You’re not focussed today, scrolling around on your phone instead of studying. You throw your phone to the bed at some point and you hug your legs to your chest in thought.

“You think Andrew will let me suck his dick? For a better score?”

Peter’s heart stops beating for a second. 

You haven’t kissed, you haven’t said anything that should have led Peter to think that this is more than friendship, but it seemed like there could be something in the future. Apparently, you’re not even considering it.

“Who’s Andrew?” He asks, mouth dry and voice weak.

“Professor Garfield.”

“Oh. Well, I-I think that‘s illegal.”

“Is it though?” You tilt your head and give him a deliberately incredulous look.

“Yes.”

“Not if no one finds out. It’s don’t break the rules or don‘t get caught, Peter.”

He’s distracted by you saying his name for a moment. There’s nothing he loves hearing more.

But he has to stop you from doing… that. He can’t entirely tell how serious you are, but he has to make sure to convince you that it’s a bad idea.

“No offence, but what makes you believe you’ll be good enough for him to give you a better score? If you’ve never… you know, done anything like it.” He remembers your conversation from the first time you met, and if you haven’t given anyone a blowjob since then, he knows it would be your first time. Your first time can’t be with a professor, even if Peter disregards the fact that he wants to be the only guy you have sex with, it really is a bad idea.

“I’m a young and pretty student and he’s a kinda old guy. He’s like 40. So I’m sure that I’ll be enough for him.”

Peter doesn’t say anything for a moment, thrown off by your casual tone.

“Don’t you think so?” you press, teasing in your voice.

“No- of course you’re pretty. You’re beautiful,” he smiles, pressing his lips together. 

“Aww,” you sit up and press a kiss to his cheek, “So are you, Pete.” You hold on to his shoulder as you lower yourself into his lap, your butt right next to his thighs and your upper body resting on his legs, and his breath hitches. 

“Well if you think I need practice, then.. I could practise on you first.”

“Practise w-what on me?” He asks, feeling your hands on his abs.

“Going down on a guy,” you say, looking up at him. Now the feeling in Peter’s belly changes from raging jealousy into something else of equal passion. He’s thought about you doing that before, (and pushed the thought out of his mind as quickly as it appeared) but hearing you suggest it makes a new flame of desire light up in him. 

The first conversation you ever had was about sex. But anytime you mention anything sexual, Peter doesn’t know how to act.

“I- I mean. I’m not- I feel like, maybe that’s not—”

“Don’t worry, I’m joking. I won’t actually suck that guy’s dick. I just don’t wanna do this stuff right now,” you sigh, sitting up and closing your textbook.

“How about we do something to distract you for the night, and then tomorrow I’ll help you with the next assignment,” he suggests, relief still flooding through his body, happy that you don’t actually want to suck your professor’s dick.

“You’d do that?” 

“Of course. I’ll always help you when I can but I especially owe you after you did my homework last week when I fell asleep.”

You sit up, “I told you it was no big deal. It was just multiple choice and all I did was copy my answers.”

“Yeah but if I hadn’t woken up then I would have missed the deadline and failed.”

“I know you’d do the same for me. And besides, you looked so peaceful sleeping. I couldn’t wake you up to do some boring computational linguistics quiz at eleven pm.”

Peter smiles at the memory of last week. When he’s with you, he doesn’t want to sleep, he wants to spend time with you. But he was tired and you were studying something Peter couldn’t help you with anyway, and he’s so comfortable around you that he just drifted off to sleep because he trusts you – he wouldn’t be okay with being unconscious next to just anyone.

“Well, it was still a very kind thing to do.”

Not sure what you’re doing yet, you go to your dorm room so you can change out of your sweats and into something prettier–even though Peter thinks you could wear sweatpants 24/7, and you’d still outshine everyone. He nearly stays outside but with a confused look you ask him what he’s doing outside and he reluctantly comes in.

Picking out an outfit, you pull off your shirt with no warning and even if he can only see your back an “Oh my God” leaves Peter’s mouth immediately, followed by a quiet, “Sorry,” as he turns around.

“Don’t worry. I’m just changing. It’s just my body, you can look.”

Despite your nonchalant words, Peter can hear your heart beating loudly and frantically in your chest. He tries not to let it get to him, it doesn’t have to mean that you like him. Maybe you’re just realising that you don’t want a boy to see you half-naked after all but you don’t want to say it now after confidently assuring him it was okay. 

Peter sits down on your bed, turned away from you even though it takes all the willpower he can muster.

A few moments later you jump onto the bed next to him, “So, what are we doing tonight?”

“Do?” He asks, still dazed from seeing your naked back, “Oh do, yeah. Uh yes, we can do something.” 

You giggle, looking at him expectantly. That’s when Peter remembers he was the one who suggested that you go out tonight.

“Oh-well yeah, I was thinking we could take a walk along the river, I heard they have these carnival booths up every Friday night.”

Going out in the evenings has become your and Peter’s thing. Sure, many people–especially college students–go out in the evening. But with you, it feels different. It feels special.

Illuminated by the streetlights and the LED glow from the booths, you and Peter play a few rounds of ring toss and throwing darts at balloons. You both swear it’s rigged because neither of you win anything.

You eat popcorn while Peter gets cotton candy and once again you hold Peter’s hand throughout most of your trip. It’s become a habit of yours, apparently meaningless as a romantic gesture, but platonically it means everything to Peter. You like him enough to constantly initiate physical touch; plus, he’s never seen you hold hands with any of your other friends.

Still, Peter is forever wishing for more. Sometimes he looks at you and wonders how he’s managed not to kiss you yet. But his fear grows with every day; the closer you get the harder it will be to confess his feelings because the risk of ruining something beautiful keeps getting bigger. 

He’s never been this attracted to anyone but he also thinks he’s never had a friendship as good as yours. He simply can’t risk something good, something beautiful, something that makes him as happy as he’s ever been. Your friendship is strong but he’s scared you wouldn’t be able to come back from Peter confessing his feelings for you and you not feeling the same.

It could weird you out, you could take pity on Peter and see him in a different light, or worst of all, you could think he’s been taking advantage of you. He’s never touched you anywhere that would be reserved only for a lover but you two are quite close. You’ve cuddled a few times, or just a few hours ago you were changing in front of him – he doesn’t want you thinking he intentionally got any sexual gratification out of it and for you to view him differently.

He already feels bad enough when nothing but the image of you clouds his thoughts whenever he jerks off. He can’t help it anymore. He used to be able to think of something else or simply watch porn but now that he’s with you so often and you’re so perfect, you’re like an intrusive thought; whenever he’s naked, there’s nothing on his mind but you, just like when a song is stuck in your head – there’s no easy way of getting rid of it.

Peter has never been one to feel shame after masturbating. But if you only liked him as a friend and ever found out what he thinks about when he’s fucking his fist late at night, he doesn’t even want to know what your opinion of him would change into. But the mental image of you alone makes Peter cum so hard, over and over, that he can’t stop, even if guilt plagues him right after as he cleans up the mess he’s made.

He looks down at your intertwined hands while you’re walking home across campus. He wonders what you’d do if you knew that the hand you’re holding right now jerks Peter off every night without fail, thinking precisely of how your hand could replace Peter’s.

On your way home, you walk past a frat house, the vibration of the music reaching Peter’s chest even from the outside.

“Shit, Chloe told me about this party. I forgot I said I’d be there.”

“Who’s that?”

“She’s one of my friends from an Oceanography class. Do you mind if we go in? Just for half an hour.”

It’ll definitely distract Peter from thinking about you in a way that he’s not sure you’d be comfortable with.

You’re dragged away by some of your girlfriends as soon as you enter. They all say something about Peter but you quickly shrug off what they’re saying about you two always being together. He can’t tell if it’s a genuine no or just that feeling of embarrassment that you get when your friends tease you about your crush.

So your friends see it too? The indescribable chemistry between you two? Even with his enhanced hearing, he can’t hear the rest of your conversation because some of his own friends are urging him to go play beer pong with them.

Peter sees you every twenty minutes or so and you wave or smile at him and check up on him every time you walk past. Spending time with your other friends is good for both of you, but it’s also good to know that he’s still on your mind, just like you’re on his.

“Help me find the bathroom,” you tell Peter the next time you see him. He’s getting a little bored at this party so he assumes you also want to escape.

You walk into the bathroom together and Peter doesn’t realise that you actually just need to pee until he sees you contemplating on pulling your underwear down or not, “Can you wait outside?”

“Of course.”

Peter has no interest in being in the bathroom with you while you pee, but the fact that you nearly let him stay in there with you shows him once again how comfortable you are around him. He’s smiling like an idiot, standing by the wall opposite the bathroom until he hears your “You can come in.”

After you’ve washed your hands you sit on the edge of the bathtub and pat the space next to you for Peter to join you and you chat about whatever comes to your mind. So you did want a break from the party too, and Peter is glad to provide that.

“What song is that?” Peter asks. The music is loud enough for you to clearly hear it even upstairs in the bathroom.

“I don’t know, I’ll shazam it. You’re right, it sounds good.”

When you unlock your phone the screen is filled with the picture of a vibrator. You ignore it and go to Shazam the song, but Peter can’t let you off like that.

You always get to tease him so he smirks when he can finally get you back, “Wait wait wait,” he takes your phone from you, lifting it high in case you want to take it from him.

“What is this?” He asks, smiling, teasing you lovingly and in good fun but you look at him as if he’s talking about the most boring thing ever, not embarrassed in the slightest, but once more, that could be a good sign; another sign of your close relationship.

“Oh, it’s this vibrator. But it’s way too expensive for me.”

Peter licks his lips, trying not to freak out. He doesn’t know why he thought talking to you about a vibrator would be a good idea. But he tries to appear as calm as you, “Why is it expensive? What’s so special about it?”

“Well, it basically sucks your clit. But I don’t want to spend over 100 dollars on something like that when I can just go out and find a guy to suck my clit within like five minutes. It’s all those guys on campus think about, I swear. I’m glad you’re not like that, Pete” you smile at him and put your head on his shoulder, completely catching him off guard with your words.

He won’t be able to jerk off without thinking about you for days now; meaning he won’t be able to jerk off for days. Do you mean you’d hate knowing that Peter thinks about you sexually or do you just mean that there’s no pressure with Peter? And that any other male friend would have asked for sex by now?

Peter knows he’s not a perv, but he doesn’t know if you’d say the same if you knew you were the protagonist of his spank bank. 

“Wait, actually, a friend told me they’re way cheaper if you buy them in-store and they’ll have more to choose from... will you go with me?” You ask him with a big fake pout.

“To a.. a sex shop?”

“I don’t want to go alone. And you’re my best friend.”

He can’t say no to you after you call him that, even if having a constant reminder of what you use to masturbate is going to kill him.

“O-okay. But why can’t you just go with your friend?”

“I’m not as comfortable around her as I am around you. Unless you really don’t want to.”

“No no I’ll go,” he nods and you grin.

“I’m sure they’ll have something for you too,” you say with raised eyebrows. And even though his hand and the thoughts about you make him cum hard and fast enough that he doesn’t feel like he needs a sex toy, your words help him feel a little less guilty. You telling him to go buy a sex toy suggests that you’re not grossed out when thinking of him masturbating, so maybe you’d understand that he’s got to do what he’s got to do sometimes, and you actually wouldn’t completely hate him if you found out what goes on in Peter’s mind when he jerks off.

“But we’re not going before we finish our assignment.”

“Deal,” you shake his hand with a laugh and join your friends downstairs to play the last few rounds of drinking games before you go home.

You’re good, but the other team is better. 

You didn’t really want to drink tonight and are only playing for fun but Peter likes following the rules so someone has to have the drinks. You assure him he doesn’t have to but Peter downs all the drinks for you and the ones for himself, relying on his enhanced abilities to drink them like water. He has one drink and then five more and when you two leave the party he realises he’s drunk.

You insist on taking him to your room to make sure he’s okay but Peter is a funny drunk so he doesn’t feel too bad. If he gets to sleep in your bed he could never feel bad, and knowing you you would never offer if you weren’t okay with it.

“I like when you take care of me,” Peter smiles at you when you tuck him into bed and he takes your hand in his, “And I like when we hold hands.”

“I like it too,” you kiss his forehead and Peter practically swoons. You were holding his hand the whole way back home from the party, like one of those people keeping a toddler on a leash and he’ll probably be embarrassed tomorrow morning but right now he’s just grateful for the constant affection.

You seem no bit annoyed that you have to deal with a drunk Peter, you’re just spending time with your best friend (he hasn’t stopped thinking about you calling him that) who happens to be drunk.

“Will you need a bucket?” You ask as you pull down your skirt and leave on your cropped shirt.

“A what?” He asks, heart beating harder as he stares at your half-naked form.

“Do you think you’ll throw up?” You ask.

“No, I’ll be fine.”

When you walk over to the bed Peter sees everything in slow motion. You stand next to the bed for a few seconds, tapping on your phone, and Peter admires your beautiful body while he can.

“You know how much I love your legs? They look so good,” he says, and he can’t tell if he’s embarrassingly drunk right now or not. He just knows that your legs are perfect. You’re perfect. And that’s something his sober self would wholeheartedly agree with.

You smile and turn off the lights, leaving the window open so Peter can get some fresh air but it also leaves enough light for Peter to admire your legs some more.

“Scoot over,” you tell him and get in bed with him.

“No, you don’t understand how incredible your legs are.” He gets one last glance at them before you pull the blanket over your body.

“Thank you, Peter,” you smile, and he sees by the crinkles next to your eyes that it’s genuine and maybe you don’t hate him looking at your body as much as he’s been worrying you would.

You talk a little more but minutes later the conversation consists more of yawning than talking and Peter sobers up when he realises he will be sleeping next to you. It’s his first time sleeping in a woman’s bed, and he’s glad it’s yours.

He’s taken naps next to you and there was that one time you slept next to each other on the sofa, but this is different. You’re alone in your room, right next to each other, in one bed, sharing one blanket. He can feel the warmth of your half-naked body and before he knows it your familiar presence calms him down enough to fall asleep quickly.

*

When Peter wakes up next to you the following morning, it takes a few moments for it to all come back to him.

He knows there’s no way you slept with each other, Peter was kinda drunk, neither of you have even confessed any feelings and you wouldn’t have a one night stand the first time you have sex. 

But when he gently lifts the blanket, making sure he doesn’t wake you up, he’s met with the sight of your lovely belly and heavenly thighs, and Peter thinks from the outside it could look like you had sex. 

Not that anyone is going to see, but two hormonal college students, both half-naked, waking up next to each other.. It screams something obvious and that thing is not that you two are merely friends.

The thought of it alone makes Peter flustered and he shifts uncomfortably. His eyes widen when he realises that his morning wood is pushed right against your ass. He pulls his hips back as quickly as he can, waking you up in the process.

You’re facing away from him, and the first thing you notice is your and Peter’s interlaced hands. His cheeks warm up as he notices them too. His arm is resting above your head on the pillow, fingers next to your face where they’re loosely intertwined with yours.

He doesn’t remember waking up in the night, so you must have somehow ended up holding hands in your sleep, both finding your way to the other even while unconscious.

You squeeze his hand and twist your body to look at Peter’s face. “Hi,” you mumble, smiling sleepily.

“Hi,” Peter says, opening his mouth minimally just in case he has bad morning breath.

Your eyes flit across his face with a look he can’t decipher. “Goodnight,” you say a few seconds later and you lie back down in your tired daze, pushing against Peter and pulling his arm over your waist.

“Wait,” you turn around again, “Are you okay? Got a hangover or anything?”

“I’m good, thanks. Go back to sleep,” he smiles, partially because he knows you still need rest but also because he wants you to go back to sleep so he can take care of himself. It’s becoming painful how hard he is.

“Okay. But stay, you’re warm.”

He most definitely is warm, he knows he’s blushing like crazy.

You pull the blanket further up your body and scoot back against Peter, and the way your ass pushes against his crotch nearly makes him moan. He doesn't know how you're not noticing what's going on.

He scoots his hips back as far as he can and waits a few minutes until you’ve drifted off to sleep again. He carefully removes himself from you and goes to your bathroom. You have a bathtub, big enough for both of you, he thinks, with a showerhead on the wall.

Before he can even bring himself to care about the temperature, Peter turns on the water and pulls his clothes off in a hurry, wrapping a hand around himself before he’s even really in the shower.

He leans a hand against the wall, resting his head against it as his other hand speeds up, jerking himself off while he thinks about you in the other room. You, so pretty, so caring, so sexy in just your underwear and a short shirt. You, not knowing that Peter is about to cum in your shower, so close to you, thinking about you.

The water is only barely louder than the sound his hand makes against his cock, and he bites his lip to stop any moans from coming out.

Peter cums when he hears the squeaking of your bed; you’re getting up, you could walk in any second. While he cums, Peter’s mind wanders to you on your knees, his dick sliding in and out of your mouth as you look up at him with your gorgeous eyes.

He washes his cum off the bathroom tiles on the wall and tries to wash the guilty feeling off himself.

Suddenly the door opens slightly, “Hey can I come in? I won’t look, I just wanna brush my teeth.”

Peter makes sure to slide the shower door to the side so it’s covering him and he tells you to come in.

He peeks out of the shower and you smile at him through the mirror. He catches your eyes drifting lower but you can barely even make out the outline of Peter’s body through the frosted glass. 

Peter casts his own glance at you and how you’re still not wearing anything but panties and that short shirt. You stretch your arms, still trying to shake the tired feeling, and your shirt lifts so that Peter can already see the flesh of your tits. But you stop stretching just before your top lifts over your nipples and he quickly turns to look at the wall in the shower instead.

He quickly washes himself using your shower gel, maybe he’ll smell just like you now.

You hand Peter a towel just at the right moment and he wraps it around himself before stepping out of the shower.

“Wait, leave it on,” you tell him.

In his still horny brain a scenario plays out where you said that a few moments earlier and joined Peter in the shower.

This time you don’t tell him if it’s okay for him to look while you’re changing so he diverts his gaze before you slip out of your clothes.

You squeal when you get in the shower, “Peter, why is it so cold? What’s wrong with you?” 

He must not have realised how cold it was, but once he got into the shower he only cared about coming, and he blocked everything else out. By the time he was washing his body, he must have become used to the temperature already and didn’t notice.

Peter brushes his teeth with his second toothbrush that he’s got in your bathroom and quickly goes into your bedroom so he won’t be in the same room as you while you’re naked and he’s only got a towel wrapped around him.

You come out dressed in the clothes you took into the bathroom with you.

“Sorry that I used your shower,” Peter says, sitting on your bed with nothing but your towel.

“You’re welcome here whenever and welcome to use whatever, you know that. But showering that cold should be a crime,” you smile at him, “Should I get you some clothes?”

You go to Peter’s room to get clothes for him and he changes into them in your bathroom.

“I know it’s the weekend but can we get that assignment done today? I wanna go buy my vibrator soon,” you pout.

Peter forgot all about that. How is he supposed to study with you if he knows you’ll go out together to buy a sex toy after?

But somehow he manages. Well, you realise you can do it mostly by yourself once you properly start and Peter is only there for moral support (even though he’s the one who needs moral support; he doesn’t know how much longer he can pretend that he doesn’t have feelings for you, pretend that he didn’t just jerk off while thinking of you and pretend that it–by far–wasn’t the first time.)

“Hey, are you okay?” You ask Peter as you’re both on your way to buy your stupid vibrator that Peter would love to replace.

He doesn’t know what you’re talking about but your worried look tells him he looks exactly as nervous from the outside as he feels. He’s never been to a sex shop. Are they going to ID you? Are you going to meet someone you know? Is it going to be all dingy?

Normally, you’re like an anchor to Peter, your presence can make him feel comfortable in situations that would usually make him panic. But in this situation, you’re making him even antsier. Not in a way that he would describe as anxious but more like a, he’s scared he’ll get a boner any second. That’s always a risk when he’s with you but that risk quadruples when you’re going to a sex shop to buy a vibrator for yourself.

You stop Peter in his tracks and stand in front of him to wipe his sweaty forehead with your sleeve, his heart beating even faster now. “You know you don’t have to come in if it makes you that nervous. But it’s just a shop.”

“What? Yeah I’m fine, pff, like so fine. I’m just hot,” Peter says, watching your eyes go to the thick winter coat Peter is wearing. You’re wearing one too. Even in his jacket, Peter could do with a bit more warmth.

“Here,” you unzip his jacket, and even if it’s only to assist Peter with his stupid lie, you’re still undressing him. You’re not helping the boner risk decrease at all.

The shop is classy and clean and the employees leave you alone (unlike when you dragged Peter to Lush that one time and he was forced to try out bath bombs and oil that he didn’t know the purpose of).

Now he can tell you’re flustered too, just a little bit. Holding on to Peter’s arm the whole time, you find what you need, pay, and put your gloves on top of the packaged vibrator just in case anyone decides to look in your bag.

Even though it’s a Saturday afternoon, the shops aren’t busy so you go to look for some new clothes. Peter thinks you could wear a potato sack and you’d still look pretty, so he’s not the best judge when you come out of the dressing rooms to ask for his opinion on whatever clothes you’re trying on.

“This is so ugly, oh my god,” he hears you from inside the dressing room, laughing.

You pop your head out behind the curtain to make sure no one sees you as you show Peter a top that, yes–even on you, looks ugly. You still look gorgeous, that’s for sure, but even your perfect face and body can’t save the Shrek-coloured thing that is supposed to be a t-shirt.

“You know, you’re the only one who’s allowed to see me in something as ugly as this,” you say absentmindedly as you go back to try on something else and Peter’s heart beats faster at your words.

It might sound ridiculous to an outsider, but to Peter these little things mean the world.

He might not be able to tell if what you feel for him is platonic or more, but he knows you feel something for him. You feel a lot for him. He feels it every time you so much as look at him. 

With you, Peter feels loved.

The love you give him feels like it’s supposed to be for a lover, supposed to be for that one special person. And the lines between friendship and more are so blurry in your relationship that he can’t tell how much is spilling onto the romantic side already.

Peter contemplates paying for your new jeans but in the end, he’s too awkward (and too broke) in front of the cashier to interrupt when you get out your money. Besides things like cinema tickets, drinks and food, Peter has never paid for anything that you bought and it would feel very boyfriend-y.

You get food on your way home and by the time you’re in Peter’s room, it’s dark outside already. Peter was surprised that you even came to his room and when he keeps noticing you looking at the bag with your new toy in it, his assumption that you’d rather be doing something else now is confirmed.

You’ve been so casual when you talk about things like vibrators and getting off, but Peter has never had the courage to properly contribute anything to the conversation. But he decides to put on his big boy pants and before he can chicken out he nods towards his door and says, “Go on, try out your vibrator. I know you’re dying to.”

You give him a charming and apologetic smile, snatching your bag, ready to go. “I’d love to spend time with you, you know that but–”

“I know. But we have enough time for that tomorrow. Just don’t break your–” Don’t break what? Don’t break your pussy? Your clit? He’s never said any of those words out loud.

“I won’t,” you help him out and climb on the bed again to kiss his cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Pancakes as always?”

“Pancakes as always,” Peter smiles, feeling himself blush, “Text me your review of the toy,” he says before you leave.

“I will,” you smile back at him, wave, and close the door.

Peter waits a few moments until he thinks you’ve arrived at your door. Are you going to throw yourself on your bed as soon as you get in? Shower first? Are you going to slowly take off all your clothes, caress your body to turn yourself on? Seduce yourself? Or are you going to push your pants down just a few inches and shove the vibrator between your legs?

Whatever you’re doing, thinking of any of those scenarios makes Peter hard immediately; that, and the tension from today that he can finally release.

He moves to the side of the bed that you were just lying on, and the sheets still smell like you.

Peter unbuckles his belt and pushes down his jeans, grabbing himself through his boxers and instantly feeling a sense of relief.

He imagines you lying in your bed, right now, two fingers between your legs. You’re so wet from being with Peter, the guy you’re into, all day, that your fingertips easily glide over your skin.

Peter shifts and runs his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the precum. The warm, familiar pressure is already building up in Peter’s body, and he slides his fist up and down himself faster.

In Peter’s mind, you’re spreading your lips now, holding the vibrator against your clit. You jolt at the first contact and smile, knowing you’re about to feel nothing but bliss.

Your body relaxes and you let the vibration take over completely, chasing your orgasm that’s so close after only a minute. You throw your head back when you cum, your eyebrows scrunched together. Your legs start shaking once you can’t take it anymore, but you press the vibrator to your clit during the last few aftershocks.

Peter cums at the same time as you do in his imagination. He’s spilling over his abs and his hands, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

He lies in his bed for a few more moments, sighing as he cleans up the mess he just made. He gets a message from you: Had a nice day btw :) Can’t wait to see you again tomorrow <3

He smiles and texts back, too exhausted to feel bad for what he just did.

Tomorrow will be the third day in a row that you’re spending time together and you’re showing no signs of getting tired of him. But at this rate, it seems like Peter will never know what being with you while you orgasm is actually like.

He can be patient, but he doesn’t know if he’s waiting for something that will never happen. 

He doesn’t even care about the sex, he just wants to hold your hand and know what it means, know that it means that you’re in a romantic relationship.

He’ll give you all the time you need, that’s all he can do. He simply can’t confess his feelings, he can plan on doing it and dream about it as much as he wants, but when he’s standing in front of you he can’t risk losing you.

Maybe one day he’ll be brave enough, and who knows, maybe you’re thinking the exact same thing right now, trying to be brave but you just can’t.

Maybe.

*

Peter knocks at your door the next day, ready to get pancakes like you always do on Sundays. There’s a lot of commotion behind the door and you take a while to open it.

“You’re early,” you say, hair messy and overall dishevelled.

“Am I? I don’t mind waiting,” Peter says.

“I’ve just quickly got to shower, you can go back to your room or wait here, whichever you want.”

“No problem, I’ll just wait here.” Peter feels as if that’s the wrong answer because you don’t exactly look thrilled that he’ll be in your room, but you still let him in with a small smile. He knows that you can’t be mad at him and by the time Peter’s on your bed and you're about to go to the bathroom, you’re giving him a genuine smile and say you won’t be long.

Peter gets out his phone as he hears you turning on the water and he drops to his back on your bed.

Just as he’s about to go on Instagram, he hears a quiet, mechanical whirring. He wouldn’t be able to pick up on it without his enhanced hearing.

He hears how you smack your hand over your mouth, but you’re not quick enough. Peter still heard a tiny moan.

So that’s why you didn’t want Peter coming in. You’ve probably been making yourself cum all night and you weren’t finished with the last round.

Peter sits up and tries to stick his fingers in his ears, but even if he can’t hear you anymore he’s still got the vivid image of you in his head, only a wall separating you two.

He stands up and looks for something to distract himself before he gets hard, but to make things even worse, Peter’s eyes land on a pair of panties next to your bed.

He feels like a perv as he picks them up. He can see your arousal still glistening in them, and it’s like they’re calling out Peter’s name.

He’s about to lift them to his face when he hears you turning off the water. Peter stuffs the panties into his jeans pocket quickly and out of reflex. He stiffly sits on your bed, unsure if he still has enough time to pull your underwear out of his pocket again and throw it under your bed. 

He’s too nervous to hear what you’re doing, his ears ringing, and before he can bring himself to quickly put your underwear back, you’re coming out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go.

With your innocent rambling about college he manages to calm down but you and your stupid vibrator are still on his mind. But it’s a good thing that you two can talk about stuff like that, so maybe he’ll get his mind off it once he asks you about it.

“So, is it good?” He asks you as you slide into the booth at the place you always go to for pancakes.

“Is what good?”

“Your, your vibrator thing? You didn’t send me a review,” he says.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” you laugh, “It’s so good, oh my god. I’m so glad we don’t have roommates here cause I did it like six times last night. I get why people pay so much for it. I mean it’s supposed to simulate oral sex and I can’t imagine that it feels the same but I guess I’ll find out one day.”

