Every friend groups should include:
A Substitute mom
A mean bisexual
A token straight who's on thin ice
An astrology bitch who has everyone’s birth charts memorized
And a short king
best friends (peter parker)
summary: you’ve always considered yourself peter parker’s best friend. but when his interest in mary jane complicates your friendship, it gets harder to hide your feelings for him.
notes: hi everybody!!!!! this is 13.2k words long so i hope you enjoy it. i’m also trying out this thing where i change my pseudonym to sloane because i think it fits me more than when i picked scout over 3 years ago. also @ mary jane i’m sorry i love u please forgive me
warnings: typos, probably.
As Peter Parker’s best friend, it hurt to hear him talk about other girls he wanted to go on dates with.
It hurt to an extent that you couldn’t quite describe, only that it felt like frustration kept inside of a bottle that was unable to be opened. The pressure was too much. You wish you could muster up the courage to tell him how you felt about him, but you were always discouraged whenever he absentmindedly brought up someone he thought was attractive.
As friends since junior year of high school, it wasn’t hard to fall for him as quickly as you did. Peter was always the quiet kid in the back of the classroom, smarter than anyone else in the room, and more observant than people gave him credit for. His kind brown eyes and soft gaze always made your heart beat much faster than you wanted it to.
You endured the teasing comments from your friends and never thought much of it until their words helped you look at Peter in a different light. He was still the photography nerd obsessed with biomechanics, but you grew to like him in a way that you hadn’t before. His kindness was unmatched, and when you found out he was Spider-Man, that only made your love for him grow.
There were times where you thought Peter might’ve felt the same as you, but you were never sure. It began when your friends pointed out how loving Peter was towards you, despite explaining that was the nature of your friendship. The way they described how Peter was when he was around you made you believe there might be something more to your relationship than just being friends.
You really started to think about your interactions with him and how your friends might’ve been right. You began to overthink your friendship with him. Did Peter always offer to buy you coffee because he liked you or because you kept his secret? Was Peter always slinging his arm around you because he wanted affection or because he’d been doing that since the both of you met?
The two of you became fast friends because of how many classes you shared and how many projects you worked on together. You hadn’t officially met Peter until this time, but you were more than aware of his intelligence. The same could be the same with Peter, and since getting to know you after projects you’ve worked on together, was fast to call you a friend.
There was never a doubt that you and Peter were two peas in a pod. Your teachers knew to pair the both of you together and it went so far as Aunt May being completely unphased when she saw you and Peter together in the apartment.
The both of you attended Columbia University and you were more than ecstatic to be able to continue living in New York with your best friend. Now in your last year of university, you continued your friendship with Peter. But being his friend meant knowing who his crushes were.
So it hurt to know that Peter never talked about you like he talked about girls.
“I’m serious, Y/N. I think she might be the love of my life.”
You ignored Peter’s words the second he started to talk about the barista he met at the coffee shop the two of you frequent. Peter had a newfound confidence since graduating and it didn’t take him long to become more social since arriving at Columbia. He had been insecure about not having found his footing when it came to girls in high school, but college seemed to increase Peter’s self confidence. Still, he continued to keep his Spider-Man identity a secret to everyone but you.
But hearing him talk about girls he studied with, girls he wanted to take on expensive dates, and girls he wanted one night with hurt. Your infatuation was hard to deny and even harder to keep under the surface. For every night Peter came by your apartment to help with his minor injuries, a part of you had the initiative to tell him how you felt. But for every night Peter talked about girls he found pretty, a part of you wanted to bury your feelings deep underground until you couldn’t feel them anymore.
“Y/N, are you listening?”
You lifted your head from your laptop and ceased typing, sliding your glasses back to the bridge of your nose.
“Sorry, this essay is taking up a lot of my concentration. What were you saying?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “The barista I’ve been talking about. You know, the redhead from Albert’s Coffee?”
You nodded. “Yes, I know who you’re talking about.”
Your heart broke when you saw him smile.
“Her name’s Mary Jane, MJ for short.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
Peter rolled his eyes again. “A little enthusiasm would be nice.”
“I’m very happy that you finally talked to your crush,” you said, trying to sound as encouraging as you possibly could without revealing your true feelings.
“She’s the nicest,” Peter let on. “I asked for her number and she wrote it on my cup.”
You did a double take.
“You asked for her number?” you asked.
“Yes?” Peter asked quizzically.
“I’m happy for you,” you lied. “I know you’ve had an infatuation with her for quite some time.”
“I can’t believe I was so scared about talking to her,” he said with a laugh. “She’s just as nice as I imagined her to be and she’s really pretty up close.”
Your heart broke again.
“She’s also studying biochemistry at Columbia,” said Peter. “To think I’ve never seen her in any classes…”
He trailed off and you ignored how he was looking at his phone like he was waiting for her to text him back. You sat in the library with your notes in front of you and wanted nothing more than to leave. How could you compete for Peter’s attention when he already had eyes for someone else? You were particularly jealous of Mary Jane’s biochemistry major, as that was the one thing you and Peter didn’t have in common. You were fairly decent when it came to the hard sciences, but your loyalty was in business and communications. It was far different than Peter’s chosen path and as a result, you rarely crossed his path during classes.
“I’ve gotta go,” you said abruptly, looking at your phone.
“What?” Peter asked. “You got here thirty minutes ago.”
“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I forgot I planned to help a friend with her final project.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Peter said. “We can meet up later tonight?”
You knew he was asking permission to visit you after he spent the night patrolling.
“Sure, Peter,” you said with a tired smile. “Tonight’s fine. You know where my window is.”
When Gwen Stacy entered your apartment, she already knew you were feeling less than energetic. You sat on the sofa in your living room with a box of half eaten pizza on the coffee table in front of you with red and swollen eyes.
“Do you remember when we first met?” you asked unenthusiastically. Gwen raised her eyebrow.
“And Peter had the biggest crush on you, and I was so jealous that I couldn’t be in the same room as the two of you unless someone else was there with us?”
Gwen sat next to you and stole a slice.
“Yes. I have no idea where you’re going with this.”
You huffed. “Well, I feel like that now.”
Her eyes widened. “Is this your way of telling me Peter asked that barista out?”
You groaned. “He asked for her number and she gave it to him.”
“Let’s hope she tells Peter she likes girls,” Gwen said with a snicker.
She was referring to the week after Peter introduced you two Gwen; he had been ectatic to introduce the two of you over a cup of coffee and you were less than excited to meet someone Peter had a crush on. But when you met Gwen, it seemed like Peter was misinformed when she mentioned her girlfriend.
“I don’t know if I can go another year of unrequited love,” you sighed dramatically. “It’s been this way since our last year of high school. I can’t stand to see him check out other girls when I’m around.”
“You know that other girls are intimidated by you, right?” Gwen asked nonchalantly.
You looked at her. “What? Why would people feel intimidated by me?”
“It’s because Peter treats you like you’re his girlfriend?”
You scoffed. “Gwen Stacy, that’s a lie and you know it.”
“I’m being serious!” Gwen tucked her leg underneath her. “Peter’s always touching you, like having you hold his arm or sitting close to you when we’re out with friends. He brings you up in conversations a lot and he’s always meeting up with you after he hangs out with his friends. Girls are too intimidated to make a move on Peter because they don’t know if you two are dating or not.”
“Peter does that with everyone,” you retorted. “He does that with you.”
Gwen looked at you as if you had grown another head in front of her.
“Y/N, I love you, but you’re delusional.”
You huffed. “Well, I don’t think choosing to sit next to your friend counts as dating.”
“No, but Peter constantly talks about you. He’s always bringing you up in random conversation if it relates to something you’re interested in and he’s always telling people they should meet you.”
“He’s just being a good friend, then.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “He’s not just being a good friend. Have you tried telling him how you feel?”
“Once,” you said. “It was like, sophomore year of college and I was ready to tell him but he got a call from a girl he had a fling with and ditched me to get pizza with her.”
You grimaced. “So my efforts have been subpar because I know he doesn’t like me back.”
Gwen remained silent. She understood where you were coming from. When she learned about Peter’s infatuation with her through you after the two of you had become friends, it became quite clear how Peter treated you versus other girls. He acted like you were his first priority. Whenever she and Peter would hang out, Peter would find a way to bring you into the discussion or ask Gwen if it would be okay to invite you along. She knew he’d do almost anything you asked and she observed the way he would be at your beck and call, even if it meant leaving her to see if you were doing okay.
So Peter’s actions remained confusing to Gwen. Peter treated you like a significant other without the physical affection. He knew where you’d be at any given time and spoke about you with more grace than a best friend would. A few of Gwen’s friends felt the same and have asked her about the relationship between you two, only to be left confused when she revealed that the two of you weren’t dating.
Gwen didn’t realize that Peter’s infatuation with the barista grew to this extent.
“I think it’s time for me to move on, don’t you?”
Gwen smacked your arm.
“Absolutely not,” she scolded. “I really think there’s something going on between the both of you but he doesn’t know it yet.”
You sighed. “I don’t know, Gwen. I don’t know how much longer I can take hearing him talk about this girl. It hurts too much.” Gwen gave you a reassuring hug and sunk into the sofa beside you.
“I’m free for the rest of the day if you want to stay inside and watch movies all day?” she proposed.
“Yes please,” you groaned. “Except you have to be out by eleven because Peter’s coming over.”
Gwen gave you a look. “Of course he is.”
You grimaced and shut up altogether, knowing that his secret wasn’t yours to tell. While you had friends outside of Peter and Gwen, you considered them to be your closest. It was hard to keep Peter’s secret to yourself because you were often caught in the middle of his second life. Peter came by your apartment most nights and often talked to you about his experience while patrolling.
But you also saw another side of Peter you were sure no one else saw. You saw his exhaustion when he pushed himself to work harder despite sleeping for a few hours every night. He had enormous bags under his eyes every morning after a tiring night and you watched as he used caffeine as his lifeline. You saw his compassion for the citizens of New York and how he was able to incorporate Spider-Man into his life.
You always listened and tried your best to empathize with him. Peter had told you he was Spider-Man nearly a year after he was bitten because he knew you would find out sooner or later. He noticed that you had been so attentive to the fact that he no longer needed glasses and how his stamina had strengthened. You saw his physique grow nearly overnight and how he seemed to be more perceptive than he had been when you first met him. And when Peter visited your apartment in his suit and took his mask off, you weren’t surprised.
In all truth, Peter was thankful for your support. Outside of May, you were the only person who he trusted enough to reveal his identity to. For the rest of senior year, you helped Peter patch himself up before going home and listened to all of his stories. This tradition continued into your years at university and despite having to adjust your sleeping schedule, you wouldn’t change a thing.
However, it became difficult to talk about how helping Peter affected you. Seeing him come back every night with bruises and other injuries broke your heart in more ways than one. You always express your concern with him, but you never expressed just how much. You wanted to hold him until he fell asleep and kiss his worries away. You wanted him to stay over at your place and keep a drawer for him in case he wanted to stay over, but he seldom did. It was only when Peter could barely move did he choose to sleep on the floor despite your protests to take the bed.
Keeping his secret from Gwen was nearly disastrous because you wanted to tell her how seeing him as Spider-Man, and being the only one who knew, affected you to the point where you felt like you couldn’t keep your feelings for him hidden. But you never wanted to sacrifice your friendship, especially since you knew he liked another girl the way you liked him.
Gwen left when Peter let you know he was coming over. You were thankful your roommate was spending time at a friend’s place for the rest of the week when Peter ungracefully stumbled into your room, throwing his mask onto your bed before collapsing on the large bean bag chair.
“I’m exhausted,” he said, running his hand through his hair.
“Any big injuries?” you asked, retrieving your first aid kit from underneath your bed. “I bet I could fight robbers if you get too tired.”
Peter smiled at you and put his hand by his chest.
“You’re like, this tall,” he said. “Teeny tiny.”
“I could still kick their asses.”
“Even when you’re an inch tall?” he asked, his thumb and index finger nearly touching. Peter laughed as you hit his bicep.
“It’s entirely your fault that you’re taller than everyone else in the room, Peter.”
You watched as Peter slipped the top of his suit off of his body. Inch by inch, you could see his skin and his glorious physique peak out from the red and blue suit. You held your breath and tried your best not to stare at his chest, which had a small gash near his collar bone. Peter’s brown hair flopped in front of his eyes as he pushed the fabric to his waist and you watched as he sighed while pushing his head towards the back of the chair. You gulped, seeing Peter’s Adam’s apple in his throat at the way he closed his eyes in exhaustion.
You were distracted by his arms most of the time. His expertly sculpted biceps were prominent in his suit and long sleeve shirts, and you always swooned when Peter would hold his arm out for you. Peter’s lips were parted from being parched and you watched as he swallowed.
“What, do I have something on my face?”
You gulped and watched as he laughed at his joke. Your fingers opened the first aid kit hastily and you nearly dropped it on your way over to Peter. He laughed at your mistake and you avoided his gaze when you took out sanitation. He winced at the cold and searing sensation of the antibacterial liquid and you watched as he bit his lip to keep from making a sound.
“How was it today?” you asked. Peter opened his eyes and looked at you.
“Wasn’t terrible,” he began. “Stopped a few robberies and got flashed with a pocket knife.”
“Small knives are your weakness after all, huh?”
Peter laughed. “I guess so. I would’ve dodged it if I wasn’t so tired.”
You frowned. “You push yourself too hard, you know that?”
“If not me, who else?”
“If you fall from exhaustion, who’s going to finish the job for you?” Peter remained silent. “That’s what I thought.”
Deep down, Peter knew you were right. Between work, his studies, patrolling, and trying to find time socializing with his friends, Peter felt like the world was weighing him down. All Peter wanted to do was give himself a break but he always felt guilty for wanting to take a breather. Who was going to stop petty thieves from stealing from convenience stores? Who’s going to walk people home late at night? Who’s going to continue keeping New York’s crime rate lower than ever before?
“I know that you’re right,” Peter said, “but I can’t stop. New York can’t wait for me to catch my breath.”
“I care about you,” you said. “You know that, right?”
He nodded. “Of course. I care about you too.”
“Then take tomorrow off from patrolling. Relax and do whatever you want for a change. Maybe you won’t get caught off guard by small knives.”
Peter grimaced when you cleaned the wound. He knew you were right and he didn’t want to deny himself from time off. He just needed to cope with feeling guilty when he did.
“Okay,” Peter agreed. “You’re right, Y/N. I could use one night to catch up on sleep. On second thought, I think I might order Chinese takeout and watch movies all night.”
“That’s all you’re gonna do on a Friday night?” you teased, knowing Peter didn’t care much for going out on the weekends.
“Nah,” he said. “If I’m feeling lonely, I’ll call you.”
The butterflies in your stomach erupted when Peter looked at you. His brown eyes were glistening underneath the lights in your bedroom and the tip of his nose was red from the cold air outside. It was like this on the weekends. You could almost always rely on Peter to call you on these nights because he was either out patrolling or inside his apartment playing video games until three in the morning. Peter knew you were always a safe bet because most nights, you were either hanging out in your apartment alone or hanging out in your apartment with your friends. If you were anywhere else, Peter was with you.
Part of the reason why you thought he might’ve reciprocated your feelings was because of this balance between friendship. Peter was stuck by your side since high school and he never questioned it either. It felt natural to be joined at the hip, so much so that you always felt strange when you were with mutual friends and Peter wasn’t there.
Gwen’s reasoning behind Peter harboring feelings for you had to do with how much time the two of you spent together. She almost always saw you with Peter during the day and could count on him crashing girl’s night if he texted you on the weekend. Gwen considered herself to be perceptive of other people and the small habits. For instance, Peter watched you intently when you spoke and always tried his best to get people to listen to you if others weren’t listening. He did his best to include you in plans with mutual friends and he always chose to carry your belongings even if you didn’t need help.
But you chalked it up to Peter being a really good friend. After all, hope that Peter returned your romantic feelings was crushed every time he talked about someone else who wasn’t you.
“I talked to MJ earlier today.”
Your heart sunk again. Your fingers halted their movements as Peter looked beside you with a lopsided grin that you wish was caused by you. The wound was almost clean enough for you to put a Band-Aid on it and you wanted nothing more than to be out of Peter’s peripheral.
“Oh?” you asked quietly, resuming your actions.
“We talked on the phone for what felt like hours,” he said with a light chuckle. “It was before I went out patrolling. She’s really funny and we have a lot of the same interests. MJ’s also a photographer.”
“That’s really cool,” you lied.
“Mhm,” Peter mumbled as you put a Band-Aid over his wound. “I really like her, Y/N. I think I might ask her out next week.”
“Ask her out?”
Your heart plummeted and you could feel tears prick at your eyes.
“Maybe to that Italian place a few blocks from my place,” he considered. “I think that’s a good place, right? It’s casual and not too fancy. I’m thinking of dinner and then maybe some ice cream afterwards. That’s casual, right?”
“It sounds great.”
Peter looked at you.
“This is the part where you’re supposed to tell me if my ideas are stupid or not.”
You sighed. “Peter, every girl is different. Maybe MJ wants dinner and ice cream. Maybe she wants a five star meal and a ride in a helicopter over New York. The whole point is to get to know her interests.”
“Hm,” he said. “Okay, I think that I should probably take her to the Italian place because once time she–”
Peter looked at your eyes and frowned.
“Are your allergies acting up again?” he asked, referring to your watering eyes. You quickly wiped them with the back of your hand and did your best to laugh.
“They’ve been acting up all day,” you lied. “Must be because I forgot to take an allergy pill this morning.”
Peter pouted and you knew he silently scolded you for not taking better care of yourself. The truth, you knew, was that you didn’t forget but you were on the verge of crying in front of him.
Peter had never seen you cry. Not when you failed your first test, not when you had to say goodbye to your parents before moving out of your apartment, and certainly not when you realized Peter was never going to like you the way you like him.
