prettypiscesgal - Tumblr blog

[prettypiscesgal]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel assumes you're mad when you stop initiating kisses and tries to get back on your good side —featuring grumpy but lovelorn miguel and his head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. requested here. fem!reader, 3k.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Gàn de piàoliang!" cheers the puppy at the bottom of your screen. Well done.

You smile at him and slide your finger across a lilac candy to make another three-match. 

The music playing from your phone quietens as a text lines the top of the screen. You click it as soon as you recognise the contact picture beside it, your handsome Miguel with a filter over his face that paints rosy pink hearts over his high cheeks. 

Finished. his text says. 

Miguel is a man of little words. Over the phone he talks even less, easier to draw blood from stone than harness a conversation with him that isn't in person. His text demarcates the wall of messages you sent him earlier, not wanting for a reply but bursting to tell him things as they happened. 

You put your phone down carefully. It's one of your most treasured possessions, shimmering and high tech, you can fold it down the middle to fit in your little spider suit pockets, though the amount of charms and beads hanging from it now impedes that particular functionality.

Miguel gave it to you as a gift without any fanfare around the time you started staying in his apartment in the society, and while your bunking with him was supposed to be temporary, the phone is for keeps. You've decorated it accordingly.

The best charm is a beaded translucent jellyfish, and not solely because it's beautiful: Miguel has a matching one that he showcases shamelessly. 

You rush into his neat bathroom and lean heavily on the counter, propping your hand on the faucet to hold your weight as you assess your reflection in the mirror. When you turn your face, your nose shines in the light. 

You decide it's best to wash up. Miguel will be back soon enough. 

You get distracted by skincare, toner pads resting on your cheeks when you hear the door opening. A waste to take them off prematurely, you pat them flat to your skin and meet Miguel in his bedroom half ready. 

"I can see why you didn't text me back," he says, giving you a quick glance from the corner of his eye as he walks past the bed and your waiting phone. He beelines for the kitchenette and disappears around the corner. "What do they do, the squares?" 

"They're calming, I think," you say, following his path from the bathroom to the small kitchen. 

His apartment is big but not huge. The main room is his bedroom, with enough space for a couch and a TV he never uses that comes out of the wall. To the right is a utility closet for storage and a walk-in wardrobe, and to the left lies the kitchen and the bathroom. It takes you all of ten seconds to be by his side. 

Bottles rattle as Miguel opens the fridge. He grabs sparkling water for himself and a fruit tea concoction for you. You hadn't followed him for that, but you accept it anyway. 

He looks tired. Tilting his head back to drink, you eye the stiff set to his shoulders and the way he rolls his arm out, orchestrating an offer for a massage in your head. 

Miguel squints at you. "What?" 

"What?" you ask back. 

He doesn't explain. He screws the lid back on to his water and closes the fridge. 

With his empty hand, Miguel reaches for your face. You stay very still in anticipation of his touch, imagining how he might take your cheek in his hand and pull you close, or perhaps curl thick, long fingers behind your neck and guide your chin up. He can be rough in odd ways, as though he's unaware of his strength. 

"It's slimy," he says in disgust, pulling a toner pad from your left cheek. 

"It's going to make my skin clearer." 

"There's nothing wrong with your skin." True or not, you know it's Miguel's way of being sweet. He takes the second toner pad too, tossing them in the trash with a huff. "That's better. You look normal. Or, as normal as possible." 

"Jerk!" you say through a smile, thinking now's the moment. 

But Miguel hasn't peeled away your skincare to kiss you. He pats a spot of dampness on your cheek away with the back of his hand and turns on his heel, gunning for a change of clothes and a shower, if you know him. "Drink your tea. Did you eat? Me preocupo por ti." 

You sigh and trail after him. "I was waiting for you to come back. It's Vietnamese week in the cafeteria, they're making cá kho tộ. Do you like that? It's sweeter than hake." 

"It's fish?" 

"Catfish. Caramelised catfish." You sit down on the bed, flipping your phone open to play your game while he decides. 

That, and to ignore the inkling of doubt blossoming like mould under heat in your chest. An achy sort of worry… 

Does Miguel not want to kiss you? 

"What's the other option? I don't like sweet foods." 

You knew that already. "You could make pasta?" you suggest. 

"You'd love that." 

"Are you teasing me?" 

Miguel pokes his head out of the wardrobe, and with it comes his naked chest. His muscles are insane, lean tanned stretches of cord pulled taut as he grabs a shirt. "I'm making an observation. You like carbs." 

"Everyone likes carbs, Miguel, especially Spiders." 

"I know, but I don't make anyone else dinner." He's definitely flirting now, his voice playful and soft. "I'll make you pasta if you want." 

Why hasn't he kissed you? Offering to make you dinner, smiling at you just as soon as his face has been pulled through his t-shirt. He's acting as affectionate as a man who'd like to kiss you without pulling through. 

Well, maybe you kiss him too much. Come to think of it, you initiate the vast, vast majority of kisses, and you must kiss him twice a day at least. Miguel clearly favours you, but it's possible he isn't interested in as much physicality as you and hasn't had the heart to say. He likes watching vintage movies at night and half the time you're not interested in those. You haven't said a word about it because things between you are new and you like his being happy watching the things he enjoys. Miguel could be doing the same, allowing hugs and kisses he doesn't necessarily want in order to avoid hurting your feelings. 

A favourite phrase of his cuts through your thinking, "¿Alguien en casa?" Anyone home?

"Oh, sorry, were you not getting enough attention?" you ask him, pretending to be more nonchalant than you are as you open the match game on your phone. 

The puppy barks hello. 

"Ah, you're a cómico now." Miguel sits on the bed beside you in sweatpants, reaching across the sheets to give your arm a shake. "I said, I'll make you pasta if you want pasta." 

"I want what you want," you say honestly. 

He stares at you. You're not sure what he's confused about. "Alright. Did you want it now?" he asks. 

"Yes, serf," you say, laughing when he knocks your phone out of your hand and stands in a dramatised annoyance. 

You play a couple levels of your game to give him space. He's quiet as he washes his hands and gets out the cookware, but he appears curious in the door, rag between his hands. "You're not gonna come and sit with me? I really am your maid." 

Eager for an invitation, you join him in the kitchen. You brace yourself behind you to hop onto the counter and find his hands on your hips, helping you up. 

Miguel meets your eyes as he does, not close but enough to beckon down for a kiss. You think about doing it. He might let you, his straight lashes pointed with his gaze, his eyes a heavy weight where they trace your features unhurried. 

"How come you didn't text me back earlier?" he asks. 

"Oh, I didn't know you were expecting me to. I'm sorry, handsome, I was kind of grody–"

"Grody? I doubt that–" 

"–I figured I'd wash up before you got back." 

"So you were busy?" he asks, returning to the chopping board at the left of the stove. He picks up a glinting-sharp knife. "Not something else?" 

"No, why? Was I supposed to do something today?" 

Miguel begins slicing into a tomato, red skin splitting to reveal greener insides. "No. No, just wondering." 

You lean back against the wall, crossing a leg over your thigh. He's being kind of off. Your first impulse is to try and kiss it better but that directly fights your new theory. Being nice physically is far from your only weapon. 

"Did you have a good day?" you ask, and here's where you'd pull him close or sidle up behind him and twist his hair around your finger. "I was thinking about you a lot. Did the strike mission go okay?" 

"Fine. You didn't come see me, but it was fine." 

You eye him from the corner of your vision. He's still cutting up tomatoes, a pan of olive oil and minced garlic simmering between you.��

"I sent you all those photos," you say. 

One of the Peter's you hang around with got his arm stuck in a window after he said, "Is that a bad idea, do you think? I really wanna try," and Hobie said, "They can't stop you." 

The 'they' being unknown, Hobie was right. No one could stop Peter once he started climbing, but the window could certainly stop him from getting down. You'd sent Miguel pictures of his dangling body up in the atrium like a dark splodge, as well as a blurry photo of your face when you'd accidentally turned the camera. He responded to that one with a heart but the rest he didn't touch. 

"They got him down eventually," you continue, "but I had to stay for moral support! And to feed him popcorn so he didn't starve. Was it peaceful without me?"

"You know I like when you visit me, right?" he asks carefully. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah?" he mimics, waving his hand at you. "Can't deal with you. Get the cream from the fridge." 

You eat dinner as you and Miguel tend to do —you talk your way through it happily, smiling and joking, and he puts extra helpings on your plate when you aren't looking. 

The alien quality of what you're doing rears its head briefly. He's trying to stop the quasi apocalypse. You're willing to help, though you'd been more interested in Miguel and getting to know his enigma than your responsibilities. Weird how love makes you want to be better. 

"What was your course like?" Miguel asks, when the dishes have been set aside for washing and you've showered for the night. 

He's talkative tonight. 

"They taught us how to wield a baton," you say, climbing into his bed with a tired sigh. "One girl was crazy about it. She kind of looked like me…" You yawn, looking for his waist as he settles in the sheets and pillows next to you. "You're lucky I got my claws into you when I did. At least I'm not murderous. Much." 

Miguel covers your hand on his ribs. He squeezes your fingers together gently like he's collecting them under his palm for borrowing. 

"You didn't get your claws in me. I'm not easily led." 

"Course not," you snort. You actually agree with him, but he said it too seriously for bedtime. 

Miguel abandons your hand to pull you in, encouraging your head and upper chest onto his, hand coasting up and down the length of your arm lovingly. Firmly, like a massage, but adoring nonetheless. You languish in his touches and rub your lips, still tingling from spearmint, against the collar of his shirt gently. As indirect a kiss as you can manage, practically sick with longing after a day unkissed. 

"Are you mad at me?" he asks into the quiet.

You pause, fingers with a mind of their own as you take a long strand of hair that curls under his ear between them, combing it flat. "Why, have you done something?" you ask, hiding your confusion with a delighted lilt. 

"I've been trying to work that out." Frustration seeps into his voice, roughened syllables drawn tight, "But you're evasive." 

"I'm evasive," you say softly, tilting your head back to meet his eye. "Miguel, why do you think I'm mad at you? I'm not mad." 

Miguel glares at you. Brows furrowed, an especially formidable downturn to an otherwise pretty mouth, he looks as though he wants to start a fight with you, and as though he doesn't believe it. 

"I'm not mad," you insist, sitting up a little. 

"Then…" 

You scrunch your brows at him. "You've been thinking I was mad at you all day? Why didn't you say something, handsome?" 

He might roll his eyes at your pet name if he weren't knee deep in relief. You didn't know being mad at him was something he'd be sad with, and yet there he is lying beneath you, blowing a big enough exhale to ruffle the hair from his forehead. 

Miguel takes your face into one hand. Your eyelashes flutter against his palm like a shuddering butterfly wing as you lean into his touch, more than happy to offer him whatever relief it is he needs while enjoying in the feeling of being close to him. 

"You haven't kissed me all day," he says quietly. "I thought I must've pissed you off, 'cos you're more piranha than girl sometimes, but you weren't acting any weirder than usual beyond that." 

You roll your eyes and hide your face in his hand. He's kidding around, and his thumb rubs over your skin tenderly to prove it. 

"You're not mad?" he asks again. 

You kiss his palm. You kiss his wrist, happy when he knows the moves like a well practised dance, his fingers sliding behind your ear to steady you as you dip down for a kiss. 

It's a good kiss. Warm mouths vying for one another but trying not to seem desperate, Miguel's hand behind your ear growing harsher as you pull a breath against his lips. You press your hand into his pec too hard. 

"Sorry," you murmur, stealing another fast kiss and pulling away. 

You barely feel how uncomfortably you're skewed, you're that happy. 

"Is there a reason you wouldn't kiss me?" he asks. 

"I'm, like, always the first one to initiate and I kinda got it in my head maybe you didn't want me kissing you that much…" You grin at him. "The whole time you're playing twenty questions with me wishing I'd lay one on you. You know you have a voice for more than yelling at people, right?" 

Miguel gets this look in his eyes then, rolling his jaw a touch at the supposed audacity of what you've said. The tip of his tongue works at his canine tooth, his eyebrows rising as he asks, "Oh, is that how you're talking to me tonight?" 

"How else should I talk to you, Miguel?" 

He doesn't bother with swiftness nor a show of strength as he rolls you onto your back. He settles above you with measured movements, a pleased smirk playing on his lips now. His eyes are dark, pupils wide as dimes.

"With compassion, mi cielo," he says.

"Have some sympathy for me," you implore him, wrapping your arms around his waist. It diffuses the tension, though neither party minds, evidenced by Miguel's easy relaxation and your ecstatic mood. Happiness bubbles up like carbonated bubbles, your chest awake with a fizzing excitement. "You really thought I was mad 'cos I wasn't kissing you?" 

He avoids the question. "You think you're the only one who initiates?" he asks genuinely. 

"Why didn't you kiss me, then? When you came home?" 

"Your face was wet." 

"And after when we were eating dinner?" 

Miguel smiles at you. No sarcasm, no stress. He leans down to kiss you chastely, pulling away to say, "I thought you were definitely mad at that point." 

"A kiss would've made me feel better." 

You realise how quiet your bubble of the world really is for that handful of seconds, Miguel holding himself above you, your hands loose behind the broad stretch of his back. 

"You know you can just ask me, yeah? You don't have to worry and wonder how I'm feeling. I'll tell you how I'm feeling if you want to know." 

"Cariño, I always want to know," he says. 

You breathe out slowly. Miguel takes your face into his hand for another kiss, or so you think —he pinches your cheek. 

"And I always want to kiss you," he says quickly, climbing off of you. 

"Where are you going?" 

"I need a drink." 

A break from sincerity. You don't mind that he needs to walk it off as long as he comes back. You stretch out on your back and cover your face with your hands. 

"People think I'm the weird one," you say into them.

A hand clamps around your ankle and tugs you down. You shriek with startled laughter and climb away from him as he lands on top of you, a cold water bottle held to your bare neck. 

"No!" you laugh. 

Miguel laughs in tandem and presses it further down. 

"I really am going to be mad at you if you don't quit!" You yelp as condensation wets your collar. "Miguel!"

"You're a wimp," he says with a bright smile. 

You push him with some enhanced super strength and manage to get the water bottle off of your neck, but Miguel makes up for any differences in strength with enthusiasm and muscle alike, shoving you down. 

You're laughing and pleading at the same time, "Please, Miguel, stop, it's sooooo cold." 

Miguel laughs, dropping the bottle somewhere above your head, covering the cooled stripe of your skin with his big hand. The sound is warming enough, but you let him sweat for a second, content to be doted on. 

He gives you a once over. "I'll kiss you first more," he promises. 

"Starting now, please, handsome. Mi cielo." 

Miguel groans and digs his arms under your back. You don't fight it as he drags you back to the top of the bed. In fact, you quite enjoy it. You lay back to receive his sorry pecks and his all encompassing hug, forgetting what you'd been worried about one damp crescent moon of a kiss at a time.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!

[prettypiscesgal]

☆·˚ ༘ Star Wars ☆·˚ ༘

The Mandalorian:

Just call my name

Mando gets a head injury and you try to help him, which results in his usual stubbornness and some cute nicknames {fluff}

[prettypiscesgal]

Just call my name - Din Djarin

Summary: After Mando suffers a head injury, you’re quick to go help, even though he denies he needs it

Warnings: none

Listen while reading:

Ain’t no mountain high enough - Marvin Gaye, Tammi Terrell

“Mando!” You shout, watching him lay on the ground, groaning in pain, his head was lolling back and forth as if trying to keep himself conscious.

He managed to take down the bounty, but not without taking a few blows. You watched as he collapsed on the floor once he completed the bounty. Now, you were sprinting towards him.

“Mando.” You say, collapsing on your knees beside him and shaking his shoulders. “Come on, time to get up. The kid has been whining for you.” You say, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and helping him up.

He groans as you bring him to his feet before he pushes away from you, “M’fine.” He gruffly replies, straightening himself out.

You scoff at him. He always just wants to seem so tough. You know he took a hard blow to the head, you only hope it’s not too bad. You don’t know how to treat it when you couldn’t take off his helmet. “Mando.. You’re stumbling around. Just let me help.”

“N-no, it’s fine.” He stutters out, stumbling towards the ship. “Just need to take a lil nap..”

He sounds drunk and you’re nervous. Why’d he always have to be so stubborn? “Mando, you’re not fine. And you can’t go to sleep, you could have a concussion.”

“Pfft. Concussion? Nuh-uh” You almost want to laugh at how he tipsy he sounds. He turns around to look at you, motioning to himself, “I’m in perfect condition.”

“Really?” You cross your arms, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes. Watch.” He does a couple spins, as if that is supposed to prove anything. Then, he begins to fall toward, catching himself as you reach out, ready to catch him.

He giggles to himself and now you’re really concerned. Tired of his antics, you grab his hand and drag him towards the ship. He stumbles messily behind you, trying to keep up as you drag him.

Stepping onto the ship, you throw him into a chair and go search through the medicine cabinet. The most you can do is find some pills for him to take. You hear a soft cooing and turn around to find Mando on his stomach, feet kicking in the air and he plays with the kid.

“Aww, you’re so cute aren’t you?” He whispers to the little child, rubbing his ears as it happily coos.

You smile to yourself, pulling Mando up by his cape and plopping him back into the chair. Him and the child both whine at the fact you have broken them apart.

“Okay, I found some medicine I need you to take. It’s our best option. Do you have any other injuries?” You asks, wanting know if there is something you can treat without breaking his creed.

“No, ma’am.” He replies, you can hear the smile in his voice and if makes you flush.

“I’ll leave you alone to take it then. Do not fall asleep.” You point a stern finger at him. He nods once in reply.

You pick up the child on your way out, glancing back one more time before climbing into the cockpit. You hear him mutter what sounded like, “Night, mesh’la.”

-

“Mando?” You call out. No response.

You curse as you climb down from the cockpit. You hope he isn’t asleep, but you know deep down he probably is. You just hope his helmet is still on.

You thank Maker when you find him passed out, helmet still on, but at least the medicine is gone. You smile softly, walking over and shaking him.

“Mando?” You whisper, “C’mon, time to get up.”

He groans, shaking his head in protest before turning to look at you. You give him a soft smile, thankful that he isn’t dead.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask.

“Better.” He grumbles, seeming like his old self again, “Sorry about..”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s quite funny to see the big bad Mandalorian giggling and spinning around.”

He lets out an embarrassed chuckle and you know if you could see his face he would be beet red. “Yeah..”

“I’ll go get you some water.” You say, starting to walk away before a hand grabs onto you.

“Thank you.” He says softly, the softest you’ve ever heard him say anything. Your whole face flushes at the sudden intimacy.

“You’re welcome, Mando.” You mutter back at him sheepishly, eyes trained on his helmet as if you could see his eyes from underneath it.

“Din.” He replies.

“Gesundheit.” You reply, turning to leave again and he chuckles.

“No. Din. That’s my name.” You turn back to him in shock.

“What?” You gasp, running back over to him as he stands up on wobbly knees.

“Mando, why would you tell me that?” You rush out nervously, “Is that breaking your creed-”

“Shh.” He replies, cutting you off as he holds your arms, trying to calm you down. “Don’t worry about it, mesh’la”

“You said that last night.”

“Said what?”

“Mesh’la.” You murmur, looking up at his helmet and seeing your reflection in it, “What does it mean?”

He goes silent, just staring down at you. The only sense you have that he hasn’t knocked out again is his hands, which are now brushing down your arm to hold your hands in his. You look down at the gesture with a blushing face.

“Beautiful.” He finally speaks and it catches you offguard.

“Huh?”

“It means beautiful.” He admits, bringing your hand up to his helmet and holding it against where his cheek would be, sighing as if he could feel the touch.

“Are you sure you’re not shitting me and it actually means dickwad or something?” You whisper and smile brightly when you’re met with a deep chuckle.

“I would never lie about something like that.” He whispers in reply and you feel your face heat up. “You’re a little red. You alright?”

You can hear the teasing in his voice and you roll your eyes at him, “Fuck you, Din.”

“Not what I expected to hear when you first said my name, but it still sounds so good coming from you.” He admits and you’re not sure you could get anymore red.

“You know, you should get a concussion more often. It makes you such a romantic.” You tease him and he laughs, bringing his forehead to rest against yours, the cool metal a harsh contrast against your burning skin.

“As long as you take care of me after.”

“You know I always will. Just call my name, Din.”

“I always will, Y/N.”

[prettypiscesgal]

✧˖⋆·˚ ༘ Navigation ✧˖⋆·˚ ༘

Masterlists✈︎:

Stranger things

Marvel

Star Wars

Game of thrones [coming soon✎ᝰ]

The Last of Us [coming soon✎ᝰ]

Harry Potter [coming soon✎ᝰ]

The Walking Dead [coming soon✎ᝰ]

↳ must be 18+ if you are interacting with my page at all

☆ i take requests, don’t be afraid to ask ☆

[prettypiscesgal]

⚡︎ Marvel ⚡︎

Peter Parker:

Bugaboo

You just wanted to help Peter, you didn’t think it would go so wrong. Now, Green Goblin has taken everything from Peter {angst}

Bugs

Even big superheroes can be afraid of little bugs {fluff}

Miguel O’Hara:

coming soon ✎ᝰ

[prettypiscesgal]

꒷꒦Stranger things꒷꒦

Eddie munson:

Stolen Undies

Eddie steals your undies and what he does with them is not at all what you expect…{smut, fluff}

Friends without Benefits [part one, part two]

You and Eddie have a friends with benefits relationship, but when Chrissy Cunningham comes into the picture, everything starts to crumble around you {angst}

Sing along

You learn the songs on Corroded Coffin’s set list and take Eddie by surprise at his next concert {fluff}

Robin Buckley:

Three Inches

You have a sleepover with all your friends and your dad, Hopper, finds out that one of them may be a little more than a friend {fluff, lil smut}

[prettypiscesgal]

PETER PARKER CUDDLING HEADCANNONS

Pairing: peter parker x GN reader

Warnings: none<3

Note: I made this a few months ago and found it again

•you're obviously the big spoon

•he's a little baby tbh and that's more than okay

•"cuddle me harder."

• "peter I cannot physically get any closer to you, it's impossible."

•breathing in the scent of his shampoo

•his hair is so soft that you just have to touch it, play with it, whatever

•you getting claustrophobic and trying to push him away

•"no what the heck are you doing get back here."

•him reaching his arm around grabbing you and yanking you back him gently

•almost falling asleep but suddenly getting thirsty

•trying to get up without fully waking him

•failing

•"where are you going?" the baby boy lifts his head up sleepily eyes still closed scrunching his face a lil

•"thirsty" not a good enough excuse apparently, better run while you can

•him shooting a web at you and pulling you back to him

•trying to speak but getting shushed

•FINALLY getting comfortable and almost asleep

•"peter I need to pee"

[prettypiscesgal]

Smokin' Me Out

small blurb turned into passion project, this is my biggest writing to date and one of my favorites.

Reader smokes weed, Peter doesn't. But, Peter loves reader and he indulges for her sake.

Word Count: 15.7K

Pairing: Peter Parker (mcu) x Reader

Genre: Established relationship

Warnings: Smut/Implied sex, Mommy kink, Angst

Peter didn’t need to know everything about you. 

You loved him, you had been dating for a little over 2 years and this particular thing never came up. One might argue that lying by omission is just as bad but if it never came up and you didn’t see a reason to tell him then how could it be lying? Sure it did make you feel bad trying to skirt around the truth but you couldn't decide which one makes you feel worse, essentially lying to Peter about this big part in your life or having him know. 

You, of course, have this internal debate every time you meet up with Kris. It started with one time after finals, and then after bombing a math test, then it was because your parents thought you didn’t unload the dishwasher enough, then because Peter wasn’t around to keep you from doing it, then it was just because you wanted too. You stopped lying to yourself, you kept saying it was because of all these stressors but in reality, you just liked getting high. 

It made you feel a little embarrassed. Peter wasn’t the kind of person that did that, he never talked bad about people that did it but you couldn’t help but think that kind of thing is below his moral standpoint. 

So, you decided to ask him one day after patrol. He had come swinging at around 8 in the evening, you both had set up a rule after a disagreement. He would go on a small patrol in the evenings after school, come to yours for a little, (excluding when something major happens and he needs to be there) then leaves after 10 for some night patrol before bed. 

“Do you ever bust up drug deals or like,” You paused looking for the words, “Like- turn in a drug dealer?” You were looking up at him while laying in bed, he was in the middle of pulling off his suit and changing into the pajamas he kept there, sweatpants and a soft tee. Peter would prefer to go shirtless but you told him you like when you get to lay on a soft shirt of his so he wears one anyways. 

He furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?” 

“Like-” You sat up and licked your lips, this seems so suspicious. It’s like asking the ‘hypothetical friend’ question. 

“Like if you're swinging around and pass by an ally and you see someone dealing drugs do you stop them? Do you take the drugs? Do you leak the location to the police? What do you do?” 

He tilted his head to the side and thought about it, “I mean, I don’t think I've ever gone out of my way to stop one. I think drugs are bad, sure, but it’s hard to guess what they’re selling by a quick glance. And not all drugs are the same, if someone is buying pot I’m not going to care, if it was meth, maybe.” You blinked at him. Did he just say he was okay with weed? 

He laid down next to you in your bed, “I just think I have better things to do than stop someone from getting high.” He nudged your shoulder with his, “Why? Think I’m gonna see you on the street pocketing some weed?” 

