Spiderman X Reader - Blog Posts

I wanna see Tom Holland and/or Andrew Garfield read thirst tweets in character as Peter Parker and how they think he’d(respective to how they each portrayed him) react. I just think it’d be one of the most hysterical things to ever exist.

Okay My god I am alive, I think I started this account like last summer? I wanna try and write again, and since I’m obsessed with Miguel O’Hara at the moment, I would love to write more marvel scenarios 😔

Give me some fresh miguel and others of the spiderverse requests guyss😩

Can I request all the characters you can do with an s/o who tries to pour bleach into their eyes becuase of something they saw on the internet?

Request: Yes Summery: Reader pours bleach into their eyes when they see something cursed on the internet Characters: Peter parker, Tony stark, Osamu dazai, chuuya nakahara, steve harrington, Eddie munson, Joker, Harley, elvis, tartaglia and beidou. Genre: Big crackheaded shit

A/n: Guess who's alive! sorry for keeping you from this one, I hope you'll enjoy this request, it was lots of fun to write haha! Now enjoy you guys before my social and private life will kick me in the ass again-

Peter parker

this poor boy got the biggest heart attack of his life-

There you two were, just chilling in the compound of the avengers, as you were in the kitchen and him on the couch, when he suddenly heard you scream.

He quickly ran towards you, sliding into the kitchen seeing you wave your eyes dry cause they looked red and and puffy

"WHAT HAPPENED-" He screamed a bit in distress, as he saw the bleach at the side, dumbfounded as you explained it that you saw a cursed meme on your phone.

He takes you to the infirmary of course, as he cleaned the mess up

lets just say from now on your not ever alone with the chemicals around you

Tony stark

After hearing your screams, he quickly ran towards you

"kid what happened-"

He saw the bleach, your puffy red eyes, ur crying face and immediately knew what happened

"Okay why did you pour bleach in your eyes what is wrong with you-"

You explained what happened and he immediately slapped himself in the face

"for this dumb reason you decided to throw bleach in your eyes?"

He'll get you cleaned up

Expect child locks on everything now, something only he can open

Osamu dazai

"Oh belladonna~!" he chirped as you just were blinking constantly, trying to get the burn out of your eyes

He looked at the table where the bleach was still at, and your eyes who are red, puffy and look like they went through hell-

"....YOU DOING A SUICIDE WITHOUT ME-?"

In all seriousness, he would be concerned about what happened that made you do this.

Probably listening and curious what you have seen that did this, search it up and then join you too

now your two idiots with bleach in their eyes

congrats your made for each other

Chuuya nakahara

"WHAT THE-"

He'll scold you like a mad man

"WHY ON EARTH DID YOU DO THAT-"

He loves you to much though, so he would help you get your eyes treated cause of the love he has for you, if it was dazai who did this he would just let him die <3

You will pout at the way he's treating you, which would make him melt a bit and kiss your entire face

Steve harrington

His mother mode got activated, I swear to god.

Towels? Water? Where the fuck did you even see this shit that you decided to just throw bleach In your eyes

"Sweetheart why did you do that-"

"I saw something at the neighbours house that I shouldn't have."

He will just chuckle, scold you for being such an idiot and help you settle down a bit because your eyes burn like hell

don't worry, he still loves you

Eddie munson

we all know the kind of place Eddie lives, not the big and fancy houses that almost every character in the show has

so when you just did the laundry, looking over at the neighbours on accident, seeing a whole...intercourse scene happening in front of your eyes, you couldn't help it but walk back inside

and so the random bleach in the eyes started

Eddie, looking at you like your crazy, slapped the bleach right out of your hands

"Doll what the fuck-"

He helped you clean it up, scolding you for being crazy

"they call me crazy but what about you-"

The Joker

Boy this man would just laugh at you-

no mercy, he ain't the type of man for that man

He would order some of his henchmen to follow in your footsteps, which they can't refuse cause like, either bleach in your eyes or die at the hands of the joker? bleach it is-

he does however have a little soft spot for you, so he'll order frost to go and help you clean up, recover from this stupid decision you made.

Maybe he'll search up the things that traumatised you so much and broadcast it through all Gotham.

Harley quinn

Just like J, she would laugh, only at some point she'll help you herself

when out of sight of the joker, she'll scold you for being such an idiot

"sweetie why?"

You explained the thing you saw online as you saw her shudder

"Yeah that explains why, I see why you did it-" Giggles leave both you and Quinn

She'll help you the best she could, as she smiles at you

"now MAKE OVER TIME-"

Get ready to be dragged into some shopping without paying

Elvis presley

"Mama have you seen my- OMG-"

You scare him To death as he pushed the bleach away, immediatly helping you get rid of the sting

"SATNIN WHAT ON EARTH-"

You explained what happened, That some fan had send you a letter and the pictures with it were so disgusting

Now Elvis didn't like that one bit.

after aiding you, he made sure to track down this person and make sure there will be a nice chat.

"I got you lil mama, I got you"

Tartaglia

"Babe I'm homeeee- what happened to you-?"

You sat there, sniffling as your eyes were burning badly

"I poured bleach in it"

"why-"

"I got flashed by our neighbour-"

Childe was not having that.

"come here darling let me help you."

He was so nice to put you into one of his sweaters, cleaning you up and giving you soft kisses on your forehead, making sure your comfortable before he would have a talk with your neighbours

Nothing you'll know

Beidou

She expected to come home with a smiling lover, but instead, she came home with her lover having bleach on the floor and in your eyes.

"Oh dear what happened?"

You told her you kinda got some gross photo's from some men, and when you got home you wanted to forget those photo's so you bleached your eyes, which was a bad idea.

Beidou shushed you, helped you clean up as she cupped your face, kissing your lips shortly and smiles at you, hiding her anger for your sake

She puts you comfy as she quickly made an excuse to see ningguang, who secretly has a soft spot for you

lets just say you never see or hear from those men again.

hi can you do like Bisexual Peter Parker(mcu) x fem!reader on which Peter comes out to reader and reader gets even more overprotective when he talks to another girl/guy

Thanks!!

OH, JEALOUSY

peter parker x reader | sfw

CW! female! reader, reader and peter are adults (after nwh), jealous reader, oblivious peter (he's a sweetie), friends to lovers

Peter was so scared when he admitted his sexuality to you. You were his first friend since the spell and he was afraid to tell you.

Thankfully you accepted him for who he was.

And of course, you would. You loved this boy turned superhero who saved you, and you too became one to accompany him. You grew to love this sweet and traumatized boy.

However, now you can't deny your jealousy underneath when Peter in contact with both genders. It wasn't just girls who were getting close to him; you were also noticing men's wandering eyes.

And this poor man didn't notice such behavior. Peter was going on about his day and friendly talking to people both as citizen and as the Spiderman. It utterly killed you that he didn't notice, but you also found it adorable.

Very conflicting.

And oh so subtly you started to act differently when you noticed these other people who had interest in Peter. You had a crush on him you admit it.

Never did you plan to tell him and you couldn’t deny your jealousy. Poor thing still wasn’t seeing it.

“What’s your deal with me?”

Gwen has asked humorously. You simply stared before feeling your cheeks her hot. You knew why and were embarrassed. You simply became so much more protective at the notion of Peter being with someone else.

“Nothin..” You would mumble under your breath.

“You like Peter don’t you.”

You certainly didn’t like her teasing, but you couldn’t deny it. You loved Peter and you were protective of him now. After all the pain and suffering he’d been through you’d hate to have him be hurt again.

“Um…” Peter flushed red seeing you beside him with an angry stare on your face.

The assailant being an another girl scurried out.

“What was that?” Peter asked with a quirked smile. He saw you realize what you just did and freaked out. Suddenly you were hundred of steps away from him.

“Nothing!” You practically screeched with a hot face.

Just as the assailant did you ran away, “See you tonight!” You spared nothing and explained nothing to him as you ran away.

Peter blinked.

“Oh she’s down bad.” Another whispered to another.

It was then that you weren’t the only one flushed red and embarrassed.

A really cute series, just saying. ;)

We’ve Only Just Begun Masterlist

Watching the Signs Along the Way

Talking It Over Just The Two Of Us 

Working Together Day To Day (coming soon!)

Together (coming soon!)

ahh i love your writing and your dark!peter fics are the best, could we get a darkfic of peter bullying/harassing the reader and then things escalate if you know what i mean ??

rude boy | peter parker

[Warnings] dark peter parker x reader, bully peter, verbal/physical harassment, noncon/dubcon, fingering, public sex, mentions of intercourse/oral sex, peter being a jerk, fish sticks

A/N: I combined your ask with another bully peter request I got! I’ll post that asks right after this. Hope you like this!

In which Peter can’t make up his mind about whether he loves or hates you. 

word count: almost 3k

Your gaze fell down to your lap as he entered the classroom. Everyone else’s seemed to lift, admiring their classmate who famously saved the world several times. It was safe to say that the fame had gone to his head. You nervously played with the ends of your skirt as you waited for the commotion in the room to die down and for the class to start. 

That didn’t happen because an unfamiliar person slid onto the stool beside you and you lifted your head to see Peter. He gave you a bored look as he looked you over, “What’s up, fish sticks?”

Your eyes shut tightly as you winced at the name. He knew it got under your skin and loved to watch you squirm. He nudged your arm, “Hmm?” 

Everyone remembered that time in fifth grade, on the trip to the aquarium, where you threw up your packed lunch on one of the employees. Your mom had packed you fish sticks and, as you sat through one of their fun presentations, one of the presenters picked you to come up to the stage. You were shy, even back then, and as he asked you something you learned that day, you completely lost your lunch on his shoes. This all led to one of your classmates shouting, “She barfed up her fish sticks!” and laughter ensued. 

Even Peter seemed to think it was still funny, “You’re not my partner, Peter,” You said, not meeting his eyes. 

“Now I am,” Your heart skipped a beat as you heard him, “I can’t work with Ned anymore, he sucks at cooking and I need a good grade in this class.”

You looked back at Peter’s normal seat to see your family and consumer science partner sitting with Ned. You liked her and she always did her fair share of the work. You were sure the opposite would be true for Peter. 

Peter faked a smile at you, “So what are we cooking today? Fish sticks?”

You took a deep breath, your hands tapping nervously at the table, “You could try looking at the board,” You felt him scoot his stool closer to you, his body leaning over the counter. 

“I think I’ll just look at you instead,” Your breathing hitched in your throat as he leaned into your ear. Just as he did, your teacher entered the room. You thought she was a good teacher, she graded easily, and Peter must’ve been a complete idiot to not be doing well. Clearly, this wasn’t his subject of expertise. 

The room was set so each station had its own oven, stove, and appliances. This unit was all about cooking and today you were making dessert. Your teacher gave you a list of instructions before adding that you should all make sure you’re following safety protocols. 

You stood up from your stool, mostly just to get some space from Peter and walked over to grab an apron. 

The assignment went much worse than you expected. Peter refused to even lift a spoon or even wear an apron. He sat by as you did all the work, only offering to lick the spoon clean when you were finished with it. The times he got off his butt were to walk over to Ned’s table to chat with him. 

“You’re good at this,” Peter said, as you poured the batter into a cake tin. You were a little out of breath from running around to grab supplies, “You should come over and make me a sandwich sometime.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep yourself from responding. 

As soon as you got your cake into the oven, you took a deep breath, taking a look at the clock to see if you were going to finish on time, “Can you chill? You’re stressing me out.”

You rested your hands against the counter, “I’m …” Your voice raised only for a moment before you lowered it, “I’m stressing you out?”

Peter noticed your frustration and smirked, “Awe, I’m joking fish sticks. You’re doing great,” He winked. 

Maybe you could talk to the teacher, tell her that you and Peter were not a good fit together. She’d ask you why you didn’t want to be partners and then you would have to tell her … and facing Peter after that would be a nightmare. You shook your head at the thought and convinced yourself you could go the rest of the semester doing the work all by yourself. 

+

You were going to get into a good school, especially with the number of clubs you were a part of and the one that you created yourself. A book club because you loved reading and school was lacking one. There were four members in total including you and your friend Jess. If you wanted your club to seem serious on college applications then you needed more members. 

Jess had the idea of hanging up banners and flyers during the free period and, of course, you were all in. 

You went around the school with a ladder the janitor lent you and hung up your homemade posters. You were hanging a large banner towards the front of the school when the bell suddenly rang, ending the free period. 

“Just a few more inches to the left,” Jess instructed you and you slowly moved the poster to the position she wanted before Jess reached up to hand you the tape. 

There was something about you that Peter couldn’t quite wrap his head around. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to you. It was something about the snooty, preppy way you dressed that he a distaste for but turned him on to you at the same time. You were so intelligent but corruptible still. It was quite frustrating knowing you’d only see him as a nuisance. 

He watched the back of your legs, your skirt slightly rose as you taped up your poster. He thought about those baby pink panties you were probably wearing. 

You were admiring your work when suddenly the ladder shook and, for a moment you thought you might fall back until you barely caught yourself. A sharp shriek left your lips and the hall went silent until everyone was staring at you and then chuckling. You felt your cheeks warm as you quickly stepped down the ladder. 

You looked around the culprit and found Peter walking backward in the other direction. He smiled, “See you at book club, fish sticks!”

Your hands formed a fist at your side as you gave Jess an incredulous look. 

“Sorry,” She apologized, but you were already marching away. 

+

Two weeks later, you were in a crowded subway car heading to school. Some soft pop song was playing in your headphones and you were swaying your head slightly to the music. Your eyes traveled around as you people watched.

You had done this route every day but you found yourself getting nervous now when you thought about school. Peter had seemed to take a special liking to you and wouldn’t leave you alone. He made you do all his work in family and consumer sciences and he’d make sure to shout something embarrassing at you when you saw him in the hall. 

A few days ago you were heading to your lunch table with your tray when he walked up to you, “Sit with me today,” He had told you, eyes more serious than you had ever seen them. 

“Why?” You asked.

“Because I said so,” He continued and you raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I can take any more fish stick jokes,” Anger settled over his features and it scared you, “No, but thank you.”

Any day before this, you would’ve said yes just because of how much he scared you. He was a superhero and what were you? Nothing. And everyone saw you that way. You were just tired of him torturing you. 

You should’ve trusted your instincts because as you walked around him, you lost your balance, and tripped over his outstretched foot. The cafeteria went quiet and you moaned in pain as you pulled yourself up. Your spaghetti was now staining your bright colored sweater.

Peter leaned down, “Forgive me for trying to be nice to you, Y/N,” He held out his hand for you to take and, you only stared at him, before standing up yourself. Jess rushed over, napkins in hand, but you were already running from the cafeteria, tears stinging your eyes. 

You shook your head as you tried to stop thinking about it. As if you had unconsciously summoned the devil, you felt a hand on your waist. You jumped, of course, and thought some middle-aged man would be standing behind you but it was even worse. 

“Turn back around,” He spoke huskily in your ear and you shook your head. His arm wrapped around you, his hand wrapping around your throat as he pulled you back into him, “Don’t struggle. Wouldn’t want to make a scene, right?”

How long had he been watching you? How long had he been following you?

Your eyes darted around, looking for anyone who had noticed what was happening to you but you saw no one. Everyone so packed together and clearly focused on whatever was going on in their busy lives. Peter’s other arm wrapped around you, under your arm, and settled on your stomach. 

You started to shake your head as his fingers trailed against the top of your skirt but his grip on your throat tightened, “What color panties are you wearing?” He whispered in your ear, “Hmmm?”

It was clearly rhetorical because, with every word you spoke, his grip tightened. You had to keep still in order to breathe. His hand slid between your skin and the waistband of your pastel skirt and he felt between your legs. A small whimper left your lips as his fingers rubbed your sex through your panties. 

His nose pressed into your hair and he took in your scent as he began rubbing circles against the fabric of your underwear. 

Peter had to see for himself if you were really what he wanted and he was tired of hiding his attraction. The confusion and tension in his mind had finally stopped. He was going to have you.

You had rarely even touched your private parts yourself so, the feeling rising in your core, felt completely foreign. A second later, he was dipping his fingers in the fabric of your panties. Your face completely warmed and you couldn't help how your body flinched at the sensation. 

“You’re mine from now on, to do whatever I please,” You ran from the feeling, from the pleasure, for as long as you could but Peter’s fingers worked like magic. Your chest heaved up and down as your breathing became more erratic. You were nearing something and that scared you even more. Peter held you steady and kept you from going anywhere and you were forced to face whatever he had unleashed inside you. 

“There you go, that’s it, Y/N,” It was a giant explosion deep inside you, and Peter moved his hand around your neck to cover your mouth as you orgasm. 

You were shaking as his fingers still played with that sensitive bulb in your panties. When he finally released you, you felt more disgusted at yourself for feeling such pleasure. 

Peter turned you around and you were so dizzy that you couldn’t even push him away as he slammed his lips against yours. Anyone around you would’ve saw it as annoying PDA by a couple of teenagers but, really, a predator had just sunk its teeth into its prey.

+

You sat with Peter at lunch from the day forward. You decided it was better than him humiliating you in front of the entire student body. 

You weren’t sure what exactly you were to him. He seemed to want a personal punching bag as well as the intimacy you could provide. He’d tease you constantly, especially in front of his friends, but he’d want to make you cum right after being the jerk he was. 

He’d invite himself over to your house so you could help him with a school project or rather have you do it for him. Then he would … use his tongue against your private parts and make you lay with him for hours. 

One weekend, while you were walking home from a late-night study session at Jess’s house, a figure landed right in front of you. You hated how he loved to make his entrances by scaring you. Completely clad in his red and blue suit, Peter looked you up and down, “Why are you out walking so late?”

You took a cautious step back, “My apartment is three blocks away.”

“I’m aware and that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Can I at least have the weekends to myself, Peter?”

Peter cocked his head to the side and you wished very much to see whatever devilish look was. As he took a step forward, you took another backward, which caused him to laugh, “I’m offended, Y/N. I’m just a friendly neighborhood spider-man trying to help a poor, lost girl find her way home. There are sickos out this late.”

“Peter-”

Peter suddenly raised his hand and you saw a web shoot out into the distance. Before you could follow where it led, Peter’s arms were around you, and you were flying with him in the air. You squeezed him for dear life, your lungs unleashing every scream within you, as your stomach rose and fell with the swinging motion. 

When you finally landed on your feet, you were standing on the fire escape just outside your bedroom. You lost your balance but Peter was there to catch you again. Peter pulled off his masks and you saw his tired face and messy hair beneath it. 

He smiled at you, “Gonna puke, fish sticks?”

You tried to pull away from him, anger boiling up inside of you, “I-I hate you! I hate you, Peter!”

Tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were punching at his chest. It had no real effect on him and he simply grabbed your hands and held them in place. He pulled your hands down and pulled your forward, kissing you hard. 

You seemed to calm as his soft lips moved against yours. You hated it but it did. Your hands calmed and he let them go. Peter’s brown eyes narrowed into yours when he finally pulled away. He grabbed your face then, “I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N,” He wiped a tear away from your face, “But I don’t think I can let you go just yet.”

He kissed you again and you started to move your lips against his. It was easier that way. You stayed there for a long time, your lips on his, as your tears began to dry. He wasn’t going to leave you be so you thought you might as well enjoy it. The most popular boy in school, in New York, wanted you. Shouldn’t that make you feel good?

Peter moved to open your window, “Peter … my parents.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Peter insisted as he slipped inside. You did the same and you watched as Peter slowly shut it back. 

You moved over to the bed, taking off your backpack, and preparing for what Peter usually wanted to do. You looked up, surprised when you saw he was taking off the suit … all the way. 

“Peter, I’ve never-”

He shushed you, “I haven’t either,” That surprised you to hear. He approached you on the bed, only wearing his boxers, and your eyes raked in his exquisite physique. A lot has changed for him in the last few years, “But I’m sure I can figure it out.”

He kneeled down by your feet and took his time removing your shoes and then your socks. He wanted to take his time admiring you and this made you feel like a piece of art, “Why me?” You asked hesitantly.

“I have this awareness of my surroundings, like something in the back of my mind,” You weren’t expecting an honest answer but Peter’s eyes were completely earnest, “When I’m around you, it goes haywire and when I don’t have it, I’m vulnerable. I hate that.”

“So you do this to me b-because you hate me?”

Peter stood up, leaning forward as he pushed you down towards the bed. You slowly moved back towards your headboard as Peter crawled on top of you, “Not anymore. I like feeling certain things … when my defenses are down.”

His face was hovering above yours now, his fingers trailing over the waistband of your underwear. He started to pull them down and you stared with wide eyes because he didn’t even look away from you.

