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andilovetowrite · 3 years

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Controlled Freakiness (P.P x Reader)

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

This can be read as a continuation of Initial Shyness, or as a stand-alone.

Summary: Confessions are cute, right? Especially when you have been waiting for years to say it out loud. But what happens when the initial shyness wears off? And we all know Peter isn’t as innocent as he seems ;)

Warnings: Mention of blood and knives. Also some suggestiveness and making out. Nothing too graphic though. A couple of bad words here and there as well.

Word Count: 3.4k

Based on a request, you can find it here!

Here is my Masterlist in case you want to find more of my work :)

If someone told you that one day, you and Peter Parker would be caught making out in your bedroom, you would’ve laughed at them. But...as it turns out, they wouldn’t have been too wrong about that.

Let’s go back to about five months ago, on the rooftop of Peter’s apartment, where he had met you with a bouquet of red roses and an even redder face …

5 months ago

“Why-why would yo-is this-u” you tried to speak, with little success. You could feel your face heat up in embarrassment, so you just stared at the flowers in Peter’s hands.

“I-uh really, um like you Y/N. Like more than an a-a friend. And much more than a best friend. I know yo-you may not like me back, but I couldn’t keep it in any longer-”

You know it’s rude to interrupt someone when they are speaking. But you couldn’t hear any other word come out of his mouth because otherwise, you would’ve melted. So you did the next best thing. You kissed him. Hard.

His words got caught in his throat as his lips met yours. And for a second, you were worried you went too far, pulling back. But as soon as he felt you doing that, his hands went to your hair, pulling you flush against him, kissing you back with fervour.

You wish you could’ve stopped time. Right there. During a beautiful sunset, on the roof surrounded by rose petals, and with Peter in your arms. And in your mouth. But sadly, you needed air to breathe, so you pulled away, probably looking like a fish straight out of the water. Opening your eyes, you could see Peter’s face. His pupils were dilated, and his entire face was a pink hue. His lips were plump and red but pulled up in a lovesick smile.

You knew you had the same expression on your face. Smiling softly, you looked at Peter, and at the same time, you both said.

“I really like you.”

Anyway, so that was probably one of the highlights of your day, but possibly one of the happiest days in your dad’s life. His little apprentice/almost son kissed and confessed to his only daughter. It couldn’t have worked out better. No boy would ever be good enough for you, and no ordinary girl would be good enough for Peter. So naturally, he was thrilled to hear that you two were now a couple.

And that’s why you wished he didn’t have to be the first one to walk in on you and Peter. So that brought you to the infamous Saturday that was now known as the Satisfying Saturday...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Friday, 8:00 pm, Avenger’s Compound

“Hey Y/N”, Peter called out, walking through the open window. His Spidey suit was cut loose in different places, and the minute he stepped in, his mask disappeared, showing his tired and bruised face.

“What the heck Pete?”, you shouted, jumping up from your bed. “What happened? How did I not get an alert?”

Peter looked down sheepishly, which then made you realise that he was still standing on the roof.

“Peter! Get down, and tell me what happened?!” You pointed down sternly, letting him jump on the floor, wincing as he hit his leg. Running to the first aid kit you kept in your room for times like these, you picked up some hydrogen peroxide and cotton pads, letting Peter sit down on your bed.

“So, tell me, Peter? What was it this time? You asked, dabbing the disinfectant on his face first. He flinched as you pressed it, hissing softly as the pad made contact with his skin. Shushing softly, you focused on cleaning his wounds, moving your thumb over them to soothe them.

“Y/N, you know, it wasn’t as bad-”

“Really Pete? You are bleeding like a fire hydrant. Why didn’t Karen update my dad or the tower? Or me?”

“Yeah um, about that, I disabled the Careless Boyfriend command”, he said, looking at you expectantly. You scratched your head, scoffing.

“It was a great device! Plus, who do you think makes the suits with Mr Stark?” Leaning back, you grabbed some antiseptic cream, putting it over his face. “So, you still have to tell me whose ass to kick when I go out on patrol..”

“Actually, it was-”

“Wait, let me guess...old lady with a ferocious cat, both of whom thought you were a creepy Comic-Con freak!” Laughing slightly at the pout on his face, you pressed the tiny spider on his chest, watching as the suit untightened, falling from his body effortlessly. Now, usually, his abs and glowing skin would distract you for a bit, but it was different this time. Dark red blood oozed out from deep cuts on his abdomen, falling on the bed around him. Your eyes widened as they roamed over his injuries.