Your eyes widened. The way he said it made it seem like he already knew about your secret. The slight joking tone he used made you wonder if he wasn’t as clueless as you made him seem. He was always on that cusp of does he or doesn’t he.

 Has he seen you buying from Kris? The whole reason you bought from Kris was because he was out in The Bronx, it was a good hour train ride and Peter, usually, never went out that far. You force out a laugh, maybe you were just paranoid, “Yeah, right. Your girlfriend, the druggie.” 

“I don’t think smoking weed makes you a bad person.” He laughed, “I mean what, you smoke some weed and wanna eat and watch a shitty movie and laugh your ass off? Ooh, evil!” You giggled and turned your face into his shoulder and breathed in deep, “Would you ever smoke it?” 

“I don’t know if it would affect me much but if you asked me I would.” He placed a hand on the back of your head and started to scratch at it. You turned away from him because you were higher than you meant to be, usually when Peter was coming over you wouldn’t smoke or just take a few hits but time got away from you and you were smoking down on a joint while folding laundry and before you knew it Peter texted you he was on his way so in a panic you lit a candle, opened the window, turned your circulating fan on blast and ran around trying to febreze the room. 

When Peter entered the room you noticed the roach you left on your desk table and did a half hop over, playing it off as an almost trip over some shoes, and pocketed it. “Hey handsome,” you smoothed out the words hoping he wouldn’t smell what you were trying to cover, or look into your eyes which were no doubt red and squinted. “Hi baby!” He walked over to hug you, his hand grazing by the pocket you had the roach stuffed in, you sucked in a breath, he didn’t notice. “Smells good in here,” he looked at you with a sly smile, your mind in instant paranoia started screaming ‘He knows! Oh god he knows you pothead bitch he knows!’ You played it off and hugged him tightly, “You smell better.” 

You were in heaven, currently, the buzz of your high and the feeling of Peter scratching your head was enough to keep you in place for the next six hours, “I don’t think you would want to smoke weed with me,” your words were muffled in his shirt. “Of course I do, you’re the pro.”

You did tell Peter you smoked weed, once. It was after finals and you had a friend that offered it

and you went to Peter’s after all giggly and cuddly. He looked at you and said, “What, are you high or something?” and laughed at your face, you looked like you were caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “Maybe,” You mumbled into his hand on your cheek, your cheeks flushed and you smiled at him with your eyes closed. “Maybe? I can’t even see your eyes! You look like you could be blindfolded with dental floss!” He was laughing at your expression and you had to laugh too and you both kept going, you because you were high and Peter because he was watching you be high. 

He kept you company and let you do whatever you wanted, you wanted to lay on him? Sure. You wanted to play with his curls, pull them out and rewrap them along your finger to keep the shape? Fine. You wanted to watch ‘How It’s Made’? Good with him. 

You tapped him on the arm with a finger, “Babe,” when he didn’t immediately turn to him you poked him again, “ Babe,” then you looked behind you to the kitchen. 

You whined to catch his attention, “Petey!” “Yes, baby?” That name always got his attention. “I am like,” you tried to find the words to explain just how hungry you are, “I am going to die if I don't get food. Like I am so starving you wouldn't believe me, do you believe me? I’m really hungry.” You pulled on his arm, believing if you did so he would get you something to eat. 

“Whatcha in the mood for?” He looked at the kitchen and visualized what they had. 

Your eyes went wide at his unlimited food options, “Everything.” 

“Crunchy? Sweet? Food, food?” He layed out your options. 

“More details,” You egged him on. 

Peter blew out a puff of air and giggled at your words, “Okay, we have chips, ice cream, and I think we have pizza leftover from last night. I can’t remember if I ate the rest of it.” 

“Yes.” 

“Yes to one or yes to all of them?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay,” He patted your knee and got up, “Dealer’s choice,” He grabbed the bag of chips first, they were unopened classic Lay’s. He sat them down on your lap, “Something else? Something different or something more?” You shook your head enthralled with the family size bag, “I’m gonna fuck these up,” you looked at him and opened the bag, your hand immediately grabbing a handful and stuck three chips in your mouth and crunched down, “oh my fucking god. These are so good babe, here-” you handed him the bag, “You need some. They are like, so good.” You reached in with Peter and grazed his own hand while you were collecting more in yours. 

You watched as Peter ate a few himself, you looked for his reaction. “Aren't they so good?” He nodded in approval, “So good,” he poked fun but you were too caught up in the moment to realize. You shouted back, “I know!” 

You thought about that night while tucked in Peter’s shoulder. You remember you told him you wouldn’t do it again, and you didn’t plan too, but, one more time became the new loop and now it’s ‘I won’t not do it again’

You opened your mouth and bit him where you lay, ‘Hey!’ He shrugged to loosen you off him, you sunk your teeth into him again harder. “Baby,” He warned. You huffed into his arm, “You can get stabbed but my teeth are too much for you,” you teased him before rolling over, hoping enough time had passed so you didn’t seem as flushed. 

“It doesn’t work like that for you and you know it.” 

“No. You never told me how it works actually,” You sat up now extremely interested in this conversation, so Peter’s spidey sense was different around you. “Is it different around me?” you prodded the question, he never told you there was a difference between his crime fighting sense and being with his girlfriend sense. 

Peter nodded his head, “Oh yeah, I’m surprised you haven’t caught on to it by now. I’m safe around you, I have no reason to keep my guard up. Same with May. That’s why you can always sneak up on me.” You smiled at his words, he felt safe around you. That’s why it was so easy to make him jump when you snuck up behind him at school and grabbed his shoulders, always making him jolt in surprise. 

“So you have no Peter tingle for me?” You frowned a little, it was nice to think he always had an ear tuned in for you. He shook his head immediately, “No, I do. It’s different. If I think about you I can sense you, I can feel your heartbeat, or I can smell you, or sometimes if I tune in hard enough I can hear you. But that’s if you're around me. When you’re not it’s more of an intuition, I can’t place why but I know you need me, or I know you need something, or I know there is something wrong. But I can always sense where you’re at.” 

Your eyes widened in amazement, “You know when I’m around?” Peter nodded his head, “I know you’re here the second you step into the lobby. I don't know how to explain it, it automatically happens. I’ll know you’re coming over but then my brain will just go ‘She’s here!’ and I can hear your heart beating until you get to the door. That’s usually why I’m standing at the door when you get here.” 

You pouted at him and lent in to give him a fat kiss, “You love me!” 

Laying your head on his chest he rubbed your back, “Yeah, I guess I do.” You shot your head up to look at him with narrowed eyes, “That’s mean,” he laughed and placed a kiss on your pouted lips, “Yes, I love you so much. I love you so much I’m always thinking about you and where you are.” 

You thought about your weekly trips to The Bronx, “Does that mean you can sense where I am? Like at all times? You know where I am? Like, if I go somewhere?” You moved your eyes across the room, does he know what you do? His smile made it seem like he did, “Maybe,” he trailed off, your interrogation goes deeper. “So if I go out of the city would you know?” 

“Why? Planning on meeting up with someone?” Peter had to have known, or he’s being so oblivious it’s hurting you. He keeps dancing around your extracurriculars but the paranoia of the drug doesn’t help. Does he know or are you looking too far into it? 

It’s questions like that that make you falter. If you say no it would be a lie, and you don’t like to lie to Peter you do everything possible to not do so. You think of how to word it, “Not right now, no.” Which is true, you went to Kris’ today while Peter was on his patrol after school. 

You straddled his hips and gave him a tight squeeze, you were done with this conversation, it was cutting too close to what you didn’t want him to know. 

“You know I love you, right?” 

Peter squeezed you back, “I do.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter knew you smoked weed. 

But, it was kind of fun watching you try and hide it from him so he let you believe it was a big secret no one knew about. 

The first time you went to his house after you tried it, he memorized the smell, your attitude, your demeanor, the subtle changes in your eyes and personality. He knew every time after that when you did it, so he decided to have fun with it. 

He knew you met up with some guy, out of the city, every week and came back with a sack of weed. He knows this because he can smell it. You leave it in your pocket and when you come to visit after the pickup he knows it’s in there. He told you one time, “You smell different today,” and the frozen look on your face made him almost break the charade. 

Also, you were bad at hiding it. It was all over your face, the red glazed eyes, squinted down so low he wasn’t sure how you could see. Plus, the munchies. Like clockwork an hour after you got to Peter’s you were starving, and forced him to either cook for you or start debating what you’ll be getting for dinner. 

There was one time he caught you smoking on your apartment roof. Your fire escape led up to the roof and sometimes you liked to go up there to smoke at sunset. He had stopped by early and saw a puff of smoke before he heard a harsh cough, he landed on the roof and watched as you ducked down behind an electrical box, you had your water bottle sitting on top. He watched you as you carefully pulled the bottle down towards you, he hopped off the roof and sent you a quick text telling you he was on his way. He watched from another building as you stood up shoving everything into your pockets scanning the area before racing back down the ladder. 

When he pulled himself in through the window he pointed his thumb towards the sunset, “Looks beautiful tonight! Did you get to see it from the roof?” You struggled to speak, “Um, yeah I went up there for a minute before you said you were on your way.” Peter walked your way and put a hand on each hip, “missed my baby, give me a kiss.” He lent in and you met his mouth fast, but even while the majority of your brain was snapping shrieking “Peter kiss! Peter kisses! Wow!” a tiny part asked, ‘Wait, did he see you?’ 

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

Peter started to double down on his subtle nuances.

One night you both were in his apartment kitchen cooking dinner together while May was out.

Peter was decent in the kitchen but having you there made it spectacular and way more fun because he gets to make-out with his co-chef. In a desperate attempt to find the oregano you just placed on the counter that somehow went missing in thirty seconds, Peter walks up behind you and leans to whisper in your ear. 

“I heard you were looking for the green stuff.” He sniffed and looked around the room for any other eyes. You stilled for a moment, “What kind of green stuff?” Peter pushed himself closer and moved to the other ear, “You know, the kind you buy.” He ran the back of his hand down your arm, you couldn’t help but think you were caught but he continued, “C’mon you’re so pretty, baby, don’t you wanna see what I got?” You turned, pressed between the counter and Peter, he dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out the bag of dried orengo. He showed it to you then hid it in his hand, he fake gazed around. You realized he was pretending this was a drug deal. 

“How much for the bag?” You looked around too, playing into the game. 

“For someone like you…” He paused and thought about it with a hand on his chin, “2”

Your eyes widened, “2 dollars? Babe, you’re never gonna break even at that cost.” 

“No. 200.” He nodded his head to lock in his answer. 

You blew air from your lips giving him a ‘pshhh’ “That’s more like 20 dollars worth, sweets.” 

“How bout just a kiss?” He smiled at you and waited for the kiss you planted on his cheek. He handed over the oregano and said “You’re good at that, makes me think you’ve done it before.” 

You give him a forced laugh. 

Your guilty conscience was eating you away inside, at this point you didn’t believe Peter knew but rather you felt so guilty in hiding it you were going crazy inside. 

Earlier this week you did go to Peter’s a little more rocked than usual, this new batch Kris had was the best weed you’ve ever smoked. When you got to his apartment he pulled you to the couch for movie night, you were planning to stay the night and Peter wasn’t Spider-Man tonight. 

Peter immediately pressed you to him, when he was this aggressively affectionate it meant he either really missed you or was horny, or both. He looked you up and down, “Hi.” You smiled at the simple greeting and gave one back. He lent in to give you a kiss, meeting your lips in a quick motion, he tried to lay you back while he licked at your bottom lip. You were about to open your mouth but realized how dry it was, you opened your eyes and pushed him off fast. Peter lagged to open his eyes for a second because of how quick you threw him off you, “Woah! You okay?” 

He looked concerned but also a little upset at the aggressive rejection. “Yes! Yes! Sorry, I just have uh, I need water. My mouth is like, really dry, hold on.” You stood and looked at him and smiled, “Sorry.” before running to the kitchen and literally, chugging a water bottle down. Peter called after you, “It’s okay! You just have a little cotton-mouth!” “You usually do!” He chuckled.

You choked on a gulp. Then laughed sourly, “Good one, Peter.” 

Peter winced, the first name was never good. “I’m sorry baby, let me give you all the kisses no matter how dry your mouth is.” You walked back over to the couch and kissed him, Peter pulled back and told you that you had the wettest mouth he ever kissed and you gagged. 

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

Peter was resting on your naked chest in his bed, his kisses had convinced you to step into the bedroom and step out of your clothes, he suddenly gasped and shot up from his rested position. 

“Do you know what sounds really good right now?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Get this-” He shakes his shoulders in preparation, trying to think of the most stoner food combination.

“Fruity pebbles-” You cut him off with a ‘Fuck yes!’ 

“No wait! But instead of milk, it’s ice cream!” He watched as total euphoria spread across your face, “You are a genius!” You lent in to give him a kiss and pulled away and looked at him. 

“When are you going to marry me?” 

It was Peter’s turn to stumble on his words, he looked at you across from him. Sexed out and slightly stoned,

“Whenever you let me.” 

You pouted and smiled and threatened to cry. Then forced Peter to get the fruity pebbles with ice cream. 

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

Today, you finally came clean.

You both shared a Senior Send Off class, the course was about setting up the seniors for life after highschool. They taught them how to apply for jobs, interviews, how to manage a bank account and all other adult things. 

However, you just happened to overhear a conversation behind you between MJ and Ned, “Harry wanted me to get ‘wraps’ on the way home but I have no idea what that means. I went at lunch, but did you know how many types of wraps there are?” MJ let out a big sigh, she didnt want to ask Harry because she didn’t want to seem dumb. 

You looked over at Peter who was diligently looking at the board taking notes for the both of you, because you would just look at his later. You bit your lip, you were playing this close. You watched his face as you slowly turned towards MJ behind you, “Hey,” you whispered to her. She nodded her head back in greeting, “If Harry said get wraps he means blunt wraps. Get the blue pack, they’re called dutches.” She smiled at you and whispered out a “Thanks, Y/N”

You turned back to the front to see Peter staring at the side of your face, eyebrows raised, eyes blinking slowly. He looked to MJ then to you, he then made a ‘Hmph’ sound and shook his head a little in disbelief and went back to taking notes on the video lesson. 

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

You waited for Peter to come over after school, you were just going to be honest and say that you’re a terrible girlfriend for hiding this and, yes, lying to him. You were stone cold sober for this, if you were going to come clean it wouldn’t be right to totally blasted while doing it. When you saw Peter land on the fire escape you stood up immediately wanting to get this over with. 

Peter ripped off his mask the second he got through the window, he turned his head slightly and sniffed, “Smells different,” he noticed the lack of weed smell. His grin over took his face and he headed to your body for a hug or a kiss or any attention really, he reached out for a hug, “Hi ba-” 

You cut him off instantly, “I have to tell you something.” You watch Peter frown, “I could’ve died out there. Can a guy at least get a hello or a kiss?” You huffed at him and leaned in, “Hello lover, I missed you, thank you for not dying today.” and kissed him. He pulled back, “That’s more like it.” 

“What did you want to tell me?” 

You bite your thumb, “You may want to sit down for this.” You watched Peter take a seat, still in his suit. 

“Okay. Sitting.” 

You breathe deeply. “I’ve been lying to you. I’ve been hiding something and now the guilt is eating me away and I need to tell you.” You look to Peter and see him nod at you to continue, you let out a breath through your mouth and divert your gaze to the floor. 

“I smoke weed.” 

Peter gasps, “No!” 

You wince and nod. “Yes, I’ve been doing it for a year. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I thought you would be ashamed of me or embarrassed. I understand if you want to break up.” 

“Oh yeah. I think we might have too.” 

Your head snapped up to Peter’s and you gaped at him. 

“What?” 

He nodded his head like it was obvious. “I mean, come on, I’m Spider-Man,” he gestured to his suit, “How would it look if the model citizen had a..” He paused, “How did you word it babe? Oh, got it. A druggie girlfriend?” He continued, “Like could you imagine how they would act?”

He watched your face fall and tears started to well. He felt really shitty and started to speak again, “Seriously babe, imagine they found out you take the A line to The Bronx every week to meet up with the same guy at a CVS and buy weed? Or they find out you love to eat exactly one hour after you get to Spider-Man’s house because you have the munchies super bad.” 

You furrowed your brow as he kept talking “And I would hate it if anyone knew you liked to sit on your roof and watch the sunset while you smoked it.” 

“You knew?” 

You felt a little dumb, you thought you were being so smooth but the whole time Peter knew exactly what was going on. 

“Yeah.”

“The whole time?” 

“Yeah.”

“Ugh!” You slapped your hands on your thighs, “Okay, cool. You have a druggie girlfriend. Congrats.” 

Peter stood and took your hands in his, “Hey, I don’t think of you that way and you shouldn’t either. I don’t care, that’s why I never said anything. You want to smoke a joint to chill out before bed, it’s fine with me.” 

He knew you were still feeling sorry for yourself, “Baby, really. It would be shitty of me to say you shouldn’t smoke some pot while I go out there and get my ass kicked every night. One of us has a better way to unwind.” 

He was glad to get you to smile, “You don’t have to hide it from me. I just want you to be safe, okay?” He pulled you into a hug and felt you nod against him. 

“I love you. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Peter shrugged, “Doesn’t matter. I knew you didn’t want me to know so I pretended I didn’t.” He kissed your forehead. 

When the moment passed and several hours later you and Peter were in bed chatting back and forth. You hadn’t smoked the whole day and you could go for a joint, a frozen burrito and sweaty sex. In that order too. You remembered what Peter said the other day, about how he would smoke weed with you, you decide to ask. 

“Hey, remember a few weeks ago I asked if you would smoke weed?” 

Peter hummed back. 

“You said you would if I asked you.” 

He turned to look at you, eyes begging for the question. 

“Would you want to smoke weed?” You paused and waited for a response, then added, “With me?” 

“In here or on the roof?” His response was immediate. 

“Wait, really? You want too? Uh, where do you want to?” 

“I don’t care. You’re the pro.” He smiled at your facial reaction. 

He watched you rise from the bed and open the bedside drawer and pull out a small wooden box. When you opened it he saw the collection of everything you had, he saw joint papers, a few lighters, a blue package of wraps, and a small pipe. He noted the bong he found in your closet one day, and decided to ask. 

“Don’t you have a bong?” 

You whipped your head towards him. A bag of weed in one hand and a grinder in the other, 

“Is there anything you don’t know?” 

“No.” He giggled when you threw the bag at him. 

You sat next to him and broke down some weed in the grinder, you asked if he wanted to use the bong, he had asked about it and in your opinion the best way to smoke. It wasn’t as inconspicuous but it got you high fast. Thinking as Peter may not be affected, seeing as he could down a whole bottle of Jack Daniels and walk a plank it would be the best way to test it out. 

You ran to fill up the bong with water and came back, you opened the grinder and packed the bowl and grabbed the lighter next to him. “Watch the master, kid.” He watched you flick the lighter backwards flipping it to the bowl, he watched the green turn orange then to ash. He watched you pick up the bowl to clear the smoke and drop it and repeat the process three times before pulling back to release the smoke and cough. 

“Good job, Baby! That was a lot!” He watched the smoke fill up the room quickly, amazed at your performance. You giggled at his cheer, “Babe, this isn’t something you usually cheerlead for.” He frowned at you, “You always hype me up, I'm doing the same.” You gave him a kiss and thanked him for his dedication.

“Are you ready?” 

You passed him the bong and gave a recap of what you did. You told him you would light it for him and would cheer him on the same way. He brought the glass piece to his mouth and you flicked the lighter on and went to light the bowl when he pulled back. 

“Wait,” You looked at him seriously waiting for him to continue, “This isn’t gonna make me gay right?” 

You bent over in laughter, “no promises.” You watched him reset himself, he was cross legged on your bed, his legs under your blanket, bong tucked to his chest he looked at you and smiled. He put his lips to the glass edge and watched you bring the flame towards him, the second the flame hit the green you told him to suck. 

“Pull the bowl!” You watched him lift it and place it back in its spot, “Again,”

You watched him clear out the chamber and told him to blow it out. He lifted from the glass and let out his cloud of smoke, not quite as big as yours but still impressive. You watched him exhale with clouded eyes, you really hoped this would work on him. You couldn’t imagine him any hotter right now, your good boy is smoking pot with you. Him being stoned would make you go feral. 

He coughed and bent over as you patted his back. You reached for your water bottle, “Here, babe.” You unscrewed the cap and passed it his way, he took a gulp and returned it with a thanks. 

“I should’ve warned you. I forgot how harsh it is at first, it gets better over time. But water really helps, I used to take a sip after every hit.” 

“I thought I was dying.” He breathed harder, he looked around the room and noticed the bright lights. 

“You did good! I wouldn’t have let you die on my watch.” 

“Babe,” He closed his eyes for a moment, it felt good. They felt heavy all of a sudden. 

“Yes?” 

“Can you turn on the Christmas lights? The big light is hurting my eyes.” 

You cooed and rubbed his head for a second before standing to plug in the lights that hung around your room, and turning off the main light. 

“Better?” 

He nodded his head and giggled. “Again?” 

“Go ahead.” 

He passed it back to you. “Your turn. Puff, pass right?” 

“Yeah, look at you go!” You kissed his cheek and noticed his eyes on you as you pulled a few more hits before kashing the bowl, taking a moment to breathe the smoke out of your lungs before emptying the ash into your ashtray and putting more weed in. 

“Greens for my king.” You bowed your head to him and readied the lighter in your grasp. 

He pulled more this time, he reached out and gripped your leg in panic when he pulled more than he could smoke. His throat was burning and he could feel himself choking but he still had the whole chamber to clear. Your eyes widened at his grip, “Pass it, Pass it!” When he pulled away to hand it to you smoke billowed out the top and you surrounded your mouth around the hole and breathed deep clearing the rest for Peter. 

He reached over you for your water and drank half of it. You smoked your turn and left the rest for later, Peter should be high but if not you’ll keep going, smoking as much as he could handle. 

You turned to see him looking at the side of your face, he was turning the bottle around in his hands in a nervous gesture. You raised your eyebrows at him, “You okay?” He nodded at you. “Um, I really want to kiss you right now.” You laughed at his small voice, almost timid like. “You’re my boyfriend. You don’t have to ask.” 

“Oh yeah! Sweet!” He lent in and pulled you into a sweet kiss, it was nice but a little odd. Usually your kisses were drawn out, that once you’ve met in the middle neither wanted to separate. But this kiss felt like a first kiss, it was almost awkward, it felt like he was just resting his mouth on yours. You separated from him and looked him over, he did look high. 

“Why are you kissing like that?” 

“Like what? Am I bad?” He looked nervous, out of character. 

“Kinda, it feels like an eighth grader kiss.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean? I kiss like an eighth grader?!” His voice rose an octave, he held a hand to his mouth. 

You gripped his bicep, “You’re not a bad kisser. That was a bad kiss.” You nodded at him, a sense of promise. “If you were a bad kisser you would know way before now.” 

“Okay. Let me try again.” He leaned in again and put his hand on your jaw to pull you close to him. His mouth pressed to yours, it was better, you have to give him that. But only slightly, he had to be a little high right now. Normal sober Peter would never be fucking this up, this is his specialty. 

You pulled back again, “Okay, that one felt like our first kiss.” You noticed his grin, “That’s not a good thing, sweets.” His smile faded. “You’re lacking the passion babe! Act like you need to kiss me like you need air!” 

He nodded, “Good constructive criticism, I appreciate your communication.” 

“You sound like a marriage counselor.” 

He pulled you in one more time, this time was sudden. You were a little surprised when he kissed you but he moved his mouth this time, you were giving open mouthed kisses to each other and it felt familiar but it wasn’t the same. You didn’t know what was missing, but you couldn’t help but feel off. You allowed him to continue to kiss at this pace, it was better than the last two so it was bearable to get through.

 He was the one to break away this time. He frowned at you, did he sense the lack on your end? He moved his body around, now he was sitting cross legged in front of you, you both matched positions and your knees touched. He lent in with no words. He resumed the kiss like nothing changed, you hummed. He pulled back and watched your puckered lips turn into a pout and your eyes opened slowly, he huffed and moved in again, this time a surprised sound leaving your mouth. You closed your eyes once more and wrapped a hand around his neck, this time you could keep him pressed to you so he wouldn’t pull away so fast. You felt him trying his best, you did. You raised the other hand to his chest and rested a hand over his heart, you felt it beating out of control, why was he so nervous? 

You felt him press harder against your mouth, the pressure pressing against your teeth, forcing your mouth against his harshly to try to get him to stop being so aggressive. He must have thought that was resprecation because he did it back, harder. You pushed where your hand rested on him and mumbled into his mouth, “Hurts, Peter.” You felt him freeze. He started again, but softly, so soft it didn’t even feel like he was kissing you so you leaned in more, and opened your mouth for a make-out session but he refused to open his. 

He pulled away from you again, breaking your hold around him. You blew out a breath that made your lips move, you felt annoyed now. He had kissed you like it was his job for the past 2 years and suddenly it all went out the window. 

You were tired of trying to guide him, you turned to look away from him. He tapped his fingers on his knee, then yours. You looked back at him and waited for him to speak. He hummed and nodded at himself, this time he pulled you in by the waist but when he leaned in to kiss you, you pulled back and pushed him away. 

“No. No more, stop.” 

He looked like a kicked puppy, “You don’t want to kiss me anymore?” 