“I should set a reminder, or something. I’m usually good at remembering.”
You stood from your place and watched as Peter put his suit back on, his hands reaching for his mask. His fingers toyed with the hem of the mask and he paced around your room for a moment before looking back up at you.
“Do you think MJ will say yes if I ask her out?”
You looked at him and bit your lip to keep yourself from falling apart.
“Anyone would be lucky to go on a date with you, Peter.”
He smiled at you.
“Thanks, Y/N. You always know what to say.”
Peter waved goodbye and swung out of your window, and you made sure he was out of earshot before you let your tears flow free from its confines.
You didn’t see Peter until two weeks later. He hadn’t made much of an effort to text you throughout the week despite seeing the plethora of delivered messages on your part. It hurt to know that Peter was most likely spending time with Mary Jane when he wasn’t answering you and your mutual friends thought it was peculiar that Peter hadn’t made an effort to spend any time with you either.
“I’m just saying,” Harry Osborne began, “that there’s clearly something weird going on with Peter.”
“It’s not weird, Harry. Peter likes Mary Jane and not me,” you said with a shrug. The truth hurts.
“But that doesn’t mean Peter should ignore you just to hang out with a girl.”
Harry’s loft was much bigger than yours and you found yourself in his apartment more often, accompanied by Gwen and Chinese takeout. The copious amounts of food was sprawled out on his coffee table as the three of you lounged on the couch and loveseat around it, attempting not to spill any food with cheap chopsticks and expensive plates.
The commute to his place consisted of a twenty minute subway ride and a short walk, prompting you to stay in his guest room if you didn’t feel like making the trip back to your apartment. Gwen thought it would be a good idea to spend time outside of your bedroom to avoid putting you in a rut, and your two friends were more than happy to keep you company while you wallowed in your sadness.
You had met Harry a year prior in a shared class and found it easy to get along with him. The man had a sense of humor and kept you from falling asleep in your eight A.M. class, and a friendship was born when you found out he was also friends with Peter. But lately, it seemed that Peter wasn’t talking to Harry as frequently as he used to before. You wondered if Peter was deliberately ignoring you in favor of hanging out with Mary Jane or if he didn’t know how to balance his time between his friendships and his love life, considering this was the first time he expressed great interest in anyone romantically.
“Why are we so interested in this all of a sudden?” you asked. “I thought we were talking about Gwen’s lab accident.”
“Nope, we’re past that,” she said, waving her hand in front of her. “No need to relive that embarrassing moment.”
You rolled your eyes, knowing the conversation shifted not because of her embarrassment but because of their mutual interest in your love life, or lack thereof.
“Peter hasn’t been responding to my texts these past two weeks,” said Harry. “I’m surprised he talked to you on Friday.”
“Y/N’s just special,” Gwen said, moving her chow mein with chopsticks. “Peter can’t live without her.”
“If only that were true,” you said with a humorless laugh.
“I can’t believe nothing has happened between you two since high school.”
“I thought the two of you were together when we first met,” Harry said.
You gave him a look. “You met me before knowing I knew Peter, Harry.”
He shrugged. “I mean, yeah, but the way you two acted around each other made me think you two were dating.”
You gave him a quizzical look.
“Peter almost always brought you up in conversation,” Harry explained. “Every time someone said something that reminded him of you, he’d make it a point to bring you up. Peter’s like, over affectionate when it comes to you.”
“We’ve been friends for almost six years,” you said. “I probably do the same.”
Gwen laughed at the irony.
“And let’s not forget that Peter never lets you pay for anything when you’re out with him.”
“That’s untrue,” you said, rolling your eyes. “We take turns buying food and everything else.”
“But when we’re all hanging out, Peter always offers to cover the cost of your coffee or dinner, or whatever it is.”
You couldn’t argue with that. You always offered to pay Peter but he said he owed you for helping him as Spider-Man and for keeping his secret, even though you would’ve done the same without compensation.
“Lastly,” Harry said, pointing his finger at you, “Peter always has to be near you.”
“Sitting next to you,” Gwen contributed. “Having you hold his arm when we walk somewhere.”
“Opening the door for you—”
“He’s just being nice,” you interrupted.
Harry rolled his eyes at you. You started to think your friends might lose their eyes with how much they were doing that.
“Peter talks about you like you’ve been married for forty years,” said Harry.
You shrugged. “That’s just how we are, I guess. We’ve always been close since high school, so it’s probably because we’ve known each other for so long.”
“You are so adorable when you’re in denial,” Gwen cooed.
“I’m not in denial,” you said. “I’m just trying to live with the truth. Every time I want to tell him, he talks about other girls.”
“Ouch,” Harry muttered.
“I’m just scared he’s going to ditch me for someone else,” you sighed. “I’m trying to get over this stupid crush I have on him but if he ignores me for a girl, I think that’ll be the thing the breaks my heart.”
“I don’t think Peter would ever do that,” Gwen offered. “We all know how he is. Loyal to a T.”
It was times like this where you wished you could tell Gwen and Harry about his escapades as Spider-Man. He hadn’t told them yet, that much you knew. But you wanted to tell them how he hadn’t been visiting you after patrolling when that was the norm. You desperately wanted Gwen’s trusted advice and Harry’s opinion as a guy, but Peter’s secret wasn’t yours to tell.
The idea of being the only person who knew that part of Peter’s life was weighing on your shoulders because no matter how worried you were when he came home with injuries, you weren’t going to talk about it to alleviate your stress. You couldn’t talk to your friends, your therapist, or anyone else. You could only talk to Peter about it to an extent, but even he didn’t understand the extent of how much it affected you.
You always rationalized that what he was dealing with was far greater than your worries. Peter always put his safety at risk to help the city he loved so much while you waited for him to come home. But your anxiety about whether he was going to be alive or not ate at you, and you couldn’t talk about it to anyone. The pang in your chest never went away.
On the day you saw Peter next, you were disheartened to see that he was accompanied by Mary Jane.
“Peter!” you said, realizing that he had walked into the coffee shop by Harry’s apartment.
“Oh, hey,” Peter said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Didn’t expect to see you over here.”
You shrugged. “I’m hanging out with Harry and Gwen, and drew the short stick for a coffee run.”
“Harry Osborne and Gwen Stacy?” Mary Jane spoke looking at Peter. “I think you’ve told me about them.”
You looked beside him to see Mary Jane linking her arm with his. You could see her grip tighten on his bicep at the interaction between you and Peter, but you smiled nonetheless.
“Mary Jane, right?” you asked after a brief pause.
She pursed her lips and nodded, holding her hand up to give you a meek wave.
“That’s me,” she said before looking at your best friend. “Peter, who is this?”
You tried your best to keep the shock below the surface, considering she had seen you at the coffee shop she works at with Peter. Perhaps it was presumptuous of you to assume he would have mentioned you throughout the few weeks that he had been talking to Mary Jane, but you were more than surprised at the fact that he hadn’t mentioned you at all. You thought it was strange at how Peter was acting, almost as if you caught him red handed.
Mary Jane looked at Peter with utter confusion as he bit his lip and shifted from one foot to the other. His free hand ran itself through his hair as she waited for an answer and you raised your eyebrow at him.
“This is Y/N. She’s just a friend,” he said nonchalantly.
“Ah,” was all Mary Jane offered before giving you a forced smile.
“Peter and I go way back,” you said childishly, hurt over his weak attempt at an introduction. “We’ve been friends since high school.”
“Oh, Peter’s never mentioned you,” Mary Jane replied.
“I’m sure he hasn’t,” you said as politely as you could while gritting your teeth. You looked at Peter, who looked elsewhere when you heard your name being called.
Grateful for the distraction, you separated yourself from the pair and walked back to Harry’s apartment without saying goodbye.
The coffee stray felt heavy in your hands when Harry let you into the apartment complex and by the time you reached his loft, you had to hand it over to Harry before collapsing on the couch with your head by your knees.
“What happened?” Gwen asked, concerned. She sat beside you and Harry, discarding the coffee on the table, paid attention to your posture when he heard you sigh.
“I just ran into Peter and Mary Jane,” you said with a shallow breath, lifting your head to meet your friends’ gazes.
“Oh,” Harry offered, sitting on the other side of you.
“Peter barely acknowledged me when I said hi to him,” you explained. Harry could see your eyes growing red with every second passing and pulled you into his side while Gwen held your hand. “It was like he didn’t want to be seen with me.”
“That doesn’t sound like Peter at all,” Harry said, annoyed at his friend’s actions.
“She didn’t seem too pleased to see a girl walk up to Peter either,” you explained. “I don’t want to sound like a jealous, petty friend or anything, but it hurt that Peter never talked about me to her. It was like he didn’t want her to know that we’re friends.”
“Oh, Y/N,” Harry said, tightening his grip on you.
“Mary Jane mentioned the both of you by name,” you said in distress. “That goes to show that Peter’s been talking about his friends but he never mentioned me at all.”
“You have every right to be upset,” Gwen confirmed.
“I felt so stupid standing there,” you said. “It was like Peter was too embarrassed to be seen with me because he didn’t make any eye contact until I had to leave to pick up the coffee. Why did he do that? What gives?”
“That’s weird,” Gwen commented. “You ran into them at the coffee shop?”
You sighed and nodded. “Yeah. She’s very beautiful.”
Harry and Gwen remained silent for a moment. They were undoubtedly confused by Peter’s actions because in the time that they knew the both of you, it always seemed like Peter favored you over everyone else. Purposely not mentioning you, his best friend, while mentioning people he hadn’t known for as long, was peculiar. Neither Harry nor Gwen had met Mary Jane but they weren’t too keen on asking Peter for an introduction any time soon.
Gwen watched as you sniffled and handed you a tissue with a soft smile as Harry did his best to comfort you in an embrace. His chin rested at the top of your head while he looked at Gwen, who was equally as confused by Peter’s actions.
“He’s pathetic,” Harry said bitterly.
“We’ve never had a fight,” you admitted. “Not a serious fight, anyway. But to go so far as to ignore me for a girl and pretend I don’t exist when I run into him is just…stressful. I feel like my heart got hit by a truck.”
“I’ll go down there right now and kick his ass,” Gwen said through her teeth.
“Gwen and I are co-presidents of the Peter Parker Hate Club,” Harry said.
“I feel like I’m losing him.”
“Best friends shouldn’t make you feel shitty,” Gwen said, giving your hand another gentle squeeze. “Peter should be proud to introduce you to the people he’s talking to. You’ve been his best friend since high school, watched him grow out of his shell, and have so many awkward teenage stories to tell.”
“Yeah.” You sighed, detangling yourself from Harry. “I just need a second.”
Harry and Gwen watched as you locked yourself in his bathroom and looked at each other knowingly.
“Do you think Peter’s afraid that Mary Jane will think they’re dating?” Harry asked. “I mean, it makes sense. Everyone always mistakes them for a couple.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Gwen agreed. “Part of me thinks Peter didn’t want them to meet because he and Y/N are naturally so close.”
“That, or…” Harry trailed off.”
He shook his head. “Or maybe Peter has feelings for Y/N but he’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Think about it,” he started. “Peter and Y/N have always been mistaken for a couple. Maybe Peter got tired of only being friends and started hanging out with Mary Jane to get over Y/N.”
Gwen considered the thought and if she was being honest with herself, she wouldn’t put it above Peter to act like that. In the couple of years that she knew Peter, she was aware that he liked to deal with his problems by himself.
“I guess so,” she mumbled. “I wouldn’t put it past him to do that.”
“I just wish we could do something so that Y/N doesn’t have to see Mary Jane and Peter together,” Harry said. “That’s a bit unrealistic, isn’t it?”
In the weeks following your introduction to Mary Jane, it’s almost as if you couldn’t outrun her. She seems to be everywhere you go even if Peter wasn’t with her. You stopped going to the coffee shop she works at but you still see her by Harry’s apartment, at the grocery store, and around campus.
But what hurt the most wasn’t the reminder that Peter wasn’t yours, it was the fact that Peter hadn’t made an effort to talk about you, coupled with the fact that Mary Jane ignored you every time you were around.
If you were eating lunch with Peter, he would leave you behind in favor of seeing Mary Jane. If you were with a group of mutual friends, Mary Jane would edge you out of the conversation and maneuver you away from Peter. You hadn’t realized it until Gwen started to point it out because while Mary Jane was a conversationalist with her, she had barely acknowledged your presence.
Harry soon took notice of her actions. She’d divert the conversation if you were included and attempted to place herself in Peter’s view to take the attention off of you. It was childish at best, Harry considered, that she would go so far as to make you feel excluded from the conversation despite not having gotten to know you. He was upset at Peter for being oblivious to all of her actions. It went so far as Mary Jane making a backhanded comment about you and Peter laughing in agreement, and when Harry noticed anxiety and hurt taking over you, he decided that Peter wasn’t worth having around as a friend if he was going to continue acting like this.
You weren’t sure how long your friendship with Peter would last if you continued to have romantic feelings for him and if Mary Jane continued to push you out of Peter’s life.
You found yourself at Harry’s apartment with him and Gwen again, but it was a Sunday night and you needed to get back to your apartment before your Monday classes. Much to Harry and Gwen’s dismay, you decided to go back to your apartment for the night. Your roommate was out of the apartment again and you were thankful that she wouldn’t be able to hear you cry throughout the night.
But much to your dismay, Peter landed on your fire escape.
He opened your window carefully when he saw your headphones in. You saw him almost instantly and didn’t bother to close your laptop or take your headphones out to greet him. Instead, you chose to remain underneath your bed covers and continue paying attention to the media in front of you.
“Come on,” Peter sighed, taking his mask off and closing the window behind me. “I’m a little hurt, okay? I didn’t know where else to go because I ran out of bandages.
You breathed heavily and looked at him from above your laptop monitor. Without a word, you closed your computer and grabbed the first aid kit, waiting for Peter to take his suit off to tend to his wounds. Peter watched as you remained wordless as he sat on your chair and sank into the cushion.
“Easy!” Peter exclaimed when you started to clean his wound by his temple.
You looked at him before resuming your work.
“Patrolling was fine, thanks for asking,” Peter said sarcastically. “Only a few punches and scrapes from being punched around. That’s all.”
“I don’t know why you expect me to feel sorry for you when you do that every night,” you said articulately. Peter frowned.
“Are you okay? What’s with the attitude?” Peter asked.
“What’s with the attitude?” you repeated, halting your movements. “You don’t introduce me, your best friend since you were sixteen, to the girl you’re talking to but she knows Harry and Gwen by name. You barely paid any attention to me when I said hello to you a few weeks ago and you’ve been ignoring me since the last time you were here.”
“That’s why you’re mad?” Peter asked, laughing in disbelief. “Come on, Y/N. It’s not a big deal. And I wasn’t ignoring you, I’ve just been busy.”
“It’s a huge fucking deal, Peter,” you retorted. “I felt like you thought I wasn’t worth mentioning.”
“Don’t say that,” he said, adjusting himself in the seat. “I’ve been hanging out with MJ a lot recently. You don’t get a say in who I hang out with and who I don’t.”
“That’s not the point, Peter,” you said. He raised his eyebrow and could hear your hard tone.
“Then what’s your point?”
“You’ve been ignoring Harry and Gwen also. You’ve been spending so much time with Mary Jane that you’ve forgotten you have other friends.”
“So I’m the bad guy for wanting to spend time with the girl I like? Why can’t you be happy for me?” Peter asked.
You dropped the cotton ball in the trash and stood from your spot, not bothering to clean the rest of his wounds.
“Peter, you don’t make time for any of us. You ignore me for two weeks and then you come back to my apartment and expect me to patch you up and ignore how I feel.”
“That’s our agreement!” Peter exclaimed, standing from his seat to stand in front of you. “You always said you’ll be there for me when I need it the most, and I need you tonight.”
“I don’t want to be at your beck and call when you need me,” you said. “Not when I can’t get a word from you in two weeks. That’s unfair.”
“I’m out there every night risking my life for New York,” Peter retorted. “The least you could do is help me when I’m injured. It’s not that hard.”
You looked at Peter pointedly and laughed sarcastically.
“Do you know how hard it is to keep your identity a secret?” you asked. “I can’t talk to anyone about how worried I am about you whenever you put the suit on. I can’t tell anyone about how I feel because your secret is not mine to tell.”
“Do you know how hard it is to carry this entire city on my fucking back?” Peter argued, crossing his arms. “All you’re doing is sitting in your apartment while I’m out there fighting crime. Don’t fucking talk to me about keeping my identity a secret and having to carry that burden.”
You could feel your lips quiver. Peter had never raised his voice at you for the duration of your friendship and you were nearly ready to push him out of the window yourself.
“Why is it that you let Mary Jane make fun of me?” you asked with hurt in your tone. “Why do you let her push me out of conversations? Why do you let her exclude me from hanging out with our friends?”
“Y/N,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re being ridiculous. MJ’s not like that.”
“You don’t see it, Peter,” you sighed. “You are so blinded by your infatuation with her that you don’t see how she makes backhanded compliments at my expense.”
“You know, I have never thought of you to be the mean type, but you’re being awfully pathetic right now,” Peter spat. “I have more than enough room for more than one girl in my life, Y/N.”
“And I’m not saying you can’t have other friends who are women,” you pointed out, “but don’t you think it’s crossing a line when she’s being blatantly rude to me in front of you and all of our friends?”
“Now you’re just making shit up,” Peter said. “If you’re jealous, just fucking say it.”
“I’m not jealous, Peter. I’m hurt.”
“You don’t get to say that when you’ve been a bitch to her right back,” he said. “MJ complains that you never invite her to anything and that you talk shit about her behind your back. She heard you talking about her to Gwen yesterday.”
“That’s bullshit!” you argued. “I’ve never said anything bad about her. She’s the one who keeps prodding me to say something bad about her in public, Peter. Don’t you see it? Don’t you notice when she tries to pick an argument with me when you’re around?”