“You always have me if you want to find out how it feels.”

He can only gather the courage to say that because of what you once said about sucking his dick for practice so you could suck Andrew’s dick for a better score. The only difference is that you turned out to be joking, but Peter is serious.

He probably sounds too serious too because you give him a questioning, “Huh?”

“Well- well I’m just saying if you wanna compare your toy to oral sex then I... you know... my tongue is available to you,” he says it exactly how it comes to his mind, unsure if he should make it sound more like a joke.

You laugh, declaring it a joke yourself, “Okay, thanks. You’re so cute.”

It’s not ideal but the fact that you’re not running away from him and gagging shows him that at least the thought of Peter going down on you doesn’t disgust you. The fact that you made a joke about going down on him first, even if that was weeks ago, gives Peter a tiny bit of hope that maybe his instinct has been right all this time. Maybe you do like him back and you just need a bit more time.

“Um, I heard that next week there’s going to be loads of shooting stars. I was thinking we could drive out of the city and go stargazing. I already asked James and he said we can take his car–the truck, it’s big enough for us to lie down in while we look at the sky, it’s going to be warmer next week too and–”

“I’d love to,” you grin.

He mirrors your smile immediately because it actually took a lot of convincing for Peter’s friend James to let Peter have his car. And more importantly, looking at the stars sounds very romantic. He wasn't sure if he should invite you to something so obviously romantic.

What if it makes you realise that Peter likes you and you distance yourself from him because you don’t feel the same?

What if you do feel the same, but you need your time and it’s too early for a date-like activity?

But what if... what if it’s just the right thing?

You hold hands, you’ve slept in a bed together, so Peter doubts you will be freaked out by stargazing. But Peter can already feel the butterflies just thinking about lying under the night sky with you, and what if you don’t?

But maybe Peter is ready for the risk after all. He’ll see if you’re enjoying yourself, try to see in your beautiful eyes if you’re as smitten as him. He's realised that he’ll have to try one day and now that you’ve agreed to his plan, it feels like this is the right timing, the right thing. Maybe he’ll even ask you how you feel, or make a comment about how romantic the situation is.

And if you and Peter belong together, then maybe it’s time for you. He certainly feels that he’s ready. He’s not expecting a kiss, he’s not expecting anything except the tiniest hint that a romantic night with Peter doesn’t leave you cold. That would be more than enough to keep him going for so many more months to come.

He can wait if you need time but he’s just one man and his passion for you burns so brightly inside him that he just needs something, no matter how small it is.

You two walk home, your bellies filled with pancakes and warmth from seeing your person. No matter if it’s platonic or romantic, Peter would be blind if he didn’t see that he makes you happy and how much you glow and grin and his presence. 

You hang out on campus for a bit more but you tell him you still need to study and you’ll see him tomorrow (he tries not to think about how you’re probably lying and are simply going to use your vibrator over and over).

Peter changes into sweats once he gets to his room and as he’s putting his jeans away he notices something pink peeking out of the pocket. Your panties. He completely forgot about them.

He carefully pulls them out, holding them like they’re a sacred treasure.

Making himself comfortable on his bed, he takes a deep breath before bringing your underwear up to his face.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting your arousal to smell like, not like this, but it’s even better. 

It smells heavenly, just like everything else about you.

He bunches your panties up in his hand and presses them against his face, inhaling your scent while he reaches a hand under his sweatpants and strokes himself. 

He’s been hard since he remembered he had your panties and he doesn’t even think about you making yourself wet, your smell alone has him coming undone within seconds.

He does it again before going to bed, this time wrapping the panties around his hand so he’s jerking himself off with them. He bites his t-shirt in an attempt to muffle his moans as the material slides up and down his cock.

He fucks his fist as hard and as fast as he can, his bed starting to squeak from the intensity of it.

Your wetness on your panties has long dried but the thought of your arousal so close to his dick has him–once again–reaching his orgasm pathetically fast. He sighs after he cums, examining the panties to make sure he pulled them away in time and there’s none of his cum on them.

He wants to save them for another time; as many times as they’ll still have your addicting smell on them.

He cleans the mess off himself, his cum ending up in a tissue that he throws into the trash can with all the other tissues. He’ll empty it before you come over the next time.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★ﾟ:*:･｡

You’ve been driving for half an hour now, the city nothing but a few lights in the rearview mirror. 

You find a spot next to a field, not a soul to be seen anywhere near you. You get the blankets and snacks to make yourselves comfortable in the back of James’s pickup truck that Peter borrowed.

“Look,” you point towards the sky, but Peter misses the shooting star. He goes back to looking at your beautiful face, only to find your eyes already on him.

He feels your hand on the side of his face, pushing his head to face the sky again, “Look at the stars, not at me,” you say and he can hear the grin in your voice. You’re enjoying yourself, and that’s all that matters. You want him to enjoy himself too, not knowing that your face is so much more interesting to look at.

After a few moments of staring into the brightly lit sky–it never looks like this in the polluted city–he has to admit, the night sky isn’t bad either.

It only takes a few seconds until another shooting star races across the sky and you share an excited look, “Did you see that?” You ask.

“You’re supposed to make a wish,” Peter whispers, eyes closed as he wishes for a relationship with you.

You’re still looking at him when he opens his eyes, your gaze intense, eyes flitting across his face.

“Did you make a wish?” Peter asks. You nod and slowly divert your gaze towards the masterpiece of nature above you again.

He can’t shake the feeling that your wish also had something to do with him. Something romantic. He always overthinks and doubts himself but this is one thing he’s sure about.

But the moment is fleeting and Peter doesn’t find the words to say. You’re back to looking at the stars, and he doesn’t want to have to grab your face to kiss you.

He swallows down the disappointment and tries to enjoy the time with you, his dear friend. Not many people have a friendship like yours and at this moment he just tries to be grateful for that.

“Peter?” Your voice is quiet.

“Mhm?”

“I’m so glad we met,” you turn to your side, your whole body facing him now. He can hear the raw emotion in your voice, he thinks he can even see tears in your eyes. That’s what your shared love does to Peter too. He could cry just thinking about it.

“Me too,” he says, reaching for your hand, trying to bring the monstrosity of his feelings into words to let you know that nothing has made him as happy as meeting you, but the words won’t come out. 

“Our friendship means so much to me,” you say, and it stings. In this romantic moment, cuddled up beneath the stars, is that all Peter will ever be to you? A friend?

You continue, “I‘m sorry if I ruin it with what I‘m about to do.”

“What–”

You lean in and kiss Peter.

The world stops. Nothing matters, nothing but your lips on Peter’s. He always thought he’d be overcome with great excitement when you first kiss, an explosion of fireworks in his mind and his insides, but he feels at peace. It simply feels right.

“Did I just ruin our friendship?” You whisper, and it’s then that Peter realises that he barely kissed you back. He was too stunned to.

He puts his hands on your face and pulls you in, pressing his lips against yours over and over.

“You didn’t ruin our friendship, you turned it into something better, so much better. And you know that our friendship is hard to beat,” Peter says.

You let out a laugh of joy, “It is,” and you kiss him again, slinging your arms around his neck to pull him as close as you can.

Your lips are soft, so so soft, and even in the cold night, Peter feels warm because he has your body against his.

“Could you maybe uh… slap me?” Peter asks.

“Um, what?”

“Just so I know I’m not dreaming. Please.”

You pinch his cheek instead and you both smile. Peter’s not waking up. He’s already awake. It’s not a dream, this is actually happening.

The fireworks come after all, an explosion of happiness shooting through his chest when he realises that this is real.

He hugs you tight, as tight as he can without breaking you.

Peter’s heart drops when you pull away and tears stain your cheeks, “What-what’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing, nothing,” you put a hand on his chest, “I’m just so happy.” Your voice breaks as more tears rush down your face but your eyes are full of happiness.

Tonight, Peter was hoping for a hint that maybe in the future you see something more than friendship between you two too. What he got was all of you. A confession of your feelings, a raw exposure of your deepest emotions, vulnerability. But you trust him. And he’s so glad you do. He’ll do anything to make sure you’re happy and safe and comfortable. 

He starts crying too, just a few tears, either because he’s seeing you cry or because it’s the first time in his life that he’s ecstatic enough to experience happy tears—he’s been waiting for this for so long, unsure if it would ever even happen. All the doubt from the last months tumbles away – none of it matters anymore. You kissed him. 

“I really want to blow my nose but I don’t want to leave you,” Peter sniffles.

You look at him, “Go blow your nose, Peter.”

“Okay.”

“I have some tissues in my bag.”

You keep your hand on Peter’s leg while he reaches for your bag and half a minute later you’re reunited again with you lying in Peter’s arms.

You drove all the way to look at the stars but you can’t keep your eyes off each other, never going more than a minute without kissing. It takes a few more minutes for you to pretend that the stars are more interesting than Peter, and you straddle him once you decide you can’t go any longer without being as close to him as possible.

Peter wraps his arms around your waist, enjoying your weight on him. The kisses turn from pecks into something more, but it’s soft and unhurried. You’re taking your time with Peter, savouring the feel of him while Peter takes it all, takes all you give him.

Your wet mouths on each other is the only sound far and wide; even mother nature is quiet as you kiss Peter in the back of this truck, out in the country with no one else around.

You shift, your lips never leaving Peter’s, and start grinding against him, slowly.

He squeezes your waist harder as it becomes difficult to control himself. The only thing stopping him from ruining his pants is the fact that you’re both wearing jeans, so you’re narrowly missing Peter’s hardness, doing what feels good for you.

You stop abruptly with horror in your eyes and Peter strokes your back, “Everything okay? Why’d you stop?”

You look down, a bashful smile on your lips, “I didn’t realise I was doing that.”

Peter stops himself from groaning. He’s getting more turned on with every passing second.

“You don’t have to stop on my behalf.”

After two seconds of contemplation, you kiss Peter again, adjusting your position. You both gasp into each other’s mouths when you’ve perfectly aligned your bodies, and they start moving perfectly in tune with one another.

“I’ve been dreaming of having you on top of me for so long,” Peter says, hands now on your hips, feeling your every movement.

“And I’ve wanted to be on top of you.. for so long,” you’re distracted, pushing yourself up with your hands on Peter’s chest, your voice faltering as you hold in a moan.

Peter feels incredible – everything you do makes him feel incredible. 

So incredible that he doesn’t know how he hasn’t cum yet, but he’s trying so hard not to.

He nearly moans when you grab his hoodie harder and you whimper, “I’m so close.”

One hand is at your jeans, trying to undo the buttons but you can’t, too lost in pleasure.

“Peter, unbutton my jeans,” you say–or rather whimper, “Please.”

And even though he’s on the brink of coming, nothing matters more than your orgasm right now, so he quickly fumbles with the buttons and opens them, your hand disappearing down your pants immediately.

Peter grabs the backs of your thighs as you cum on top of him, your face more gorgeous than he could have ever imagined, so pretty and so vulnerable just for him. He cums at the same time as you, trying to hide it but his hips push up against yours nevertheless.

You let yourself fall to Peter’s side, hiking your leg up over his lap. Peter puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“Did you uh..” you look up at him, half teasing him, half unsure if it even happened.

Peter drags a hand over his face, “Yeah… I.. came in my pants.”

“Oh,” you try not to laugh, “Sorry.”

He looks at you, “No, don’t apologise, that was one of the best moments of my life.”

You give him baby wipes from your bag while you pack the stuff and wait for him in the car. He reluctantly hands you the baby wipes when he gets in next to you, looking at your lap.

“What?” You ask.

“I’ve known how you smell for nearly a week now and I don’t know how much longer I can go without having a taste of you.” He’s thinking about your panties, safely stored in his room but they’ve lost even the last traces of your smell.

You follow Peter’s eyes towards your crotch and figure out what he’s talking about, “How… how do you know how I smell?” 

Shit. 

He forgot that you’re not supposed to know that. 

But maybe, subconsciously, he said it on purpose so he can get any secrets out before you two get serious. Or maybe he’s just a dumbass, but he’s trying to look at the bright side. He’s not capable of any negative feelings when you just kissed him.

“Peter?” You ask. You don’t sound mad, you’re just curious.

“I uh, I took a pair of underwear from your room,” he starts.

“The pink ones? I’ve been looking for them.”

“Yeah, they’re pink. And it was the day after you got that clit sucking toy thing so I kept imagining you using it and then the smell made it so much more real…” he says, head hanging low in shame. You still don’t sound mad or grossed out but you haven’t heard all of it yet.

“Go on.”

“I used your underwear to um… jerk off,” he doesn’t meet your eyes until he hears your next words.

“That’s kind of hot,” you bury a hand in his hair, looking at him like you want to eat him up.

“R-really? You’re not mad?”

You shake your head and lean over to kiss him and Peter feels his blush up to his ears.

“I do want my panties back though.”

He tells you you’ll get them back and starts the engine to drive back.

“Wait,” you say, “Didn’t you want a taste?”

He immediately stops the car and leans over. 

“I- well, I didn’t get a chance to get that wet but..”

“I’ll take anything,” Peter pleads.

You kiss his nose and unbutton your jeans, your fingers disappearing beneath them. He hears the wetness and is hard at once. And that’s when you didn’t have a chance to get that wet? You pull two glistening fingers out and bring them in front of his lips.

His cheeks heat up when he leans forward to take them into his mouth. 

He moans at the taste. Sweet yet tangy. He wants to bury his face in you immediately; but you seem tired and he’ll have plenty of opportunities to do that another time.

Peter pulls you close and kisses you, he’s not that good with words so he hopes his tongue in your mouth tells him how much he wants you. It doesn’t have to be now, he just wants you to know.

“I like you.” It slips out of Peter’s mouth when you pull away from the kiss but his words make you connect your lips to his again.

“I like you too,” you smile, nearly laughing because it should probably have been obvious to Peter as soon as you kissed him. Leaning back in your seat in content, you look at Peter with those beautiful eyes of yours. 

Those four little words could make him cry happy tears again but he pulls himself together when you turn on one of your favourite songs and he turns away when you use the baby wipes. 

Before he drives you two home, a thought pops into Peter’s head; a thought that he’s had time and time again and he has to make sure that you know exactly how he likes you.

“But I um… I want you to know that I really do like you, as a person, romantically. I– of course I enjoyed what just happened–you have no idea just how much–”

“I think it was obvious how much you enjoyed it, Peter,” you interrupt him with a teasing smile that makes him blush and stutter for a few seconds before he continues.

“So, while, of course, I’m into you sexually, the emotional and romantic part is so much more important to me, and I need you to know that. But I’ve had so many sexual thoughts about you and, now that I’ve told you that I had your underwear and everything–”

“So you feel bad that you’ve had sexual thoughts about me?” You sum it up and Peter closes his mouth and nods.

“Well, don’t. Peter, in the last month I’ve spent every minute away from you with my fingers between my legs, imagining–wishing they were yours. I’m glad I was not the only one, it’s nice to hear that you’ve been as affected as I’ve been.”

“Are you sure? Because I remember that time when you said how all guys on campus just think with their dicks and how I’m different from them but I’m really not that different. If I’m not thinking about hugging you or thinking about your smile, then I’m always thinking about getting in your pants. And that is a lot of the time. And I’m sure that, even if you’ve thought about me in that way too, I’ve thought about you way more and I just need to know if you think I’m a perv or something.”

“Peter, hey,” you cup his cheek, “I don’t think that. And you don’t think with your dick. You just said you’ve wanted me for months and you didn’t even kiss me. You’re the opposite of those guys that have nothing but sex on their minds so that they can’t even think straight and ruin friendships with girls. You didn’t do that. You thought about my and your feelings and about our connection rather than getting in my pants.”

“But I did think a lot about getting into your pants,” he sighs.

“I thought about you getting into my pants too. That’s fine. That’s the beauty of liking someone, there’s not just the romantic side but also the sexual side. But you didn’t let the sexual side control you and you cared about my feelings first and foremost. Don’t feel bad for thinking about having sex with me, I’m glad you do. But you do so much more than that. You’re nothing like those guys.”

“I’m not like the other guys?” Peter laughs and then kisses you. (He still can’t believe he’s been kissing you all night). You shake your head, reassuring him.

Hearing you say that helps him immensely. He never felt bad about imagining what having sex with you would be like. It was the fact that it was without your knowledge and he had no idea if you’d be grossed and creeped out if you knew about it because you only saw him as a friend. He was scared of making you uncomfortable if you ever found out.

But you’ve found out now and you’re not just saying that it’s okay for him to think about that, but that you have thoughts about it too. (And now his thoughts are going to be even better, knowing that you might be thinking the same thing as him and his fantasies might turn into more than just fantasies).

The journey back has both of you smiling; what just happened still seems unreal, but every shared grin reminds Peter that it really did happen.

It breaks Peter’s heart when he delivers you back to your room, but he can tell you need sleep and he’s not exactly wide awake either. You kiss him like you mean it and you don’t pull away until you’re breathless.

When he gets to his room, Peter quickly puts your panties in his laundry basket so he won’t forget, and then he throws himself onto his bed and squeals loudly. He doesn’t care if anyone hears, he’s happy and he doesn’t mind if people know.

He gets a message from his next-door neighbour Brian:

Bro, you okay?

I heard a weird noise

He texts back: Y/n kissed me :)))))

Brian: About time, happy for you!

Peter considers going over to talk to his friend and tell him all about tonight. He’s tired but there’s no way he’ll sleep now anyway.

He then gets a phone call from you, and he picks up immediately.

“Peter?”

His face drops at your unsure voice. Did you change your mind?

“Yeah?”

“Did… did that really happen?” He thinks he can hear something positive in your voice but it’s hard to tell over the phone.

“It did.”

“Oh,” you say, “Good. I’m having a hard time believing it actually happened. I’ve been waiting for so long.”

He smiles again immediately, “Trust me, it hasn’t fully sunken in yet for me either.”

“Do you maybe wanna come over?” You ask, “I know it’s late but it’s the weekend so..”

He jumps to his feet and sets off instantly, “I don’t know why we didn’t think of that before.”

You giggle, “Me neither. I guess I was tired, but I’ll just be thinking about you all night anyway.”

You stay on the phone with him until he’s at your door, pulling him in for a kiss before he’s even in your room.

You push Peter onto the bed, lie on top of him, and hug him so tight that he can barely breathe. This would be the best way to go.

You’re both exhausted yet excited and interrupt each other with a kiss every few minutes while you’re talking about anything that comes to your mind.

“How long have you liked me?” You ask.

Peter smiles as he thinks back to the first time you met, “You made me nervous from the start because you’re so pretty, and then we talked about such personal things the first time we met. But I didn’t realise just how attracted to you I was until class a few days later when you were laughing about Professor Garfield’s jokes and talking about his ass.”

You pout and cup Peter’s cheek, “And then later I even made that joke about sucking his dick for a better score. Aw no, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugs, “You just came on top of me and not him.”

You hide your face in his neck at the reminder that you just nearly had sex with Peter outside. His hand rubs over your back as if he’s not blushing at the thought of it.

“When did you start liking me?” He asks and you lift your head again.

“I thought you were cute the first time I saw you and then when we talked in the kitchen I knew I’d have to keep you because I immediately felt comfortable around you. And then… I don’t know. You just did your thing. And then my heart did its thing too.”

“I’m glad my charm worked on you.”

“It worked wonders,” you push yourself up on your hands and kiss Peter again, staying on top of him for a while until his lips feel sore.

“But regardless of this romantic… and sexual side,” you shyly smile at each other, “I meant what I said. Our friendship means a lot to me. And I’m glad we became friends before anything else.”

“Me too.”

He knows what you mean. Being friends allowed you two to get comfortable around each other first without any pressure to do things to make you attractive to the other person. Now you have a solid base of trust and you know each other; you don’t have to worry about only showing your best sides like other couples do in the beginning stages. You know each other inside out, (except for the fact that you’ve liked each other for a while — but that’s different), the good, the bad, the ugly – yet you’re still choosing each other. Happily so. 

You both lie on your sides, Peter’s hand reaching over to rest on your hip. He can’t help but smile the whole time.

“Were you planning to kiss me? Or was it spontaneous?”

“I’ve been thinking about how it would feel to kiss you for months now, but for some reason it never occurred to me to make the first move. I was pretty sure you like me but the time went on and you didn’t make a move and I got scared that I’d ruin our friendship if I totally misinterpreted everything and you didn’t like me back. 

“And I would have never forgiven myself for that. But when we were lying in the back of that truck, underneath the stars, I don’t know, it was so romantic and you were looking at me with so much adoration that there’s no way I wouldn’t have kissed you. My heart was leading me, I only gathered the courage because my body did what it knew I had to do, I was not in control at that moment, but I guess sometimes it’s good to give up control. But it was definitely spontaneous.”

Peter leans down so his face is right in front of your chest and he whispers, “Thank you, heart,” to which he hears your gorgeous laugh. Your whole body moves with your giggles, pushing your chest even closer to his face. It takes a second for him to get the willpower to pull his face away again.

You connect your lips to his a few more times, Peter’s heart fluttering with every passing second.

“Just so you know, I have liked you all this time, you were right. But I felt the same as you and you’re the most important person to me so I didn’t want to take even the slightest risk when it came to us. There were times when I thought our friendship would even survive me confessing my feelings and you not feeling the same, but by not telling you there was always the hope that you did like me. 

“But if I told you and you didn’t feel the same, even if our friendship survived, it wouldn’t have mattered because it would have broken my heart into a million pieces. And I couldn’t put myself through that-”

“I’d never do that. I’ll take good care of your heart, Peter.”

“I know you will.”

You share a small kiss, Peter intertwining your hands.

“Okay, looking back, I probably should have known that you like me as more than a friend. Your love for my legs gave it away, but at the time I didn’t realise-”

“How do you know that I love your legs?” Peter asks as he turns red, looking at your thighs and resisting the urge to put his hand on one of them.

“When you were drunk, you told me how much you love them. You were basically drooling because of them.”

“Oh.. I don’t remember that. But I do love them.”

“I know,” you smile as you place one of his hands on your thigh and he squeezes the flesh.

You lie next to each other for a while, breath evening out and Peter thinks you’ve fallen asleep until he hears your voice, “Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“I still can‘t believe that this is actually happening. It‘s like when you‘re at a concert and you don‘t realise that you‘re seeing your favourite artist live and in person, and afterwards you still haven’t realised, and you never really get how lucky you were.”

Peter turns to his side to face you, his tired brain taking a while to answer, but he’s satisfied with what he says, “But a concert only happens once, and we‘ll be together forev— a long time. And longterm. We have plenty of time to realise that it‘s real. Maybe we‘ll realise if you kiss me again.”

You grin immediately and lean in to connect your mouth to Peter’s.

He understands what you’re saying, he can’t quite believe it either. It’s been too long for it to be a dream, he knows that it’s real, but it’ll take a few days for him to realise that he really is the luckiest person on earth. 

He’s grateful that you two have something so beautiful that it nearly feels impossible.

You touch each other for a bit, not sexually, you’re just touching each other’s skin, realising more and more that this is reality.

You lazily make out for a few more minutes until Peter drifts off into the most peaceful sleep he’s ever had, with you in his arms.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★ﾟ:*:･｡ 

It’s been a few weeks since that one eventful night and you’re spending even more time with each other than before. Making out with you has become Peter’s new hobby.

He loves that you’re experiencing all your sexual firsts together. You haven’t actually done anything more than kiss since the night under the stars, and he’s more than happy to be patient if you need it but he’s looking forward to more.

“Is it okay if we don’t go all the way yet?” You ask him while you’re both hydrating and eating fruit between makeout sessions, “I definitely want to soon, but maybe not… not yet.”

Peter pulls you on top of his lap and holds you, “We established that the very first time we met, didn’t we? Of course it’s okay if we wait.”

“Okay,” you kiss him, “I don’t mean that we can’t do anything though.”

Peter licks his lips when he realises you’re planning something. You push Peter’s chest so he lies on his back and you slot your hips over his. His eyes flutter shut when he feels your mouth on the special spot on his neck and you slowly start grinding on him.

He grabs your hips and opens his eyes again when you stop kissing him to focus on that sweet place between your legs rubbing against Peter.

You stop when your eyes meet, “You have to close your eyes.”

“I wanna see you though.”

“It’s different from the first time, we’re not out during the night. And the position’s uncomfortable.”

“Then let’s change it.”

He’s already hard and if you continue like that he won’t take much longer; but your pleasure is more important to him so he pulls his sweat shorts further up his leg and lifts you onto his thigh. 

Your eyes go down and you realise what he wants you to do, “But you–”

“Shh, this is about you right now, okay? And I’ll cum as soon as you do anyway so don’t worry about me. This okay?”

He sees how his words give you confidence and you nod, letting yourself fully sit down on his thigh. Peter knew he liked your pretty skirt for more than aesthetic reasons because the only thing between your warm pussy and Peter’s skin is your underwear. He could cum from the feeling of your wet heat through your panties alone, but he tries to focus on making you breathless with his kisses once you wrap your arms around his neck and pull his face close.

He holds you as you rock yourself on his thigh, becoming surer in your movements after a while, finding what feels best for you. Peter instinctively flexes the muscles in his thigh when you change your position slightly, and your little gasp tells him to continue doing it.

Your wetness slowly but surely drenches your panties and reaches Peter’s skin. You grab his shirt hard and bury your other hand in his hair, pulling. Peter tries bouncing his leg up and down and is rewarded with the sweetest moan coming from your mouth, followed by a gasp and a whispered: “I’m gonna cum.”

Your legs get weaker while you’re coming but, through his own approaching orgasm, Peter pushes your hips in whatever direction you want them to go and together you try to savour your highs for as long as possible. 

Out of breath, you’re still holding onto Peter tightly. As your hand in his hair slowly lets go, you press a kiss to his head, your hand on his shirt easing too as you smooth down the material.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” You ask carefully but Peter shakes his head and purses his lips for you to give him a kiss, and you smile when you do.

“Oh, wait did you really cum?” You’re glancing down at the wet spot on his pants but your eyes widen when you get off him and realise how much you leaked onto his thigh yourself.

“I don’t know how I couldn’t cum when I have the prettiest, sexiest woman in the world having an orgasm on my lap.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, hiding your face from him while your cheeks heat up. You get off him and he goes to the bathroom to clean up.

You’re absentmindedly biting your lip when Peter comes back and he pulls you out of your daydream with a kiss.

“Do you wanna eat my pussy?”

Peter freezes for a second and then jumps onto the bed. You laugh, “Wait, I need a break first.”

“Okay,” he sits down next to you and swallows. He’s hard already just from the thought of going down on you. He couldn’t be happier that you want him to do it, he’s had daydreams (well, he’s mostly thought about it during nighttime) about it so many times.

“Do you want me to give you a massage?” He asks. It’s something you’ve done for him countless times and he doesn’t return the favour as often as he’d want to because your massages are heavenly and he can barely get up after.

“Yes please,” you lie down on your stomach, “But don’t stand on me.” You both chuckle.

Your massages consist of kneeling or standing on Peter’s back. It sounds painful but to him it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. He doesn’t just like your weight on his lap, he likes you on top of him in various scenarios.

He’s kneading your shoulders for about a minute when you suddenly sit up, “Okay, the break is over, can you eat me out now?”

A smile spreads over Peter’s face and you kiss him, a similar expression on your lips.

You get comfortable on your back and pull your shirt over your head and slip out of your skirt.

Peter sits between your legs, speechless, thumb rubbing over the large wet spot on your panties. You gasp when he touches you there but Peter can’t continue before showing you how much he loves your tits first. They're perfect.

He kisses his way up your stomach, inching further up until your nipple is in his mouth and your hand goes into his hair. He gets lost in the feeling of one of your boobs in his hand and the other one against his tongue until you push his head away.