“Oh,” was all that left your mouth as he spread your legs. Everything about him confused you but it was useless to argue with him. You reached up to touch his shoulder which surprised him, to say the least. You touched the skin there and then the hardness of his chest. 

Peter tossed your underwear to the side, positioning himself between your legs. His eyes darkened as he looked at you and, suddenly, he was pinning your hands above your head. He kissed you as he used his other hand to pull down his boxers, letting his member spring free. He rubbed its tip against your sensitive bulb, trailing it up and down to tease you. 

When he finally entered you, it was slow and patient despite the hungry look in his eyes. He watched as you winced and moaned in pain as he stretched you for the first time. He’d bury himself deep inside of you for the rest of his life if he could. He’d make you tighten around him as he gave you orgasm after orgasm. 

“You make me feel human again, Y/N,” Peter grunted into your ear. After all, he had lived through and what he was meant to go through now, he’d use you to bring him down to earth. You were a toy, a tool, but maybe you could learn to enjoy the closeness. The intimacy.

Human. 

Peter both desired and despised the feeling. 

+

I hope you enjoyed this! Please be sure to like, reblog and let me know what you think! Check out my harryspetrequests tag for more of my requests and my master list for more dark peter fics!

Marvel Masterlist

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Smut ❤️‍🔥

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Modern Technology {Stucky x fem!reader} ❤️‍🔥

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier/White Wolf

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Main Masterlist

HALLOWEEN SPECIAL

How would some of my favourite characters be if their S/O loves Halloween?

Media Included : Mortal Kombat 11, Insomniacs Spider-Man, Young Justice.

Characters Included : Mileena, Kitana, Peter Parker, Miles Morales, Artemis, Superboy.

Note (s) : I originally had a poll and all of MK11 won but honestly I would've gotten no enjoyment out of writing it, so, have this instead.

Be warned I haven't watched young justice in like a year.

Mileena

Mileena doesn't know what Halloween is, there isn't much of an equivalent in Outworld that would make sense for her to participate in, however, she's definitely interested after learning about it from you. Especially after seeing how excited you are.

After realising she can carve whatever she wants in the pumpkin, she gets very excited. Mileena would most likely carve a 'scary' face, similar to a Tarkatans with the large teeth, but, she isn't the most skilled artist... It ends up looking a bit wonky and more funny than scary.

If she's in a bad mood, she'd probably try to carve Kitana dying, and it would end up more like a blob than anything coherent.

She likes the decorations, and might help put a few up, but prefers them not to be in her way, she will absolutely destroy any fake cobwebs or skeletons in her path.

If you want to stay at home and put on the likes of 'Hocus Pocus' 'The Nightmare Before Christmas' or even horror movies like 'Halloween', she's interested in them all. She especially finds the portrayals of sorcerers to be hilarious and wants to show Shang Tsung how incompetent humans think they are.

Mileena finds horror movies fascinating but sometimes she's very critical of the gore and how unrealistic it is, one time she stormed out of the house because of how horrible a CGI blood splatter was.

She probably won't bother matching costumes or even going in a costume herself, she's just not interested enough for whatever cheap gimmicks Earthrealm's cooked up.

I actually think she'd just go in her regular clothes but without a mask, it's uncomfortable to be seen as scary, but, she doesn't want to wear a ridiculous costume or spend hours walking around in a mask.

Mileena is most excited for the trick or treating itself, the fact you can just go up to people's houses and ask for sweets and people will just give it?? She's so shocked, nothing like that would ever happen in Outworld.

She won't be too smiley until she gets home though, whenever the door opens she's sweating nervously, Mileena almost wishes she brought her mask to hide her face.

She always manages to stay up until everybody else goes home or falls asleep, and carries, she insists you're not walking even if you're not tired at all, you back home, where she finds the pumpkins destroyed and your house covered in toilet paper.

She vows to kill the person who ruined your pumpkins, and probably ends up springing a Halloween massacre for your area.

Kitana

She's definitely heard of Halloween from Johnny or Sonya, but she's never really been able to dress up or be too involved. Kitana has responsibilities in Outworld, and she can't risk them for a holiday, regardless of her desire to participate.

Once she sees how excited you are, however, she decides to make up an excuse to go to Earthrealm, it's only for a few hours, and she's a bit antsy over the decision, but she's doing it for you nonetheless.

Kitana helps you put up the decorations, laughing at how silly some of them look, and she takes great joy in spending some time with you that she usually can't.

Her pumpkin carving skills aren't too bad, she's not some master artist with them, but she can make a mean scary face.

I don't think she'd want to dress up, but she's definitely alright if you want to, she'll share her opinion on your costume and maybe suggest a different one if she thinks it'd fit you better.

She really enjoys things like The Nightmare Before Christmas, wholesome yet with a bit of scary elements thrown in. She especially likes Hocus Pocus when it comes to the family part of it, it's no secret how messed up hers is.

Kitana's amused at how magic is portrayed in both Halloween movies and by certain costumes, she nearly loses it after seeing an old man mask under the 'wizard' title.

Kitana personally doesn't enjoy the gore heavy and over the top violence of horror movies, although, she will admit she enjoys the fight choreography of some of them. She prefers psychological horrors.

Kitana is rather nervous about trick or treating, she loves the idea of the fun and sweet part, but the idea that the stranger could've poisoned the sweets makes her nervous, even if you assure her that the signs are obvious and if there are none it should be safe to consume.

She inspects the sweets around five times before even considering you take a bite.

She looks like some type of bodyguard, following behind you with swift and graceful steps, she lets herself have fun of course, but her guard is always up.

When you both get home, she's very happy to rest with you and sleep, but if duty calls she might have to cut the night short and return to Outworld.

Peter Parker

Peter skips out on a holiday or two sometimes, his identity as Spider-Man is far too important, and Halloween is the one that usually gets skipped. Aunt May never really celebrated it, she usually just left out a bowl of sweets. MJ isn't an avid Halloween person, neither is Harry after he grew up. So, it was a huge surprise at how invested in Halloween you are.

Peter isn't that good of a pumpkin carver, so he typically does the regular 'spooky face' with wobbly lines, it's his favourite and was his go to ever since he was a kid.

He finds matching costumes cute and especially loves dressing up in his old Spider-Man costume and making one especially for you, of course, neither of you include the web shooters and he makes sure to use an old enough suit where there's no tech in it.

Peter's great at hanging up decorations, he has specialised web fluid that can last for a few days or even a week, so, he uses that to his advantage and usually does that along with crawling on the ceiling.

He loved trick or treating as a kid, it was the one time of the year he could dress up and not be a nerd, he and Harry had so much fun together. It's really nostalgic, and sometimes people will point out your costumes, finding it funny that grown adults are going as the city's hero.

He adores trick or treating, it makes him feel like a kid again. Although, unfortunately a lot of crime tends to happen on Halloween, so, sometimes he does have to slip away quickly to punch a few bad guys.

He might check once or twice to see if there's anything wrong with the candy, but besides that he sometimes forgets how deadly some of them can be. He does feel his heart race a bit when you take a bite, only to reveal nothing is wrong, he lets out a huge sigh of relief.

Peter's nervous watching psychological thrillers and ones that use the whole 'creepy kid aesthetic' to its full potential. He's fine with gorey slasher flicks, and even enjoys some of them for the horrible acting and bad effects.

He prefers more kid friendly stuff, like The Nightmare Before Christmas, but he nearly cried watching Coraline for the first time.

Miles Morales

Miles has been a huge Halloween enjoyer since he was a kid, he used to spend hours trying to handmake a costume with his parents help, he misses those days. He's never missed Halloween, or any holiday, but miles has been close a few times.

After he started dating you he realised just how much fun it can be and that he shouldn't sacrifice time with his loved ones, especially not on a day you both love.

Miles, while not exactly having an over abundance of money to do so, will a hundred percent try to hand make costumes for the both of you, with your help of course. Maybe it's something small like Morticia Addams and Gomez Addams, or maybe it's a huge mecha costume, whichever it is, he has fun making and designing the costumes.

He's a master pumpkin carver, give him any image and he can accurately create it in pumpkin form, regardless of whether you're also like that or have trash pumpkin carving skills, he's putting yours together proudly and pointing it out to anybody who sees them.

Miles loves trick or treating, you and him walk around New York apartments for hours and hours getting all of the sweets you can, he even web swings sometimes to try and get as much as possible before Halloween ends.

I don't think he'd think to look for any poison or razor blades in the sweets you two are given, he's heard some stories for sure, but it's never happened anywhere close to him, so he assumes you're both safe.

Like Peter, he can help put up decorations by climbing on walls and ceilings, plus his webs, and so he's a huge help, although he's personally not a fan of any snake based decorations. They creep him out.

While he can handle more scary horror movies, he still reaches for and squeezes your hand whenever a kill scene happens, although, for older ones or newer ones that are bad looking, he prefers to analyse the artistic side of things. Special effects and practical effects are so interesting to him. Not only that, he could spend hours talking about the music and themes of each character or event.

He loves any stop motion, Nightmare Before Christmas, Coraline, and Corpse Bride to name a few. Not only are they just beautiful, but any bad storylines or things that haven't aged well don't really matter when he's staring at something so pretty.

Artemis

Artemis never had the chance to celebrate Halloween as a kid, she wishes she did because it always sounded so fun, the most she managed to get was her mother putting out sweets for kids in costumes to nab. Some part of her wishes that she was one of them at some point.

When she begins dating you, your interest in Halloween is one she can greatly relate to, perhaps for different reasons, but, it's something shared nonetheless.

Artemis likes the idea of dressing in costumes, it's a quarter of her job so she's used to it by now, but she can admit she feels too childish when she wears a vampire or any other Halloween-esque costume. She thinks you look cute in them, though.

She's used to helping her mother around the house, so when you ask for help putting up decorations she's alright with that, whether or not you can't reach because you're short, you can't do it all on your own, or if you just want to get it done quicker, she'll help you.

Artemis is a decent pumpkin carver, she can make a few impressive faces, but unless she spends hours and hours, she can't do a full body or anything other than a spooky face without it being a little wonky.

She genuinely does enjoy going trick or treating, she can come across a little blank and emotionless when walking around, but she really does feel happy and safe with you. Even if you two are walking alone at night knocking on strangers doors for candy.

She definitely checks every piece for any poison or razor blades, she's not taking any chances with you.

Artemis loves more childish movies, don't tell anybody in the tower though! She especially loves ones like Coraline, she feels really seen and can even relate to her a tiny bit.

She's not a big horror fan, especially not ones that try to make the unsympathetic sympathetic, it's just boring watches to her usually. Gore ones are easier to get through, it's just mindless slashing and bad acting, sometimes they're so bad that it becomes funny though, she enjoys those ones. Artemis isn't the biggest fan of psychological thrillers either, not because they're more scary to her, they're just more uncomfortable.

Superboy

Superboy has most likely heard of Halloween, but never had the chance to participate because... Well, you know. He isn't very interested in it, the costume part, the sweets part, it's not exactly his thing, regardless of if he's tried it before or not.

He's surprised at just how excited you are about Halloween, it's not like he despises the holiday, it just feels so alien to him. Despite that, Conner will help put up decorations in hard to reach places, or if something is heavy, he might grumble about it, but he truthfully doesn't mind.

Well, as said before, he isn't too interested in the costumes. A lot of them are just too silly for him, but maybe with some convincing he could do a matching couples one. He likes when you dress up, though, he thinks you look cute and even funny in some of them.

Conner isn't great at pumpkin carving, he gets frustrated easily and might smash the poor thing, despite that, he may either act like it was on purpose or just hide it from you.

He doesn't enjoy trick or treating, because of his unwillingness to dress up, he's either a guy in a superman shirt who looks like he's about to commit a felony, or a huge, quiet guy in a goofy costume whose fist is always angrily clenched.

He can tell if any sweets are bad, his vision makes it easy, and he will absolutely smack the sweet out of that person's hand and begin yelling at them.

Conner is alright with horror movies, he's not scared by them because he knows they're not real. But, that doesn't mean he likes what he's watching. Most of them are boring or just plain stupid to him. He thinks more kid friendly ones are to his style, they're not overly edgy, funny coming from him, while also not being boring because most kid media is designed to keep a kids attention.

Got a cool idea for you my friend.

The insomniac spider-men, both Peter and miles. And how they’d go when y/n offers to do a horror movie night with the likes of classics like Halloween or modern stuff like talk to me

The Insomniac Spider-Men with a horror movie night

Note(s) : I did Headcanons for how the Spider-Men are with horror movies and then a scenario at the end where the reader does the horror movie night.

I don't know anything about Talk To Me so I chose M3GAN instead, and I haven't seen Halloween in years so I'm sorry if I got something wrong.

Peter Parker / Spider-Man

I don't think Peter would really watch movies or shows all that often, he probably hasn't even finished any piece of media since before the spider bite. Even then, he was probably that kid who watched those really bad ones to make fun of with Harry and MJ.

I imagine his tolerance is most likely high, because of his real life experiences, he can handle fake blood, he can handle the fake injuries, most of them can't compare to what he's gone through.

But what he really can't handle? Psychological thrillers, and really good kid actors.

That scene in the shining where the two twins are standing there? He had to hold MJ's hand, Harry made fun of him for an entire month.

He tends to humanise fictional characters, especially the victims in horror movies. Maybe for some slashers he can understand their motives, but most of them hurt people who can't defend themselves and it makes him a little sick.

To see movies where this is used so effectively is honestly a little uncomfortable, he appreciates the mastery of how it's crafted and how realistic the pain is, but he can never watch it all the way through.

Peter's always been terrified of Carrie because he was also bullied, she, in a way, reflected on him. Of course, she also experienced abuse from her mother, unlike Peter, but the scene of everybody screaming in that hall will probably haunt him forever.

In a way, it keeps him grounded, it makes him remember Uncle Ben's words, it makes him remember to use his powers for good, and not for evil.

Miles Morales / Spider-Man

Miles and Ganke most likely sit down and watch some shows or movies every once and a while, he's never been a huge horror fan, and he's never watched any that really stuck with him.

He's mostly impressed with the art direction most of the time, the way they shot that scene in Carrie where it goes all around the prom in one, long, continuous shot?

It's beautiful, it gets him so engrossed he forgets it's supposed to be a scary movie.

Miles can't handle any that tackle and treat the loss of a parent as a main plot point, he could maybe handle it as a side plot, but it reminds him so much of how his dad's death affected him, his hands clam up, he feels sweaty, he just can't handle it.

It never really makes him connect with the story, it just makes me remember it as the 'oh God don't watch that' movie

The ones that get him truly terrified are honestly any that involve children and the elderly as the villains, that's not to say he'll be completely fine if he watches an adult brutally murder people.

Both

Peter and Miles haven't had a day off in months, they've been so focused on saving the city, helping their friends and family, they just don't have time for themselves.

Until today.

You had finally convinced the two, after hours of subtle and not so subtle convincing, they relented, under the promise that if any serious crimes were reported, they would get Ganke to check if the police have it handled or not, if they don't? They're abandoning the movie night.

Which you agreed with, because one night having fun is better than no time to yourself at all.

Peter and Miles sit down on the couch, while you make the popcorn and drinks, carrying the bowls of food and bottles of coke to the table, the microwave hums, drowned out by the two men chatting.

"Can you believe that Electro got out again." Miles sounds exasperated, and he looks it too, he and Electro had fought for what felt like hours, in reality it was only a few minutes, shocking each other until they couldn't fight any more.

"You get used to it, he'll probably stay a month in prison at most." Peter shrugs, leaning back on the couch and wincing slightly, an aching pain in his back started up again, but he was honestly too tired to ask for someone to crack it.

"This job is crazy." Miles laughs, shaking his head with an amused smile. "I can't believe it, each day, fighting bad guys, swinging for hours and hours, it's just... I love it." You cut the conversation short by bringing in the last bowl of popcorn.

"Whooo! Movie time!" You happily say, placing the bowl on the table with the other snacks and drinks, making sure it's perfectly placed before sitting on the couch. You grab the remote next to you and smile at Miles and Peter.

"What should we watch?" Before either can respond, you suddenly gasp, your eyes snapping back to the TV. "Oh! Actually, there's this new horror movie called M3GAN, I bought it a few weeks back and forgot to watch it." You ramble, turning the television on and searching for the movie.

"I guess we go with that one then." Peter mumbles, raising an eyebrow in amusement, you all haven't hung out in a while, even then, you do wish that Harry and MJ could've made it. So, it's clear you're just excited to spend time with them for once.

"It's about this robot that this lady makes after her niece loses her parents in a car accident." You cheerfully say, pressing play on the movie and taking a swig of coke. "After this, we're so watching Halloween."

The movie was something different to the two, when they think horror, both Peter and Miles would typically think 'man with knife stabs people', so it was a refreshing change.

Both men went through a flurry of emotions, the movie was sad, then funny, than horrifying, then funny, then scary, and then funny, it was a constant switch.

The fact that the girl lost her parents and she's clinging to the first thing that shows her respect, the lady stepped up at the end and proved she's a capable mother figure, it broke their hearts, but the jokes made them forget that temporarily.

They laughed, they went quiet in shock, and most of all? Peter cried, he couldn't help it, he isn't ashamed about it either, the girl losing her parents at such a young age reminds him of himself. Miles feels a similar way, he cried like a baby, he sobbed so much at that scene where the girl and the robot have that test and she breaks down.

Now it's time for the next movie.

"Halloween! You can't go wrong with the classics." You click on the movie. "Well, that's a lie, actually, plenty of classics suck." You mutter under your breath, pressing pause and turning to the two Spider-Men.

"Okay, first, bathroom breaks and refill time, you two ate all the popcorn so I'm making double." You get up from the couch and walk to the kitchen, both Peter and Miles go to the bathroom in that time, refilling their drinks with the bottle of coke on the floor, you return a few moments later with the multiple bowls of popcorn.

You all sit down, grab your bowls and drinks, and press play.

Overall, both men did enjoy the experience, they liked the costume of Micheal Myers, the mask and coveralls are iconic, they also both enjoyed the acting, if a bit subpar at times.

The plot was something they found to be interesting, the characters as well, they thought the therapist was a strange and weird character, who seemed a bit more unstable than Micheal.

Laurie Strode is a really inspiring character to the two, a survivor, someone who managed to take down one of the biggest threats her towns ever faced.

Just as the movie ends, you turn to the two men to see if they have any movie recommendations, but to your surprise, they've both fallen asleep.

Peter's mouth hangs open, his body pressed flat against the couch, his arms crossed and occasional light snores escapes his mouth. Miles is leaning his head on his arms, his body bent in an awkward position so he's sitting and leaning on the armrest.

For a few moments, you debate on whether or not you should wake them up, but decide against it. They need the rest. You gently move them into slightly more comfortable positions, placing blankets over the two, you stand up and reach for your phone.

You text MJ and Rio Morales, letting them know that the two would be staying at yours for the night.

THEY HAVE THE SAME VA???

YURI'S VOICE ACTING GOD DAMN

(also I write for them wink wink nudge nudge)

Hiii, im liz/vivi, and this is my page !! 📃⌨️

i write fanfics, post about random stuff and am in way to many fandoms !!

my tags: #[liztalks] , #[lizwrites] , #[liz’s anons]

i do write smut for some of my fanfictions, but i dont put ‘minors dni’ in them because i cant control your internet usage or media consumption.

who i write for:

sturniolo triplets

evan peters/his characters ( besides dahmer)

spiderman

scream

avatar

obx (mostly rafe or pope)

the maze runner (thomas,minho,newt,gally,frypan

—————

what i write:

smut

fluff

comfort

angst

period

—————

what i wont write:

r*pe/r*pe kinks

incest

weird kinks (any bodily fluids,etc.)

pregnancy (it makes me uncomfortable)

and more, just ask

—————

mutuals:

@59candelas

dm me if u wanna be added !! 🫶🏻

The Hidden Hero | Peter Parker Series

Summary: In an alternative universe, Peter Parker has the biggest crush on the reader. Even though the reader doesn’t know his secret, the reader is obsessed with the webslinger. So Spiderman decides to show up at Liz’s Party to impress everyone, specifically the reader.

Warning: some spoilers

Pairing: Peter Parker (Spiderman) x reader

Type: The Hidden Hero Series

MASTERLIST

A/N: THIS IS A HEAVILY EDITED VERSION OF MY VERY FIRST FANFICTION. IT PROBABLY REALLY SUCKS SO I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THAT. BUT IT WAS MY FIRST ONE SO I WANTED TO POST IT.

The bright yellow buses were pulling up to the curb of the school grounds. The large crowd of high school students hustling and bustling down the corridors. The monotone buzz of several-hundred voices hummed like an orchestra throughout the hallways. 