“That’s not true.”
“Does she even know that you’re Spider-Man? Why are you defending her like this?”
“You’re fucking delusional,” Peter said, putting his mask on.
Your heart sank. Peter had never spoken to you like this and always tried his best to understand where your feelings came from and you couldn’t understand why he was defending someone without considering how you felt. You bit your bottom lip as it quivered to keep yourself from crying in front of him, watching as he opened your window.
“So that’s it?” you asked. “You’re going to leave this unresolved and go back to your apartment?”
“I’m going to go to MJ’s place because she’s more of a friend than you are.”
He shut the window behind him and as you watched him swing away before crawling back into bed, choosing to ignore how your heart fell to the bottom of your stomach.
“What a fucking idiot,” Harry said, anger clear in his voice.
Harry had visited you at your apartment after you sent multiple voice messages to your group chat the morning after Peter left. Gwen, who was stuck at work until later that evening, sent you well wishes.
The bowl of pasta in your lap was cold after many attempts at eating on Harry’s suggestion. It was half full when you put it aside, favoring the carbonation of La Croix to avoid pulling out wine and drinking it at eleven in the morning. Your roommate was caught up on the recent events, vowing to punch Peter in the jaw if he ever came to the apartment when you weren’t here. She left for work an hour after Harry arrived and you’d been sitting on your bed with him next to you ever since.
“I don’t think I’ve experienced true heartbreak until now,” you said, sniffling as Harry paused the television show and put your laptop on the floor. “This is Peter, you know? We’ve always been there for each other and I was there for him when he found out he was—”
You stopped talking, instead sighing and blowing your nose.
“He was what?” Harry asked.
You shook your head. “I’ve always been there for Peter whenever he needed me and he’s always done the same for me. I don’t know why a girl had to come between us.”
“Peter’s a piece of shit for saying those things to you,” he said. “I’m sorry he did.”
“I would’ve gotten over him,” you said pointedly, not believing yourself for a moment. “I would’ve been okay with him dating a nice girl. But Mary Jane always has something to say about me, you know? I can handle bullshit said to my face but it hurts that Peter doesn't defend me.”
“He’s throwing away your friendship for a girl he’s known for a month,” Harry scoffed, crossing his legs underneath him.
“It was always us against everyone else,” you said quietly. “May never questioned when I came over because we were so close. I’ve always had this soft spot for him, even before we became close friends, and I always thought I’d get the right chance to tell him how I feel.
But every time I went to say something, Peter always talked about other girls and about how he wanted to experiment with girls and break out of his shell. Who am I to stop him from doing that?”
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Harry said, nudging your side. “I wish I could tell you the right thing.”
“All I know is I want to do something this weekend to forget about him,” you declared. “I don’t really care what, I just want to be drunk and not think about Peter.”
“My friend is throwing a party not too far from my place,” he suggested. “Rich kid, good alcohol, and a huge house. It’s probably the best place for what you’re thinking.”
You clapped your hands together and stood from your bed, opening your closet. You picked out a dark green mini dress, holding it up for Harry to see.
“I bought this dress a few months ago but never got the chance to wear it,” you said. “It goes with all of my gold jewelry.”
“I can see if Gwen wants to come,” he said, texting the group chat. “Do you want to come get ready at my place?”
“You’re a godsend,” you praised, putting the dress back in your closet.
“Don’t say I didn’t do anything for you,” Harry joked. “We’re going to have fun and enjoy free alcohol.”
“Exactly,” you said, nodding and sitting back next to him. “I’m not even going to think about Peter Fucking Parker.”
By the time the weekend came, you and Gwen had arrived at Harry’s with takeout and opened a bottle of expensive tequila for pregame shots. By the time you were finished getting ready, your confidence had skyrocketed and you were thankful for friends who would be there to help you forget about Peter. Your hair was straight and no strand was out of place. You commanded yourself not to cry and ruin the makeup you had delicately placed on yourself, and your lipgloss alone gave you the confidence to walk into a stranger’s house like you owned it.
The place was already loud from the outside and you weren’t used to security outside of the building. Harry had flashed them a smile and they seemed to recognize him, allowing the three of you entry without a second thought. Harry had temporarily left you and Gwen to your own devices to say hello to his friends before returning to drag you to the bar, ordering cocktail after cocktail.
You felt good and free of Peter’s opinion of you. You nearly forgot about the unresolved fight that Peter had ignored when he left you alone in your apartment to deal with the residual feelings yourself. You’d spend the next few weeks trying to be okay with the fact that Peter hadn’t made an effort to reach out to you despite your efforts to mend what you thought was broken. But if Peter didn’t want to be your friend anymore, you didn’t want to be his.
You felt your phone buzz while you were in the bathroom.
harry osborne: peter’s here
harry osborne: fuck, i didn’t think he’d be here. it’s not his scene.
gwen stacy: must be mary jane who got an invite
harry osborne: y/n im so sorry. we can leave right now if you want ):
y/n y/l/n: no, it’s okay. we came here to have fun and i’m not letting peter ruin my night
gwen stacy: yay for getting drunk with my friends!!!!!
harry osborne: *best friends
gwen stacy: also fuck peter parker
harry osborne laughed at “also fuck peter parker”
y/n y/l/n: i’ll be out in a sec
You stepped out of the bathroom after touching up your lip gloss and found Harry. Gwen had disappeared to refill her cup when you saw Peter looking at you.
Your ears rang. The music suddenly became too loud when you caught his eye. Mary Jane draped herself on his arm, her hand in his as she tried to pull him in a different direction. But Peter planted himself on the floor when he saw you in that olive green short dress, looking much different than he remembered you. The last place Peter expected you to be was at an acquaintance of Mary Jane’s, who had a reputation for throwing lavish parties that lasted until the sun came up, but there you were in all your glory.
You had to admit, Peter looked good. His hair was unruly in the best way and he wore a form-fitting shirt that exemplified his physique. His brown eyes seemed to be locked onto you until Harry put his hand on the small of your back. Peter watched Harry, dressed in a black turtleneck, black slacks, and a single gold chain around his neck, touch you. Peter clenched his jaw when Harry’s much taller frame looked down at you in concern until his eyes met Peter’s.
You didn’t have to think twice about letting Harry guide you away from Peter.
“Peter is not responsible for how I feel and I refuse to let him have such a big effect on me. I can have fun with my two best friends and forget about him for tonight. Can we do that?”
“Atta girl,” Harry said, nudging your side with his elbow. “Let me introduce you to a few of my friends.”
Peter, on the other hand, felt like his breath was knocked out of him. He was reluctant to go to a party because aside from Mary Jane, he didn’t know anyone and felt like he’d consider himself an outsider the entire time. But she begged him to go and he didn’t have the heart to tell her no.
He was surprised to see you there, wondering how you managed to get into the party. Peter swore that you were the only person he saw in the room the moment he made eye contact with you, dressed in clothes he never thought he’d ever see you in. You looked somewhat distraught upon seeing him and Peter could tell you were trying to keep your composure.
But when he saw Harry touch you, Peter saw red. He didn’t want Harry to touch you in any way and he was angry at him for pulling you away from him.
“Let’s get a drink,” Mary Jane suggested.
“Yeah,” he said. “Sure, we can get a drink.”
An hour into the party and he cursed himself for being able to find you in a crowded room. The open balcony was big enough to host half of the party and you sat outside while Peter remained inside. You were sitting on a chair’s armrest while Harry was keeping you upright by letting his arm drape around your waist. Were the two of you seeing each other? If so, how long was it happening? How come you didn’t tell him, and why was he so jealous?
Mary Jane’s hand slid upwards towards the top of his thigh and he gave her a pointed look. She pouted when Peter took her hand off of his thigh and shook his head. Throughout the night, Mary Jane tried her best to pull Peter’s eyes back on her. When she saw that you occupied his attention, she scoffed and maneuvered herself so she was sitting in his line of sight.
Peter stared at Mary Jane in confusion.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“You haven’t been paying attention to me all night,” she complained with a pout.
“I told you I didn’t want to come,” he said. “But I came anyway.”
“You keep looking at Y/N,” she said, crossing her arms.
“I’m just spacing out,” Peter tried to defend. He could see Harry’s grip on you as you tried to stand, pulling you back down to your seat.
“You aren’t,” Mary Jane said, rolling her eyes. “Ever since we met Y/N a few weeks ago, you’ve been so preoccupied with thinking about her and you haven’t been paying any attention to me. It’s always ‘Y/N this and Y/N that,’ and it’s getting fucking annoying.”
His head snapped towards her.
“What did you just say?”
“Be honest, Peter,” you said, patting his knee. “Y/N’s really annoying with the way she tries to be friends with your friends. It’s kind of pathetic to watch her try to insert herself in our friend group when she’s clearly not wanted.”
“Why would you say that?” Peter asked, leaning back to hear if he heard Mary Jane correctly. “Y/N is my best friend and she was Harry and Gwen’s friend before yours.”
“She’s clearly in love with you and trying to break us up,” Mary Jane complained. Peter looked at you behind her head and back to Mary Jane.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s so obvious, Peter. She’s in love with you and has been trying to get me out of the picture ever since we met.”
When Peter really thought about it, he couldn't think of a time when you had done what Mary Jane accused you of. He thought about all the times you ate lunch with them or happened to go out with all of your mutual friends, and not once could he remember a time where you didn’t mind your own business despite Mary Jane insisting on speaking ill about you.
If Peter was being honest with himself, he was trying to get over you through Mary Jane. He was so sure that you didn’t like him the way he liked you and tried his best to forget how he felt whenever he saw you. Peter denied his feelings for so long that he fooled himself by thinking he was over you, but seeing you with Harry’s arm around your waist was enough to make him see ultimate red.
“Don’t talk about Y/N like that,” he said sternly. “You don’t get to say anything about her when she’s never said anything about you.”
“What, you’re defending her now?” Mary Jane scoffed.
“Y/N has been my best friend since I was sixteen and the reason why we got into our first fight was because you were telling me lies,” Peter said. He couldn’t believe it took him until now to realize that you were telling the truth and he had pushed you away in the process.
“Peter,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Y/N’s just a girl. Forget about her.”
Peter stood up when Mary Jane’s hands touched his chest. She looked at him in surprise and followed suit. Peter scowled at the girl in front of him.
“She’s not just a girl, MJ. She’s Y/N, my best friend who has always been there for me even if I fuck up. She has been the only person who’d been there for me through thick and thin and I pushed her away just to make you happy.”
Mary Jane could see Peter’s cheeks turn red with anger.
“Enough talking,” he snapped. “You’ve been telling me lies about Y/N and I always thought she was the childish one. I now know that was you.”
He turned to walk away when she caught his arms, but he shrugged her off.
“Peter, please,” she pleaded. “Let’s leave this party and talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about!” he exclaimed. “I need to make things right with Y/N.”
Peter didn’t give her a second thought as he fought his way through the crowd of people before finding you laughing at something one of Harry’s friends said. When said friend left, Peter took it as a cue. He took a deep breath and timidly walked to where you sat, but he was met with angry looks from Gwen and Harry.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Harry asked.
“I wanted to talk to Y/N. All of you, actually,” he said, running his hand through his hair.
“This isn’t the time nor place,” Harry said.
“What he said,” Gwen agreed.
“I’ve been a shit friend to all of you,” he admitted, watching as you avoided his gaze. He wasn’t sure if the partygoers were listening, but realized they might’ve been too drunk to care.
“You’ve been ignoring us for a month to go off with your fling,” Gwen said quickly. “You don’t get to act regretful just because it didn’t work out.”
“Y/N,” he said, pleading with you.
“You don’t get to talk,” you said, feeling yourself sobering up. You stood from your spot and Peter gulped. “I have been nothing but patient with you ever since we met. I have supported you with every decision you have ever made because I’ve always believed in you and I thought you believed the same about me.
But to ignore me for some girl you just met? I would have supported you if you didn’t ignore me like I was someone who wasn’t important to you, Peter! What makes you think that you can expect me to take care of you when you couldn’t even text me back?”
“Save it, Parker,” you spat. He widened his eyes. You never called him by his last name.
“It’s like you said. All you do is risk your life for New York while I stay in my bedroom waiting for you to come home to me. We clearly aren’t on the same page.”
Gwen and Harry thought you were referring to his position as the Daily Bugle’s photographer. Peter knew you were talking about Spider-Man.
He watched as you marched away from him and felt like his heart had been ripped out. This feeling was confirmed when Gwen and Harry had run after you without sparing him a second glance, and he didn’t know how he could fix it.
Peter left the party heartbroken and couldn’t help but wonder if you felt this way the night he left your apartment.
“She doesn’t want anything to do with you, Peter,” Harry said.
Two days after the party, Peter walked to your apartment in hopes of apologizing and was lucky to catch the door as someone was leaving. He figured a couple of days would be enough time between conversations. He was stunned to see Harry inside of your apartment when he knocked. He hadn’t recalled the two of you being this close and started to panic, wondering if he was too late.
“Look Harry, I—”
“No, Peter,” Harry interrupted. “You hurt Y/N badly and she needs space before she can process whatever it is you want to say to her.”
“Please,” Peter pleaded. “I fucked up badly, I know that now.”
“Did you know that when you ignored her for Mary Jane?” Harry pressed. “Or when you called her a bad friend for expressing how she felt despite you not liking it?”
Peter was quiet. He knew Harry was right.
“Go home, Peter. I know you didn’t mean to hurt her, but what’s done is done. Y/N needs some space right now and one conversation isn’t going to fix what you did.”
His breath caught in the back of his throat. Peter willed himself to pull back, nodding in defeat as he took a step towards the end of the hallway. But he turned around just before Harry was about to close the door.
“I’m sorry for ignoring you too,” he said. “And Gwen. I’m sorry for being a shit friend and there’s no excuse for it. I’m really sorry.”
Harry pursed his lips and nodded.
“I know how you are,” he said quietly. “I forgive you, Peter.”
Harry closed the door, leaving Peter with his thoughts.
Peter wasn’t sure how long he was supposed to let you be alone for. If it were up to him, he’d put his suit on and climb through your window so that he could apologize properly. But Peter knew this was something he had to fix as Peter Parker, not Spider-Man. He knew deep down that you were never in it because of his alias—you were supporting him because you believed he could do great things. Peter knew your friendship was unconditional because he felt the same way about you.
A week and a half later, Peter found himself sitting alone in his apartment, looking at photos of you he had taken on his camera. He missed you and wanted to apologize for his actions and his mistakes first and foremost because the only way he could mend his heart was to try to mend yours. Peter missed your wit and how well you were able to keep up with his sarcasm. He missed the way you fell asleep during movie marathons and he missed how easy being around you felt.
When Peter heard a knock at his front door, he was perplexed.
“Harry?” he said in surprise when he opened the door.
“Can I come in?”
Peter stepped aside and watched as Harry looked around his apartment.
“I want to apologize again,” Peter began. “I was a shit friend ignoring you and I really value you as a friend.”
Harry put his hand on Peter’s shoulders. “I’ve already forgiven you. Gwen told me you gave her the same speech and that was enough.”
Peter visibly relaxed. “Oh good, because—”
“But you should apologize to Y/N soon.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to know what to say,” said Harry. “Y/N’s been upset because she thinks you don’t want to be her friend anymore, Peter. You need to prove her wrong because I know you love her.”
Peter’s gaze snapped towards his friend.
“You’ve loved her since you were kids,” Harry chuckled. “It’s pretty obvious. I didn’t want to believe you liked Mary Jane like you said you did because you always treated Y/N like you had been dating since you were sixteen. Mary Jane was jealous of her.”
“What?” Peter asked again. “What do you mean?”
“Mary Jane saw Y/N as a threat. She knew you were close to Y/N and needed to get her out of the picture before she felt comfortable talking to you, Peter.”
Harry looked at Peter.
“Mary Jane knew you loved Y/N even though you were denying it yourself.”
“I can’t believe I fooled myself for so long,” he said, shaking his head. “I need to tell Y/N how sorry I am and make it up to her.”
“Do it soon,” Harry advised before leaving the apartment. “And Peter? She feels the same.”
Peter didn’t know if Harry was telling the truth.
Later that night, Peter found himself at your front door after catching your roommate on the way out of the building. He could still feel the heavy warning she gave him but decided to risk it anyway. He knocked twice and could hear your footsteps from the other side of the door, hesitant to open it.
“Might as well let me in,” he said with a light laugh. Peter could hear you huff but he was pleased that you opened it anyway.
“Go home, Peter,” you said.
“Y/N, we need to talk about this. I want to fix my mistake because I hurt you and I want to apologize for it.”
Peter made his way into your apartment and you were about to protest until he spoke again.
“I was an idiot and a fool to push you away for another girl,” Peter began. “You’ve been there for me since before I found out I was Spider-Man and you’ve always supported me when I needed you the most. It was stupid of me to think I could compare what we’re going through. Most of all, I’m sorry for all those things I said to you months ago. You are the most important person in my life and I can’t begin to tell you how much I regret treating you like you weren’t.”
“Then why push me away, Peter?” you asked.
He looked at his hands. “I don’t have a good reason, Y/N. I just know that I love you too much to let this go unresolved. I hope I’m not too late.”
You were silent for a moment.
“You really hurt me, Peter,” you said. “I spent so much time trying to get you to be my friend again but it’s like you dropped off of the face of the Earth. I felt like you put your relationship with Mary Jane above our friendship, Peter.
“I’d never ask you to choose between me and somebody else. It just sucked that you couldn’t make me a priority like I did for you.”
Peter looked at you through his lashes and saw you breathing slowly, careful to choose your words. He stood by your front door and you had closed it by now, his hands in his pockets as he let what you said sink into himself.