“Not right now. I don’t know why, but you suck at it right now.” 

His lower lip trembled and his eyes got glassy. He looked like he was about to cry. 

“Because I’m high and I forgot how to kiss you and now I’m bad at it and what if weed really did turn me gay!” He busted out. 

“Oh baby, come here.” You reached out to hug him, you held him to your chest. You kissed the top of his head and layed your own on his. “Weed didn’t turn you gay and you didn’t forget how to kiss me. You’re just not on game tonight and that’s okay.” 

He nodded into your chest and thought of your boobs because he was resting on them. He loves your boobs more than anything. When people ask Peter if he’s a tit or ass man he would tell them that he likes a little of both, maybe boobs a bit more though. 

“Can I see your boobs?” 

You snorted, “So, you give me some of the worst kisses of your life and then ask to see my boobs?” 

“I’d show you my dick but it doesn't do the same for you like your boobs do to me.” 

“If you show me your dick I’ll show you my boobs.” 

“It’s just kinda there right now. It’s not hard or anything. It’s just existing at this point in time.” 

“I said what I said.” 

“Okay then.”

He shuffled away from you just a little and pulled his sweatpants down with his boxers, they rested against his thighs and he looked at you. You looked at his face, and then his penis and giggled. 

“Here it is.” 

“It’s adorable.” 

He frowned, “You’re not supposed to say that.” 

“Should I be scared of it?” 

“Well, no. But you shouldn’t call it cute. It’s emasculating.” 

“I didn’t say it was cute. I said it was adorable.” 

“That’s worse!” 

“You’re the one gendering words!” 

He grumbled and let you run your eyes over his adorable dick. You tilted your head and looked up at him, “Can you lift it up?” He picked it up and you looked underneath. 

“You know, I’ve never actually studied your dick. I know what it looks like but I never actually looked at it. I love it.” 

“Can I put it away now?” 

You ignored him, “Can you do something with it?” 

“Like what? It’s not a toy.” 

“I don’t know. I don’t have one. I’m enjoying this. Let me have fun.” 

He thought about what he could do to impress you, he could helicopter it but it kinda hurt and he wasn’t about to move all around just to stand up with his dick out. He remembered the thumb trick, he hadn’t done this since middle school. 

“I can do this,” He watched you lean in, he pressed his thumb to the tip and pushed in. The entire shaft folded into itself and made his dick almost disappear entirely. Your jaw dropped and you laughed and clapped your hands in excitement. 

“Can I try? Let me try!” You made grabby hands towards him, he leaned back while you reached over and mimicked his actions. You giggled and looked at him, your face was full of amazement and asked if you could do it again. “It’s like a magic trick.” 

“Do you have to pee?” You looked at him and his friend, and gave a sly smile. 

He had a feeling he knew where this was going. 

“No. You’re not going to hold my dick for me while I pee.” 

You whined and moved to his shoulder to bite him. 

“You don’t love me.” 

“Ouch! I do, because I let you bite me and get away with it.” 

You place another bite to the same spot. 

“Ow!” You knew he was exaggerating. He always claimed you were maiming him but you never bit down hard and left marks. 

“I’ll keep doing it,” You threatened. 

“Give me one good reason.” 

“It’s the truest form of trust. If I can trust you enough to swing me across the city with webs made from a chemistry equation then I should get to hold your dick while you pee.” 

You watched him think it over. “I won’t ever ask for anything again.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“You know, you should promise to never bite me again.” 

“That will never happen.” 

“Okay. You can do it.” 

You cheered and wrapped your hands around him to pull him into a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” With that reaction you would think he just agreed to let you run a farm in his house. 

“Now?” You looked towards your bathroom. 

“I don’t have to pee now. Can I please put my dick away? It’s cold in here. If you keep him out any longer there will be no dick to hold.” 

“You may.” 

He pulled his pants back up and faced you again, “Okay, let me see the boobies.” 

You tapped your finger to your chin. “No. I don’t think I will.” 

“We had a deal!” Peter sputtered. 

“You put me through the pain of four bad kisses. You don’t get rewarded with my boobs.” 

He grumbled and mumbled something about being a promise breaker. He scooted away from you and crossed his arms, he glared at you and your chest hidden behind a hoodie of his. “Can I do it again?” 

“Do what?” 

He pointed behind you at the bong. You smiled and reached for it, the hoodie pulling up slightly to show a peek of skin. “I need to forget about the pain of your bait and switch.” 

“She bites me, makes me take my dick out and gets me to let her hold it when I pee and now she wont let me see her boobs?” 

“Evil. That’s what you are, Evil.” 

You laughed at his reaction, they were just boobs. 

You passed the piece to him and watched him do the routine you taught him. When he passed it back to you, he realized he wanted to get really high with you right now. He loved talking to you right now and wanted to keep it going. 

“Can we do it again?” 

You looked towards your grinder, “Again?” 

He nodded. “I just like doing this with you right now.” He smiled at you and rested a hand on your knee. “I’m glad you’re having fun. I always wanted to smoke with you.” 

“I love you.” 

Your heart clenched, “I love you too.” 

You lent forwards for a kiss, forgetting about the several failed ones and kissed his lower lip. He opened his mouth to follow yours and you hummed. This was a Peter kiss. He placed a hand at the back of your neck and pressed you tighter against him, you copied his motions but gripped at the hair in the back of his neck. You both were in sync, every movement and breath were in harmony. “I can do this forever.” Peter opened his mouth, “Me too.” He tilted your face more towards him and opened his mouth into yours. You moved to straddle his waist without breaking the kiss, a skill you’ve developed. 

You pulled away slightly, and whispered to him. “Do you have to pee yet?” He groaned and pushed you off him, you gasped, offended. “Was it something I said?” 

“Give me a hit damn it.” 

While Peter had his head turned while he was breathing in the smoke you took his hoodie off. No bra, tits fully out. You knew his reaction would be priceless. He handed you the bong for your hit, his hand almost dropped it at your lack of clothing. His face lit up and looked dreamily at your chest. 

“Boobs!” 

You had your turn and placed the finished bowl back on the side table. 

“How high are you?” 

He knew what this meant. You wanted something from him. 

“Why?” 

“Do you think you can swing?” 

“I think so. I don’t think that would be a problem. Why, what are you thinking of?” 

“You don’t have too. We have food here, but Chinese sounds really good right now.” Peter’s mouth watered with the idea, “It’s a delicious idea, babe.” You hummed in agreement, you didn’t need it just yet. The confirmation alone eased the craving. 

“Can I touch your boobs?” 

“Do you just wanna have sex instead?” 

Peter’s eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped. The way you said it so casually had his heart thumping. His senses have never felt so low but connected, his usual sensitivity had slipped away. He usually always has a part of himself focused on blocking out the noises he deals with everyday; shopping for groceries would be impossible without it, he would hear everything happening at once. But the drug had eased those thoughts away, however his senses for you were higher than ever. 

Every touch you gave him had every inch of him buzzing, he couldn’t kiss you because he couldn’t think about anything else but you. The moment he pressed his mouth to yours, he smelt your presence, he heard the rush of your heart, he felt the heat on your cheeks, it was you, you, you. 

The mere idea about fucking you right now is sending him over the edge. 

“With me?” 

“With you, yes.” 

“Right now?” He pointed at the sheets. 

“If you wanted, yes.” 

He paused to think about it. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes. But if you suck at it I won't,” you looked at him and paused. “You don’t think you’re too high to be bad at sex right now, right? Cause like, I will always make fun of you for it.” You chuckled at the end picturing how flustered he would get every time you brought up your hypothetical bad sex attempt. 

“I mean, I’ll try not to be bad. Just, I dunno, tell me? I can like, stop, or do something else. Or you can just take charge tonight.” Peter shrugged and promised to try his best.

You pondered the suggestion, you lent back against the headboard and pulled at your pajama shorts to slip them off. Once you tossed the shorts to the floor you raised a foot to Peter, a silent request to take off your socks. “I’d like to see you try first.” 

You kept your eyes on Peter for the words about to leave your mouth, he had his gaze locked on each foot as he raised one at a time to remove your socks and tossed them to the ground. “If you need help, Mommy will step in and do the job for her baby.” 

His eyes shot to yours real fast, his cheeks pink instantly. He hardened his face at you and dropped your leg in his hand, his voice low when he spoke. 

“Y/N.” 

You winced, he never called you by your name. You didn’t think you were the pet name type but over time you both transitioned into the pet name type. He usually called you baby, it started as an ironic inside joke and then it never really stopped. It changed from a joke to words of affection. 

You usually called him babe, it was also an inside joke turned into affection. There was Petey, he was big on that one, he loved that one. It was an instant head turner for him, no matter what he was doing would always turn and ask, “Yes, baby?” 

Sweets was another of your favorites, you both watched a 50’s movie and a man with a Mid-Atlantic accent spat the words at a woman in a cartoon manner. You told Peter right then you were calling him that from now on, lover was another favorite of yours. You usually gave him that one when you are a bit sarcastic, like “Baby, you told me you were going to clean my sheets today. You’re the one who messed them up!” You gave him a grin, “Yes, lover. I’ll do it right away.” 

First names, for the both of you usually weren’t a good thing. 

And now, he was being serious. He leaned over you, he was showing dominance. He was telling you he was bigger than you, he locked his gaze on you. The tone in his voice is not changing. 

“I told you to drop it.” 

The last time you had sex, almost a week ago, you were riding on top. Nothing new, but in the peak, right before he finished he choked out a moan, it was delicate, “Mommy,” You had a deer in headlight look on your face and looked at Peter’s sheepish face. After he finished he closed his eyes tightly, and turned his head, he felt ashamed. 

You pulled off him and cleared your throat and moved to the bathroom to pee and clean up, also giving Peter a second to be alone. When you moved back to his bed he was in the same position, you would almost think he was dead but his hand resting on his chest told you he was breathing. 

You got into the bed with him and pressed yourself against him.

“Hey,” you whispered into the back of his shoulder, you nudged him with your nose. He closed his eyes tighter and shuffled away from your touch. You frowned at his rejection. He isn’t ever this quiet with you. You moved closer to him and wrapped an arm around him to a spooning position, you moved your mouth to the skin on his bicep, “C’mon, petey.” When he gave no reaction your worry worsened, you pulled out the big guns, you bit him. You did it lightly this time, it was a nip. He stayed silent. 

You sat up and grabbed his arm to give it a shake. “Peter, c’mon. Stop this.” He rolled over towards you but didn't do more than that. It was progress. “Look at me,” he shook his head burying himself into a pillow. “I’m not weirded out or anything, it just caught me off guard. If you have a new kink you want to explore-” He cut you off, “It’s not a kink.” 

“Pete, that's not something that just slips.” You spoke softly. You wanted him to know you were okay with it. “Just cause I don’t have a daddy kink doesn’t mean you can’t have a mommy kink.” 

He took the pillow off his head and finally looked at you, “I don’t have a mommy kink and we’re done talking about this, okay?”

It was rhetorical, you knew he dropped the subject. “You mean you’re done talking about it.” 

“Y/N.”

It was a warning.

 “Okay. But I just think that if you wanted to-” Peter raised his voice slightly, he was getting mad, you knew to drop it for the night. “Y/N. I told you to drop it.” 

“Are you mad at me? Should I leave?” You looked around his room to identify your clothes so you could grab them and go. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “No, I’m not mad I just,” he let out a sigh, “I’m not mad. I’m sorry.” He lent back and let you pull him to your chest and run your fingers through his hair. You wanted to tell him he had nothing to apologize for but you didn’t want him to think you kept trying to poke the bear so you stayed quiet. 

You could feel him thinking about it over and over, replaying it in self sabotaged embarrassment. You started to speak to him about your day and he asked more questions and then he was laughing and you both moved on but, and since that day you’ve waited for him to bring it up but he acted like it never happened. 

Now, you looked at him hovering over you and frowned.

 “You don’t scare me, Peter. I just wanted to see if you were into it. I think you want to try it but you’re embarrassed for some reason.”

He pulled himself away from you, “I don’t want to try anything.” 

You sat up and pressed your chest against his shirt. “Then I do. I want you to call me Mommy when we fuck.” You saw him suck in a breath and close his eyes, he opened them and looked down at your chest. 

“You don’t think it’s weird?” 

You scoffed, “No. Let’s just try it once. You have nothing to lose, babe.” 

“Okay, we can try it if you want too.” He said this like it was your kink, like he was doing you a favor. 

“Sweet. Kiss me lover boy, I’m ready for you to take me to pound town.” 

He kissed you and pulled back, “gross,” he mumbled into your lips before continuing his work. 

He was just as good as ever, maybe a bit harder. You didn’t want to force him to say the words but you assumed he would be calling you it with each thrust or something. But he was his normal self, maybe this was going to be a one off mumble like last time. 

He went down on you at first, when you finished he fingered you to a finish then finally inserted himself. You could tell he was slowing down, he went from being aggressive to slow harsh thrusts, he paused and leaned back on his ankles, you looked behind at him. He had his eyes closed and you turned and sat down, “You okay?” He nodded and turned to lay down beside you. 

He looked up at you, he told himself that you were okay with this. You promised him. 

“Mommy,” His voice was a whine, it broke with a crack in his voice. You clenched subconsciously, it was hotter than you thought it would be. He was so submissive, so vulnerable. That’s why he was so scared to say it, he was the big strong man, he was so open and raw right now.  

“Mommy,” He whispered. This time, he was begging for your attention. “Please, mommy. Help me, help your baby.” He thrust his hips up in the air, you moved to straddle him. “Want mommy to ride you?” He nodded his head and whined,”Yes, Mommy. Please.” He begged two more please in the air before you sunk down on him. He said it a few more times, he choked out the last one as he finished, you pulled off him and he removed himself to take the condom off and get you a wet rag. When he placed the cool rag against you and wiped you giggled, “That’s right, take care of your mommy.” 

He removed his hand. “Don’t.” He paused, “Not this one, you can’t tease me about this. This is a bedroom only thing.” He looked at you, “Please.” You nodded your head at him, he was setting a clear boundary, this was an sex only thing, not something to joke with. 

You poked a toe into his thigh, “I had fun. I’d like to do it again if you do.” You didn’t need to say the words, he would catch on. “Yeah, it was a blast.” 

You looked at him funny, “why are you so mad?” 

“I’m not.” 

“You’re not being nice right now.” 

“I don't know what you want me to do, get on my knees and thank you?” 

“That’s mean. You’re being mean right now.” You pulled the hoodie you took off earlier off the floor and put it over your head. 

“Jesus, Y/N. All I said was I had a blast.” 

“Hand me my underwear,” you pointed to the side of him and stuck your hand out. He dropped them on your stomach instead. 

You stood up and glared at him, “I don’t know why you want to pick a fight right now. I’m going to go hang out in the bathroom. You need to calm down.” 

He pulled up his boxers and scratched his head, he breathed out his nose heavily. “I’m not trying to fight!” 

“Then why are you yelling at me?” 

“I'm not yelling! You’re taking things the wrong way!” 

“Your insecurities aren't mine!” He stumbled at your words. You shouldn’t have said that, you should’ve walked away. He pulled up his sweat pants and refused to make eye contact. 

“Petey, I’m sorry.” You were remorseful. 

He nodded his head, “I’m thirsty.” He opened your door and moved towards the kitchen. 

You moved to the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet lid for a while, you looked through twitter and tiktok saving posts to show Peter later when he stopped being mad at you. You moved back into the room and saw Peter laying on your bed on his phone as well. He was probably texting May, you looked to your nightstand and saw two water bottles. You smiled, even when he was upset he still thought of you. 

You laid back in bed and Peter set his phone down and moved in close to you. His head rested on your shoulder and he moved face first into you breathing you in and finally doing what you did to him.

He opened his mouth and bit where you always did on him. You gasped, “did you just bite me?” 

He did it again, “Hey!” 

He pulled off but kept his face in you, his words slightly muffled. 

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I am embarrassed. I just freaked out when you teased me, I just feel weird about it. I feel gross or something, I don’t know.” 

“It’s not weird! It’s like, one of the top kinks. You’re normal actually, I may start to question you if you want me to piss on you or like, step on your nutsack, but calling me a name isn’t weird.” 

“And I’m sorry too. I didn’t know it was such a soft spot, I promise you I will never bring it up like that again. Bedroom talk only.” 

He kissed your shoulder blade, it was over with. Boundaries were set and you were on the same page. 

“I really liked it. Like, a lot. I’m really happy you let me do it one time.” 

“One time?” 

He looked at you and looked confused, “Yeah, you said it didn’t hurt to try it once.” 

“I meant if you didn’t like it. I just assumed it would be a regular thing from now on.” 

Peter’s face lit up, “Wait, really?” 

“Duh.” 

He snuggled deeper into his hoodie covering you. 

“I’m gonna marry the shit out of you one day.” 

You leaned into his hair and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. 

Your stomach growled and Peter said, “that’s so me.”

“I want chinese.” 

“Then I’ll get us chinese.” 

Peter stood and stretched for a minute, his high mostly gone at this point. He pulled his suit back on and groaned, “I swear to god a bomb could go off in times square and I wouldn’t go. I cannot stress enough how much I cannot wait to have this thing back off me.” 

You giggled and watched him kick around looking for his mask. 

“We can take the car. I’ll drive.” You offered. 

“Nah, it would take you longer to pull the car out than it would be for me to just go grab it.” 

He pulled his mask over his head and balanced on the windowsill, “the usual?” 

You nodded at him, right before he was about to drop you called out ‘wait!’ but he had already fallen from the window before you heard a wheezing sound and he popped back up. 

“Yeah?” 

“Extra dumplings this time.” He nodded his head at your request and turned his head back to his route. 

“And,” He turned his neck back to you, the white eyes on his mask wide. 

“Maybe a spring roll or two?” 

“Sure thing.” He asked if you had any other requests before he left for real this time. 

While he was gone you rolled 2 joints in preparation for his return. You had planned to make this a full night for Peter, you could tell he’s been having fun but you knew that this wouldn’t be a regular thing for him, if he even did it again. 

Peter had been introduced to a giggly high, sex while high and he needed to experiance food high too. Nothing ever tastes as good as it does when you're high, the textures are more defined, the taste is elevated in a way you haven’t noticed before. 

You were in the process of letting out a big yawn when Peter came crashing through the window, a plastic bag with ‘Thank You!’ written over and over was tied tightly and rested in his gloved hand. 

“Did you know weed slows your reaction time?” Peter grunted and set the food down on your desk and pushed the button on his chest to make the suit fall off of him. 

“Because, I personally just found that out.” 

Peter pulled his mask off and you let out a gasp. A purple bruise was painted across his jaw that had you wincing. 

“What happened?” You reached to trace the bruise but he moved his head away from your touch. 

“Hurts.” Then continued when he saw your pout. 

“Place next to Sun Chan was getting robbed. I was like, are you fucking kidding me. Dude at the counter was like, ‘Aren’t you gonna do something?’ I mean yeah I was thinking of leaving and eating dinner and he goes ‘No food until you stop crime’” 

He huffed and poked a toe at his suit by his feet. “Like I don’t stop enough crimes! So, I go over there and dude just suckerpunched me. It would’ve never happened any other time but of course I needed my daily dose of humbling.” 

“That's what you get for yelling at me.” You interjected. 

“I didn’t!” He sighed, “I didn’t yell but if you think I did then I’m sorry.” 

“Are you gaslighting me?” 

“I’m not!”

“Sounds like something a gaslighter would say.” You narrowed his eyes at him. 

“I got loud but I didn’t yell.” 

“Okay. I agree with that compromise.” You settled. 

“It’s not a compromise!” 

“Is that you not yelling at me again?” 

“Oh my god. You’re gaslighting me!” 

You smiled at him. “So, anyway. Humble pie?” 

“We’re putting a pin in this and circling back around.”

 He continued, “Yeah, I mean it blew my head back. Then I just got pissed and really wanted my wonton soup so I just webbed him from the ceiling.” 

“You got wonton soup?” You pouted. He didn’t offer you wonton soup. 

“No. You don’t get any.” 

“But, But, You love me.” 

“I do. But you’re not getting my wonton soup.” 

“Just one! I’ll give you two dumplings. It’s a trade.” 

He whined and stomped his foot. 

“But there's only like, seven in there.” 

“Okay,” You sighed and broke out your final bargaining chip. “I’ll give you a spring roll too.” 

Peter was happy with your final offer and pulled the bag open. He pulled each styrofoam container out and set them on the desk. He opened his immediately and popped a piece of broccoli in his mouth and hummed. 

You knew the styrofoam would keep the food hot so you presented him with the joints in your hand. “You sir, need to experience munchies.” You watched as he reopened his container and put another green piece in his mouth. “Pretty sure I’m there babe. Broccoli has never erupted as a spiritual experience for me before.” 

“Is that why you fought me on the wonton?” 

“Yes.” 

You raised the joints again and shot him a final offer look. He looked over to the food and whined a little before coming to sit next to you. You leaned over to kiss his cheek, the bruise already faded to yellow. It always amazes you to watch Peter’s body heal quickly, the bruises and superficial cuts seemed to heal in minutes, bigger gashes or scrapes needed a day or so. 

“I love you.” 

He smiled at the words of affection coming from nowhere. “I love you too.” 

“Now light that spliff and let’s get high!” You looked at him with raised eyebrows. 

“You're really leaning into this.” 

You lit the joint and passed it to Peter. It was a little harder for him to get the concept of smoking down. The bong was an instant shot to your lungs so he was trying to do the same with the rice paper. When the first one was finished Peter laid so his head was in your lap and his feet were towards the foot of the bed and you started to run your fingers through his hair. He started to giggle and when you asked what was funny he laughed harder and caught his breath before speaking. 

“So Mr. Harrington asked MJ about me. He asked her how long we had been dating.” He laughed at the end. 

You shouted ‘HA!’  “You and MJ? Yeah right!” 

“I know!” 

He got quiet and leant into your hand, “You don’t think we’ll break up right?” 

You hummed, “Not without consulting you.” 

“You’ll give me a chance, right?” 

The conversation got quiet, he was doing a lot of eternal thinking. Your voice matched his, it was a low volume. 

“A chance for what?” 

“To fix it. If you want to break up with me will you give me a chance to fix it first?” 

“I don’t want to break up with you so don’t worry about it.” 

“No, tell me. Tell me that if that day comes you’ll tell me and I’ll try my best to fix it.” 

“Okay, I’ll give you a chance to fix it.” 

“But, you have to promise the same for me. If you want to dump me I need at least a six month warning.” 

He looked up at you seriously, you moved your hand to his chest and moved in small circles. It was a comforting movement for Peter. You usually did it on the couch during movie nights and it almost always knocked him out, it was just a habit at this point. 

“I would never break up with you. If this relationship ends it won't be on my terms.” 

“Ditto.” You nodded at him.

He rolled over so he was face down in your lap, a silent request for a back scratch. You ran your nails down his back lightly and watched him shuffle deeper into you. You did this for a few minutes before he pulled himself up. 

“Remember the first time we had sex?” 

Boy, Peter was a talker when he was high. 

“No. I blocked it out.” 

“What? Why? It was one of the best moments of my life.” 

“Really? That was one of the best moments? It wasn’t even the best sex we’ve had. Actually, it was probably the worst.” 

He pinched your knee. “Don’t say that! It set the precedent.” 

“I remember. I don’t know if I ever told you but I literally fantasized about it almost every hour until we actually did it. Like, I was almost feral.” 

“Really? For me?” 

“Babe, You have got to be the hottest person I’ve ever put eyes on. I’ve had a crush on you since freshman year when we shared Physical Science.” 

He gasped and went wide eyed. 

“No! You never told me that.” 

“Really? I thought you were so cute and I would always look over at you and you would be scribbling down notes with your tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth. And when you would answer questions or just start to spiral on a topic I would find it so hot. Like, alarmingly hot.” 

“No way.” 

“Seriously! I still love when you get nerdy. It reminds me how smart you really are. I dunno, I just found it sexy. Still do.” 

“So me talking about science makes you hot and bothered?” He started spinning gears in his

head.

You nodded with a hum of conformation. 

“So,” He moved so quickly you didn’t have time to think until he had you on your back and he hovered over you resting on his elbows. “If I told you,” He moved a piece of hair behind your ear and knelt down to whisper. “Lasers can get trapped in water because when it travels through water, its heavier particles will trap the beam in water,”

 “How would that make you feel?” 

He pulled back and watched your face, you had hooded eyes and your lips were tucked into your mouth rolling them back and forth. You looked in his eyes and he knew what that look on your face said. 

“Bestie, new kink unlocked.” 

He laughed, “That hot, huh?” 

“What if I told you I do math equations in my head when we’re having sex so I don’t cum fast?” 

You whimpered. 

“Have you made the connection yet that I would always hook up with you after UN conferences?” “Or debate?” “Or when you won the science fair.” 

Peter thought back, yeah, you definitely had a nerd kink. 

“Okay. If you want science facts when we fuck let me know.” 

“I do!” You nodded your head quickly. 

He chuckled at your reaction, “I meant during but glad to know you’re very down.” 

You pulled him closer to you by his shirt, “Another.” You gave him puppy eyes, “Please.” 

“96% of the universe is made up of dark matter and dark energy which is undetectable by the human eye because it doesn’t react with regular matter or light. So, we have no idea what the universe actually looks like.” 

“How hot is the sun?” 

“About 27 million degrees.” 