The small group of gossiping girls were hanging around the lockers. They giggled amongst themselves. They always wore those mini skirts and tight shirts. The cliquey jocks were currently talking about the football game last night. They were wearing the exact same athletic jacket that they wore every single day. The parade of band geeks had just walked past them with their huge instrument cases. There were the aerospace tech kids who never did anything but make different robot models to battle between periods. 

The familiar squeaking sound of sneakers were catching against the newly waxed floors. The metal locker doors were slammed shut once the students had gathered their textbooks for that period. The bell was ringing loudly on the sidelines, signaling the start of classes for the day.

At the given moment, Peter Parker was maneuvering his way through the crowd of students with his best friend Ned Leeds. He was currently carrying his textbooks because he had lost his backpack yesterday. The two of them were making their way to their first class of the day.

Last night, Ned had caught Peter sneaking into his bedroom dressed as the Spiderman. He had seen him crawling on the ceiling! It was quite a shock to find out that his best friend was the webslinger that he had saw on youtube. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep his secret. And he had a million questions for him.

Throughout the whole day, Ned was asking questions about Peter’s alter-ego. He was able to come up with a handful of different questions in each class. Those questions mostly consisted of the range of the webslinger’s abilities, such as whether or not he could summon an army of spiders or how far he could shoot his webs. He was always given short or curt answers.

Near the end of the day, Peter and Ned were forced to go to gym class. They watched a short video that had Captain America talking about the fitness challenge. As if on cue, Ned asked his friend if he knew the infamous avenger. He said that he did and that he stole his shield.

Now the students were told to get into pairs of two. They would be doing sit-ups. They would alternate every few minutes between partners. At the moment, Ned was holding down Peter’s feet so he crank out those sit-ups. He actually found that they weren’t so hard to do anymore, now that he had this weird radioactive spider venom in his blood. 

“Can I be your guy in the chair?” Ned wondered spontaneously. 

“What?” Peter whispered. He had spoken in this low tone of voice so that nobody would be able to hear them. He didn’t quite understand his question.

“You know there is a guy with a headset telling the other guy where to go. Like if you were stuck in a burning building, I could tell you where to go because there would be screens around me. You know? I could swivel around them. And I could be your guy in the chair,” Ned explained.

“I don’t need a guy in the chair,” Peter insisted. He shook his head at the idea. He heard the gym teacher praising him on the sidelines, causing him to pause momentarily. He was quick to resume his sit-ups. 

In the background, Y/N had forced herself to walk into the gymnasium. She had immediately hurried towards the gym teacher to explain why she was late to class. She had been tutoring another student during the hour. She quickly handed him a slip of paper. He took one glance at him, nodding his head in confirmation. He told her that she could just sit on the bleachers for the rest of the class because it was almost over anyways.

Out of instinct, Peter had shifted into a sitting position and stopped doing his sit-ups. He could feel the little hairs on his arm raise. His spider senses were telling him that someone had just walked into the gym, but it wasn’t just anyone. It was his crush.

“She’s here, isn’t she?” Peter said. He didn’t seem to take his eyes away from his best friend in front of him. He waited for a response. His friend turned his head to look across the small stretch of the room, settling his gaze on the familiar looking student. He nodded his head.

“Yeah. How’d you know?” Ned questioned. He had furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He was slightly taken back by his comment.

“Spider senses,” Peter waved off. He had just briefly turned his head to look at her through the corner of his eye. He could barely see her talking with the gym teacher. He was quick to start doing his sit-ups again. “Can she see me? Do you know if she’s looking at me?” Peter whispered in question.

“Oh yeah,” Ned said with a firm nod of the head. He could see her heading towards the bleachers right behind them. He caught her turn her head slightly towards them. “She saw you,” Ned confirmed.

On the bleachers, Y/N had found herself settling down beside her small group of friends. They were currently playing the game called ‘fuck, marry, kill.’ They would list off three random names of celebrities or artists. Then they would have to decide who they would fuck, marry, and kill. They listed three of the avengers.

“You see for me it would be…fuck Thor...marry Iron Man...and kill Hulk,” Betty Brant concluded. Some of her friends had totally agreed with her lineup, but there were a few friends who would have made a completely different choice.

“What about the Spiderman?” Y/N wondered. She had lowered herself down onto the bleachers, looking at each of her friends with curious eyes. She could see her friend Liz Allen shrug her shoulders at the thought.

“It’s just Spiderman,” Liz claimed. She made a face of disgust. She must not have thought that he was that impressive or attractive.

“Did you guys see that big security cam on youtube? He fought off four guys!” Y/N exclaimed. She was now leaning forward in her place. She was quite eager to defend her opinion. She was practically praising him.

In the background, Peter and Ned had turned their heads to look towards the small group sitting on the bleachers. Neither one of them could believe the words they were hearing coming out of her mouth. They looked at each other in slight shock.

“Oh my gosh. She’s crushing on Spiderman,” Betty joked. Her face had twisted into this playful smirk. She leaned over to nudge her friend in the side.

“No way!” Liz laughed.

“Kinda,” Y/N shrugged. She had dropped her gaze to stare down at her hands in her lap. She tried to hide the bright blush creeping up onto her face. She smiled to herself.

“Ugh. Gross,” Betty scoffed. “He’s probably like thirty,” Betty claimed.

“You don’t even know what he looks like. What if he is like seriously burned?” Liz suggested. She had waved her hands in a dramatic manner. She was just trying to make a point.

“I wouldn’t care. I would still love him for the person he is on the inside,” Y/N said with a small smile on her face. “He’s a good man! And its obvious he really cares about this city. That is something I really admire about him,” Y/N confessed.

“Peter knows Spiderman!” Ned blurted out. He didn’t really know what came over him, but he couldn’t stop those words from coming out of his mouth. He could see that everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing upon hearing his comment.

In response, Peter’s mouth dropped open in absolute shock. He turned his head to look at his best friend with wide eyes. He was quick to scramble to his feet, shaking his head in denial.

“Uh, no. I don’t,” Peter said. He had taken a few steps forward in his place, standing in front of the small group of friends on the bleachers. He was trying to find the right words to explain himself. “No. I-I mean,” Peter stuttered. 

“They’re friends,” Ned added with a smile on his face. 

“Yeah. Like Coach Wilson and Captain America are friends,” Flash teased. He had stopped climbing the rope in the background, landing on the floor with a thump. He started to walk towards his rival because he was very interested in this conversation.

“I-I’ve met him a couple times but its uh…through the Stark internship,” Peter clarified. He stumbled over his choice of words. He had lifted his hand to scratch the back of his head in a nervous manner. He nodded his head in confirmation. “Mhmm. Yeah. But I am not really suppose to talk about it,” Peter claimed.

“Well, that’s awesome,” Flash replied. His voice was laced with sarcasm. He had stopped in his place. He had turned his body towards the small group of friends sitting on the bleachers, gesturing to them with the small wave of the hand. “Hey, you know what? Maybe you should invite him to Liz’s party,” Flash said.

“Yeah, I am having people over tonight. You are more than welcome to come,” Liz said. She could feel the strong sense of embarrassment creeping through her body because she hadn't invited them to the party beforehand. She just felt like they were kinda losers so she didn’t want to invite them. But at least she was kind enough to invite them now.

“You’re having a party?” Ned wondered. He knew that this was the first time that he was hearing about this party. He could only wonder why he hadn’t already been invited to the party.

“W-Will you be there, Y/N?” Peter stuttered. She had lifted her head to look directly into his soft brown eyes. She had smiled shyly at him. She nodded her head in confirmation. He could feel his heart fluttering in the confines of his chest.

“Yeah! It’s gonna be dope. You should totally invite your personal friend Spiderman,” Flash said in a persistent tone of voice. He stood directly in front of his rival, staring him down. He was puffing out his chest to be more intimidating (and maybe a little taller than him).

“Flash,” Y/N warned. “Leave him alone.”

“Ah come on. He’ll be there,” Flash promised. He turned his head to look at her with this playful expression on his face. He winked at her. He smirked to himself in triumph. But he didn’t seem to catch the moment where she rolled her eyes at him.

The whole conversation would come to an abrupt end when the bell rang to dismiss the last class of the day. The students were quick to stand to their feet and make their way towards the door. Meanwhile, Peter had watched his crush stand to her feet. The two of them briefly met each other’s gaze for a split second. She sent him a small smile. She didn’t even know that his eyes were following her figure out of the gym.

“What are you doing?!?” Peter turned his attention back towards his best friend standing behind him. He had thrown his hands up in exaggeration. He just couldn't believe that his friend would do that to him.

“Helping you out. Did you not hear her? She has a crush on you!” Ned exclaimed. He could feel the smile growing at the corners of his lips. He watched his best friend open his mouth to say something against him, but nothing could come out. “You are an avenger! If any one of us has a chance with her, it’s you.” Ned confessed.

Previously, Peter had actually known her since grade school. The two of them had become pretty close friends. He had developed his first crush on her, but he was never able to gather enough courage to tell her. Now here she was, years later with a crush on his alter ego. It almost didn’t feel real to him.

That night, Aunt May had driven Peter and Ned to the house for the party. She parked the car in front of the house. For a brief second, Peter had said that this would be a mistake and that he wanted to just go home. His aunt said that she totally understood how he was feeling. She was eventually able to convince him to go to the party after all. 

The two teenage boys turned to look at the grand house in front of them. They had started walking up the sidewalk, heading towards the house. The two of them had passed by plenty of other students that went to their same high school. And they could hear the music blasting from inside the house.

“You have the suit, right?” Ned questioned. Very discreetly, Peter lifted up his flannel sleeve to show him the web shooters and red costume underneath his clothing. “This is going to change our lives!” Ned exclaimed.

The music was so loud that it would be hard to hear the person talking right beside them. The bass thumped in time with the boys’ heart beat as though they were one with the song. Over the roar of music, a distant hazy chatter could be heard throughout the entire house. The high school students could be found holding red solo cups with harmless non-alcoholic drinks.

Of course, Flash would be in charge of the music for the night. He had a pair of heavy headphones around his neck. He rubbed his hands against the two records at the station to create that iconic record scratch sound. He was just trying to look cool. 

“Okay. We are gonna have Spiderman swing in, say you guys are tight. And then I get a fist bump or one of those half bro hugs,” Ned said in a low tone of voice. He really had this whole thing planned out.

A familiar figure had found herself walking around the corner of the hallway. She had turned her head to look at the two teenage boys standing in the short distance. She was quick to make her way towards them, feeling a smile stretching across her face.

“Oh! Hey guys,” Y/N said. She waved at them. She had walked towards them until she was standing right in front of them. She quickly looked between the two of them with the softest and kindest look on her face.

“Hey Y/N,” Ned said with a silly grin on his face. He had forced himself to straighten his back in posture, standing at attention. He turned his head to look at his best friend through the corner of his eye. He nudged him in the side. 

“Hey Y/N,” Peter’s voice squeaked.

“I’m glad you guys came,” Y/N confessed. She was holding onto her own red solo cup in her hands. She lifted her other hand to gesture to the table behind her. “There is pizza and drinks so feel free to help yourself,” Y/N claimed.

“Wow! What a great party,” Peter had choked on his own words. He had turned his head to look at her with this sweet boyish grin on his face. He could feel his heart hammering on the inside of his chest. 

“Thanks. I barely did anything. It was all Liz,” Y/N insisted with the wave of the hand. She could hear someone calling her name in the background. She turned her head towards the sound of the voice, spotting one of her friends in the crowd. “Oh! I should go,” Y/N said. 

“Yeah,” Peter nodded his head. She found herself hurrying towards her small group of friends in the short distance. She had looked over the small stretch of her shoulder, waving goodbye to them. 

“Dude! What are you doing?” Ned wondered. “She’s here, spider it up!”

“No. No. No. I can’t. I cannot do this. Spiderman is not a party trick,” Peter said. He shook his head in denial. He quickly straightened his back in posture. He ran his hands over the invisible wrinkles in his shirt. He shrugged his shoulders to himself. “Look, I am just gonna…be myself,” Peter whispered.

“Peter,” Ned groaned. He had closed his eyes for a brief second. He shook his head at his friend’s comment. “No one wants that,” Ned said harshly.

“Dude,” Peter said hurtfully. He was quick to turn his body to walk away from his friend. He heard his name being called over the speakers in the room. He turned his head to look across the small stretch of the room, looking directly at his rival holding the microphone. 

“Penis Parker! What’s up? Where is your pal, Spiderman? Let me guess, in Canada with your imaginary girlfriend?” Flash teased him. He was only encouraged by the sound of laughter coming from the high school students in the room. “That’s not Spiderman. That’s just Ned in a red shirt,” Flash joked.

Somehow, through peer pressure, Peter found himself standing on the roof of the house. He had disregarded his regular clothing onto the top of the roof. He was now wearing his red and blue suit of his alter-ego. He knelt down on the rooftop and gazed down at the small house.

“Hey! What’s up? I am Spiderman,” Peter whispered to himself. He lifted his hands to the neckline of his white shirt. He pulled the shirt over his head. “Just thought I would swing by...say hello to my buddy Peter. Oh hey! What’s up, Ned? Where is Peter anyways?” Peter said to himself.

Now Peter could see his best friend standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He felt bad that he had left him alone for a few minutes. However, there was still this part of Peter that did not want to make his presence known at the party. He just didn’t think that it was right. 

“I can’t do this.” Peter whispered. He shook his head at the crazy idea. He could see his crush walk across the small stretch of the room, stopping to stand beside his best friend. She had asked him a question, only receiving a small shrug of the shoulders in response. She sighed to herself in defeat. 

In that moment, Ned had yanked out his phone to dial his best friend’s number. He had turned his body so that his backside was facing the large crowd of students in the room. His best friend had answered his phone without hesitation.

“Peter! Where are you? She is asking for you,” Ned said desperately. He turned his head to look over the small stretch of his shoulder, spotting her familiar figure in the distance. He waited for some kind of response.

“I will be there in a second,” Peter concluded. He had this fluttery feeling in the confines of his chest, thumping against his chest in a violent manner. He didn’t know if he was nervous or excited. 

With great hesitation, Peter had pulled his mask over his head. He stood to his feet. He had jumped down to the ground, landing on his feet with a small thump. He had started walking towards the house, making his way through the heavy crowd of people. 

“Oh sorry,” Spiderman apologized. Every single person had turned their heads to look at the infamous superhero standing amongst them. The high schoolers’ mouths had dropped open in absolute disbelief. The webslinger was currently maneuvering his way through the crowd of students until he was finally inside the house. “Sorry, I just gotta…find my friend Peter,” Spiderman claimed.

“Spiderman?” He forced himself to turn around upon hearing the sound of that sweet voice. His robotic eyes had dilated subconsciously. His head moved up and down her body. His actions did not go unnoticed by her. “W-What are you doing here?” Y/N wondered. 

“Oh, you know. Peter called me and asked if I could show,” Spiderman claimed. He had lifted his hand to wave in dismissal (like it wasn’t a big deal).  

“No way,” Flash said. His voice was laced in the tone of disbelief. He pushed his way past the crowd. He had shifted to stand in the middle of the room, stopping in his place. He soon came face to face with the webslinger himself. “You’re really him? Are you really friends with Peter Parker?” 

In response, Spiderman had turned his head to look over his rival’s shoulder. His large robotic eyes had settled on that familiar figure standing behind his face. He found himself pushing right past him to approach her. He stood directly in front of her. “Hi,” he said awkwardly.

“Hi,” she smiled at him.

“What’s your name? Wait. No. Let me guess,” Spiderman teased. He had lifted his gloved hand towards the front of his face, tapping his chin in thought. He pointed his finger at her. He was able to ‘guess’ her name pretty easily.

“Y-Yeah!” Y/N exclaimed. She was more than surprised to hear that the webslinger actually knew her name. She could only feel her smile growing bigger and bigger with each passing second. “How did you know?” Y/N wondered.

“Peter talks a lot about you,” Spiderman explained. He was hoping that his other persona could score some points with her. He could only wonder if she would give his other self a chance.

“H-He does?” She gasped.

“Spiderman!” Ned shouted. He had found himself taking a few steps forward in his place, shifting through the heavy crowd of students. He just knew that every single person was looking at him. He smiled at his best friend. “Hi! It’s Ned. Remember me?” Ned said with a bright smile on his face.

“Yeah! I do. How are you doing?” Spiderman said enthusiastically. He did give him the fist bump that he so desperately asked for. Of course, Ned was trying to play it cool. But he could hardly contain himself knowing that he would be popular for the rest of his life.

"I am doing fine,” Ned said cooly. He had this smug look on his face. He crossed his arms over his chest. He was hoping to maintain that cool looking stance. “But I’ll let you get back to Y/N. She’s a big fan of you,” Ned observed.

“Really?” Spiderman teased her. He had turned his head to look back towards the smaller figure standing behind him. His robotic eyes had made it look like he was quirking an eyebrow at her in amusement. He could easily spot the bright blush flooding her cheeks. 

“Well, kinda,” she replied shyly. She didn’t mean to fiddle with her fingers nervously. She had dropped her gaze to stare down at the ground, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks. She shuffled on the heels of her feet in her stance. 

“Well, I should get going.” Spiderman didn’t want to prolong his stay at the party for his own sake. He placed his hands on his hips. He held that heroic stance for dramatic effect. “New York isn’t going to save itself,” Spiderman came up with a lame excuse. 

“Yeah,” she said quietly. She couldn’t help but dreamily admire him. She could only imagine that he was this incredibly handsome looking young man underneath the mask. She smiled at him.

“It was nice to finally meet you. Could you also tell Peter that Mr Stark needs him at the internship at four thirty tomorrow?” Spiderman had tried to make another excuse for her to talk to his other self tomorrow. “Can you do that for me?” Spiderman wondered.

She had nodded her head in confirmation. He did not hesitate to wink at her with those big robotic eyes, which only caused her heart to flutter in her chest. He used his web shooters to swing away from the party. He made his way back up to the rooftop to change back into his regular clothes. 

“I can’t believe he actually showed,” Flash said to her. He had turned his head to look in the general direction they had last seen the famous webslinger swing off to. He crossed his arms over his chest. He shook his head and scoffed to himself. 

“What’s the matter, Flash? Jealous of Peter or Spiderman?”

sad, beautiful, tragic

distance, timing, breakdown, fighting

silence, the train runs off its tracks

kiss me, try to fix it

could you just try to listen?

hang up, give up

and for the life of us, we can get back

peter parker x reader!!

(treacherous part 2)

PLOT - in which peter parker tries to talk to his rival after multiple drunk make out sessions the previous night.

WARNINGS - sexual references, no smut, make out scenes, allusions to sexual activity, weed, smoking, kiss and makeup attitude

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“just talk to her, don’t be an arse” gwen smiled, swaying with the movement of the subway. the sun peeked through the windows as the train made its way out of a tunnel and closer to their destination.

“what exactly are you supposed to say to someone you made out with like, 3 times while drunk?? especially if you used to hate their guts”

“i don’t know, ‘sorry i hated you before, i just internalised my fetish for goth stoners as hatred- let’s make out some more’ or something-“ gwen joked, before being cut off by a frustrated peter.

“are you kidding me? she’s gonna spot us across the carriage any second now and i won’t have any idea what to say to her!”

y/n sat cross legged in her seat, reading some depressing book from the early 1900’s about some depressing characters, written by a depressed closeted gay man. she tucked a chunk of hair behind her ears before re-adjusting her headphones. “i bet she’s listening to fucking my chemical romance or korn or some shit,” peter chuckled as his eyebrows furrowed, gripping onto the hanging bars of the train carriage.

“nope, look on spotify,” gwen corrected. peter turned away from y/n to look over at gwen, his eyes drifting to the screen of her phone.

“it says she’s listening to… taylor swift?” she said, a confused expression painted on her face. peter jolted his head back in shock, overcome with anxiety. “aunt may loves taylor swift…” he murmured, the rustle of the train carriage pulling him away from gwen.

“let me see what song,” peter insisted as he gestured to see gwen’s phone. she passed it over to him, watching his face move as he read the title.

“sad, beautiful, tragic… i’m pretty sure that’s from red, right?” peter questioned. gwen shrugged her shoulders in response. “i don’t know. i’m more of a midnights and evermore type of girl” she replied. peter scrolled down to the lyrics of the song, his eyes widening and his lips pursing.