“Peter! Wha- what did they use? A normal knife wouldn’t cut you like this!” Peter’s face scrunched up in pain as he remembered it, but seeing the look on your face, he grabbed your hand, nodding at you.

“It-it’s fine Y/N. Um, actually, they were using some suspicious-looking gadgets, so yo-you have to tell Mr Stark about it so-”

“No Pete, I mean, I’ll tell dad about this, but first I gotta get you to the infirmary. Holy crap…” you rambled, pulling his suit off.

“Baby, if you wanted my clothes off, you could have just said”, Peter said, smirking at you. Hitting his arm, you glared at him playfully.

“Watch it Parker. I could leave you here!”, you said, throwing the suit into the wash, mentally reminding yourself to make him a more durable suit. Grabbing him, you made him hobble out of your room. In the light of the tower, you can see how fagged out he was looking.

“Hey princes- what the heck happened to you Peter?!”, you dad asked, walking over to the two of you. Taking some of Peter’s weight, he called out to F.R.I.D.A.Y, asking her to call the nearest medics. “How did this happen, Pete?”

“Well, I think it wassss-”, Peter began, but slumped down after a couple of seconds, falling in your arms.

“Dad! What do I do?”

“It’s fine, he’ll be okay, lets just get him to the clinic, um- Steve! Help us out with Spiderboy here”

Carrying him, you got him to the doctors, watching as his wounds already started to patch themselves up. Metal gadgets ran over his body as your dad spoke to the head medic, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“What happened to him?”, you asked. It wasn’t the worst Peter had seen, but you had never seen him pass out before due to a cut.

“Um, so we are detecting some slight substances in his bloodstream, but we are working on removing it.”

“What substances?”, Tony asked, inhaling sharply.

“We aren’t sure yet, but the results should come in about a day.”, the doctor said, looking back at Peter, “As for Spiderman, he should take a couple days off.” He then looked at you. “Did Peter say anything at all about the weapons?”

You shook your head, thinking back. “Nothing much, except for that they were looking suspicious. Maybe the team can go and track back where Peter was patrolling, you know? To see if they can catch the guys who hurt him?”

Tony nodded, as he went back to the living room, probably to call all the Avengers. Trailing after him, you ran to get your suit, but was stopped halfway. “Hey, Tiny Stark, why don’t you stay with Spiderboy. To make sure he is fine?” Natasha asked, glancing at Tony as he slightly nodded his head.

“But you might need help?”

“We’ll be fine. Plus, if these are as dangerous as Peter said, then we wouldn’t want you getting injured. Best you stay here” Dejectedly saying yes, you bid them goodbye.

“Oh, and have fun with the kid. He is pretty hot, and I know you can hit that”, Nat said, winking at you.

Smiling shakily, you stepped back, watching as they left the tower, leaving only you and Peter back.

Fast forward to about 3 long hours later, Peter finally woke up, looking much better. “Y/N? What happened, where’s Mr-”

“Gone out to track down those guys, and they won’t be back till tomorrow”, you said, glancing at your comms. “Said that they were following them to the base”

Peter nodded, looking drowsy. “Can-can I please get some food?”

Smiling at him, you quickly checked if he was ready to be discharged before you got him up. A bit unsteady on his feet, Peter followed you to the living room, falling on the couch. “Whatcha want Pete? A sandwich, or some pasta?”

“Popcorn...caramel please.”

You laughed, grabbing some from the cupboard marked Movie Nights. “Really? You need protein!” Peter didn’t say anything, instead of looking at you with his famous puppy eyes as he pouted. “Fine fine! You win”

Smiling at you, he opened his arms. Hesitantly, you crawled into them, making sure not to apply pressure on his stomach. Times like these were rare. Sure, you and Peter were a couple, but PDA was little at the towers and you two were some of the shyest people when it came to displaying affection in front of people. So you relished times like these when you could just be close to Peter.

“So Peter, what movi-”

*Snore*

Amused, you peered back at him, your heart-melting when you saw Peter fast asleep, his arms wrapped around you and his head lolled back against the cushions. Shrugging to yourself, you quietly switched off the lights, getting up carefully, but almost immediately being pulled back.