“What animal has been on earth the longest.” 

“Oldest one recorded was a quahog clam. They estimated it at 507 years old.” 

“Babe, I’m not gonna lie. I’m wet right now.” 

“Duly noted.” 

You looked over at the Chinese across the room. You thought about general tso’s chicken and moaned, “Chinese sounds so good right now.” 

Peter hopped up from the bed and went to grab the assortment of food to deliver to the bed. 

“Well, have I got good news for you then.” 

Peter sat a bit further away from you on the bed criss-cross style to mimic you, the styrofoam boxes spread across the path to each other. You started at Peter gulping down his wonton soup and he pulled away to give a garbled “what?” with a mouth full of broth. “Gimme one.” He looked down at the soup cup in his hand, he only counted 3 left. “Are you sure you want one? They’re not even that good.” You blew out a breath, “Okay, fine. I feel bad. But can I at least get some of the soup?” Peter passed the cup towards you and you made a show of slurping the clear broth, you pulled the cup from your mouth and he held his hand out for you to return it. You told him one more and tilted the cup back, slurping a wonton casually. “Oops.” Peter stared at you in shock, he couldn’t fathom your betrayal. “How can I ever trust you again?” 

You opened your tray of soup dumplings and dropped two into the soup cup and handed it back. “There you go. You’ll never know the difference.” He opened his mouth to whine but you lent over and pressed a kiss to his open mouth and pulled back as he started to melt into it. “I love you!” It was a gentle reminder to soften the blow of your trick, you then asked him if he got chopsticks and watched him hand them over before digging into your general tso’s. 

And it was so good.

Peter couldn’t believe how good it actually tasted. He had an insatiable appetite sense the bite, at first he was a normal boy going through puberty but when the bite happened and he started to swing around the city fighting, mostly, petty crimes he couldn’t stop his constant hunger. Aunt May started to buy for a family of four, his food intake had doubled dramatically and it still never tasted as good as this. 

He was totally in the zone. Tunnel vision on his beef and broccoli just hand to mouth, he pushed himself to aim for at least 6 chews and swallowed as the second bite entered his mouth. You knew he was enjoying it because he was totally silent, not one word being shared just focused on the food in front of him. You had to wonder if he knew you were even in the room. You had just paused to take a dumpling break choosing to save the spring rolls for last. 

You had 4 left and set them towards Peter, the benefit to his hunger was he would finish eating for you whenever you wanted. It was also great that anytime you were hungry so was he, and he even shared his food with you when you were too lazy to pack a lunch or go through the line, even though he was about ten times more famished he worried about your meal. He knew he could skip a meal, he was just hungry but he was nourished, you on the other hand did need a lunch. 

You almost laughed when he hadn’t moved once, just keeping a loop of chewing and swallowing. You leaned over and reached a pair of chopsticks to his plate to grab a piece of beef, he paused his movements and looked at the pair of chopsticks in his site, he slowly traveled the wood to the perpetrator. He watched as you pulled a piece and put it in your mouth with a hum and smile, he slowly blinked and looked at your own plate.  

“Why mine?” 

“Why always mine?”

 He whined and pushed “You have your own! You asked for it, you wanted general tso’s. If you wanted mine you should've asked!” He shuffled his box further away, “I did! I just wanted a bite, you can have some of mine. Here!” You grabbed his box and put a pile on the top side to keep the two separated.

 “Your food always tastes better than mine, sorry.” You gave a shy smile, “I don’t know why. We can be eating the same thing but yours is better. I think I just like sharing with you.” You shrugged and took a bite of your own dinner, Peter pouted, now he felt bad. “I don’t mind sharing.”

 He reached over to give you some of his but you held out your hand, “no, really. I just wanted a bite.” He looked at his beef and broccoli and looked back at you, he nodded his head at the plate and stuck his fork in a piece of each and handed it to you, “Here, have another.” You rolled your eyes and let him feed you off his fork, when you were done you started to eat your own and took bites around conversation. 

You were both in a debate between the better franchise to break out of film: Star Wars or Harry Potter. You were team Potter, you weren't even a fan but they’re way more dedicated than Star Wars fans. They even have their own name, they literally call themselves Potter Heads! You had made this argument to Peter but he insisted Star Wars was better because they had their own park at Disney but you had to point out that Harry Potter world did it first. 

Peter expressed that Star War fans call themselves padawans, which he was a proud one himself. You then made the point of Harry Potter themed weddings, and he let you win the battle.

You ate half your spring roll before handing it to Peter and laying back on the bed rubbing your stomach. You looked at Peter and said, “Due in six months, she’s gonna be a big one.” Peter leaned back and patted his own, you loved seeing his tummy poke out after a big meal, “I’m due in four. We’re keeping the sex a surpise.” 

You groaned before rolling to your side and getting up clearing your bed from the mess. You reached to grab Peter’s empty box and ran a hand through his hair and kissed his cheek before pulling away. 

You heard Peter yawn, then you followed him in a yawn. 

“Tired baby?” 

You hummed in response, Peter got up from the bed and stretched. He opened his arms for a hug, and you placed yourself in them. You both went to brush your teeth and when you went back to bed he settled himself in first, he slept closest to the wall and you on the outside, Peter got warm at night so he liked to press himself against the cool wall. You always rolled into the middle of the bed anyways, and liked having the access to the room because you had to pee at least twice in the night. 

You watched him make himself comfortable, fluffing an arm under a pillow and settling his head on top, he was getting in position to spoon you and your heart warmed at the autopilot reaction. 

“Do you want the lights on or off?” 

“Off please.” He grinned from the bed. 

You turned your TV on and handed him the remote, a routine each time he slept over. He always had a hard time getting his mind to shut off and settle so actually falling asleep was a lengthy process. You always knocked out before him so he got to choose the channel or movie, you were gonna pass out immediately anyways, you didn’t care what was on. 

Following the cable to the plug you turned off the lights and left your room to grab you both a water. When you returned you sat in the bed facing Peter on your knees, “Can you take your shirt off tonight?” Peter tilted his head slightly, but hummed nevertheless and removed it and tossed it on the floor. You pulled the hoodie over your head and dropped it next to his shirt. 

You moved to lay down and pressed your chest against the side of him, he would spoon you once sleep was imminent, for the time being this was cuddle time until you got too tired to keep on. Peter could feel every part of your bare chest against him, “Just wanted skin to skin tonight, that’s all.” 

“That’s okay. I love skin to skin.” Peter reached under the sheet to pull at your thigh to hook it over his hip on his sweatpants. You were just in painties and felt like he should be too. You pulled your leg back, “Pants too.” He laughed and shimmed his pants off under the blankets and threw them to the ground. You smiled and hummed and placed your thigh where it was and shuffled closer so you were nearly on top of him. Your eyes closed and a blissful smile pressed on your face, your head laid on his chest and you were being lulled to sleep with his heartbeat and slow hands running through your hair. 

“Thanks for tonight. I’m really glad you trusted me enough to do this.”

“I had fun. I didn’t really think it would work but I’m glad I experienced it.” 

“Would you do it again?” 

Peter went quiet and you could tell he was thinking. 

“I think so. I don’t think it would be an everyday thing but if I really needed to chill out yeah. It messes with Spidey and he doesn’t like that.” 

“It’s okay if I keep doing it though, right?” 

Peter placed a kiss on your forehead, “Course, just keep me updated now. Let me know what’s going on.” 

“Like, when I go to see Kris? Or when I do it?” 

He laughed and twirled your hair around his finger. 

“You don’t have to inform me like that. I just mean don’t hide it from me.” 

“I can do that.” 

You opened your eyes and leaned forward. 

“Goodnight, I love you.” You pressed a kiss to his mouth and he returned the goodnight. 

You had rolled over and he had an arm wrapped around your waist and a knee between your legs, his right foot wrapped around yours. He felt you slowly get heavier and he knew you had dropped off when you wiggled back into him subconsciously, you always pulled closer to him in your sleep. He kept his eyes on your TV screen for a little while, he was on his third rewatch of The Mandalorian, you had gotten him a Baby Yoda Build-A-Bear for his birthday and he screamed with excitement when you put his name on the birth certificate. 

He remembered your request from earlier in the night, he was pretty sure you were asleep but tried anyway. “Hey” He whispered. You stayed still. “Baby,” He squeezed your waist in his hand. “I have to pee.” You opened your eyes and turned your head to blink at him. He usually moved himself around your body, why was he waking you for that. 

“Okay?” You questioned and pushed deeper into the bed. 

He pulled his hands away and pushed the blankets off him, “I just wanted you to know that I have to pee and I’m going to the bathroom now.” You felt him move off the bed and opened your eyes again and stared at him. 

“Is that an invitation?” 

“I was hinting.” 

You threw the covers off and sat up and squealed. You hopped to Peter and gave him a hug and kissed his cheek. “You’re the best boyfriend ever!” 

“It’s not that big of a deal.” He laughed it off as you cling to his arm to walk into the bathroom. 

“No it is. A lot of girls on TikTok said their boyfriend wouldn’t let them do it. I have a better boyfriend than thirty percent of girls on TikTok. It’s a fact.” 

You watched as he pulled his boxers down slightly and pulled his dick out, he looked at you with raised eyebrows. 

“Alright, give me your hand.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning you woke to the sun hitting your eyesight from a crack in the blinds. You squint and turn to press your head into Peter's shoulder to block out the light. Peter pulls closer to the wall so you move with him, you wrap an arm around his waist to hold him in place. Just as you were about to doze back into slumber Peter pulls your arm off him trying to maneuver his body around to go to the bathroom. 

You whined out a ‘No’ and reached for him but he pushed your hands away and left you to squint at him with the sun piercing the room. 

“I hate you.” 

Peter leaned down to kiss your forehead, “Good Morning to you too.” 

You mumbled back “Morning.” 

When he came back into your room he pulled his sweatpants on, you made grabby hands towards him, wanting nothing more than a cuddle. He gave into your request and let you lay yourself on top of him.

“You have me til 3 today. What’s the plan?” He asked while running his hands down your hair. 

“You.” 

“Your plans are me?” He laughed 

You gave a mhm sound and opened your mouth to bite him where you normally do, but instead of him giving you an ‘Ow!’ like he always does, he brought his hand up to smack your backside. You jumped and gasped, the sudden hit woke you up with adrenaline. Peter was amused at your reaction, “Ow!” 

He looked at you and gave you an ‘What? I told you so.’ look. You narrowed your eyes, making eye contact you leaned back down with an open mouth, he raised his hand back up. You looked towards his hand and bit down on his shoulder, he smacked your ass again a bit harder. You wondered if he would do it as hard as you bit him. You sunk your teeth in this time, hard. You knew it was a harsher bite than you would ever give him but the new reaction was something you wanted to test. 

You sunk your teeth in and heard Peter grunt, he swung his hand down at the same rate and it made you jump with the force. It hurt. It also felt good. 

“One more?” You arched your back to make yourself more pronounced. 

“You like that?” 

You mhmed him, “please.” 

He brought his hand down again. You whimpered into his neck. 

“Harder.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I do.” 

He smacked you once more, a little harder but not much. 

“Petey,” You whined out the nickname. 

“Harder?” He questioned. 

You nodded against him. 

“You know when you're fighting a guy and he won't stay down and you get frustrated so finally you’re like, ‘i’m done trying to be nice’ and then you like, shove him into a brick wall?” 

Peter hummed. 

“Hit me like that.” 

“Oh, baby. I don’t know about that.” 

“Why not?” You pulled your face to look at him. He frowned at your pout. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. I know I’m just Peter to you, but I’m strong and sometimes I forget how much to hold back.” 

“Then don’t hold back,” you shrugged not seeing the issue. 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“No.” 

“Why not!” You felt like stomping your feet. 

“I consent! You can spank me really hard.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You don’t consent?” 

“No. I’m not doing it.” 

You pulled at his arm, “I’ll bite you. I swear I’ll make you bleed this time.” 

“That’s okay. I can take it.” 

Your face fell and you pulled away from him. So that's what it was, he didn’t think you could handle it. He thought you were some small soft thing that couldn’t take a handprint on an ass cheek. 

“But I can’t?” 

You sat up and crossed your arms over your chest, you peered around the floor for Peter’s shirt and pulled it over your head. You felt upset over this and it felt silly. 

“I didn’t say that.” Peter was calm, he refused to play into your annoyance. 

“You just did! You literally said you could handle it and I couldn’t.” 

“No, I said that I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

You rolled your eyes, “It’s not your job to protect me.” 

Peter felt a little pulled back by that. He felt like it was his job a little bit, he was your boyfriend, and Spider-Man so by keeping the city safe he was keeping you safe. 

“It is when you want me to hit you and you don’t understand what ‘unleashing’ my strength on you is.” 

“I want you to spank my ass Peter, not slap me across the face!” 

He gave you a blank look. When Peter had his mind set there was no changing it, he could be a stubborn boy. 

You groaned, “Fine! I’ll compromise.” 

Peter raised his eyebrows to show his interest. 

“Just hit me once. You don’t have to get all Hulk Hogan on me but I want it hard. Like just one smack, I want it to sting.” 

Peter tilted his head at you, he was considering it. 

“Just once?” 

“For now, yes.” 

He sighed, “Okay, come here.” 

Peter moved to the side of the bed and patted his thighs, you moved around him on your knees and layed yourself down across his lap. You wiggled your butt to him and wrapped your hands around his left knee. “I’m ready!” 

“You sure?” 

You sunk your head lower to arch your back more, “Yes, sir.” 

Peter brought his hand down. Hard. The crack of his skin against yours bounced off the walls, you whimpered upon the initial contact and you instinctively pulled yourself away from his hand. Then hissed with your tongue between your teeth. The hands around his knee tightened and you held for a moment, trying to breath through the pain.

 It hurt. A lot. 

But god, it felt good. The heat from Peter's palm made you quiver, the complete power he had over you, how he could be such a loving doting boyfriend and turn around and leave red up and down your backside. This was new and needed to stay. 

Your skin burned and stung, it felt hot and cold at the same time. You had your eyes squeezed shut trying to minimize the pain. Peter frowned at the reaction and brought his hand to rub at the red skin, his handprint forming immediately. You pulled away from his touch. You held his knee tighter and whimpered, you knew now what he meant by not wanting to hurt you. In his mind he barely tapped you but you were almost writhing. 

And it was a bit of a turn on.

“That was so hot, oh my god.” Peter smiled at the mark he made and placed his palm against the mark in perfect comparison. You pulled away slightly, it still felt hot.

“At least now I know how you can knock someone out with just a shove against a wall.” 

Peter just breathed hard out his nose. He wanted to laugh but also knew you were still in some pain, it wasn’t as bad as when he first contacted the skin but the sting let you know it still happened.

“How hard was that?” 

He rubbed his palms up and down the back of your thighs. 

“I’d say probably a 4 on the Spidey scale.” 

“Let’s make sure to not go over a 3 next time.” 

“Hurts?” 

“Not your fault. Mine. I should’ve listened.” You shook your head against his thigh and he pulled you by your elbow so he could look at your face. You didn’t look upset, no tears or trembles. Just a little knocked off balance. 

“So next time I tell you I know my strengths and your limitations you’ll listen?” 

You stared at him. “Did you do that on purpose?” 

“I did it because you bullied me into hitting you.” 

You gasped, “I did not!” 

“You kinda did.” He raised his voice an octave

“Maybe a little! But I don’t know your strength, it’s not like you’ve ever shown me.” 

“You want me to show off how strong I am?” He smiled at how easy it was to turn you on. 

“Kinda!” You huffed at him

He pushed you off his lap and stood up. “Okay, what do you want me to do?” 

You looked around, “Pick me up.” 

He placed a hand on each hip and lifted up, there was no effort on his end. He put you down and smirked, it said ‘what? That’s it?’

“Pick my bed up, lift it up on one side.” He placed a hand on the beam beneath the bed and lifted it while looking at you. 

“Okay. I bet you can’t do it with one finger.” 

He raised his eyebrows at you and without breaking eye contact repeated the process. With his pinky finger. Your eyes went wide, “What the fuck.” Peter set the bed down and laughed at your remark, you panned your eyes to him, “No, because what the fuck is that.” He shrugged. “That’s nothing.” 

“No, that's insane. That’s not normal.” 

“Babe, I’ve literally stopped a train before.” 

“Yeah. Not normal.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re just jealous I got the bite and not you.” 

“And have you over my lap instead? I may be.” 

“Stop.” 

You giggled at his blank stare. You moved to grab some water and noticed one of the joints from last night. You thought about it. 

“Hey babe,” You turned your head to look at Peter texting on his phone. 

“Yes?” He was moving his head but keeping his gaze locked on the screen. 

You held out the joint.

“Wake and Bake?” 

His gaze moved from the joint to your face, he was thinking about it. One more time wouldn't hurt, he doesn't know when he'll do it again next.

“Denny’s after? Your treat, I got chinese last night.” 

“Deal.” 

[prettypiscesgal]

where tf are all the jim halpert imagines?? y’all slacking and it’s NOT okay

[prettypiscesgal]

Bugaboo

Summary: You’re Wanda’s little sister and Peter’s girlfriend and things get messy when you try to help Peter out by fighting Green Goblin.

Warnings:[18+] Lots of angst & a little bit of fluff in the beginning.

Listen while reading:

Apocalypse - Cigarettes after sex

Prey - The Neighbourhood

Safe & Sound - Taylor Swift

I love you - Billie Eilish

Summertime Sadness - Lana del rey

Epiphany - Taylor Swift

Note: Requested by @oyasumimosura This is very, very, very long and will follow NWH plot, with changes, obviously.

You and Peter were know for being the couple. All the Avengers would always tease the two of you ever since you met, knowing you were made for each other, even when you hadn’t know that.

The two of you met during the fight at the airport between Cap and Tony. You, of course, being on Cap’s side with your sister Wanda. You were told to cover Peter since you were the same age, but looking back on it now, you feel like it was a little ploy to get you together.

“I’m sorry, um.. I don’t really hit girls.” Peter had awkwardly said when you approached him.

“I can take it, Spider-boy. Try me.” You’d replied, tying up your hair while a red glow grew in your eyes.

“It’s actually Spider-man.” He corrected politely. “Are you like a mini Wanda?”

“And Pietro.” You smirked as the eyes of his mask squinted.

“Pi-ah-what now?” He tilted his head to the side, not noticing your fist coming at him before it was too late.

“Oof.” He landed to the floor with a thud, quickly shooting a web towards the second floor of the airport when he spotted Bucky and Sam.

When he landed on the second floor, he didn’t notice that you had sped up there before he could, and were now standing in his way.

“How- but.. you were-” He stutters, looking behind him to where he thought he had left you and back to your smug expression.

“Just fight me, Spiderboy. I want to see what you can do.” You replied, walking towards him while he backed away.

“I would, miss, but I really don’t want to hurt you or your pretty face.” He rambles as he backs away, holding his hands up in surrender.

You paused, a smile gracing your lips, “You think I’m pretty?”

“What- Did I say that? No, I mean yes, you’re pretty but.. I- um..” He stumbles on his words and you smiled at his awkwardness.

You reached forward, pulling his mask off, and met with a very shocked and pretty face. He just stares at you while you admired his adorable expression.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of the Quinjet flying off, signaling that your team had won this round.

“Ask me out after this mess and I might say yes.” You said, handing him his mask back before flying off, leaving him a confused and blushing mess.

And then he did ask you out, after a week of chickening out and asking all the other Avengers how he should. And you, of course, said yes when he showed up with flowers that May helped him pick out, practically sweating.

“D-Do you.. um.. Want to go to dinner with me?” He asked, practically shoving the flowers into your hands.

“Took you long enough, pretty boy.” You laughed, “Do you need to use the restroom or do you always look like you’re gonna piss yourself when you ask out a girl?”

“The latter.”

The Avengers always teased you two on how clingy you were, practically joined at the hip all the time. They knew you two were the definition of endgame, though. Everyone who had eyes could see that. The love you had for each other was something straight out of the movies. And through all these years, even though you two lost many people close to you, you never grew apart. You only grew closer together through everything.

You were now living with him and his Aunt May. You’d been staying with him since he asked you out after everything went down with the accords and the airport fight, laying low since you were fugitives. And when everything got cleared up, you’d decided to just stay and Peter could not have been more thrilled.

“Morning, bugaboo.” You murmur, wrapping your arms around Peter’s waist and kissing his neck while he makes breakfast.

“What did you just call me?” His eyebrows scrunch up in offense and you giggle.

“Bugaboo. Because you��re a bug and you’re my boo.” You explain and he glances over his shoulder to give you a deadpanned look.

“That is the stupidest nickname I’ve heard yet.”

“Well now I’m just gonna say it more.” You tease, biting playfully on his shoulder as he laughs, going back to focusing on the pancakes.

“These are taking forever to cook.” Peter groans, poking at his still runny pancakes. You place your chin in his shoulder to take a look.

“You could’ve just asked me to help.” You reply, bringing up your hand and hitting the pancake with some of your red sparkles, making it instantly perfectly cooked.

Peter pouts, “I could’ve done it myself, you know?”

“I know you could’ve, big boy.” You pat his cute butt walking over to the couch just as May walks out of her room.

“Wow, those pancakes smell delicious.” May comments, giving you a warm smile.

“Okay, we get it! Peter’s bad at cooking!” Peter shouts from the kitchen making both you and May laugh.

“Have you checked the mail, Pete?” May asks while making herself a cup of coffee.

Peter gasps at that, running over to grab the mail from the basket by the door. He skims through all the envelopes and his eyes widen when he finds one special one.

“I gotta go find Ned and MJ.” Peter says, sliding across the apartment to find his things, leaving a quick goodbye kiss to your lips before running off.

“God, he’s like a lost puppy with you.” May says, shaking her head.

“I actually think he’s just a lost puppy in general.” You reply with a smile, staring at the door he’d just ran out of.

“You’re probably right.”

———

You were beyond worried. You only left for a couple hours to go visit Wanda, and when you got back Peter and May were nowhere to be found. Neither were answering your calls so you decided to go look for him in the first place you could think of.

“Ned? Have you seen Peter? He hasn’t been answering my calls..” You trail off when you walk through the front door of Ned’s home to find him waving his arm in circles while MJ shouts out him.

They both freeze at the sound of your voice.

“Are you guys alright? Do I need to call someone?” You ask, genuinely concerned that they maybe losing their mind.

“You’ve missed a lot.” MJ says and your eyebrows furrow.

“Basically we didn’t get into college and Peter tried to get Dr. Strange to fix it and it didn’t work and now monsters from different universes are coming and we’re trying to find Peter with this ring we stole from Dr. Strange.” Ned explains and you get whiplash from shock and also how fast he’s explaining everything.

“Pretty much what he said, yeah.” MJ nods along.

“Okay.. um.. any luck with the ring?” You ask, still trying to process everything that’s going on.

“He’s made a few sparkles, but that’s pretty much it.” MJ shrugs and Ned’s jaw drops in offense.

“They we’re not sparkles, they were sparks. There’s a difference.”

“Okay, Ned. Try again, try harder. We need to find him soon before he gets himself into more trouble.” You interrupt their fighting, speaking sternly as worry starts to fill you.

“What do you think I’ve been doing!?” Ned replies, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

“Well, do it again!” You shout back at him.

“Fine.. bossy.” He mumbles under his breath as he starts trying to open the portal again. “I just wish we could see Peter!”

We all gasp at the sight of the portal successfully opening to reveal a dark alleyway with a figure standing at the end.

“Is that him?” MJ whispers as we all stare in shock.

“Yeah, it has to be.” He replies and we all start to shout for him. He runs over and jumps through the portal, which causes Ned’s grandma to start screaming and throwing pillows at him.

“Hey, hey! I’m a good guy!” He shouts back at Ned’s Grandma, pulling off his mask and holding his hands up in surrender.

“Who the hell are you?” MJ asks as we all stare at him in shock and confusing.

“I’m Peter Parker-”

“Uh, no the hell you aren’t. Our Peter is much shorter and his hair isn’t as.. poofy.” You say, waving your hands around dramatically as you speak.

“Okay, my hair is the perfect amount of poof, thank you very much.” He says, raising up a finger, “And if you would let me finish.. I was saying I’m Peter Parker from my world.”

“The poofy hair world?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Okay, rude.” He sasses back, “I’m Spider-man, in my world, and then yesterday I was just.. here.”

Poofy Peter starts mumbling about nerd stuff as he walks around the room while Ned whispers, “This has to be because of the spell.”

“Spell? Like Magic?” He asks, looking back to the three of us.

“No, there’s no spell.” Ned quickly tries to cover up.

“Nope, no spell.” MJ adds.

“There’s magic here too?” He asks with a shocked smile.

“No.”

“Then what’s that red stuff coming out of her hand?” He replies, pointing to you as everyone turns to look at you.

“Y/N!” Ned whisper yells at you.

“Sorry, I’m in the defense since Poofy Peter from another universe just jumped through a portal!” You whisper yell back, turning back to the suspicious Peter, “Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove that you’re Peter Parker.” MJ joins in my interrogation.

“I don’t carry an ID with me that kinda defeats the purpose of the whole anonymous superhero thing-”

He’s cut off by MJ throwing a piece of bread at him, then going into a karate stance as if preparing to fight him.

“Why’d you do that?” He whispers.

“Tryna see if you have the tingle thing..” She replies.

