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disartrous · 1 year

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Love Love — Peter Parker (ag)

peter parker (ag) masterlist

summary: you’ve always gotten a lots of valentines (obviously) and were always happy to split the treats with your best friend and laugh over the cheesy-ness of the notes, but this year, peter has more gifts than you

a/n: literally wrote this all last night and finished at one in the morning cause that’s when i had the idea and i needed it out for today so please kindly point out any mistakes

content: fluff, friends to lovers, gender neutral reader, peter’s insecure, reader is jealous

You opened up your backpack as you sat down on Peter’s bed and flipped it over, dumping its contents out onto the comforter. Peter looked over at you, watching as you separated the pink and red from your school supplies before shoving the latter back into your bag. When all of the Valentine gifts were put together in one small pile, you looked up at him, and rolled your eyes to see that he hasn’t even changed out of his Spider-Man suit,

“Come on, Pete! I already waited till after you did your patrols, don’t make me wait any longer!” He put his hands up in faux defense,

“Alright, alright, alright. So demanding.” You turned your eyes away when he started removing the suit, very aware of the fact that nothing but boxers were underneath. After throwing on a t shirt and sweatpants, he grabbed a box out of the back of his closet and sat down across from you, pouring the various letters and gifts he’d received next to yours. You quirked a brow,

“Impressive.”

“People have been giving them to me — to Spider-Man — since February started. They like carry it around with them, and I guess wander around till they find me.”

“Dedicated admirers.” You couldn’t help the condescending tone in your voice that slipped while you muttered — something Peter could only understand due to his super hearing, “Especially for someone they don’t even know.”

You held onto that. They didn’t know him, they were random people, caught up in the idea of a hero, in the mystery of a mask. You knew him. You were his best friend. It was always nicer to focus on the best rather than the friend in that phrase.

“Jealous that I’ve finally got more Valentines than you?”

You took another look at the space between you two. He did have more, way more. He used to get none at all and the five to seven you got were set out between you two and you’d laugh at the cheesy notes and eat the chocolates with him while watching a romcom. It was the best part of the holiday. But this year, his pile towered over yours, and you did feel ashamed by the jealously you felt. You should be happy someone so great was getting the recognition they earned. And the fact that you tried to invalidate that under the guise that those were for Spider-Man and not Peter made things worse. Spider-Man was Peter, they were both the same kind soul that you loved. You gave him a sweet smile,

“Not jealous, Pete. I’m really happy that you’re finally receiving some of the love you deserve.”

He didn’t know how to tell you that every other Valentine’s Day he received all the love he needed, when you politely turned down people and they let you keep the gifts — what were they supposed to do with it? — or took the things left at your locker and desks and shared them with him. They were yours and they came from some really attractive people, yet you valued personality more and sometimes he could convince himself that he was the personality you wanted. And every day his heart felt like it was going to burst with love when he saw you smile and laugh, especially if it was because he made a joke. And whenever you touched him, whether it was a brush of the hand or you laid under the same blanket as him while watching a movie, the butterflies in his stomach tried to burst out.

“You deserve it too.”

That was all he could manage.

“No,” you shook your head. “You did things to earn these.” You picked up a random card and opened it, reading the words out loud, “You’re my hero.” You grabbed another card, this one with too big and too messy writing of a child, “Dear Spider-Man, Thank you for bringing my cat back home.”

“It’s just a cat,” Peter scratched at the back of his neck. Another letter,

“New York would be lost without you, thank you for everything you’ve done.” And another, “You make me feel safer when I walk the streets at night.” And another, “When there’s no more hope, you come in and save the day. Happy Valentines.” You put the card down and looked up at him, “That was a haiku. Someone sat down and counted syllables for you. And you deserve a thousand more.”

There were surprisingly no confessions of love yet. It was oddly comforting.

“I don’t—”

“Dear Spider-Man, I don’t know who you are or what you look like, but I know you’re the kindest person out there. And that you’re hot, like more than just your body — which we all know is hot because of the skin tight suit — but everything about you, I can just tell. Selfless people like you are always attractive. You’ve made all of New York fall in love, including me.” There it was. You stifled a laugh at that one, some people were bold. Your eyes skipped the rest of the letter and glanced down at the name signed at the bottom and they widened as you read it, “Sam Cooper.” He was already blushing, and it only got worse when the name was read out.

He furrowed his brows and snatched the card from you hands — a little too eagerly for your taste — and scanned over the name a few times, recognizing the handwriting from seeing it on the white boards in class. Sam Cooper was smart and never shy, always going up to write down the answer. And they were really attractive, with half the school getting too distracted by them to check their work with what they had written on the board.

“Sam Cooper as in Sam Cooper from our Chem class?”

“Looks like it,” there was a heaviness in your chest, something making you want to sink through the bed and to the floor, never getting back up. Meanwhile, he read it again, his face falling the second time he went back to the top. His voice got quiet,

“This are for Spider-Man, not me.” Now you felt really bad about thinking the same thing. “All of these are for Spider-Man.” Maybe sinking all the way to the Earth’s core would be better suited for your mood.

“Pete, look at me.” He continued staring at all of the Valentine’s in front of him,

“People love you, Y/n. Like actually you. They all love Spider-Man, not Peter.”

“I love Peter.” His head shot up and mouth fell open. “No, don’t say anything. I love Peter Parker. I love you. Because Spider-Man is great. But it’s Peter Parker that’s the one doing these great things. And it’s Peter Parker that’s making sure to always get whatever May needs from the grocery store, even if you’ve spent all day being a hero. You have enough karma points from being Spider-Man to be the biggest asshole as Peter and have a clean conscience, but you’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met and I’m honored to be not Spider-Man’s friend, but Peter’s. Because Sam — who I sort of hate right now — is right. They’re always right. Everything they said was right. You’re kind and hot. And you’re also smart, which they didn’t say. But should’ve. Because you really are smart. And that’s another thing! You stay up late fighting crime then stay up later helping my stupid ass study. You’re literally perfect—”

“You love me?” It was barely a whisper, and you did struggle to hear it. But you still got it. “Like, love love?” You sort of forgot about that part, but with the direction your angry rambling was going, you were sure you would’ve gotten back to it if he didn’t interrupt you. You leaned in closer to him, placing a hand over his that was resting on the bed for support,

“Yeah, Pete, we’re not in third grade, but if that’s how you want to define it, I love love you.” He nearly closed the distance between your faces and you could feel his breath tickle your skin as he breathed.

“I love love you too.”

And then your lips were on his. And his hands pushed the Valentine’s to the floor, opening up space for him to grab you and pull you into him. He could feel your heartbeat against his chest, fast and steady and you could smell his shampoo mixed with the sweat from wearing a spandex mask for half the day.

When you parted, it was only because you needed air and he didn’t let you stray far, keeping his forehead pressed to yours as you both held your eyes closed and breathed, not wanting this feeling to end.

“I don’t think your ass is stupid.” You sighed,

“Pete…”

“I think it’s pretty cute,” he pecked your nose before moving back down to your mouth.

———

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