He regretted pushing distance between the two of you to pursue a relationship even though he thought that was what he needed to do in order to get over you. But hearing Harry’s comment about how you were hurting and seeing your apartment looking much cleaner than before—he knew you were an anxious cleaner—made him think otherwise. Peter wanted desperately for things to be like the way they were before he met Mary Jane. He’d take unrequited pining over losing you as his best friend.
“I’m sorry,” was all Peter could say.
He held his breath for the silent beat that passed.
“I know,” you said softly. You took Peter’s hand in yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I forgive you, Peter. But I need time to heal from this.”
“It’s our first fight and I’m stupid for being the one to start it,” said Peter.
You scrunched your nose and nodded. “Yeah, I’m not gonna argue with that.”
“Are we okay? I know you said you needed time, but…am I still allowed to ask you to hang out?”
“Of course,” you said, dropping his hand in favor of embracing him.
Peter was thankful that you were willing to work it through with him when he knew he didn’t deserve your kindness. He inhaled, smelling your lavender perfume as he nuzzled his cheek on the crown of your head. Peter always loved the height difference—he liked being able to protect you from minimal danger and he loved the way you fit in between his arms. Peter’s heart was racing and he was sure you could feel his heart pounding in his chest with how close you were.
Truthfully, it was hard for you to ignore your feelings for him. You wanted to push him out of your apartment and have the neighbors hear your angry monologue, but you wanted him back as your best friend more.
“Gwen, Harry, and I are getting breakfast tomorrow morning, if you’d like to come.”
“I’d really like that,” Peter said instantly. “Only if they’re okay with it too.”
“Gwen’s the one who told me to ask you,” you mumbled. “I mean, I want you there too.”
“I’ll be there,” he said. “I’ll even pay the bill.”
“Now, I don’t think you have the money to do that.”
Peter was relieved to hear you joking with him.
“Nah,” Peter said, waving you off. “Just got paid at work. I put in overtime and I can definitely cover tomorrow’ breakfast.”
“If you’re buying, I might order one of everything.”
Peter laughed and a comfortable silence fell between the two of you.
“I’ll text you the time and place,” you said as you opened the door for him. “Don’t be late.”
Peter had become on good terms with Gwen and Harry in the weeks after the party but you weren’t sure where you were with him. His efforts were extravagant at best, leaving you alone after his patrols to sleep and trying his best to resume the friendship the two of you shared before he met Mary Jane. You wanted to put your faith in him like you did before but you weren’t confident in your decision to do that just yet.
Peter was aching for your touch. His feelings for you had resurfaced when you allowed him back into your life. He was tentative about asking you to hold onto his arm like you used to, but he was more than willing to do whatever you asked, whenever. Peter knew he was falling into old habits again, admiring you from afar but wishing he could do something about it.
Your feelings for Peter never disappeared and increased tenfold when Gwen helped you recognize how much of an effort Peter was making.
It was a Saturday night when you called Peter.
“Y/N?” he asked, his voice raspy from just waking up.
“Sorry,” you replied. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Had a rough night patrolling,” he admitted. “I’m not hurt, I’m just exhausted more than usual.”
“You can come back,” you offered quietly. “To my window, I mean. My first aid kit hasn’t been touched in ages.”
“I can’t ask you to patch me up when I’m trying to be your best friend again,” Peter responded. “It isn’t fair of me to need you when I’m trying to make things right.”
You bit your lip. Unsure of why you became overtaken with emotion, you let a tear slip onto your cheek. It was the weight of forgiveness that made you realize how much you wanted Peter like before. Peter was your person, just as you were his.
Peter’s heart was pounding in his chest despite having just woken up. He panicked when he saw your contact photo on the screen of his phone and desperately hoped he sounded more awake than he anticipated. Peter’s elbows ached from propping himself up on his mattress and he was listening intently when he heard you sniffle.
“Come back home,” you whispered. “I miss you, Peter. I-I think I love you.”
Peter gulped. He couldn’t find the right words to say over the phone when he couldn’t see your face. He wanted to tell you that he loved you too and that all he ever wanted was to kiss you every night before you went to bed. Peter couldn’t fathom that you would ever feel the same way and he never prepared for the day that you told him you loved him.
He imagined your faint whisper and the way you never liked to cry in front of him. He imagined you sitting alone in your bed or pacing your room when you couldn’t sleep, and all Peter could do was stand from his bed and put clothes on.
“I’m coming over.”
Peter hung up his phone and wasted no time running to your apartment.
The light in your window was faint, the desk lamp being the only source of light in your room besides the moonlight outside. Peter was pleased to see the window still open and hastily climbed inside your warm apartment, shivering from the cold and because he forgot his sweater. He watched as you stood from your spot on the bed and wiped a tear from the corner of your eyes before letting your arms wrap themselves around his neck, balancing yourself on your toes.
Peter’s arms were around your waist as he held you tightly to his chest, his breath heavy with nervousness. His cheeks were red because of the cold, but he knew they would remain that way because of how hard he was blushing.
Peter pulled your arms from him to meet your gaze with his, letting the palm of his hands cup your jawline. The pad of his thumbs smoothed themselves over the apples of your cheeks as Peter watched your glistening eyes underneath the New York moonlight before pressing soft kisses where your tears once were.
You closed your eyes, basking in his delicate touch. Peter kissed your right cheek, then your left. He kissed both of your eyelids and your temples one by one, kissing your forehead after you had opened your eyes.
“I’m in love with you,” Peter whispered. “I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen. I’ve been in love with you since the day you took the liberty to make a portfolio of my photographs and sent them to the Daily Bugle. I’ve loved you ever since Aunt May caught you walking out of my room, even though we were studying for our calculus test.
“I’ve been so in love with you for as long as I can remember and I was an idiot to push you away. I always thought you wouldn’t see me as anything more than your friend, and for that, I’m sorry.”
“I’ve always loved you, Peter,” you said. “I’ve always wanted what’s best for you because you deserve that and so much more.”
“You deserve that. I love you, Y/N. I don’t want anyone else but you.”
please leave a comment/reblog if you enjoyed!
lead the way
"Did you mean it?"
"Did you want me to mean it?"
Pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader
Summary: you find out your best friend has never had sex. who else would be better to show him just how good it can be?
Warnings: SMUT! Language, Peter Parker is a stuttering idiot, 18+, NSFW
A/N: I haven’t written in ages and got super sick of my old writing so welcome to a brand new account! Been absolutely thriving in the andrew garfield renaissance the last couple of weeks so thought I would write a little something for his spidey, hope you enjoy! Comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated <3
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Peter has snow in his hair when you open the front door of your apartment.
You don't offer a greeting, simply smirk at the sight of him - buried in a mountain of layers, hands stuck in the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched as he shivers - on your doorstep. His glare is sharp as he walks past.
You watch him visibly relax at the first waves of heat emanating from your apartment, the space heater set up in the corner working so well you're perfectly comfortable in just your pyjama pants and singlet. Dropping his backpack to the ground with a heavy thud, Peter stands at the edge of your couch and lets himself fall face-first into the blanket bundled up on the other end, his exasperated groan only making you laugh.
Making your way over to him, you quickly grab your hot water bottle, still warm from its perpetual use since the beginning of Winter, and make yourself a place on the floor, leant against the coffee table as you look across at him.
"Quit it, Parker, you're getting snow on my perfectly good dumpster couch."
He pouts when he looks at you.
You just smile at him, reach out to tussle his quickly dampening hair to shake out the last of the snow. He closes his eyes and lets out another loud groan at your actions. "Oh, the torture!" You mock, laughing and making him sink his face back into your blanket. "Take this," You state, waiting for him to slowly drag himself up into a sitting position before thrusting the hot water bottle into his arms.
He hugs it immediately, mumbling a quiet "thank you" as you make a 'scootch' motion at him and flop down at his side. You're pressed flush shoulder to shoulder, and your steady presence beside him makes his insides warmer than any heater could.
"I assume we're staying in tonight?" You ask, still smiling, and Peter gives you a wordless nod before pressing the bottle deeper into himself. "Here, I'll order a pizza." You toss your TV remote at him, and don't have time to dwell on the sudden speed and accuracy of his catch before a notification gets your attention.
Peter watches your smile fall and your fingers linger above the keyboard for a moment before you start typing. "Who is it?" He asks, lifting his head up from the bottle and leaning back into the couch.
"Just Flash," You start, not looking up from your phone. "He wants me to come over later."
Flash Thompson. Bully, jock, arch-nemesis. His name alone makes Peter clench his teeth, but the idea of you and him together makes him want to punch something. Preferably Flash. Right in the jaw. "What did you tell him?"
You look confused when you turn to him, eyebrows furrowed and a smile brought back to play at your lips. "I told him you and I were hanging out. You think I'm gonna ditch you for that guy after you climbed the Rocky's just to get here?"
"No, right, of course." There's a beat of silence as you look back at your phone, and Peter sees you pull up the website to the pizza place down the road. "So... You and Flash, huh?"
"Me and Flash, huh?" You look like you're only half-listening to him, intently analysing the menu in front of you. "Do you want cheese or pepperoni?"
"I don't mind," He responds, earning a questioning hum from you. He waits another moment, tries to formulate his next question into something casual. "So are you two, like, official?"
That does get your attention, pausing mid scroll to turn to him, humour in your narrowed eyes. "Like a pair of B-list celebrities making an Instagram debut? Absolutely not. The idea is almost insulting."
Hearing it makes Peter relax for some reason; it's not like just because Flash didn't have any real chance he automatically would. Or maybe that's exactly what it meant. And for one blissfully fleeting moment, Peter lets himself back into the fantasy land where you get to know everything about him, and you get to be in love.
The movie Peter finds on TV is already halfway through, filled with famous actors who look exactly alike and make the plot extra difficult to follow. Finally warming up, he's already discarded his jacket and hoodie, leaving skin to skin contact where you lean against each other, your head on his shoulder. His arm sits outstretched along the back of the couch, and he could so easily bring it down if he had the courage to, pull you closer and feel you press into him like a puzzle piece. He almost always decides against it.
The scene comes out of nowhere, steamy, brass-based music and low lighting quickly leading to an incredibly over-dramatic make out sequence with the inevitable soon to follow.
A curse of close proximity, you can hear Peter's slow gulp when he realises what's happening, smiling a little when you feel him shift ever so slightly in his seat.
"It's just sex," You state, almost a whisper, the tinges of humour in your voice. You don't look at him, keeping your attention squarely on the events unfolding on screen.
"I know," He says, but his voice comes out a little higher than he had anticipated, and so he gives a quick cough before repeating it. "I know."
You tilt your head up to him, bridge of your nose against his shoulder so he has to look you right in the eye. There's an infinitely long pause as you watch each other. "Do you?"
You widen your eyes in question, bat your eyelashes and he thinks you must be doing this on purpose, that you must know what it does to him to have you this close, looking at him like that, and that you must revel in the cruelty of this teasing. He tries to swallow again, but his throat is dry. "Yeah."
"Okay," You accept, smiling a triumphantly cruel smile before turning back to your original position.
Peter's unsure why he doesn't leave it there and let the interaction be forgotten. But now he's flustered, and the main character of this movie is still very much having sex on screen a few feet away and so, not really thinking it through, he says, "What about- Do you have... A lot of sex?"
He regrets it immediately, but the words have left his mouth and you just let them hang there, sitting up straight to look at him with a grin. The grin makes him feel worse. "Do I have a lot of sex?"
His face is redder than he can blame on the heat. "I didn't mean- I just-"
"Why do you wanna know?" You interrupt, almost laughing now, thoroughly enjoying his flustered state. "Not gettin' any lately? Need to corroborate your data?"
"I- Well- You know- I've never really... gotten any." Why did he say that.
"What?" You ask, smile falling as your mouth hangs in a slight gape.
Peter's even more flustered now. "W- But why would you assume- I never told you-"
"I just thought you didn't want to tell me because I'm a girl and you felt weird about it or something stupid," You interrupt, rambling now. "I never even considered that you- But you're like the perfect guy!"
He knows that you didn't mean it like that, but the words still tug at his chest. "I am?"
"Yeah!" You exclaim, exasperated and gesturing wildly, like you can't believe this isn't a fact he already knows. "You're the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. You're ridiculous smart and funny and good at everything you do and surprisingly muscular so. Yeah, Parker, you're a freakin' catch."
Peter's still blushing furiously, smiles to himself as you fold your arms over your chest and turn back to the TV, almost annoyed.
You sigh deeply. "And I'm sorry for assuming," You start, face turning back to his. "If I had known I would have offered to... you know."
Peter's breath is caught in his throat, and part of him is unsure if he had heard you right. But you're giving him that look again, the one that makes his heart stop, and he thinks he might combust in that instant if not for the sound of your doorbell.
You draw your eyes away from him and towards the door, smiling all wide and innocent when you look back. "Just teasing, Petey," You laugh, tussling his hair as you get up.
Peter Parker thanks God for the pizza delivery guy, because he has never been so hard in his life.
He gulps, lets his chest heave a little with how fast he's breathing and he thinks he hears his heartbeat rushing in her ears. He hears you say thank you to the delivery guy, suddenly remembers his situation and moves to cover his lap with the blanket beside him.
You come back with a pizza box and two beers from your fridge, hand him one like the conversation you had been having 30 seconds ago had never happened. You eat in a mixture of silence and intermittent commentary, your attention on the movie that had somehow moved from sex to an explosion and a gunfight in a matter of minutes.
But Peter can't pay attention to the movie. No, because he's sitting right next to you so hard it aches, and even shoving pizza into your mouth your the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he can't decide whether your offer was really just teasing or if there was even the tiniest chance you could feel the same way and-
No, because you're you and you're perfect and therefore miles out of his league, and it was stupid to have gotten his hopes up earlier. You're you, you're his best friend and he accepted a very, very long time ago that the feeling that constantly sat heavy in his chest was exclusively one-sided.
By the end of the movie you've shifted to lying down, legs bent over Peter's lap as you watch the credits start to roll. His hand sits steadfast on your ankle, gentle as his thumb rubs slowly back and forth.
"Pass me the remote," You ask, reaching out one hand to him before realising that he's staring into space. "Pete." Once again ignored, you reach over to your discarded plate on the coffee table and grab a quickly staling pizza crust. You throw it at him, and it hits him right in the temple.
"Ow?" He says, finally looking at you, hand moving up to wipe a little sauce off the side of his face.
"What's been going on with you tonight?" You ask, sitting up now, his hand still on your ankle anchoring your legs in his lap. Your faces are only inches apart in this position, and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "You've been zoning out ever since you got here."
"Nothing," He starts, shaking his head and giving your ankle a reassuring squeeze. "It's nothing, I'm just tired."
You hold his gaze for a moment, trying your best to read the features you had spent years memorizing. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"
Peter looks almost sad when you say it. "I know."
"Because you've been doing your own thing and acting super weird for months now and it's totally fine that you don't want to tell me about it but-" You cut yourself off with a sigh. "Sometimes it's just nice to know what you're thinking."
It's Peter's turn to sigh because his own little crisis in the corner has been all well and good, except he's never even considered how it may come off to you, like he's been quiet and distant and, more often than not, blatantly lying to you at every available chance. "Did you mean it?"
You furrow your eyebrows at him, confusion laced in your expression. "Did I mean what?"
He looks down, suddenly unable to look you in the eye. This was it. "Earlier, when I told you that I've never... had sex, you said that if you had known-"
Peter's interrupted by your relieved laugh and a light hit to his shoulder. "Is that what this has all been about? It- It was just a stupid joke, Pete."
"Was it though?" He asks, and he registers this moment, right here, with you, as the moment. "Just a joke?"
Your face falls to match his, and you have to swallow before you speak next. "Did you want me to mean it?" You ask, almost whisper quiet.
A pause, silence as you watch him. "And if I did-"
He doesn't get to finish that thought, because before he knows it your mouth is on his, hot and sweet and desperate, and it feels exactly like he always knew it would. You taste like beer and cheese and strawberry gum when he kisses you back.
You pull your legs away, and he's almost sorry to lose the contact if it weren't for you sliding into his lap the next second, knocking off the blanket, straddling him and pressing down right where he needs you the most.
He lets out a strangled moan at the motion, and it makes you smile into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands find your hips.
"Offer still stands," You say, both of you out of breath now, and Peter looks at you like you've got the entire universe in your eyes.
"Right now?" He asks, like he wants you to pinch him and tell him this isn't all a dream.
"Doesn't have to be." You're still catching your breath when you run a hand through his hair, and Peter has to close his eyes as the sensation. "But I'm here if you want me."
"Only you," He starts, hand at your cheek now, his thumb tracing along the curve of your bottom lip. "You're the only person I've ever wanted."
You nod, let his words fuel the ache in your chest and in your core. "Okay then."
"Okay," You repeat, smiling now, and it's slower when you kiss him this time. You press your whole body into his like you're trying to fuse together, like you're trying to never let go and, God. This is not how Peter thought tonight would unfold. "Come on."
You settle him on the side of your bed when you get to your room, let him watch you as you pull your singlet over your head and untie your pyjama pants so they fall loose around your hips. You're almost bare in front of him, and Peter wastes no time before he's reaching out to you, hands on your waist bringing you back into his lap. You feel the pressure from beneath you as you lower yourself down.
You encourage him up the bed before he's moved you both to the headboard, his back against the wood, and now he's kissing you like it's breathing, hands everywhere as he attempts to commit your entire body to memory by touch alone.
His shirt's gone before he can even register it, your hands warm along his front, trailing down to the top button of his jeans. You remember the first time you had seen him like this, not so long ago, the smooth muscle that spread across his stomach and his chest and his arms, how you had tried not to stare when the sight stopped you in your tracks.
"Like this?" He asks, but he's not really prepared for the answer when you work down his fly and you're touching him where nobody's ever touched him before, where he's only dreamed of you touching him. The reaction it draws out of him is guttural, makes him tilt his head back against the bed frame and you only see it as an opportunity to kiss a line up the side of his neck.