“I have the tingle thing just not for bre- OH MY GOD!” He cuts himself off with a shout, jumping out of the way to avoid a chair being thrown full-speed at him.

“Why’d you just throw a chair!” He yells, trying to catch his breath with a hand over his chest.

“Tryna see if you have the tingle thing.” You shrug, using the same excuse as MJ.

“You are deeply mistrusting people.. and I respect it.” He replies, jumping up and using his sticky fingers to cling to the ceiling.

“Crawl around.” MJ orders, waving her finger around while holding a piece of bread, ready to attack again.

“Crawl around?”

“Yes.”

“Why do I need to crawl around?”

“Because it’s not enough.”

“This is plenty.”

“Do it.” She demands throwing another piece of bread, grabbing another as a threat.

“I don’t- Okay, whoa, please put down the chair.” He says, realizing you were picking up another chair to throw at him.

“Only if you crawl around.”

“Um.. my mom was asking if you could- just.. get the cobweb there. Since you’re, like, up there.” Ned cuts in, pointing to the cobweb in the corner.

He sighs, crawling over to get rid of the cobweb before jumping back down to the ground. “Good?”

“For now.” MJ replies and we all turn to eachother to discuss what to do next.

“So I opened the portal to the wrong Peter Parker?” Ned shakes his head in confusion.

“Yeah, so I guess we just keep opening portals until we find the real one.” MJ shrugs.

“Okay.” Ned breathes deeply before repeating the same thing he did last time, “Find Peter Parker.”

Another portal opens behind Ned, a random man stepping through with a confused expression.

“Great, it’s just a random guy.” Ned sighs.

“I hope it’s okay I just stepped through this.. oh, it’s gone now.”

“You’re.. Peter?” MJ asks.

“Yeah. Peter Parker.” He smiles.

“Oh god, is every random man with brown hair Peter now?” You groan, throwing your head back in annoyance.

“Wait, he’s not your friend is he?” The Man Peter says, pointing to Poofy Peter in confusion.

They suddenly start shooting each other with webs and flipping around, until Man Peter hits Poofy Peter’s wrist with his web shooter.

“Okay, let’s stop this and go find the original Peter, please!” You yell, your brain not being able to handle everything that’s going on right now.

“Okay.. um.. is there some place he might go that has meaning to him? Like a place he would go to just-” Man Peter starts to ask.

“Get away from everything.” Poofy Peter finishes his sentence and an idea sparks in your head.

“I think I know where he is.”

You remember one place Peter and you would go to when things got too much. You went there for your first date, after dinner he slung you up to the rooftop to look at the sunset. You always revisited that place whenever either of you got overwhelmed or simply just wanted to see the view.

“What are you taking me up here for Spiderboy? Think you’re gonna get lucky?” You teased him, fixing the collar of the button-up he wore for the date.

“W-What, no, of course not! I mean- not that I don’t want to.. I mean..” He stuttered, his face turning bright red, making you laugh.

“Calm down, Pete. Just teasing you.” You mumbled, kissing him on the cheek and making his cheeks burn even brighter.

“I wanted to show you the view. I thought it was really pretty.. like you.” He mumbled the last part and you smiled.

“How many girls have you used that line on?” You asked.

“N-None.. you’re the first girl I’ve ever brought up here. Actually, the first person.” He replied, scratching the back of his neck.

“You’re adorable.” You smiled, booping him on the nose and going over to sit on the ledge and watch the sunset.

“It really is beautiful. How’d you find this place, pretty boy?” You asked, swinging your feet as you see him take the spot next to you out of the corner of your eye.

“Found it while swinging around, you know? Fighting crime and all that.” He said and you giggled and nodded. “It looks a lot prettier when you’re watching it with someone else, though.”

“Wow. You are quite the romantic, aren’t you? Who would’ve thought?” You nudged your shoulder with his, causing him to giggle and look down to his lap with a flushed face.

You two sat in silence while watching the sky merge into different colors. You glanced over to see Peter’s face, his side profile looked mesmerizing with pink and orange dancing across his face. Plus a little bit of red from his constant blushing.

“You really are a pretty boy.” You admitted, causing him to turn to you with wide eyes as if he hadn’t expected you to say that.

“T-Thanks. You’re a really pretty girl.” He replied.

“You suck at flirting, but it’s kind of endearing.” You smiled softly, “Get over here and kiss me, Spiderboy.”

———

“Peter!” You call out, looking around the roof to find the boy. You see in the darkness, a figure huddled up by the edge of the roof. “Pete.” You gasp, running towards him.

You fall to your knees next to him, grabbing his face and finding his absolute heartbroken expression. “Baby, oh god.” You feel tears brim in your eyes as you look at his red ones. He’s bloody and bruised, but you could tell that wasn’t even the worst part.

“May.. she-” He starts to say, but is cut off by his own choked sob. You heart breaks and you hold him so tightly, his head against your chest as you try not to cry.

“Shh. Just breathe, Pete.” You whisper, your voice coming out cracked as you try and fail at keeping your own emotions in. “I’m so, so sorry, bug.”

May was one of the sweetest people you’ve met, taking care of you and letting you live with her when she absolutely did not have to. And now she’s gone.

You look over to MJ, Ned, and the other spider-man’s who are looking at the two of you with solemn expressions.

“Peter.” You whisper in his ear, “There’s some people here to see you.”

Peter sniffles and looks up to you, “W-What?” He stands up, groaning and looking ready to fight, only to find his friends and two figures sitting on top of the tower behind them. They begin to jump down and Peter raises his arm, signaling for them to stop, “Hey- woah, wait!”

You place your hand in his arm, letting him know it’s okay.

“Sorry.” Man-Peter spoke, “About May.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I got some understanding of what it’s-” Fluffy Peter starts to say.

“No, no. Please don’t try to tell me you know what I’m going through.” Your peter cuts him off, “She’s gone. And it’s all my fault. She died for nothing, so I’m gonna do what I should’ve done in the first place-” He says, reaching for the button to undo everything.

“Peter-” Man Peter tries to reason with him.

“Please don’t. You don’t belong here. Either of you. So, I’m sending you home. Those monsters were from your world, so if you kill them, that’s on you. I don’t care anymore. I’m done.” Hearing Peter talk like this breaks your heart, hearing him lose his morals. But you stay quiet, knowing the only people who can help him now are himself. As weird as that sounds.

“I’m really sorry that I’ve dragged you into this, but you’ve got to go home now. Good luck.” He reaches to press the button again, but MJ moves it from his reach as Man Peter begins to speak.

“My Uncle Ben was killed.” He says, catching Peter’s attention. “It was my fault.”

“I lost-” The other Peter struggles to get the words out, “I lost Gwen. My- uh.. She was my Y/N.” He points to you and and you look at the pained expression on his face with a quivering lip. Both Peter’s explain how much the grief affected them, how they stopped pulling punches and didn’t care anymore. And how none of it helped.

“I wanna kill him.” Peter speaks up, his voice rough and broken. “I wanna tear him apart. I can still hear her voice in my head-” His voice broke and you immediately interlock your fingers with his, giving a comforting squeeze. He looks to you, before turning back to speak in a quivering voice, “Even after she was hurt, she said to me that we did the right thing.”

“She told me that with great power..”

“Comes great responsibility.” Man Peter finishes for him.

“Wait, what? How do you know that?”

“Uncle Ben said it.” Fluffy Peter says, nodding.

“The day he died.” Man Peter says, “Maybe she didn’t die for nothing Peter.”

———

The three Peter’s were each working on their own cures for the guys from the other worlds while you, Ned, and MJ all just watched.

“This is so freaky.” You whisper, watching them all move around and speak almost identically.

“Yeah.” Ned and MJ nod along.

You walk over to sit next to Peter, your Peter, giving him a small smile, “How you doing, bugaboo?”

He sighs, “I thought I told you not to call me that.” You can see the little smile threatening to break on his face, which makes you smile.

“Yeah, but when do I ever listen to you?” You tease, kissing his cheek while he still focuses on tinkering with the cure.

“True.” He smiles softly, setting down his stuff and suddenly turning to you, “I’m so sorry. I never told you what was happening because I wanted to keep you out of it. May, Ned, and MJ weren’t suppose to know either and I somehow dragged them into this, and now you too, and I-”

“Peter.” You grab him by his cheeks to get his attention and stop his rambling.

“Yes?” Both of the other Peter’s ask, looking up from their projects.

“No, I meant-” You motion towards your Peter and they nod in realization. “We got to get something figured out, I’ve just been calling them Man Peter and Fluffy Peter.”

Peter laughs breathily and you hold his face in your hands before speaking, “You didn’t drag me into this. You didn’t drag any of us into this. We made our choice to stay, Pete.”

He looks into your eyes and he looks scared, “Y/N, you can’t fight this with me. You have to stay with Ned and MJ-”

“No!” You immediately shake your head, “Peter, you’re not the only one with powers here, remember? I can fight.”

“I don’t care.” He replies, eyebrows furrowing in frustration, “I can’t lose you too. I can’t.”

You falter for a second, your face softening as you hold his in your hands, softly running your thumbs along his cheeks. “You could never lose me, bug. No matter how hard you try. I’ll always be there, even when my heart stops beating.”

“What!? Why would it stop beating!?” Peter panics and you laugh, pulling him in to kiss his lips softly.

“Calm down, Pete. I’m just trying to be poetic. I’m never gonna leave you, and if you try to leave me I’ll hunt you down.”

He laughs, kissing you again. “Just.. be careful.”

“I always am.”

———

“Shit, shit, shit.” You whisper under your breath, currently running from sand.

Yep, sand.

You weren’t running in fear, no, you were running in more of annoyance. The last thing you need is sand stuck anywhere on you. It’s just uncomfortable.

“Peter!” You yell, jumping up and grabbing onto a pipe to pull you to the top floor of the Statue or Liberty.

“Yes?” You hear all three of them in your earpiece.

“One, Peter One!” You shout, very confused as you watch the sand start to build up towards you.

“What’s wrong?” Peter breaths heavily, landing beside you as you motion to the sand.

“You really tried to put me in gladiator armor to fight some sand!?” You scold him, talking about earlier when he tried to put you in a full body metal suit that was about two sizes too big for you.

“I just want to keep you safe!” He defends, throwing his arms up in surrender.

“I can’t believe you left the sand to me! You know I’m stronger than that!”

“Hey!” The Sandman, who was actually quite polite compared to the others, says in offense.

You give him a deadpan look, raising your hand up and collecting all the sand into one big ball, raising your other hand to fly the cure over, using it on him quickly and watching as he turns from sand to a man, dropping him back on the floor.

You look back to Peter with an annoyed expression and he removes his mask, offering an awkward smile.

“You know, I love you sooo much-”

“Don’t even try.” You cut him off. “Peter. Let me fight Green Goblin. Give me his cure-”

“No, no! Not happening!” He yells, backing away, trying to escape the conversation.

“Peter!” You grab him by the collar of his suit, pulling him back towards you, “Don’t try to swing away from me.”

“Y/N, no. You know I can’t let you do that. He’s mine. I’m not letting him even go near you.” He says, grabbing your face in his hands and looking deeply in your eyes to make sure you understand.

“Peter, you can’t fight him and you know why. I can take care of myself.” You reply, holding onto his wrists as he frowns.

“No, no, I can’t let you do that.” He shakes his head, his eyes welling up with tears, “I can’t let you go too, I can’t miss you too-”

“But you won’t miss me and you won’t let me go. I’m there. I’m always there and even when I’m not, I come back, don’t I?” You smile sadly, your voice thick with emotion as you wipe tears from his face.

“Yeah.” He nods, sniffling. “Okay, yeah. But you have to come back. Promise me.”

“I-” Your promise is cut off by the sound of cackling and then a green device landing by yours and Peter’s feet.

Peter looks up at you, completely fear on his face as he jumps over to reach you and push you out of the way, but you both react too late.

The explosion pushes Peter away from you and you away from Peter, both of you landing harshly onto the not-so-secure metal. Peter groans, disoriented and trying to hear past the ringing in his ears. He looks over to find you knocked out, blood on your forehead and soot covering your hair and face.

“Y/N!” He yells, his voice cracking and hardly carrying volume. He groans as he tries to crawl over to you, fear building in his stomach.

He’s almost reached you when a creaking sound startled him and makes him stop. Suddenly the metal floor beneath the two of you starts to tilt diagonally, causing you to slide with it.

“No!” Peter screams, lifting himself up and limping his way towards you as you slide down the metal, stopping right at the edge, so close to falling 200 feet down to the floor.

You start to gain consciousness, but not enough to understand what’s happening, not until it’s too late.

With one last sound of metal screeching against metal, one last yell from Peter’s lips, your body is suddenly falling, the harsh breeze you feel against your back stirring you from your sleep.

You open your eyes and the first thing you see is Peter’s completely fear stricken face as he dives after you. You can’t comprehend anything fast enough to stop what’s happening.

And when you see Peter’s body knocked away by a green streak of light, it all hits you, but still not fast enough. Even though it feels like everything is moving in slow motion, it’s still moving too fast, way too fast. Until you meet the ground with a sickening thud.

It’s silence.

When did silence become so scary?

Peter picked himself up, looking over to where you landed, where everyone watched in sickening silence. He was waiting for you to stand up, say you were okay, call him that stupid nickname while smiling in your stupid (adorable) way.

You didn’t move.

He couldn’t move.

His body was stuck and he thought the first emotion that would fill him would be sadness, fear, hopelessness. And while those all came, the strongest was rage.

He turned to the man that caused all of this. The man that took May from him, and now you. He knew he probably should’ve gone to you, gone to help you, but all he could think about was killing that man.

He grabbed onto the collar of Green Goblin’s suit, throwing him up in the air and slamming him down harshly on his back. He wasn’t laughing anymore, he was wheezing and groaning in pain.

Peter started to hit him, only this time, he wasn’t holding back. Every punch was his full strength. Goblin was already knocked out by the second punch, but Peter didn’t stop.

“Peter!” The other Spidermen were shouting behind him, but Peter didn’t listen. He didn’t care.

“Peter!” Their voices got closer until they were pulling him by his shoulders and away from the very, very bloody goblin.

“No, no!” He screamed, trying to pull out of their hold to finish the job, “Let me go!”

“Peter, you have to stop. Before it’s too late.” Peter 2 said, pulling him back as he shook his head and tried to free himself again.

“No! He took everything from me!” Peter screamed, his body sagging in defeat as he registers his own words. “Everything.” He cries softly in a broken voice.

“Y/N is not gone yet.” Peter 3 whispers.

Peter’s head snaps up at his words and then he’s running as fast as he can, ignore the ache in his body as he makes his way to you. His heart breaks to find you laying there limp while Ned and MJ sit beside you.

He runs to you, falling to his knees and lifting you into his arms. He holds his head against your chest, reveling in the sound of your faint heart beat against your chest. 

“Hey, pretty girl.” He whispers, his voice wet with emotion as he sniffles and moves the hair out of your face. “I need you to wake up for me, yeah? It’s time to get up, baby.”

You were still. Peter felt his hope slipping, but he continued to whisper into your ear and nudge you to consciousness.

“Peter.” Another voice spoke in alarm, grabbing his attention from you for just a moment.

Dr. Strange was storming towards him, explaining how people from different universes were coming for him. Panic fills him once again as he looks to your unconscious body.

“W-What can we do?”

You were laying unconscious in Peter’s arms as him and Strange found the only solution to be that everyone forgets Peter Parker. He looked down to you, tears in his eyes as he brushes away the dirt and soot from your cheeks.

“Hey, pretty girl. You won’t remember me when you wake up, but know that I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Even when you call me stupid names like bugaboo.” He laughs breathily at his own joke, his red-rimmed eyes glances to his friend who are standing with solemn looks on their face. He gives a single nod, which they understand completely, nodding back.

Then he looks to Dr. Strange and everything resets.

———

Peter watched outside the hospital window in his suit, no mask so he could get a clear look at you. It was raining, covering up his tears. It made him sick to his stomach to think about what he did to you.

He shouldn’t have let you come. He shouldn’t have been so distracted. His spider senses should’ve worked faster to save you.

There’s so many things he should’ve done differently.

And now you were sitting in the hospital bed, lifeless, wires attached to you as you continue to sleep.

You’ve been in a coma for two weeks. The doctors say you’re going to live, but you’re paralyzed from the waist down.

And Peter thinks it’s all his fault.

He pulls out a paper from his bag. He knows you couldn’t hear, especially since he was at the window, but he still needs to stay it. The ink was smudge from the rain, but he’d already memorized it by heart.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to you. It’ll be okay? I know it won’t. Because of me, you’re not okay. I don’t know how to fix this, and I’m sorry. That’s really all I can say. I’m so sorry I did this to you. I have all of these powers and I still couldn’t save you. It just sucks, you know? Cause you were the one for me. You were the one and I ruined it all because of who I am and who I will always be. I thought I could have love as long as I kept it safe, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t keep you safe.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Not just for everything I’ve done, but also because I know I can’t let go of you, even when I’ve destroyed all that we were.”

He can’t bear to watch you anymore. He comes back everyday and everyday it seems to hurt a little more. He swings away, his heart aching as he realizes he’s all alone and it’s his fault.

“Peter.” He jumps as he he closes the window to his new apartment, turning around to find Wanda.

“Wanda? How do you-”

“Remember you? You think I wouldn’t find a way to get out of Strange’s spell? You don’t know me very well then.” She teases with a small smile.

Peter doesn’t notice it though, because all he can think about when he sees her face is you. What he did to you.

“I’m-” His voice cracks in the middle of his sentence as his eyes start to burn with tears and emotion, “I’m so sorry, Wanda.”

“It’s not your fault, Peter.” She replies, shaking her head as she looks at him with sympathy. Of course she was grieving over her sister too, but Peter wasn’t just grieving over her, he was taking responsibility for everything that happened to her.

“Yes, yes it was.” He quickly disagrees, shaking his head as his red rimmed eyes find hers. “It’s always been my fault. I always do this and someone else pays for my mistake. Uncle Ben, Aunt May, and now Y/N.”

“Peter, you know what’s going to happen when you blame yourself. You’re going to end up in a dark and lonely place. I know that place. It happened to me with Vis. You’ll do things you regret, Peter.”

“I already regret everything I’ve done! Do you see all the damage I’ve caused!?” He shouts, throwing his arms in the air.

“She’s alive, isn’t she?”

“Barely.” He spits, “All because of me. She’s probably never going to walk again. And it’s not even like she can hate me for it, like she should, because she can’t remember me.”

“Peter-”

“Just leave. Go to Y/N. She deserves to wake up to someone she can remember.”

———

“Wanda?” Your hoarse voice murmured as your eyes finally open. Wanda lets out a breath of relief, glad you’re finally awake. “What’s going on?”

“Hold on, Y/N, I need to get the doctor.” Wanda says, causing panic to fill you as you realize where you are.

You look around, terrified now that you realize you’re in a hospital with no idea how you got there. You try to move to stand but you can’t feel the lower half of your body.

“Wanda.” You breath out, your face full of fear, “Wanda, I can’t feel my legs.”

“Shh, just lay down, Y/N. It’s okay.” She tries to push you to lay back down, but you’re hyperventilating.

“I can’t feel my legs, Wanda!” You shout, tears filling your eyes as doctors rush in to try to calm you down.

A needle gets put in your arm and suddenly you start to go from hysterical to extremely tired.

Peter watches the scene from his window, a crestfallen expression on his face as he dwells on what he’s put you through. All he can think is “it’s my fault.” He’s starting to wonder if any of it was worth it. If he should have just never been with you in the first place and save you all this despair. But he was selfish and now, once again, someone else has to suffer the consequences.

He’s not sure how much longer he can take hurting people he loves.

Maybe it was a good thing the world forgot him.

It makes it much easier to keep his distance.

———

“I can’t remember him!” You gasp, sitting up in your bed as Wanda quickly runs to your side.

“Shh, breathe Y/N.” Wanda coos, running her hand through your hair.

“Wanda, I can’t remember him. Spider-man. I can’t remember who he is.”

Wanda is shocked by this. You shouldn’t have been able to remember that you even knew who he was.

“I dreamt him, but I know it was a memory. And I can’t remember his face or his name. Who is he, Wanda?” You beg and Wanda gives you a look of pity.

“Even if I told you, he wouldn’t want to see you.” She admits solemnly.

“Why?” You whisper, your voice so small and sad that she feels bad even telling you about any of this.

“Because he couldn’t save you, so he thinks he doesn’t deserve you.”

“But I love him and he loves me. I can feel it. I can’t remember who he is, but I remember him.” You didn’t care if you were paralyzed, you knew it wasn’t his fault. You knew he could never hurt you.

Wanda now had tears in her eyes as she watched yours spill down your cheeks. She knew you were right, but she also knew Peter had so much self hatred that he could not bare to even try forgiving himself. Everyone seems to forget he’s just a kid. A kid isn’t meant to carry so much guilt and trauma on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” Wanda whispers, pulling you into her as you sob violently.

He couldn’t save you, but he loved you like you were made of all things bright and beautiful. Why would you care if he dropped you when you know he could pick you up better than anyone ever could?

———

I told ya it was long

[prettypiscesgal]

my reverie's affinity remains to be you (soulmate!au)

peter parker x reader

summary: in a world where you see ten seconds of your soulmate's life in your dreams, you already knew that spider-man was your soulmate. but what you didn't know, was that you'd be vexed to see who was beneath the mask

word count: 11, 629 (sheesh)

warnings: enemies to lovers, peter and y/n being a huge dick to each other, mentions of violence, angst, fluff, peter being a huge dork and y/n being that different kind of girl again

a/n: this was my first soulmate au and the second longest thing i've ever written. hope you all enjoy!

MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

i: when you dream of me, consider it an enormity

You thought soulmates were a myth.

Your whole life, you’ve been told you can love whoever you wanted, for as long as you wanted; you get to choose who you want to be with. Because it’s your choice – your own free will.

But fate had other plans. Fate didn’t want to give that decision to you; fate said fuck you, I choose who you love.

Because now you’re endowed with the worry of who your soulmate is, dreading you won’t love them as much as you wished to adore someone. You’re worried that when you’re in love with someone, they’re not yours to begin with.

Unfortunately, you already know you’re fucked with your soulmate.

Its fate’s rule: you begin at 11. You witness at least ten seconds of their life in your dreams. You don’t see their faces, their relatives. If so, the faces were obfuscated. The only reference you were given were their surroundings – what they liked, what they watched, what room they were in.

You know your soulmate had a mop of brown curls when you dreamt of him in the mirror. His bathroom was blue, his jumper was a darker shade of blue, and he had a weird obsession with Legos.

The first few years, you’d grown fond of the memories you’re given, satisfied with the minuscule albeit consequential fragments. Barring when you dreamt of him at a funeral, and you encounter yourself even closer to your enigmatic man.

Until you dreamt of him swinging around the buildings above the busy streets of Queens the same time Spider-Man started to appear was when you realized there was no fucking way your soulmate was the infamous masked hero.

You’re fucked, you knew it. Though you knew it gave you a better chance to actually know who your soulmate is.

You tried approaching him, calling him. But he was too far away or he pretended to not hear you, straight up ignoring you. Because why would Spider-Man stop his duties for a love-deprived girl?

Every night you dreamt of him – some were the times he swung around the city, or punching people’s faces. Though most of the time you’d dream of him in his bedroom with books and lego pieces scattered around his carpeted floor. If you looked closely, or paid attention to his surroundings, you’d spot a familiar sweater on the corner of his room.

It was enough to enthrall you, to keep you patient. But still, you feel incomplete.

“Maybe he’s closer than you think,” MJ said one time, though suspiciously eyeing the boy across from her. “Maybe you’re just too dumb to notice he’s actually right in front of you.”

You rolled your eyes at her.

But you couldn’t help but think she’s right. Albeit how many boys with a mop of brown curls that you know didn’t hate you, or vice versa?

Three. Two of those were strangers, one of those was unfortunately not.

You observe your graphite stain the paper upon you as you let your wrist cypher your most recent dream – Queen’s sunset. Spider-Man was sitting on the roof, devouring a sandwich, observing the sun vanish behind the edifices. It was a sight to see – a rare one for you because you were consistently busy, so you didn’t pass on the opportunity to sketch and revel in the masterpiece that you seldom encountered.

Peter Parker, the infuriating boy he is, watches beside you with a stare so hard it makes your hand tremble at each breath he takes. And when he continues to watch you you couldn’t help but squeeze the pencil in your hand and sharply look at him.

“Stop staring,” you hiss. Your voice startles him, almost letting out a yelp pass his thin lips.

“Why?” His observing frown turns into an amused one. Placing his elbow on the table, his torso turns so he faces you. “Do I make you nervous?”

“You make me sick.”

“Really? You think I didn’t notice your hand shaking when you realized I was still watching you?”

“It was only shaking because I had to stop myself from punching you,” you snap, leaning closer. “Don’t flatter yourself. If anything, you make me mad. Not just sick. Mad.”

“Madly in love, for sure.” He lets out a teasing scoff. And god if that wink didn’t make the frustrated ache in your chest burst into warmth, you might have stabbed him in the eye.

You snicker. “Oh yeah. Me. In love with Peter Parker. What’s not to love? Your big ears? Your prepubescent voice cracks? Your hairless legs? Your cute curls?”

You mutter the last part and for your sake, Peter pretends to miss it. “Gee. Didn’t know you loved my hairless legs. Would you like to ride my hairless thigh? Make me cry?”