He worries he’s hurt you but you whimper and spread your legs, pulling them up against your chest, “Please,” is all you can manage to say. Peter’s hands wander down your sides and between your legs, his fingers gliding over your panties.

Peter drags your underwear down your legs slowly, a string of your arousal staying connected to your panties momentarily. He licks his lips and kneels in front of the bed, pulling you to the edge of the mattress.

With your legs on his shoulders, Peter kisses your clit once, watching as your eyes flutter shut. He’s forgetting that this is your first time too, so your expectations probably aren’t too high. And you’re wet from your earlier orgasm and it seems to be doing wonders for you; you already start arching your back when Peter licks up and down your clit a few times.

He savours the taste of you on his tongue, sweeter than anything he’s ever tasted, and knowing that he’s tasting you because you’re wet for him makes things even better.

As he plays with your clit, his tongue in your pussy, he puts a hand on your stomach. It’s just because he doesn’t know where else to put his hand, but you grab some of his fingers, holding his hand and Peter’s convinced his eyes must be shaped like hearts right now. He’s always loved holding hands with you.

He makes out with your pussy, your juices all over his mouth, and he starts sucking your clit.

“Peter..” your voice comes out as a whimper and you grip his hand harder. You arch further into him and your eyes squeeze shut, and Peter can tell you’re coming – on his tongue, with his face between your legs, just like he’s imagined so many times but it’s so much better than what he ever could have wished for.

He only pulls his mouth away from you slowly, not wanting the moment to end. You don’t let go of his hand, instead using your intertwined fingers to pull him up so Peter can kiss you. 

You hug him like you never want to let him go again and Peter gladly complies. He wraps his arms around you and lies on top of you for as long as you’ll have him.

“I’m too tired to return the favour,” you say after a while.

“That’s okay. I just wanted to make you feel good.” 

He’s glad you said it because then you won’t need to find out that he came in his pants ages ago, yet again, and you don’t need to be reminded of what a loser your boyfriend can be and how you’re the opposite.

Peter lifts his head so you’re looking at each other, and you cup his cheeks to kiss him on the lips a few times.

“I’m getting cold,” you say.

“I’ll keep you warm.”

You smile and kiss his forehead, “I should get dressed. And I need to pee. But you can cuddle me again after.” Peter gets up and scoops you up in his arms, earning a squeal from you.

He carries you to the bathroom and even though he’s completely dressed and you’re naked and vulnerable, he can tell you’re content and comfortable by the way you drop your head to his shoulder and let him hold you.

You’re in the bathroom while gets the clothes you asked him to get from your room, but he changes first so he’s not walking around the student accommodation with a mess in his pants.

You’re sitting on the bed in all your naked glory when he gets back. He stares for a second, smiling softly as he realises how lucky he is to get to see you like this, that he’s the only one in the world who does and that you want him to see you like this.

It’s later in the night and you’re in bed, you sitting on top of Peter, kissing him. It’s not sexual; you’re enjoying each other’s company, touching each other, locking lips over and over and over. Peter couldn’t be happier. There’s a smile on his face the whole time.

“I like kissing you. Like a lot,” you say.

“I love kissing you.”

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you wanna be my boy—”

“Girlfriend? Do you wanna be my girlfriend?” He interrupts you, somewhat surprised.

You grin and throw your arms around him, “Yes.”

“Sorry, I wanted to say it. After you made the first move I wanted to do this.”

“Everything okay?” You ask, realising he’s not telling you everything simply by looking at him.

“Well I don’t know, I kind of thought we were together already,” he says and your face softens.

“Oh. I mean we may as well have been. But we never properly talked about it. And just now I realised how sad I was that I couldn't officially call you my boyfriend, so I wanted to make sure that I could.”

“You’re right, now we have talked about it. And now it’s official. The most beautiful woman in the world is officially my girlfriend,” he beams as he cups your cheek and kisses you again. 

You lie down next to him, his arm around you as you cuddle into his side.

After a few moments of looking at Peter, you start giggling, as if you just remembered something funny or embarrassing about him.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing just, I’m so into you, and you really weren’t sure if I liked you? I know we‘ve talked about how we were both too scared to ruin the friendship but we were both idiots. 

“I mean, I tried to give you the boldest, most obvious signs. I kept holding your hand, talked about me getting off. I changed in front of you, slept next to you half-naked? Peter, I said I’d suck your dick.”

“Yeah but it was only in relation to you sucking professor Garfield’s dick for a better mark.”

“Knowing me, do you think I’d really suck a professor’s dick to get a better score?”

He shrugs, “Well, not when you say it like that, no. But we didn’t know each other that well yet. And hearing the girl you like say she’ll suck another guy’s dick isn’t nice regardless of if she’s being serious or not.”

You pout and cup his face, kissing him a few times, “I only want your dick, promise.”

“And my dick only wants you,” he says, earning a small laugh from you.

“But seriously, I contemplated peeing while you were in the bathroom with me at that party. If there was an obvious sign that I liked you, it would be that,” you joke.

“Just so you know, you can pee in front of me. And as long as you’re okay with that, I’d also feel comfortable peeing in front of you.”

You scrunch up your face, “We’ll avoid it if we can.” You both laugh but you know it would be no big deal and you’d be comfortable with it. It sounds like a weird thing to bond over, but Peter thinks it’s sweet.

“Anyway, I know I brought it up but can we stop talking about peeing so you can go down on me again?”

Peter’s eyes light up, “Yes, yesyesyes,” and he starts kissing down your body.

*

“So,” Peter asks you a few days later, “You know how you said your sex toy is supposed to feel like oral sex? So who’s better? Me or the vibrator?”

You give him an exaggerated pout and scoot closer to him on the bed, ”Don’t make me hurt your feelings.”

You’ve just come back from a date Peter planned. You got take-out from your favourite restaurant and ate it next to the river that goes through the city. You walked for hours, holding hands, talking, getting ice cream and just being with each other.

While Peter loves going out with you, he’s not sure if anything can beat spending time alone with you, in your bed, utterly comfortable and being nothing but yourself. Not to mention that you two can have sex whenever you want to.

“I don’t mind if you say it’s the vibrator, I mean it’s made for making you feel good and I’m just some guy,” Peter says, “It’s literally called a clit-sucker.”

“Sex with you is better but if you’re comparing the toy with you sucking my clit, then the vibrator is better, yes,” you move to his lap and put your arms on his shoulders, linking your hands behind his head.

“Can I use it on you?”

You bite your lip when he says it, “There’s not much you can do, you just hold it against my clit.”

“I’d love to do that.”

You grin and start kissing him.

He flips you around so you’re under him. He slowly takes off all your clothes and you pull off his shirt. He can’t resist getting a taste of you before he starts, humming as he begins eating you out, tongue in your pussy and his thumb on your clit.

You whine when he stops but you both remember that you wanted to use your toy. He kisses his way up your body, your arousal on his lips.

“You’re so hot, I don’t know if I deserve you,” he whispers into your skin as he’s kissing your belly. You tug him up to you to kiss him with such intensity that tells him he deserves you, all of you. You’re made for each other. And you feel it too.

You reach into your bedside drawer and pull out your vibrator. Peter smiles as he spreads your legs and lies down between them.

“Like this?” He turns it on and you adjust the setting, lying back when Peter presses a kiss on your clit and places the toy on your pussy.

You put your hand over his, shifting it so it’s in the perfect place. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and rests his cheek against your other thigh, occasionally kissing the skin there. He brings his arm over your body, smoothing his hand over your tummy and grabbing one of your tits, playing with your nipple.

Your hands absentmindedly find his hair, burying your fingers in it as he tells you how pretty you are and how he wants you to cum.

You glance at Peter between your legs, smiling and laying your head back down on the pillow. A few moments later he notices your breathing changing and how your hips slightly buck up.

“I’m gonna cum,” you moan, your back arching, and Peter puts his hand over your lower belly to keep you down. Your hand tightens in his hair as frantic breaths and strangled sounds leave your mouth, not able to form any coherent sentence.

After a few seconds, Peter wants to pull the toy away, thinking you’re done, but you hold his hand in place until your legs shake and he feels your belly convulsing under his hand. You’re coming until your head drops to the side and you let go of both his hair and his hand so he pulls away the vibrator.

“Oh–God. That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Sorry if I hurt you,” your hand goes through his hair once more but he kisses your hand instead, “Don’t worry.”

You let your head fall back, your eyes not leaving Peter. The way you’re looking at him is nearly enough to make him cum right then and there, but he takes your hand and kisses you instead.

You wrap your legs around Peter’s waist and pull him as close as you can, “Can we go all the way? I feel so empty, I need you inside of me.”

Peter gulps at your words, pulling his hips away from yours so he doesn’t finish before you’ve even started. “Are you sure? Last week you said you wanted to wait.”

“Yeah, I am. I thought it would take me longer to be comfortable around you when I’m naked but I feel so good, and I like being naked in front of you. I like how you look at me and how it makes me feel,” you smile softly and kiss him.

“I like having you naked in front of me too.”

“I know, that’s why I’m so comfortable. And the fact that I want this so quickly shows me that it’s the right thing and also I just really really need you inside of me.”

“Oh my god,” he whispers, closing his eyes to refocus, “I have to get the condoms.”

“Make sure to hide this first,” your hands go to the front of his sweatpants and he playfully narrows his eyes at you because you know exactly that what you’re doing is not helping his situation.

After another kiss from you, he manages to pull himself away from you and hides his hardness as well as he can. He slips back into his shirt and runs to his room to get the condoms you two bought the other week just so you’d have them.

When he comes back you already have your fingers between your legs, “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Don’t apologise, baby,” Peter says before taking off his clothes in record time and joining you on the bed. 

You make out for a few minutes, forgetting everything else. His fingers wander to your pussy, playing with your clit until you can’t keep kissing him anymore, distracted by the pleasure.

He slips one finger into your pussy first, then two.

“Peter, it’s not enough,” you moan with a desperation in your voice that makes him even harder which, up to this point, felt impossible.

“‘M just checking you can take it, get you used to having something inside of you.”

You sigh into his mouth and give him the dirtiest kiss you ever have. “Just so you know.. I don’t know how long I’m gonna last,” he warns you, afraid of disappointing you.

“I don’t care, I just need you right now.”

“What if I cum immediately once I’m in you?”

You hold his face in your hands, “Fuck, Pete, that’s so hot. I want you to cum inside of me.”

“Don’t say that because I will.”

“Please, please, I’m ready,” you whisper.

“Wait, you mean with a condom right?”

You laugh and nod, kissing him on the nose.

“Okay, just checking,” he says, putting on the condom. 

You hold on to his neck as he lines himself up with you, feeling how wet you are. He pushes into you slowly, making sure you’re okay once he’s inside of you completely, “You okay?”

“Yeah, it feels even bigger inside of me.”

He blushes at you calling his dick big and runs a hand down your cheek, “Should I pull out?”

“No, no. Just give me a second.” 

You both take deep breaths once Peter starts rubbing your clit – you because you’re relaxing, Peter because he’s about to cum if he doesn’t focus.

He has you coming around his dick quickly. You press your chest against Peter’s when your back arches from the pleasure and you kiss the side of his face when you’re coming down from the high.

“Lift me up,” you tell him and you end up pushing Peter down on the bed, straddling his lap.

You place your hands on either side of Peter’s head, leaving him with your tits right in his face. You tell him to fuck you and with his hands on your hips, Peter slowly thrusts into you from below.

Your pussy squeezes him so tight, and you’re so warm, “Fuck, you feel so so good,” he groans. 

You start bouncing on him, meeting his thrusts halfway, now more used to him inside of you.

He closes his eyes, trying to think of something else but your quiet moans and your earlier words about wanting him to cum in you make him orgasm after a few more seconds.

He fucks you until he’s too exhausted to move and you grin down at him, both of you lying down to cuddle. 

You don’t say anything for a few minutes, both exhausted and content, only grinning at each other and occasionally giving the other a lazy kiss before you sit up on him again, your nipples right in front of his mouth.

He takes the opportunity to run his tongue around one, but you lean back, dazed, “No, no, you’ll make me horny again,” you smile, “And I don’t think I can take another orgasm right now.”

He kisses your sternum instead and picks you up in his arms so you can take a shower together.

Peter washes your body for you, taking his time to massage every part of you for a few seconds. He wants to spoil and pamper you and take as much work off your hands as he can. He knows you’d do the same for him.

Once you’re both clean, you stand under the water for a while, Peter’s arms around your waist, your back pulled to his chest. Your breathing is calm and your eyes are closed, completely relaxed against Peter.

“I came in here once,” Peter interrupts the silence.

You slowly open your eyes and turn around to face him, a smile making its way onto your face before it turns into a laugh, “What?”

“It was after that night when I got really drunk. I woke up with this perfect ass right against my crotch,” he squeezes one of your ass cheeks for emphasis. 

“You mean back when we were just friends?” You ask, pulling his arms around your body again, “That feels so long ago.”

“And at the same time like it was yesterday.” “Yeah,” you smile, “I probably would have helped you out if you’d asked.”

“Really?”

“I was already into you then and there’s no way I would have been able to–or wanted to–resist if I found out you were horny because of me. I was coming on my vibrator three times a day wishing it was you instead.”

Peter runs a hand over his face, remembering how scared he was that you’d never like him back, “I was wishing it was me too. I heard you that one time, when you were masturbating while I was waiting for you in there,” he nods his head towards the door to your room.

“You can’t blame me, you saw how that thing makes me cum,” you lean your head on his shoulder, hiding your embarrassment.

The moment you look down and see that Peter’s hard again, he stiffens even more.

“You’re getting harder from me looking at your dick?” You ask, licking your lips.

He nods, putting a hand around the back of your neck and gently pulling you towards him, kissing you to distract you from the blush creeping onto his cheeks.

While your teeth tug at Peter’s bottom lip, your hands smooth down his chest, over his faint happy trail and eventually you wrap your hand around his cock. He gasps at the first contact and opens his eyes, meeting your lust-filled gaze, “I can’t believe I haven’t done this before,” you say, starting to jerk him off with a slightly unsure look on your face.

“Is this okay?” You ask and Peter nods, “Show me how you do it,” you urge, lifting Peter’s hand to wrap it around your own.

With a firm grip, Peter guides your hand, “F-fuck,” is all he can manage to get out apart from a shaky breath. Your free hand runs across his chest, occasionally rubbing over his nipples, making him gasp. 

“I really need you to cum for me right now,” you whisper, looking down at your hand sliding up and down his dick. Your words make him groan and before he can prepare, waves of pleasure flow through him, his cum splashing all over your tummy. He can’t stop coming, especially not when you angle his cock further towards you, your belly now covered in him.

“Fuck,” you both moan at the same time and then you smile at each other. You step away from the spray of the shower, sliding a finger across your skin and sucking it into your mouth.

If he hadn’t already cum three times today, Peter would be hard in half a second. He shakes his head in disbelief, not sure what he did to ever deserve a girlfriend as sexy as you. He runs his thumb over your belly, picking up the rest of his cum on you and you open your mouth before he even asks you to.

He pushes it into your mouth slowly and you hum as he does it. Grabbing your face right after, he kisses you until neither of you can breathe. “Can I eat you out again now?”

You grin immediately, “Yes, but I’m tired.”

After you’ve dried off, he carries you to your bed, making sure you’re comfortable on it before his mouth disappears between your legs. He’s proud of how you grip his hair, grinding your pussy against his face and how you cum on his tongue.

He gets a notification on his phone just as he’s done kissing you after he made you cum. He ordered some food before you two went in the shower and it’s about to arrive.

“Go and get it, I can wait,” you tell him, but he makes sure to kiss your forehead and give you water and baby wipes before pulling on some clothes and rushing downstairs to get the food.

You eat it on your bed with a towel laid down to make sure nothing gets dirty. Peter likes how you randomly grab his hand while you’re eating or asking him to pass you your drink.

With some quiet music playing, you make yourselves comfortable in your bed, cuddling.

“Thank you,” you say, looking at him like he’s responsible for all good in the world.

“For what?”

“For everything. For taking care of me. For being you,” you slide your fingers between his. He picks up your intertwined hands and kisses yours, “It’s my pleasure. Thank you for being you, and for being with me.”

“There’s no one in the world I’d rather be with,” you lean over to kiss him, leaving your lips on his for a few seconds. “This white shirt looks so good on you, it’s my favourite,” you tell him, smoothing down the material and then resting your head on his chest.

“Thank you,” he wraps an arm around your shoulder, holding you tight, “You know what looks even better on me?”

“Me?” You ask, already knowing what Peter is going to say and he adores you for it.

“Yes,” he smiles, “You.”

“I like this position, I like hearing your heart beating so clearly,” you say, nuzzling up against him.

“And I like that I can feel a heartbeat as soon as I put my hand here,” Peter smirks, sliding a hand between your legs and immediately feeling the pulsating warmth, even through your panties.

“Don’t blame me for getting turned on when the man I love touches my pussy,” you say, grabbing Peter’s hand into yours and away from your underwear to stop you from getting horny.

It takes both of you a second to realise that you just said that you love him. Probably because you’ve both felt it for a while; first as friends, then as lovers. Even if no one’s said it yet, it was obvious.

“I love you too,” he says softly and that’s when you realise what you just said. You turn towards him and start grinning, meeting Peter’s own wide smile. You start littering his face with kisses until he holds your face in place to kiss your lips. It’s like you melt right into his mouth once your lips touch his.

You spend the rest of the night telling each other that you love the other, giggling and cuddling and kissing until the early morning hours.

  *

Peter wants to sit through this lecture with you on his lap when you get to the lecture hall one minute before the lesson starts and there are no two seats free next to each other.

But you two promised yourselves that you weren’t going to be that annoying couple that has to be together at all times, so you two sit at opposite sides of the room.

Peter’s stomach tingles with jealousy when he sees that you’re sitting next to a guy you know. Brandon. Peter remembers him from the day you and Peter met. When it was Peter’s turn to tell an embarrassing sex story and he had nothing to say, you told Brandon to tell his story instead, distracting everyone and saving Peter.

He smiles when he thinks back to it; who knew that you two would end up in love?

But he hears your giggle through the entire lecture hall, over all the over murmuring, and Peter frowns. He knows it’s stupid if not wrong to be jealous about something so trivial. He’s more than okay with you having a male friend as long as he’s a good person; Peter’s happy about every nice friend you have.

But he’s spent the last few months getting to know you inside and out and you never mentioned Brandon. Now you’re talking to him like you’re best friends. Okay, the thing that bothers Peter the most is that you apparently knew Brandon’s sex story before he told it to the whole party.

Why were you talking to Brandon about sex? And why did you never mention it to Peter?

He knows you’ve done nothing wrong, and it’s ridiculous that he feels like this over a story and you laughing at another man’s jokes. If he was sitting next to you, he’s sure he’d be fine, but it doesn’t help that you’re out of reach.

He’s more curious than jealous, or that’s what he’s trying to tell himself, knowing he has no right to feel this way about such a little thing.

He tries to accept the feeling, tries to focus on what Professor Garfield is saying but throughout the whole lecture Brandon is in the back of Peter’s mind.

By the end of the lesson, he’s more mad than anything else – mad at himself for being jealous. He doesn't want to turn into one of those possessive, toxic and controlling boyfriends. He trusts you and he should be okay with you having dozens of male friends.

He waits for you by the door when the lecture is over, and in the sea of students you and Brandon leave the room separately. Peter’s so focussed on Brandon that he only notices you standing next to him once you hold his hand.

“What’s wrong?” You ask immediately. Peter didn’t know he was being that obvious.

He doesn’t want to drag you into his unnecessary jealousy and insecurity. “No-nothing,” he presses his lips together in a smile and you walk him into a quiet corner.

“What is it?” You sit down and pat the seat next to you for Peter to sit down.

“Well. I don’t know. It’s just, we usually sit together in this class and then we didn’t get to sit together and then you ended up next to a guy you know and I just…” It’s the shortened and less embarrassing version.

You smile, half with pity and half out of amusement, but he knows you’re not trying to make fun of him. “You were jealous? Of Brandon?”

“I don’t know. Kinda. I‘d honestly rather have you look at Andrew’s ass than have you talk to Brandon and giggle at everything he says and–like, I don’t even know him and I just felt insecure because I didn’t feel like I was a part of it,” he looks down, taking a deep breath, “Sorry, of course I don’t mean it like that. Obviously it’s fine if you have male friends. I was just wondering why you haven’t told me about him, because I remember him from the party the first time we met and I realised you never brought him up. And then I got so into my head about being jealous that I felt even worse and now I can’t even tell the jealousy from the being-mad-at-myself apart.”

“Okay, take my hand,” you say, “I love you. And-”

“I love you too,” Peter grins instantly, leaning over to kiss you.

“So, I didn’t tell you about Brandon because I wasn’t thinking about him. If he was important to me I would have introduced you two ages ago. I didn't even realise I was in this class until today. I met him the same night I met you and I was talking to a group of people before we played that game where he told that sex story. But wait.. Peter,” you furrow your eyebrows, “So you remember the story Brandon told?”

“I remember that he told a story, but I was too busy looking at you and being grateful that you helped me out of the situation.”

“Well, his story was about the first time he had sex with his boyfriend. And they’re still together.”

“Oh,” Peter says, dumbfounded, “Now I feel even worse. Why was I so jealous about a guy who has a boyfriend?”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. We’ve been attached at the hip lately, so of course we're not used to being apart. I’m sure we’ll get used to it in a few days. But you’re jealous for the first time and we’re already talking about it, I’m sure we’ll sort it out. I promise we’ll work it out together.”

He pecks your lips again, “Thank you. I think I was way more surprised about my jealousy than actually being jealous. I trust you and I love you and I do that more and more every day. It’s just that I want you so much that I assume every guy feels the same, because why wouldn’t they? Forgive me if I project that onto them and don’t trust them. But I trust you and that’s what matters and what I’ll try to rely on. I’m sorry for making such a big deal out of something small.”

“Don’t apologise, I’m glad you told me how you feel. You’re already not jealous anymore and you’re talking about it and working it out. That’s what matters. You recognise that it’s unreasonable but jealousy is a normal emotion.”

He gives you a small smile, already understanding himself better thanks to you. You’re right, jealousy is something everyone feels from time to time. He’ll learn how to deal with it, and now that he’s with you, feeling loved and appreciated, he can’t even imagine ever being jealous again. He can tell his love is reciprocated. He trusts you, and that’s all he needs.

You sit together for another while, smiling and saying goodbye when Professor Garfield walks past you. You wait until he’s turned around the corner to say, “Wait, what did you say about his ass earlier?”

Peter chuckles, “Oh, it’s nothing. Just the first time we had this lesson you said something about how nice his ass is.”

“Oh, now I remember. But your ass is the only ass I wanna look at now, you know that?” 

“Really?”

“Really. I wouldn’t have asked you to be my boyfriend if I was interested in anyone else’s ass.”

There’s a comfortable warmth in Peter’s chest at you calling him his boyfriend. He’ll always be happy to be that.

“Well,” he thinks out loud, “There are some guys with nice asses, I can’t deny that. But then we can both admire them, okay? Together.”

You laugh, “You’re so cute. Okay, I’ll let you know when I see a nice ass and we’ll appreciate it together.”

“Good,” Peter smiles, okay with you liking other people’s asses because, after all, those asses don’t have this great connection with you like he does. He’s so much to you than a person with a cute ass.

“But your ass is the nicest,” he adds.

“Thank you," you laugh and kiss his cheek.

You lean back on your hands and tilt your head towards your shoulder. This time Peter feels warmth rushing elsewhere.

“You wanna know what I was thinking about during the whole lesson?”

He nods.

“I was thinking,” you look around to make sure no one else is close enough to hear, “about how I can’t wait to have your dick in my mouth.”

Peter’s heart starts beating twice as fast as it usually does, “My-my- my dick? In your- why would— do you want it to be in your mouth?”

“I do. I had a dream about it last night. And I was gonna wait until tonight to do it but maybe we should do it now to relax you.”

“I.. don’t know if relax is the right word,” he says.

“I’ll do it to show you that I only like you then. And because I really need you.”

Peter’s face falls, “No, shit, I have this class now… no, nevermind, let’s go to my room–”

“No, we said our education and college come first, and that we wouldn’t let our academic performance fall off because of each other.”

“Yeah but I didn’t know that that meant saying no to you…” he looks at his lap and back at you again. 

“To me sucking your dick?” You’re teasing him on purpose now but despite the uncomfortable strain in his pants he’s enjoying it.

“Y-yeah..”

“Go to your class now and I’ll see you tonight,” you kiss him and get up.

“No wait–”

“Bye, baby,” you call out and walk away.

A class has never lasted as long as Peter’s next class. He leaves his bunched up hoodie on his lap the whole time even though he’s cold in just the shirt he’s wearing.

After class, he runs home, going to his dorm room first but you’re not there so he rushes to your room instead. You open the door as if Peter hasn’t been suffering for the past two hours, giving him a quick kiss and sitting back down to read a book.

He gets on his knees in front of you, putting his hands on your thighs, “Please. You can’t be serious right now. I need you.”

You pat the bed next to you and he lies down with a sigh, hoping to get your attention but you keep reading; maybe he can take a nap to make the time pass quicker. You pretend to read for another minute or two and then grin at Peter and straddle him, starting to kiss him. 

“Sorry, I thought it would be fun to tease you but I don’t know what I was thinking. I really want you.”

He’s panting into your mouth after a few moments, already feeling relief as you pull at his belt, taking off Peter’s pants and your and his shirt.

“Let me know uh, how I’m doing,” you say as you get down on your knees in front of the bed.

Your words clear Peter’s mind for a second and he leans down to give you a kiss, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, by the way.”

You shake your head, “No, I really want to. I just don’t know what to do, so, be patient with me.”

“Always,” he reaches for your hand to kiss it, “So I guess you just– oh my god.” He moans as your mouth wraps around him, all wet and warm.

He makes the mistake of looking at you, the head of his cock in your mouth, your pretty lips against his skin, eyes big and gorgeous and so innocent. He’s close so quickly and motions for you to stop.

“Everything okay?” You ask, already knowing what’s going on though. Peter’s eyes go to your chest, perfect tits pushed together by a pretty bra. If you take that off he doesn’t want to know how fast he’ll cum.

“Yes, more than okay. I love you so much, you know that?”

“I do, but Peter, this is torture for me,” you say seriously.

“What?” He sits up straighter.

“I wanna make you cum so so bad, please just let me, I don’t care how long you last.” You sound so horny that it makes Peter’s cock just that much harder in the way only happens when he’s with you, never when he’s alone.

“Okay. But try to go slow, I wanna enjoy it as long as I can.”

You smirk and he already knows you’ll give it your all, but while he wants to enjoy it as long as possible, he also really wants to cum.

You wrap a hand around him, slapping his dick against your tongue a few times, putting on a show for him. But once you wrap your lips around him, there’s no stopping you.

Peter’s skin glistens with a mixture of your spit and his precum and you keep taking him deeper and deeper until all of him disappears in your mouth. “Fuuuck,” he groans, huffing with a smile, accepting that he’s about to cum.

You start going faster, your wet mouth making a loud, obscene sound against his skin. Peter lies down on his back, barely able to keep his noises in.

“God– oh my god. This is the best thing I’ve ever felt,” his mouth falls open as he cranes his neck to look at you taking his dick. He puts a hand on your head, feeling your every movement up and down his cock.

He cums right down your throat as soon you start moaning, mouth stuffed full of Peter’s dick. You taste the first few drops and then jerk him off so his cum lands on your cheek and the sight is so dirty yet so beautiful.

You’re both panting when Peter is finished and you’re smiling at each other, in silent agreement that that was one of the hottest things you two have ever experienced. Your smile has something shy to it too, unsure how you look with Peter’s cum on your face.