"Like this," You confirm, keep on stroking him slow and long until he's putty in your fingertips and under your body. "Just let me take care of you, yeah? Want you to feel good."
"Feels good," He mumbles, making you smile when his mouth finds yours again.
"Bedside drawer," You say simply, and Peter needs no further explanation before he turns in search of the small foil packet. You remove your hand, the loss of contact making him ache as you move to shuffle out of your panties.
When he turns back you're unhooking your bra with one swift motion, and he lets his eyes linger for a moment before he's looking up at you. "You're perfect."
You smile, lean down to kiss him soft and slow. "So are you."
He rolls on the condom carefully, and when he's done your hand replaces his once again, and he can feel the wet heat of you as you line him up with your entrance. Your other hand in his hair tilts his face up to yours, kissing him hard as you sink down onto him.
Mouths open, you moan into each other as you take him, slowly, inch by inch all the way inside of you. "Feels really fuckin' good." Velvet hot walls fully surrounding him, Peter wonders how people just do this, how other guys just last when this is what they're feeling because good God, he thinks he might cum as soon as you start moving.
With a small circle of your hips, you're moving slowly up and settling back down again, up and down, up and down again deliciously slowly until he's panting.
But then you ask him if it's okay, and the look in his eyes when he nods makes you clench around him, a sensation alone that has him buring his face into your neck.
"Holy shit." His hands tighten at your hips, tugging at you, telling you it's okay to go faster and you happily oblige.
It doesn't take long for you to find the rhythm that you crave, thrusts starting to come up to meet your movements, each stroke of him against that perfect spot making you grip the headboard just that little bit tighter. "Peter." And the way you say his name, that breathy moan that spills from your lips, the knowledge that he's the reason for it, pushes him right to the precipice.
"Don't know how much longer I can-"
"It's okay," You interrupt, reassuring, forehead against his before you kiss him. "It's okay, want you to cum for me. Feels so good inside me baby, want you to cum."
And that's all he needs to be pushed over the edge, blood rushing in his ears as he moans into your shoulder, nails digging into the soft flesh of your hips.
He's still for a long moment, breathing heavy against you, and when he moves next he's nudging his nose against your jaw and leaning up to kiss you. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," You whisper, smile into the kiss and you don't mean to laugh, but all of a sudden you're rethinking the entire lifetime of your friendship and you can't help yourself.
"Do you laugh at all the guys you sleep with after they finish?"
Peter's grinning at you now, and you find yourself laughing harder, dipping your head down beside his, the vibrations travelling through your body into his. You bite your lip when you look back at him, an attempt to tame your smile. "You have no idea how many times I've had to convince myself that you didn't think about me like that... like this."
Peter looks astonished, mouth agape as he watches you, tries to fathom how he could have gotten everything so wrong for so long. "You're telling me we could have been doing this the whole time?"
And then you're both laughing, shaking your head as you move to kiss him once again. "Better make the best of lost time, then, huh?"
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golden hour - tasm!peter x f!reader
a/n: this one started off as a short little blurb in my mind and grew into this 6K one-shot.
tasm!peter parker x f!reader
summary: Peter Parker has been stuck in the friend zone for a bit. Maybe this final project will be what it takes to get him out of it. A guy can hope, right?
cross posted this on my ao3. suggestions for what you’d like to see me write next are welcomed in the comments. hope you enjoy; i just enjoy writing and getting my heart out there.
If you hadn’t already been dating someone, you’d have admired Peter Parker for the sight he created before you. Hair a floppy mess. Tattered jean jacket askew on his chest. The camera wound around his neck. With the most beautiful, gigantic coffee in his hand. Tantalizing beyond belief, and handsome to boot.
The man in question dangled the cup in front of your face, earning a gentle swat when he’d pulled it away from you at the last moment in the taunt. He glowered at you at the moan you released at the first sip of the heavenly drink. The scent of vanilla assaulted your nose in the best way, and all was suddenly right in the world once again. Life oozed back into every dried-up, tired cell in your body.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
You’d been studying for your Calculus test for hours. A subject you very much hated, mind you, for the mind suck it was. Peter liked those subjects, which had established the beginning of your study meetups.
“How’d your interview go for the full time Bugle position?” You asked, leaning back into your chair.
Patrons of the library looked to the two of you, disgruntled faces directed at your obscene-sized coffee curled in your palm. Part of you wanted to wave it back at them, but you refrained. It was a tad bit dramatic after all. And sure—there was a giant sign on the front of the door saying, ‘no food or drinks allowed,’ but Peter had charmed the socks off of the front desk librarian a month ago, and there were some rules now meant to be broken.
“I think it went well,” he said, shrugging. With a sudden burst of energy, he scrambled to dig for something in his backpack and dropped a familiar orange bag onto the table before you. “Forgot I grabbed you some Cheetos.”
“He loves me!” You whisper shouted.
A girl at the next table hushed you. Glowered into her notebook as if it would petrify you on the spot. You really needed to find a new spot to catch up with Peter, but the coffee shop on campus was always filled wall to wall with young adults clicking away on their laptops, and your suite mates always bombarded Peter with questions about why he hadn’t asked you out yet.
You had one simple answer for that question: Eddie Brock.
Eddie and you had started dating at the end of last semester. Sure, you barely saw one another because of his internship and part-time jobs split between the both of you, but he meant well. Was cute too—all blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Built and broad-shouldered. With the perfect amount of scruff littering his chiseled jaw.
Your friends and Peter hated him, but you figured they were biased.
Eddie was confidence personified. Ambitious beyond comprehension. You liked that about him. Wanted someone who worked as hard as you toward your goals. So…sometimes he tossed people under the bus to get there, but he needed to do what he needed to do to secure hope for the future.
Or at least that’s what he tried to tell you last week when you got into another fight over him basically missing a game night with your suite mates because he spent the better part of it on the phone.
“Eddie was there,” Peter murmured, taking a sip of his drink.
“Yeah, he told me he was applying. I haven’t asked him how his interview went.” You shrugged, popping a Cheeto in your mouth.
“Either way, I’ll find out if I got it by next week. Now. Why’d you text me an urgent SOS?” Peter asked, opening his textbook, and placing it on the table next to yours. “Loved all the skull and crossbones emojis. The gifs were also…interesting.”
You’d forgotten you sent him about thirty emojis signaling your imminent death. And maybe also a few gifs of various people standing with a rain cloud over their head, crying over their situation. It was the most accurate depiction of the present state of things. All very grave, of course.
“My math questions have more letters than words,” you whined, slamming your face down against your notebook. “I’m going to fail out of ESU. I’ll have to go home to my family and tell them I couldn’t do it. Death by calculus. Rest In Peace me.”
Peter chuckled, pushing lightly at your head. “Come on, Drama Queen. What question were you on?”
You grumbled out, “Number three.”
There’s a moment of silence as Peter shuffled through the textbook, landing on the page in question. “Oh—this one’s easy.”
You whimpered as a response.
The next hour was spent with Peter in teacher mode. Helping you break down the equations in question into a way you started to understand. By the time you’ve finished, both of you have finished your coffees, refilled, and filled your stomachs with endless hot Cheetos.
Slamming your book shut, you glanced up at Peter. “You’re coming to game night, right?”
“Eddie’s coming, isn’t he?” Peter grimaced.
To say Peter and Eddie butted heads was an understatement. The two forged a rivalry of sorts very early on into their relationship—if you could call the two of them glowering at each other at all opportunities a relationship.
If you needed to determine a singular moment where they decided they disliked each other's company, it likely began when the two realized they were on par for the same photography positions and fought tooth and nail to outperform one another. Plus, the fact Eddie hated you two spent so much time together.
“Suck it up, Parker. He’s not that bad. Plus, you love me.” You batted your eyelashes and smiled up at him with your most dazzling smile.
"Fiiine. I'll come—but only because you know I can’t say no to that ridiculous face of yours.”
The librarian practically shoved you out of the room after you slammed your book shut and threatened to chuck it at Peter’s smug face.
Granted, you’d been joking.
Which you tried to tell the woman as she ushered you toward the exit, Peter laughing from where he sat at the table. His foot kicked up onto the wood, arms pillowed at the back of his head in mocking.
“I’m going to need you to sit down,” you laughed, tossing a ‘reverse’ card onto the pile. Dropped back into your beanbag chair and took a sip from your wine glass.
Hanna huffed; face pinched into frustration as her depleted pile was added to when she couldn’t put a card down. You danced a bit in your chair, shoving Eddie playfully. He grunted in reply, tapping away at something on his phone.
You wanted to smack it out of his hand; he’d been on it since he walked in an hour ago.
“Eddie—” Hanna started.
Eddie glanced up. “What?”
You turned to look at him. “It’s your turn, babe.”
“Oh.” He chucked a card onto the pile and resumed the incessant typing.
Peter tossed a piece of his straw wrapper at your head. Mouthed ‘cheer up,’ before taking a swig from his beer bottle. You stuck your tongue out at him, forcing a smile into place before watching as Lindy tossed a card onto the pile, looking like she’d won a prize with the way she bounced on her chair.
“Pick up four, and rue the day, babe!” Lindy screeched, earning a groan from a currently losing Peter Parker.
You mock pouted at him, rubbing your eyes as if you’d been crying. “Wow, must suck to be you, huh, Parker?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll catch up—don’t you lunatics worry.”
And he did. Surprisingly enough, the tides turned, and Peter ended up trouncing all of you. Eddie had backed out at one point to take a phone call in your bedroom, much to your disappointment, before Lindy and Hanna practically cried when Peter began shrinking his deck each turn, while theirs grew. At the end of all of it, he’d bowed.
“I’d like to thank the academy,” he said, grunting when you pushed him back into his beanbag chair. “Someone is a sore loser! You won at True American last week. It was my turn in the spotlight; it’s only fair.”
You were about to respond when Eddie walked out of the bedroom, looking around the living area. His gaze landed on your face, hand gesturing for you to follow him. Hanna and Lindy crossed their arms over their chests, faces hardened into stone, while Peter nudged his head as if saying ‘it’s okay.’
“I’m so sorry, babe. I know you guys are about to start game two, but I need to go—”
“Why?” You asked, hands on your hips as you entered your bedroom.
“My job. You get it, don’t you?”
You shook your head. “No, Eddie, I don’t. It’s one night. That’s all I ask, and you screw it up every week.”
“Every week?” He barked out a laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was here last week for your Cruel American game.”
“True American. And you were on your phone the whole time for that too!” You grumbled, arms waving excitedly in the air.
“I have obligations. I have deadlines. I have more important things to—never mind.”
Your eye twitched. He wiped a palm down his forehead, realizing the error of his words. A pair of warm hands curled around your biceps. They’d used to make your stomach erupt with butterflies, but now they just made your skin burn with your anger.
“What were you going to say just then? Say it.”
He leaned in to kiss you. You leaned away; your head turned so his lips met your cheek. “Come on, baby. Don’t be like that.”
“It’s one night, Eddie. One. I ask you to be present one night, and you can’t even do that,” you said, grunting as he cradled you against his chest. “If you have more important things to do than try to spend time with your girlfriend—who has been very patient, mind you—I think you should go.”
He stilled. You could feel every muscle in his body growing rigid. He pushed you back a bit, holding you at arm's length. Those water-colored eyes met yours, and you thought for a moment they wavered with…sadness? How, when it seemed like he’d barely cared moments ago?
“All of this over a game night? Do you realize how ridiculous you sound right now?” He asked, laughing darkly.
“So now I’m ridiculous too? For wanting the person I’m seeing to fit in with my friends and my world? I’m asking you for the bare minimum. It’s not even just game night. You take calls when we’re out to dinner. You don’t even look at me or let me kiss you most nights. It’s like you’re there but not.”
“What are you trying to say here?” He paced around the room, carding his fingers through that blonde hair you’d enjoyed running your fingers through for a time.
“I think you should go,” you repeated, looking down at the floor. Eyes watered with tears, burning though you willed them to stop.
“Are you breaking up with me?”
He pulled you back against him, curling a hand around the back of your head. Pressed your face into his collar bone. You nodded slowly, sniffling.
“I think that’s best. You’re here—but you’re not. Haven’t been for a while.”
“Eddie, you should go,” you whispered, releasing yourself from his grip.
Fingers curled around the doorknob. You gestured for him to make his way out of the cracked door, eyes not meeting his as he grabbed his phone from where he’d tossed it on his bed and saw himself to the living area. Heard him excuse himself to your suite mates and Peter as he exited out the front.
The back of your hand pressed to your forehead, heart hammering loudly in your ears. You’d just done that; broken up with your first college boyfriend. And you were sure all your friends had heard, judging by the way Lindy and Hanna scrambled out of their chairs and raced over to pull you into a huddle of limbs. Laughed when Peter joined the mix and pushed you all together even tighter.
“Moment of brutal honesty?” Lindy asked, blonde hair falling into your face.
Her twin, Hanna, shook her head frantically. “Lindy, if you’re going to say something dumb just stop yourself now—”
“He sucked. Like. I wanted to punch him all night,” she groaned, curling your fingers into hers when you giggled. “Every time I saw him. Very punch-able face on that man.”
Hanna swatted her sister in the head, and the two were wrapped up in a hellish game of wrestling where the two struggled for dominance in a ball of limbs and screaming.
Peter lingered at your side, awkwardly holding out an arm as an opening. You shuffled closer to him and sighed as your face thudded into his solid chest.
You swore he flexed beneath you and snorted.
“Showing off, Parker?”
“Just trying to make you smile,” he answered, giving squeezing you smiled then, and hugged him even tighter.
Soon enough, a month had passed and your time of grieving your dead in the water relationship had ended. It ended even before the breakup. After countless nights spent talking into the wee hours of the night with Lindy and Hanna, you realized you hadn’t been happy for a while. The lead-up to the breakup was highly prolonged by the fact Eddie’s schedule always conflicted with yours in the first place.
Still, seeing him every Tuesday in your photography elective probed at the annoyed hurt which formed in your heart for the guy who seemingly never found the time for you. Especially that morning when your professor told the class the final project for the semester would be done in pairs. You previously worked with Eddie on anything which involved groups of any sort, and you’d be lying if you told him picking Georgina didn’t hurt. Not because you wanted to date him or anything, but more so the principle of it.
“I suppose you could be my partner,” Peter said from where he sat beside you, one leg crossed over the other, back leaned into his chair like he owned the place or something.
You glowered back. “I’m flattered you felt moved to take pity on me.”
He shrugged, chuckling. “I’m feeling charitable these days.”
You tossed your pencil at him, his fingers catching it mid-air. He always had the craziest reflexes.
“I ask you to be my partner and this is how you repay me? I’m hurt.” He clasped a hand over his heart, lip wobbling in jest.
“I’ll be your partner, you big dork. Now stop making that face. You look constipated,” you said, waving your hand in front of you.
“Keep complimenting me like that and I’ll think you’re trying to flirt with me or something.” He barely finished his sentence before you stuck your fingers in his hair and rubbed at the strands until they stuck out wildly against his head.
“Much better.” You smirked. Victorious.
The remainder of the class was spent brainstorming on the location of where you planned to do the final semester photo shoot. You were assigned portrait photography, but the background could be whatever you wished. Peter immediately decided you were the subject, at which you gasped out a ‘why me?!’
His answer shocked you. “Because you’re the prettier of the two of us.”
Did you turn into a blushing mess after? Yes.
The next matter of business was exactly where you could get the perfect shots for the project, and you chewed on the end of your pencil before smacking your forehead dramatically. Peter winced when you realized you might have hit yourself too hard.
“My uncle owns a little farm stand out on Long Island. They have the most beautiful sunflower fields.”
“Golden hour shoot,” he said, writing down notes onto a sheet of paper.
So, it was settled.
Peter, for the first time in a while, was nervous. He’d fought criminals almost daily for years, but the prospect of taking your photo and sharing a part of his life he was passionate about with you had him terrified. Sure, his primary degree would be in STEM, but photography had always made him happy.
And today he’d be photographing you. Who also made him happy. He needed to do this justice.
Judging by the way your foot tapped up and down the whole ride to Long Island, he knew you were just as nervous. Peter whistled as he pulled into the parking lot of your uncle’s stand, admiring the field surrounding the small, wooden building. It looked like something out of the old times. Charming, he thought to himself.
His breath caught in the back of his throat when you began pulling your jean jacket off your form, revealing a flowing, cream-colored dress beneath. Paired with some white converse, he’d never seen anyone cuter.
He admired the delicate lace straps for a moment, before realizing you might panic more if you saw him staring. You passed him a soft smile when he’d noticed a man who looked well into his fifties came walking over to the rental car, calling your name. You practically launched yourself at the man while Peter grabbed his backpack with the two cameras he planned on using, shucking it up onto his shoulder.
You glanced over your shoulder and beamed at him, gesturing his way. “This is my good friend Peter.”
Her uncle winked at him, extending a hand to shake. “Hello, ‘good friend, Peter.’”
Peter’s cheeks burned. Clearing his throat, he said, “This is something you got here. You sure we can use it?”
“Anything for my little girl here. You guys take all the time you need. The shop is usually slow this time of day, anyway,” he said. “Alright, you two. I’ll let you get to it. It was nice meeting you, good friend Peter.”
Peter rubbed the back of his neck with a sweaty palm. “You too, sir.”
And he was off, leaving Peter alone with you once more.
“He means well. Him joking like that means he likes you.” You muttered, not looking at him. You glanced into the distance, and he hated how far away you felt.
“Didn't know I was looking to impress today,” he teased.
He watched your eyes as they shifted, darting around the farm stand, hands smoothing along the length of your dress. He’d never seen you like this. Usually, you’d be cracking jokes or teasing him about something, not fidgeting on the spot. He reached out to wrap you against his chest, feeling your body relax slightly.
“Hey, what’s going on in that head of yours?”