“I’ll give you something to cry about when I shove my foot up your ass.”

Peter gasps quietly, placing a hand over his heart. “No need to be so morbid, Bob Ross. Stop storing your anger in that big forehead of yours.”

“Maybe I could solve my morbidity when I break your nose with my large forehead.” you mock him, the scarce, sweet forced tone contrast to your usual sharper manner.

“Please. The only thing you’ll be breaking is your bruised ego.”

You flick him on his forehead, closing your notebook shut the second the class ends. Peter’s disgruntled by your action and kicks your shin to stumble you over.

His assault taints your shoes, one you recently bought after Peter had “accidentally” spilt coffee over your white sneakers. But this time you were sure he didn’t do it by accident.

“Why, you little-” behind his eyes show no ounce of regret, but rather amusement. Yours, however, possesses its usual burning anathema towards—what you always call him—the hybrid; but this time his stain adds fuel to the fire, your hands reaching out to scorch his skin.

Peter’s hand blocks you by abruptly placing his palm on your forehead, keeping you away by arm’s length as you flimsily try to reach for his collar. His laugh, like a fork on a chalkboard, stings your ears sadistically.

“Come on, Grumpy,” he teases, “you can do better than that.”

Aggravated, your nails scratch on his exposed forearm, scouring them to his skin. Peter yells in shock, declining his hand to probe his mauled organ. You wipe your hand over your skirt as if his skin was the grungiest thing you’ve ever touched (but really, it kind of surprised you how his skin was the clearest you’ve ever seen when his mind was literally a dumpster).

“You little shit,” he seethes, looking down at you. “What was that for?!”

“You stained my new shoes!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Your Majesty. Do you want me to clean your shoes with my tears?”

“I want you to choke on my shoe and die!”

“Hey, that’s enough,” Ned tuts. “Let’s go before the pizza runs out.”

Peter shoots you one last glare before he turns around. It would have been a dramatic exit if you weren’t friends with Ned (plus MJ) and you always sat with them every day for lunch.

“Hey losers,” MJ’s presence surprises you, sitting down on the empty space next to yours. “Hey, (y/n).”

“She’s a loser too, you know,” Peter points out, mouth half full. “She sits with us. So she’s a loser.”

“Yeah but she reads and doesn’t play with Legos like a twelve-year-old.” MJ timidly defends, opening her yogurt. “Get used to it. I’ll always see you as losers.”

“Thanks, MJ,” Ned smiles. Peter gives him a pointed look. “What? I already take it as a compliment. We’ve been called losers our entire lives. It’s like…a specialty.”

“You’re not a loser, Ned,” you awkwardly give him a lopsided smile, fork poking on your plate. “You’re great. You’re fun. You dated Betty Brant!” you encourage. “You also know the entire script to A New Hope. So you’re not a loser.”

“Just a dork,” Peter says. “Take that as a compliment. Also when you’re called a himbo. Everybody loves a himbo.”

You grimace, letting out a silent whine of disagreement.

“Speaking of Betty,” Ned pulls a notebook from underneath the table, slamming it aggressively against the plastic surface. “Guess what I just found out. I dreamt of my soulmate last night, and she was wearing this skirt with like this blue daisy on the corner of the hip.”

He turns the notebook, just enough for both you and Peter to see. Ned had sloppily sketched a pencil skirt in the middle of the plain paper, next to it was a glued printed picture of Betty beside Ned, wearing the same skirt.

“That’s Betty. The same skirt from when we were in Prague. Don’t you think this is it?!” Ned places his hands on Peter’s shoulder, shaking him. “Don’t you?”

“I think it’s just a coincidence,” you murmur, slightly envious and in denial that one of you might have already found your soulmate. Or in this case, already been with their soulmate. “Any girl could have that skirt.”

“Yeah but I saw Betty’s legs in my dream. I know her legs-”

“Creepy?”

“- and she wore this yesterday!” he shoves the notebook near your face. “It’s not just a coincidence, (y/n). It’s fate.”

“Alright,” you grimace, pushing the notebook away. “Talk to her. Or text her? No, no talk to her. Ask about her dream last night. Then you can actually confirm it.”

“How are you so sure that’s Betty?” MJ retorts. “Betty has the same legs every white girl has. Also, I could have sworn I saw another girl wear that skirt yesterday.”

“Because she had that scar on her thigh from when she fell on top of Jason Ionello during gym. Not all girls have a scar on their thigh right thigh.”

“I do,” you say, raising your hand. “Remember when you were playing with that stupid Lego set that was too pointy?”

“In our defense, we told you to be careful,” Peter says, looking down on his food.

Ned nods, almost too vigorous as he sits back down. A drunken smile on his face, as if he’s stuck and mesmerized in his thoughts. “I wonder what happens when I find out that Betty’s my soulmate. Do I still get to dream about her?”

“Dunno,” you answer timidly, your bottom lip jutting out the slightest. “Wonder who my soulmate is…”

“I bet yours is probably a pervert staying in his mom’s basement living on Cheetos and old Mortal Kombat video games with a weird foot fetish.” Peter snorts.

“Oddly specific. Sure you’re not describing yourself?” You raise your eyebrow, snarling at him.

“My parents are dead, (y/n),” he says, not at all phased. “I don’t have a mom.”

“And I don’t have enough nerves left for you to fit your fucking huge ears in, Parker.” You roll your eyes. “Besides, I’m in no rush looking for my soulmate. I’m going on a date later.”

MJ stops reading at this. “A date?”

“Yeah, a date?” Peter tilts his head sideways. “Are you sure you’re not just tutoring them?”

“No. It’s a date.” You correct him. “They asked me out on a date yesterday after school ended. I’m meeting them at that new Thai restaurant.”

“The one Aunt May talked to you about?” Peter asks. MJ furrows her eyebrows, pouting at the question.

“Yeah.”

“It sucks there,” he quickly says. “Don’t go to that restaurant. Or better yet, don’t go on that date at all.”

You bite your lip, glaring at him. “Why not?”

Peter’s face drains its colors, stammering on his words. “So you could spare them the bad date. I mean, come on, who would want to go on a date with you?”

“I would,” MJ leered. “I’d go on a date with her. The person who asked her out would go on a date with her.” She turns to you. “What’s their name again?”

“Denver,” you confirmed, pushing MJ’s hair out of her face before turning back to Peter. “See, even MJ wants to go out with me.”

“Would- would you go out with me?” Peter asks MJ. “I mean, do I look like someone you’d go out with?”

“If you were the last person on earth, I would.”

“Aw!” Peter smiles, but disappears the longer he rephrased the answer. “Wait-”

“Hm.”

“But…I’m the only one left…you’re not-”

“Exactly.”

“I’d go out with you, Peter,” Ned interjects. “If I were a girl, I’d go out with you.”

“Aw, thanks,” Peter smiles, blushing. “I’d go out with you, too.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the unusual interaction, you find yourself leaning closer to MJ and whisper, “this feels like I’m watching an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.”

She snorts. “Their life is exactly like Boyle and Peralta.”

But Peter’s words clung to your head much to your dismay. His words invariably went in your ear and out the other – a pattern you’d picked up when his words began to bug you even more and more. But the exit was barred, and it clogged up your already worry-filled mind.

It wasn’t that you aren’t used to Peter’s assertions; however, it stung you narrowly, unlike the vitriols he’d thrown that should have hurt you more.

Because you couldn’t help but think he’s right; who would want to go out with you?

Hell you’re not even sure if Spider-Man would want you. He’s got everything he needs.

Disappointment rims the back of your head, alleviation elusive to claim; its overture still going but alas, for you, its ending remains privy.

ii: his cynical intentions cease the misery to summon

Peter’s envious.

Not because of Ned (if anything, he’s proud of him), but because of you.

It’s no secret to anyone, literally anyone, that the both of you are not very fond of each other. He hates you.

He knows it's because of how reckless you are, how you strut down places presuming like you own them; how you like to gloat about your triumphs, how you have that complacent look in your face whenever Peter gets an answer wrong that you irritatingly correct seconds later.

Adding to his list, he also doesn’t like how you purposely make him feel incompetent.

What he despises the most, however, was how incandescently captivating you look while being a fiendish terror.

Peter can’t deny it, but he admits that you’re beautiful. He thinks that you’re attractive even when you have that deviant gleam in your eyes when you know you’re about to overthrow him, or when you scowl when he gets on your nerves.

It’s the way you toss your hair back that retaliates him to his feet, sowing him down to his foundation for you to amble all over him. Your beaut respites him from your cruelty but pushes him to detest you more a moment later.

Apropos, he’s never really cared about situations that concern you. But the irony fills his boat with holes of jealousy when you pierce his barque with the mention of someone else’s name roll off your svelte tongue.

Yet again, he’s doubtful why he’s envious. But he deludes himself, tells himself repeatedly that he’s jealous because you’re out having a good time when you clearly didn’t deserve it; that you’re out there, being happy and unfortunately in love, while he’s out here sulking around.

It’s the smile on your face when you said Duncan’s name that sets him off, standing tall on his feet.

Denver. He corrects himself. Eh. Why bother?

The envy doesn’t last long. Peter thinks of his soulmate, who he’s pathetically already in love with.

He may have found you beautiful, but her beauty was foremost incomparable to yours. Sure, her face was obfuscated, denoting mystery, but it’s the things she has and does that makes his heart swell achingly with longing and desperation.

Books arranged by author, desk tidied whenever she was uneasy, a portrait on top of her bed that he watched her make in ten seconds, papers pinned against a board chronologically by the events of the short story she’s writing – it all immersed him, made him love her more just by the small details.

Peter knows she’s writing a story about a boy who lost everything for the greater good; its protagonist trying to keep his bitter secret from the person he values the most to protect them as he poises his life and responsibilities. And it’s the most captivating story he’s ever read.

He’s seen her write at least five times – two of those he’s seen her type in an unrelated sentence. It seems that she’s trying to write hello, soulmate on her computer but the dream gets cut off before she could finish the word so.

(Fate’s other rule: you’re unable to send a message through your dreams.)

Guilt pangs his chest, though; he also knows that she knows he’s Spider-Man. Those 10 seconds that both of them see could be taken at any time of their days, but when Peter saw her call out Spider-Man with expectancy in her voice, it was enough to prove him right.

The thing is, everyone calls out to Spider-Man, countless people asking for pictures or for help. So he’s not sure if he’s already seen her, or has, by chance, ignored her at every attempt.

“How’d you meet Denver?” he hears MJ ask you. It makes him look up from his plate, seeing your eyes light up from excitement.

Gross.

“We go to the same art club,” you answer. “They, uh, said I’m cute and asked me out on a date.”

Peter snorts, quick to be covered by a cough. You’re oblivious to his retort, ignoring him. But MJ eyes him disdainfully like she always does, narrowing his eyes before turning back to you.

“Wait, are they that person who walks you outside our dorm every Saturday?”

His ears burn in jealousy.

“Yeah,” it’s unnoticeable, but Peter could sense the heat rise up to your cheeks. “Yes,” you correct yourself with the clear of your throat. “Yes.”

“Oh, I like them. They left a huge tip after Sasha spilt coffee over their shirt when they came to visit the café,” MJ says, sipping on her cup.

“I saw them littering the other day,” Peter butts in, avoiding your annoyed eyes. “Yeah they were like drinking a Capri-Sun and straight up threw it on the ground.”

“Capri-Sun?” you repeat. “They told me they didn’t like Capri-Sun.”

“Well they’re a liar. You obviously shouldn’t go on that date-”

“Why are you so eager to convince me not to go?” leering, you accuse him of his persuasive persona. “Are you jealous?”

Peter’s eyes widen in embarrassment and irritation. “Me? Jealous of them?”

“Not them, doofus,” you say. “You’re jealous because I’m going on a date and you haven’t been on one since Liz and you broke up.”

“Didn’t you date Cindy?” Ned interjects.

“You haven’t been on a date since Cindy,” you’re quick to correct yourself.

“So what if I haven’t been on a date in two years? At least I’m not desperate. I’m just telling you not to go so you could spare the poor person a bad date.

MJ sucks on her teeth. “Nah. Sounds a lot like you’re jealous to me.”

“Michelle, I’m not-”

“Oh, for the love of God,” you clean up your tray, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I’m going to go. I don’t wanna sit here and watch Parker get jealous. It’s sickening.”

“Your face is sickening.”

Your face contorts into a somewhat expression of Peter, though dramatically exaggerated. “Your face is sickening.”

And then you walk away, with Peter’s eyes on you. This time, though, his eyes remain. As if he’s watching you walk away for the first time.

But the thing is, you walked away from his life more than he could count.

-

He searches desperately for his soulmate.

Peter swings from building to building, arms burning in adrenaline, senses heightened truculently. He yields close alert to her, though he doesn’t precisely know what she looks like even after dreaming of her for at least eight years.

It’s like she doesn’t even look at a mirror.

He’s embarrassed that he’s looking for her after you called him out for being jealous, even though his search for her doesn’t concern you and your date whatsoever.

Albeit it affects his mind and now he thinks he’s looking pathetic for looking for his soulmate while you go out on a date to distract himself.

Though he resents you for your truth, Peter ends up standing at a building across from yours behind the ledge, crouching carefully against the dusted pavement.

You’re by your window, smoking. You don’t tell anyone you smoke but Peter knows you do after catching you by your fire exit during his patrols; he doesn’t call you out for it in front of your friends, but keeps it as evidence for certain situations (cough, blackmail).

Your laptop’s placed on the metal base of the exit, and you’re bedecked up from what he assumes the date. Peter watches you bob your head slightly to the music on speaker, balancing the cigarette between your darkened lips.

If he looks closely, you’re speaking. But Peter realizes you’re reading out loud on your laptop when your eyes dart from left to right, a primitive frown on your face as you do so.

Then your phone rings, making you stand up to your feet, and it’s when Peter sees what you’re wearing.

It’s a simple dress, just above your knees. Its color is a dark shade of blue and it’s decorated by white small flowers everywhere, with the back covered only by two ties.

With your hair down and slightly curled, your ensemble deems you a divine spirit in juxtaposition to your typical vixen mien, hubris amplified in your wanton appearance.

Peter watches you walk to retrieve your bag – that walk that makes his knees buckle, radiating sly innuendos to anyone who watches you.

You answer your phone, holding it in your right ear. “Hey, Karen,” he calls his AI. “Can you help me hear her?”

“Sure thing.”

Your voice fills his ears, like it always does when he’s mask-less. Except this time it’s his choice to hear you rather than suffer in your obnoxiously snobby voice.

“Hey, D,” oh, great. You gave him a nickname. “Yeah. I’m on my way. Just, had to check a few emails, ‘s all. Where are you?”

“On my way,” Peter hears Denver on the receiving end of the line. “It’s a bit of a traffic so I’ll be 15 minutes late to pick you up.”

Always be on time on a date, Peter tells himself. Your fault that you’re stuck in traffic.

“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll just meet you at the restaurant,” dissatisfaction laces in your voice that makes Peter almost huff in victory if he didn’t hate you and have second thoughts on letting you go on the date.

“Just don’t go,” he whispers. “Just stay there. God, fuck, just stay there.”

He doesn’t hear what Denver says next, but your phone closes and he can hear the keys jingle between your fingers while you open your door, closing it gently behind you.

Peter sees you leave the apartment building, which spurs him on to start moving and look for Denver.

He doesn’t know why he’s looking for them. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he finds them. He should be actually looking for his soulmate, who might also be looking for him.

But here Peter is, worried, jealous about your date. And will stop at nothing to do something about it.

He stands from the foundation you tackled him to, and with bleary eyes, he searches for your beguiling hand, trying to pull you away from them.

iii: pretentious hearts make exquisite art, vol 1

They never appear.

You’ve texted and called, none were reciprocated. It renounces you standing outside the restaurant alone with shivering arms, the diluted atmosphere above you rumbling quietly yet the only tears spilt are yours.

Pitying looks is only what you get while you still shelve by the curb with your head hung low. You wait for them still, your heart impatient but understanding. You don't want to prove Peter right – you don’t want him to say ‘I told you so’ the next day after coming home from a bad date.

Or rather, from being stood up.

Ten minutes pass by, and you begin to walk away.

The smell of Thai food makes you uncomfortable now – not because it smelt bad, but because you’ve been smelling it for the past hour and a half while thinking of Denver and the things you’ve done wrong.

Now the smell of Thai makes you wallow in self-pity. And it’s not even their fault.

You walk back to your apartment with your arms around yourself to at least subside the cold you feel. The hushed avenues filled with the soft clicking of the boots you wore, the cars that pass by, and the rustling of the trees.

And you cry.

It’s uncommon for someone to cry while walking down the streets of New York, but this doesn’t diminish the moroseness your heart subjugates, Peter’s veracity angers and saddens you more.

Angry because he’s right.

Sad because he’s also right.

Maybe he’s right – who would want to go on a date with you?

The reasons you list down does nothing to cicatrize the rip in your heart and, even more so, creates a bigger wound. And when you think of Peter, you swore your heart is on the verge of falling apart.

You’re full on sobbing now, and you wonder how the people you pass by aren’t even phased – not even at the snot almost falling down your nose that you keep harshly sniffing, or the heavy heaves you emit like a child, or the hiccups every five seconds.

Your mascara smudges half of your face when you wipe your eyes with the side of your thumb, applying pressure to your red eyeballs. You could hear the faint pings on your phone but ignore it, letting yourself fall in a pit of despair.

Suddenly, a soft thump lands in front of you. The familiar red shoes stop you at your feet.

Looking up, you see New York’s infamous masked hero, looking down at you with his wide, white eyes. You stop crying, jaw slacked.

“Hi,” he says, voice deep, mending into his accent although unusual. “Are you alright?”

Your soulmate’s standing in front of you. You – who’s all snotty and messy and wet from crying – and him – who’s suited up and standing tall in front of you.

You wipe your cheeks with your palm, breathing shakily, and wincing when your voice cracks as you say, “No.”

“Figured.”

You snort.

“I was, uh, watching you walk home because I heard you crying,” He says, scratching the back of his head. “Don’t worry, it’s not that loud. It’s just that my senses are kind of maxed out because I drank like three red bulls and I was testing if it would heighten it or just…kill me.”

You say nothing. You’re waiting for that spark to happen – the spark that ignites your chest in warmth that spreads all over your body. You’re waiting for it to alleviate your spirits, but nothing comes.

“W-what…” you whisper, half at yourself from disappointment that nothing happens, and at him because he just drank three red bulls for a ridiculous theory he made up.

“Just – are you okay?”

“No,” you repeat, shaking your head. “My date stood me up.”

“Oh,” his voice is monotone; nonchalant. “’d you know why?”

You snarl. “No, of course not.” You hiss. “I just got stood up. How am I supposed to know why?”

Spider-Man steps back when you snap at him, hands raising as if you’re about to punch him, but lowers when he sees the tears building again at the corner of your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he tells you, opening his arms. “Need a hug?”

You’re hesitant. You’d just met your soulmate, and he’s offering you a hug. And you wonder if this ignites the spark; if your lit up match meets his candle and lights it all up.

So you hug him. But the match dies before it meets the candle and the spark doesn’t come, disappointing you even more.

So you cry into his spandex.

He’s unhesitant in hugging you back, wrapping his arms around your shivering body. His suit feels uncomfortable against your exposed skin, but it contrasts to the comfort you feel in your chest when he hugs you.

You feel his cheek rest on your head as you hug him in the middle of the sidewalk while you continue to cry, still sobbing. He gently sways you, rubbing your tense back soothingly and shushes your loud sobs.

“I should have stayed home,” you lament into his chest. “I should have stayed at home, should have written, should have listened. Listened to that bastard. That solipsistic bastard.”

You feel his muscles tense, loosing his grip on you slightly as he steps back to look down at you with his hands on the side of your shoulders. “Bastard?” he repeats, something in his tone signifies faux shock, but you’re too sad to notice.

“One of my friends’ friend,” you don’t call Peter your friend. You don’t know what to call him; seems childish to tell (your soulmate) Spider-Man that you’ve got an academic arch-enemy. “He said I shouldn’t go. I didn’t listen because I never do. Now I shouldn’t have gone.

“Now they’re going to ask me about the date tomorrow. I don’t know what to say,” you sniff, rubbing the top of your finger underneath your nose. “I don’t want him to tell me I told you so and prove him right. I can’t just lie, either. Because they’re going to find out either way.”

You don’t realize you’re walking until he places a gentle hand around your waist when you begin to walk sideways to the road, tilting you back to the sidewalk. Spider-Man listens carefully, nodding at each sentence you finish.

“You’re lucky, huh,” you say after you finish your rant, halfway home. “Got no love problems. Only got villains, no?”

Spider-Man chuckles, its sweet sound already marking your heart. “My life isn’t as glamorous as J.J Jameson makes it look like.”

You raise your brow. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah, I haven’t had a good day in a while. Then I realize the bad vibes I’ve been feeling recently are actually severe psychological distress.”

You could see his mask move into a smile when you laugh loudly at his comment, slapping his arm lightly. “People of New York giving you a hard time?”

“Oh, definitely,” he answers. “Never got a break, y’know. Like a proper, relaxing break, never even got the chance to look for…”

He whispers the last part, not enough for you to hear despite being beside him.

“You can take a break,” you offer, hesitant. “I mean. I think New York can survive without Spider-Man for a day. Or for a week.”

“Are you saying that so you can, I don’t know, commit crime?”

“What? No!” You scoff, pretending his accusation offends you. “What kind of crime would I be doing anyway?”

“Being too pretty.”

You can perceive him wince and suffocate at his statement as if it had also caught him off guard. The languidness in his body dissipates, stance turns inelegant and he laughs, mortified, while you stare at him.

You wonder if he knows you’re his soulmate.

“Heh,” you save him the embarrassment when you chortle, continuing to walk. “Is my beauty illegal, Spider-Man?”

He chuckles, scratching over his covered ear. “Yes. I feel like if someone were to die from seeing beauty, you’d be the person of interest.”

“’Person of interest’ is almost too flattering,” you say, kicking a small piece of debris. “Like, if the police were to pound on my door and go, ‘A man has been murdered in your building and you are a person of interest,’ I’d be like ‘Moi? Oh do go on.’”

For the first time that night, Spider-Man doesn’t laugh shyly or chuckles breathlessly, instead, he cackles at your joke that he finds questionably funny. His hand goes to his chest, leaning back, and you can’t help but laugh with him.

“That is kind of true,” he confided.

“The only thing I’ll actually kill are spiders.”

“Ouch?” he touches his heart again. “They’re kind of my cousins.” He says, nudging your shoulder. You feel his hand brush the back of yours, but he pulls away. “Treat spiders the way you want to be treated.”

You look at him, dead on his eyes, or what could possibly be his eyes. “Killed without hesitation.”

“I- n-no…” his voice falters, making you laugh again.

Much to your dismay, you’ve reached your apartment. The smile on your face disappears, and you look at him with a pout.

You nod at your apartment door. “Want to come in?”

iii:pretentious hearts make exquisite art, vol 2

He’s never imagined himself spending his entire night with you.

Peter agreed to join you up the rooftop. But you never let him inside your apartment, telling him to meet you at the fire exit stairs. So he’d only got a short glimpse in your room when you open your curtains with your clothes changed.

Soliloquies after soliloquies, Peter disbursed his hours with you looking out the city, ice cream in hand with his mask pleated underneath his nose. He listened to you – actually listened to you rather than reprimand your words like he used to do when you started to annoy him.

You’ve never conversed in a conversation that mentions his name, merely only your life back in high school, your friends MJ and Ned (he pretends it doesn’t hurt him when you hesitated on his name), why you chose your course, and why you went to MIT.

He wants to know you more, even though he’s had years to do that. He doesn’t actually know things about you when he asks you what your favorite color is, or what flower you liked, or if you enjoyed studying.

Though he feels it’s not enough when you answer his questions with ‘green, sunflowers and lilacs, I’m about to shoot myself in the head, so not entirely’

Peter felt closer to you than he’s ever had half of his life. And he realizes – idiotically realizes – that there’s more to you than he presumes. It torques his heart to you, regarding this impalpable sentiment towards you; at the ridge of your intricate affinity, he considers he became more pseud for you.

But he wants to know more; wants to know what you think about him through his other demeanor.

“He’s, god, I don’t know what he is,” you said to him, waving your hand. “He’s…infuriating. He’s so fucking aggravating but at the same time, he’s so enticing. Like, he’s made my days agonizing whenever I see him but at the same time when he’s not there, I look for him, y’know?

And it confounds me whenever that happens. Like, I hate him, but at the same time, it’s like, seeing him kind of completes my day. I think it’s because he’s always been there every day in my life since I met him. But the thing is, I don’t feel the same for Ned and MJ. So, it’s very, very confusing for me.”

He never thought you felt the same. And it makes him feel guilty for what he’s done that night.

That night, his dream vexed him more.

Peter saw her. She’s on the table, and in those ten seconds, she puts her phone down on her white desk, stands up from her chair, and turns around to her bed where he sees something he can’t fully discern after having only a millisecond glimpse of it.

But it’s the dress that leaves him baffled – aching for her, the truth.

He makes his way towards where MJ works, hopefully neither you nor Ned nowhere to be seen yet. Everything is unusually cold for him but when he touches the doorknob to the café, it burns his palm.

The bell chime is too loud, he can hear every conversation, every word, and he could literally feel the air pushing on his skin – and it hurts.