“gwen, i’m totally fucked”

y/n had slept on what had happened the previous night. spider-man saved her from getting robbed and gave her some very unhelpful advice. what the fuck would spider-man know anyways? he doesn’t get any bitches. y/n may have also ghosted peter, but who cares? y/n put her heart out on the table, for some reason expecting more from the person who constantly teased her everyday for 2 years. sure, she should’ve saw it coming, but she didn’t. which is why she was going to be as dramatic as possible.

this meant a new playlist. no more limp biskit; nobody cries to ‘break stuff’!! it was time to listen to the entire red album on repeat, along with ‘ultraviolence’ and elliott smith. y/n was fully ready to be a sad little bitch.

on monday morning, she scored a seat on the subways and started listening to her new playlist, putting on one particular taylor swift song on repeat while she read her sad little bitch book. she looked up for a split second to see peter and gwen talking.

‘oh, so he can make time to talk to gwen, but not the girl he snogged three times?’ y/n thought.

y/n turned up her volume and put away her book as she listened to the lyrics of the song. the train pulled up to the station within walking distance to her school and so she stood up. catching the eye of peter as she walked to the doors, she quickly averted her gaze and took a few steps back.

peter flinched at the sudden eye contact, turning his full body towards gwen. “gwen. do something” he anxiously muttered. gwen nodded, smiling innocently, before beginning to casually walk over to y/n.

“y/n! how’d that hangover treat you?” gwen asked, pulling in y/n for a comfortable hug. y/n smiled hesitantly and embraced the act of affection. “so, so badly,” she replied, thinking back to the incident that followed the day after the party.

“the hangover is the least of my troubles” she stated and she glanced over at peter, who was watching both of them. “oh, do you mean…” gwen asked as she gestured over to the lanky boy trailing behind them, walking onto the platform as the train doors opened.

“what? no! i was mugged,” y/n announced, arching her eyebrows. peter didn’t look surprised. y/n took note of this, feeling somewhat offended that he didn’t care.

“y/n! are you okay?? how did that happen?” gwen asked, completely and utterly shocked. peter walked over. “wait, yeah… are you okay y/n?” he asked, breaking out of his anxious state for one moment.

y/n sighed softly, rolling her eyes. “i’m fine, spider-man saved me and then gave me some very unhelpful advice.” she said as she pursed her lips, her eyes darting between gwen and peter. “he’s a total ride though- i hope he’s not like… 46 or something,” she continued. gwen chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand as her cheeks turned pink. “did you get to feel his abs?” she asked as the trio walked across queens to get to school.

“yeah, they were rock hard. i didn’t expect him to be so fit!” y/n exclaimed. peter tried to stifle his blush as they got closer to the school, blocking out their conversation.

as they entered the gates, gwen quickly walked towards her class, leaving the two alone.

“um, we have math-“

“i know, peter” y/n interrupted. her voice was cold and unemotional- a stark difference form her previous cheerful demeanour. this was the guy that she was squabbling with for years now… the guy that she also maybe had a few steamy dreams about as well. her preconceived notions about peter were contradicting with her fantasies and the realities of what happened over the weekend- causing her to spiral into a semi-depressed state of rage.

peter, on the other hand, knew exactly what he thought of y/n. he always thought that she was attractive, but a total arse. now, he found her being an arse super endearing. but that could have something to do with the fact that they made out 3 times and he almost touched her boobs.

the two walked in awkward silence to their math class, a strong tension in the air. they took their seats and sat painfully silently for an hour.

y/n tapped her pen on her notebook, not listening to a word the teacher was saying. ‘fuck it,’ she thought, ripping out a piece of paper.

she scribbled a few words down before passing it over to peter.

‘make up for ghosting me by skipping second period and hiding in the unisex bathrooms’

‘sure :)’

the unisex bathrooms were dimly lit, far away from the rest of campus. surrounded by unused classrooms. the unisex bathrooms were a prime hookup spot… but for y/n, it was her own personal hotbox.

she lit the end of her joint and put her lighter in her jacket pocket as she leaned against the bathroom wall. y/n took a drag as she stared at the wall. she took another short hit, before passing it to peter. he did the same, his legs crossed.

“so why didn’t you text me, dick face?” she started, crossing her arms. smoke escaped her lips as the talked, mesmerising peter.

“dick face?” peter repeated, stifling a grin as he shook his head.

“um… i guess i didn’t know what to say,” he replied, passing back the joint. y/n smiled awkwardly as she rolled her eyes. “classic parker…”

“well, do you know what to say now?” y/n asked, sliding down to the floor, head level with peter. he shrugged his shoulders. “kinda,” he muttered.

“are you gonna say it, mcslutty?”

“i don’t appreciate the name-calling, y/n.” he said irritably, his voice somewhat breathy.

“you ghosted me too, remember?” peter added, raising his eyebrows.

“yeah, but i was mugged!” she said defensively, opening her mouth in shock. “obviously i was too busy!”

peter laughed, covering his face. “fair point.”peter pursed his lips, looking down before taking another hit of the joint.

peter took a deep breath in, tapping the floor anxiously. “i really like you, y/n” peter averted his eyes. “i used the think i didn’t, but i was just lying to myself so i wouldn’t have to confront the fact that there’s actually nice stuff about you,” he’s smirked.

y/n chuckled. “what nice stuff?”

“your face, obviously. your musical skills, your rolling skills. you’re also really funny, and you’re so generous. you’re not nice to everyone, but you still help everyone- if that makes sense? but yeah… shit like that i guess,”

y/n smiled sincerely, slightly tilting her head to the side. “that’s pretty sweet, shithead”

it took them a whole 40 seconds before they started jamming their lips together, peter’s hands gripping y/n’s waist as she sat on top of his lap. her hands cupped his face gently, occasionally pulling a hand away and running it through his hair.

she pulled away for air, before continuing her attack on his lips, her hands trailing down his torso as she fiddled with his shirt. peter pulled away, looking up at her before her eyes drifting to her hands.

“what are you doing there?” he asked teasingly, his voice limited to a hoarse whisper.

she began to frantically kiss his neck, her hands still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. “felt something hard. wondering if you’re ripped or just really horny.” she muttered breathily, one hand resting under his shirt as she caressed his torso, while the other hand gripped a bundle of his hair.

he looked as her curiously as she felt up his chest, watching her pull away with a look of shock and confusion. “peter? what the fuck?” she exclaimed, her hair messy and cheeks red.

“what? what’s wrong?” peter asked, panicked as his eyes drifted down to his pants, before meeting her eyes again. his face turned red, putting up his hands in surrender.

“hey, you were the one grinding against my-“

“no, you’re fully ripped!” she whispered, her eyes wide as her hand retracted from under his shirt. “jesus christ…” she muttered, lifting his shirt to take a peek.

peter burst out into a fit of dry laughter, tilting his head back and lightly hitting the wall of the bathroom stall.

“oh, yeah. that.” he said casually. y/n grumbled, standing up.

“right. i was not expecting that.” she huffed, her face completely red.

“anyways, i’m not fucking you in a hot-boxed bathroom stall at school. if you decide to stop being a little bitch and message me, maybe i’ll forgive you for ghosting me.” y/n proposed, leaning against the wall as she looked down at peter.

peter nodded, standing up. he opened the door, turning to face her. “yeah, i definitely won’t be ghosting you anytime soon. sorry about that, by the way.” he murmured.

“it’s fine. just as long as you send me a picture of your abs after school.” she demanded, her face completely serious as she looked peter up and down. peter nodded, his eyes wide.

she bit her lip, meeting his eyes once again. “seriously, they’re almost as good at spider-man’s.” she added, exiting the bathroom- leaving peter alone to deal with his thoughts.

Mix Up - Peter Parker

Marvel

Request: Yes from Wattpad!

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: You and Peter accidentally swap bags. You are in love with Peter and he doesn’t know. Just a short little fluff.

Warnings: Swearing.

-

Me and a few other students stand by the baggage claim, the conveyer belt brings the bags around. I see a red and blue bag that looked like mine, assuming it is mine I grab it, seeing as I was in a hurry, I take it running out to the bus to meet my classmates. I plop down in an empty seat, waving across to the set of seats where Ned and Betty sit. I sighed closing my eyes slightly. I feel someone tap my shoulder. I look up and see Peter Parker, my crush, that's what Ned calls it at least. I don't know if I'd call it that maybe just a strange liking towards him, a feeling that makes butterflies erupt in my stomach, but alas he likes MJ.

"Can I sit here?" He asks grinning at you.

"Sure, but MJ is sitting back there if you want to sit with her, don't you have a plan?" I point behind me. I think of the Plan, the one Peter had been working on for months, the plan to confess to MJ, gross, no offense to MJ.

"She's sitting with Brad, and plus I want to sit with my best friends," he says gesturing to me and Ned. Ouch, I don't know if that's a good or bad thing, best friend, but it makes sense, Peter and I had known each other since the third grade, we were instant friends. You nod scooting to make room for the boy.

"So, how's your plan going?" I ask.

"Horribly, MJ and Brad have been together nearly the entire trip, it sucks," he moans. I nod.

"That does suck," I speak not knowing what else to say. I close my eyes again nodding off. By the time I awoke, we were already outside of Venice. I grab my bag and get off the bus.

"Alright students, follow me and we'll go to the hotel," Mr. Harrington announces. I trail behind the group watching Peter try and catch up to MJ, sigh. We arrive at the hotel and might I say, it's a hole in the ground.

"What is this dump?" Flash shouts aggressively. I roll my eyes.

"This is the hotel, and it's not a dump, it's just rustic!" Mr. Harrington explains.

Later on, I sit in my room waiting until noon when we're allowed to explore Venice. Due to there being an odd number of students I get my own room! I unzip my suitcase looking down my eyes widen. Spiderman's fucking suit is in my bag! A note sat on top of it, it reads, You almost forgot this! With a heart after. Signed May. As In Aunt May?! Is this even my bag?! I look at the tag on it, in neat handwriting it says, Peter Parker. Oh my god! Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohm- A knock is heard at the door interrupting my thoughts. I get up quickly answering.

"Hey, Y/N me and Ned are heading out if you want to come," Peter states. I look at my watch the numbers 12:01 flash on the circular screen. I nod following Peter and Ned out of the hotel. I'm just trying to not freak out, my best friend Peter Parker, thee Peter Parker is Spiderman! You've got to be shitting me! How could he not tell me!? I try to erase the thoughts from my brain looking at the sights surrounding me, The sun shines brightly reflecting off of the water casting the entire canal in soft light. Ned had abandoned us to go on a gondola with Betty, leaving me and Peter alone. I take the digital camera out of my backpack I'd brought with me. I snap a few pictures of the antique-looking scenery around me, Venice is truly beautiful. Peter sighs from beside me.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asks. I hmm in response.

"Should I give up on MJ?" I nearly choke on my spit. I look at him bewildered.

"It's just that she and Brad really seem to have a connection, so-"

"YES!" I exclaim. My face slowly turns red, damn way to make it obvious, just shouting it out like that.

"I meant, yes, her and Brad, MJ seems happy with him," am I a selfish person, am I a bad friend, trying to get my friend to stop thinking about another girl that he genuinely likes because of my petty feeling.

"Yeah, I guess so," Peter frowns. I put my camera in my bag

"It's okay, Peter. You'll find someone who you love, and that someone will love you back!" I hug him tightly trying to mask the pain in my voice.

"I think I know what you mean," Peter breathes out airly. He hugs me back tightly. I suddenly get a burst of confidence, standing on the Rialto Bridge, maybe it was the calming water below us or maybe it was the soft breeze, but I had one moment of clarity. I needed to tell him.

"I love you, Peter!" Peter broke into a grin and ruffled my hair.

"I love you too, Y/N, your the greatest best friend anyone could ask for," he smiles. I smile back, willing myself not to cry, he doesn't understand. I look at my watch.

"I have something to do! By Peter!" My voice cracks, but I mask it with a cough. Smooth Y/N. I look down at the ground walking away, my eyes misty.

Peter POV

"Dude! That was harsh!" Flash yells from across the bridge. I look at him puzzled.

"She obviously likes you, Penis Parker," Flash sighs exasperatedly.

"Well of course she does, we're best friends dumbass," I shake my head at him.

"No, you're the dumbass, she like likes you," Flash flips me off. I come to a realization, it made sense, the outburst when I said I should give up on MJ and the maybe not so friendly love confession. Shit, I am the dumbass.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to comfort a beautiful girl in need of a good guy," Flash announces. I stand there frozen. I watch Flash run after where Y/N had walked off to. I see him stop her and hug her, she pushes him away. I am filled with a sense of relief, why? I may have a teeny weeny bit of a crush on Y/N I gave up on that though, not wanting to ruin a perfect friendship, I pursued MJ instead, but now that I knew she liked me back, I had to do something. I run after the girl and latch onto her arm like my life depends on it.

Y/N POV

I feel someone grip my arm.

"Go away Flash," I assume it's the annoying greasy-haired boy.

"Y/N," I hear Peter.

"Oh, Peter..." I say trying to have a cheery tone like normal. He flips me around.

"I love you too, Y/N," he states.

"I know, you already told me that, like three minutes ago," I say trying to eliminate the hope building in my chest.

"As more than a friend," he adds. He pulls me in by my shoulders, our foreheads touch. I look into his eyes grinning. He moves in closer our lips meeting.

"WOOOO! FINALLY!" Ned shouts from the gondola with Betty. I laugh pulling Peter in for a second kiss.

"Oh, and by the way," I whisper into his ear.

"I have your suitcase."

"Oh, no wonder I found a lacy blue bra in my bag," he states.

"No!" I blush. He nods laughing.

"Well, now I know you're Spiderman!" I whisper.

"I honestly already thought you knew," he laughs. I giggle kissing him again. Suddenly a rumble is heard. A gigantic water monster burst from the canal almost knocking over Betty and Ned's boat.

"Oh, fuc-" Peter starts.

"Go and save the day, Spider-Boy," I grin.

-

If you enjoyed this and want to see more go put yourself in my taglist!! Up in my bio.

Missed Me

Peter Parker/Spiderman x Reader

Warning: Criminal activity??? Idk fam

REQUESTS ARE OPEN. DROP ME ONE. SWING ON BY. OR REQUEST A PART TWO FOR THIS. DO SOMETHING. THX.

To say you were a criminal felt like an insult. You weren’t a criminal, you were someone who had a gift and chose to use it to your benefit. Perhaps that was a criminal but you just called it being resourceful.

You sat on the counter of the darkened store, your legs dangling over the edge as you swung them back and forth. You held up the necklace to the little moonlight that peeked in through the otherwise pitch black store and thought it over. You were unsure whether your sister would really like the rhinestone heart charm but hell, it was the thought that counted, right?

You pocketed the necklace and hopped off the counter, humming softly to yourself. You then began to make your way through the store, looking at the various items that lined the racks and shelves. You never stole more than two to four things, you weren’t that much of a thief. And you only stole the cheaper things anyway.

You practically bounced around the store, like a child who was told they could pick any candy they wanted. The surveillance camera was of little concern to you, why, it’s not like the cameras could see you anyway.

The store was pitch black and because of some little accident, you were too. You liked to call it shadow blending, but you didn’t really know what it was. Either way, you could manipulate the shadows around you and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to use that to your advantage.

Just as you spotted a particularly attractive vest, you heard a noise off behind you. “A silent alarm, of course,” you scowled to yourself as you slinked around the clothing rack to look around the store. If the police were going to respond, you had to be out of there quick. Your powers wouldn’t work if the store was all lit up.

Instead, you saw no police. You just saw some kid in a flashy red and blue suit. “Hellooo?” he called out, looking around the store curiously. You quirked an eyebrow, wondering if he really thought someone would respond. “Burglars...you there?” He asked again and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

Quickly your eyes widened as you scampered away from where you’d been standing, his attention now turned to where you previously were. You stood a few feet behind him now, mulling over whether or not you should mess with him. Making shadows move was just harmless fun for you.

You stepped closer to him, intending to concentrate on the shadows that surrounded you but it was like he could just sense you. He spun around on his heels and before you knew it, you found yourself back against the wall, some sort of netting (webbing rather) holding you in place as your illusion had worn itself off. “You know, it’s illegal to steal right?” He asked you, sounding fairly proud of himself. The hood over your head covered enough of your face that he shouldn’t be able to identify you, at least you hoped. This had never happened before.

Stupid silent alarms.

“You know it’s wrong to trap people to walls?” You shot back, struggling against the bindings. “Let’s make a deal here Spiderboy, you let me down and I won’t steal.”

“It’s...Spider-Man actually,” he corrected, somewhat sheepishly for a hero.

“Okay cool, let me down.”

“It’ll dissolve in a few hours, you’ll be fine. Just long enough for the cops to get here,” he told you matter-of-factly, crossing his arms over his chest. You could just imagine his face underneath that mask of his looking so proud about capturing you. With that, he began to head out. Well more or less, jump on top of a clothing rack, preparing to swing out of the open door. Clearly he was bit of a showboat.

“Yeah well, I have homework.”

“Should’ve thought about that before!” he called out, his voice fading into the night as you struggled against the binding before hanging your head. You let yourself calm as you concentrated hard on the darkness that surrounded you. You had only ever thought about your next step in theory, but you’d never actually done it.

If you could manipulate the darkness, could you solidify it? You felt your head pound as the concentration took its toll but you found yourself fall to the floor as your plan had worked and you managed to use the darkness like a knife, slicing you free.

You could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance and you sure weren’t going to stay around, as you rushed out the way you had came.

————————

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” you heard his voice tease as you spun on your heels to face the Spider, who perched on the check out counter. Robbing a closed convenience store should’ve been an easy in-and-out job.

“Slow day?” You quipped, putting your hands up in false surrender. You certainly weren’t going to give up just because ‘Spiderboy’ thought he could take you.

“Night, actually,”

You hummed in response before sprinting to the side, using the darkness like a shroud to disappear. Just like you had hoped, he wasn’t ready as he jumped off of the counter and frantically searched the store for you.

“Missed me!” You yelled, as you had sprung over the check-out counter. In the confusion, you had gotten behind it and took the chance to ambush him. You pressed your hands into his back, shoving him into the nearest convenience rack. You then took off towards the entrance, but found the thick webbing tight around your hand.

“Missed me,” he retorted, pulling you back and swiftly connecting the webbing to the counter. Before you could even try to muster a reply, he sprung from the shop, leaving you high and dry. Or webbed and waiting for the cops.

You used your free hand to try and pry yourself free but no use. “What is this stuff made out of?” You asked aloud to no one in particular before settling for your previous escape attempt.

You snatched some gummy worms off the checkout counter before exiting the store, and literally disappearing into the darkness of night.

————————

The bakery was dark, as were you as you dragged your fingertips across the glass case that housed all of the delicious treats. Of course, you could try and make these at your apartment but chances were you’d just die trying.

Hopping behind the counter, you headed toward the encased cakes and surveyed them all. You truly wished you could have all of them but you knew that the delicate white one with pink flowers was all you really needed. Grabbing the large cake plate and pulling it out, you set it atop the counter. It was tough but you managed to resist the urge to swipe some of the frosting, though your subconscious was quite persistent.

You ducked down behind the counter as you grabbed a box for the cake, setting it inside. “You ever get tired of this?” You glanced up from your cake to spot the familiar blue and red boy in the bakery doorway.

“Do you?” You retorted as you shut the cake box, the Spider heading over. “Maybe if you let me go this one time, I’ll stop. Never know.”

He ignored you offer, probably knowing full well that you weren’t going to be that easy. “Nice cake,” he said instead while you moved the cake aside and stared at him across the counter.

The eyes of his mask seemed to squint at you before you lunged over the counter. He flipped backward, landing on all fours as you darted past him into the street. You made a mad dash down the desolate street, knowing full well he was probably swinging from the flickering light posts after you.

You spun around just in time to cause the light bulb of the post he was on to fritz out, making a loud popping noise. You thought you heard him shriek for a second as he jumped down onto the ground.

But you weren’t going to stay around to find out as you rounded the corner. You intended to round the block, duck back into the bakery, and snatch the cake before returning to the safety of your apartment.

The Spider was back a ways now, giving you just enough of a head start. You cut into the nearest alley, squeezing through the familiar hole in the fence as you ran back to the bakery.

You scooped up your cake box into your arms as you dashed out, only to cause the all too expected pest to jump from the roof and land in front of you. “I think it’s time for your just desserts,” he quipped as you just scoffed.

“Was that a pun, Spiderboy?” you asked before the webbing flew from his wrist and wrapped around your cake box. He pulled it from your hands into his own, before assuming his tactic from before of using the light posts. “I stole that fair and square,” you spat as you dashed after him, concentrating hard.

Luckily your powers were on your side as you created a dark sphere, that pushed the cake box from his grasp. You crashed onto your stomach as you reached out, both literally and with your powers for the cake box.