But he’s looking at you with pure admiration, not believing how lucky he is for a bit before pulling you up to kiss you.

“Wait, Pete, you’ll get cu–”

“I don’t care.”

He kisses your mouth, and tasting himself on you is the sexiest thing in the world. He kisses his cum off your skin, connecting your lips afterwards, his tongue in your mouth until the cum is gone.

He wipes his mouth, asking something he’s been thinking about for a while, and he can’t go a second longer without it. “Do you wanna sit on my face?”

You’re taking off your clothes before the question even fully leaves his mouth and he takes in the sight of the prettiest woman alive getting undressed in front of him, for him.

He licks his lips when you slip out of your panties, the holy place between your legs shiny with arousal that’s started running down your thighs.

“You’re so wet.. from going down on me?” He asks, grabbing your thighs as you come closer, straddling him.

You simply nod and while you’re making your way up Peter’s body there’s a moment where your eyes meet for more than a few seconds. You don’t say anything, there’s just mutual appreciation and adoration for one another.

This is something good. Maybe it’s the best thing in the world. It is the best thing in the world.

“I love you,” he says, feeling so much more than those three simple words.

“I love you,” you say, your eyes holding such intensity that he doesn’t think there’s a single person in the world who has ever been as loved as Peter is by you.

He hopes he’s making you feel like the Goddess he sees you as, he adores every inch of you, all the things you’ve ever said to him and every second he’s spent with you.

The moment feels like it goes on forever, and at some point, you both move your heads towards each other, lips meeting in a kiss.

He grabs your ass, ready to drown in your pussy and to make you cum as many times as you want.

“Can I…?” You ask as you lower yourself. 

Peter pulls you towards his face and makes love to you all night. 

You spend the rest of the weekend in each other’s arms, feeling like the luckiest people on earth and you probably are.

☆.｡.:*support a writer and reblog if you enjoyed, it helps out a lot.｡.:*☆

#peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #Peter Parker x you #Peter Parker x y/n #Spiderman x reader #Spiderman smut #peter parker fluff #fem!reader #college!Peter Parker #Peter Parker fanfiction #spider man: no way home #peter parker #tom holland #Peter Parker college au #peter parker friends to lovers

[astyrial]

a little fate ps4!peter parker x gn!reader (meeting) synopsis: blind date mishaps word count: 708 warnings: none masterlist | requests are open

    "mary jane watson, i can't believe you set me up on some blind date, at a nice restaurant, and the guy doesn't even show up!" you whisper-yell into your phone as you sit in the corner of queens' best restaurant. 

  she laughs a little through the phone; as though she didn't set you up on an entirely embarrassing date. mary jane always exaggerated this 'friend' of hers that is just 'the nicest guy'. that the two had been friends since high school and that you would be absolutely perfect for him. what she forgot to mention was that he's a flake.

  "i'm sorry! i'm sure he's just running late, he has a very busy job tutoring some kids," mary jane pauses a little as she tries to explain what he does.

  you roll your eyes, letting out a breath to relax yourself, "tutoring kids to not show up on blind dates and immediately embarrass them? like it's been thirty minutes, he's lucky i even stayed this long."

  when you realize what time it is, you quickly get up, because you're definitely not staying longer than thirty minutes. "by the way, this is the sound of me getting out of my chair and leaving-" you start, walking towards the front of the restaurant.

  despite mary jane's concerns in your ear, you exit the front door of the restaurant. to your already heavy dismay, you bump into someone and immediately drop your phone and wallet. the guy quickly apologizes and picks it up for you. 

  "i'm so sorry, i'm late for a date, and i was not watching where i was going," he stands with one knee on the ground and his hand holding your items up. 

  the scene looked a little more romantic that the man had intended, a couple of people already gathering as you grab your phone from his hand. you look around to see the small crowd of people and purse your lips. your eyes look at him and then up at the people. as if this secret language you made up on the spot was gonna get him to stand up.

  "it's okay.. but maybe you should-" you hang up the phone and stick it into your back pocket, "get up, i'm sure your date wouldn't want you kneeling in front of another person.."

  his eyes widen to an extreme amount and he slowly gets up, turning around to the ground, "sorry everyone, she just dropped her things! nothing to see here folks!"

  you close your eyes for a second and hope that maybe this'll be forgotten by everyone that very minute. when you open your eyes, he's turned back around with an apologetic smile on his face. maybe, if he wasn't on a date with someone else, you'd say he's pretty cute.

  "uh sorry for that..." he stops as if he's waiting for you to give your name, his eyebrows raised.

  you shrug, acting like it didn't affect you one bit, "it's y/n, and it's the most exciting thing that's happened this evening so it's okay."

  his eyes widen once more and he pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. you look away for a second, wondering what he could possibly be doing that for. maybe he knows you? knows of you? 

  "you're y/n? i'm so sorry, i'm peter. i'm the friend of mary jane who is very late and also very sorry," peter's shoulders drop as soon as he sees your eyes widen just as wide as his.

  you roll your eyes and shake your head. sure the guy's cute, but he left you waiting for thirty minutes and left you stranded. and just because some ironic and slightly adorable meet cute occurred doesn't mean you were necessarily staying around to chat. 

  "please give me a chance, we can go somewhere else and i'll tell you the very legitimate reason as to why i'm late."

  the please does help a little, you think to yourself, and his nice jaw. with a quick thought of whether or not this is an awful idea, you look back at the restaurant and then back to him. "fine, but this just because of mary jane's glowing review of you."

#spiderman #spiderman x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic #ps4 spiderman #ps5 spiderman #insomniac spider man #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker x gn!reader

[cucumberteapot]

Spider-man Villains and Hands

If you're paying attention you'll notice often times in Spiderverse that villains are far less expressive with their hands than the heroes. That is unless it's to attack.

Kingpin clicks his pen to relieve rage he's only barely controlling and in Peter Parker's death scene, the only time we see his hands is to kill him.

With Doc Ock, we see her doing a lot of excited gesturing with her hands (pushing up her glasses, studying Peter, etc.).

But after her reveal, it's her tentacles that does most of the talking.

Moving on to ATSV, when we first meet Spot, he's experimenting with his Spots with (you guesses it!) his hands and it's a lot of trial and error. It's also a lot of slap-stick comedy in his first fight with Miles managing to take him out briefly by making him punch himself in the face.

However as he becomes more confident with his powers, we see him use his hands less and less to the point he doesn't need to use a spot to teleport between dimensions. Instead of attacking them, Spot starts fighting by letting the heroes attack him.

And by the end of the film, his mere presence has become such a threat to Miles that all he has to do to invoke fear is stand still. This is why after his colour scheme has been completely inverted, he doesn't fight or do anything with his hands anymore and it's why our last focus on his hands is when he watches it completely turn from white to black.

When we first get a good look at Miguel, we get a close-up of his claws before panning up to his watch. Firstly this shows us how unlike the other Spider-people Miguel is. He has claws and wears a cape. Peter says in the first movie, "Spider-man doesn't wear capes." Then we see a better look at his watch which tells us this character isn't just scary and powerful, but is powerful in their access to other dimensions without having their cells decay - which by the end of the movie proves to be another problem for Miles. Immediately this shot warns us that Miguel is an unstoppable and dangerous person and the sirens in his leitmotif only emphasise that, even if the characters don't realise it yet.

Likewise with Fisk and Doc Ock in the previous Spiderverse installment, Miguel also doesn't have a lot of hand animations outside of fighting and we see this visual language in his meeting with Miles. Miles offers Miguel an empanadas and calls him 'Tio' ("uncle" in Spanish) as an offer of respect and solidarity, but Miguel's response is to grab the box and throws it aside before resuming his stance.

Here Miguel isn't just refusing Miles, he's also refusing the subliminal coding of a heroic character and I feel this has a lot to do with how our human brains work. The way we understand people and animals is by the way they mirror us. We like patterns and to draw parallels to ourselves. When someone is excited, we're excited. When someone's confused, we're confused. When someone's sad, we're sad. And so on. However when we're faced with something that doesn't react how we expect or reacts unpredictably, like Miguel throwing the empanadas back at Miles, it's sets off a warning in our brains. It's kind of like a predator hunting prey, which is the exact dynamic between Miles and Miguel by the end of the film.

However in Miles' mind, he has no idea why Miguel is being so antagonistic towards him. Even when Peter says, "He's always like this." Miguel remains stoic when Mayday is crawling around him and only moves to catch her and hand her back to Peter. Like with the empanadas, this is another example of Miguel's lack of ability to connect with the people in his environment other than through aggression and violence. It's why Miles calls out, "You have claws? Are you sure your Spider-man?" Because Spider-man is defined by his ability to connect with people - hero or villain.

Then we get to another clawed antagonist who hunts Miles for the duration of the first Spiderverse's runtime. Much like Miguel, Prowler's movement is mostly unstoppable aggression. That is until he learns Miles is Spider-man. Aside from presenting as Aaron Davis, Prowler is most identifiable by his giant claws and the camera makes sure of it.

It's only when Aaron learns who Miles is does he take off a claw to hold his hand in his final moments. Unlike Miguel, the claws are not exclusively attached to his suit - they are removable and thus Aaron is able to connect with the people in his environment outside of his identity as the Prowler.

Which finally leads us to our other Prowler, who likewise is able to put on and take off the claws. But where am I going with this?

I feel like in this scene the lighting and colour grading is doing the most work in making Prowler intimidating. Because unlike Aaron's Prowler, Miles' Prowler design is very casual for a villain. Which works for the character but without the claws and the mask, Miles looks just as scrawny as his Spider-man counter-part. It's almost too casual without those key identifiers. Which is why I think we're going to see a lot of Miles' Prowler without the claws and interacting with his family in the next film, as well as dealing with his own identity. Like Aaron in the first film and unlike Miguel in the second, we're going to see how Prowler connects with his environments beyond serving as a antagonistic foil to Miles.

#i already referenced “don't watch the mouth. watch the hands.” in my last post #but that phrase applies in this context too #spiderman #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #miles morales #prowler #gwen stacy #hobie brown #pavitr prabhakar #aaron davis #rio morales #miles g morales #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spider punk #spiderman india #jessica drew #jefferson morales #dr olivia octavius #wilson fisk #kingpin #peter parker #the spot #spot atsv #atsv

[marvelwitchergilmore]

A Moment Of Everything

Summary: Peter Parker x Fe!Reader -> You and Peter have never gotten along, but can two nights in Florence change things for good?

Disclaimer: Swearing, fluff, angst. Mentions of blood and wounds. I was watching The Proposal last night and got inspired. Enemies to Lovers. See this for whichever Spider-Man you wish. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

You knew things had to change eventually. 

Yourself and Peter couldn’t go your whole lives hating one another. 

You just didn’t expect it to change quite so much. 

It had all started one night when you were on a mission with each other. 

Two days in Florence, Italy. You were both sent to monitor a suspect. And, like usual, Peter was off with you. He didn’t seem too happy about having to share a bed at the hotel. And, even though he didn’t particularly like talking to you, he would still do it. Only, that night, he didn’t. 

When he didn’t have to talk to you, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t even look at you. 

So, the night before you were expected to fly back home, you called him out on it. 

He didn’t listen to you. He simply walked away from you. He followed the guy and you had to go with his plan. Whatever his plan was, you had to guess. 

Only, the suspect got away. 

“We’ll find him again.”

Peter just grunted. 

“Peter.”

Nothing. 

“Peter!”

Again, nothing.

“Jesus Fucking Christ! Peter!” He finally slowed down and looked at you. “What the hell is your fucking problem?! I get you don’t like me, but we’re meant to be together in this!”

“We are together in this.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “Bull-shit. You have done nothing but ignore me this entire trip. If you have a problem with me, you can just say it. Where are you going now? Or am I not allowed to know that either.”

“Back to the hotel. Not like you’d tell me.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You tried running to catch up with him. 

“Nothing.”

“No, go ahead. Tell me.”

Soon enough you both made it back to the hotel and inside the room before the conversation continued. 

“Tell me, Peter. I can take it.”

“No, you can’t.”

“You don’t know me-”

“You’re right! I don’t!” Peter turned around and looked at you, forcing you to stop in your tracks. 

“I don’t know you! I don’t know anything about you! Because you don’t share anything.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to keep my life a little private.”

“A little?!” Peter raised his eyebrows and scoffed. “A little private is not telling your co-workers where you're going when you say you’re going on holiday. A little private is not showing them a thousand pictures of your new puppy. Your life is anything but a little private.”

Clearly, he had more to say so you waited. And you didn’t have to wait long. 

Sighing, Peter rubbed his forehead for a moment before looking back at you. 

“I have known you for almost ten years and you have told me less than three things about yourself. And yet, an hour before we leave to come here, Hank from the Biology lab does…what? Flirts with you for five minutes, tells you his coffee order and you’re practically marrying the guy!”

“Peter, that’s none- Is this what has been bothering you since we left? This?! Just because I decided to talk to a guy and tell him about my day…why does it bother you so much that I don’t talk about myself?”

“Because I am meant to be your teammate. You have known me for almost ten years and never once have I hid anything from you. We are meant to trust one another. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like me or if I didn’t like you, what matters is that you trust me, and that I trust you. This partnership is meant to go both ways.”

You didn’t know what to say. You just kept looking at Peter. It looked like the world had been lifted off his shoulders whilst he also started beating himself up over what he just said. His chest was heaving and for a moment, you thought he was gonna walk towards you but instead, he took a step back. 

“I’m going for a shower.”

When the door closed behind him, it took you a moment to gather yourself. 

You couldn’t deny that he had a point. Maybe you hadn’t told him as much as you could have done, especially for being teammates for almost a full decade. But it wasn’t like he didn’t have his faults in it, too. 

Maybe instead of ignoring you and only talking to you when he needed to, you might have warmed to him more rather than seen him as a stand-offish person who you would trust to save your life, but wouldn’t trust to put it on the edge first. 

After twenty minutes, Peter emerged from the bathroom, freshly washed, clothed and ready for bed. He put away his dirty clothes and put his wash bag back in his bag before climbing under the covers that lay at the bottom of the bed. 

He hadn’t said anything when you both arrived at the hotel late at night. Just took some sheets out of the cupboard and put them on the floor. When you entered the room, you said he was being ridiculous.

He just said the bed was too soft for him and that he wouldn’t sleep. 

After an hour of back and forth over you telling him just to get into the bed, since it was big enough for a family of five, never mind two, he still decided to stay on the floor. 

As you lay in bed, listening to the distant noises of the city, you tossed and turned before settling on your back. But you still couldn’t sleep. 

Then you heard Peter. 

He was tossing and turning, too. 

Eventually, you heard him sigh in annoyance of sleep not taking over him. 

So, wrestling with your own mind, you spoke up. 

“I like Greek Mythology.”

A few seconds passed and then; “What?”

You faltered for a moment before speaking up again. 

“I-I like Greek Mythology. I always have.” you said before explaining, taking your time. “When I was five, my grandmother gave me some of her old books. In the pile was a kids illustrated version of Greek Gods and Goddesses. I was obsessed. And I mean, obsessed.” 

You laughed a little as you explained your obsession with Greek Mythology to him. Meanwhile, from the floor and out of sight from you, he smiled. He couldn’t even think of when he’d heard a smile in your voice. Never mind a laugh. 

It was once of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard. 

“For three halloween’s in a row, I went as a different Goddess.”

You fell silent for a moment in the memory before you started to speak again. 

“I hate coffee. I try it once every year and it’s always the same. Absolutely disgusting.” you chuckled a little. “I spent every summer away from home at Camp where I ran a book club. I watch Rom-Coms when I’m sad because they make me feel better. My favourite flowers are blue tulips. I don’t watch thrillers because they remind me too much of work. And, I haven’t told anyone this much…ever.”

Only as you finished did you realise how much you had told him. And you felt a pang of anxiety in the pit of your stomach as Peter remained silent. 

“Are you still there?”

Peter swallowed thickly and nodded his head, despite the fact you couldn’t see him. “Y-yeah. I’m here. Just…processing.”

“Okay.”

That conversation had been just over eight months before you got a knock at your apartment window one evening. 

You had taken a couple weeks off work since you hadn’t taken any vacation days…ever. Barton had practically banned you from the building for two weeks. 

The rain had been pouring over the city and, with all your work finished, you had rushed out and got some supplies before sitting in front of your TV, watching one of the many rom-coms your DVD collection provided before pulling a few books from your shelves and reading through them. 

At some point, you had fallen asleep, still fully dressed, under your blankets, listening to the quiet silence of your apartment as the rain hit the windows outside. 

Only, rather than continuing to sleep throughout the night, you heard a continuous tapping. 

So, leaning up with tired eyes, you looked around. The loose braid you had stuck your hair in had fallen out, your bobble being lost between the cushions somewhere.

The apartment was shrouded in darkness, save for the street lights outside still lighting small sections of your apartment.

Along came more tapping until finally you turned towards the sash window that lay by the fire escape. 

You furrowed your eyebrows as you saw him through tired eyes. 

Making your way over, you pushed the window open and Peter made his way inside. 

“Sorry for waking you.”

You just grumbled and closed the window to stop the rain from flying in, though it didn’t stop the small puddle made by Peter who was practically soaked to the bone from the rain. 

“Ah, so this is who I lost you to.” Peter said with a slight smirk as he spotted one of your Mythology books. 

“Barton said I was banished from HQ until my vacation days were finished. What are you doing here at this time of night? What even is the time?”

“I didn’t know where to go, and you’re the only one who I trust to do the job well.”

“What job?”

Finally looking at Peter, you saw it. 

His body, and his clothes, were splattered with blood. You couldn’t tell how much of it was his and how much of it could be somebody else's. 

“You didn’t kill anyone did you?”

“No.” Peter answered. “They’re alright, just at the police station getting booked.”

You sighed as you took in even more of his wounds. “Alright. Meet me in the bathroom in two minutes. Give me your jacket.”

Peter removed it and you took it from him, including his grey hoodie. 

“Bathroom?”

“Down the hall and to the right.”

Peter nodded and walked down whilst you headed into the kitchen and shoved his jackets into the washing machine and pressed start. Then, from the top cupboard, you pulled down your first-aid kit that contained everything from princess plasters, from when you had been looking after your neighbour's kid for two days, to a stitching kit.

Twenty minutes later, you had a basin full of warm, blood stained water, a once-clean face cloth covered in stains of blood and a grown Avenger sat on the edge of your bathtub, wincing every now and again and you cleaned him up. 

“Remind me again why you came to me?”

You turned Peter’s head to face over your right shoulder as you cleaned a graze and cut just above his eyebrow. 

“Because I trust you. And I didn’t feel like getting another lecture from Laura.”

“Ah,” you nodded and Peter laughed a little. 

Then he hissed. 

“Sorry, I'm almost finished with this one.”

“It’s okay.” Peter flicked his gaze to you a couple of times. “T-thank you for doing this.”

“What else would I have done? Kicked you back out of the window?”

“You could have done it. I did wake you up. Clearly I didn't learn my lesson from the first time.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I did nearly beat you up.”

What Peter meant was just over two months ago. You had both become friends of sorts. But, you had fallen asleep at your lab desk one night and Peter came in to wake you up and you nearly cursed him out so much that you even had him convinced he was an intruder trying to break into your home. 

“But, if you hadn’t come to me, I probably would have cursed you out when I found out, anyway.”

“Found out?”

“You can’t hide anything from me, Peter. I know everything,” you joked. 

“But do you?”

Peter’s question slipped from his tongue before he could stop himself, but you didn’t know what to do. So, your eyes turned from his and you tried your best to remain calm until you saw a large spot of blood coming through his black t-shirt. 

You tried your best to get to the wound that was beneath it without him removing his shirt, but you both knew it was no use. 

So, awkwardly asking him, he stood and you looked to him only to find him looking back. 

Slowly, he removed his shirt, trying his best not to stain the rest of his body from the blood you had just cleaned away and for a moment, you were met with his body in front of you. 

Most of the blood was coming from that one wound but the top of his arms now showed a little bruising, as well as his torso, though it was more healed than you thought it would have been. 

Finding yourself staring for a little too long, you forced your gaze back to his face where he’d removed the shirt from over his head and lowered himself back down onto the edge of the tub, opening up his legs for you to stand between them once more. 

Though, it was in that moment that you realised how close you had been standing to him this entire time. 

“Th-This might sting a little.”

Peter nodded and you watched as he clenched his jaw and tried to suppress the grunt that tried to escape from him as you cleaned out the wound. 

“You might need some stitches.” you mentioned. “I can do them here, though they might not be Laura standard.”

“I think I’ll survive.”

You nodded and tried your best to ignore the fact that Peter was looking at you as you looked for your stitching kit and began working. 

In your peripheral vision, you could see some of his bruises already starting to heal, though some might take more than a couple hours.

Even with his adapted DNA. 

“If you want, you can stay here for the night. I have a spare set of pyjamas if you need them.”

“You sure they’ll be my size?”

You laughed a little. “My, uh, my neighbour gave them to me. She bought a set for her husband but when they came they were too big for him. She told me to keep them in case I ever had someone…stay the night. They might be too big for you, too but they have a drawstring so…”

“Okay.”

You looked at him for a split second and then looked back to his wound with a small nod. 

Soon enough you finished and stepped back to grab the face cloth before dipping it into a fresh basin of warm water to clean off the rest of his wounds that would heal soon enough. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

As you looked at Peter when he stood, there was a moment of…everything. 

Neither of you were moving, yet his eyes and your own spoke a thousand unspoken words between their gazes. 

Without thinking, Peter lifted his hand to meet your own, allowing you to place the cloth down before he pulled you a little closer. 

Your name left his lips in a small whisper, a plea, a wish of permission.

You felt yourself stand a little taller as his other hand came to your face, brushing the loose hair from your face, behind your ear. 

His eyes continued to flick from your eyes to your lips, as yours did the same with him. 

There was time for you to stop. For you to say no. And if you did, he would have stepped away and, most likely, would have apologised and left. 

But you didn’t want that. 

Each tantalising moment that passed, you wished for time to hurry up. For his lips to finally meet yours. 

And once they did, there was no turning back. 

At first it was soft, until you both became hungry for more. 

Leaning in, your hands came to his neck to pull him closer to you. 

Eventually, the kiss broke apart for a moment, your heads resting together, your eyes partly closed. 

“Was that-”

“Just shut up and kiss me again.”

Peter chuckled a little before feeling your lips connect to his, allowing his hands to pull your body flush against his.

#peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #marvel x reader #peter parker x fe!reader #fluff #angst #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends #tom holland! peter parker #andrew garfield spiderman #toby maguire spiderman #mcu #clint barton #shield #agents #co-workers #forced proximity #he fell first #greek mythology #the proposal #falling in love

[literaila]

it’s really nothing 

tasm!peter x fem!reader (office au) 

summary: with peter parker as your coworker, work is something to look forward to. 

warnings: idiots to lovers, pining, reader has a panic attack, peter gets sick, spider-man stuff, fluff, actual idiots, they both “hate” m&ms 

a/n: this is the longest oneshot i’ve ever written. and also, i really like calling people criminals. let me know what you think! 

*

peter parker has pretty eyes.

this is what you're thinking about while he stands in front of you, smiling politely, waiting for you to say something. 

to shake his hand and establish a growing work relationship. 

they're brown. soft and warm and a bit too bright for so early in the morning--he probably hasn't been up all night and probably doesn't suffer from a severe coffee dependency. 

not that you do, either. it's just... 

"y/n," you say, smiling even though it feels more like a wince. like trying not to scare away the newbie. you shake his hand.

the newbie who you were supposed to be director of today. 

the newbie who you definitely did not forget about. 

and who is absolutely not almost devilishly handsome. 

his eyes are crinkled at the edges and you can't tell if it's because he's amused or concerned. 

or if he is just pleasantly waiting for you to say something. 

"sorry," you clear your throat. look away from him, to the person in the cubicle beside you--who is not judging you in the slightest. "busy morning." 

"it's okay. i like... awkward silences." 

he's got dimples. a little quirk on his cheek as he waits for you to tell him where to go. what to do. how not to get fired on the first day. 

"i'm a little distracted," you concede, almost regretful. almost like he definitely thinks you're crazy. 

he turns to look at whatever you were staring at. "yeah," he turns back, smiling. "that's a nice wall." 

"okay," you take a deep breath in, feel the shame smother you with your shirt. "let's try this again." 

peter, who looks like a tiny little beam of light in this room full of half-asleep people, nods. he holds his hand out again. "hi, i'm peter. i'm supposed to ask you where my desk is." 

you almost laugh. "y/n," you say again, to clarify. "i'm supposed to show you where your desk is." 

"hopefully it's facing that wall." 

and so ensues the battle of trying not to stare at him for thirty seconds every time he makes eye contact with you.

fraternization is forbidden from the office. 

you lead him to his desk, show him all of the drawers, completely with a jar full of pens--courtesy of the company--and a little welcome gift. 

a little bag of m&ms that you may or may not have rushed to get from the vending machine down the hall. 

"what's this?" 

you swallow. again. maybe for the fiftieth time. "just a 'welcome to the office' sort of thing." 

peter raises a brow. "from who?" 

"me. i'm, uh, supposed to be your 'office buddy' while you settle in." 

more specifically, you're supposed to be the person he goes to. the person with all the answers. the person who does not get distracted when looking into the eyes of their coworkers. 

third time's a charm. 

 peter nods. "oh, well, i don't like m&ms."

there is a tiny fraction of you that would like to beg him not to make this even harder than it already is. 

"you don't like m&ms," you repeat. 

he shakes his head. his hair is messy. and soft. you'd like to reach out to touch it. 

and burn your hand off immediately after. 

"i didn't realize we were hiring criminals," you shrug. take the candy from his hands. 

peter's jaw drops, minimally. "um, sorry?" 

"not like m&ms is a federal crime." 

his eyes widen. he looks a bit relieved. and then his face switches, smooth and chill, and almost evil eyes. "guess i must've missed that one." 

"if you don't take my candy i'll have to eat it myself." 

he raises a brow. "i'm assuming you like m&ms." 

"nope. hate 'em." 

he laughs. "then why would you give them to me?" 

"it was the last thing in the vending machine. and i assumed you weren't also on probation. " 

"neither of us is very good with assumptions," he leans back, looking a little bit more comfortable than he did a minute ago. 

like maybe he doesn't think that you're absolutely insane. 

you smile at him, try and keep the energy up even though you would really like to lay down on his desk and take a nap. 

"so," you say, clasping your hands together. "my desk is right there." 

across from his, of course, because you're already the office leader in procrastination. 

"if you have any questions i won't be too far away." 

"questions?" 

"yeah. like, about what email to use for an article. or where to find files in the overly complicated filing system. or why it smells like pickles every couple of days." 

his brow furrows. "pickles?" 

"don't ask." 

he picks up a pen. clicks it. puts it back down. 

you watch because how are you supposed to do anything else? 

especially when he's got a voice like that and a face like that and eyes that could probably remove your heart from your chest and take a bite out of it. 

he clears his throat. "does everybody get an office buddy?" 

"only the pretty ones." 

immediately you turn around, run directly into the wall. 

you fall directly onto the floor. 

you don't dare to look at his face. 

you laugh, awkwardly, scratching your neck. "sorry. i, um. i'm not very good at this." 

at talking to people who are insanely attractive, or showing anyone around. or breathing, really. 

"being an office buddy?" peter tilts his head, but he's smiling at you. 

you're pretty sure the crinkle is amused. 

"talking to people. especially when i'm sleep-deprived. or, trying to make a good impression." 

peter laughs, seemingly appreciative of your self-depreciation. "you're doing fine," he assures. "you know, after the whole wall thing. and then the m&m thing." 

you cross your arms. "it was an example of your everyday employee." 

"oh okay, then." he nods. "it worked." 

"and that was a welcome gift." 

"you called me a criminal." 