His senses are overridden.

He’s nervous.

Peter sits down on the chair in front of MJ, where she’s quietly writing. He sees the broken black dahlia hanging on her chest that he got her when he got MJ for Secret Santa last year (the one time he genuinely smiled at him).

“MJ,” he squeaks, voice cracking. She looks up from her notebook, brows furrowed.

“You’re early,” she points out. “And you’re sweaty and you’re voice is cracking. Are you finally going through puberty?”

He huffs out. “Shut up. I’m early because I need your help.”

MJ closes her notebook, placing the pencil on top of her ear. “Is this where you go to walk (y/n) home as Spider-Man and talked to her on the rooftop?”

All the color on his face drains. He feels worse. “What?”

“Oh come on. I know you’re Spider-Man,” she whispers, leaning closer to the point her breath almost fans over his face. “Don’t deny it.”

“I’m not Spider-Man.”

She snorts, leaning back. “Peter, do we really have to do this? I ask – no, tell you you’re Spider-Man, you deny it, and we’re going to keep on talking about it until they come and I won’t have any more time to help you.”

He shakes his head, trying to focus his eyes. “Fine. We’ll talk about it someday with Ned, but right now, I just like really, really need your help”

He never thought he’d give up his persuasion that easily.

“What is it?” MJ leans in again.

“I think,” he falters in his words, thinking before he speaks (something he never does). “I think (y/n)’s my soulmate…”

MJ snorts again, eyes widening as she lets out a comical laugh of relief. “Yeah, she is.”

“I’m serious – wait, what?” he narrows his eyes. “You don’t sound sarcastic.”

“Because I’m not.” Peter pulls his notebook out of his bag, though he doesn’t open it, but carefully places a pen on top of it. “I’m serious, Peter,” she says, shrugging.

“Why?”

“Because (y/n)’s been describing her soulmate to me like every day,” she retorts. “Brown curly hair, plays with legos, notebooks full of weird formulas, small, oh, and he’s Spider-Man.”

“So you knew I was her soulmate because you knew I was Spider-Man, but you never told her?”

“Because I was only 67% sure,” she smiles cheekily, pouring coffee on a cup. “And she needs to figure it out herself. Because where’s the fun in that? The dramatic irony, and all.”

Peter nods, though the frown on his face remains. “I know she knows I’m her soulmate. But she doesn’t know I’m,” he points to himself, “her soulmate. Fuck, why didn’t she say anything last night?”

“Probably because she just got stood up, or she’s wondering why there’s no spark igniting in her chest when she met you.”

“How’re you so sure?”

“I know how her mind works.”

He nods again. “I want to talk to her. Tell her everything. That I’m her soulmate, and I’m in denial about her, and that I’m the reason why she got stood up.”

This, MJ doesn’t know. It’s clear in her reaction when she drops the coffee pot to the table with a slightly agape mouth. “What?”

He blushes. “I was – I was outside her window, and I heard their conversation and, fuck, I just couldn’t sit there and let her go on that date, y’know, so I looked for Duncan.”

“Denver,” she hisses. “Peter! You just hurt her!”

“Yeah but I made her feel better afterwards. It’s the first part of my apology!” he defends himself, taking his cup to take a sip. But MJ takes it from his grasp.

“Nuh uh. You don’t deserve our mediocre coffee,” she seethes, drinking it. “Tell me what you did to them, Peter.”

He gulps, sinking into his seat from her harsh glare. “I looked for their car through Karen, my AI. And they were stuck in traffic. And thank god for Karen because I was thinking of reasons on how to make them miss the date when she told me Denver had like a lot of tickets.”

“So?”

“So I said they're under arrest for not paying,” he sheepishly says, looking anywhere but at MJ. But he can feel her fuming, and doesn’t dodge at her attempt to grab at his ear. “Ouch!”

“Fucking idiot!”

“Stop! I have sensitive ears, please.”

“I’m not helping you,” she steps back, but not without a final flick on his ear. “You solve your problems yourself. You solve this yourself. Fuck. You were like the smartest dude in Midtown. Now your dumb or nothing.”

“Hey,” he’s offended, but doesn’t take her words too deeply. “Please, MJ?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

The bell chiming stops him before he can say another please out of desperation. You slip in past the glass door, Ned behind you with a smile on his face as you laugh. His heart flutters in his chest, torso turning to face you.

What shocks him more is that your smile never leaves even after your eyes meet his for a brief moment before sitting down beside him. “Hey guys,” you greet, placing your bag down the ground.

Ned sits on the other side. “I’ve got great news,” he denotes. “Betty is my soulmate.”

A series of genuine surprise emits from yours and Peter’s lips, while MJ’s was lightheartedly sarcastic, claiming she knew it all along. Peter smiles at his best friend’s triumph, leaning closer and listens to him speak.

“I talked to Betty like you said,” he looks at you, motions his hand towards your figure. “And everything got confirmed when she pointed out that she’d dreamt of Revenge of the Sith like 150 times and when she saw my hat 20 times.”

“150,” Peter hears you whisper. “That’s an unusual amount of times you’ve seen Star Wars.”

“It’s not even close,” he winks. “But anyway. Yeah. Betty and I are soulmates, and we’re having sex tomorrow.”

“Okay! TMI, Ned. TMI,” Peter chuckles nervously.

“I met my soulmate last night, too,” You say, your chin on your palm as you pick up Peter’s pen and open his notebook, writing a small smiley face on the corner of the random page you opened. “He just…doesn’t know it yet.”

“Oh?” MJ’s ears perk up, glancing at Peter quickly before looking at you. “How so?”

Your back straightens, giving MJ a warning look as if to say not here.

Yes here. Peter bemoans on the inside.

“It’s complicated,” you wave your hand in dismissal. “I’ll tell you when we meet again.”

“Wait,” Ned pauses. “Does that mean Denver’s your soulmate?”

Your smile falls, looking down at Peter’s pen in your hand. “No,”

“Aw really?” he gives you a sympathetic pout. MJ gives you a tight lipped smile, pouring another coffee into a cup. “How come?”

Peter’s heart breaks a bit when you spare him a glance, seeing the embarrassment glint in your eyes. He softens, realizing that you’re probably thinking that he’s going to embarrass you.

“They stood me up,” you finally say when you look away from him. At this, Peter feels something burn his fingers. He winces, cradling his hand to his chest as MJ shoots him a glare, followed by an insincere apology as she wipes the hot coffee off the counter.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says.

You look at him, and so does Ned and MJ with stupefaction. He gives you a soft smile albeit it’s loaded with contrite and empathy. For a moment, you determine on giving him a rude comment. But you don’t.

“It’s alright,” you shrug. “Had a good night after, anyway.”

He knows it’s because of him, and it makes Peter smile.

“They don’t deserve you,” Ned says, holding your hand. “You’re really pretty and honestly, they’re kind of mid.”

MJ nods. “Hell, you fix yourself without a mirror and you’re already confident that you look fine. They totally don’t deserve you.”

And then they look at Peter, as if they’re waiting for his words of encouragement. But instead, he sneezes, hard – something he does when he’s really really nervous.

He sneezes and hits his nose on the counter.

“Oh shit!” you gasp, placing an arm around his shoulders, and a hand over his that covers his bleeding nose. “Peter, what the fuck?”

“Sorry!” his voice is muffled by his hand, blood seeping between his fingers. “Fuck. Fuck I sneezed too hard and hit my head on the counter. Fuck.”

MJ’s biting back a laugh, but you don’t – you laugh while holding his hand, feeling the blood stain your palm. She offers you a cold water bottle, and Ned pulls out a packet of tissues from his pocket.

You remove the hand around Peter’s shoulder, making him frown. But he’s quick to comply when you gently remove his hand from his nose and wipe the blood off his skin with the tissue, accidentally smudging your thumb over your drawing on his notebook

He takes the cold bottle from you, placing it on the bridge of his nose.

For a concise beat, he reckons it's only you and him in the café. And you’re preening to his wound, laughing at his vacuity, caressing his nose with such fervency it hurts.

And he looks into your eyes, the first time you peek at the real him without any indignation or wrath that dilates your pupils. The curtains are now open, the window to your soul is seen and he reads it like an open book, leafing through its pages with cautiousness.

And in the end, its ethics are analogous to his – you’re both yearning for the verity. The divulgence of each other.

iv: the truth’s interlude, my pain continues to exude

He’s twitchy.

Peter looks at you, the throbbing ache on his nose now too distant to exist. But you’re not looking at him – you’re laughing at something Ned had said, a radiant smile on your face. (He wishes he's the reason why you smiled like that)

After MJ’s shift, just five minutes after Peter broke his nose, all of you left as soon as she ditched her teal apron, walking home to your place.

It’s the first time he’s seen your apartment adequately. Usually, you all hung out at MJ’s work, or at Ned’s because you all adored his lola's company. But now you’d invited them, and he's hankering to take a look at your bedroom that he's glimpsed almost every day of his life.

His finger twitches and he wonders if you know. Peter wonders, as you sit there, laughing at your young mistakes and mature choices, if you know.

You’re too relaxed – you don’t know.

He’s thinking of excuses that ends himself up in your bedroom (He heard it. That’s not what he meant). Peter just wants to see your room longer than ten seconds, to carouse in the place he’s been longing to be in for a long time.

He wants to feel the pinned compositions beneath his fingertips, glorify your painting, esteem your sterile desk; uncover the pack of cigarettes taped behind your mirror, sit by your window and feel what it’s like to be with you.

But he’s still sitting on your couch, trying to laugh with you. He feels pompous; pretentious – like a liar. But he already is. He’s lying to you, to himself. But who’s he fooling? All he’s done is lie to you about what he felt, about who he is. Why is he so guilty now when he should have been back then?

“He’s like holding my hand and pulling me to his room and he says ‘let’s go to my headquarters,’ and I was like ‘what do you mean headquarters’ and he’s like, ‘oh you know, my blowjob room’”

Peter doesn’t know what’s funny about it, but when Ned laughs and so did MJ, it must have been the jealous that blocks the laughter from leaving him.

“What kind of person calls a blowjob room ‘headquarters’?”

“What kind of normal person has a blowjob room?” MJ grimaces.

Ned nods. “Fair point.”

His eyes meet MJ’s in a call of help. He doesn’t know what to do. He thinks he might be concussed, but he could stand straight and feel things enough for him to feel guilty.

She lets out a long sigh, quickly pulling her phone out, the screen illuminating her face as she types in word after word of execution.

Then she slips it back in, looking at you with feign helplessness. “(y/n),” she pouts. “Come with me to the bathroom? I need to pee.”

You nod, standing up and taking her hand towards where your bathroom is.

Ned’s phone pings, and he looks at Peter before taking a pillow and slamming it on his bandaged nose.

The discomfort outstretches his whole face now, feeling the ache on his eyes and his lips pulsate from the impact, and Peter claims he could feel the blood drip again when he puts his hand over his nose and look at Ned with wide eyes.

“What the fuck, dude?!”

“MJ said to hit you in the nose!” he reasons, putting the pillow down. But Peter picks up the pillow next to him, slamming it on Ned’s face. “Hey!” he shouts. “You asked for help, we gave you help.”

“I don’t think hurting me is helping, Ned!” Peter whines, folding, bending down to place his nose at the space between his knees to alleviate his fatigue. “Fuck…dude…” he hisses. “How is this going to get me alone with her?”

“When she sees that your nose is bleeding again, she’ll take you to her room and fix you up. Then MJ and I will make some lame excuse and leave so we’ll leave you two alone.” He explains. Peter nods in discomfort, pinching his nose. “Honestly dude, I don’t know how to help you if you don’t tell her today.”

“I’ll tell her today.” He says. “Fuck. Hit me again.”

Ned complies.

“Fuck!”

The door from the hallway opens and slams shut, a rush of panicked feet making its way forwards to where Peter sits with his nose hidden in his hands. You look at him with wide eyes, rushing to him with open hands.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, lightly cradling his face in your palms. You’re touching his face – he can discern your skin looming over his, almost abutting. But you don’t and it causes him to wish your tinge wasn’t reluctant. “What happened?”

“I saw a spider on Peter’s face,” Ned says, fast, before tucking the pillow behind him. “I didn’t want to touch it.”

“So you hit his face with a pillow?” scrunched nose, a pout on your lips, and a hint of concern in your eyes. Peter thinks you look cute. “You do know it’s only been an hour since he broke it, right? Jesus, looks swollen.”

Peter lets you grab his hand, putting it down to his lap as your fingers caress the crooked shape of his nose.

“Stay here,” you whisper, turning to your bedroom in quick and short strides. He’s no longer in pain, merely in a daze as he looks between Ned and MJ.

MJ cocks her head towards your bedroom door. He stands up, stumbling his way through the hallway to stand by the doorframe.

His eyes wander around your room.

It’s ampler than he thought – a bit bigger than his room, the walls adorned by a myriad of Vinyl and Polaroids adhered to the wall beside the window to the fire escape; your bookshelf is small averse to the bulletin beside it that’s concealed by hand-written chapters of your book, and the desk he sees are…messy.

It’s not pristine like he expected. You uncluttered when you’re tense or stressed – something he noticed even before he found out you’re his soulmate – so this presumably implied that you’re relaxed because of him.

You look up from the ground, a bottle of antiseptic and cottons in your hand. “What’re you doing here?”

“You were taking too long.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’ve only been gone for ten seconds, you trilobite. Be patient or I’ll slam something harder on your nose.”

There she is.

“I’m in so much pain, (y/n),” he whispers. “Don’t add up to it.”

Through hooded eyes, he can see you squeeze the bag of cotton in your hand and clench your jaw. He’s hit a little nerve, and it makes him smile as you push yourself up the ground and pull him to your bed.

“Sit,” you demand. “Before I knock your head against the wall.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He slurs, smiling lightly.

“Hey guys?” MJ calls from the living room. “We gotta go. My car got towed and Ned wants to watch beastiality!”

“Ratatouille is not beastiality, Michelle-”

Peter grimaces at this. “Ratatouille is beastiality?”

You shake your head, dabbing the cotton on his nose. “I think The Bee Movie is- wait, MJ, you don’t have a car!”

The door slams shut and the ripples of the clangour buzz in Peter’s ears, taking him a moment to acknowledge that it’s just now the two of you. You notice this, too, stability stiffened from your capricious emotions.

Your hand appears spasmodic every time you’re tactile with him; he can sense why – you’re nervous. You’re always nervous around him and who is he to repudiate that he doesn’t deem the same?

Had your eyes always looked this captivating?

The curtains are sealed; earlier, he read you, like a child leafing through a storybook heretofore. But the book’s latched and he can’t thumb through the pages, afraid of tearing your susceptible tale. So he’s left to figure you out, right now, through your opaque, locked eyes.

Peter wants to know why you’re suddenly being nice, even before he’d slammed his nose against the counter, but it’s obvious:

You met him your soulmate last night, even though you were incompetent to tell him who he was to you. And you had someone to listen to you, and you felt good being listened to – he can see it. Which was why you’re being quite nice to him.

But still, he tests the suspicions in the back of his head, pushing it forward to his lips as he says:

“Why are you being nice to me?”

You stop working on his nose, your tongue hiding itself back in from losing your concentration as you scoot back, away from him. Sheepishly, you shrug, looking down at your dingers. “Dunno.” You say. “Just…”

“’s it because you met your soulmate last night?”

You nod your head, looking up. “It’s not just that.” You lean closer. “I…I realized something.”

You’re my soulmate he wants you to say. I lo-

“Yeah?”

Peter smiles as you nod again. “I realized you aren’t as horrible as I thought you were,” you begin, picking at your nails. “That- I based you off my judgements rather than allow myself to get to know you. And I realized last night that perhaps I’d judged you too harshly that I haven’t even realized that it’s doing something to me.”

I hate him, but at the same time, it’s like, seeing him kind of completes my day

He repeats your words at the back of his head like a mantra, your voice filling his every time he tries to think from how many times he’d repeated it.

His movements are slow but when his finger touches the soft skin of your chin, heat radiates off his body. Peter tilts your head upward, eyes meeting yours.

The curtains are open now.

And just when he’s about to read you, his senses knock him back to alertness, mouth ejecting a voice of disdain, irritated from interruption. His peripherals make out the disappointment in your face when he drops his hand to his lap.

Peter stands up from the bed, squeezing his eyes shut from the sudden fatigue.

“I’m sorry,�� he says, guilty. “I have to go.”

And what happens? When he leaves you with terse words while you were anticipating something imminent that’s not really there; what happens when Peter refracts at the moment you’re about to obtain what you’ve always wanted due to his insolence?

v: unravel the vindication, remedy is revelation

You don’t know how long time passes – but your eyes never left the screen of your laptop an hour after you woke up. And you’re typing, not baring a single glance down your keyboard as you press letter by letter, forming sentences and metaphors from your ingenuity.

You’re halfway done from what you’re writing, on the verge of writing its denouement.

“Look at me. Open your eyes.” I beg her. “I’m right here in front of you. Notice me. Wake up and notice me.”

It’s functioning, your mind; it’s envisioning scenarios you often wished you underwent. It’s your form of coping when you’re having a hard time – you tatter ruminations, delectable dramas from the remnants of each character’s past, and you fill your book with raucous sections of angst and bond.

And then…your mind stops.

Suddenly, you find it hard to form words in your head and this irritate the living shit out of you. Writer’s block – a pain the fucking ass. They’re like a difficult bottle cap to remove and you’re stuck finding ways on how to open the bottle.

You slam your forehead repeatedly on your desk, hopefully triggering at least some simple words to add to your sentence. Skull on the verge of cracking, your phone pings.

You remember your dream.

In those ten seconds, you see him writing down formulae on his notebook, a scrawny smiley face on the corner of the paper with slightly smudged blood on it. You smile when you dream of him again.

It’s been two days since you met him, but you don’t forget the reason you met him in the first place. So earlier this morning, your eyes aimlessly scroll through the list of contacts on your phone until your eyes land on them.

You text Denver.

‘I don’t know what I did wrong, or what happened, but I would really appreciate an explanation.’ It’s followed by or not, your loss, but your thumb presses the delete button repeatedly until that’s all that’s left on the box before you hit send.

You don’t expect them to reply, but you do it nonetheless.

And then you think of Peter.

Yesterday bewilders you, and the day before, and the days before; every day you spent with Peter confuses you and yesterday was no different – because he left you perplexed, again and again, and again.

It’s beginning to irritate you because you know he has something to say. It’s in the look on his face – the same look he has when you let him too close to you. But he’s being a desirous coward and bails every single time, making you more inquisitive, aggravated, impatient.

Peter’s always underestimating you, saying something to Ned about how you can’t possibly handle what he’s about to tell you.

Your phone pings, disturbing you from the hypothetical murder of Peter Parker

Picking it up, your blurry eyes and dizzy state read the message.

It’s MJ. ‘Peter’s coming over. STAY CALM’

As if on cue, your doorbell rings. You push your chair back and make your way to the door, seeing Peter on the other side with a pint of ice cream inside a plastic bag from Delmar’s.

He’s hear, again, and you don’t know why. You’re confused. Is he here to continue your unfinished conversation, or he’s here to lead you on more before he bails once more?

You opt on snarling at him, but you want to play his game – act dumb and innocent and oblivious like he always assumes you are.

“Hey,” you smile. “How’s your nose?”

Peter lightly touches the purple and yellow bruise on the bridge of his crooked nose. “It’s alright. ‘s healing already.”

“That’s good,” you step aside, inviting him in. “What’re you doing in here?”

“We need to talk,” he places the bag on your dining table, giving you a nervous look. “You need to sit down. I need to sit down – we need to sit down for this.”

He’s quick and eager. Peter’s here to finish what he started.

He doesn’t allow you to utter a single word, tugging on your delicate wrist to lead you to your bedroom, sitting you down on the mattress at the same spot he left you hanging.

Expecting he sits down beside you, he doesn’t. Instead, he kneels between your parted legs, head leveled with yours. Peter looks down on your feet, on the fabric over your knees, on your fiddling fingers in front of him – anywhere but your eyes.

“You alright?” you softly say, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Peter nods. “Yes. No. Maybe. I-I d-don’t know…”

“What’s up?”

He lets out a quavering breath, eyes buffing. And the sunlight caroms on his glassy orbs, splitting its diaphanous mosaic. Your chest flutters with trepidation, hands opposing to stay put and stop you from running your hand over his hair and pull.

“I haven’t been…honest with you,” he ultimately looks at you, directly into your eyes, your dry sights deviating to his breaking ones. “And, I want you to know that I’m sorry for what I’m about to tell you.”

The sky outside rumbles, a mild thunder before you hear delicate pattering against the metal of the fire escape, muffled by your window. This doesn’t preoccupy you from looking away from his eyes.

Had his eyes always looked this captivating?

“I’m…” he sighs, closing his eyes, and a lone tear is threatening to spill from his eyelashes. And you wait patiently, for the first time. “I’m…you’re so…I’m the reason why Denver stood you up on your date.”

Your face falls, leaning away from him. “Oh.”

You spent hours wondering what you did wrong and what was wrong with you before you met Spider-Man. And you didn’t realize how quickly you got over the temporary heartbreak. And Peter’s truth doesn’t break your heart again, but rather fill it with disappointment instead.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” you tell him. “Why’re you sorry and why did you do it?”

“Because,” he shut his eyes with a sigh. “I couldn’t just let you go on that date knowing…knowing you’d get hurt one day. And I was…yes I was jealous so I had to do something and I’m sorry because I made you cry and I unintentionally hurt you.”

“Well…you did know I’d get hurt when they stood me up so technically it wasn’t unintentional,” you correct him. “But that’s not the point. And I wouldn’t forgive you if it didn’t hurt me anymore. I’m just upset about it, and maybe mad because you made me miss a date. But guess what? If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have met my soulmate that night.” You smile timidly at him. “Just tell me what you did to Denver.”

Peter sighs again. “I made them spend a night in jail.”

Your eyes widen, letting out a laugh of disbelief. “Peter!”

He laughs lightly with you. “What! I asked Karen for some help and she said-”

“Who’s Karen?”

“-my AI. She said Denver didn’t pay any of the parking tickets so I arrested him!” Peter defends himself. His answer leaves you confused – who’s Karen and why does he have an AI? “Honestly, it’s a good thing I saw you crying home or else-”

Your smile disappears. “What?”

He smiles at you. “What?”

“You said you saw me crying home,” you repeat his words. “Peter, were you following me?” You stand up, stepping away from him. “And you arrested Denver? Peter, you’re not a cop!”

All the color drains from his face, standing up from the ground, wiping his knees though they remained clean still. “I- I think you misheard me-”

“You said you had Karen to ‘help you’,” you point out. “You had Karen, your ‘AI’-”

“AI? Did I say AI. I think I said-”

“Peter.”

“Honestly, (y/n) I-”

You walk away from him, making your way towards your window. Your hands weakly push the exit upwards, lifting yourself up to the exit until you feel the heavy patters of the rain on your skin.

“What are you doing?” Peter shouts over the loud noise. “(y/n)-”

“I’m going up,” you say. “I’m going up the rooftops. And I’m staying there. Because I don’t – I don’t know what to do with you right now because you’re confusing me and I don’t want to be confused right now.”

Your weighty steps stride through the metal stairs, clanging at each stomp. You don’t care if it causes the platform below you to shake, or if it damages your ears. You needed to think about what to do, and what you need to say next to him; you needed to refresh your mind.

Peter follows behind you. “(y/n) get inside! You’re going to get sick!”

“Well, I’m already sick!” you turn sharply, shouting at him. “I’m already sick of you and your lies and your torments and you underestimating me. I’m already sick of your bullshit!”

Peter’s hair is wet, sticking to his forehead. Dismissing the tempest befalling upon the two of you, he steps out into the rooftop to follow you. “Bullshit!” he roars amidst the storm.

“Yeah! Bullshit. That’s what I said!”

He reached out to grab your wrist, wringing you around. You’d been crying, and he hadn’t detected because your tears were combined with the rain simultaneously descending your cheeks. Peter’s face softened, his pique dissolved into the nervous one he felt just before you stormed out.

“Hey,” he pulls you closer to him. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Peter,” you whisper, exasperated. “Just tell me the truth. Please. Please, I’m so tired.”

He nods, hand never leaving yours but the other reaches up to wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’m Spider-Man.”

You stop crying, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Maybe MJ was right – he was in front of you. You were just too blinded by hatred to notice.

It all made sense – the bloody smiley face on the corner of his paper, the lego pieces, the blue sweatshirt, the brown curls, the funeral, everything.

And you’re in denial.

“No,” you shake your head. “No. No, you’re not,” you push him away, digging your nails to his damp shirt and push him away, eyesight blinded by your hot tears and the bright rain. “Why you?”

Peter’s voice snagged in his throat. “I…I don’t know what you want me to say to that…”

“You made my life miserable,” you hiss. “You made my life miserable, and the dreams – your dreams – are the only things that makes my day better. And – fuck, I just unknowingly told you how I felt about you too! I-”

The revelation renders you speechless. The man who stood before you is your antagonist – and your love, your destined love. And you don’t know how to love him; it’s your fear, that you won’t be able to love your soulmate as much as you wish to.

And now it’s happened. And it scares you. Because now you’re supposed to love Peter Parker, after years of hating him.

“You said your days felt incomplete if I don’t show up,” he says softly, loud enough for you to hear amidst the storm. “Maybe it’s because we’re soulmates. And we complete each other.”