The cake box was cushioned by its fall into the shadows, you quickly dashing over to take it and run. All you had to do was get back home and then you were safe.

So, you ran and ran. The night covered you for as much as it could before you eagerly climbed the fire escape into your room. You didn’t know if the Spider was still following you but you didn’t have the energy to care. Aside from setting the cake onto your dresser, the last thing you remember was falling into a deep sleep on your bedroom floor.

————————

“Cordelia,” you sang as you lit the candles on the cake, your sister begrudgingly letting you. She swore she hated any acknowledgment of her birthday but you were living with her and she loved you and kept you alive so you were going to acknowledge it very much so. “I won’t sing because I know you’ll probably stab me, but blow out the candles!”

Cordelia rolled her eyes but leant forward, knocking the flames out with one good blow. You clapped happily as you let Cordelia slice the cake. She wasn’t one to object to cake or presents, she just didn’t enjoy being the center of attention. Though it was hard not to make someone the center of attention when there were only two of you.

You slid a small gift wrapped box across the counter with a smug grin as Cordelia rose an eyebrow. “If this isn’t a million dollars in cash, I’ll be very disappointed,” she confessed as you waved her off.

You reached a hand into the bag of gummy worms that you had also gifted Cordelia just when you heard the bell ring. You decided to ignore it just momentarily in order to witness Cordelia open her gift.

“Now this is actually beautiful,” Cordelia exhaled, taking out the necklace with a rhinestone heart. “Looks like you do have good taste after all, Y/N,”

You gave her a glare as you headed toward the door as the bell rung a second time. Pulling open the door, you were met with the face of your classmate, Peter Parker. You had completely forgotten that he was coming over to work on a project with you today. Why’d you even invite him over on your sister’s birthday?

You mentally scowled at yourself but gave Peter a smile. “Hey! We’re just finishing a little celebration-“

“Not a celebration!” Cordelia called out, making you roll your eyes.

“For my sister’s birthday. But you can come in and then we can get to work, yeah?” Peter nodded, adjusting the bookbag on his shoulder as you stepped aside to let him in.

You shut the door behind as your sister gave you a quizzical look, clearly wondering about the boy now in your apartment. “Oh yeah! Peter, this is Cordelia, sister. Cordelia, this is Peter, a friend from class,”

“Hi, it’s, uh, nice to meet you,” Peter greeted her as he gave her a shy wave.

“Slice of cake?” Cordelia offered as extended a plate out to Peter. Peter surely wasn’t going to turn down the slice as he took it from her and you moved to get your own.

“Did you make this?” He questioned you as you got a fork for him and yourself.

“Baking skills don’t really run in the Y/L/N family I’m afraid,” you joked, though it was all too true. Peter chuckled lightly too, eyeing the design of the cake. “Come on,” you instructed as you grabbed one more gummy worm and headed into your room with Peter following.

You two settled onto the floor in your room as you grabbed your bag. “What’s this for again?”

Peter attempted to answer you, but his mouth was full of cake so you just waved him off. As you searched your bag, Peter glanced around the room. His eyes landed on the familiar jacket you wore out at night. “Is...that yours?” He asked, his voice seemingly growing nervous.

You glanced up to spot the jacket on your chair. “I assume so, considering it’s in my room,” Peter chuckled lightly but something seemed off. “You okay, Parker?”

“Me? Oh yeah, definitely. I’m fine, completely fine,” he reassured, but you were quite positive something was off. Peter then turned his attention toward your window.

“I’ve got a great view,” you revealed, which was a clear joke. You certainly didn’t have much of a view besides the neighboring apartment building and the fire escape.

“You know what, I have to go!” Peter exclaimed suddenly, scrambling for his things. “Just remembered, my Aunt’s gonna be home soon and I, uh, wanted to...be there...before she...I have to go!”

Something was definitely wrong and you weren’t going to just let Peter go before you knew what. You jumped to your feet, standing in front of your bedroom door you stared him down. “You’re hiding something,” you decided, poking him in the chest.

“Me? Hiding something?” Gosh, he sounded like some cheesy comic book character. Though you had to admit, he was cute all flustered.

“You’re acting very weird,” you explained as you tried to figure it out yourself. He saw the cake and got suspicious, your jacket and got worried, and then saw your window and wanted to leave. You furrowed your eyebrows as you stared back at him. You took a step closer as Peter instinctively took a step back.

And so you stepped closer, and closer until Peter tumbled back onto your carpet after tripping over your backpack.

You looked down at him before deciding to try something. The worst that could happen was that he freaked more and ran off, which he was going to do anything. So, you stepped backwards some until you were able to reach the light switch.

You flicked the switch, the light in your room fading away. The only light now was the moonlight through your bedroom window. You stood before Peter now, your hand extended to your side. You closed your eyes for a moment as you caused a small sphere of shadow to appear in your palm.

You looked toward the Parker boy as you saw not fear nor even surprise in his eyes but a sense of confirmation like his suspicions were right. And for you, that’s when it clicked.

“It’s you,” you both gasped in unison as Peter scrambled to his feet and your hands fell down at your sides.

Peter Parker was Spider-Man? You didn’t know whether or not you bought it, but he did seem like the type.

“Does this mean you’re going to flirt with me now?” you asked, completely serious as you crossed your arms over your chest. Peter gasped at you, clearly not expecting such a response. “I mean, you flirted with me when I was out there so,”

“I was not!” Peter quickly defended himself but you just rolled your eyes. “You flirted with me!”

You gasped loudly, throwing a hand to your chest. Hell, you didn’t even know if you knew how to flirt let alone if you had the courage to do so. “I most certainly was not! I was merely a victim of bad puns!”

“That was one time!”

“I’m sure it was,” you countered as you both now stood before each other, without anything else to say. “...are you still going to leave? Because we do have a project to finish,”

“Are you going to hit me with darkness?”

“Darkness,” you chuckled, unsure if that was even what your power really was. “Not unless you try to steal the cake in the kitchen,”

“You tried to steal, I tried to return it,”

“Touché,”

And with that, the both of you sat down on the floor and resumed your work. Of course, now both of you were scarily aware of just what the other did in their free time. And for some reason all it did was more you look at the Parker boy in a new light.

A light in which you found yourself wanting to be in as well.

Final Moments on Stage

Famous Singer Reader x Peter Parker

Summary: It's the final night of your American tour, and you can't help but reflect on your life.

Y/N stared out at the crowd before her. Thousands of people squished into one stadium just to see her. Hear her songs. Her voice. It’s incredible.

“LA, I need to tell you something.” The crowd exploded as she spoke. “I need to tell you how much you mean to me. The fact that you are all here, just to support me, is incredible.”

Y/N turned to face the left side of the stadium, smiling as they cheered for her. “If you had told little 16-year-old me that I would be playing in a venue this big, that this many people wanted to hear my song…I don’t think I would believe you.”

She thought back to all of the shit she went through in her high school years. The bullying and the depression. As she glanced backstage, though, she couldn’t help but think of the best thing to come out of high school. There stood her boyfriend Peter, who had stood with her through it all. The spotlights made it impossible to make him out fully, but there was no mistaking that silhouette.

Y/N turned back to the crowd, knowing they saw her looking backstage. She grinned as she thought about all the fan theories that would come out of her getting distracted.

“I have one more song for you, LA, and then I sadly have to go back home to New York.” She giggled as the crowd booed at her declaration. “Don’t worry, though.”

Her earpiece started counting beats as the soundtrack for her song started playing. Taking a deep breath as the lights changed, she thought of the boy standing offstage waiting for her.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞...

I know, I know, don't yell at me, I'm late as everloving hell✋🏽😔✋🏽...

fun fact about lyss you didn't ask for, though: I have massive trouble committing myself to watching new things, even if I know for a fact I will love/enjoy it. due to this reason, I haven't seen barbie, blue beetle, etcetc, yet, hence why I'm just now getting around to watching across the spider-verse months and months and months later...

but not the point,,, oh my god, it was so good?! obviously, I've been planning to watch it, but I think I definitely should have mentally prepared myself because though it was amazing, it was also very overwhelming? but in a good way. like, my thoughts are still very jumbled (which might make me biased, currently, due to being stuck in wonder-mode).

[wonder-mode = the first fifteen minutes - twenty-four hours of pure adrenaline, good vibes, and main character energy you feel after watching a good ass movie where you have no thoughts yet so many all at once and you'll definitely need some time to gather yourself/your words].

I think I'll definitely have to watch it a second time tomorrow so I can full grasp onto everything and every one of the characters, which will then allow me to gage some proper thoughts to share later. and then, I'll be able to officially add it to the master list of stuff I write/make content for (although you are very free to request whatever you want right now just to get my creative juices flowing in advance /ᐠ-ܫ-マ).

but anyways, I'm now officially unhealthily in love with hobie, miles, e-42 miles, and pavitr :')♡. If anyone wants to talk spider-verse (no matter the specific topic), I'm game, especially for dr's and oc's ! run me those spider-sonas >:D !!

I’m reblogging this because I just edited it and added a few more pieces of information to update it for the film that’s out now.

Dating Peter Parker Would Include:

- You two meeting at school. - He was a bit of a shy butterfly when you first met him, but he quickly loosened up when he noticed your Star Wars tee and you smiled at him. - He’s super romantic and will just randomly bring you flowers. - You two often observe the night sky together on rooftops because why not. - Marathoning Star Wars together. - Discussing the Star Wars films and which is your favorite. - Helping each other study for quizzes and tests. - He tutors you on science and maths. - You tutor him on English and history. - You two are constantly talking. Be it in person, by call, FaceTime, Skype, or text. - Both being awkward yet cute. - You learning more about technology from him. - You not putting up with any lone wolf crap from him. - Knowing that he’s Spiderman before he tells you because you recognized how they move and talk similarly. - A lot of cuddles, cheek and forehead kisses, holding hands… Cute stuff. - He blushes a lot and you flirt with him very often just to cause it. - Aunt May adoring you. - Tony adoring you. - Being BFFs with Ned. - Being a part of the Midtown High School Science Team. - Mitigating Flash and his interactions with Peter. - You go directly to Peter’s after school and hang out there most of the time on weekends too. You practically live there. - “I love you” is said in pretty much every other sentence. - You two nerding out together. - You help tend to Peter’s wounds so he doesn’t scare the stuffing out of Aunt May. - You help come up with excuses for him whenever he is late to an event or if he shows up with an injury. - You pretty much are what keeps him grounded and focused on normal life.

DISCLAIMER- As usual, I do not own any of the characters mentioned and you are you. Please don’t sue me.

Dating Peter Parker Would Include:

- You two meeting at school. - He was a bit of a shy butterfly when you first met him, but he quickly loosened up when he noticed your Star Wars tee and you smiled at him. - He’s super romantic and will just randomly bring you flowers. - You two often observe the night sky together on rooftops because why not. - Marathoning Star Wars together. - Discussing the Star Wars films and which is your favorite. - Helping each other study for quizzes and tests. - He tutors you on science and maths. - You tutor him on English and history. - You two are constantly talking. Be it in person, by call, FaceTime, Skype, or text. - Both being awkward yet cute. - You learning more about technology from him. - You not putting up with any lone wolf crap from him. - Knowing that he’s Spiderman before he tells you because you recognized how they move and talk similarly. - A lot of cuddles, cheek and forehead kisses, holding hands… Cute stuff. - He blushes a lot and you flirt with him very often just to cause it. - Aunt May adoring you. - Tony adoring you. - Being BFFs with Ned. - Being a part of the Midtown High School Science Team. - Mitigating Flash and his interactions with Peter. - You go directly to Peter’s after school and hang out there most of the time on weekends too. You practically live there. - “I love you” is said in pretty much every other sentence. - You two nerding out together. - You help tend to Peter’s wounds so he doesn’t scare the stuffing out of Aunt May. - You help come up with excuses for him whenever he is late to an event or if he shows up with an injury. - You pretty much are what keeps him grounded and focused on normal life.

DISCLAIMER- As usual, I do not own any of the characters mentioned and you are you. Please don’t sue me.

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧

Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k] 

c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isn’t good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

Fall 

Peter Parker is a resting place for overworked eyes, like warm topaz nestled against a blue-cold city. He waits on you with his eyes to the screen of his phone, clicking the power button repetitively. A nervous tic. 

You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet he’s heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand. 

“Good morning!” You pull your coat on quickly. “Sorry.” 

“Good morning,” he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. “Should we go?” 

You follow Peter out of the cul-de-sac and into the street as he drops his phone into a deep pocket. To his credit, he doesn’t check it while you walk, and only glances at it when you’re taking your coat off in the heat of your favourite cafe: The Moroccan Mode glows around you, fog kissing the windows, condensation running down the inner lengths of it in beads. You murmur something to do with the odd fog and Peter tells you about water vapour. When it rains tonight, he says it’ll be warm water that falls. 

He spreads his textbook, notebook, and rinky-dink laptop out across the table while you order drinks. Peter has the same thing every visit, a decaf americano, in a wide brim mug with the pink-petal saucer. You put it down on his textbook only because that’s where he would put it himself, and you both get to work. 

As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and can’t help wondering what it is that’s missing. Something is, something Peter won’t tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, he’s busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could. 

Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. “I wish I had more time,” he says. 

“It’s fine,” you say, “you can’t help it.”

“We’ll do something next weekend,” he says. The lie slips out easily. 

To Peter it isn’t a lie. In his head, he’ll find the time for you again, and you’ll be friends like you used to be. 

You press the end of your pencil into your cheek, the dark roast, white paper and condensation like grey noise. This time last year, the air had been thick for days with fog you could cut. He took you on a trip to Manhattan, less than an hour from your red-brick neighbourhood, and you spent the day in a hotel pool throwing great cupfuls of water at each other. The fog was gone just fifteen miles away from home but the warm air stayed. When it rained it was sudden, strange, spit-warm splashes of it hammering the tops of your heads, your cheeks as you tipped your faces back to spy the dark clouds. 

Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere you’d never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet. 

You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip. 

He feels you watching and meets your eyes. “I have to tell you something,” he says, smiling shyly. 

“Sure.” 

“I signed us up for that club.” 

“Epigenetics?” 

“Molecular medicine,” he says. 

The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. It’s still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. It’s gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peter’s bag and sort through his jumble of possessions —stick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodega’s worth of protein bars— and grab his camera. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,” you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder. 

“Technically, I signed us up a few days ago,” he says. 

You snap his photo as his mouth closes around ‘ago’, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. “Semantics,” you murmur. “And molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?”

“It has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.”

“I like oncology,” you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, “and I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.” 

“I can’t go without you,” he says. Simple as that. 

He knew you’d say yes when he signed you up. It’s why he didn’t ask. You’re already forgiven him for the slight of assumption. 

“When is it?” you ask, smiling. 

—

Molecular medicine club is fun. You and a handful of ESU nerds gather around a big table in a private study room for a few hours and read about the newer discoveries and top research, like regenerative science and now taboo Oscorp research. It’s boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going. 

He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks you’re not looking. Only when she isn’t either. 

—

“Good morning,” you say. 

Peter holds an umbrella over his head that he’s quick to share with you, and together you walk with heads craned down, the umbrella angled forward to fight the wind. Your outermost shoulder is wet when you reach the café, your other warm from being pressed against him. You shake the umbrella off outside the door and step onto a cushy, amber doormat to dry your sneakers. Peter stalks ahead and order the drinks, eager to get warm, so you look for a table. Your usual is full of businessmen drinking flat whites with briefcases at their legs. They laugh. You try to picture Peter in a suit: you’re still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back. 

“Tell the joke,” he says, slamming his coffee down. He’s careful with yours. He’s given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers. 

“I was thinking about you as a businessman.” 

“And that’s funny?” 

“When was the last time you wore a suit?” 

Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesn’t know. Later, you’ll remember his Uncle Ben’s funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you don’t remember yet. “When was the last time you wore one?” he asks. “I don’t laugh at you.” 

“You’re always laughing at me, Parker.” 

The cafe isn’t as warm today. It’s wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. There’s no fog but a sad rattle of rain, not enough to make noise against the windows, but enough to watch as it falls in lazy rivulets down the lengths of them.

Your face is chapped with the cold, cheeks quickly come to heat as your fingers curl around your mug. They tingle with newfound warmth. When you raise your mug to your lips, your hand hardly shakes.

“You okay?” Peter asks. 

“Fine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?” 

“Don’t think so. Did you ask nicely?” 

“I did.” You’d called him last night. You would’ve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it —you don’t want Peter’s help, you just wanted to see him. 

Looking at him now, you remember why his distance had felt a little easier. The rain tangles in his hair, damp strands curling across his forehead, his eyes dark and outfitted by darker eyelashes. Peter has the looks of someone you’ve seen before, a classical set to his nose and eyes reminiscent of that fallen angel weeping behind his arm, his russet hair in fiery disarray. There was an anger to Peter after Ben died that you didn’t recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didn’t matter —he was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice again— until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears. 

His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like he’s up late. If he is, it isn’t to talk to you. 

You spend an afternoon working through your equations, pretending to understand until Peter explains them to death. His earphones fall out of his pocket and he says, “Here, I’ll show you a song.” 

He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Should’ve Come Over. It feels like Peter’s trying to tell you something —he isn’t, but it feels like wishing he would. 

“You okay?” you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less. 

“I’m fine, why?” 

You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. “You look tired, that’s all. Are you sleeping?” 

“I have too much to do.” 

You just don’t get it. “Make sure you’re eating properly. Okay?” 

His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest you’ll ever get. “You know May,” he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, “she wouldn’t let me go hungry. Don’t worry about me.” 

—

The dip into depression you take is predictable. You can’t help it. Peter being gone makes it worse. 

You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when it’s dark and you know it’s a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New York’s not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You can’t count how many times you’ve heard the same story. A man followed me home, saw me across the street, tried to get into my apartment, but Spider-Man saved me. 

You’re not naive, you realise the danger of walking around without protection assuming some stranger in a mask will save you, but you need to get out of the house. It goes on for weeks. 

You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you don’t really care. You’re not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and it’s fine, really, it’s okay, everything works out eventually. It’s not like it’s all because you miss Peter, it’s just a feeling. It’ll go away. 

“You’re in deep thought,” a voice says, garnering a huge flinch from the depths of your stomach.

You turn around, turn back, and flinch again at the sight of a man a few paces ahead. Red shoulders and legs, black shining in a webbed lattice across his chest. “Oh,” you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, “sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry? I scared you.”

“I didn’t realise you were there.” 

Spider-Man doesn’t come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. You’ve never met before but you’d like to see him up close, and you aren’t scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival. 

“Can I walk you to where you’re going?” Spider-Man asks you. He’s humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot. 

“How do I know you’re the real Spider-Man?” 

After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldn’t want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible. 

You can’t be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. “What do you need me to do to prove it?” he asks. 

He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. “I don’t know. What’s Spider-Man exclusive?” 

“I can show you the webs?” 

You pull your handbag further up your arm. “Okay, sure. Shoot something.” 

Spider-Man aims his hand at the streetlight across the way and shoots it. He makes a severing motion with his wrist to stop from getting pulled along by it, letting the web fall like an alien tendril from the bulb. The light it produces dims slightly. A chill rides your spine. 

“Can I walk you now?” he asks. 

“You don’t have more important things to do?” If the bitterness you’re feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesn’t react. 

“Nothing more important than you.” 

You laugh despite yourself. “I’m going to Trader Joe’s.” 

“Yellowstone Boulevard?” 

“That’s the one…” 

You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. It’s a short walk. Trader Joe’s will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and you’re in no hurry. “My friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.” 

“And you’re going just for him?” Spider-Man asks. 

“Not really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.” 

“Do you always walk around by yourself? It’s late. It’s dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,” he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match. 

“I like walking,” you say. 

Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, he’s running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. You’re having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man you’re walking beside now.

”Is everything okay?” he asks. “You seem sad.” 

“Do I?” 

“Yeah, you do.” 

“Maybe I am sad,” you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joe’s already in view. It really is a short walk. “Do you ever–” You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, “Do you ever feel like you’re alone?” 

“I’m not alone,” he says carefully.

“Me neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.” 

He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking you’re being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world,” he says. “Even here. I forget that it’s not something I invented.” 

“Well, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?” You smile sympathetically. “It must be hard.” 

“Yeah.” His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then there’s a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. “I’ll come back,” he says. 

“That’s okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.” 

He sprints away. In half a second he’s up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away. 

You buy Peter’s chips at Trader Joe’s and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesn’t come back. 

—

I don’t want to study today, Peter’s text says the next day. Come over and watch movies? 