"i also called myself a criminal. and if you turn out to be anything like me, then you'll last at least a year." 

he bites his lip, looking a little bit confused. 

you laugh. 

"c'mon, i'll show you where we keep the snacks." 

his eyes light up even more. you have to take a deep breath in before you start walking. 

*

peter tries not to bother you. 

he took this job with the money in mind. 

because selling pictures and running around all night and falling asleep in a bed made out of more cardboard than cushion, well, it was time for a change. 

time to become an actual adult--in aunt mays words--and get an adult job. 

when peter took this job--mostly because it was the first acceptance he'd gotten and the rejection letters were killing his ego, piece by piece--he figured that it would almost bore him to death. 

but pay the bills. 

but make it possible to keep up with his extracurriculars and avoid getting his water turned off when he was covered in a slime-like substance that he would really rather not think about. 

he figured that it would be horrible; because having a job was, inevitably, horrible. 

but he was good at suffering. he was good at balancing the scales and doing what needed to be done. 

and may had threatened him with not letting him do his laundry at her house anymore, so, he didn't really have any other choice. 

when he took the job, peter hadn't thought that he would be spending almost every night rushing to submit his forms and edit a million different articles. 

he really hadn't thought that most of his hours spent in the office would be spent staring at you. 

at watching your lips move as you talked to someone on the phone; or straining to hear you whispering to yourself--because not even with his senses could he make everything out completely. 

or at staring at your hands as you typed. your eyes as you laughed. or when he said something--how he managed to, peter wasn't sure because his brain all but stopped whenever you were within five feet of him--to make you smile. 

because your smile, god. it was the worst of all. 

it was soft and beautiful and so mesmerizing that peter was worried you had already killed him every time he saw it. 

there was just something about you. 

something funny. something intriguing. a tiny little thing he wasn't sure how to describe. 

and so, it really wasn't his fault that he didn't get any work done. 

it's not as if he'd chosen to sit right across from you and be forced to watch you work all day. 

he made a conscious effort not to. 

to only stare when you were staring back. 

to type random things onto his document and swear that he was actually going to get something done. 

today. 

but, of course, today he was having a problem. 

the problem being that he didn't want to bother you but he also hadn't talked to you all morning. 

three weeks after he'd officially met you. 

you were his office buddy. his friendly coworker who he was just a little bit infatuated with. 

and he didn't want to bother you. 

he tried not to. 

to keep his staring down to a minimum and avoid planning what he was going to say to you the night before. 

he smiled at you during lunch, asked how everything was going. 

and that was that. 

until now, because peter was having a problem. 

"hey," peter whispered, trying to keep his voice down. 

you looked up from your computer, a quick smile making its way to your face. 

peter pretended not to notice the three cups of coffee on your desk. 

or that your shirt was inside out. 

"hi, peter." 

"hi. i'm--i'm having a little bit of trouble with a document..." 

you raised a brow, making one of your eyes quirk up. just so peter could memorize the color a little bit more. "trouble?"

"i don't know how to change the font." 

it wasn't a complete lie. it also was a poor, poor excuse to talk to you. 

to not bother you. 

"the font?" you ask as if he was lying. 

which he would never do. especially not to get your attention. 

"i've never used this program before." 

"microsoft word?" 

he nods. he watches the edge of your mouth quirk up. 

he watches your fingers tap against the desk. 

"okay," you say, so easily. "i'll show you." 

you stand up, close enough to peter for him to smell your perfume and practically taste your amusement. 

"thanks," he says, quickly, taking a couple of steps back. 

and then a couple of steps more. 

he allows you to lead him back to your desk. to sit in his chair and spin around, just so that he's looking at your face again. 

"i like what you've done with the place," you say, gesturing to his almost empty desk. 

"thanks. i try." 

you laugh. "very cozy." 

and then you spin around again, and peter leans a bit closer to you, watching your eyes as they flick over the computer screen. 

"see the little 't'?" you patronize him, using the cursor to point.

he avoids laughing and giving himself away. he feels like a child. 

which, in hindsight, he pretty much is.  

peter nods. he's sure you can feel it. 

because he can almost feel it when you swallow. 

"you click that," you do so, "and then choose whatever font you want. except for comic sans. because that is against office policy." 

"what if i like comic sans?" he whispers, closer than he wants to be to your ear. 

"then we can't be friends and i'll be switching departments." 

he chuckles. "where would you go?" 

and he leans up, just so you can turn around again. and maybe because he feels little bit lightheaded. 

it's really nothing. 

"probably legal. they have a ping-pong table down there." 

"and a dungeon with all of their lost souls." 

you shrug. "reasonable price to pay." 

you're smiling at him, so small that he might not notice if he hadn't been watching you do it for three weeks.

"i'd personally go with janitorial. get the whole place to yourself." 

"they also have to clean up your desk, so." 

he crosses his arms. "what is that supposed to mean?" 

"you think i haven't seen the old wrappers and cans of soda? did you clean up just for me?" you touch your chest, mock appreciation. 

"nope. it is 10 am, and the janitors love me." 

"i highly doubt that." 

you stand up, wiping your hands on your pants. "okay. you got it now?" 

"yup. thanks for your help." 

peter can see you trying not to laugh. he watches very closely. 

"sure thing, peter. let me know if you have trouble finding the space bar." 

and if peter's got a little bit of a crush, so what? 

he likes his new job. 

*

you poke him on the shoulder. "peter." 

he doesn't budge. his eyes barely even move. his chest just barely inflates. 

so you resort to almost pushing him out of his chair. "hey," you say, just a little bit louder. "peter." 

and then, as soon as you've begun to push him again, his hand darts out to grab onto yours. 

you let out a little yelp. 

it scares you more than it scares him. you try to flinch back but his grip is hard, his eyes are stern and confused as he looks at you. 

as he looks down at the hand that's on you; creating bruises on your wrists. 

and then he lets go, as if your hand was burning hot, and jumps away from you. 

"i'm sorry--" 

"are you okay?" 

peter blinks. looks like he's forgotten where he is or what he's doing here. he blinks again. "what?" 

"you were asleep. i woke you up." 

"oh." 

you nod. take a breath in and readjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. "you okay?" 

"i'm fine." 

you stare at him. his eyes are a little bit wild. a little bit all over the place. 

he's staring at his keyboard like he's lost the ability to think clearly. 

"peter," you say, softly. "it's five." 

"five?" 

"yes. time to go." 

"oh." 

you frown. "how long were you asleep?" 

"not long. like, an hour." 

some part of you wonders how you didn't notice that. considering how much you're looking at him on any average day. 

"i didn't realize. i would've woken you up sooner." 

you rub your hand, taking a step back as he gets up from his desk. as he grabs a bunch of spare things and doesn't really look you in the eyes. 

"it's fine. i wasn't getting a lot done anyway." 

his voice is quiet. soft. a bit rough--like he's been using it too much. sore. 

"having a hard time sleeping?" you ask, trying not to step over the boundaries of your office buddy relationship. 

peter snorts. "you could say that." 

you nod. stand there uncomfortably. 

not sure if you should just leave or wait for him. which one will cause you more pain. 

peter looks up. he sighs. "your hand," he gestures to the red mark you've got on your wrists--which really don't hurt that bad but are a bit startling. "i'm sorry."

"oh," you look with him. shrugging. "it's fine. it's what i get for waking you up." 

"no, i just--" he pauses. shakes his head like he's being stupid. "sorry. i don't know what's wrong with me." 

"i'm sure there's a multitude of answers, peter parker." 

you say it with a smile on your face, trying to avoid the seriousness of this situation. in which, you should probably be concerned for him. 

in which you would really like to hug him because he looks sort of sad. sort of crumbled as he picks up his bag. sort of small. 

he chuckles. "good guess." 

"ready?" you ask him, straightening up. 

"i'll walk you to your car." 

you hold a finger up, brow raised. "i think i'll walk you to your car.  'cause you're looking a little... green." 

peter blinks. 

"and also because i'm a gentleman." 

"of course," peter snorts a little bit, beginning to walk. "thanks for waking me up," he says, "i would've just slept there all night." 

"and then what would the janitors think of you?" 

he waves a hand. "they'd just clean around me." 

"or call the police." 

"yes. or that." 

you smile at him. 

appreciate the way he smiles back. even if it's just for show. 

*

when peter runs into you just as he's leaving the bathroom, it's a completely normal reaction to be a little bit shocked. 

to crave the warmth of your body, even if it's slamming into him and causing him to trip. 

causing you to trip, which, peter does not take advantage of. 

he does, of course, steady you with his hands, looking down at you as you blink. 

"woah," you say. "i didn't think i was going that fast." 

"practicing for a marathon?" 

you glare at him, just a little. "just going to lunch." 

your eyes are delightfully smooth. your mouth is quirked up in peter's favorite way. 

he laughs. "i would run too." 

"sorry. didn't mean to crash into you." 

"it's fine." 

he stares at you for a moment. waiting for you to say something. 

you don't because you're not a strange coworker trying to preserve any minute with him you can get. 

"where are you going?" he asks, rocking on his heels. 

"forced to go to the sandwich shop on the corner. i forgot my lunch." 

"charlie's?" 

peter watches you lick your lips. he watches you breathe in and out and pretends that he's not being weird. 

he's not. 

"yeah. have you been there?" 

he nods. smiles a little bit. "it's good." 

you smile back. 

he breathes in; trying to match his heart to yours. 

you look a little bit disheveled; a little bit eager as you stare at him. 

and he's got no clue how he looks because he's got no control over his body. 

you breathe out. "well..." 

"oh," peter steps aside, running a hand through his hair. "enjoy your lunch." 

"thanks, you too." 

and then you walk away from him. 

peter tries not to feel a bit begrudged by his lack of conversation skills--particularly when it comes to you--and he tries not to think about how warm and soft your skin is, or how cute you look when your hair is a little bit messed up. 

but then you turn around, clearing your throat. "you, um, wanna come?" 

it barely takes peter a second to say "let me grab my bag."

*

"where'd you work before this?" you ask peter, sipping on some coffee. 

nursing the fact that you're going out to lunch with him and that he offered to pay. 

not that it means anything. it doesn't. 

it'd be nice to have a friend around the office, though. 

and it's nice to know that he doesn't completely hate you. yet. 

peter swallows some of his sandwich, face contorting strangely. "i did some pictures for a couple of newspapers... but um, just a lot of odd jobs," he shakes his head. nonchalant. 

"you like photography?" 

"just a hobby." 

you raise a brow. "that's not what i asked." 

"yeah," peter answers, slowly. "i like it." 

"you must be pretty good at it, you know, since you got paid for it." 

he shrugs again. "i'm alright." 

you let out a confused breath, trying to take his short answers as a good sign. 

as any sort of sign. 

"how long have you been working here?" peter asks you, quickly changing the subject. 

you pretend not to notice. 

"oh, a year and some odd months." 

peter leans a little bit closer to you. "and you've lasted this long?" he whispers. 

you laugh. "it's not that bad. good holiday pay. free vending machine snacks. and clive, the elevator guy, brings me coffee sometimes. can't let him down." 

"clive?" 

you frown. "you haven't met clive?" 

peter shakes his head. 

"that is a problem. i'll introduce you to him. it'll change your life." 

peter laughs. 

"no, i'm serious. after i met clive i was a completely different person." 

"i guess we'll see." 

"no, peter. i wouldn't joke about clive." 

peter raises a brow. "you joke about getting fired all the time." 

you wave a hand. "pfft. have you ever even met the boss?" 

you say the words like they're formidable. 

kind of like how peter is looking at you right now. 

his eyes are absolutely insane. 

"um..." peter thinks for a moment. "no, i don't think i have." 

"me either." 

"really? you've been there a year." 

you point at him. "exactly. who's going to fire me?" 

peter smiles. "fair point." 

you nod at him, content. 

happy, for some strange, incomprehensible reason. you can feel his eyes on you. 

you look up at the clock. 

"you better finish your sandwich," you tell him, meeting his eyes. "we've got fifteen minutes." 

and so it begins. 

*

"hey," peter says, sticking his head in front of your face, and interrupting your typing. 

you scoff and push him away, moving so you can see the screen again. 

resume typing.

"y/n," peter sings. 

"i'm working." 

"why?" 

you turn towards him, sighing. "what do you need?"

he gestures towards your coffee cup, smiling. "want some more coffee?" 

"no. i've had two cups already." 

peter raises a brow. "that's low for you." 

"rude." 

he grabs your cup. "don't worry. i know how you like it." 

"stalking me, peter parker?" 

"you're in there all of the time," he deadpans. "it would be hard not to know." 

"rude," you repeat. 

peter turns around, whistling as he carries both of your coffee cups. 

you shake your head, somewhat amused, somewhat confused. 

you blink until the image of his face and stupid smile is gone. 

continue writing. 

and then peter sticks his head around the corner again. 

"by the way, you're missing a comma in line three." 

and you hate him, just a little bit. 

you barely even smile as you add the comma in. 

*

peter has been looking for you for the last ten minutes. 

it's become sort of a thing to walk out together; to make fun of the building as you go, swearing that you're never ever going to come back. 

peter, well, he likes the opportunity to stare openly at you while you laugh. 

and when you weren't at your desk, peter took the time to explore a little bit. 

and maybe go through some of your drawers looking for snacks--not that he'll admit to it when you ask. 

he finds you in the basement, going through a filing cabinet. 

"what're you doing?" he asks, attempting to scare you as he turns on a light. 

you've got a flashlight in your mouth and a glare in your eyes. 

"that's too bright," you say, around the flashlight. 

"woah. what's going on?" 

peter gestures to the mess on the floor. to the papers you're practically buried in. 

"i couldn't find a file, and nancy in information technology said that it 'wasn't in the database' so i'd have to come and look for it down here. and none of these are alphabetized." 

"ah. and did nancy use that snarky tone of voice?" 

you glare even harder at him. "yes. she was very unpleasant." 

peter groans as he sits down right next to you, messing with a file you've left on the floor. "sure you're not projecting?" 

"peter, you should go home." 

he laughs. "c'mon, you can't stay here all night. why don't you look for it tomorrow?" 

"i need it tonight." 

he puts a hand over yours, urging you to look at him. "you're gonna be looking forever. who knows the last time these were organized?" 

you sigh, head drooping. "i know. i was trying to do it myself but..." 

"there's thousands of these," peter finishes for you. 

"yeah." 

he laughs. "yeah." 

you rub your eyes, and peter watches you as you try not to yawn. 

"when was the last time you ate?" he asks. 

"had lunch at my desk." 

"you know that's not enough," he chides. "that was six hours ago." 

"my deadline is today. i didn't realize i needed the file until today." 

you sound just a little bit angry. and absolutely tired. 

peter can see the circles under your eyes, and the furrow between your brows that hasn't gone away since he walked in. 

"okay," peter sighs, taking the stack of files from your lap. 

"peter," you sigh. "i really need--" 

"i'm gonna help you." 

you look up at him, frowning. "what?"

"it should only take an hour or two with both of us. and then we'll go get something to eat. and then you'll go home and sleep." 

"it's--peter. that's sweet, but you don't have to. it's already late and--" 

"c'mon," he says, handing you a couple. "who am i going to annoy if you're at home sleeping tomorrow?" 

there's just a quirk of your lips. and then it stills, and you're staring at him very seriously. "are you sure? i know you don't get a lot of sleep anyway." 

he smiles, nudging you with his shoulder. "we'll work fast. and then have fries." 

and the smile it earns him is worth the exhaustion the next morning. 

*

"hey," you frown, tilting your head to get a better look at his jaw. 

peter looks over, eyebrows raised. "hmm?" 

you point to the side of his face, brows furrowed. "you've got a bruise." 

peter touches the spot you're pointing to--as if you've just reminded him of this--and winces. "oh. yeah." 

"does it hurt?" 

he shrugs. "a little." 

"what'd you do?"

he smiles. "how do you know that i did anything? some of us wake up looking this good." 

"peter." 

he rolls his eyes. looks away from you and sighs. "i was helping may hang some pictures. dropped one." 

"on your face?" 

"no, actually," he says, smiling at you. "i dropped it on my foot. the bruise just happened to show up on my face." 

if it wasn't for his smile you might push him off of the bench. 

"you're stupid," you respond. "and reckless. and stupid. did may yell at you?" 

he snorts. "told me that just because i 'act like a child' doesn't mean i'm not 'a responsible adult' and that i shouldn't be so 'stupid.'" 

you nod, pleased. "good. now i don't have to." 

*

peter is not staring. 

he does not stare at you, he swears. 

he watches the wall instead. 

the wall with its lips and eyes and nose and cute little crinkle in its brows. 

he watches the walls and he doesn't get any work done. 

and when you look back at him--because you always do--he'll make a face at you. gesture towards the clock with a frown. 

it might get him a laugh. or a pout. 

and peter finds both of those things equally gratifying. 

so it anyone asks, peter does not stare at you. he has no reason to. no need to look at something that he already knows very well. 

and still, he can't quite look away. 

*

"where are you?" you say, immediately, without any greeting. 

because it's ten in the morning and you're actually staring at a wall. a wall that might've been interesting about five months ago before brown brown eyes took its place. 

now it seems boring, blatant, and annoying. 

"hello?" peter says, sounding as if he's attempting an old man. 

"hi, peter. where are you?" 

"at home." 

"really?" you say, rolling your eyes into the receiver so that he can feel it. "i thought you were sitting right across from me. what i really meant was, where the hell are you?" 

there's a pause. a quick shuffling. and then: "i'm sick." 

you frown. "sick?" 

"you know the thing where your body begins to ache, and then you--" 

"i don't need to hear about your bodily feelings." 

peter laughs. "well, that's where i am." 

you almost whine. you almost swear to god that you're going to drag him in here so that you don't want to nap all day. 

or go over to his apartment and have him cough in your face. 

"what am i supposed to do?" you ask, spinning around in your chair, allowing the cord to wrap around your chest. 

it's not like anyone is looking at you. 

"i don't know," peter answers, voice muffled. "your job?" 

"that's boring." 

"so is reality tv. where did all the good stuff go?" 

"you're at home watching tv and i have to work." 

you hear peter sigh. "i'm at home sick and you're perfectly healthy at your desk. you get to talk to clive today." 

he sounds a bit desperate; a bit peeved. 

"clive misses you." 

"he tell you that?" 

"no. he actually told me that he wants his money." 

you spin back around. pretend to type something into your keyboard. 

"not this again." 

"you lost the bet." 

"i did not, you both knew that i--no, you know what?" peter pauses, breathing against the microphone. you almost have to tilt the phone away from your ear. "i'm too sick to argue." 

your brows furrow. "that's not good." 

he laughs. "i'm going to take a nap. get an article done. ask clive about cacti. steal all of the m&ms from the vending machine." 

"it's not like anyone eats them." 

"goodbye, y/n." 

"but, peter..." you whine. 

and that's how you end up at his door, shivering on his welcome mat. 

*

peter frowns as he opens the door. "what're you doing here?" 

you, immediately, walk right past him, feet pounding on his floor. 

"i brought soup," you say, instead of answering. "and good company. and crackers."

"i don't like soup." 

peter follows you into his kitchen--because somehow you know where everything is and are completely comfortable in his house already--leaning against the counter. 

he tries not to wince as his leg strains to keep up. 

you stare at him a moment, frowning. "you don't look sick. do you have a fever?" you reach out to touch his forehead but peter leans back. 

"i don't like soup," he repeats. 

"ah," you wave a hand. "yeah you do." 

"no." 

you sigh. "peter. soup is good for you. and so is getting out of bed." 

peter stares at you for a moment. 

any other day he might've appreciated the faux oblivious smile on your face. or the humming you're doing as you look for a bowl. 

"y/n," he says, flat. 

"hmm?" 

"how did you get my apartment number?" 

you turn back to look at him, eyes wide. "you know," you say, calm. "google." 

he stares at you. 

"i looked it up." 

he raises a brow. takes the weight off of his left leg. 

"you have a file, peter. which is very useful when your favorite coworker wants to bring you soup because you're sick." 

"clive is my favorite, so--" 

"you're sick," you emphasize. "which means you should go lay down. i'll bring you the soup when it's warm." 

peter bends down so he can look you directly in the eye. 

so he can stare at you a little bit closer and laugh when your eyes begin to disappear. 

so he can watch your skin curve and fall and all of the indentations that he can't see from more than a foot away. 

you stare back at him, eyes wide. 

"you're not sick," he mocks, "which means you should be at work." 

you cross your arms. "it's my lunch break." 

your stubbornness would usually excite peter, but it's getting hard to stand. 

"did you eat?" 

"coffee in the car. and i stole some candy from the candy jar." 

peter frowns. "that's not lunch." 

he teases a small strand of hair out of your eye, pokes you in the forehead gently. 

you pretend to fall backward. 

"i'll have some soup," you say, pleasantly, stepping past him. "there's enough for two." 

"you could've come after work," peter says, mostly just so that you'll look at him again. 

so he can catch an inch of your smile and hide it in his pocket forever. 

it's a crime that his camera is in the other room. 

"i was worried," you admit, a little bit softer than usual. "i didn't think you could get sick." 

"i am human," and even peter doesn't really believe it.

"yeah, but you're, like, naturally gifted. immune system of steel." 

"i wash my hands." 

you laugh, the small sound is a beacon in the room. 

an earthquake shaking peter's core, again and again. 

"you don't have to be worried about me," he says. 

but what he really means is thank you for coming, and i wish you'd stay all day. 

he means absolutely nothing at all. 

"it's not just that," you turn around, gentle light in your eyes, face morphing into something peter can't describe. "i missed you," you tell him. "it's boring." 

he tilts his head. tries not to let the words fall too far to the ground. "you done it before," he protests, just so you'll smile again. 

"well, i didn't have any friends at work before." 

peter takes the words. he grabs them from the air with his hands and throws them into a corner somewhere very far away. 

he waits a moment, for you to laugh at him, to smile, to tell him what the hell to do about any of this. 

and, because you know him, you do. 

"go lay down," you tell him, pointing towards his door. "it'll be just another second." 

and peter tries not to limp as he walks away. 

he tries not to look back at you; fails. 

*

it really means nothing. 

it means nothing as you push away from your desk, legs feeling surprisingly limp, hands shaking as you use them to stand up. 

as you run them over your face, making sure that you're still here. 

you look towards peter's desk and see nothing. he's sick today, you remember. 

he's been sick for three days. 

that this is all normal, and perfectly fine, and just your average workday, really. 

except for the overwhelming feeling pulling at your chest, making it just minimally harder to breathe. 

harder to think. to see. to wonder where you are and why you're supposed to be here. 

work, you rationalize. you think it through again and again. 

and it still doesn't help. 

you take a step, moving away from the cubicle, from the phone that you've left stranded on your desk and the tears that--as you'll find out later--have ruined a document. 

you take another step, swearing to yourself that if you're going to throw up--which isn't even a possibility really--it won't be here. 

it won't be in front of these people, and it will not be over something so small. so trivial. 

still, that sort of fluctuating anger crawls further up your throat. 

if you tried to speak, you would find only air in the place of words. you would find a dry and broken throat. 

you would find that you've lost the ability. 

you walk down the hall, nervous tears dribbling down your cheeks. 

you wipe them away with an errant hand that you can't feel. 

the next goal is the bathroom. the next goal is to calm the hell down and try and pull yourself together. 

it's only nine in the morning. 

it is too early for any of this. 

too early for the sun to be up and too early for these feels to have collapsed your chest in whole. 

you were fine when you woke up, you swear. 

you had breakfast, got to work, had coffee, got to work. 

there's no disorganization in a routine that you've been developing for years. in the same job that you've been used to since you got there. 

panic attacks aren't acceptable when everything is fine. 

you're fine, you tell yourself, a meek repetition in your brain, but whoever is controlling this doesn't seem to care. 

you're fine. 

the bathroom is two hallways away. on normal days, you have to plan out when you need to pee. 

you clench your fists so tight that they lose blood circulation. 

you wipe another tear away, angry at the movement it takes to do so. 

ashamed to be walking down this hallway and avoiding the eyes of coworkers you would usually smile at. 

but they don't deserve this sight. 

you walk a little bit faster, unsure how far you've gotten. 

it could be inches. it could be miles. 

and it's at this point--when you've made it so far from your desk that you can no longer feel the indention of your chair on your legs--that you realize that this isn't going to get any better. 

that compartmentalization has failed you, once again. 

your eyes burn as you look down at the floor, trying to note all of the coffee stains you can see as you walk along. 

you fill your lungs with air, basking in the bit of relief, the cool feeling in your chest before the anger comes back swinging. 

it mocks you with a laugh. with a funny little remark about how deep breathing won't get you through this. 

and it's fine. 

you walk faster, swearing to yourself that you just need a moment alone. 

and then you hear a quick little "hey," before you run directly into someone. quickly looking up while your eyes fill with tears again. mistake mistake mistake. 

running into your coworker--especially this one--is definitely a mistake. 

especially with his eyes and his face and every single thing that he just seems to know. 

"hey," he says, softer, trying to keep you steady with one open hand, the other holding a coffee mug. 

you're pretty sure that he just spilled some of it on the floor but you don't dare let yourself look. 

this is fine, you think, as his fingertips burn your skin. 

"peter,” you whisper, voice cracking. "what're you doing here?"

you try not to wince. 

immediately, he's frowning. "what's wrong?" 

you laugh. you chuckle. you practically cackle at the words. 

what's wrong, do you think? nothing. 

absolutely nothing. 

you stand up even straighter. "nothing. i'm fine. how are you? feeling better?" 

you're very confident that he can't hear the hesitation in your voice. after all, you're completely fine. 

you smile at him. 

you know that there's something else you should be saying, something funny, something to make him smile. 

this might be normal if you could just figure out what that something was. 

"c'mon," he whispers, little concerned brow. little evil eyes. "you're crying." 

you clear your throat. "am i?" pretend to wipe away any remains. "i get really bad allergies this time of year." 

"you don't have allergies." 

you laugh again, little bit smaller. there is no evidence of a lie on your face. 

the feeling is still there, laughing with you. 

"i think i would know, peter," you say, taking a step back from him. "just heading to the bathroom so--" 

"y/n," he's even softer, like whatever you're saying is causing him physical pain. "you don't have to lie." 

"i'm not lying," you swear. 

you swear again and again that you're not going to start crying in front of him. 

because if there's one thing that could make this any worse--besides an actual heart attack--it would be peter parker watching you cry. 

"did something happen?" 

"no. i have to go to the bathroom." 

"did someone do something?" he's leaning down a little bit, trying to get a clearer view of your eyes. 

there's really no better view than this, you think, staring into his brown eyes. waiting. 

"nothing happened, peter." 

"then why are you crying?" 

"i already told you--" 

he tilts his head. he's breathing almost normally. he's standing close to you. his eyes are so gentle, warm. "i just want to make sure that you're alright. you don't look alright." 

"i'm fine," you say, out loud, through clenched teeth. 

and another tear falls down your face, mocks you as it hits the ground. 

and then another, because where else are they supposed to go?" 

"okay," peter says, leaning down just a little bit so he can grab your hand. taking a step closer, and using a hand to get you to look at him. 

to rub your skin with the tip of his thumb. 

to drive you even more insane than you already feel. 

any other time, this might be a dream. 

he takes a moment to look at you. and you look back, a bit perturbed. a bit annoyed. a bit anything but fine. 

and then he nods. "okay," he repeats. looks up from you to around the office--you don't want to know how many eyes are on the two of you. 

peter uses his grip on your hand to pull you, clearly not hearing your protests, as he drags you into a room. 

into a maintenance closet that you didn't even realize existed. 

"there," he says. "no more people." 

the room is big enough for you to take a step away from him. breathe out. "thanks." 

but it doesn't help. 

the tears continue because the floodgates are open and the universe would like to continue to make a fool of you, thanks. 