“You’ll make me look okay, right? I don’t know, Pete. This is so scary. It just feels real…I don’t know…vulnerable, maybe?” You mumbled, voice muffled by his shirt.
“Hey, hey,” he cooed, gripping your chin, and tilting your head to look at him. Your eyes softened. “This is vulnerable for me, too. Believe me. And you’ll look perfect. Don’t even worry about that.”
You exhaled against him, before extracting yourself from his chest. He hated the way his body felt colder once you were gone, and tugged the backpack closer to his shoulder, allowing you to lead him toward the field of tall sunflowers.
“We only have a small window of time. So, we have to move quick,” Peter said, stepping into a space in the flowers.
You turned around and faced him; hands planted on your hips. “How should I stand? What do I do with my body? I—”
“Hey.” He smiled, reassuringly. “Do you trust me, Y/n?”
“Of course, I do.” You tossed your head back, giggling airily.
“Okay, so then take a few steps and turn around to face me. Yup—just like that. Now,” he paused, stepping closer to you and tapping his finger against your chin. “It’s all about slow movements for the shots I’m going for. Pretend the camera is getting a shot of every inch of your face.”
He sensed the unease again, noticed it in the tightness of your shoulders. His fingers reached forward toward your hand, hesitantly. Eyes flickering to meet yours. His thumb rubbed the back of your hand gently in his, watching as your lips parted and you finally, finally exhaled a shaky breath.
He watched you step further into the flower field, fingers gripping the edge of that cream-colored dress. Feet practically dancing across the darkened soil. His heart thumped at the way you began twirling around, shaking your arms on an exhale. Releasing those jitters, before holding your face in a first pose.
He thought of the last time he photographed someone like this. Gwen when he’d still been dating her. Had took her to a park and captured her photo throughout the evening. The camera loved her, as it loved you now, your head tilting incrementally as instructed. Golden light dancing across your face, illuminating your silhouette hidden behind the flowers.
Rain battered the ground. But routines were meant to be kept. He’d laid a new bouquet on her gravestone, fingers running across the etched name when he saw her for the first time. A silhouette shrouded in the fog, close to him in age, holding aloft an umbrella in trembling fingers.
Rivulets of water tripped along the edges, cascading down the vinyl material. Peter wondered for a moment who you were here for. A family member, a lover, a friend? Your head tipped down and fingers trailed across the top of the slab of stone, coming back to your lips and pressing a lingering kiss there.
“Gwen. I love her name.”
Peter paused, watching as you sidled up to him, sharing your umbrella. “I loved her.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. And I know it’s cliche to say, but I do believe they’re in a better place. Both of them.” Your fingers twisted around the umbrella, knuckles straining. “He was—is—my best friend. Car crash last year.”
“I’m so sorry.” He’d meant it. Swallowed on the knot in his throat, thinking of Gwen falling, falling, falling.
“You go to Empire State University.”
“What?” He asked, turning to you.
You pointed to his hand, hidden in his pocket. A strip of fabric dangled out. “Your lanyard. I have the same. Maybe I’ll see you around…”
“Peter.” His cheeks warmed. Heart did, too.
“My name is Y/n.” You beamed, bouncing on your toes a bit. “Smile, Peter. And do it often. It’s a good one.”
And he did. Long after you’d disappeared from view, he found himself grinning. Hopeful for the first time in a while. Left perplexed by a stranger and yearning to see you again.
So when he’d bumped into you at that coffee shop the first day back for junior year, fall semester, he’d promised to hold onto that.
To what Gwen spoke about in her speech senior year.
To hold onto hope. To keep it alive.
Peter swore under his breath because there was nothing truly more beautiful than you in the golden hour sunset. How the light danced on your features, how the dress moved around you as you walked. Each snap produced a new image. He would catalog them all if he could. Your cheeky smile. Your wistful gaze. The silly way you stuck your tongue out at him. Your pout, even. The tantalizing eyes. He’d held his breath throughout, wondering when this friendship ventured into another realm.
Maybe it had been that way all along?
Two people, navigating grief. Circling one another, before falling into something comfortable. Something like this. A bright light, stark in contrast to an otherwise dark world.
Color seeping into a dark canvas.
“Lay down for a second, okay?” Peter said suddenly, watching as your lips parted.
And you laid down on the ground, finding a spot which wouldn’t soil your dress. Hands came up and fixed your hair. Peter stepped closer until both his feet were positioned on either side of your hips, camera poised at your face.
A smirk lined your features. His favorite of your many expressions. “Mr. Parker. Never thought I’d see you from this point of view.”
“I’m ignoring that statement,” he said, snapping a photo.
“So serious,” you grumbled, snorting. Earned a light tap from his foot in your ribs when you stuck your tongue out at him. “Fine, fine.”
Realizing he’d wanted complete concentration, you settled into a comfortable silence. The only sound was the snap of the cameras he’d brought along with him. Switched halfway through the shoot to another one, hoping to take some which he’d be able to develop in a dark room. Figured having the options would produce a better outcome.
And as the two of you walked back toward the car after wishing your uncle a good rest of his evening, Peter grunted at the weight of you against his arm, not expecting you to practically cling to him. “Can I see?”
He clicked through a few of the photos, watching your eyes scan each one with curiosity. “We can plan to edit them together sometime next week.”
You nodded and went climbing into the passenger’s side of the car. Peter gripped the steering wheel, feeling like he wanted to say so much, and yet came up empty-handed. His mouth opened and closed, before remaining shut. Instead, he gripped the steering wheel and inhaled slowly, tapping a thumb against the material. Your fingers curled around the hem of your dress. Legs crossed at the ankles. Silence descended, yet the unspoken words between the two of you screamed in his ears.
“Can I ask you something?” He asked, peeling away from the farm stand, eyes focused on the road.
Your head tilted; your bottom lip pinched between your teeth. “Anything, Pete.”
“Why did you date Eddie?”
He watched your mouth pop open suddenly. As if you expected him to say something else. And in a way, so had he. “It sounds so silly…but I don’t know. I mean, at first, I liked him a lot. And then I realized he was so into himself and his work, and that I was spending time with someone who never really saw me. I don’t even think he even liked me all that much; I think he liked the idea of me. Of being seen with me.”
“You deserve so much better than him, you know?” He said, his voice dropping into a whisper.
“Do I now?” You asked, peering up at him in the rearview mirror. Gazes clashed.
“Yes,” he breathed, shaking his head. “I wish you could see yourself how everyone else does. He never did. Not really. You’re…ridiculous sometimes. Dramatic to a fault. But you make everyone around you smile. Happy—hopeful. You’re my best friend and it sucked to watch you try to fit into his world when you were never meant to. Knowing you…the fullest version of you is the best thing ever.”
He watched as you swallowed, breath hitching. And then your eyes watered, and he opened his mouth to apologize when you whispered out a broken, “Thank you, Peter. I’d hug you, but you’re driving and you kind of suck at it and I don’t want to die.”
He broke out into a laugh at that, curling your hand in his own over the center console.
“I just wanted you to know you deserve the world.”
You smiled. “And I think the world of you for that. Love you, Pete.”
“Love you, too, dork.”
He held your hand the rest of the way home, and you’d let him. Your eyes drifted every so often to his in the mirror. Both growing aware of the weight lingering in the car. The question of whether to push past the line of friendship or dabble into something deeper. Unknown territory for the both of you. His chest ached at the thought of leaning over the gear shift and kissing you. Pushing your hair away from your neck and pressing a kiss there, too.
Instead, he remained rooted in place. Watching headlights pass on the other side of the road, growing used to the feeling of your skin against his own. Loving the way your thumb dragged along the back of his. A slow, methodical rhythm, as your head slowly drifted to the side and pressed against his shoulder. Eyes closed, breathing quieted in your sleep.
He was never so grateful for an hour's drive home if only so he could always spend it like this.
A week later, Peter texted you to come to meet him in the darkroom in the art building on campus. You hadn’t even known the place existed. Dark rooms had become somewhat obsolete, but you thought back to the fact Peter brought two cameras that day and obliged him. What greeted you when you walked in stole your breath.
A room basked in red lighting, pictures dangling from clips on a wire. Photos of you. Each in a black and white color scheme. Each of them beautiful. Your mind stirred in excitement, fingers reaching out to touch when a pair of arms tugged you back into a solid chest.
“Don’t touch,” he muttered, turning you to face him.
You pushed away, returning to the line of photos to inspect them all. Peter had done a beautiful job. You never particularly enjoyed photo shoots, and this was the first time you could say you loved seeing yourself photographed. It was almost as if Peter captured all the best parts of you—of your soul. You didn’t know how he managed it.
Noticing your amazement, Peter draped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side. Since the moment in the car, the two of you had barely spoken. You chalked it up to a busy schedule, but a larger part of you imagined it more so had to do with the fact there was so much left unsaid. Conversations lingering on tongues, unspoken into the silence on that car ride. The way the both of you felt the shift in the atmosphere. Yet, neither of you breached the topic.
You danced on the line which might change everything.
The heated gazes over the rearview mirror. The lingering touches. The curled palms over the center console. Peter’s profession that you deserved the world. How your skin had warmed even from that. How your heart had thrummed with the idea of him reaching across the gap between you and pressing a kiss into your lips. Wishing to know what he felt like. What he tasted like. The way his voice might sound, breathless from kissing you until all thoughts were eradicated from your mind.
It was wild and senseless to think this way. The rational part of you hated you even dared to venture to think this way; the lesser, wilder, and baser part of you wanted no more than to curl your fingers around the back of his neck and draw his face down toward yours, claiming his mouth with your own. Whispering, “I want you. I adore you. I love you,” against supple skin.
When you turned around, you thought maybe Peter thought the same. His eyes dragged along your dress-clad form. The weather on campus had finally begun to clear up. Springtime was finally in full swing, so you’d settled on a dress with tiny sunflowers printed along the entirety of the flowing fabric. Had smirked in the mirror at the way it danced along your thighs, before donning the same white pair of converse you’d worn for the photoshoot.
You’d come with a plan, but it seemed like Peter had a mind of his own. The air simmered between you two. Heavy eyes drifted along your lips, before settling on the photos hanging on the wire. A half-hearted attempt to return to the important matter at hand. This was your final project, after all.
“These are amazing, Peter,” you finally said, stepping closer to inspect the black and white photo.
Your eyes traced your familiar features. The flower covering half your face, eyes narrowed into a sensual line. You felt emboldened. Feminine. Powerful. Beautiful. Peter snapped the photo, but you’d done that. Harnessed strength behind your eyes and unleashed.
“It meant a lot to me to shoot these. The digital ones on my computer are great, too, but these are…”
“I look beautiful. I don’t know how you managed this, Pete. They’re incredible—”
“It’s how I see you.” He whispered, turning on the heel to face you. Your heart skittered in your chest. “It’s why these were so important to me. I wanted to photograph you how I see you.”
Your bottom lip wobbled against your will. Fingers coming up to press against the shaking skin. Peter wrapped you against his chest, hand curling around the back of your neck. Toying with the baby hairs there. Kissed your temple to help soothe the hiccuped sob which spilled from your parted lips.
When you lifted your head, Peter’s eyes locked on yours. Those rounded, doe eyes drifted from your lips back to your eyes and then down again. A whispered ‘please’ fell from your mouth before his lips descended on your own—claiming them and silencing all questions between the two of you once and for all.
The world exploded around you. His mouth was warm and inviting. Coaxed a breathy sigh from you when he cupped his hands around the back of your knees and propped you up onto a countertop. Pushed your thighs apart to step between them, fingers pressing into the soft fabric hugging your hips. Shifted hair to the side and lavished attention onto your neck—elicited a gasped ‘Peter’ from you.
Your arms circled his neck. Drew him closer until your chests pressed together, hearts beating in tandem. Hot kisses drifted back up your neck, along your jaw, before settling back onto your lips. Slow, lingering touches. Exhaled sighs between parted lips. A gentle push and pull, like waves crashing on the shore.
He pulled apart enough to rest his forehead against yours, his panted breath seeping onto your bottom lip. Fingers trembling against your thighs. You toyed with the hairs at the back of his head, foot curling around the back of his hip to drag him closer still.
“Hi,” you whispered, leaning forward to kiss him once more.
He dragged his tongue along your bottom lip. Coaxed your mouth opened against his. Drew another breathy sigh out of you, fingers drawing a lazy circle into your collar bone.
“Hey,” he said, kissing your forehead.
“I have a confession,” you said, nuzzling your nose against his.
He hummed in reply.
“I like you. More than a friend should.”
He swallowed. Shifted so he could wrap his arms around your waist. “I like you, too. Also, more than a friend should.”
“Good. Now, let’s start editing so we can do that again.” You ran your fingers down his arms, clasping your hands with his. “And then maybe you can take me on our very first not friend date.”
“Are you flirting with me—because it sounds like you are?” He asked, smirking.
“I might be. But don’t let it get to your head,” you teased.
He kissed you again. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“So, about that editing…”
Peter had never moved so fast.
hear me out…peter talking abt u in his sleep and it leads to him confessing his feelings for you? maybe fem!reader x andrew!peter parker if you could write this? totally up to you, and i love ur writing!
I’LL BE HERE WHEN YOU WAKE UP
sleepy confessions may be just what the two of you need to take your friendship to the next level. (friends to lovers)
tasm!peter x fem!reader
a/n: sorry this took like five fucking months to do i’m the worst. PLEASE REBLOG!!!
EVERY TIME YOU SLEEP OVER, Peter is out like a light by 10 pm. No matter how hard he tries, he always ends up falling asleep. Especially if you’re next to him.
He feels horrible about it, but he really can’t help it. Peter loves spending time with you, and he hates to ruin all the fun by possessing the sleep cycle of a geriatric man.
You don’t mind—in fact, you’d rather him rest than watch a movie or play a card game. You’re super understanding of his exhaustion due to his responsibilities as both a Midtown student and NYC’s busiest superhero, Spider-Man. Plus, cuddling with your admittedly cute best friend is never a bother.
It’s only 9:30 pm—30 minutes earlier than usual—but Peter drags you into his creaky twin-sized bed anyway, smothering you with his heated torso as you giggle and wither beneath him. You’re no match for his enhanced strength.
“Snuggle me. Pleeeeeaaase.” He pouts, tucking his face into the crook of your neck as you struggle to free yourself from his hold.
You release somewhat of an exasperated groan, but the elation in your voice is still evident. “Mmm...fine.”
“Yes!” Peter grins, slithering his vascular arms tightly around the swell of your hips, face pressed firmly into your chest, “and, uh, can you play with my hair, too?”
“This sure seems likes a lot of labor.”
“Labor of love.” He corrects. He’s not totally wrong.
You thread your fingers through his chestnut hair, fingers scratching and massaging gently at his scrap. You swear you can hear him purr like a kitten—fuck.
Peter hums with content for a while. Then the noises stop, jaw falling open as his breathing slows into a calm rhythm.
You think about falling asleep too, but you’re not really tired at all. You glance down to Peters freckled face, smiling as you trace the outline of his cheeks and nose.
“Hmmmph.” He groans, shuffling slightly.
Shit. Can he sense when people stare at him? He is Spider-Man after all. He’s never mentioned it, though... Shit!
Your worries fade when his falls relaxes again. Okay, good. He’s asleep.
“(Y/N)...” Peter mumbles, startling you, though his voice registers below a whisper.
So he is awake? “Peter,” you reply, “is everything okay?”
“(Y/N). Nooooo, don’t do that!” Don’t do what?
Then the realization dawns on you: he’s sleep talking.
You stifle a laugh, not wanting to rattle the sleeping boy on your chest. His brows furrow together like he’s deep in thought. He murmurs something you can’t quite decipher.
“Stop it. Stop being so...cute.” Peter smiles to himself, snickering. “Mm...you’re so cute. Kayoooot.”
Okay, well, there must be someone else in the dream, too. There’s no way it’s just you and him. ‘Cause then that means he would be calling you cute and that’s just—no, that’s not what’s happening.
You’re certain your heart rate is going a million beats per minutes and your inhales grow shallow; you know for a fact Peter’s senses can detect that kind of thing. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing your lungs and heart to slow.
“(Y/N)! Please,” Peter jerks in he sleep, hands flapping around your waist, “just kiss me.”
Kiss...Peter. This is not happening. No no no. This is not real. Maybe you’re the one dreaming right now because there’s no way your hearing things correctly.
“I love you so much, (Y/N).”
You barely managed to sleep last night, especially with the extremely snuggly Peter flush against you. You ran through a thousand different excuses or reasons for why he would say things like “kiss me” or “I love you” with respect to you, his best friend. But after a long time spent contemplating, you realized that there was no platonic rationalization behind his sleepy confessions.
Peter likes you.
You woke up long before him, troubled by this epiphany. You haven’t done anything all morning besides pace quietly in his kitchen, nearly disturbed by the ordeal you’re in. It’s not that you don’t like Peter-it’s just-things are so much more fucking complicated now than they should be.
You tense when you hear him shuffle out of his bedroom and through the hallway.
“Morning.” He greats, voice so raspy it’s sinful.
You eyes wander down his toned stomach, stopping at the waist band of his plaid pants where the firm edge of his hipbones jut out. You tear your eyes away and gulp. You’ve never been this flustered before.
“Yeah, m-morning.” You stammer, refilling your glass of water in an attempt to busy yourself.
You sigh, “Yeah, I guess,” deciding to pry a little, you follow up with, “did you?”
He nods. You don’t notice any tell or twitch in his behavior. “Yeah. Like a baby. The usual.”
You nod and giggle, “I know. You slept 12 hours.”
“Holy shit. 12?”
The conversations lulls in an unsuspecting matter. Usually, the both of you have something to say—endless things to talk about. The atmosphere is uncharacteristically frigid.
“So...” you start, “dream about anything last night?”
His face perks up, “What? Why? No. I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? ‘Cause somebody talks in their sleep.”