The last handholds of your fugue are washed away in the shower. You dab moisturiser onto your face and neck and stand by the open window to help it dry faster, taking in the light drizzle of rain, the smell of it filling your room and your lungs in cold gales. You dress in sweatpants and a hoodie, throw on your coat, and stuff the rolled tortilla chips into a backpack to ferry across the neighbourhood. 

Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. You’d been in awe of it when you were younger, Peter and his Aunt and Uncle, their home-cooked family dinners, nights spent on the roof trying to find constellations through light pollution, stretched out together while it was warm enough to soak in your small rebellion. Ben would call you both down eventually. When you’re older! he’d always promise. 

Peter’s waiting in the open door for you. He ushers you inside excitedly, stripping you out of your coat and forgetting your wet shoes as he drags you to the kitchen. “Look what I got,” he says. 

The Parker kitchen is a big, bright space with a chopping block island. The counters are crowded by pots, pans, spices, jams, coffee grounds, the impossible drying rack. There’s a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida. 

You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven you’ve eaten from a hundred times. “There,” he says. 

“Did you cook?” you ask. 

“Of course I didn’t cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. I’m an excellent chef.” 

“The only thing May’s ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.” 

“Hope you like marinara,” he says, nudging you toward the stove. 

You take the lid off of the Dutch oven to unveil a huge cake. Dripping with frosting, only slightly squashed by the lid, obviously homemade. He’s dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries. 

“It’s for you,” he says casually. 

“It’s not my birthday.” 

“I know. You like cake though, don’t you?” 

You’d tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. “Why’d you make me a cake?” 

“I felt like you deserved a cake. You don’t want it?” 

“No, I want it! I want the cake, let’s have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, it’ll be amazing.” You don’t bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. “Thank you, Peter. It’s awesome. I had no idea you could even– that you’d even–” You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. “Wow.” 

“Wow,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. “You’re welcome. I would’ve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.” 

“It must’ve taken hours.” 

“May helped.” 

“That makes much more sense.” 

“Don’t be insolent.” Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesn’t let go for a really long time. 

He extracts the cake from the depths of the Dutch oven and cuts you both a slice. He already has ice cream, a Neapolitan box that he cuts into with a serrated knife so you can each have a slice of all three flavours. It’s good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.

“Sit down,” he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. “Remote’s by you. I’m gonna get drinks.” 

You take your plate, carving into the cake with the end of a warped spoon, its handle stamped PETE and burnished in your grasp. The crumb is soft but dense in the best way. The ganache between layers is loose, cake wet with it, and the frosting is perfect, just messy. You take another satisfied bite. You’re halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back. 

“I brought you something too, but it’s garbage compared to this,” you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth. 

Peter laughs at you. “Yeah, well, say it, don’t spray it.” 

“I guess I’ll keep it.” 

“Keep it, bub, I don’t need anything from you.” 

He doesn’t say it the way you’re expecting. “No,” you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, “you can have it. S’just a bag of chips from Trader–”

“The rolled tortilla chips?” he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. “You really are the best friend ever.” 

“Better than Harry?” 

“Harry’s rich,” Peter says, “so no. I’m kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.” 

“Eat your own.” 

Peter plays a great host, letting you choose the movies, making lunch, ordering takeout in the evening and refusing to let you pay for it. This isn’t that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesn’t check his phone, the tension you couldn’t name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. You’re flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You won’t look a gift horse in the mouth; you won’t question what it is that had Peter keeping you at arm’s length now it’s gone.

To your annoyance, you can’t stop thinking about Spider-Man. You keep opening your mouth to tell Peter you talked to him but biting your tongue. Why am I keeping it a secret? you wonder. 

“Have something to tell you.” 

“You do?” you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw. 

“Is that surprising?” 

“Is that a trick question?” 

“No. Just. I’ve been not telling you something.” 

“Okay, so tell me.” 

Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. “Me and Gwen, we’re really done.” 

“I know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.” Your stomach pangs painfully. “Unless you…”

“She’s going to England.” 

“She is?” 

“Oxford.” 

You struggle to sit up. “That sucks, Peter. I’m sorry.” 

“But?” 

You find your words carefully. “You and Gwen really liked each other, but I think that–” You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. “That there’s always been some part of you that couldn’t actually commit to her. So. I don’t know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe it’ll break your heart, but at least then you’ll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.” You avoid telling him to move on. 

“It wasn’t Gwen,” he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you. 

“Obviously, she’s the smartest girl I’ve ever met. She’s beautiful. Of course it’s not her fault,” you say, teasing.

“Really, that you ever met?” Peter asks. 

“She’s the best girl you were ever gonna land.“ 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.” After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, “I think we were done before. I just hadn’t figured it out yet. Something wasn’t right.” 

“You were so back and forth. You’re not mean, there must’ve been something stopping you from going steady,” you agree. “You were breaking up every other week.”

“I know,” he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch. 

“Which, it’s fine, you don’t–” You grimace. “I can’t talk today. Sorry. I just mean that it’s alright that you never made it work.” You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, “Doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re never a bad person, Peter.” 

“I know. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. You don’t need me to tell you.” 

“It’s nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.” 

You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I should’ve said it the moment I got home. 

Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips. 

Good, because I have so much I’m keeping to myself.

You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned. 

— 

He visits with a whoop. You don’t flinch when he lands —you’d heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby. 

“Spider-Man,” you say. 

“What’s that about?” 

“What?” 

“The way you said that. You laughed.” Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. He’s got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but it’s not as though each of his fights are bloodless. They’re infamously gory on occasion.

“Did you get hurt?” you ask. You’re worried. You could help him, if he needs it. 

“Aw, this? That’s a scratch. That’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.” 

You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and it’s not like you and Peter made it up, but suddenly, the man in front of you is Peter. The way he says it, that unique rhythm. 

Peter’s not so rough-voiced, you argue with yourself. Your Peter speaks in a higher register, dulcet often, only occasionally sarcastic. Spider-Man is rough, and cawing, and loud. Spider-Man acts as though the ground is a suggestion. Peter can’t jump off the second diving board at the pool. Spider-Man rolls his shoulders back in front of you with a confidence Peter rarely has. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Sorry. You just reminded me of someone.” 

His voice falls deeper still. “Someone handsome, I hope.” 

You take a small step around him, hoping it invites him to walk along while communicating how sorely you want to leave the subject behind. When he doesn’t follow, you add, “Yes, he’s handsome.” 

“I knew it.”

“What do you look like under the mask?”

Spider-Man laughs boisterously. “I can’t just tell you that.” 

“No? Do I have to earn it?” 

“It’s not like that. I just don’t tell anyone, ever.” 

“Nobody in the whole world?” you ask. 

The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps that’s all November’s are destined to be. You and Spider-Man stick to the inside of the sidewalk. Occasionally, a passerby stares at him, or calls out in Hello, and Spider-Man waves but doesn’t part from you. 

“Tell me something about you and I’ll tell you something about me,” Spider-Man says. “I’ll tell you who knows my identity.” 

“What do you want to know about me?” you ask, surprised. 

“A secret. That’s fair.” 

“Hold on, how’s that fair?” You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. “What use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesn’t bring me any closer to the truth.” 

“It’s not about who knows, it’s about why I told them.” Spider-Man slips around you, forcing you to walk on the inside of the sidewalk as a car pulls past you all too quickly and sends a sheet of dirty rainwater up Spider-Man’s side. He shakes himself off. “Jerk!” he shouts after the car. 

“My secrets aren’t worth anything.”

“I doubt that, but if that’s true, that makes it a fair trade, doesn’t it?” 

He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, “Alright, useless secret for a useless secret.” 

You think about all your secrets. Some are odd, some gross. Some might make the people around you think less of you, while others would surely paint you in a nice light. A topaz sort of technicolor. But they aren’t useless, then, so you move on. 

“Oh, I know. I hate my major.” You grin at Spider-Man. “That’s a good one, right? No one else knows about that.” 

“You do?” Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy. 

“I like science, I just hate math. It’s harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.” 

Spider-Man doesn’t drag the knife. “Okay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.” He clears his throat. “I told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. I’m trying really hard not to tell anybody else.”

“How come?” 

“It just hurts people.” 

You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road. 

“Tell me another one,” he says. 

“What for?” 

“I don’t know, just tell me one.” 

“How do I know you aren’t extorting me for something?” You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. “You’ll know my face and my secrets and even if you tell me a really gory juicy one, I have no one to tell and no name to pair it with.” 

“I’m not showing you anything,” he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street. 

Peter’s shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesn’t ask for secrets. He doesn’t have to. (Or, he didn’t have to, once upon a time.) 

“Where are you going?” Spider-Man asks. 

“Oh, nowhere.” 

“Seriously, you’re out here walking again for no reason?” 

“I like to walk. It’s not like it’s dark out yet.” You’re not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden —Flushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. “Walk me to Kissena?” you ask. 

“Sure, for that secret.” 

You laugh as Spider-Man takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. It’s exciting that Spider-Man of all people wants to know one of your useless secrets enough to ask you twice. The attention of it makes searching for one a matter of how fast you can find one rather than a question of why you’d want to. It slips out before you can think better of it. 

“I burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,” you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. “It blistered and I cried when I did it, but I haven’t told anyone about it.” 

“Why not?” he asks. 

He shouldn’t use that tone with you, like he’s so so sorry. It makes you want to really tell him everything. How insecure you feel, how telling things feels like asking for someone to care, and half the time they don’t, and half the time you’re embarrassed. 

You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. “I didn’t think about it at first. I’m used to keeping things to myself. And then I didn’t tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldn’t make sense. Like, bringing it up when it’s a scar won’t do much.” It’s a weak lie. It comes out like a spigot to a drying up tree. Glugs, fat beads of sound and the pull to find another thing to say.

“It was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.” 

“Maybe I’ll tell someone tomorrow,” you say, though you won’t. 

“Thanks for telling me.”

The humour in spilling a secret like that to a superhero stops you from feeling sorry for yourself. You hide your cold fingers in your coat, rubbing the stiff skin of your knuckles into the lining for friction-heat. The rain has let up, wind whipping empty but brisk against your cheeks. Your lips will be chapped when you get home, whenever that turns out to be. 

“This is pretty far from Trader Joe’s,” he comments, like he’s read your mind. 

“Just an hour.” 

“Are you kidding? It’s an hour for me.” 

“That’s not true, Spider-Man, I’ve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,” —you try to meet his eyes despite the mask— “my heart in my throat. Weren’t you scared?”

“Is that the secret you want?” he asks. 

“I get to choose?” 

Spider-Man throws his gaze around, his hand behind his head like he might play with his hair. You come to a natural stop across the street from Kissena Park’s playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame. 

“If you want to,” he says. 

“Then yeah, I want to know if you were scared.” 

“I didn’t haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?” He shifts from one foot to the other. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it before. I wasn’t scared of the height, if that’s what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didn’t have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.” 

“When they lined up the cranes–”

“It felt like flying,” Spider-Man interrupts. 

“Like flying.”

You picture the weightlessness, the adrenaline, the catch of your weight so high up and the pressure of being flung between the next point. The idea that you have to just do something, so you do. 

“That’s a good secret.” You offer a grateful smile. “It doesn’t feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.” 

“So tell me another one,” he says. 

—

Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where you’d text him and he’d ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasn’t that you couldn’t like him, angry as he was; there’s always been something about his eyes when he’s upset that sticks around. You loathe to see him sad but he really is pretty, and when his eyelashes are wet and his mouth is turned down, formidable, it’s an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other. 

It was after. When he started sending Gwen weird smiles and showing up to the movies exhilarated, out of breath, unwilling to tell you where he’d been. Skating, he’d always say. Most of the time he didn’t have his skateboard. 

You’d only seen them kiss once, his hand on her shoulder curling her in, a pang of heat. You were curdled by jealousy but it was more than that. Peter was tipping her head back, was kissing her soundly, a fierceness from him that made you sick to think about. You spent weeks afterwards up at night, tossing, turning, wishing he’d kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person. 

You’d always held out for Peter, in a way. It was more important to you that he be your friend. You were young, and love had been a far off thing, and then one day you suddenly wanted it. You learned just how aching an unrequited love could be, like a bruise, where every time you saw Peter —whether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyone— it was like he knew exactly where to poke the bruise. Press the heel of his hand and push. The worst is when he found himself affectionate with you, a quick clasp of your cheek in his palm as he said goodbye. Nights spent in his twin bed, of course you’ll fit, of course you couldn’t go home, not this late, May won’t care if we keep the door open —the suggestion that the door being closed might’ve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you. 

Now you’re nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasn’t tried to stop her, but he’s still busy. 

“Whatever,“ you say, taking a deep breath. You’re not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time won’t change a thing. “It’s fine.” 

“I’d hope so.” 

You swing around. “Don’t do that!”

Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. “I called out.” 

“You did?” 

“I did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesn’t know how to get a goddamn taxi!” 

“I like to walk,” you say. 

“Yeah, so you’ve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? It’s freezing out, Miss Bennett!” 

“It’s not that bad.” You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. “I’m fine.” 

“What’s wrong with staying at home?” 

“That’s not good for you. And you’re one to talk, Spider-Man, aren’t you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.” 

“I don’t do this every night.” 

“Don’t you get tired?”

Spider-Man’s eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. “No, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?” 

“I don’t know. You’re in a full suit, I can’t tell. I guess you don’t… seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.” 

“Want me to do one?” 

“On command?” You laugh. “No, that’s okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.” 

“So where are you heading today?” he asks. 

There’s a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. You’re surprised he can’t feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. “I can see your stubble.” 

He yanks his mask down. “Hasty getaway.” 

“A getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, that’s not very gentlemanly.” 

You start to walk toward the Cinemart. Spider-Man, to your strange pleasure, follows. He walks with considerable casualness down the sidewalk by your left, occasionally letting his head turn to chase a distant sound where it echoes from between high-rises and along the busy street. It’s cold and dark, but New York is hectic no matter what, even the residential areas. (Is there such a thing? The neighbourhoods burst with small businesses and backstreet sales, no matter the time.)

“Luckily for you, crime is slow tonight,” he says. 

“Lucky me?” You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. “You realise I’ve managed to get everywhere I’m going for the last two decades without help?” 

“I assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.” 

“That’s what you think. I was a super independent toddler.” 

Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. “Sure you were.” 

“Is there a reason you’re escorting me, Spider-Man?” you ask. 

“No. I– I recognised you, I thought I’d say hi.” 

“Hi, Spider-Man.” 

“Hi.” 

“Can I ask you something? Do you work?” 

Spider-Man stammers again, “I– yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.” 

“I was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.” You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. “I couldn’t do what you do.” 

“Yeah, you could.” 

He sounds sure. 

“How would you know?” you ask. “Maybe I’m awful when you’re not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.” 

“No, you don’t. You’re not awful. Don’t ask me how I know, ‘cos I just know.” 

You try not to look at him. If you look at him, you’re gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. “Well, tonight I’m going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said he’d buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Benny’s. Have you tried that?” 

Spider-Man takes a big step. “Tonight?” he asks. 

“Yep, tonight. That’s where I’m going, the Cinemart.” You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. “Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna throw up.” 

“I can hear– something. Someone’s crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?” He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. “Bye!” he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof. 

Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. He’s lithe.  

Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than you’d agreed to meet. 

“Sorry!” he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. “God, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. You should beat me up. I’m sorry.” 

“What the fuck happened?” you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. “You’re sweating like crazy, your hair’s wet.” 

“I ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Don’t answer that. Fuck, do we have time?” 

You usher Peter inside. He pays for the tickets with hands shaking and you attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve. “You could’ve called me,” you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, “we could’ve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?” 

“Forget about my favourite girl? How could I?” He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. “Now shh,” he whispers, “find the seats, don’t miss the trailers. You love them.” 

“You love them–”

“I’ll get popcorn,” he promises, letting the door close between you. 

You’re tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle. 

You turn away and rush to find your seats. Hopefully, the popcorn line is ten blocks long, and he spends the night punished for his wrongdoing. My favourite girl. You laugh nervously into your hand. 

—

Winter 

Spider-Man finds you at least once a week for the next few weeks. He even brings you an umbrella one time, stars on the handle, asking you rather politely to go home. He offers to buy you a hot dog as you’re walking past the stand, takes you on a shortcut to the convenience store, and helps you get a piece of gum off of your shoe with a leaf and a scared scream. He’s friendly, and you’re getting used to his company. 

One night, you’re almost home from Trader Joe’s, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, “Hey! Running girl! Wait a second!” 

Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You don’t know his name, but Spider-Man’s a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.

He jogs toward you. 

You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you. 

“Hey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?” 

You blink as fat rain lands on your face. 

“You okay?” Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. It’s sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s go,” —he takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside him— “it’s freezing!” 

“Peter–”

“Jesus Christ!” 

“Peter, what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building. 

Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly. 

“I wanted to see you. Is that allowed?” 

“No.” 

Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. “No?” he asks, a hair’s width from murmuring. 

“Shit, my groceries are soaked.” 

“It’s all snacks, it’s fine,” he says, pulling you to the stairs. 

You rush up the steps together to your floor. Peter takes your key when you offer it, your own fingers too stiff to manage it by yourself, and he holds the door open for you again to let you in. 

Your apartment is a ragtag assortment to match the one next door, old wooden furniture wheeled from the street corners they were left on, thrifted homeward and heavy blankets everywhere you look. You almost slip getting out of your shoes. Peter steadies you with a firm hand. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook, prying the damp hoodie over his head and exposing a solid length of back that trips your heart as you do the same. 

“Sorry I didn’t ask,” Peter says. 

“What, to come over? It’s fine. I like you being here, you know that.” 

All your favourite days were spent here or at Peter’s house, in beds, on sofas, his hair tickling your neck as credits run down the TV and his breath evens to a light snore. You try to settle down with him, changing into dry clothes, his spare stuff left at the bottom of your wardrobe for his next inevitable impromptu visit. You turn on the TV, letting him gather you into his side with more familiarity than ever. Rain lays its fingertips on your window and draws lazy lines behind half-turned blinds. You rest on the arm and watch Peter watch the movie, answering his occasional, “You okay?” with a meagre nod. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks eventually. “You’re so quiet.” 

Your hand over your mouth, you part your marriage and pinky finger, marriage at the corner, pinky pressed to your bottom lip, the flesh chapped by a season of frigid winds and long walks. “‘M thinking,” you say. 

“About?” 

About the first night in your new apartment. You got the apartment a couple of weeks before the start of ESU. Not particularly close to the university but close to Peter, your best, nicest friend. You met in your second year of High School, before Peter got contacts, ‘cos he was good at taking photographs and you were in charge of the school newspapers media sourcing. You used to wait for Peter to show up ten minutes late like clockwork, every week. And every week he’d barge into the club room and say, “Fuck, I’m sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,” until it turned into its own joke. 

Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited. 

“Fuck,” he’d said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, “sorry. My last class is on–”

But he didn’t finish. You’d laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasn’t about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you. 

But Peter’s been distant for a while now, because Peter’s Spider-Man. 

“Do you remember,” you say, not willing to share the whole truth, “when you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?” 

“So you didn’t need me,” he says. 

“I was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.” 

Peter holds your gaze. “Is that really what you were thinking about?” 

“Just funny,” you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. “So much has changed.” 

“Not that much.” 

“Not for me, no.” 

Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. He’s found a crack in you and he’s gonna smooth it over until you feel better. You’re expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but you’re not expecting the way he pulls you in —you’d slipped away from him as the evening went on, but Peter erases every millimetre of space as he slides his arm under your lower back and ushers you into his side. You hold your breath as he hugs you, as he looks down at you. It’s really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. He’s never looked at you like this before.

“I don’t want you to change,” he whispers. 

“I want to catch up with you,” you whisper back. 

“Catch up with me? We’re in the exact same place, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know, are we?” 

Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. “Of course we are.” 

Peter… What is he doing? 

You let yourself relax against him. 

“You do change,” he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, “you change every day, but you don’t need to try.” 

“I just… feel like everyone around me is…” You shake your head. “Everyone’s so smart, and they know what they’re doing, or they’re– they’re special. I don’t know anything. So I guess lately I’ve been thinking about that, and then you–”

“What?” 

You can say it out loud. You could. 

“Peter, you’re…” 

“I’m what?” he asks. 

His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again. 

If you're wrong, he’ll laugh. And if you’re right, he might– might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like it’s gonna put you to sleep. 

He’s Spider-Man. 

It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course it’s Peter. It explains so much about him, about Peter and Spider-Man both. Why Peter is suddenly firmer, lighter on his feet, why he can help you move a wardrobe up two flights of stairs without complaint; why Spider-Man is so kind to you, why he knows where to find you, why he rolls his words around just like Pete. 

Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesn’t tell you much, but you trust him. 

You won’t make him say anything, you decide. Not now. 

You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter. 

“I was thinking about you,” he says. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re quieter lately. I know you’re having a hard time right now, okay? You don’t have to tell me. I’m here for you whenever you need me.” 

“Yeah?” you ask.

“You used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldn’t be home to make sure I wasn’t alone.” Peter’s breath is warm on your forehead. “I don’t know what you’re worried about being, but I’m with you,” he says, “‘n nothing is gonna change that.” 

Peter isn’t as far away as you thought. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

He kisses your forehead softly. Your whole world goes amber. He brings his hand to your cheek, the thought of him tipping your head back sudden and heart-racing, but Peter only holds you. You lose count of how many minutes you spend cupped in his hand. 

“Can I stay over tonight?” he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain. 

“Yeah, please.” 

His thumb strokes your cheek. 

—

Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as you’ve craved, and Spider-Man disappears. 

He’s alive and well, as evidenced by Peter’s continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesn’t drop in on your nightly walks. 

You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peter’s increasing affection, but now that you know he’s Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you would’ve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know he’d do to you. After all, he’s been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parker’s ears. 

You find it hard to be angry with him. A thread of it remains whenever you remember his deception, but mostly you worry about him. Peter’s out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesn’t seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connors’ and got that huge gash in his leg. His leg is soiled deep red with blood but banded in white webbing. He limps as he races across a rooftop, the recording shaky yet high definition. 

It’s not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what he’d said, how he wasn’t scared, but not being scared doesn’t mean he wasn’t hurting. 

You chew the tip of a finger and click on a different video. Your computer monitor bears heat, the tower whirring by your thigh. Your eyes burn, another hour sitting in the same seat, sick with worry. You don’t mind when Peter doesn’t answer your texts anymore. You didn’t mind so much before, just terrified of becoming an irrelevance in his life and lonely, too, maybe a little hurt, but never worried for his safety. Now when Peter doesn’t text you back you convince yourself that he’s been hurt, or that he’s swinging across New York City about to risk his life.

It’s not a good way to live. You can’t stop giving into it, is all. 

In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesn’t lift his mask, seemingly aware of his watcher. You laugh as he angles his head down, suspicion in his tight shoulders. He relaxes when he sees whoever it is recording. 

“Hey,” he says, “you all right?” 

“Should you be up there?” the person recording shouts. 

“I’m fine up here!” 

“Are you really Spider-Man?” 

“Sure am.” 

“Are you single?” 

Peter laughs like crazy. How you didn’t know it was him before is a mystery —it couldn’t sound more like him. “I’ve got my eye on someone!” he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when he’s Spider-Man lost to a good mood.  

Your phone rings in the back pocket of your jeans. You wriggle it out, nonplussed to find Peter himself on your screen. You click the green answer button. 

“Hello?” Peter asks. 

You bring the phone snug to your ear. “Hey, Peter.” 

“Hi, are you busy?” 

“Not really.” 

“Do you wanna come over? I know it’s late. Come stay the night and tomorrow we’ll go out for breakfast.” 

“Is Aunt May okay with that?” 

“She’s staring at me right now shaking her head, but I’m in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?” 

“She’s always allowed as long as you keep the door open.”

You laugh under your breath at May’s begrudging answer. “Are you sure she’s alright with it?” you ask softly. “I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You never, ever could be. I’m coming to your place and we’ll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?” 

“Not yet, but–”

“Okay, I’ll make you something when you get here. I’ll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?” 

“I have to shower first.” 

“Twenty five?” 

You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing you’re not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. “How about I’ll see you at seven?” 

“It’s a date,” he says. 

“Mm, put it in your calendar, Parker.” 

—

Peter waits for you at the door like he promised. He frowns at your still-wet face as he slips your backpack from your shoulder, throwing it over his own. “You’re gonna get sick.” 

“I‘ll dry fast,” you say. “I took too long finding my pyjamas.” 

“I have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.” Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. “I would’ve waited,” he says. 

“It’s fine.“

“It’s not fine. Are you cold?” 

“Pete, it’s fine.” 

“You always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,” he laughs, “super stern.” 

“I’m not stern. Look, take me home, please, I’m cold.” 

“You said it wasn’t cold!” 

“It’s not, I’m just damp–” Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. “Handsy!”

“You like it,” he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments. 

“I don’t like it,” you lie. 

“Okay, you don’t like it, and I’m sorry.” Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. “Now let’s go. I gotta feed you before midnight.” 

“That’s not funny.” 

“Apparently, nothing is.” 

Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, you’ve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands. 

“I see Peter hasn’t won this argument yet,” you say in way of greeting. Peter’s desperate to do his own laundry now he’s getting older. May won’t let him. 

“No, he hasn’t.” She looks you up and down. “It’s nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me you’ve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Can’t you buy a treadmill?” she asks. 

“May!” Peter says, startled. 

“I like walking, I like the air,” you say.

“Can’t exactly call it fresh,” May says. 

“No, but it’s alright. It helps me think.” 

“Is everything okay?” May asks, putting her hand on her hip. 

“Of course.” You smile at her genuinely. “I think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I don’t know what Peter told you, but I’m not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.”

She softens her disapproving. “Good, honey. That’s good. Peter’s gonna make you some dinner now, right?” 

“Yeah, Aunt May, I’m gonna make dinner,” Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes. 

Peter shouldn’t really know that you’ve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joe’s or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you haven’t mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. That’s information he wouldn’t know without Spider-Man. 

He seems to be hoping you won’t realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that he’s about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. “Warm up,” he says near the back of your head, forcing a wave of shivers down your arms.

He makes soup in one pan, grilled cheese in the other, two for him and two for you. Peter’s a good eater, and he encourages the same from you, setting a big bowl of tomato soup (from the can, splash of fresh cream) down in front of you with the grilled cheese on a plate between you. You eat it in too-hot bites and try not to get caught looking at him. He does the same, but when he catches you, or when you catch him, he holds your eye and smiles. 

“I can do the dishes,” you say. You might need a breather. 

“Are you kidding? I’m gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.” Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. “Warmer. Good job.” 

You shrug away from his hand. “Loser.” 

“Concerned friend.” 

“Handsy loser.” 

”Shut up,” he mumbles. 

As flustered as you’ve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When he’s done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed. 

You look down at your socks. Peter’s room is on the smaller side, but it’s never been as startlingly small as it is when Peter’s socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy. 

“There’s chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,” he says. 

You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think you’re in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. “I’m all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go ’cos you think I do then I’m fine.” 

“That’s such a long answer,” he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. “You don’t have to say all of that, just tell me no.” 

“I don’t want ice cream.” 

“Wasn’t that easy?” he asks. 

“Well, no, it wasn’t. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.” 

“Because I’m adorable?” 

“Persistent.” 

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands. 

“Peter…?” you murmur. 

“What?” he murmurs back. 

You touch a knuckle to his chest. “This– You…” Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once —Peter doesn’t like you as you desire, how could he, you aren’t beautiful like he is, aren’t smart, aren’t brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. It’s why his being with Gwen didn’t hurt; she made sense. And for months now you’ve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But it’s not you, it’s never you, and whatever Peter’s trying to do now–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, taking your face into his hand. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What?” He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. “I can’t hear you.”  

You raise your voice. “Why did you invite me over tonight?” 

“‘Cos I missed you?” 

“I used to think you didn’t miss me at all.” 

Peter winces, hurt. “How could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? It’s like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.” 

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. “…College isn’t hard for you.” 

“It’s not easy.” He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. “What’s wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?” 

You’re being wretched, you know, saying it isn’t hard for him. “You didn’t. Really, you didn’t.” 

“But why are you upset?” he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.

“I’m not–”

“You are. It’s okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?” He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. “Even if it takes a long time.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine.”

“How would you know?” you finally ask. 

Peter stares at you. 

“I know you,” he says carefully, “and I know you aren’t struggling like you were, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.” 

“I didn’t realise that I was,” you say, licking your lips, “‘til now. I didn’t get that it was on the surface.”

Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. “I’m here for you forever, and I’ll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,” he says, scrunching your shirt in his hand.

After the hug, he tells you to change and make yourself comfortable while he showers. So you put on your pyjamas and climb into Peter’s bed, head pounding as though all your energy was stolen in a fell swoop. You press your nose to his pillow and arm wrapped around his comforter, gathering it into a Peter sized lump. The shower pump whines against the shared wall. 

Things aren’t meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you —holding you— was the deepest of your desires, but you feel now exactly as you had before he started blurring the line, needing Peter to kiss you so badly it becomes its own kind of nausea. Why are you still acting like it’s an impossibility?

When he comes back, you’ll apologise. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but don’t you keep one too? He’s Spider-Man. You’ve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept. 

You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.

Peter returns as perturbed as earlier. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck. 

“I’m sorry for being weird.” 

“You’re not weird,” Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly. 

“It’s just ‘cos things have been different between us.” And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because you’re not just Peter anymore, you’re Spider-Man. I’m only me, and I can’t do anything to protect you.

Peter gives his hair a long scrub before draping the towel on his desk chair. He rakes it messily into place and sits himself at the end of the bed. You sit up. 

“Yeah, they have been. Good different?” he asks hesitantly. 

“I think so,” you say, quiet again. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“I don’t want you to feel like I don’t want to be here. I just worry about you.” 

Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, “Jesus, please don’t. That’s the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.” 

You curl into the lump of comforter you’d made. Peter lets himself rest beside you, his back to the bedroom wall, tens of Polaroids above him shining with the light of the hallway and his orange-bulbed lamp. His skin is glowing like it’s golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupid’s bow deep. How would it feel to lean forward and kiss him? To catch his Cupid's bow under your lips?

You brush a damp curl tangled in another onto his forehead. 

You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs. 

“Am I going too fast?” Peter murmurs. 

You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely. 

“Is it something else?” 

You don’t move. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks. 

“No.”

Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. “Alright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. You’re still cold.” 

You resent the loss of a shape to hold when Peter slips down beside you and wrangles the comforter flat again, spreading it out over you both, his hand under the blankets. His knuckles brush your thigh. 

He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, “Is this alright?” 

“Yeah.” 

He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. “Please don’t take this in a way that I don’t mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry you’re gonna get stuck in your head forever.” 

“I like thinking.” 

“I hate it,” he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, “we should never do it ever again.” 

“I’ll try not to.” 

“Would you? For me?” 

You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. “I’ll do my best.” 

“Good. I’d miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.” 

You relax under his arm. You aren’t sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. “I’d miss you too.”

May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. He’s holding your arm, and you’re snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms. 

“Door open,” she says. 

“Not that either of us want it closed, May, but we’re adults.” 

“Not while I’m still washing your clothes, you’re not.” 

He snorts. “Goodnight, Aunt May. The door isn’t gonna close, I promise.” 

“I know that,” she says, scornful in her pride. “You’re a good boy.” She lightens. “Things are going okay?” 

Peter covers your ear. “Goodnight, Aunt May.” 

”I have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I can’t ask a simple question?” 

“I love you,” Peter sing-songs. 

“I love you, Peter,” she says. “Don’t smother the girl.” 

“I won’t smother her. It’s in my best interest that she survives the night. She’s buying my breakfast tomorrow.” 

“Peter Parker.” 

“I’m kidding,” he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. “Just messing with you, May.” 

You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers.  

—

To your surprise, Spider-Man comes to find you after class one evening. A guest lecturer had talked to your oncology class about click chemistry and other molecular therapies against cancer, and the zine book she’d given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it. 

You pull it out and pause beside a bench and a silver trash can, the day grey but thankfully without rain. The pages of your little book whip forcefully in the wind. It’s chemistry, sure, but it’s biology too, wrapping your and Peter’s interests up neatly. If it weren’t for Peter you doubt you’d love science as much as you do. He’s always been good at it, but since you started college he's been a genius. Watching him grow has encouraged you to work harder, and understanding the material is satisfying, if draining. You take a photo of the middle most pages and tuck the book away, writing a quick text to Peter to send with it. 

Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!! 

The moment you press send a beep chimes from somewhere close behind you, all too familiar. You turn to the source but find nobody you know waiting. Coincidence, you think, shaking yourself and beginning the trek to the subway. 

But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Man’s webbing. 

You wait until you’re at the alleyway between Porto’s Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters. 

“Spider-Man?” you ask, shoulders tensed in case it’s not who you think. 

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You gasp as he hops down in front of you, his suit shiny with its dark web-pattern caught by the grey sunshine passing through the clouds overhead. “Shit, don’t break your ankles.” 

“My ankles?” He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you don’t know; what a fool you’d been for falling for his put upon tenor. “They’re fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?” 

“You just dropped down twenty feet!” 

“It’s more like thirty, and I’m fine. You understand the super part of superhero, don’t you?” 

“Who said you’re a superhero?” 

“Nice. What are you doing down here?” 

“I was testing my theory. You’re following me.” 

“No, I’m visiting you, it’s very different,” he says confidently. 

“You haven’t come to see me for weeks.” 

“Yes, well, I–” Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. “Hey, you’re the one who told me to take a day off.” 

“I did tell you to take a day off. It’s not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. That’s a lot of responsibility for one person to have.” 

“But it’s my responsibility,” he says easily. “No point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I don’t mind it.” 

“Do you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?” you ask, cheeks hot. 

“No,” he says, fondness evident even through the mask, “just you.” 

“Do you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but it’s not that far.” 

Spider-Man nods. “Yeah, I’ll walk you back.” 

He doesn’t hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You can’t believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he can’t pretend to save his life. 

“Are you having a good semester?” he asks. 

“It’s getting better. I’m glad I stuck with it. I love biology, it’s so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, it’s not something everyone understands.” You give him a look, and you give into temptation. “My best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.” 

“It’s definitely for dorks.” 

“Right, but I love being one.” You offer a useless secret. “I like to think that it’s why we’re such great friends.” 

“Me and you?” Spider-Man asks hoarsely. 

“Me and Peter.” You elbow him without force. “Why, do you like science?” 

“I love it…” 

“You know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like we’ve been friends for a long time.” You’re teasing poor Peter. 

He doesn’t speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise he’s stopped, you turn back to see him. 

Peter’s gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. It’s the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didn’t want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: you’d meant to wind him up, not make him panic. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Can you hear something?” 

“No, it’s not that…” He’s masked, but you know him well enough to understand why he’s stopped. 

“It’s okay,” you say. 

“It’s not, actually.” 

“Spider-Man.” You take a step toward him. “It’s fine.”

He presses his hands to his stomach. The sun is setting early, and in an hour, the dark will eat up New York and leave it in a blistering cold. “Do you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?” 

“Yeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. It’s not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.” 

“I know you were,” he says, emphasis on know, like it’s a different word entirely. 

“But meeting you really helped. If it weren’t for you, for Peter,” —you give him a searching look— “I wouldn’t feel better at all.” 

“It wasn’t his fault?” he asks. “He was your friend, and you were lonely.” 

“No–”

“He didn’t know what was going on with you, he didn’t have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldn’t tell anybody, and I know it wasn’t an accident, so what was his excuse?” His voice burns with anger. “It’s his fault.” 

“Of course it wasn’t your fault. Is that what you think?” You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. “Yes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I don’t know many people and I– I– I hurt myself, and it wasn’t as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?” 

“Peter’s fault,” he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesn’t bother enthusing it with much gusto. 

“Peter, none of it was your fault.” You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, don’t let me ruin this. “I was in a weird way, and yes, I was lonely, and I really liked you more than I should have. You didn't want me and that wasn’t your fault, that’s just how it was, I tried not to let it get to me, just there were a lot of things weighing on me at once, but it really wasn’t as bad as you think it was and it wasn’t your fault.” 

“I wasn’t there for you,” he says. “And I’ve been lying to you for a long time.” 

“You couldn’t tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.” 

“…I didn’t even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.” 

You hold your hands behind your back. “Well, he was a familiar one.” 

Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms aren’t in his reach. “It’s not because I didn’t want you.” 

“Peter,” you say, squirming. 

He steps back. 

“I have to go,” he says. 

“What?” 

“I have to– I don’t want to go,” he says earnestly, “sweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But I’ll come back, I’ll– I’ll come back,” he promises. 

And with a sudden lift of his arm, Peter pulls himself up the side of a building and disappears, leaving you whiplashed on the sidewalk, the sun setting just out of view.

—

You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isn’t there. You check your phone but he hasn’t texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasn’t been seen. 

You aren’t sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said he’d come back, but he didn’t, not ten minutes later, not twenty. You made excuses and you went home before it got too dark to see the street, sat on the couch rehearsing what you’d say. How could Peter think your unhappiness was his fault? Why does he always put the entire world on his shoulders?

Selfishly, you worried what it all meant for his lazy touches. Would he want to curl up into bed with you again now he knows what it means to you? It’s different for him. It isn’t like he’s in love with you… you’d just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache you’d suffered before. 

But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time. 

—

You and Peter found The Moroccan Mode in your senior year at Midtown. The school library was small and you were sick of being underfoot at home. When you started at ESU, you explored the on campus coffeehouse, the Coffee Bean, but it was crowded, and you’d found yourself attached to the Mode’s beautiful tiling, blues and topaz and platinum golds, its heavy, oiled wooden furniture, stained glass lampshades and the case full of lemony treats. The coffee here is better than anywhere else, but the best part out of everything is that it’s your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose. 

You hide in a far corner with a book and an empty cup of decaf coffee, a slice of meskouta on the table untouched. Decaf because caffeine felt a terrible idea, meskouta untouched because you can’t stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. It’s served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest. 

The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time you’ve seen it in months, warming rays kissing your fingers and lining the walls. You turn a page, turn your wrist, let the sun warm the scar you gave yourself those few months ago, when everything felt too big for you. 

Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon you’ll be ready to talk about it.  

The author in your book is talking about bees. They can fly up to 15 miles per hour. They make short, fast motions from front to back, a rocking motion. Asian giant hornets can go even faster despite their increased mass. They consider humans running provocation. If you see a giant hornet, you’re supposed to lay down to avoid being stung. 

You put your face in your hand. Next year, you’ll avoid the insect-based electives. 

Across the cafe, the bell at the top of the door rings. Laughter falls through it, a couple passing by. The register clashes open. A minute later it closes. 

You don’t raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee. 

“Did you eat breakfast?” Peter asks quietly. 

His voice is gentle, but hoarse. 

You tense. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. “You don’t look like yourself. Your eyes are red.” 

You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur. 

“What are you reading?” He frowns at you. “Please don’t cry.” 

You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. “I’m okay.” 

He nudges you across the booth seat and sits beside you. His arm settles behind your shoulders. He smells like smoke and soap, an acrid scent barely hidden. “Can you tell me you didn’t wait long for me?” 

“Ten minutes,” you lie. 

“Okay. I’m sorry. There was a fire.” He rubs your arm where he’s holding you. “I’m sorry.” 

“Will you go half?” you ask, nodding to the sandwich he’s brought you. It’s tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. You’ve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating. 

“I know you’re hungry,” you say, tapping his elbow, “just eat.” 

You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peter’s here, you don’t feel so sick —he’s not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach won’t be ignored. 

Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. You’ve never seen him stop before he’s done.

“It was in the apartments on Vernon. I– I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.” 

You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. “Are you hurt?” you ask, coughing. 

He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. “How long have you known it was me?” he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck. 

You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. “The night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ‘running girl’. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,” —you whisper, weary of the quiet cafe— “Spider-Man, and I realised it’s him that sounds like you. That he is you.” 

“Was that disappointing?” 

“Peter, you’re, like, my favourite person in the world,” you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. “Why would that be disappointing?” 

“I thought maybe you think he’s cooler than me.” 

“He is cooler than you, Peter.” You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. “I guess you’re the same person, right? So he’s just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.” 

“You flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.”

“Well, he flirted with me first.” 

You chance a look at his face. From that moment you can’t look away, not from Peter. You like when he wears that darkness in his eyes, the hint of his rarer side so uncommonly seen, but you love this most of all, Peter like your best memory, the way he’s looking at you now a picture perfect copy of that moment in a swimming pool in Manhattan with cracked tile under your feet. His arms heavy on your shoulders. You didn’t get it then, but you’re starting to understand now.

“I’ve made a mess of everything,” he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. “I haven’t been honest with you.” 

“I haven’t, either.” 

“I want to ask you for something,” Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. “You can say no.” 

“You’re hard to say no to.” 

“I need you to talk to me more,” —and here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your space— “not just because I love your voice, or because you think so much I’m scared you’ll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.”

We do, you think morosely. 