"it's okay," peter says, and he takes the step forward. his hands wipe away your tears, but they aren't fast enough. "it's okay. you don't have to tell me." 

and then, in a quick gentle motion, he wraps you in his arms. 

he holds you so close. so tight. 

fingertips trailing on the skin of your neck. chest smelling exactly like his house. 

breaths and heartbeats in your ear. 

"why are you here?" you whisper, against his chest. just to break the silence and no longer feel overwhelmed by his very proximity. 

"i missed you," peter answers, quickly. "i feel better." 

"that's good." 

he nods against your head. breathes in even deeper. 

you're not sure if it's for you or him. 

"peter," you whisper, and your voice shakes. 

you topple over the side of the building. 

but he catches you. 

"i've got you," he whispers. "whatever happened, i'm here." 

"thank you." 

"shh," he says, and "don't be ridiculous." and "you look pretty even when you're crying." and "i would offer you some m&ms right now, but i think that would be counterproductive." 

and you breathe against him, allowing yourself to laugh. 

allowing the feeling to envelop you whole. 

you almost don't mind, because however much panic is stuffed down your throat, peter is holding you. 

peter is hugging you and whispering in your ear. 

"it's okay," he repeats, a different variation of your own words. "i've got you," he promises. 

and it's okay, you think. 

it's completely fine. 

this is nothing. 

except, you know, falling in love with peter parker. 

*

"what is this?" peter mouths to you from ten feet away. 

he's got no idea why you're staring at him, but he doesn't really mind. 

"what?" you mouth back, lip quirked a little bit too much. 

peter raises his brows. points at the letter in his hands. 

you squint at it. 

he waits. 

and then you shrug your shoulders. "i don't know," you mouth to him. 

he stares blankly at you. thinks about throwing it across the room. 

you laugh and look down at your desk, resuming whatever you were getting done before he interrupted. 

but peter doesn't mind that very much anymore. 

he emails you with no subject line. 

an invitation.

you take five minutes to respond. in which, peter spends throwing trash into his trash can from six feet away.

he gets every single one in. 

for the work party thing? 

you look up at him, raised brow. 

yes. 

peter thinks about how it would be easier to just text. 

yeah. they do one every year

did you go? 

yes

was it lame? 

yes. and no. there was a dart board

you're a liar

you smile up at him. pretend that you're the most productive employee here.

peter chooses to ignore your face so that he doesn't get distracted. 

are you gonna go? he asks.

not sure. are you? 

for the dartboard

wise decision

go with me. i promise no lameness.

he can hear you laugh but he doesn't look up. 

just keeps your voice as a soundtrack in his mind. copy and pastes the sound. hits save. 

you're a liar peter

but he finally smiles at you. 

*

 peter parker is, above all else, completely wrong about the party. 

not that it took much convincing on his part; one single word, one single chance to hang out with him for just a little while longer, well, that was enough. 

it was enough of an answer, enough of a promise, and the threat of honeysuckle eyes staring at you until you fell apart, piece by piece. 

so the party is lame. 

almost the same as last year. 

there's a punch bowl on the table, spiked with something you choose not to think about. there's a speaker in the corner of the newly arranged office, blasting music that you don't know the words to. 

there's your coworkers, mingling, standing awkwardly together because when is there time to actually talk to each other--nonetheless develop any friendships. or, acquaintanceships. 

discluding you and peter, of course. 

because, as you've recently become aware, he's your best friend. 

he's your best friend when he's curled up on his couch and eating all your popcorn and laughing when you choke in the middle of the movie, but handing you some water anyway, eyes betraying whatever sarcastic comment he was about to make. 

he's your best friend when you're eating lunch together, contemplating the benefits of pulling the fire alarm at one in the afternoon. 

he's your best friend when he sends you memes over email, swearing that they're going to make you laugh. 

he's your best friend when he's throwing things at you from across the office, earning the two of you some nasty looks from the same coworkers in the room now. 

he's your best friend when you want to kiss him. 

when you want to lean in just a little bit closer and confess everything to him; allow yourself to be uninhibited by his smiles and eyes and laughter and voice. 

he's your best friend, and sometimes, you wish he wasn't. 

because it just makes it a little bit harder. 

not so easy to stop noticing all the amazing, wonderful, significant things about him when you're spending each weekday with him and listening to his voice over the phone every weekend. 

not so easy to stop loving him when he's just... 

he's your best friend. 

even now, standing too close to you, whispering in your ear. 

"do you think they're all robots?" he asks you, gesturing towards the group of people. 

"i think we would know by now." 

he looks severely judgmental. "look at them," he points, "they're all just standing there. perfect posture. great smiles. well manufactured." 

"i'm sure some people think that about you too, peter."

he looks at you, offended. 

"oh wait," you say, shaking your head. "you've got the posture of an eighty-year-old, so, probably not." 

"i do not." 

"ninety." 

"we are the same age." 

you raise a brow. "there is no proof of that." 

"besides our birth certificates." 

you wave a hand. "i'm still young," you say, "you're getting up there." 

"weren't you the one complaining about 'wasting your life away sitting at a mindless--'" 

"that proves nothing." 

peter laughs. takes another sip of his punch and winces. 

you look around. anything to avoid his face. and his stupid attractiveness. 

why you're here, you're not quite sure. 

"wait," you say, grabbing peter's shoulder. "i think there's a real person here." 

"really? where?" 

"nancy." 

you gesture towards the woman standing alone, staring at peter like she's going to demolish him in a second. looking at peter like he's an actual greek statue--not too far-fetched--and she'd like to destroy him. 

it might make you laugh if you weren't severely irritated. 

"nancy from i.t.?" peter asks, looking around. 

"yes." 

"the same nancy who gave you attitude and then made the two of us go through files all night?" 

"yes." 

"wow," his eyes land on her, and you watch as she looks away from him, cheeks flushing. "i think she was staring at you." 

you laugh. 

"no, really. her hatred is being fueled." 

"she wasn't staring at me, peter." 

he raises a brow, looking down at you. "uh, i'm pretty sure she was. maybe you didn't see it but she had evil in her eyes--" 

"she was looking at you." 

"what?" he looks back to her, back to you. shakes his head. "no she wasn't." 

there's just something about his eyes. 

"yes, she was." 

"what did i do to her?" 

you laugh. "she was admiring the view." 

peter's brow furrows, and you take the time to admire his eyelashes, the light hitting the side of his face. 

"what does that mean?" peter asks because he's completely oblivious. 

and adorable. 

"pretty much everyone in this room has a crush on you, peter parker. you're a handsome guy." 

"you think i'm handsome?" 

you use the time to take a sip of your drink. to look around the room and admire the disco ball on the ceiling. how they got that up there, you're not sure. 

peter swallows. "everyone in here?" 

"yup." 

"even clive?" 

you laugh. "clive is well beyond a crush. i think it's considered more of an obsession."

peter smiles. he nods, pleased. "good. i feel the same." 

"i'll be sure to let him know," you look down at the floor. try and get the coffee stains out with your foot. 

it hurts a little bit to look at peter right now. 

to stare at his face and understand that it means nothing. 

smiles and laughter--they're yours but not for you. 

and it's fine. 

you're perfectly alright with that. 

you clear your throat. "you should go talk to her." 

peter looks up. "who?" 

"nancy." 

his lips purse. "why would i do that?" 

"she likes you." 

"she was mean to you," peter frowns, eyes right on you. 

looking at you the same way he did that first day. like you're crazy. 

like he can hear the words you're saying but they still don't make sense. like he can touch your skin but can't feel it. 

you shake your head. "it was nothing. she might be nice." 

"why are you trying to set me up with nancy?" 

you sigh. "peter." 

"are you trying to pawn me off to someone else? because i'd really rather go with clive..." 

"i don't--" you sigh again. bite your lip. look down and imagine the ground isn't there. "i don't know. just..." 

peter nudges you with his shoulder. "hey. this is lame." 

you snort. "i told you so." 

there is music blaring in both of your ears. it's gotten increasingly louder in the last thirty seconds. 

if you looked over you might see people dancing. you might actually see your coworkers getting along. 

but you don't look over. you don't dare take your eyes off peter. 

"wanna go somewhere else?" peter asks, with a bit of a smirk. 

and then you follow your best friend out the doors, not bothering to look back. 

*

peter has always considered himself to be fairly strong. 

after a difficult childhood, a difficult teenager, a difficult life--he thinks that he's grown well. that as long as his feet have remained firmly on the ground, then he must be doing something right. 

he must be on his tiptoes now. 

"hey," you say, arm locked in his, so close to him that he can smell you. "there's a diner open. wanna get shakes?" 

he can feel you. 

"shakes?" peter winces. 

"peter parker, if you're about to tell me that you don't like shakes--" 

he laughs. pulls you towards the shop. holds the door open for you. 

he tries to fall back on his heels. tries to remind himself that strength doesn't mean anything. that he could hold you up for as long as you needed. that he would hold you up forever. 

he plants his feet in the ground and digs his toes into the soil. 

he smiles at you. 

"i love shakes," he says. 

and what he really means is. 

i love you. 

*

"it is two in the morning," you complain as peter rubs his hand together, looking like a child. 

excited and lit up and far too awake for this early in the morning. 

"i thought you were young," peter says. pulling you along. 

his hands are cold. 

and still, you don't really mind. 

he's holding your hand. 

"i am young. and old enough to not want to freeze to death on some swings right now." 

"y/n," he chides as if you're being ridiculous. "when was the last time you played on a swing set?" 

"probably when i was five." 

peter points at you. "exactly. you don't remember what it's like. the joy of feeling like you're going to fall off--" 

"and die." 

"i won't let you die." 

"peter," you say, dryly. 

but you're smiling at him.

and as long as he keeps holding your hand, you think, you might follow him anywhere. 

*

when peter notices that you're shivering, he offers you his jacket. 

but you don't take it. 

"i've seen you in the office," you say to him, the words teasing. "and i know that you're the one always turning the heat up." 

"it's cold in there!" peter protests, following you as you lead him to the edge of the world. 

as he tells himself that it's nothing. 

nothing at all. 

expect wanting to keep you awake, to keep you smiling, to keep you from falling on your face, and to keep you in his arms. 

you don't take his jacket, so he must resort to the next best thing. 

slinging an arm around your shoulder so he can nuzzle his nose into your neck. 

"peter!" you squeal, squirming away from him. 

but his hands are wrapped around your waist, holding you close. 

and he's definitely not taking the time to breathe you in and imagine kissing your skin right where it's most warm. 

"are you cold now?" he asks, trailing his nose up your neck, feeling you shiver beneath him. 

"no." 

"are you sure?" his lips are at your ear. 

his grip is weak, barely even there. but he can feel how heavy you're breathing. he can see your breath in the air. 

"i'm perfectly content, thank you." 

you only stutter a little bit. only sound a little bit shaky. 

"you can still have my jacket," peter tells you, lips close to your jaw, nose by your cheek. your skin is soft, smooth. 

"i don't want your jacket." 

"it's warm." 

"so am i," you claim, but you're leaning into him. just a little bit. 

peter pretends that it means nothing. 

and when he walks you home, you snuggle under the jacket with him. 

the pounding in his chest is nothing more but a simple reminder. 

he's strong enough to live with it. 

to hold you this close and have it mean nothing. 

*

there's this thing. 

it's been there for a couple of weeks. 

pressure on your chest, an unrelenting reminder that you need to do something. 

and you ignore it, for the most part. 

tell yourself that it's nothing significant. 

but looking at peter now--peter with his flushed cheeks and wide eyes and small smile and eyes and--you can feel it. 

trickling down your throat, a gentle river, swarming at the bottom of your stomach. 

you take a breath in. 

"that was a lot more fun than last year," you tell him because it's only the truth. 

his smile widens. "i was right." 

you point a finger at him. "the party was lame," you clarify. "but the company was good." 

"just good?" 

he's got dimples. 

dimples that you might drink out of, given the chance. 

you shake that thought out of your mind. 

"getting cocky, parker?" 

his eyes are on yours, swarming your face. "i can tell when you're lying." 

the smile on your face feels almost numb. 

and you don't say anything back to him. 

the pressure enhances, builds and falls, and pounds on the doors to your heart, swearing that it only needs a place to stay. 

you've always been too kind. 

been too forgiving. 

loved a little bit too much. 

"okay," peter whispers, taking a step back from you, hands leaving yours. "you should go inside." 

"why?" you ask, even though you know the answer. 

"it's cold out here." 

"i'm not cold." 

he smiles. brushes the side of your face with his finger. "liar liar," he says, softly. 

his fingertips make your whole body fall apart. 

you might be ashamed if you weren't so completely invigorated with him. 

"are you going to be okay getting home?" you ask, just to break some of the silence. 

tear your heart apart vein by vein. 

"i'll be fine." 

"it's late," you protest. "you could get hurt." 

"i appreciate your confidence," he's smiling at you, but it's not enough. 

"peter," you sigh. 

his hand falls to your chin, tracing a line up your jaw. "hey," he whispers. "i'll be fine." 

"hey," he says to you, again and again. 

the pressure increases until you can barely feel anything at all. 

and here's the thing about peter. 

you can't stop looking at him--from that very first day. 

and you haven't been able to stop loving him for months since then. 

"i've got to go," he whispers, but you both know that he doesn't really mean it. 

"peter," you say. 

he stares at you. his eyes flick from every inch of your face, every small spot, every secret that you have written on the skin there. 

he's close enough that you can feel his breath. 

that you never want him to move away. 

and you should really turn and open the door. 

you should really go inside and forget about all of this. 

you should pretend that this means nothing for just a moment more. 

but. 

"peter," you whisper, one last time. 

"yes?" he answers back, right there. so close to you. 

and his eyes stare back at yours. they have answers. they have so many questions. 

"you need to kiss me." 

and then, he does. 

*

"what?" you whisper to him, walking down the hallway, taking your jacket off, bag in hand. 

peter is pretending that he's not trying to slip his fingers in between yours. 

he's pretending that this is exactly how it's supposed to be. 

"we should've taken the day off," he says. 

"we just had two days off." 

"not long enough," he swears, whispering so that only you can hear. "i want a lifetime." 

"let's start with this week." 

he laughs. he's far too close to you. 

fraternization is forbidden. 

"this is weird," he says. "i want to kiss you." 

"you can kiss me at five." 

"but i want to kiss you now." 

"join the club." 

he smiles at you, and finally lets your fingers slip from his. he watches your eyes, so sure on his that it almost makes his knees buckle. 

"i'm going to hold you to that," he says. 

"good." 

and then you walk to your desk, putting your jacket over your chair. 

peter is staring at you, but what else is new? 

you look up, just so you can smile at him. 

with the lips that he's tasted. the hands that he's felt. the girl that he's spent the last two days with, and also can't get enough of. 

he wants to run over to you. he wants to kiss you just one last time. 

and, if the look on your face means anything, he's pretty sure you feel the same. 

he pouts. 

you laugh. point at the clock. 

he stares some more. 

and really, it's not like he got a lot of work done before anyway. 

*

my masterlist here. 

tags:  @moonlarking-blog​ @v1ci0us​ @preciousbabypeter​ @alexxavicry​ @directioner5life​ @random_writer1021 @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah​

#peter parker #tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter fluff #office au #the amazing spider-man #The Amazing Spider Man #the amazing spider man imagine #peter parker imagine #tasm imagine #tasm fanfiction #spider-man #spider man #Andrew!Spiderman #andrew peter parker #andrew garfield #andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #andrew!spiderman imagine #andrew!peter fanfiction #andrew!peter x reader #andrew!peter parker #marvel fanfic

[8siangemini]

Enemies on the Mask, Lovers Underneath

Summary: You and Miles are both dating as civilians but neither of you know that you both are spider-man/woman. Miles likes the idea of you two working together as a pair but you are stubborn and competitive and do not want to develop a friendship between you two incase something happens to him. So you both end up competing against each other, trying to one up the other to see who is the better Spider-Person.

Word Count: 1, 395

Author’s Note: I was thinking about making this a multi-part series so if anyone wants a part 2 comment down below <3

“I hate him, he’s so annoying, obnoxious.” You say to your roommate, Kat, as you sit on the top of your shared bunk bed while drawing yourself in your new suit. Bottom half being black and the rib up being purple with a black spider symbol across the chest and on the back. Dark blue stripes with white webbing pattern wrapped around your arms and lined the inside of your hood.

Kat chuckles at your complaining of your automatically proclaimed partner, Spider-Man. When you were a child you adored the old Spider-Man, the Peter Parker Spider-Man. You always dreamed about working or even being him. But now as a teenager and understanding how the world works you could not imagine working so closely to the new Spider-Man, not wanting to feel the same pain of if something were to happen to him like Peter Parker. But once you showed your disinterest in Spider-Man you two began getting more competitive, wanting to one up the other either by saving more people, saving something more important, or just saving something more…more.

“He’s so irresponsible and immature, I garuntee that he’s younger than me.” You complain more to Kat.

“You know you have a boyfriend that you could complain to rather than me about a guy, right?” Kat snarks back but you just throw one of your markers from your pencil pouch down at her and she laughs a little.

“I couldn’t tell Miles any of this, what if something were to happen to him because someone figured out my identity and then gets to him.” You begin pointing out all of the cons of tell Miles about your secret life. “Or what if he rats me out to the bad guys, even though he would never because I would beat his ass. And why would I tell him and not you? Don’t you love me rambling and telling you the insides on the life of Widow?”

You wanted to separate yourself and not be attached to Spider-Man because of the name. So once you made your debut you gave yourself the name of Widow.

“And oh how much I love it.” Kat confesses and we both start laughing until the police station that you two tuned in on through your guys’ radio started picking up something.

“Time to see your most favorite person in the world.” Kat says sarcastically as you quickly jump off of the bunk and started taking off your sweatpants and hoodie to reveal your new suit.

“Ha ha, gotta get there before he does.” You say as you quickly pull over your mask onto your face.

As you hop out of the window, making sure no one is around, you begin typing on your phone as you swing to your destination. You text Miles, saying that you will have to postpone your guys’ hangout session in your dorm room while Kat usally goes to the library or does one of her other extra circulars.

‘Kat wants me to help her on a gift she is planning to give to her boyfriend can we hangout tomorrow?’ You type and almost instantly he sends a text before you can send yours.

‘Can we hangout tomorrow? I have to study for my Spanish test tomorrow.’ Miles texted. You founded it somewhat suspicious that he postponed your hangout session at the same time you were going to text.

‘Sure.’ Was all you texted, still suspicious that he canceled plans once you left the dorms.

Just as you send the text you get to the crime scene, multiple cop cars surrounding a museum. You put in one of your AirPods into your ears underneath your mask and tune into the police station on your phone.

‘Careful, subject has about twenty hostages still inside. We got most out but those last twenty are in the same gallery as subject. Subject is potentially armed.’ The station informed.

“Perfect.” You say underneath your breath.

You swing onto the top of the building and luckily the hostages and subject was in the art gallery with the window ceiling. You loved this place because it was where you and Miles’ first date was. He planned the date which was sweet since he listened to you when you said you liked art, just not classical, overly-symbolic art that was too abstract. On the date you were relieved once he said he did not understand any of the art and you confessed the same thing too. Once you two left the museum you two found an empty alleyway and made a spray paint mural down the street.

‘Gotta make this fast before the police find me and before he gets here.’ You think to yourself. Just as you did you see a small swinging figure coming closer in the distance. “Shit.” You say to yourself.

You quickly jump up and shoot webs on each end of the glass roof and pull yourself through the glass, breaking yourself into the room. You shoot webs at the gun first and then yanked it out of the subject’s hands and chucked it across the room. You quickly began running around the subject while shooting a web around them, wrapping them up.

Once they were wrapped your hands started glowing purple with some wisps emitting from your palms. The webs around the subject started glowing a deep purple as you forcefully crunched your palms slowly, causing the subject to crouch down. You quickly turned to the twenty hostages and one by one you took them out of the building and dropped them off in front of the police cars. You stand in front of Officer Morales, Miles’ dad, slightly panting and out of breath.

“Officer the subject is inside and secure, so whenever you wanna take him you can.” You inform Mr. Morales in a deeper voice.

Suddenly Spider-Man lands next to you, completely out of breath and crouching down to catch his breath after trying to get to the scene faster than he wish he had. You placed your hands on your hips and looked down at him as his hands were on his knees. Underneath the mask you had a smug smirk, proud that you saved this whole scene without him. He stared back up you, too tired to say anything. You quickly looked back at Mr. Morales.

“And I did it all on my own, he didn’t do shit.” You claimed as you pointed your thumb at him.

“Fucking bitch.” Spider-Man says underneath his breath, hoping that you did not hear. But you did and you quickly looked down at him with wide eyes.

“Wait so you two don’t work together?” Mr. Morales asks and you and Spider-Man look up at him with a pissed off expression.

“No!” You yelled simultaneously and Mr. Morales puts up his hands in defense and begins walking away from the two of you. You guys go back to glaring at each other.

“Well you were too slow to get here.” You say as you turn towards him with my arms crossed. He finally catches his breath and stands up to face you, him being slightly taller than you, he may have been lean but he had some built to him.

“If we could have actually work together then I think we would be a good team.” Spider-Man explains but you roll my eyes. “I mean we are so alike I think it would be good for us.” His voice starts to sound a little familiar, a little too familiar. But besides the point you knew why you two did not work together in the first place.

“This,” You say as you point from me to him. “Isn’t something special. You and I aren’t gonna form some sort of friendship.” You stated.

“And why not?” He asks in a firmer tone. Your memory goes back to what happened to the original Spider-Man a year ago but you shake it off.

“I already got enough people to worry about because of this lifestyle now.” You say bitterly as you step a little closer to the boy and press your index finger to his firm chest. “And I don’t need a little boy to get in the way from me saving this city.”

Before he could object you quickly shot your webs at the closest building and swung away from the angered boy.

#spider man #miles morales #spider man across the spider verse #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #enemies to lovers #into the spider verse

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

LATE NIGHT TALKIN- P.B PARKER

Pairing: Dads Best Friend! Peter Parker x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.8k 

Summary: After your father catches you rebelling again, he sends you to the only place he knows left... his best friends house- Peter Parker. Hoping he’ll be a good influence, he leaves you there for the summer. Little does he know, Parker splits a blunt with you, and some “late night talking” becomes a little more than just talk. 

Warnings: SMUT, extreme daddy kink, oral (fem receiving), teasing, pet names, breeding kink, size kink (peter is like 6′5) praise kink, degradation kink, cum play/ feeding, finger sucking, masturbation, mentions of masturbation, teasing, weed used, booze mentioned, confessions, plug mentioned, over stim, mentions of y/ns cheating asshole ex bf

Notes: “ we’ve been doin all this late night talkin, bout anything you want until the morning- now you’re in my life.. i cant get you off my mind.”- harry styles, late night talking

You should have been pissed. 

Furious, actually. 

You should have been bursting at the seams, throwing fits of wailing and yelling like those teenage girls did in the early 2000s movies, with the hair pulling and the pillow screaming. 

But you weren't. 

You were calm, and collected taking in your father's words as he pounded his fist down on the marble countertop, huffing about you disappointing your mother again. 

They forgot that you were of age. That you could go out and drink, and smoke, and do anything your heart desired. 

Despite reminding your parents of this, time and time again- they refused to listen. It was their rules if you were under their roof, even if it was just for a few months. 

Which meant, no sneaking up to your room with your best friend from middle school, plastered and puking all over the bathroom tiles. From the countless eye rolls, head shakes and dirty looks, you could tell they were pissed. 

In your defence, you had cleaned it up. Nonetheless, they sat you down in the kitchen again, your mother's tears in the corner and your dad's yelling about how you were no longer “his little girl” reverberating off the walls, straight to your throbbing headache. 

You had sat, and stared as he whipped out his phone, barging off into the other room to make a call. That call had changed your summer. You had tried to tune out your father's voice to the best of your ability, and had mainly succeeded. Until the words “ I’m sending you to Parkers to clean you up” had left his lips. 

That- you could not ignore. 

Those words had led you to where you currently resided, sprawled out on the queen-sized bed in the guest bedroom of your father's best friend, Peter Parker. You felt like a child being scolded as you shuffled inside his front door, your dad's firm tone following you up the stairs as you tossed your bags on the bed. 

It had been hours since your last encounter with anyone, as you were too embarrassed to leave your quaint little room. It didn't help you had a massive crush on the man, Peter's good looks and simple gentleman charm lingering in your heart for years now. You got flustered whenever you were in a room with him, whether that was when he’d come over for family barbeques, or he was watching football with your father on the couch, the little boyish grin and wave he’d toss your way made your thighs clench together tightly. 

And now that you were in a house with him, his house- for months?! You simply thought you’d perish, your bones melting into butter as you’d mesh into a puddle on the floor of lovesick hornieness. The feelings he gave you made you feel like you were a kid again, and you loved and hated him for it. 

Not that he was aware of it, of course.

 He was polite when you entered his home, showing you where the towels and soap were, allowing you to help yourself to any food or drinks whenever you wanted. After that, he had left you alone in your thoughts. He understood you needed time, through that silent look the two of you had shared when your dad was rambling on about how he desperately needed Peter's help to help shape you up again. 

Like you were some form of clay, meant to be molded and toyed with. 

Peter had kept his lips shut firmly, and hadn't said anything about your recent activities that had you wound up in this mess in the first place. You adored that he knew exactly what you needed, but at the same time- you despised it. 

You hated how easy it was to fall for him, hated how much you loved him because he simply was what you craved.

 It was wrong, these feelings you had about the handsome, very single (you had confirmed many times, and had checked his fingers for rings every time you saw him) man in house 245 but honestly, it was becoming harder and harder to care. 

You sighed, hauling yourself out of the mess of soft sheets, getting bored of counting the sunrays that bounced off the vanity mirror and onto the ceiling. They no longer were there, the moon taking over its place instead. 

Stretching, you slid out of the bed, kicking your now empty bags in the corner of the room as you made your way over to the little window. You unlocked it with a click, sliding it up to allow the fresh, spring breeze to waft through the room, blowing the curtains and ruffling your hair. Ciaides sang as you looked out at the long twisted driveway, staring at the willow trees that adorned it. 

Suddenly, the smell of fresh cut grass had changed, you noticed- sniffing like a hound dog. 

You knew that smell anywhere.

 It was no longer fresh cut grass, but grass grass. 

Your gaze flickered down to where Peter sat on the front porch steps, freshly rolled blunt now lit from between his fingers, the smoke trailing up to your window. Your eyes nearly fell out of your head as you took him in, chocolate brown hair now messy as his baseball cap was sitting beside him, the tight-fitting tee making his large muscles bulge.

 And the sweatpants… sweet jesus. 

He had caught you staring, a smile on his face as he peered up at you, waving you over with a wave. Me? You mouthed, confused beyond belief. Peter, the man who was supposed to follow your father's commands to a tee, was inviting you down with him, with weed? Who else? he mouthed back, making you smile and shake your head. 

You turned and ran as fast as your legs could carry you down the steps and out the front door, the breeze making you shiver. Or maybe it was the close proximity between the two of you, his back within a few strides reach. 

You couldn't tell.

 “Hiya pumpkin.” his husky voice called out, followed by a breath of smoke. “Hi Mr. Parker.” you said hesitantly, making your way over to where he patted on the steps beside him. 

“I’ve told ya pumpkin, call me Peter. Please.” he smiled as you sat next to him, wrapping the oversized cardigan closer to your body. “Okay um- Peter, why’d you ask me down here?” you asked, confused as he turned to face you. 

The blunt was facing you, urging you to take it from his large fingers and take a drawl. “Wanna hit? Don’t wanna smoke alone.” You inhaled sharply, furrowing your eyebrows. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me ‘clean up my act’?” 