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “How am I going to love you like I’m supposed to?”

Peter cups your face, palm gentle against your jawline, thumbs caressing the tears from your cheekbones. And you open your eyes.

His eyes are caring – they mean what they say. And you read his eyes, his soul, like an open book. And as you flip through his pages, there’s a part there; a part that divulges his love for you. And it frightens you. So much

“You don’t have to love me. Not right now. Not immediately,” he says. “You can learn how to love me, (y/n). And I’ll wait for you.”

The words you’ve written earlier, your character’s denouement, appear in your head. “Look at me. Open your eyes.” I beg her. “I’m right here in front of you. Notice me. Wake up and notice me.”

And you look at him. You open your eyes. And Peter’s right here in front of you. But you don’t notice him – not yet.

“I fell in love with you,” you whisper. “But not you.”

He nods, and he’s crying too. “I know.”

“But you complete me,” you tell him, nudging the tip of your nose to his. “I don’t love you yet. But you complete me.”

Love forces you to do ludicrous, heedless things. Whether it was for your good, or theirs. Sometimes you’d have to be stoic to protect something you already have, transgressing the altruistic love you desired to give. Because failing something you worked hard to have will forfeit the trajectory of it all.

It’s what you feel for him – for Peter. And he understands.

“I love you,” he whispers, lips hovering above yours but never touching.

You don’t say it back. You want to, he knows you want to. But understands when you don’t.

You kiss him instead.

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

SUPPORT A WRITER AND REBLOG! (please)

[prettypiscesgal]

shampoo & heartbreak

Summary: Peter’s superhuman senses make things crystal clear: she got a boyfriend and didn’t tell him. Why else can he smell men’s shampoo in her hair when she’s used the same cherry blossom one for years?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N); fluff, best friend trope, happy ending

Words: 2K

—————————————

Spring is Peter Parker’s favorite season, for a number of reasons: first and most importantly, it has the perfect temperatures to wear the suit in.  Not too hot, not too cold, and there’s no chafing from patches of sweat. Second, it was his girl’s favorite season as well, and the time when she brought out and experimented with her cutest outfits.

Well, his girl - she isn’t really, but it’s hard to think of her as anything else. A lifelong best friend and the ultimate ‘what if’ was more appropriate.

Late afternoon spring walks through Central Park are his favorite because they’re her favorite, and he obliges every time she asks, even if he’s otherwise occupied. His mind rolls a giant wheel of fortune, wondering what top she might wear, or which scarf will bring out her eyes, and he’s trapped. Fashion is his last concern, but with her, he pays attention; he always does.

Like now, for example. He’s paying so much attention to the scent of men’s shampoo coming from her hair that it constricts his heart and etches a frown into his features.

No.

His entire body is protesting by turning inside out. His throat is closing up and his chest feels hot. Whatever concentration he had before this has packed its bags and left.

Keep reading

[prettypiscesgal]

i dig your cinema (steve harrington)

masterlist ❈

summary: your boyfriend suggests you catch the 10:15pm showing of ‘the lost boys’ and parks at the back of the drive-in theater. you put the pieces together from there. author’s note: i uhhhhhhhh got a little carried away with this lmao. also i don’t know if there’s a drive-in in hawkins but there is now i suppose i love reading fics where steve is the softest, sweetest boyfriend alive and lets his girlfriend get away with pretty much anything except for in the (metaphorical) bedroom. so. here is that. lmao. this is my first time writing him but it was so fun, he has such a specific attitude about him that is so satisfying lolllllll also, headcanon that despite his himbo reputation, steve loves all things horror and reads horror books and watches horror movies all the time. he consumes stephen king’s books at an alarming rate

pairing: steve harrington x f!reader word count: 5k warnings: pwp, alternate universe: canon divergence, no spoilers, semi-public sex, car sex

cross-posted to ao3 <3

ALSOOOOOO everyone in this fic is 18+ - minors pretty pls dni!!!!!

Keep reading

[prettypiscesgal]

where in the hell did you find that

summary: you and eddie have secretly been hooking up and of course, dustin and steve get suspicious that you are hiding something and completely invade your privacy to reveal your secret <3

prompts: “i don’t remember that, that doesn’t sound like me” & “recognize this?” “where in the hell did you find that?”

warnings: mentions of sex, make out sesh, language, not proof read!

*this has been one of my faves to write so far!!!*

——–

You started hooking up with Eddie Munson behind your friends backs two months ago, and they were starting to suspect you were hiding something from them. You never thought you’d be in a relationship like this with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, but when you got paired together for an English project, and he started looking a little too hot, you couldn’t resist.

It wasn’t a classic friends with benefits thing. You had clothes and other miscellaneous belongings at each others houses, and Eddie even brought you lunch and dinner occasionally and you would just talk about life. It wasn’t a dating-type thing, but whatever it was, it worked for the both of you.

Your friends started suspecting you were hiding something a couple of weeks ago, more specifically, nosey ass Dustin and Steve. You were going to meet Eddie for a much-needed night together, and apparently, you looked too happy. It made it more suspicious to them when you wouldn’t say where you were going. You said it was none of their damn business and walked out of Family Video. Not your best coverup.

You were currently laying on Eddie’s couch, only in a bra and underwear, blanket over you, while Eddie was making breakfast in the kitchen, only in his underwear. You smiled at him as you watched him make pancakes, surprisingly good at doing so. He looked up, noticing you staring.

“What?” He questioned, smiling.

“Nothing.” You looked away and stared at the TV. “Wanna watch a movie tonight?”

“Let me guess, 'Sixteen Candles’?”

“Shut up.” You told Eddie, laughing and throwing a pillow at him as he walked over to you. He moved the blanket off of you, wrapping it around his back, then laying on top of you. He placed a hungry kiss on your lips.

“I’m surprised you want to go to Family Video with the way those idiots have been hounding you about your secret double life.” Eddie joked. He placed his elbows on the side of you, rubbing your face and playing with your hair with his hands.

“They think I’m hooking up with some mystery college guy. That doesn’t even sound like something I’d do. They’re so dumb.” You said.

“And hooking up with the school’s biggest freak does?” Eddie questioned.

“That’s not what I meant. And I didn’t think we were only hooking up. It doesn’t feel like that’s all this is. If it was, you wouldn’t be making me breakfast or caressing me right now.” You pointed out. Eddie nodded his head, agreeing.

“When you put it that way, I guess you’re right,” Eddie said, kissing your forehead.

“Why, do you only consider us to be fuck buddies?” You were confused and truly hoping he didn’t think that. You shifted, trying to get up. Eddie moved immediately and let you sit up, grabbing the blanket from him.

“Oh my gosh, no, Y/N! I feel the same way you do! I’m sorry, I didn’t phrase that right I guess.” Eddie pulled you on top of him, he peppered you with kisses all over. You giggled and put your lips on his.

“I’m sorry. You know how I am. Queen of overthinking. Can we just eat pancakes now?” You snuggled into his chest, wrapping your arms and legs around his body. He swiftly picked you up, carrying you to the counter and placing you on it. You giggled and smiled the whole time. He hand-fed you a pancake, smiling like an idiot while doing so. Eddie was completely and utterly whipped. Especially after knowing you didn’t consider your relationship just hooking up. How could you keep getting more perfect?

—-

“Hey, Hair! Can I have 'Sixteen Candles’?” You greeted Steve, him rolling his eyes at your nickname for him.

“Again?” He questioned.

“Not you too.” You slipped out.

“Who else makes fun of you for loving that movie?” Steve inquired.

“My mom does, constantly.” You covered.

“Sure.” Steve gave you a suspicious look and got the movie for you. Before you thought you were in the clear, Dustin came into the store. You groaned quietly, not wanting to hear about your secret life. If only he knew it was with his D&D leader and role model.

“Y/N!” Dustin gave you a side hug. “What have you been up to?” He questioned.

“Nothing much, just enjoying my Saturday. I’m going to watch my favorite movie later with some friends.” You told the young boy. “What about you Dusty-bun?” You asked.

“I just invited the Hellfire gang over to hang out tonight at my house, so I’m getting some horror flicks!” Dustin said, excitement in his voice. You lifted your eyebrows.

“Everyone is going?” You questioned.

“Yeah! You can come too if you want, and you too Steve! But I know you think we are a bunch of nerds.”

“Indeed Henderson,” Steve added, handing you your movie.

“Thanks.” You said quietly. “As for tonight, I’ll let you nerds have a night to yourselves. I’ll see you two later.” You quickly left the store, rushing back to Eddie’s. Leave it to Dustin to ruin your movie night.

When you pulled up to his trailer, Eddie was outside, sitting on the steps.

“Hey, I’ve been waiting for you!” Eddie told you, getting up.

“To tell me that Dustin asked you to hang out and so you’re ditching me?” You laughed.

“You’re not mad?” Eddie pulled you to him, kissing your lips lightly.

“No. I know how much he means to you. You can just come by my house afterward.”

“Sounds like a plan gorgeous.”

——-

It hit ten o'clock when all of the Hellfire members left Dustin’s, leaving him, Steve, and Eddie alone. Yes, Steve showed up after Dustin’s begging.

“Did Y/N seem off to you today? She got weird when you said your nerds were coming over here.” Steve asked Dustin. Eddie flipping him off.

“She’s been weird the last couple of months, dude. She sneaks off at school and on the weekends especially. But yeah, you’re right. Every time Hellfire comes up she gets weird.” Dustin agreed.

“Maybe Eddie scares her,” Steve said, laughing. Eddie sarcastically laughed at the statement. Knowing he very much does not scare you…

“We should go check on her. See what’s up.” Dustin said.

“Maybe she just wants some privacy? You two are so fucking nosey.” Eddie told the pair. Steve and Dustin looked at him with blank stares.

“Are you coming or what?”

The three boys hopped in Steve’s car and drove to your house. Eddie couldn’t let them harass you with questions without him there. Luckily, he remembered that your parents went out of town this weekend.

When they got there, you were startled by the headlights but assumed it was just Eddie. When you answered the door and saw Steve and Dustin looking back at you, Eddie behind them, you were very confused.

“Why are you two here?”

“Don’t you mean to ask why the three of us are here?” Dustin picked up on your slip-up immediately.

“I didn’t even see Eddie, sorry.”

“Sure.”

The three boys made their way in, heading towards your room. You prayed there wasn’t anything of Eddie’s visible.

“We wanted to see how you’re doing. We’re worried about you.” Steve explained.

“Seriously? You guys need to stop with that. I am fine!”

“Well just to be sure, let’s watch 'Sixteen Candles’! Even though you probably just got done watching it with friends, right?” Dustin questioned. Gosh, this boy was good.

“They actually canceled. I’ll go make popcorn.”

“I’ll help get drinks.” Eddie followed you out of the room, into the kitchen.

“What the fuck, Eddie?” You whispered.

“They’re mentally deranged! There was no stopping them!” He whisper-yelled back. You took the popcorn out of the microwave and the two of you made your way back to your room. When you entered, Steve and Dustin stood there with huge smirks on their faces.

“What is up with you two?” You questioned. The pair looked at each other and smiled. Dustin suddenly moved his hidden hand out from behind his back, holding a shirt up in the air. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Recognize this?” It was Eddie’s shirt. Then, Steve held up a polaroid picture of you and Eddie that you took one night while the two of you were very drunk and very naked. Luckily, the photo didn’t show anything.

“Where in the hell did you find that?!” You practically screamed.

“We looked through your dresser,” Dustin said as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“What the fuck?! You two are insane!” You yelled at the pair. You ripped the shirt and photo out of their hands and hid them away once again.

“Let’s move on to the bigger picture… YOU AND EDDIE?!” Dustin yelled. “I repeat, YOU AND EDDIE?!”

“So what?!”

“It’s Eddie!” Steve argued.

“And?”

“I should’ve known. The first time you saw him at school you mumbled that he could fuck you any time of day.” Dustin told the group.

“I don’t remember that, that doesn’t sound like me.” You said, sheepishly. Kind of embarrassed that Dustin heard you say that, and that he just told Eddie and Steve.

“Yeah, it doesn’t. Which is why I’m very confused.” Steve added.

“Will you two please leave? You’ve done enough for today, thank you. And never go through my shit again. That is so weird.” You told the pair, shaking your head. Dustin had his head down and apologized on his way out, while Steve was glaring at Eddie. When you finally heard the car drive away, you sunk down on the floor, laying there like a dead body.

“I don’t know if I should be utterly pissed or relieved.” You told Eddie.

“I know right. Gosh, I hate them sometimes.” Eddie laid on the floor next to you, planting kisses on your face. “So…” Eddie started.

“So?”

“Since they know we… Can I take you out sometime? Not that I don’t love our dinners and stuff, but I’d like to make this official… if you want…” You smiled at Eddie’s words, sitting up immediately.

“You mean it?” Eddie sat up and pulled you closer to him.

“Of course I do. I don’t know if you are aware, but I’m kinda crazy about you. And I would gladly fuck you any time of the day.” Eddie smirked. You got red in the face.

“I’m kinda crazy about you too.” You replied, kissing Eddie.

“Tomorrow we should go into Family Video making out or something, completely making them regret looking through your stuff,” Eddie said, making you laugh.

“Oh, abso-fucking-lutely.”

—–

i really hope yall loved this as much as i do!!!! 

make sure to like and reblog!!

[prettypiscesgal]

eddie loves to fake hump you. eats that shit up for dinner breakfast and lunch. you gotta sqaut anytime you're around him because of it

you two were walking into his trailer with food in hand, you were ranting about something. "no because it's wild ho- oh shit." you cussed as he locked the door, you dropped one of the chopsticks. "my clumsy ass," you groaned bending down to pick up the utensil.

you felt a pair of hands on hips bringing your ass to your boyfriends pelvis and felt thrust against your jeans. you deadpanned, "oh fuck y/n-" he moaned stupidly. "y-yeah faster..!" you were able to hear him holding back his laugh. you stood up right and he kept doing it but sloppier as you looked over you shoulder, unamused. and he was biting his lip trying not too laugh, eventually failing.

you pointed the chopsticks at his neck, "you think you're funny?"

"i'd say hilarious." he smirked.

"well you're not," you narrowed your eyes.

you were gonna get him back. next time you guys got chinese it was maybe 3 weeks later and you had 'accidentally' bumped into him. making him drop his fork (he cant use chopsticks) and he cussed. "dammit-"

"oh sorry babe," you bent down slightly to get it and he put his hand up to tell you its fine. this was your opportunity. you hopped right behind him with a smile, getting a clear view of his ass. thank god for skinny jeans. you put a hand on his lower back and put your pelvis to his ass, copying what he would do to you. "mmm, so good..!" you hummed mockingly and you saw his muscles fall.

god what you'd give to see the look on his face.

"oh god."

"you like that?" you giggled thrusting into his ass and he pulled himself off you. you crossed your arms as he glared at you, "yes?"

"i'm trying to look for a choice of words." he said, pointing his fork as he talked. "stop trying to be me..?" he teasingly squinted his eyes.

"be you?" you scoffed.

"yes! there's only room for one of me in this world. so cut it out, y/n." he said while picking at his food, "and stay away from my ass." he glared as he opened the fridge and you couldnt help but give it a squeeze, he stood up in shock shutting the fridge in the process. you smiled, looking up at him as innocently as possible.

you two had a stare down and you tried to sneak your hand around to cop another feel and he quickly slapped it away. and there he realizes, this is revenge.

because now randomly you'll poke his ass or when you two are playing a card game and he goes to get some more beers, you'll slap his ass, "nice pair." you'd wink like how he would you.

he'll just kind of stare at you silently, knowing he cant even speak.

he does have a nice ass though.

[prettypiscesgal]

Bugs

Summary: Sometimes even superheroes get afraid too.

Warnings: Just Fluff.

Listen while reading:

September - Earth, Wind & Fire

Note: Short little blurb in honor of me killing a cockroach today.

“AAAAH!” You heard a high pitched scream coming from your apartment while carrying the groceries up.

You quickly drop everything from your hands, running to unlock the door and hoping to god Peter was okay.

“Peter!” You shout, opening the door to find him clinging to the roof and looking to the ground in fear.

“What..” You start, and Peter looks to you, eyes full of fear.

“Look.” He whispers, pointing to the floor and you look to find a cockroach scurrying around the ground.

“You gotta be kidding me..” You sigh, shaking your head. “Peter. You have fucking super strength.”

“Yeah, but they’re gross.” He whines, unclinging from the roof to hop down on the counter, still eyeing the bug in fear.

“We’ll I’m not going near that thing. As the man of the house you have to kill it.” You reply and he scoffs, looking at you exasperatedly.

“B-But..” He tries to argue and you raise your eyebrows, “But it’s scary.”

“Put you big boy pants on and kill the damn thing.”

———

“This is not what I meant.” You sigh, watching Peter in his full spiderman outfit, crawling on the roof above the cockroach, trying to figure out the best approach on how to kill it.

“Shh. I’m concentrating.” He mumbles and you sigh again, watching your boyfriend make a fool of himself.

“I could just call Steve-”

“No! I am the man of the house, I will do this.” He states proudly and you raise your hands up in surrender.

“Whatever you say.” You reply, watching as he climbs down and holds up a shoe to smush it.

Right as he throws the shoe, the cockroach starts flying, causing both of you to let out high pitched screams as it starts swarming around your apartment.

Peter jumps into your arms, holding onto your body tightly as you let out an ‘oof’ sound, struggling under his full body weight.

“Okay, you can call Steve.” He murmurs, holding onto you for dear life.

———

“And.. there.” Steve says, casually hitting the bug that had been tormenting you two with the back of his hand.

“Thanks.” You and Peter reply, and he simply says it was ‘no problem’ while leaving.

“God, that was so embarrassing. He probably thinks I’m such a loser.” Peter groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“He does not. You’re just a little sensitive around bugs, and that’s fair considering how you became Spiderman.” You comfort, rubbing his back.

“Thank you, baby.” He smiles, pulling you in for a hug and sighing at the smell of your comforting perfume.

“You know, if I let the thing bite me I could’ve been cockgirl-”

“Don’t ruin the moment, please.”

“Sorry.”

———

I cried for like 20 minutes and then finally killed the cockroach so personally i’d say that’s a slay

[prettypiscesgal]

Three inches

Summary: You invite your friends over to your house and your dad, Hopper, walks in at a bad time.

Warning: A little bit of smut if you squint & fluff.

Listen while reading:

Woman in love - Barbra Streisand

Being the daughter of the chief was a struggle for a teenager girl who just wants to have a little fun. With everything that's gone on in this town, he's of course very protective.

But it can be so annoying sometimes.

Today was one of those times.

Dad has a strict rule about keeping the door open 3 inches when I have boys over. I can understand the rule, he thinks I'm too young to be doing anything, but the thing is I don't like boys.

So, inviting my friends over when they're boys is always so embarrassing. That's why I regret ever agreeing to having the group over at my place.

"Dad, please don't embarrass me." I beg as I peek out the window, checking to see if Steve, Nancy, Eddie, and Robin have pulled up yet.

"I don't even know why you need two boys over. One is already pushing it." He grumbles from the kitchen.

"I'm 18 dad, just let me hang out with my friends in peace." I reply, turning to look at him and he just mumbles something about 'still in high school' and 'you act like a child' under his breath.

I roll my eyes and then hear a knock on the door. I rush over and open it to find my four best friends and I try to quickly usher them to my room before my dad can catch them.

Unfortunately, he still catches them.

Robin and Nancy successfully make it through the threshold of my room, but Steve and Eddie are both pulled back by large hands on their shoulders.

Hopper glares down at them and they both look about ready to piss themselves.

"Dad.." I warn him, knowing what's coming.

"Just need to tell them the ground rules." He replies, not even glancing at me. "Door open three inches. Always. Got it?"

They both aggressively nod.

"No kissing, touching, or any naughty business-"

"Dad!"

"And!" He raises a finger, pointing it in both of their scared faces. "Remember. I have a gun."

"Oh my god, dad!" I say exasperatedly as I pull Steve and Eddie by their arms and into my room, about to close the door behind me when he shouts 'three inches!'

"Yeah, got it!" I reply back, rolling my eyes and turning to find a scared looking Steve and Eddie, Nancy and Robin trying to hold back their laughter.

"Pussies." Robin mumbles, making us all break out into a laugh, except Steve and Eddie.

"Shut up, Robin. I'm just waiting for the day he finds out about you two and then you're the one shitting your pants." He says, pointing between Robin and I and I roll my eyes with a laugh, falling on the bed next to Robin and cuddling up beside her.

"Don't be jealous just because Robin likes boobies more than she likes your Farrah Fawcett hair." I reply and Robin cackles sharply while Steve glares at me.

"Did Henderson tell you that? He's fucking dead." He mumbles the last part to himself and I can tell he's blushing because Nancy now knows his embarrassing secret.

“You know, coincidentally, three inches is also the size of Steve’s-”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence, Robin.” Steve glares, one hand on his hip and one pointing at her like a mother threatening her child.

"Okay, I think we play some Truth or Dare to spice this up, what about you guys?" Eddie asks, hopping to his feet with a mischievous smile.

"I don't know.." I reply glancing towards my door in hesitation.

Eddie peeks out of the room to see Hopper lying on the recliner completely knocked out and he smiles before shutting the door all the way.

"Eddie!" I whisper shout at him, my eyes wide.

"He's knocked out, it's fine. Come on." He says gesturing for us all to sit on the floor of my room. I roll my eyes, but do it anyway.

"Okay, who's going first?" Eddie asks. No one responds so he rolls his eyes, "Okay, Wheeler. Truth or dare?"

"Um.. dare?" She replies, seeming timid with Eddie's evil smile on her.

"I dare you and Harrington to spend seven minutes in heaven." He smiles cheekily, pointing towards my closet and wiggling his eyebrows.

"Whoa, whoa. I don't need any weird substances on my clothes-" Robin cuts me off by slapping a hand to my mouth and smiling cheekily back at Eddie.

I hate these stupid matchmakers.

"Go ahead." Robin nods to the door and Nancy and Steve both grumble, but make their way inside the closet anyway.

When they're shut inside, we all wait patiently to see if we hear any noises. Eventually we get too bored and just decide to chat about random stuff.

“Hey, how long have they been in there?” Eddie suddenly asks and we all look at each other, shrugging.

Eddie stands up and goes to open the door. When he does we all gasp at the sight of Steve and Nancy sucking face. They both quickly pull away when they realize they’ve been caught.

Nancy blushes and Steve awkwardly clears his throat, “Um.. We’re going to get going actually. It’s late.” Steve says, grabbing Nancy’s hand and dragging her out of the room.

“Hey, wait! You’re my ride, Harrington!” Eddie yells, chasing the couple out the door.

I turn to look at Robin with wide eyes and she looks at me with the same expression. Then we both burst out into laughter.

After laughing about the chaotic situation for a good couple of minutes, we find ourselves laying on my bed, cuddled up and listen to the soft sounds of Woman in Love by Barbra Streisand playing from my stereo.

“You smell really good.” I mumble into Robin’s neck and hear the sound of her raspy giggle.

“I put my best perfume on just for you, sugar.” She replies and I blush in response, kissing her neck gently.

“What? You think you were gonna get lucky tonight?” I tease with a small smile, pulling away to look at her pretty face.

“Well, duh.” She replies and I giggle before pressing my lips against hers. The kiss is soft and sensual and I pull away to lick my lips.

“Are you wearing Cherry Cola Chapstick?” I smile, smacking my lips at the taste.

“You know it’s your favorite.” She huskily replies, pulling me back onto her lips by the collar of my shirt.

I move to straddle her, kissing her more desperate and rutting my hips against her thigh. She smiles into the kiss and flips us over, one of her legs slotted between mine so I can relive some of the pressure building.

She pulls away to watch me grinding against her thigh, sighing out a laugh, “There you go, pretty girl, use me.”

I whimper, trying to keep quiet since my dad is still in the house. She goes back to kissing me and I feel lightheaded with pleasure.

Suddenly the door that was once closed, slams open and the sound of my dads voice fills the room, “I told you, three inch-!”

I gasp when Robin pulls away and look to see my dad standing there, beet red.

“D-Dad!” I sputter, embarrassed. “Get out!”

“I-I’m sorry, I thought.. I’m sorry.” He stutters, shutting the door and I turn to Robin who looks back at me shocked.

Then she starts to laugh.

“It’s not funny, idiot.” I groan throwing a pillow at her, and this causes her to start full on cackling.

“I’m sorry..” She says, trying to catch her breath after her fit of laughter, “But that was really awkward. I can’t believe that happened.”

“That was terrible.” I groan, covering my face with my hands.

“Aww, sweetie. It’s alright. Look on the bright side, he doesn’t seem homophobic.” She shrugs, “He just seemed really uncomfortable. Which is fair when you walk in on your daughter heavily sucking face with someone-”

“You know, you’re really bad at comforting people.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” She smiles.

———

“See you tomorrow.” I smile, giving Robin a kiss on the cheek.

She waves goodbye and I shut the door behind her. I turn around and find my dad standing awkwardly.

“Dad, about earlier..” I start to say, but he just puts a hand up signaling me to stop.

“Just-” He starts and I wait nervously for whatever he’s going to say, “Just keep the door open three inches.”

I smile brightly and run over to him, hugging him tightly. He smiles, hugging me back and resting his chin on my head.

“Love you, dad.”

“Love you too, kiddo.”

———

Hopper the ally😝💪