Peter’s face falls into his hands. “Cool. Did I, uh, say anything? J-just wondering.” His face goes beat-red as he looks up at you.
He already knows, right? But does he know that you know? This entire thing is a huge mess.
“I may have a heard a few thing...”
“Oh, god,” he groans, “what did you hear?”
You bite your lip, hands fiddling anxiously behind your back. “Well, what do you think I heard?”
“Are y-you really gonna make me say it?” Peter stutters, a bashful yet frightened grin on his face.
“I am. So, say it.” You encourage, holding back a grin, too.
He laughs, anticipation nearly killing the both of you. “I, uh, like you.”
“Just ‘like’?” You tease, smile spreading over your entire face. “‘Cause I recall you saying something a little bit different...”
“Alright,” he concedes, “I love you—in a more than best friend kind of way. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before and that you had to find out like this. I swear I was planning on telling you soon.”
It feels surreal to hear something you never know you needed to hear. Your heart swells with both pride and adoration.
“You really do?” you gleam, walking from behind the kitchen to stand in front of him.
He meets you in the middle, arms wrapping behind your waist to pull you in closer.
“I do,” he whispers, “do you love me back.”
You glance down at his lips, “Mm, I think I do.”
“I need to kiss you first in order to be sure.” You declare, earning a hearty chortle from Peter.
He leans down, cupping your jaw with one hand, the other pulling you tighter from the waist. Your eyes flutter shut when your lips meet, the faintest of touches, before they crash together. You never believed in sparks, but kissing Peter feels like fireworks exploding beneath your chest. God, love makes you sound so cliche. Yeah. You do love him.
Eventually, you break apart, noses still touching—you wish to be impossibly close forever.
“Alright. I know I love you.”
let me know what you think!
pairing; tasm!peter parker x reader
genre: sorta a lil angst, fluff, pining, friends to lovers
warnings: strong language
au:/ requests are open y’all in case you’re interested in sending anything in :)
Your phone screen lit your face up in a fluorescent hue, and as much as it was burning - you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from the video playing itself to you. You couldn’t make out most of what was happening, but it was already pretty obvious what was happening before the lens. Someone had stumbled along the wrong person to mess with - and at the complete wrong time as well. It never took long for Spider-Man to chase down trouble, and it was quite usually a quick victory for him as well, no street criminals could ever match his abilities.
Many citizens of New York didn’t really know how to feel about the amateur crime-fighter yet. Sure, nowadays he was helping the little guy as some would say - he was doing his best to make the streets of his city a little safer. But many were still wary, especially considering how he had started out. The police department had called it a personal vendetta he had against men with shoulder length blond hair, and you would have been the first to agree that revenge was never a good enough excuse to go after anyone like that who crossed his radar.
Until you met the boy. Boy, you say now, because there was no way he was more than a year or two older than you. Sure, he was extremely intelligent - more intellectual than almost anyone you’ve ever met. But he had the humor of someone younger, the wit and hatred for the world that could only be held by a teenager.
It had been a late October night when the hero was quite literally thrown through your living room window. Your mother had screamed and your father had pushed you both behind him as the spandex-clad vigilante stood and shook off the glass lodged into his suit. Across from your building, a large lizard mutant thing hung from the opposite fire escape ladder, gripped onto the railings with his bloodied claws and glaring harshly into your apartment as he waited for his opponent to show himself again.
The blood on the creature’s claws, you soon realized, had come from the deep gashes woven into Spider-Man’s chest. Your father scurried backwards, in an attempt to pull you and your mother into the kitchen and away from the danger zone as the vigilante stood with a sway to his step. He looked around in a panic at the damage made to your windows and living space and glanced back at the three of you before rejoining the battle. “I’m truly sorry about this, I know a guy - I’ll send him over!” Before he swung out the window and lured the dangerous lizard away from your family.
He’d visited later that night, and you never thought your own opinion about someone could change so drastically from just one conversation with them.
“You know, my father’s not very thrilled about the damage done.” You raised an unamused eyebrow at the boy after opening the window to let him in.
“I just came back to apologize, I didn’t quite get to earlier.”
“You did.” You confirmed. “You don’t really know a guy, do you?”
You swore that even with the mask covering his face, you saw a small smile quirk up the corner of his mouth. “Of course not, but I gotta appeal to public somehow after flying through their window.”
You laughed, and you didn’t know why you’d let him into your bedroom, or why you were engaging in a conversation with him - but you were. And he was a little mouthy, sure, but nothing like the heartless, vengeful criminal the media had made him out to be in recent months. Before you could make a snappy comment back at him, you remembered the creature’s bloody claws and the gashes in the boy’s suit earlier that night. “You’re hurt.” You observed, eyes raking over the cuts still showing in his chest. They weren’t nearly as bad, some type of quick-healing mechanism must be apart of his powers, but he was still in danger of a nasty infection if they weren’t cleaned out properly.
That’s how your friendship began. He didn’t like talking about himself, what his life was like outside of his secret Spider identity - you assumed that he was just too paranoid that even the slightest of details would give away who was really behind the mask. But you did like talking about yourself, and he liked having someone patch him up after putting himself in imminent danger for hours on end each night.
You both made quite the team, and quite the pair of best friends. Because not long after he crashed through your window, your weekly chats while you patched him up before he swung off turned into nightly visits - when he didn’t need any medical care, he had just been craving your presence.
Months passed and soon spring was upon you. The weather was becoming less harsh and snow was falling less and less. 12 on the dot, and a knock echoed into the darkness of your room. You smiled giddily, throwing your legs over the side of your bed and leaning over to flick your lamp on. Your parents were fast asleep by now, and you’d been sneaking your web-slinging best friend into your bedroom for months now without raising any alarm from them.
You slid the window open as quickly as possible and stepped back to watch as he slipped through. He had a few cuts, nothing too serious that really needed attention - but there was one across the left of his chest right below his collarbone that looked like it was at least going to need some disinfecting.
“Boo…” You frowned. The friendship had started out with you catering to his wounds, sure, but you cared about him a lot more now than you did the first night you spoke with him. You hated the nights when he walked in with even the slightest bit of a serious injury.
He scoffed mockingly and rolled his shoulders as he moved around you to plop down on the edge of your mattress. “I told you to stop calling me that, it’s disgusting.”
You rolled your eyes, crouching down beneath your desk to retrieve the first aid kit you had on hand for nights like these. “Well maybe if my self-proclaimed ‘best friend’ would at least tell me the initial of his name I’d have something else to call him.”
“Spider-Man.” He grumbled, looking at you pointedly.
“Too formal.” You threw back at him, kneeling on the bed next to him and pulling out the cotton pads and disinfectant spray.
“Spidey.” He said it in a joking way, and you looked up at him with a quirked brow.
“You want me to call you Spidey?”
“Never call me Spidey.”
“That’s what I fucking thought.” You mumbled, leaning forward to grab the edge of the suit and pull it down away from his neck enough so you could have access to the wound. You reached forward, grabbing his - actually weirdly attractive - hand and moving it to the material. “Hold this back for me please.”
“If you wanted me to undress on your bed you could’ve just said so.” He remarked in the same casual fashion he did every time. And just like always, your face lit up in a red flush and you quickly leaned forward to begin working with the cut so he wouldn’t have the time to notice.
“I could call you Spider-Ling.” You whispered, in a lame attempt to change the subject. He snorted, throwing his head back in a laugh filled with disbelief.
“Where’d you even come up with that?”
“It’s your new nickname, came up with it myself.” You grinned cheekily.
“Don’t call me that ever again.” He shook his head, shoulders still bouncing softly along to his quiet laughter.
With his wound all patched up, and you both completely talked-out for the night, he moved to make his way towards the window. You watched him go, a sad feeling of melancholy washing over you. Would you ever know his name? Would you ever see his face? You wanted him in so many ways, ways that you couldn’t even begin to dream of, and you didn’t even know the simplest things about him. What did his friends call him? What was his closest friend’s name? Where did he go to school? What happened to him that gave him the abilities he has? You didn’t know, he’d never told you anything. He was too much of an anxious person to risk any of that leading back to his true identity.
So you settled. “Spider-Ling?” You called before he crawled out. He groaned and turned to make a sharp comment back at you about the ridiculous nickname but you beat him to it. “What’s your favorite color?”
He paused, the eyes of his suit narrowing in confusion as he titled his head at you. “Huh?”
“Your favorite color.” You repeated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What is it?”
“What’s yours?” He threw back at you just as quick. You frowned, he was diverting the question.
“Yellow.” You answered softly, sitting down on the bed and beginning to lean over to shut off the light.
“Interesting choice.” He teased light-heartedly. “Blue.” And the window shut and a gust of air sounded as you assumed he swung off. It took you a moment to comprehend, but when you did your eyes shot open in pure surprise. Blue. It was blue. His favorite color was blue, and he’d told you something about him.
You didn’t think it was possible to fall for the ominous Spider-Man anymore than you already had, but everyday it was weighing on you more and more. Every time he slipped in through your window in the dead of night to listen to you talk about anything and everything, every time he would interrupt your rantings to tease you about how you never stopped talking, every time your eyes would linger on him just a moment too long - it was like everything made sense.
You knew close to nothing about the boy under the mask, but you knew there was no other part of your day that you looked forward to more than the moment that knock sounded into your bedroom. You knew that you both could keep up a conversation with each other like there was no tomorrow, banter flew back and forth between you both and you never ran out of things to say.
But today would be different. Today, you’d be hatching a plan. If there was one thing you knew about your ominous boy, it was that he couldn’t hide a strong emotion. Anger, stress, sadness. If he didn’t feel the same way, you’d know by the end of the night. If he did, well, you hadn’t gotten that far. While he knew close to everything there was to know about you, some days you felt like your closest friend was still nothing but a stranger to you.
The night went normal, he swung by after patrol, ate some of the food you saved for him and spun in circles on your desk chair while you lounged on your bed. “Hey Blue?”
“You know princess, I wouldn’t have told you my favorite color if I had known it would have led to another unbearable nickname.” He leaned his head all the way back to lean against the back of the chair as he continued spinning. Princess. A nickname he started calling you because you had been upset about a small trivial problem one night, you honestly couldn’t even remember it now, and he had started calling you that to tease your quick temper when things didn’t go your way. Some nights, you let yourself pretend he was calling you by the name in an endearing way instead.
“Deal with it. Can I tell you something?”
“Jesus, when will you ever run out of things to talk about?” He was teasing and you glared, grabbing your slipper from the ground and throwing it at his head. He caught it before it hit him and grinned sheepishly at you through his mask. “Kidding, kidding. You know I love listening to you talk. Tell me anything.”
A small flush rose to your cheeks. “I know how you are. I know you want to work in seclusion, and we’ve never really talked about this kind of thing before. But you’re my friend, I’d even go as far as to call you my best friend and-“ His shoulders stiffened, he knew where this was going. “I’d never pressure you into it, or ask you to do something you aren’t ready to do. But if one day, you ever decide that you do trust me enough, I hope you’ll decide to at least tell me your name.”
He knew it was coming. He’d been coming to your room almost every night without fail for a good five months on end. Eventually you’d get tired of the banter about nicknames, eventually you’d want to know who was behind the mask that knew close to everything about you.
He examined you for a moment. His gut was screaming at him, screaming that the one thing he promised to never do was reveal his identity. But there was nothing more he wanted in that moment than to rip off the mask and kiss you, tell you his name, what happened to him, what happened to Uncle Ben, and why he felt like it was his responsibility to hunt down the man that did it.
You were beginning to regret ever having said anything. He was sitting in silence, the chair had stopped spinning, his shoulders were still tensed up, and he was just staring at you. The mask prevented you from reading his expression. He could be contemplating his next move, but he also could be glaring - angry at the thought that you’d even bother to ask him to reveal such a piece of information.
He spoke, his words cut the air and you felt time stop. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest and your eyes widened to the full extent that they could. “Peter.” It was a whisper, like he was afraid that just by saying it out loud the entire city would be able to hear. “My name is Peter.”
Your jaw had fallen and you quickly gathered yourself as he stood and began making his way to the side of the bed you were sitting on. He sat next to you, examining the emotions your face was broadcasting to him. “Hi Peter.” Was all you could mumble. You didn’t think he’d do it now - you weren’t sure he was going to do it ever. But he did, and you loved the way his name rolled off of your tongue. Just when you thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, he leaned forward and grabbed your hand.
You furrowed your eyebrows at him as he pulled your hand up towards his face. “What are-“ The words caught in your throat and all the air in your lungs escaped dangerously fast when he placed your hand on the hem of his mask. You gripped it immediately, scared that if you didn’t take action your mind would catch up with you and you’d wake up from some sick dream where you’d made this entire interaction up.
You didn’t move to pull it off, your eyes locked with the whites of the mask looking for any and all confirmation from him that this was what he truly wanted. He read your mind, nodded his head, and sat stiff as he prepared for the inevitable disappointment that crossed your face when you found that he was not in fact some smoking hot hero - just a nerdy teenage boy who snuck into a lab and was bitten by a radioactive spider.
You took a deep breath and pulled it over his head, dropping the hand with the mask into your lap. You wished you hadn’t taken that breath, because you immediately choked on the air in your throat when you locked eyes with the sparking brown embers staring back at you. “Holy shit Spider-Ling.” He immediately glared in mock offense and sat back away from you.
“I thought I told you not to call me that.”
“And I thought I told you that my biggest fear was spilling all of my deepest darkest secrets to a boy for months on end only to find out he was the hottest loser to walk this planet.” For the first time since, like, ever, it was his turn to flush red and avoid your gaze. He hadn’t expected that at all, and though he still felt the regret in his gut, he couldn’t help but be relieved that you’d finally been made aware of who he really was.
He didn’t say anything, just stared at you for a few moments as you took him in. His dark hair laid in shags along his forehead and his lips were curved into the tiniest of smiles, and you couldn’t help but fall even more head over heels at the way his eyes crinkled when he did so. You both were silent, and as if some kind of idea sparked in your heads simultaneously, you both quickly moved forward to mend your lips together into one. You raised your hands, grabbed his shoulders and pulling him as close to you as possible.
He reached one hand up, cupping your cheek in the gentlest of touches as his other hand held up his weight so he could fully lean into you. It was sweet, and tender, and everything you could’ve ever dreamed of. His lips were unbelievably soft and moved against yours like you both were created specifically just to kiss one another. He pulled back, barely, and just for a moment, to whisper, “God I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”
You grinned and let out the tiniest gasp of a laugh and moved your hand up to his neck to pull him back towards you. “So keep doing it then, Peter.” You just wanted to test his name out again, it fit him all too well.
He loved it, he loved every second of you saying his name and feeling your lips against his own. He didn’t know how he had ever been content with how things were with you before this moment, and the regret in his gut telling him he shouldn’t have told you turned into nothing but regret that he hadn’t told you sooner.
“Anything for you, princess.” This time, you didn’t have to pretend that he was saying it in an endearing way. The way he was kissing you like he’d never be able to get enough of you told you everything you needed to know, and everything you’ve been dying to hear.
Andrew Garfield with your friends. Their bond ❤️
I will never shut up about this.
may i request for an andrew!peter parker one-shot? I'm imagining the reader and peter are partners for a school/university project, they have this "old married couple" vibes where they bicker and have petty fights all the time but it actually made them a lot closer. they actually became close friends when one day peter falls for her and in the middle of yet another argument over their project, he blurts out "stop yelling at me or i swear to god I'm gonna fall in love with you!"
hehe thank you so much for reading this request!
ahh this is so exciting!! Thank you for the request and I hope I completed it just how you imagined!! 🤍
peter parker x female reader
summary : you soon realize that being lab partners with peter parker is quite eventful.
The door swung shut behind Peter as he entered your house for the first time, hands holding his backpack against his chest anxiously. He was your new lab partner, being assigned by the teacher for this half of the summer term.
He began to feel nervous as his shoes squeaked against the wooden floor leading to your bedroom and he hesitated slightly before rapping his knuckles onto the wooden surface.
You voice floated through the crack in the door, “Come in!”
Peters hand pressed down on the door handle and he took a sharp intake in breath as he looked around your room with great interest. Currently, you were sprawled out on your bed, pencil between your lips, eyes scanning the sheets of science assignments which were scattered across your duvet.
You looked up, eyes widening ever so slightly, “Oh..Peter, hi,” you said in slight surprise.
“You weren’t expecting me?” Peter asked, eyebrows furrowing as he reached out, pulling a chair out from beneath the desk and straddling it so his arms rested against the top of the chair.
A hum of agreement left your lips as you sat up on the bed, eyes tracing over his backpack that lay crumpled on the floor. His hair was mused and windswept, clothes a dark shade of green which were a few sizes too big for him.
“I didn’t think you would show up,” you replied, hands rearranging the sheets of paper on your bed to form a straight line.
“You are aware that I actually want to pass this class?”
You pointedly looked up at him as Peter took out his black rimmed glasses and slipped them onto his nose, “And I hope that you are aware that this is my house and i can kick you out of it when I please.”
Peter held his hands up in surrender as he began listing subjects and topics that you both would study over the course of the semester. A groan left your lips as you face planted your bedsheets, realizing that you were in for a lot more than you had first thought.
The past few weeks has flown by in a whirlwind of revision, late night phone calls and multiple packets of paracetamol that helped ease your relentless headache.
Peter Parker had become somewhat your friend - as you had spent almost every afternoon together, studying for the upcoming evaluation on your science project.
And you somehow found yourself actually enjoying his company.
Hands snapping in front of your face brought you out of your daydream, the noisy chatter of students around you bringing you back to the present.
“Hello?” Peter questioned, eyes boring into your own, “You in wonderland?”
A scoff escaped you in exasperation as you slammed your locker shut behind you, single hand running through your hair.
“Yes Peter, I was just discussing with the Queen of Hearts the many different ways of chopping off someone’s head. Do you want me to demonstrate a technique on you?”