Peter smiled, turning his head one way, then the other. “I don't see him out here, do you? Cmon pumpkin, I insist.” You shrugged, taking the joint from his fingers, taking an inhale. 

“There you go, that's a good girl. That wasn't so bad now was it?” he purred, making you squeak like a mouse as you exhaled, near coughing. The praise made your thighs clench,  and your heartbeat race.

 “What about my father?” He shrugged, taking the blunt back from you. “It can be our little secret pumpkin. One just for the two of us.” he exhaled, the smoke wrapping and curling up around your cheeks, making you giggle. 

Soon, the blunt was nearing its end and you had found your head in his lap, looking up at him with admiration. You took the last drawl, his fingers placing it between your parted lips as you inhaled, the smoke filling you to the brim. Your body was light and fuzzy, bones turned to jello as the weed coursed through your bloodstream, clouding your judgement. 

“You’re so pretty Peter.” you giggled, hands reaching up to stroke the stumble that was littered across his cheek, feeling his flushed cheeks. “Mmm am I pumpkin?” his red eyes narrowed, dimples forming as he grinned. “S’pretty. The prettiest- even.” You snapped your lips shut, realising what you had just said. 

You tended to talk, and talk when you were high, the guards that protected the gates between your thoughts and your vocal cords had left post, the gates left wide open. There was no filter. None. 

“Such a silly lil girl...” he cooed, hand coming down to stroke your hair. You leaned into his touch, purring like a kitten with yarn as he played with your hair, fingers brushing your flushed cheek ever so often. 

You felt like you were on cloud nine, floating between the clouds. Your body was simply jello, little fireworks exploding in your core as he coddled you. “Can I ask you something? Since ya know, we’re doin whatever this is.” 

You laughed. “What- sharing is caring? Shoot Parker.” you teased, giggling as he pinched your heated cheek between his fingers.  “I saw those gears turning in that pretty head of yours when you came in today pumpkin. Is there something else going on, besides this?” he asked softly, drumming his fingers on your scalp. 

You gulped.

 Peter could sense your uncertainty, watching the way you knawed on your lower lip as you struggled to find a response. “You don’t have to tell me pumpkin-”

 “No, no! It’s just… no ones really noticed. Or asked, I guess.” you answered, fully truthful. No one had ever really asked you what was wrong, or had even bothered to mention it. It felt… weird. But in a good way.

 Peter nodded, as if to say, take your time. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. “I’ve had a bad few months, and it might be selfish of me to say but, I feel like I’m not valid. My now ex-boyfriend cheated on me and broke my heart, school is stressing me out beyond belief, and my dad hasn't given me the time of day. He hasn’t in... years. I guess that's why I act out sometimes, cause I want his attention. I don't even care if it's good attention, or if he's yelling at this point… just.. something.” you confessed, fighting the urge to burrow your head in his chest, hiding away from the look of sorrow on Peter's face that held you close. 

There. It was out in the open, floating among the million, trillion other atoms in the universe. Just there, his for the taking.

 “ I’m sorry you've had a rough couple of months pumpkin, you don't deserve that. Not at all, you’re too precious for this world.” he whispered, his words making heat pool to your core. “School is school. I’m always here to help if you need it, don’t feel like you’re ever a bother. And your dad well…” he sighed, shaking his head with a laugh. 

“God love em, but sometimes… he doesn't get it. And I know he can be hard on you, but it's not fair to you pumpkin. He hasn't been giving you the sweet attention that you deserve, has he sweetheart? You deserve so much more.” 

You nodded, hypnotised by every word that left his mouth. You wished he’d talk for hours. Days, even. You never wanted him to stop, his voice oozing with a sweetness like the sweet cherry blossoms in your backyard, so soft and calming. Reassuring. 

“You’re not selfish. You’re malnourished of love, pumpkin. And you’re ex-boyfriend?! He’s a dick. He didn't deserve a sweet lil thing like you, he's a stupid college boy who only thinks with his cock.” You laughed at his words, realising the truth behind them. 

“Ya know he forced me to give him head, but never returned the favour?” Peter's eyes nearly popped out like a cartoon characters, his mouth hung wide open in astonishment. “What?!” he barked out, his hands sliding up to rub his face. 

“You spent time worrying about a guy who wouldn't even go down on you? Did he even make you cum?!” he shook his head in bewilderment. You knew probably was an inappropriate conversation to be having with a man your father's age, but the gates were down. The guards had left post for the time being, the weed taking their place. 

“Nopeee! Said it was gross.” you snorted, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt as you turned your head to look up at the night sky, the stars shining above the two of you through the hazy clouds. You felt as if you could reach up and touch them, like you could lick the shimmer off their frail bodies. 

“Jesus pumpkin, you gotta get your priorities straight. Fuckin love eatin pussy.” he smiled, the confession making your head light and fuzzy. 

More fuzzy than the drugs. Which was saying quite a lot.

 “Mmm we should eat then.” you hinted, hand reaching up towards the sky. “Eat pussy?!” he laughed, fingers intertwining with yours as he brought your hand over your head, across his other knee. 

“Yes! I mean n-no. No, we should probably eat something. Like a wholeeee bunch of stuff. You know they have places with food all around the world, all in one place?!”

 “Like a buffet?” he snorted, watching as you sat upwards, gripping your head as the world tilted and turned from under you. “Yup! They got food I think.” you rambled, stumbling slightly as you stood up on the wooden step, thankful for Peter's large hand that slid back into yours to guide you back towards the door. 

“Well I don’t have a buffet in my house but I have blueberries. Will that work for you sweetheart?” You nodded, following the man as he slipped inside, making his way down the hall to the kitchen. 

You liked Peter like this. You liked Peter all the time, but you had never really seen him so… relaxed. He always seemed a bit uptight with your dad, always quiet and gentle whenever the rest of the guys would get rowdy. 

He was so easy to talk to, and fun. He made you feel valid, and wanted. Something you didn't realised you needed, until he blatantly pointed it out to you. 

The kitchen soon appeared, the dim yellow light still left on as the dishes sat drying on the rack. The image made you smile, the thoughts of him whistling a tune while drying the plates and spoons with that little white tea towel making your heart jump three sizes larger. 

Yes, Peter was fun and carefree, like a teenager finding his wings to fly for the first time, but there was another part of him. The wise side, where he’d wash the dishes and give advice, when he’d read the newspaper with his morning coffee and had the urge to take care of you. 

To shelter you, in a way. You loved both sides of him. And now… after the conversation that had just taken place, you weren't so sure if you hated how easy it was to love him. 

You loved it, you loved him, you loved everything everyone else in your life couldn't be. 

“Catch.” he called, that being the only warning before a blueberry was tossed up in the air from the woven basket, landing on your tongue. The juices soaked your tongue, and you swallowed the fresh fruit was a moan. 

“S’good.” you smiled, trailing over towards the couch, where you jumped down with a plop. “We should play a game.” you declared, stealing another berry from him as he sat down on the soft cushions next to you, placing the basket on the coffee table in front of the two of you.

 “A game hmm? Like what pumpkin?” he asked, popping the fruit between his pearly whites with a wink. “Two truths n a lie. If we guess the two truths, we get blueberries.” you giggled, lying back against the cozy armrest to face him. 

The sight of him so relaxed, his head lolled against the back cushions, a boyish grin on his face as he took in your body made you giddy, your toes curling in your socks. You hated manspreading, you really did. But the way his hands were resting on his thighs, the way those damn sweatpants left so little to the imagination… 

“Who goes first?” he whispered, voice seeming to drop an octave as his red eyes slid over your body, resting on your bare thighs that your hiked-up shorts had now displayed. 

“You. Cause I make the rules.” you drawled, the wetness in your panties becoming near unbearable. You felt exposed as he raked you over, as if he could see right through your skippy shorts, directly to the throbbing of your clit. 

Clenching your fingers into fists, you physically detained yourself from touching yourself, or Peter. He smiled, a cheshire cats look flashed across his face. 

Mischievous.

 “Whatever you say pumpkin. Hmmm lets see…” he rasped, hand coming over to rest on your leg, the back of his knuckle stroking your skin at a teasing pace. 

“Every single day, I think of how amazing you’d taste on my tongue. So sweet, so divine. Like those raspberry tarts you’d always make me in the summer. And the sounds you’d make.. whining, just begging under me..” 

Your breath hitched in your throat, the air suddenly becoming too hot to breathe.  Surely you were imagining things.. right? Peter chuckled at the frozen expression you made, could hear the way your heart pounded widely under your ribcage.

 Anyone could.

 It was thumbing so loudly you surly thought it’d pound out of your chest, and take an evening stroll. 

“But I’m getting ahead of myself pumpkin, my apologies. Number two… is that I think of all the ways I could stuff you full of my cum. Watch it ooze out of your abused hole, and scoop it back in with my fingers. Where it belongs. Or I could cum inside that pretty little ass of yours, just begging to be full. You’d like a plug, wouldn't you honey?” he cooed, watching the way you shimmed against the couch, wrapping your ankles around one another. 

It was agony. And he knew this. 

“Number three is that I’ve never ever jerked myself off to the thought of you sweetheart. Take your pick.” he smiled, pinching your skin playfully as you squeaked. 

“N-number three is the lie..” you whispered, voice near cracking as you felt his hand inch up towards your thighs. “Aren’t you a smart lil girl? Open up.” he teased, placing a blueberry between his fingers, setting it down on your outstretched tongue which you had so obediently placed out with him without hesitation.

 “Good girl sweetheart. Your turn!” he smiled innocently, as if he hadn't just confessed the dirty thoughts that had been running through that beautiful head of his. You were at a loss for words, truly. “Peter I-” 

“Oh don’t get shy now honey, you wanted to play did you not? So play the game. I can smell you, so there's no point in acting innocent.” 

There was no way of getting out of this. And truth be told, you were happy about that. You were beyond pleased to be wrapped in this mans web, him being the spider and you the fly.

 “U-um, I think of you when I touch myself-” 

“Show me.” 

It wasn't him asking, it wasn't a suggestion. It was a command. His tone was laced with authority, puplis blown wide as he turned to fully face you. “W-what?” 

“Show me pumpkin. Make your daddy proud.” he cooed, hands slipping to rest between your bent legs, spreading them ever so slightly, hands chill against the fire burning from under your skin “But that wasn't the rules!” you gasped, choking on a moan as he neared your clothed core, near centimeters from discovering the juices that lingered there. “Daddy?”

 “I thought I asked you to not act innocent pumpkin? Don't you remember that summer pool party your mother held last summer? When you went inside, to get a ‘few drinks’?” 

The memories of that warm summer's day hit you like a freight train, thoughts flooding in like a river overflown. Peter had looked so delicious, his muscles rippling with each stroke he swam in the water, the water dripping down from his hair, down his biceps and abs chiselled so perfectly you swore the gods had carved them by hand. 

It was too much. 

The summer heat wasn't the only thing making you flustered, as you had ran up the stairs, bolting to your room before your hand slipped under your bikini bottoms. 

“Ohh daddy please!” you had cried into your pillow, attempting to muffle the sounds of your heavy breathing as you came around your digits. You were too lost in headspace and far too needy to realise that the door had not been firmly shut, Peter's body lingering on the other side. 

“Oh.” you breathed, wetting your lips with your tongue as he slid his hands up to tug at your shorts. “You put on such a pretty show for me pumpkin. Took everything in my power not to barge in there, and fuck you right. Fuck you how you deserve to be fucked.” he growled, watching as you shivered from the cool air hitting your exposed cunt. 

“Such a pretty pussy baby. Go on, play with her. She deserves it, no?” You nodded, every nerve in your body tingling as you brought your hand down to the place you needed it most. 

“Daddy please!” you moaned, fingers strumming your clit, playing it like a harp, rewarding sounds from you that could be placed in an orchastra. Peter's eyes were hungry as they took you in, and you couldn't help but notice his hand palming himself through those damn sweatpants. 

“Listen to how wet you are for daddy, pretty girl.” he groaned, watching the way your fingers would pump inside your entrance, the sound of your juices sloshing through the air. You moaned at his words, back arching as you slipped your other hand up to cup your breast, tugging and teasing as you continued to do as Peter asked. 

“Want you to fuck me daddy, want you to fill me up-” you gasped, your hips rutting on their own as he cursed. “Fuck angel, eyes on me. Keep your eyes on me, that's a good girl.” he smiled as you forced your eyes back open, to meet his once more. 

“You listen so well, you know that pumpkin? You’re such a good little girl, always pleasing me. I don’t even gotta fuck you into submission, you're already a dumb little hole for daddy to use.” 

You didn't have time to say a word before your hands were replaced with his tongue, his guiding your legs over each shoulder, hands clenching your thighs hard enough to leave marks. “D-daddy it tingles!” you screamed, the fire in your core turning into molten lava as he licked up your center in one stroke. 

“You taste amazing baby, so good to me.” he moaned, wrapping his lips around your quivering bud and sucking. Bucking your hips, you mewled, hands coming down to run through his hair, pushing down on his head. You were overstimulated beyond belief, your legs shaking as he teased, switching his strokes between little kitty licks and  long caresses.

 “Shh, shh stay down for me baby.” he cooed, hand coming up to press down on your lower core, keeping your hips trapped in place as you squirmed. 

Whether it was the weed making your head dizzy, or the pure bliss you were enduring, you felt your orgasm approaching at lightning speed. “Peter I’m cumming I’m-” You had no time for a fair warning before your hips grinded down on his face, juices squirting across his pretty pink cheeks.

 “Oh fuck sweetheart.” he moaned, lapping up your cream like a man starved, fingers leaving bruises as he forced you down even though you cried. “Feeding daddy so well pumpkin, I’m so so proud of you.” he cooed gently, your juices staining his chin as he peered up at you from his place between your bruised thighs. 

The need to have him, to have him take you overwhelmed your body whole ate you alive, puppet strings causing your hands to run through his silk locks, tugging on them with a groan.

 “Need you.” you moaned, any logical thoughts out the window as you took him in, peering up at you lustfully as your head lolled back against the cushions. “Pumpkin I’m too big for you. You’re so little, I haven't had time to prep you yet and-”

 “Don't care. D’care- need you. Need you so so badly.” you mumbled incoherently, beginning to whine impatiently as he stroked your quivering thighs.The sensations you felt were too much, too powerful. Peter knew this as finally, he gave in. 

“Alright, alright sweet girl. I’ll give you what you need okay? Daddy’s gonna take care of you.” 

“Yes, yes, ohgodsye-” you sucked in a gasp as he neared your soaked entrance again, his hard, aching cock now freed from its restraints. “Take a deep breath for me, okay?” he whispered, voice soft and hazy as he positioned himself on top of you. 

Dominating you. 

You nodded, taking a deep breath with him as he inched closer towards you, wrapping your legs around his middle. “Peter I don’t think I- OH!” the sudden intrusion made you scream, and for good reason. 

He was massive. And he wasn't even in fully yet. 

“Sorry baby, daddy couldn't help himself.” he groaned, head hanging low to brush your temples together as he seated himself inside you. 

“I wanna take it slow with you, cause you’re so little compared to be but god fuck Y/N- you- you make it so difficult.” he hissed through clenched teeth as you stretched around him, little moans and whimpers echoing in his hazy mind as he sheathed himself fully inside you. A bulge was formed at you belly, a little indication that this man was literally up in your guts. 

“Y’can go as rough as you want daddy, just want you.” you hiccuped, fully under his spell as his hand came down to press on the bulge, making you moan. “You’re so sweet angel, but its time for me to take care of you… hmm?” he whispered, kissing your temple as he shifted his hips, slightly exited you as he slammed back in, hitting home with a choked moan of your name. 

“ S’good. You feel so good- so tight n wet, keepin me warm..” he trailed off, picking up a pace with the snap of his hips as you mindless babbled from under him. His cock reached places you had never known were possible, your g-spot being caressed with every thrust of his hips.

 “Ruinin you for those silly little boys at school, aren’t I pumpkin?” he cooed, eyes burning into yours as you furiously nodded. “S’good daddy you’re fucking me so good…” you mewled, fingers digging into his biceps hard enough to leave little crescent moons as he railed you into another century.

 “Want me to fill you baby? My dumb lil girl, all you’re good for is breeding huh? Just a hole for her daddy to use.” 

You didn't know where the degradation came from, but god you loved it. Your orgasm neared again, and it didn't take long before your toes recurled, scratches at his arms becoming frantic as the heat in your core burned and blazed. 

“Daddy I’m gonna-” You clenched around him hard, head thrown back in bliss as you cried out his name, cumming around his cock.

 “Such a good girl, such a good good girl…” he trailed off, peppering your neck in kisses as he rode you through your orgasm, his own near approaching. 

“Daddy I’m sensitive I’m soosos sensitive-” you mewled as he used you, his hips begging to falter, your words spurring him on even more. “ I know baby, its all gonna be over soon. Being so good to me.” he murmured, the little clench you gave him sending him over the edge.

 He groaned out your name, chanting it like a mantra as he filled you to the brim, stuffing you full. 

Just as he promised.

 His hair tickled your cheeks as his head drooped, his cheeks even more flushed as he murmured soft praises to you.  “Makin a mess..” you giggled softly as he smiled, panting as he slowly removed himself from you, his cum spilling out of your abused hole and onto the couch cushions. 

“Then it’s a good thing you’ll be cleaning it up, isn't it pumpkin?” he winked, grabbing a blueberry from the basket. With a smirk, he slid a finger across your soaked folds, smile becoming even wider as he heard you groan and saw you squirmed from his actions. 

Smearing the cum across the blueberry, he neared it towards your parted lips. 

“Blueberry?” 

You smiled, opening wide as he placed the blueberry on your tongue, watching as you closed your mouth around his finger, sucking it dry. 

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfictio #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x smut #peter parker x fluff #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x original character #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm peter smut #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!spider-man #tasm!spiderman x you #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter x oc #tasm! #tasm peter x you #tasm! peter parker smut #tasm! peter parker fluff #tasm! peter parker x reader #andrew!peter fanfiction

[oliveroctavius]

Doesn't the decision to get involved with Sam Bullit prove Gwen was a bad person?

Hey, I've been looking for an excuse to post about this. The Sam Bullit arc isn't really about Gwen (though it certainly reveals some things about her character). The Sam Bullit arc is about racist dogwhistles and why they work.

ASM #92 pg 19: "I will bring law and order to the people of this great city! I will show no mercy to the anarchists and all others who would destroy our way of life!"

Bullit's platform is not openly white supremacist in the sense that it doesn't overtly mention race. He talks about laws and safety in a way meant to appeal to rich white voters. The true meaning should be clear to anyone with any political awareness (who are those others and what is our way of life?), so why does this rhetoric attract "otherwise rational" people?

ASM #91 pg 6: "I want to volunteer to help you--in your campaign for DA. Because--I want you to bring Spider-Man to justice!" "We need strength--strength to punish those who mock the law! I will use such strength to bring Spider-Man and others like him to justice! I will not betray your trust."

Gwen makes her decision to back Bullit on the way home from her father's funeral. There's a very real phenomenon of tough-on-crime bills named after (white) murder victims. The grief of families who feel like justice hasn't been served is a powerful tool to push harsh laws while smothering any criticism as "disrespectful" to the victims. What’s in a Name? An Empirical Analysis of Apostrophe Laws, 2020.

Bullit showed up at George Stacy's funeral with this exact goal in mind, and when Spider-Man "kidnaps" Gwen later, he leverages the media obsession with white girls in danger for his cause. Gwen is a pawn, but she did offer her help first. Her desire for closure is very human and her short-sighted reactionary faith in "the law" is very white.

Oddly absent from your "proven bad person" takeaway is J. Jonah Jameson. The Bugle lends Bullit a platform to make Gwen's personal tragedy a political talking point. JJJ has the ~Black best friend~ excuse and everything, and he still blows past red flags like crazy.

ASM #91 pg 7: "Maybe they were better days than now! At least we had law and order then." "Yeah--and lynch mobs, and bread lines, and Uncle Toms..." "Come off it, Robbie! What's wrong with a man standing for law and order, anyway?" "Maybe it just depends on whose law--and what kind of order you're talkin' about, man!"

(Another point of this arc: marginalized groups learn to recognize dogwhistles pretty quickly for survival reasons. If they tell you something is a dogwhistle and you don't see it yet, look closer.)

ASM #92 pg 9: "Parker's story just served to open Jameson's eyes--but I've kept a dossier on you. I haven't been city editor all these years for nothing! I know where your support comes from. I know about the lunatic hate groups who are backing you. I know what you really mean by law and order!"

Late in the campaign, the Bugle switches sides. This scene tends to be described as JJJ giving the racists what-for, but the moment is truly Robbie's. (Note that it took Peter getting roughed up for Jameson to take this seriously!) JJJ can yell at Bullit all he likes without consequences, but Robbie is kidnapped and threatened by white supremacists in retaliation. It's Robbie's determination to speak up that eventually puts Bullit out of the running for good.

The Bullit arc isn't there to sort characters by Bad Person and Good Person. Neither Gwen nor JJJ have to personally hate black people for their self-centered sense of safety to be weaponized by a racist agenda. This is a Stan Lee PSA about masked bigotry and how it might appeal to you even if you consider yourself a Good Person.

But for some ~mysterious~ reason, Gwen's brief agreement and Jameson's brief rejection are the only parts of these two issues I ever see brought up, with Robbie's major role not mentioned at all. Some ideas fit more neatly than others into smug ship-war quote tweets and anon asks, it seems.

#olivertxt #comics #reductionist takes from people who clearly do not care about this arc have been getting under my skin for ages #gwen stacy #robbie robertson #jjj #/ racism

[kairiscorner]

inspired by @thecoolerdor's story (yk which one i mean pookie :>>)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

oh, sorry, you were asking something? — professor!spider noir x professor!reader

your husband was a brilliant professor, though he wasn't the most fun one out of the bunch, his students found him so endearing that they couldn't not show up to his classes just to see and greet him. he was always trying his best, always modest and humble, never sought to be perfect but just right—he was perfect already to you, and because of that, you didn't hesitate to marry him years ago. now, several years into your marriage together, you both are now currently working at a local university as professors, with students who adore you both, though for your husband... they adore him maybe a little too much.

there were always those students in some classes that would get a little too close to their teachers or professors, but they wouldn't last very long. you've had your own fair share of that kind of experience, and so has your husband; though a few girls in his class this year had made you just a bit concerned than the previous times this has happened, and it was mainly because of how open they were about finding peter attractive and sweet. they had asked him to smile in class, and not being able to say 'no' to his students, he innocently smiled at them, with them snapping a few photos and squealing at how rosy red his lips looked, how his doe eyes and pearly white teeth shone through his smile, and the way his dimples popped up when he grinned—oh, he seemed heavensent to those girls.

they complimented him so eagerly and so often, as the days passed, the girls had kept up their overly-friendly act towards peter until today, the very day when they asked him before they left the teachers' lounge: "are you married, professor parker?" that question made you freeze up, it stung you a little bit because you had hoped nobody would pry into the private life of both you and peter, but these girls had shattered that illusion you kept up and brought you back to reality.

you turned your head over to your husband, who looked at these girls with the same surprised expression as you and, as you fret over whether or not to break it to these girls so they'd leave him alone and give you peace of mind, you heard peter's gentle voice call over to you. you hesitantly made you way towards him, debating to yourself whether or not you should tell these girls straight-up that you and peter were spouses, married to each other, but you kept reminding yourself that they asked peter, not you. you hoped from the bottom of your heart that peter would tell these girls, finally say 'no' to his students' desires for once and to get them off his back—when suddenly...

peter wrapped his arm around your waist, pulled you close, and leaned his face towards you with his lips puckered up. before you could ask him what he was about to do, he had clasped his lips with yours, in front of those girls, and kissed you tenderly. his kiss felt like he hadn't kissed you in a thousand years, though he had just kissed you that morning. he pulled away from you, your face all flustered and embarrassed as peter chuckled and blushed seeing you all cute for him when he surprised you with a kiss. he held up his left hand and proudly showed off his ring, grinning from ear-to-ear with a red and pink blush on his face as he declared with confidence: "yes, girls, i'm taken by your lovely professor here." he said as he kissed your cheek, with you growing ever more flustered at his loving demeanor.

the girls had finally been put to a stop from their flirting with peter, and peter had finally gotten them off his back. though that wouldn't guarantee those girls would immediately lose feelings for him, one thing remained constant—he was your husband, and he was only going to love, like he always has loved and still loves wholeheartedly, you, his dearest spouse.

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @sabcandoit @binibinileonara @k4tsu3 @fiannee @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @arachnoia @thee-fantastic-mrfox @ophanimgold @fictarian @yuridopted0

#spider noir #spider noir x reader #spider noir x you #spider noir x y/n #spider noir fluff #spider noir fanfiction #atsv #atsv fluff #atsv imagines #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse fluff

[splendidnothings]

Is it in your opinion that Peter would be able to manage suddenly coming into tens of millions of dollars?

We've actually seen exactly what happens when he comes into tens of millions of dollars (and his own company) post-Superior Spider-Man. And let’s just say it did not end well--

("Now, let's tear it down!" Amazing Spider-Man #31 (2015))

Truly, the man did not last more than a couple months, in-universe, before force-ejecting from the entire enterprise, super-villain plot notwithstanding. Even without Otto forcing his hand Peter was routinely giving his money away or using exorbitant amounts for the benefit of his family and friends. His philanthropic work with the Uncle Ben Foundation. Helping out May, Flash, and Carlie. Generally, giving his money away at any opportunity. He bought the Baxter Building for Johnny!

("Everyone was trying to buy this place...and I outbid 'em all..." Amazing Spider-Man #3 (2015))

Peter during Parker Industries didn’t “manage” this money at all. He spent and spent and the only reason he didn’t eventually run out was because his corporation imploded first.

So, I think the easiest answer is if he suddenly came into a lot of money, like for example, if he won the lottery, he would not so much manage the money but just use it until it ran dry and then find a gig to pay next month’s rent. 

Now, Parker Industries is a pretty on the nose example so if we disregard that run I still think it's clear that Peter would manage a million dollars just as well as he would ten dollars and that is to say quickly and/or probably for the benefit of someone else. Peter genuinely just does not care about having money just to acquire wealth. 

(“I don’t value it.” Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #10 (2019) I personally think this is a clunky panel because it’s telling us instead of actually showing us he doesn’t value money but alas it suits my purposes for this post.)

This is obviously not to say he doesn't know the value of money or that he is oblivious to the fact that he needs money for rent or that having money makes life easier. Most of his struggles come from a lack of money. But he doesn’t view money in the long term, he’s not thinking of it as a potential investment but merely a tool to solve immediate problems. Even when he comes into a bit of surprise money he needs it all just to cover bills (Thanks Robbie!)--

(“I have [a savings plan]?! You mean when Robbie made me sign all those forms last year?... That’s just enough for my back rent and a pizza!” Spectacular Spider-Man #126) 

Peter and his relationship with money is established early as core to his character and in connection with his economic status. When you are poor any money you earn is for immediate necessities, not something to be saved and managed. 

("Without Uncle Ben, we've no money to pay our bills." Amazing Spider-Man #1) 

He just needs to make enough to pay rent, for May's medical bills, for food. Maybe he wants to get something nice for May or Betty, Gwen, or MJ. Later on, his money worries are in relation to being able to support a wife (this occurs with both Gwen and MJ). But it's all short-term and a means to an end. Past the immediate obstacle where the money is needed, he doesn't care about money at all.

His very first superhero team-up was less of a team-up and more of Peter thinking he could make money by joining the Fantastic Four!

("There's the way I can make some money--by joining the Fantastic Four!" Amazing Spider-Man #1) 

I’ve been using multiple panels from Amazing Spider-Man #1 so far because I think it’s important in showing how ingrained Peter’s overall views on money are to the character. This is his second appearance ever (after Amazing Fantasy #15) and not only is his socio-economic class crystal clear but so is how he handles and thinks about money. 