“It’s not your fault,” he adds, the hand that isn’t holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, “it’s mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldn’t have let it be a secret for so long.” 

“No, I doubt they’re stupid,” you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. “It’s not easy to tell someone you’re a hero.”

His palm smells like smoke. 

“That’s not the secret I meant,” he says. 

You take his hand from your face. Peter looks down and begins pressing his fingers between yours, squeezing them together as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.

“So tell me.”

The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. “You want to trade secrets again?” he asks. 

“Please.” 

“Okay. Okay, but I don’t have as many as you do,” he warns. 

“I find that hard to believe.” 

“I don’t. It’s not a real secret, is it? I’ve been trying to show you for weeks, we…”

He tilts his head invitingly. 

All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isn’t a secret.

“I’ll go first,” he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks.” He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. “What’s your secret?” 

“Sometime I want you to kiss me so badly I can’t sleep. It makes me feel sick–”

“Sick?” he asks worriedly. 

You touch the tip of your nose to his. “It’s like– like jealousy, but…” 

“You have no one to be jealous of,” he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, “Please, can I kiss you?” 

You say, “Yes,” very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldn’t be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.

It isn’t the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesn’t hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. It’s so warm you don’t know what to make of him beyond kissing him back —kissing his smile, though it’s catching. Kissing the line of his Cupid’s bow as he leans down. 

“I’m sorry about everything,” he mumbles, nose flattened against yours. 

You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. It’s still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peter’s hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest. 

Peter drops his hand. “Oh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didn’t snow, we’d be blind.”

“I can’t be cold much longer,” you confess. “I’m sick of the shitty weather.” 

“I can keep you warm.” 

He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown. 

“Did you want my meskouta?” you ask. 

Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow. 

You let the sunshine warm your face. Two unfinished sandwich halves, a mouthful of coffee, and a round slice of meskouta, its flaky crumb and lemon drizzle shining on the table. You would ask Peter for his camera if you’d thought he brought it with him, to take a picture of your breakfast and the carved table underneath. You could turn it on Peter, say something cheesy. This is the moment you ruined our lives, you’d tease.

“You never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.” 

You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. “They could make a novella of things I haven’t told you about,” you murmur wryly. 

Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, we’ll work on that. 

—

Spring

“Sorry!”

“No, it’s–”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m– shit!”

“–okay! All legs inside the ride?”

“I couldn’t find my purse–”

“You don’t need it!” Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. “You don’t have to rush.” 

“Are you sure you can drive this thing?” 

“Harry doesn’t mind.” 

“I don’t mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?” 

“That’s not funny.” 

You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. “Nothing ever is with us.” 

Peter grabs you behind the neck —which might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thing— and pulls you forward for a kiss you don’t have time for. “If we don’t check in,” —you begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lips— “by three, they said they won’t keep the room–” He clasps the back of your neck and smiles when your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes closed, kiss him fiercely, and pull away, hand on his chest to restrain him. “And then we’ll have to drive home like losers.” 

Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. You’re rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. “Sorry, am I the one who lost her purse?” 

“Peter!” 

“I can’t make us un-late,” he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips. 

“Alright,” you warn. 

He reaches for your knee. “It’s a forty minute drive. You’re panicking over nothing.” 

“It’s an hour.” 

Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peter’s hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesn’t question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. There’s so much to do around Manhattan; you could visit MoMA, Central Park, The Empire State Building or Times Square, but you and Peter give it all a miss for the little known Manhattan Super 8. 

It’s been a long time since you and Peter first visited. You took the bus out to Lenox Hill for a med-student tour neither of you particularly enjoyed, feeling out future careers. It’s not that Lenox Hill isn’t one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), it’s that all the blood made him queasy, and you were panicking too much about the future to think it through. He got over his aversion to blood but chose the less hands-on science in the end, and you worked things through. You’re a little less scared of the future everyday. 

You and Peter were supposed to get the bus straight back home for a sleepover, but one got cancelled, another delayed, and night closed in like two hands on your neck. Peter sensed your fear and emptied his wallet for a night in the Super 8. 

The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasn’t anything special but it was invitingly cool, blue and white tiles patterned like fish below; you clambered into the water in shorts and a tank top and Peter his boxers before a worker could see and stop you. 

It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, he’d looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, you’re cute, and let you waste the afternoon recounting one of your more embarrassing pangs of longing. A few days later he told you to clear your calendar for the weekend, only spilling the beans on what he’d done when you’d curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me. 

He’d hung his head over you and scrunched up his eyes. Cheater.

The best thing about having a boyfriend is that he always wants to listen to you. Peter was a good listener as a best friend, but now he has his act together and the secrets between you are never anything more than eating the last of the milk duds or not wanting to pee in front of him, he’s a treasure. There’s no feeling like having Peter pull you into his lap so he can ask about your day with his face buried in your neck, sniffing. Sometimes, when you text one another to meet up the next day, you’ll accidentally will the hours away babbling about school and life and things without reason. Peter has a list on his phone of your silliest tangents; blood oranges to the super moon, fries dipped in ice cream to the world record for kick flips done in five minutes. It’s like when you talk to one another, you can’t stop. 

There are quiet moments. You wake up some mornings to find him awake already, an arm behind you, rubbing at your soft upper arm, fingertip displacing the fine hairs there and trailing circles as he reads. He bends the pages back and holds whatever novel he’s reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when you’re sleeping. 

There are hectic, aching moments —vigilante boyfriends become blasé with their lives and precious faces. You’ve teetered on the edge of anxiety attacks trying to pick glass from his cheek with a tweezers, lamented over bruises that heal the next day. It’s easier when Peter’s careful, but Spider-Man isn’t careful. You ask him to take care of himself and he’s gentle with himself for a few days, but then someone needs saving from an armed burglar or a car swerves dangerously onto the sidewalk and he forgets. 

He hadn’t patrolled last night in preparation for today. 

“Did you know,” he says, pulling Harry’s borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, “that today’s the last day of spring?” 

“Already?” 

“Tonight’s the June equinox.” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Aunt May. She said it’s time to get a summer job.” 

You laugh loudly. “Our federal loans won’t last forever.” 

“Harry’s gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.” 

You nod emphatically. It’s barely a thought. “Obviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?” 

Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. “Better than the Bugle.” 

You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. It’s not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. There’s a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel he’s ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain. 

“There it is, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, “that’s what dreams are made of.” 

The blue and white tiled pool. It hasn’t changed. 

It’s about as hot as it’s going to get in June today, and, not knowing if it’ll rain tomorrow, you and Peter change into your swim suits and gather your towels. You wear flip flops and tangle your fingers, clanking and thumping down the rickety metal stairs to the pool. There’s nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes. 

Peter eases in first. Towels in a heap at the end of a sun lounger, his shirt tumbling to the floor, Peter splashes in frontward and turns to face you as the water laps his ribs. “It’s cold,” he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs. 

“I can feel it,” you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge. 

“You won’t come in and warm me up?” he asks. 

You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers. 

“I’m trying to prepare myself.” 

“Mm, you have to get used to it.” He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that he’d want one still makes you dizzy. “Thank you,” he says. 

“You’ll have to move.” 

Peter steps back, a ripple of water ringing behind him, his hands raised. He slips them with ease under your arms and helps you down into the water, laughing at your shocked giggling —he’s so strong, the water so cold. 

Peter doesn’t often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. He’ll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when you’re on his side to force you sideways. 

“Oh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!” he says. 

“How will I run?” you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck. 

Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that he’s precious with you, too. There’s devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. “I don’t need you to do a running start, sweetheart,” he says, tilting his head to the side, “I’ll just lift you.” 

“Last time I laughed so much you dropped me.” 

“Exactly, you laughed, and this is serious.” 

The world isn’t mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8’s parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peter’s breath is half laughter as he pulls you further from the sidelines, ceramic tiles slippery under your feet. In the distance, you swear you can hear one of those songs he likes from that poor singer who died in the Wolf River. 

He’s a beholden thing in the sun; you can’t not look at him, all of him, his sculpted chest wet and glinting in the sun, his eyes like browning honey, his smile curling up, and up. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says. 

You rest an arm behind his head. “The rash guard is a good look?” 

“Sweetheart, you couldn’t look cuter,” he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. “I wish you’d mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I would’ve prepared to be a more decent man.” 

“You’re decent enough, Parker.” 

“Maybe now.” 

“Well, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,” you say. 

You’re teasing, but Peter’s eyes light up with mischief as he calls, “Oh, great idea!” and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You can’t avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface. 

He shakes himself off like a dog. 

“Pete!” you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes. 

“It just didn’t help,” he says, pulling you back into his arms, “you know, the water is cold, but you’re so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and you’re just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds ago–”

“Peter,” you say, tempted to roll your eyes. 

Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile he’s sporting, they look like anything but tears. “Tell me a secret?” he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back. 

A soft smile takes your lips. “No,” you say, tipping up your chin, “you tell me one first.”

“What kind of secret?” 

“A real one,” you insist. 

“Oh…” He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. “Okay, I have one. Ask me again.” 

You raise a single brow. “Tell me a secret, Peter.” 

He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. “I love you,” he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose. 

You’re lucky he’s already holding you. “I love you too,” you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. “I love you.” 

Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You can’t know what he’s thinking, but you can feel it. His hands can’t seem to stay still on your skin. 

The sun warms your back for a time. 

Peter lets out a deep breath of relief. You lean away to look at him, your hand slipping down into the water, where he finds it, his fingers circling your wrist. 

“That’s another one to let go of,” he suggests. 

He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye. 

You and Peter swim until your fingers are pruned and the sun has been blanketed by clouds. You let him wrap you in a towel, and kiss your wet ears, and take you back to the room, where he holds your face. 

“I’ll start the shower for you,” he says, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, each stroke of them encouraging your face from one side to the other, just a touch, ever so slightly moved in the palms of his hands. 

“Don’t fall asleep standing up,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes close unbidden to you both. “I won’t.” 

He holds you still, leaning in slowly to kiss you with the barest of pressure. Every thought in your head fades, leaving only you and Peter, and the dizziness of his touch as he lays you down at the end of the bed. 

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat —thank you for reading❤︎

me!; peter parker.

track sixteen of LOVER

pairing: tom holland!peter parker x gn!reader

synopsis: the world is black and white until you meet your soulmate

word count: 2.4k

From what you’ve heard, New York City isn’t that different in colour than it is in black and white. When you’re deep in the city and the skyscrapers are towering over you, the seas of blacks, whites, and greys that you can see doesn’t really affect anything. You’ve met people in the past that lived by the sea or in the country when the lack of colour is more prominent, but you consider yourself lucky that in a city it’s not that big of a deal. Sure it would be nice to be able to see the colour of your mother’s favourite flowers or appreciate the blue of a summer sky when there’s not a cloud to be seen, but it’s not necessarily impractical for you to not be able to see colours.

That doesn’t mean that a part of you doesn’t ache when yet another one of your friends sends an excited message to your group chat that she’s met her soulmate. You smile at the message and send the appropriate messages of congratulations but it’s a wistful smile more than anything, and it fizzles out the good morning you’d been having. The number in your group that haven’t met your soulmate yet is dwindling, and sometimes it’s hard to feel like you’re not being left behind. You know that you’ll meet your soulmate when the universe decides it’s time but you’re starting to feel the edges of frustration growing in your subconscious. You went through both middle and high school without meeting your soulmate, and now you’re in your second year of college, it’s starting to feel like the universe is just toying with you.

You finish the remains of your lukewarm coffee before saving the assignment you’d forgotten you were working on and shut your laptop down. The warm atmosphere of the coffee shop you’d been residing in seems to have dulled slightly at the news, and you’re more in the mood now to go and throw a mini pity party for yourself than worry about your communications assignment. You’re quick to gather all your belongings and load them into your backpack, swinging it over your shoulder as you make your way to the exit. You throw a quick smile at the baristas as you walk through the door onto the crowded street outside. It's almost spring and the warmth in the air seems to have brought everyone outside as you try to make your way through the crowd to the nearest subway station to get home.

It's the sound of a scream that makes everyone stop around you. Attacks in New York are sadly all too common so people quickly start to move on, hoping to avoid whatever maniac in a suit is causing chaos today. You manage half the walk home before the sound of something crashing into a building just down the street really sends people into a panic. You find yourself struggling to move forward as people become more erratic at getting away before they get hurt, and it feels like for every step forward you manage, people shoving past you pushes you five steps back. It finally seems to clear in front of you and it doesn’t occur to you to worry why that is, just that you should try and keep moving and get away from whatever is going on around you. It’s only when you hear a woman scream that you turn just in time to see a huge block of cement flying through the air and heading in your direction.

In what you're going to later categorise as a very uncharacteristic moment, you find yourself freezing in place at the danger in front of you. It's only a blur of grey and an arm wrapping around your waist that jolts you from your mind as you're pulled into the air and away from the slab of concrete that definitely would've killed you if it had been given the chance to make contact with your body. It takes your brain a good few seconds to process what's happening to you as you feel solid ground back underneath your feet and the arm is removed from your side. You’re vaguely aware of someone speaking to you but your brain isn’t quite caught up and it’s all you can do to not collapse as your legs start to shake as what just happens begins to settle in your mind. The words being spoken to you start to become clearer as the fog slowly lifts from your brain.

“Hey miss, are you okay? Can you hear me?” You finally feel like you’re able to open your eyes without throwing up and it’s all you can do to let out a groan of discomfort. When you finally look up to see the person who pulled you from certain doom, your first thought is that you didn’t think you’d ever get this close to the masked vigilante that’s been swinging around New York for the last few years. That thought is immediately shut down though, when colours start to bloom into your vision, starting with the deep red of his mask and bleeding out into everything else in your vision. He seems equally startled by the revelation, stumbling back from you slightly as if he’d been burned. “Oh my god.”

“You can say that again.” The two of you continue staring at each other, or at least you’re staring at him. The mask makes it difficult to tell if he’s staring at you but you have a feeling that he is. You can also tell that he’s panicking slightly about the situation that’s just unfolded in front of you both.

“You just almost died!” He takes one of your hands from your side and it’s only then that you notice how much you’re shaking. You can’t tell if it’s from finally meeting your soulmate or if it’s from the near death experience and you decide to chalk it up to both. “What’s your name?” The voice is softer now, quieter now he seems to have reassured himself that you’re physically okay.

“(Y/N). I’m assuming I can’t ask you yours?” Spiderman shakes his head slightly, and the shifting of the vibrant red hurts your eyes slightly as you still find yourself adjusting to being able to see colours.

“I have to go and stop Scorpion, but I promise I’ll find you. Is there anywhere I can meet you when this is over?”

“I’m meant to have a class later. I study journalism and communications at NYU.” Your soulmate lets out a noise of consideration at your words.

“What class do you have later?”

“Journalism 301.” He seems to contemplate something for a moment before speaking again.”

“I have that class too. I’ll meet you on the benches outside the building.” You step back at his words, and when you speak confusion is heavy in your tone.

“You’re a student?”

“If these guys with masks keep attacking during my classes I might struggle to graduate but for now my GPA is holding enough for me to stay a student, yeah. I have to go before I lose Scorpion but meet me after class later?”

“Will I know who you are?”

“I’m not sure. I guess we’ll find out later huh?” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and turning around, jumping up and sending a web towards a building to pull himself into the sky. Some passers-by run over to you as he swings away, checking that you’re physically unharmed, and then you’re being walked to the nearest subway station by a friendly older woman who wouldn’t hear of you making the five minute walk by yourself. She only leaves your side as you step onto your train, thanking her for what must be the tenth time in five minutes.

The journey back to your dorm is silent, and you’re relieved that your roommate isn’t there so you can take some time to process what’s happened. It’s nice to see your dorm as most other people see it, a multitude of colours all over the walls and the pictures of you and your friends in colour. You cringe slightly at some of the pictures from a few years ago, back when none of you could see colour and you’d all refused to let your parents tell you what colours you were wearing. You make a mental note to call your mom and berate her for letting you walk around in an outfit with such clashing colours before falling back onto your bed.

When you make it to your journalism class, you can barely focus. You take a seat at the back of the class, and you barely make any notes, too busy watching every guy in the class to see if any of them look over to you more than just for fleeing glances. When your professor announces that the class is over, you’re slow to pack up your things and you’re one of the last to walk out. When you walk out of the building, there’s only one person sitting on the benches, and he’s not facing you but you know who it is. The familiar mop of curly hair gives away your soulmate’s identity and you freeze in place. Peter Parker is Spiderman? You walk towards him, only slowing when he turns to face you.

“Hey (Y/N). I’m-“

“Peter Parker.” You see a flash of surprise on his face when you say his name before him.

“You know who I am?”

“You’re like the smartest guy in our class Peter, everyone knows who you are.” The small flush of pink on his cheeks as you compliment him is sweet, even if you were being sincere.

“I figured we could talk? About everything that happened today?” You give him a slow nod, watching as he jumps to his feet, pulling his backpack in front of him and opening it. He’s quick to pull out a small bouquet of flowers, a mix of yellow and pink flowers, and hold them out towards you. “I didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked so the florist suggested these.” His nervousness is endearing and you can’t not smile at the gesture.

“They’re lovely, thank you Peter.”

"I guess we have a lot to talk about huh? Do you, uh, wanna grab a coffee? My treat?"

"Coffee sounds great. I'll buy though, I owe you for saving my life after all." It surprises you that the walk to the coffee shop is filled with conversation, like you’ve known Peter for years. It’s almost uncanny the way you seem to finish each other's sentences and are on a similar wavelength. It’s even stranger that you realise that you’ve shared a number of classes in the past few years, and how the two of you have never run into each other before feels like a mean twist of fate, to have him so close and yet so far away.

The two of you spend six hours sitting in the coffee shop talking about anything and everything. The time passes without either of you properly realising and it’s with an almost embarrassing lack of awareness that one of the baristas has to ask you to leave because they’ve reached closing time and you’re both still there. You spend the walk back to campus laughing about it, poking fun at each other for it. It’s even stranger when you work out that your dorm buildings are practically next to each other. You both decide to head up to his dorm since Peter doesn’t have a roommate so you can talk about everything that can’t be discussed in a public setting, or at least somewhere with prying ears. You’re vaguely glad you’re not going back to your dorm, you’d left it in something of a state before leaving this morning and hadn’t felt mentally up to tidying after almost dying and meeting your soulmate in the same event.

Peter’s dorm is small but cosy, decorated with pictures of him with his friends and an older woman whom you’re assuming is a relative. You can’t help but smile at how happy he looks, and a part of you is so excited to meet all these people that he holds most dear to him. You try not to make it too obvious how you’re trying to absorb everything about Peter but when you look at him and see the fond smile on his face you know you’ve been caught. He invites you to sit on his bed whilst he pulls the chair out from under his desk and turns it so he can face you. It’s the first time you’ve had a moment of pure silence between you since you met after class and it seems like neither of you are sure who should go first. You decide it should be you to speak first.

“So, are we going to speak about this afternoon?”

“Yeah, I guess we should. Are you sure you’re okay?” You break the eye contact you were holding, eyes shifting down to the floor as you think about how today could have ended. You could’ve died today. You’re lucky that Peter had been there to save you, the whole thing still doesn’t feel real.

“I think so? I mean I don’t think it’s hit me yet? Not properly anyway.” Peter nods at your admission, a look of understanding on his face.

“That’s understandable.”

“Thank you for saving me. I completely froze when I saw that concrete coming at me and I just…I dunno, thank you.” You’ve noticed that Peter gets bashful whenever you compliment him and you make a mental note to keep doing so, he’s clearly not used to receiving praise for what he does, probably because of his need to stay anonymous.

“I was just doing my job.” His humility is clearly a knee-jerk reaction to any and all attempts to credit him for just how much he’s doing to keep the people of this city alive and safe, and you make it a personal mission to spend every day of the rest of your lives together making sure he knows he’s amazing.

“Your job is incredible. To do all of that on your own whilst being a full time student? I don’t know how you do it.” You gesture for him to join you on his bed and, when he does, you take one of his hands into your own. He seems to melt into your touch and it’s in that moment you know that this is exactly where you’re meant to be and exactly who you’re meant to be with.

Y/N: I’ve been dropping them the most insanely obvious hints for like a year now. No response. Peter : Wow. They sound stupid. Y/N: But they’re not. They’re really smart actually. Just dense. Peter : Maybe you need to be more obvious? Like, I don’t know… “Hey! I love you!” Y/N: I guess you’re right. Hey Peter , I love you. Peter : See! Just say that! Y/N: Holy fucking shit. Peter : If that flies over their head then, sorry Y/N, but they're too dumb for you. Y/N: Peter .