A grin blessed Peters face, as he picked up his pace to match your long strides, “Well, if you were to cut off my head, you wouldn’t pass the project - which you need my help for.”
You mumbled a stream of profanities under your breath and Peter bent down so his ear was level with your mouth, “What was that?”
Reaching up, you tugged his ear sharply, before briskly walking away from him, a laugh escaping your lips as you yelled behind you, “Sod off Parker!”
Peter stood bewildered behind you, watching carefully as you turned the corner and disappeared from sight. His hands held onto his backpack straps as his head slowly shook from side to side. His mouth tilted upwards and he began to quietly laugh, rocking on the balls of his feet.
An odd feeling surfaced in his chest as he stared at the place where you had been a moment before, warmth blossoming throughout his body. Peters hand came up to rub his ear where you had pulled him, as he walked towards his next lesson, the stinging pain a constant reminder of your touch.
Sun beamed down through the open blinds of your window, rays of light dancing across your carpeted bedroom floor. You were sat cross legged next to Peter, bent over a towering model of the human body. Connected by a red wool string lay a cardboard cut out of the solar system, each planet slowly spinning around in a clockwise direction.
Peter watched contently as you bit your bottom lip in concentration, a sigh leaving your lips as you leaned back, allowing you to fix your posture.
“I think we should add planet Pluto to our space,” Peter said, eyes connecting with yours in a serious manner.
“Are you serious? Pluto isn’t even considered a planet anymore and the size of it is too small to fit next to Neptune.”
Peter sighed, “Let me see.”
He leaned forwards slightly, grabbing a scrap of tinfoil and rolling it into a ball. Ignoring the warnings that came from your lips Peter began to construct a support beam for Pluto to sit on unaware of the damage he was causing to the main building.
Peter tugged on the project, checking the stability for the planet but as he did so, the red string of wool grew taught with pressure and it snapped. You could only watch in horror as your skeleton of the human body toppled over, bones and diagrams of organs scattering across you carpeted floor.
Just as Peter was about to apologize, you silently held up a hand dismissing him.
Seething, you narrowed your eyes at Peter, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Look, we can rebuild this. Calm down and relax.” He said, hands fumbling with the small bones littered across the floor.
“Don’t tell me to relax, Peter.” you warned, voice raising ever so slightly.
You could see that Peter was clearly distressed. His eyes carefully watching your every move as he frantically attempted to reassemble your skeleton but you didn’t care.
“We won’t have time to finish it!” You yelled, stilling Peters movements on rebuilding the model. “We have one week Peter, one week! And thats clearly not enough time now that you’ve ruined the biology factor! We’re going to fail and there’s nothing we can do!”
You had stood up by this point and began pacing, voice fully raised. “I don’t know why I trusted you with this! I should’ve done it myself, then everything would’ve turned out okay!”
Peter gently grasped your arms, stilling your movements, “It’s not just my fault okay? The glue wasn’t tight enough on the skeleton.”
Pushing Peter away you glared at him, “You’re blaming me?!”
“I’m just saying it’s not all on me okay? You need to breathe.”
Shakily, you brung your hands up to your face, shielding your eyes from Peter. “I don’t really want to look at you right now Pete.”
Peter felt his chest sink and before he could stop himself he blurted out, “just stop yelling at me or I swear to god I’m going to fall in love with you!”
Peter immediately regretted his words as he watched a pink blush spread across your cheeks, eyes going wide in shock. Your mouth hung open slightly and your hands lowered from your face slowly.
Peter looked taken aback, “I think you heard me the first time.”
He stepped closer to you and you took a sharp intake of breath. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he ran his hands along your arms in comfort. “Breathe with me okay?”
You followed his instructions, your heart level lowering to its normal rate. “I’m still pissed at you, y’know.” you exclaimed, eyes staring into Peters.
Searching your eyes, Peter leans forward, wrapping you in a short embrace. Against the shell of your ear he whispered a gentle “I know.” before pulling away to gather his belongings.
“I’ll come back later yeah? I just need some fresh air.”
Before you could reply, Peter had left you alone in your room. Staring at the broken skeleton model you flopped down onto the bed behind you, a large groan escaping your lips as your hands covered your face.
What are you going to do now?
We need to have a word with IMDB trivia. I think people want that to be the truth, and it isn’t the truth.
+ bonus interview from 2012:
spot the difference
tasm!peter x fem!reader | fluff
summary: tired of seeing you pining after your best friend, gwen decides to help you by googling seduction tricks. while nothing useful came up, it starts a chain of disastrous events anyway.
Peter noticed you being weird all day. While he didn't know the explicit reason why, he assumed you found another obsession; maybe with a fictional dead character. It wouldn't be the first time.
But when he came over to your house and you insisted on complaining that he was too early, he knew you were up to something.
In your defense, Gwen was talking to you just moments before and who's to say Peter didn't hear what she was saying? Annoying as it was, you knew he had super hearing powers.
"Look I'm just saying, you need to tell him that you like him," she had said sharply.
"I don't need to. Or have to. This is a silly crush. It'll disappear soon."
"If you say so. Or you can try to uh, sit up straight and do not lower your chin. This makes you look confident about your body. Men tends to find- wow okay that article is bullshit."
Your gasp could be heard through the phone. "Are you looking up flirting tips?"
"Seduction ones actually," she replied grimly. "WikiHow is more clueless than we are."
"This is stupid. I'm just going to play it cool, shush."
"I support you being stupid. Or you can dress up and surprise him—"
"Stop looking at WikiHow!"
After Gwen had hung up, you heard Peter's knocks. Luckily, he didn't seem to have heard any of it, but you were still frustrated.
"You didn't have to be this early," you repeated, folding your hands.
"Uhm, sorry? Will these flowers make up for it?" He took some petunias out of his jacket. "I found these while I was swinging here."
"Oh," you accepted them with a slightly opened mouth.
Why, oh why did my best friend have to be this charming?
"Y/N?" he called. "Are you going to let me in or?"
You shook yourself out of your thoughts, realizing that you were staring at him. "Yeah, yeah, just go to the left. The first door's my room."
"I know. I've been here a million times," he said, almost smirking. "You seem distracted. Any reason why?"
"Nop, just tired," you said quickly. Did it matter if you used that opportunity to flirt? No, because he never NEVER picks up on a hint. If you wanted him to know, you needed to explicitly tell him or do some terribly grand gesture.
Wheels started to turn in your head. You were too scared to do the former, but the latter was more your scene.
At that moment, you decided to do something dumb for once. Time to follow WikiHow tips, even if it blows up in your face.
An hour later.
"Y/N, are you okay?" Peter called from your bed, where he was surrounded by books and paper. You had disappeared to the kitchen to get snacks, but it's been almost half an hour.
"I'm fine; almost done!" your voice responded, but that only left him more confused.
"Almost done with what? I thought you were getting Doritos, not writing a cookbook!"
"Almost- almost- aha!" you barged into the room with as much confidence as you could.
You were dressed in a new green satin gown, accompanied with a little more attention to makeup than you usually did. The plan was simple — get him impressed. True, you didn't have much time, but spontaneity has always been your comfort zone.
He can't understand flirting but seeing you out of baggy clothes and messy hair might make him a little surprised... right?
He had hardly even looked up.
"Peter," you called, scratching your hand. The dress had a lot of sequins, but some of them appeared to be itching your skin through the fabric. Did I accidentally buy a knockoff again?
"What?" he called, his eyes still on the book he was scribbling in.
You sighed, and when he heard the annoyance tinted in it, he reluctantly looked up.
Okay here goes. He's going to compliment me and I'll flirt back and he'll FINALLY know that I'm into him. Maybe I should ask him out first and—
"Where's the Doritos?"
You blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Where's the Doritos?" he repeated. "Your hands are empty."
"Uh- well I-," you were taken aback, but you refused to give up. "C'mon Pete, can't you see any major difference now from when I left five minutes ago?"
"That wasn't five minutes. That was half a century," he said, sitting up straighter. "And the only difference I see is your hair? I think? Did you put glitter in it or something?"
"And the dress!" you exclaimed. "This green satin dress! You have no comment or question on that?"
"It looks...itchy?" he laughed. You scoffed and immediately stopped scratching your hands. "Why have you dressed up anyway? Isn't it your bedtime soon?"
"For the love of god, I don't have a bedtime; I'm not a toddler."
"Apparently not or you'll be asleep by now."
"Fine, fine, I'm sorry," he bit back his laughs. "But you didn't answer my question."
"Well, this is a new dress and I just—" think, think, think. "Wait, you're telling me you didn't get my text?"
"What text?" he raised an eyebrow.
"I told you we're going to the new restaurant today," you lied. "Remember the one where I know the manager? She's a nice person and uh, we should be there to show our support! Plus, discount!"
"You didn't send me any text," he disagreed, taking out his phone.
"Then I sent it to someone else, that's funny," you shrugged. "But I'm dressed up now so we're going. Let's go, go, go!"
"What about the assignment?" he pointed to the papers.
"You've been at it for some time. We deserve a break," you said firmly, leading the way.
You hoped your current confidence wouldn't ooze away in the taxi ride. Thank god for your knack to come up with excuses. Now you just needed to find another way to ask him out before the night was over.
"There's this science fair held next week," Peter said in between eating the spaghetti. "Professor Burn says I should try applying but I'm not sure. There's an Astrology based Gala at the same time. I wanna go but Burn says it's unheard of to show up without a plus one."
You oblivious idiot, I could be your plus one.
"What do you mean?" you asked absentmindedly.
"Everyone shows up with their partner and I don't mind going alone but get this, Professor Burn automatically assumed I wouldn't have a plus one. I mean, that was hurtful." He ordered some more wine. "Should I go to the fair instead?"
"You should. You'll totally win it," you said, bitterness still not washed out of your voice yet. This wasn't how you wanted the dress plan to go. Maybe if I hadn't chickened out, this dinner would have been a real date.
"I don't know. It's a group thing but I guess I could ask Stella?"
"Stella Marinet?" you looked up from your bowl. "That girl who's been flirting with you over the past year?"
"Pfft," he laughed. "She never flirts with me, what are you talking about?"
"You kidding? She has your schedule memorized by now. I'm surprised she didn't figure out you're Spiderman yet."
"Shush, not so loud!" Peter was startled by your change in voice. "What's going on? You sound mad at me."
"I'm just shocked that someone so smart can't understand hints," you replied, scrunching your eyebrows together. "Like how does that happen? How can't you see she's practical heads over heels in love with you?"
"But I guess you won't see it even if she tries to ask you on a date!"
"Wait, is this a date?" he gasped, pointing at the table. "Are we on a date right now? Are you Stella?"
"No! I mean you're just dumb when it comes to flirting!"
"How would you know that if you haven't flirted with me before? Woah, woah, is that why you're in that dress? Is that a date dress?"
"NO- I wore it cause I like this dress! It makes me feel pretty, bite me." Your voice rose a little bit more.
"You always look pretty. What's the point of scratching out your skin?"
"You know what, I'm suddenly no longer hungry," you remarked, standing up. "I'll pay for the food at the counter. 'Night Pete. Once again I repeat, I am not in love with you."
"You're in LOVE with me?" he yelled.
"I SAID I'M NOT- okay this is dumb. Bye."
"You can't just leave!"
"Watch me," you called over your shoulder, then walked right off.
When someone fights with their best friend, they ignore each other for a week. This was your plan too, but Peter wouldn't hear of it. He kept trying to talk to you in classes, left you a thousand messages, and even Gwen had enough.
"I'm just asking you to talk to him," she said through the phone one evening, practically pleading. "If I go through one more day where he's whining about losing his best friend, I'll go crazy."
"He didn't lose me, I'm just- fine, I'm embarrassed," you sighed. "I stormed out of there like a cat on fire. He knows I like him and I hate confrontations. No, let me rephrase that, I hate the part where he's going to let me down easy and ask whether we can still be friends."
"You don't know he'll say that," Gwen reasoned swiftly. "It's Peter. He loves you."
"You'll never know if you don't ask. You can't avoid him forever."
"Yeah, believe me I know," you said, squinting at your window. You were sure you heard something. "Hon, can I call you later? I have to go."
"Sure, just don't forget tomorrow's girls' day! I'll call MJ too."
"Deal," you said, hanging up.
The sounds outside had stopped, but Peter's one sticky fellow, isn't he?
"If someone sees Spiderman stealing my plants, there goes your reputation," you said to the room.
With a groan, Peter crawled in through the window. He took off his mask, looking extremely scared. He usually looked like that when he did something dumb.
"When I reached your window, I thought I shouldn't come inside and I had an internal debate for twenty minutes," he said hesitantly. "Sorry if that's creepy."
"I don't really want to talk to you right now," you said, nonchalantly as you could.
"I know," he pointed to the window. "There's a billboard across the street that says you're still mad at me. I didn't come here to talk. I just had one question."
"Are you SURE you're still mad at me for doing whatever it is that I supposedly did?"
You paused, struggling to come up with an answer. "It's not anything you did. I'm just in a confused state right now—"
"Is that a yes or a no?"
"It's a maybe."
"Good, good." He clapped his hands and then pulled the mask over his face again. "Great actually. I have a plan. Will see you later. Don't worry, nothing's going to explode."
As he moved to the window, you followed him with a frown. "Wait, what's going to explode?"
"I said nothing's going to explode!" he said, jumping outside. "Bye, Y/N!"
"Oh fuck," you muttered under your breath, knowing whatever he's going to do had something that's going to explode.
The next day, you were on the lookout for any spidey-shaped jumpscares. But the morning had gone smooth and seeing as it was a Saturday, you were free. You went to your favorite cafe, caught up with MJ and Gwen; who made the plans from there. The latter was determined to have your mind off the whole Peter mess and demanded to go shopping.
Though you were reluctant, you ended up having a great time. You know your day's going great when you have 50 new pictures with candid images of your friends being chaotic. When you reached home, you sighed.
As much as thrilling as the day was, you looked forwards to catching up on your favorite show too; but that relief was quickly put off when you realized your apartment door was open.
From a broken lock to robbery — all scenarios flashed through your eyes. The hissing sounds from inside definitely tipped in favor of the latter. You bent down and took off your heel, holding it above you like it was a sword. Ever so gently, you pushed the door completely open.
Inside, everything was on fire.
Okay that was dramatic. Not on fire, but there was definitely a lot of smoke.
Of course your best friend was in the middle of it, coughing and panting. You dropped the heel in surprise.
"Peter?" you called shrilly. "What the fuck is going on?"
"I THOUGHT YOU SAID NOTHING WOULD EXPLODE!"
"Your apartment did NOT explode," he said defensively. "Alright maybe your oven exploded, but that was NOT my intention."
"So first thing to know - there's no fire. Your oven did this weird gargling thing and started releasing too much smoke so I turned it off. Secondly, I just wanted to bake some muffins."
"What? Why?" you snapped, sitting down on the couch.
"What do you think?" He gestured to himself.
"I don't get it." You shook your head.
"Really?" he asked sarcastically. "Look again."
You froze, your eyes just registering what he was wearing. His regular jacket was nowhere in sight, just a plain white shirt with an unbuttoned suit (which looked very flattering by the way). His hair seemed to sparkle, which made you guess he had tried to tame the messy parts with gel, but of course, under the oven incident, they only seemed to have gotten messier.
"Why are you dressed up like you're going to a funeral?" you asked, amazed.
"For you," he said firmly, running around to unlock the windows so the smoke would disperse faster. "If I couldn't get you to talk to me, I wanted to show you that I would dress up in an itchy outfit for you too."
You blinked. "Excuse me?"
He sighed. "Gwen may have told me about the seduction tips."
You felt a wave of shock wash over you. "She what?"
"Don't get mad at her. I kind of annoyed her too much. She had to say it. I just- I didn't know how to tell you so I dressed up and made muffins cause I like you very muffin. Very muff."
"Wait you're kidding me right now," you said, hands on your hips. "Please tell me you did not ruin my apartment just to ask me out."
"I mean I- wow I should have worn a tie! That's the issue, isn't it?" he threw his hands into the air. "Of course a tie would be the dealbreaker!"
"I didn't say no! I'm just shocked, that's all. I would have asked you out but I was too much of a coward and guess that cost me a place to live."
"Your place did not explode!"
"It could have!"
"It didn't!" He paused, staring at you like you just said the world's biggest joke. "But we're actually doing this? We're actually going to go on a date?"
"I think so Parker," you said, a little nervous behind your confidence stance.
He seemed to be quite the opposite of that. He let out a content laugh, a happy, relieved laugh - then stepped forwards to press his lips against yours. Soft, eager, but way too short.
He didn't let you go, but pressed his forehead against yours with an adorable grin.
"Isn't it funny how you dressed up for me but I didn't notice it and now I dressed up for you but you didn't notice it?" he asked.
"Well, you're always pretty," you said, repeating what he had said to you that day.
"You know what this means? I'm going to the Gala!" He stepped away, sounding victorious. "Professor Burn can suck it."
"Wait, I never said yes to that."
He looked betrayed. "That's not fair. If you had a gala, your boyfriend would go with you happily."
You scoffed, but he didn't buy it. He tilted his head with his puppy dog eyes. Maybe he saw your blush.
"We're not boyfriend-girlfriend yet."
"What?" he gasped. "But we're dating!"
"For like two minutes. That's not how it works."
He rolled his eyes. "You're telling me I'd know more about you on dates? We have already known each other our entire lives! We've been obliviously dating for seven damn years!"
"I'm not coming to the gala, Pete," you said, moving to the kitchen to see how bad your oven was.
"But I'm your boyfriend! Your awesome boyfriend of seven years!"
"I know all your secrets by now! We're practically married!"
"No, we're not."
"That's a mean thing to say to your husband," he said, almost pouting.
You rolled your eyes. Oh he's going to be the death of me, you thought, but kind of endearingly.
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