Canonically, almost every time Peter does come into a little extra money he gives it away. This is also a pretty consistent trait of his. He's just not one to keep extra cash around unless he's specifically saving for something. Why would he hoard money when he can help someone he loves or give it to a New Yorker who needs it more than him at that moment. 

(...other people need it more than me, right?) 

Further, he doesn’t view Spider-Man as something that holds monetary value. 

(Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #1(2019))

And he knows how important money is for the average person-- 

(“If that money isn’t recovered, what happens to relief payments this month?”)

And--let’s be clear here--Peter could very easily make all the money he wants. He could easily make loads of money. Whether it be because he is a certified genius. Or because he has superpowers and could employ them in a variety of different ways to get money...and he knows this.

("If money's a problem, then I'll just get money." Amazing Spider-Man #542)

(“I can go anywhere! No one, nothing can stop me! Any amount of money could be mine...” Amazing Spider-Man #1 (ASM #1 really doing the most work in hammering home so many core character traits huh!)) 

But, Peter is just not a character who aspires to be wealthy. He wants to be comfortable. He wants an apartment with a tiny skylight so he can easily sneak out and be Spider-Man. He wants enough money to take care of the people he loves. But that's it.

In fact, the jobs that have made him money usually become a problem because they get in the way of him being Spider-Man. He values being Spider-Man over making a name for himself, finishing grad school, making big science lab money, etc., etc. or he wouldn’t be dropping these pathways to a better economic status. He's had many well-paying science jobs throughout canon and he doesn't keep them because he eventually stops showing up. He's a flake who at the end of the day doesn't value that work or that money more than being Spider-Man and helping people Grad school meant so little to him at one point that he full-on dropped out, in part, because he thought he needed to make money to pay for Felicia's medical bills--

(“I might not have quit school to devote more time to making a living...OH WELL...”)

Pulling back a bit we also have to look at Peter and his purpose as a fictional character that requires thought and consistent theme-work. A Peter who acquires wealth. Who hoards such a valuable resource is kind of antithetical to his whole deal. Arguably, his most well-known villain is Norman Osborn the literal embodiment of what an evil man with lots of money and no responsibility can do. So, it really doesn’t make for a character like Peter so rooted in the lower class, so known for helping the ones who truly need him for him in his civilian life to be a well-off guy. Spider-Man is THE street-level hero dealing with street-level crime. At his best he is stopping muggings, beating up unfair landlords, or wealthy people taking advantage of the unfortunate. He's a man of the people and doesn't like when people misuse power and what gives people power more than money?

("...I had the most money!" "Oh, give it a rest." Spectacular Spider-Man #145) 

Wrapping this up, I also think a big reason Peter never feels so beholden to money is because he knows how self-sufficient he is. He invents his own webbing, web-shooters, is shown to be extremely handy, and is a genius. Why should he care about money beyond his basic needs? He can figure things out as the situation calls for it even if all he has is $23.50 in his bank account :p 

#peter parker #marvel comics #marvel #marvel meta #long post/

[webslingingslasher]

heyyy I was just wondering WHAT THE HELL DO YOU PUT IN THIS FRAT!PETER FICS BC I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT TROUBLE AND PETER! I just melt for them together😭😩❤️

I swear when I'm about to fall sleep he just pops into my head and HAVE to grab my phone to reread some of them. Your writing is just soooo god and I wanted to thank you for creating such a work of art🥵🥵🥵

Also I can't stop thinking about frat!peter being jealous like finding a guy talking who hooked up with trouble and overthinking how different they are from each other? and if the ex fling keeps trying to talk with trouble in a friendly way, he would play it cool? i feel like he would look at them talking and he knows about what happen between them but is kinda nervous? idk

I LOVED BRUJA THANK YOU SO MUCH I HAVEN'T ENJOY READING LIKE THIS IN SOOO LONG🥹🥹🥹

first, peter and trouble are crack. second, thank you very much for enjoying!!!

---

peter knows what it looks like to awkwardly chat with an old hookup, he’s done it more than a few times. so, when he watches your eyes dance around the room while you politely laugh in response to the guy in front of you, he just knows.

he’s taller than peter, and he’s not one to be self conscious about his height, but he might now. and he’s got bigger biceps, peter’s spider-man and doesn’t have the build this guy does.

and he’s got nice hair. really nice hair. the kind of hair he knows you love. it’s like peters, but longer and a bit more curly. peter pats the hair on the back of his neck, he’s been growing it a little longer, but apparently not enough.

in a desperate attempt to keep your attention on him tonight, he takes his hat off to throw it on top of the fridge. you always beg him to take it off, it’ll work. he’s sure of it.

it doesn’t. you’re unable to stand still, if he was projecting, he’d say you went from awkward to uncomfortable. peter’s not going to be the guy to barge in, but he takes a step forward, just in case.

it’s like you can feel him, your eyes shoot to his across the room. no words are said or mouthed, but your eyes said enough. ‘help.’ its all he needs.

peter cuts the guy right off, slinging an arm low around your waist. a kiss to your temple, ‘hi, trouble.’ you relax into his touch, you hold on tight to his arm. ‘have you met tanner?’

he hasn’t, and he really doesn’t care to. it looks like tanner doesn’t either, they’re both sizing each other up. peter’s putting on a brave face, but he knows tanner's thinking he’s no competition, and peter can’t help but feel the same.

still, he throws a hand out. ‘sup, man. i’m parker.’ tanner shakes it, ‘sup.’ peter holds his hand a bit too tight, he’s trying to subtly prove that even if he was smaller, he could kick his ass if needed.

tanner asked peter how he knew you, he had to bite his tongue on the disrespect. he knew exactly how peter knew you, his possessive hold tells it all. ‘i’m her boyfriend.’

you dig your nails into his arm, you were caught off guard with the statement. he said it like it was obvious, tanner smirked. ‘ah, lucky man.’ peter really doesn’t like his face.

‘yup. sure am.’ you nudge back against him, peter takes it as a hint to get out of there. he couldn’t agree more. ‘wanna get a drink?’ you nod quick, 'yes, please.'

your 'boyfriend' made a small show of spinning you in his hold, you laughed at the twirl and balanced yourself on his shoulders. 'nice seeing you again,' you forgot who you were with for a second.

'you too, tanner! have a good night.' peter nudged your lower back to get you walking, you didn't make it four steps until you were pulled in for a bruising kiss. every thought melted away, there was only one person on your mind.

'peter,' it puffed out, just like your lips.

'trouble,' he said it like a greeting. you shook your head, leaning in for another, you were lucky tonight, he supplied.

'thanks, boyfriend.'

'that was a typo.'

you scoff. 'no it wasn't, that was you acting like you have one foot up so you don't feel as threatened.'

the choice of words make his skin crawl. peter knows it's not exclusive, exclusive. but he at least thought you both were on a similar page, one that didn't include saying 'so you don't feel as threatened.'

'what the fuck is that supposed to mean, trouble? so i don't feel as threatened? i was doing you a favor, but feel free to go entertain whoever you want, i'll do the same.'

peter's sudden aggression had your head spinning, you tried to grab onto his arm before he left you entirely. 'did i say the wrong thing? i didn't mean to say the wrong thing!'

'i didn't feel threatened until you said i should be. i just really don't like being reminded that i'm a choice you can change your mind on at any time, it's not a good feeling.'

sometimes when he says something to that effect, you want to tell him he could do something about it. sometimes, you let it go and remind him you're not looking for anyone else, if you were, you would've stopped putting up with his shit ages ago.

this is one of the times you put his fears at bay.

'look, peter, that guy, tanner? he's all talk, he seems like some cool guy but he really kind of sucks. in the least commitive way possible, boyfriend, there are no threats.'

'you keep talking about threats.'

'cause you have none!' you exhale deeply, 'i don't like anyone else, okay? and talking to other guys makes me wanna bash my head into a brick wall.'

'you talking to other guys also makes me want to bash my head into a brick wall.'

you grin and smooth out a wrinkle on peter's shirt. 'good, we're on the same page, then.'

peter throws an arm around your shoulder while he guides you to the kitchen.

'i'll deny it if you say anything, but i quite like reading at the same pace as you, trouble.'

#peter parker blurb #peter parker x reader #frat!peter drabbles #tasm!peter x reader

[silent-raven13]

The Punks love Sunflower

(All the Hobies are from those concept art designs from the movie. There's many fan arts of them. One being from drenched-in-sunlight on here. I love their artworks.)

Miles never knew he would get this much attention, in fact he never thought he would be considered attractive. He wasn't handsome like Miguel or cute like Pav or cool like his Hobie. But here he is being swarm by multiple Hobies.

Hobie from Earth 138c having long thick locs with a half up half down hairstyle, he holds Miles' hand being romantic: Hello, gorgeous

Miles merely smile: Hello, I'm Miles from-

Hobie from Earth 138d with blond dies spike hair wearing one purple contacts and another black one: HI, Luv. Fancy meeting you here! -being louder and more cheerful out of the three-

Miles turns to him: H-hi! I'm from Ear-

Hobie Earth 138e having box breads with a red hair ties, his voice much deeper and calmer than the three: Black cat. -he's thinking out loud-

Miles: Huh?

Hobie 138e: Black cat... your cute like one... -he flirted-

Hobie 138c: Luv, are you single?

Hobie 138d: I saw him first!

Miles being handle by Hobies almost being too shy to give them an honest answer: Actually I have-

Hobie 138b, Miles' Hobie: Hey, you blokes! what in bloody hell are you doing? Dats my Sunflower! -He scowls being the jealous one- He's mine! -quickly hugging his boyfriend from behind-

The three Hobies laughs being mischievous: You can't have him all to yourself. You have to share! Right, Sunflower!

Miles: Hobie, it's okay. They are new here. -His boyfriend scowling at the three-

Hobie: How in the hell Mr. Grumps allow these blokes here? -hugging Miles tightly hearing the three mocking and flirting with his Miles-

Hobie 138c: Oy, that's insulting, mate. Right, Sunflower?

Hobie 138d laughs: Yeah, don't be a fucking wanker! Oy, sunflower, how about you show me around- you know, just me and you! -he flirted giving a wink-

Hobie 138e: Sunflower, I really like that name. It's perfect for you. -he stares into Miles' doe like eyes- Yet, you look like a deer. Can I call you, Bambi?

Miles: Huh, what? Me, Bambi? I don't think-

Hobie 138e: Bambi! That'll be your name from me to you -he winks at him-

Hobie scowls almost growling: No! His name is Sunflower!

Then the group was unaware of another Spider-Punk coming into the group: Who da fuck is this? -they all turns being surprised at the figure-

Hobie 138 with black hair and light skinned tone stood with his hands on his hips.

Miles: Oh, you're Hobie 138, huh! Miguel told me, you would arrived today! -his eyes big almost gleaming which caught off Hobie 138 off guard-

Hobie 138 crosses his arms being more of a jerk: Pfft, that's arse. Fuck, him. I got scold because I killed a dump anomaly.

Hobie 138c: Pfft, figures.

Hobie 138 looks at Miles: I'ma call you, Kat.

Miles: Huh?

Hobie scowls at Hobie 138: Da fuck you are. He's mine

Hobie 138's eyes darken: Huh? Are you telling me what to do? -These anarchist never likes being told what to do- I can call him whatever da fuck I want, mate! Right, Kat!

Miles: why Kat?

Hobie 138: Because you look like a cat!

Miles saw Hobie 138e chuckles: So I've been told...

Hobie picks up his Miles: He's mine! You blokes can't have him! -he runs off with Miles. The others follow him-

From afar Peter B. Parker arched his eyebrows at Miguel: I thought you hate Hobie.

Miguel: I don't hate him. He's a pain in the ass. It's good he gets humble. -slurping his milkshake-

Peter: That's why you invited all these punk spider people?

Miguel: Hobie needs to learn. -he slurps his milkshake-

Peter: Huh uh, so... Punk Miguel is part of your plan?

Miguel arched his eyebrow: Who?

Peter points at a younger Miguel dressed in punk fashion: Him!

Miguel: Fuck... -he forgot to double check the invite list-

Hobie runs holding Miles until Punk Miguel pick Miles from his arm: AYE! Who da fuck are you?

Punk Miguel speaking Spanish growing up in Mexico: Oye, este hombre te está molestando? -talking to Miles-

Miles' eyes widen at the tall younger Miguel. 18 year old Miguel O'Hara with a bit darker hair, dark brown eyes and piercings. His skin tone a bit darker than Miguel 2099: No-no, estoy bien!

All the Hobies stop scowling at Punk Miguel: Oy! Who da hell is him? -they already don't like Miguel 2099, now there's another him!-

Punk Miguel: Qué? -not great with English especially British. Hell, he hardly understand them- No entiendo.

Miles: Okay, everyone calm down! Let's be rea-

Hobie 138: Your a fucking poser, mate! Take that shit off! -pointing at Miguel's black leather jacket-

Punk Miguel scowls: Qué dijiste? -He knows what poser is and he hates that fucking word.-

Miles: Hey, guys! How about-

Punk Miguel place a kiss on Miles' cheek, all the Hobies glares harshly at him: Lo quieres? ¡Ven a por él! -he begins running while holding Miles just to pissed them off-

The Hobies chase after that asshole while Miles practically fainted by the drama: I give up!

Peter turns to Miguel 2099: Was this part of your plan?

Miguel sighs: No...

(Part 2)

#punkflower #flowerpunk #miles morales #hobie brown #spiderman #across the spider verse #spider verse

[dirtytransmasc]

I've been thinking about what it might have been like if blond Peter Parker didn't die, like, if he got to mentor Miles, cause screw canon, I do what I want. (context; everything else happens, Peter B, Gwen, Noir, Penni, Spider Ham still show up. Goober still breaks. Rush to shut down the collider, etc. all that still happens, Blond Peters still there though)

the thought first and foremost in my mind, is that while in a playful manner, he is very protective and almost possessive of miles, in the "this is my kid from my dimension, I'm his mentor, he's my responsibility, I've had him for five minutes, but so help me god, anything happens to him I'm killing everyone here and than myself, look at him wrong, I will fight you" type of way, all the while keeping a friendly smile on his face, even if its slightly unnerving.

teases Miles about Gwen and his little crush on her, while also not exactly playing match maker cause he knows they're gonna be separated shortly. its a bittersweet thing for him.

he praises Miles so so so often, like, whenever he does anything, cause he knows Miles is scared and a kid and he needs to know he's doing a good job.

tries to protect his childhood and innocence, not wanting him to feel like he has to take up the mantle of spiderman just yet. always telling Miles that he "always gets up" cause he doesn't want Miles to feel like he has the responsibility of replacing him on his shoulders. this comes up more and more as they set out to destroy the collider.

always has a hand on Miles, mostly on his shoulder, so he knows his kid's fine and his kid knows he's not alone. he also does the forehead stroke, where he rests his hand on Miles's head and strokes his thumb over the center of his forehead. also also, he rests his elbow on the kids head, I don't know why, I just know he's that type of guy.

they hug a lot, mostly in the moment, when neither of them are really thinking. he just pulls miles into his side and squeezes him, which Miles ends up turning into real hugs after a while.

does the worried dad "check over" every time they escape a conflict. always asking if he's ok or just staring at him, trying to make sure he's ok. basically, he's a big worry wart.

"kid/kiddo" and "punk" are go-to's

when Miles is anxious, he stands closer to him, only touching when Miles leans into him.

held Miles when his uncle died, not letting him go through it alone.

gives him the "leap of faith" talk, alongside many other pep talks, cause the guy is good at those, before the collider, and gets to watch from a distance as Miles comes into himself as a spider man.

tries to keep Miles from the collider anyway, cause the stakes are too high, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if anything happened to Miles.

isn't surprised when Miles shows up anyway.

still has a near-death experience, leaving Miles to be the one to take down Kingpin, send everyone home, and shut down the collider. He wants to give up, badly, he's tired, but Miles needs him, is begging him to get up, just this one last time, and then Miles would be spiderman. Miles has to half drag him out to the streets.

he'd bring him to his dad, cause he's a kid, and the one person he's been able to lean on in this shitshow is half dead, and he's scared, so he finds his dad and comes clean out of desperation, begging him for help.

is one of the only people Peter actually wants to see while recovering, he stays at the hospital night after night just so he can be there for Peter, like Peter had been there for him, not letting anyone drag him out until after he's woken up, and even then, it's like pulling teeth to get him to so much as go to the caf to eat.

he spends whole days with Miles teaching him to cope with his spidey sense, use his webs, etc.

keeps him away from the big things, but lets him help out on patrol to give him a taste of the action.

takes hits for him, even if Miles tells him not to, cause that's his kid, and that's just what "dads" do.

when Miguel tries to recruit Peter, Peter is extremely protective of Miles, especially when he finds out he's technically an anomaly, making sure no one hurts him or undo any of the work he's done in terms of making Miles confident in himself and his abilities.

is in support of trying to save everyone, no matter what canon says, as he's literally the parental/mentor of a whole-ass anomaly and knows Miguel's theory is crap or at least mostly crap.

once everything sorted out, Spot and Miguel and Earth 42 wise, he ends up taking Miles 42 in as his own as well, and sticks around with Miles as (at least in my head, cause I say so) he stays with Miguel and HQ to be recruited.

Miles tells Miguel that Peter will ignore his own well being and pushed himself past his limits to protect Miles, because he thinks if he shows Miles weakness, the kid will feel like he has to replace him and will get stressed out/abandon what remains of his youth. he makes Miguel bench the two of them when Peter's not doing so hot so he can recover physically and emotionally.

Peter eats over at the Morales household once a week, assuring Miles's parents that he's safe with him every time.

insists on making Miles a suit for the colder months that's a little more cold resistant and when they're not in the suit, he's literally throwing coats at him.

kinda takes up the place in Miles's life that his uncle once held, being his safes pace, the person he turns to when it all goes to shit.

goes to Miles's school events.

if Miles falls asleep somewhere, like at HQ, Peter goes on guard like any dad, putting himself between Miles and the people around them so his sleep goes undisturbed.

do y'all want more of this, I might go somewhere with it if it does well.

#I'm so tired but I need this out of my head #this is probably only partly coherent #thats fine though #I think my regulars are used to that #and they're the only people who's opinions I care about #RIPeter parker #Blond Peter Parker #miles morales #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #atsv #into the spider verse

[irondad3000]

GUYS

So, in Ironman 3, Tony tells Pepper that he can't rest because he has to protect her. His nightmares weren't about New York, it was about what comes with it and how he might not be able to protect Pepper from it. Years later, another person joined the 'I will protect you with my life' list, it was Peter Parker. And when the New York nightmare came true, Peter was with Tony in space. Tony didn't know how to protect him, and he couldn't. He rides the spaceship with Nebula, thinking that this is the end. If it is, he'll be able to see Peter, and maybe Pepper if she died too. But he gets saved, he realizes that he has to live that nightmare, the one that Wanda showed him but alot worse, not his friends but his kid. And his first words after he gets out of the spaceship are "I lost the kid". He said it knowing that he will have to live in that nightmare.

5 Years Later

He has another person added to the list, Morgan, his four year old daughter. He loved the simple life, keeping his loved ones away from the fame of the Starks. Morgan was amazing, he loved her more than anything, but we all know that she wasn't a replacement of Peter. When the avengers come, his response was "I won't even", he can't risk his happiness. Later when he saw the framed picture with Peter, he felt greedy, he knew he had to try, for Peter. So he tries, and succeeds. He was happy but scared. A feeling he can't explain. He asks Pepper about it and she says "But will you be able to rest?", she knows what Peter meant to him, and he will keep blaming himself untill Peter is back and safe. So he gives it a try, he gets Peter back, he knows that he is safe. Now he wants to live with his family(Pepper, Morgan and Peter). But he realizes that he has to sacrifice himself. For them and for Peter he does it. He wanted to be with them, but let's remember the name of the list, 'I will protect you with my life'. He only did it when he knew that they were safe. He wouldn't have sacrificed himself on Titan, knowing that Peter is alone on a random planet in the universe. But now that they are safe, he can, he didn't want to but he had to. He was in pain when he saw Peter trying to talk to him, but he didn't know how to comfort him, so he just kept his eyes on him and listened to every word he said. Now that he knows that they are safe, he can rest. And Pepper knew it, and she said it. He really wished that he could be with them, but them being safe is more important than anything for him.

#i am not crying you are #thanks for coming to my ted talk #tony stark #peter parker #pepper potts #morgan stark #morguna #pepperony #irondad and spiderson #irondad #iron dad #iron dad and spider son #mcu #marvel #iron man #spiderman #spider man

[eroseas]

i wanna hear you say it — miguel o'hara/peter b. parker

summary: miguel is lovesick.

word count: 1.4k

cw: mdni. 18+ only. sexual tension, mature topics, descriptions of violence.

tags: @anchoeritic

an: listen guys idk what got into me but spiderdads slaps like idk what to tell y'all.

It comes out of left field, if Miguel is being really honest. 

He’s not a big fan of interventions. They’re a little stupid, a little dramatic, and a little too vulnerable, but with only Peter B. Parker being here, it doesn’t feel like an intervention. It feels like he fucked up. Big time.

“I think you’re confused,” Miguel said, voice tight, eyebrows furrowed, “I’m not–”

“Emotionally available? Good at communicating? Yeah, I noticed.” Peter laughed dryly, leaning back on the couch in Miguel’s apartment. He’d made himself at home so quickly that it ticked him off– how did he even do that? It would take Miguel five visits to even think about lounging around like that, let alone actually doing it. 

And yeah, he isn’t exactly emotionally available, but not in the way Peter is thinking. Not in that kind of macho-super-closed-off-nobody-can-get-to-me way. No, definitely not. Everything gets to him– everything makes him feel, and it’s too much, like the overhead lights in a grocery store, or the heat in the summer. He feels too much. 

It’s all disgusting, too. It’s all violent and harsh and disgusting. Even his love is like that– it’s all teeth and claws and blood, but it’s the only way his brain and heart see it as right, so it is what it is and he’ll just never find love again. And it’s fine.

“If that’s what you think,” he finally replied, and really, that’s all he can say, because, at the end of the day, he can’t control what Peter thinks, or what the kids think, or what their colleagues think. He can’t control it, and it makes something ugly and cruel claw its way out of his gut, but it’ll never come out of his body, and that’s good.

Peter is in his space quickly and unforgivingly, his eyes a little too dark, his expression a little too serious. It throws Miguel for a loop– because it’s weird, isn’t it? Peter never looks like this, is never one to have tough conversations. Then again, Peter was the one who brought him home after he lost his daughter, and Peter is the one who forced food down his throat, and Peter is the one who called (calls) every day to check up on him and make sure he’s not trying anything stupid. 

Which, yeah. He understands. He’d probably do the same if Peter lost Mayday, but he’s not and this is different because he’s fine, he’s just in love– and it’s disgusting. 

“Listen,” Peter said lowly, and Miguel bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from interrupting because Peter is still more experienced, still older, still knows more than he does–

“Something’s up with you and you’re not talking about it. You can’t keep this up.” 

Miguel doesn’t know what comes over him– really, he doesn’t. But his lips are pulling up before he can really think about it, his mouth is opening up so he can bare his teeth and snarl at Peter, because who the fuck cares? He’s thirty-two fucking years old, he can keep secrets and hide and run away if he damn near pleases.

But then– oh, but then– Peter’s hand is on his face, his finger is hooked around one of his fangs, and he’s pulling. He’s fucking pulling, and Miguel can’t think for a little bit, can’t do anything but lean forward because Peter is strong, Peter is insistent, Peter is warm– 

“You’re acting like a child,” he growled, “Showing your teeth like a damn dog.” 

And maybe– maybe that’s why he does it, right? Maybe it’s because Peter spoke to him like that and it was finally a language his heart spoke, it was finally teetering on the edge of disgusting and harsh and absolutely ruthless. Maybe that’s why his lips close around Peter’s digit, and maybe that’s why he bites, then licks, then sucks.

Peter is– well, Peter is quiet and shocked and staring. Miguel opened his mouth and shoved him away, though everything in his body was begging him not to. Bite him again, something whispered, make him bleed, bite him, bite him, bite him.

“Leave,” he sneered, “Maldito– don’t come back.”

Peter, of course, doesn’t fucking move. Just stares and stares and stares, and sometimes that’s all he does, and Miguel notices because of course he does. He may not have that stupid spidey sense, but he’s not a fucking idiot. 

His breath is coming out harsh, and quick, and short. The silence is too much, he can hear his own heartbeat, and it’s not okay. This is not fine. He feels the need to fill the silence, but then he’s just pleading– his voice isn’t stern anymore, it’s just pathetic. 

“Go,” he insisted, “Leave me alone, Peter, please–”

Peter is crowding him, then, backing him up into his wall. He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes wandering all over Peter’s face, but he can’t make anything out. That bothers him more– more than seeing disgust or anger. At least then he’d have a reaction, at least then he’d have something to work with. 

“Is that it?” Peter murmured, his hands pressing into Miguel’s stomach, pushing him hard against the wall. He makes a noise at the back of his throat. How pathetic.

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps watching Peter’s face, waiting and hoping and praying–

“You’re throwing a tantrum because you want me?” 

And– it’s a little more than that, actually, because Miguel wants Peter like Peter wants MJ, except Miguel has no grasp of what real love looks like. Not the love you feel in the movies or the love you write songs about or anything like that. No, no– his love is carnal in nature. It’s animalistic, it’s a little monster that rips and claws at his insides, or maybe he’s the monster, but either way, he wants. And it makes him sick. 

“And you know what I want?” He snarled sarcastically, pushing him off. Peter barely budges but moves anyway.

“No,” he replied, “That’s the problem.”

Miguel’s chest heaved, and he doesn’t know what has him so worked up (Peter), he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him (Peter), he doesn’t know why his heart hurts so bad (PETER). 

And, at this point, nothing is really holding him back. Nothing else could really go wrong. 

“I–” He faltered, growling in frustration, “I want you like you want MJ.” 

Peter stood very still, then, his expression morphing into understanding because it’s not some sex thing, it’s seriously not. It kind of is, obviously, but it’s not everything, and Miguel wants everything because he’s never been one to pick and choose. Certainly not with Peter B. Parker. 

“I want to eat you alive,” he breathed, that little monster roaring in delight as Peter flushed, but his eyes went dark, “I want to bite you and ruin you because that’s what I do–” 

He flinched back when Peter came close, shaking his head quickly. 

“Stop–” He choked, trying to get away from his too-warm hands and his soft touch because he doesn’t deserve that. 

“Miguel,” Peter whispered, pressing so close and so insistent and Miguel can’t help but press back. “Miguel, you can.” 

And he doesn’t really get it. Not at first, anyway. He doesn’t understand until Peter is pressing him against the wall and tugging at his hair– not until Peter is kissing him hard and ruthlessly with too much teeth and too much tongue, but it’s exactly what he’s always dreamed of, and it makes him so, so warm inside. 

He kissed him back because what the fuck else is he gonna do? He tugged at his clothes, at his arms, at his back. He can’t help that his claws are a little too long, that he’s scratching a little too much. Peter is careful with his fangs, though, but he’s still as desperate as Miguel is. 

Miguel can’t even remember the last time he did this– can’t remember the last time ever showed him genuine interest and desire. His heart is hurting less and less, especially when Peter grabs him by the scruff of his neck like a little cat and pushes his face into the junction of his neck and shoulder. 

He shuddered at the implication, at the sheer amount of trust, and licked at a patch of skin.

“C’mon, baby,” Peter murmured, “Have at it.” 

And he does.

#spiderdads #miguel x peter #peter x miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara drabble #miguel o'hara/peter b. parker #miguel o'hara x peter b parker #petter b parker drabble #spiderdads fic #spidersdads drabble #ೃ⁀➷; girluvrr writes