“Petey, I gotta get up”, you whispered softly.

“Nuh uh, nope”, he said, his chocolate brown eyes sleepily staring at you, “stay here”

So you stayed. And it was one of the best nights of sleep you had ever had. Little did you know though, tomorrow would be one of the most interesting days of your life.

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

“Good morning Y/N Stark and Peter Parker. I just wanted to inform you that the furniture replacement dudes are on their way up. For Mr Parker’s identity to be kept secret, I would advise you to make your way to the individual rooms or the medbay.” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s automated voice floated through the air, waking you up.

Peter began stirring lightly from under you, making you sit up. His light brown curls sat on his forehead, falling into his eyes. He started mumbling words under his breath as he sat up, rubbing his eyes roughly.

“Ugh drool”, he muttered, wiping his mouth.

Leaning towards him, you brushed his hair out of his face. “Well, good morning to you too Mr Parker”

“Ms Stark, good morning”, Peter said, pulling you into his arms once more. Smiling, you hoped he wouldn’t see your face, as you push your face onto the couch. Pulling back just enough to see him, you leaned down to brush your lips against his, softly at first. Peter sighed into your mouth, and met back up with fevor, his hands tangling themselves in your hair. You could’ve stayed there, but Peter let go, his head still leaning against yours.

“As much as I would love to spend the rest of my day like this, w-we have to get up”, you said, hearing the guys come up the elevator, “like right now Peter!”

Jumping up, you both ran, laughing at F.R.I.D.A.Y as she tried to slow down the elevator without breaking it. “Oh and by the way, how did F.R.I.D.A.Y. learn to say, dudes?”

“Who do you think works with Mr Stark on Friday?”, Peter asked, referring to what you said yesterday to him. Which made you remember his wound.

“How’s your stomach?”, you asked, wanting to pull his shirt up and find out, but way too awkward to do it.

“It’s perfectly fine. Kinda bruised by the feels of it, but the cuts have gone..”, he said, walking back to your room. “When’s the team heading back?”

“Uh, I’m not sure actually, let me just-”, you said, calling Tony up. “Hey Dad, how’s the mission? Find anything yet?”

“Oh, hey sweetheart, uh, can’t talk right now”, Tony grunted as gunshots were heard from behind him, “but we’ll be home by tonight. How’s ugh, um Peter?”

“Oh yeah, Peter’s fine. We’ll probably just watch some movies or something. Do you need anything? Food, rations, help?”

“Esteemed Daughter, who are you talking to? I’m Iron Man, I don’t need any helppppp”, your dad yelled as the sound of metal was his before the line got cut. Peter looked at you with wide eyes, his face shocked.

“Will Mr Stark be okay?”

“Yeah, he will...probably. Nat will call in a bit anyway, so let’s just wait”, you said, jumping on your bed. Patting the place next to you, you watched as Peter shed his shirt, walking over to your bed in his grey sweatpants. Inhaling sharply, you pushed away any thoughts that were coming into your mind as Peter laid down, his arm going around you as he kissed your cheek.

God, you wish he would kiss you somewhere else.

Shaking your head, you asked, “So, which movie should we watch?”

“Um, how about...Hunger Games?”, he asked, slyly grinning at you. Damn him, he knew it was your favourite “nerd” movie. Nodding at him with a grin, you switched it on, falling back onto Peter as the movie started.

Sadly, you weren’t able to focus on the movie too much. Because you were too focused on your boyfriend next to you. Due to the fact that he was an Avenger like you, the timings for the two of you were cramped. With college, and patrolling, there were very different lifestyles the two of you led. As best friends you used to be inseparable but as a couple? Oh, it was a completely different story.

Whenever you two were alone, someone would always interrupt you. Whether it was May at Peter’s place or Ned at school, there was not a single minute the two of you could just hang out. So naturally, you two hadn’t gone to second base. Or even 1.5th place. But today, with the tower absolutely empty, you couldn’t say that your mind didn’t wander. And the clip of Katniss and Peeta making on the screen didn’t help either. So you said something you weren’t too happy about…

“Peter, I wanna jump your bones right now”

“Wha-uh, huh? Y-you wanna do wh-um, jump m-my bones...Uh, I don’t- uh what?!” Peter stuttered, his face bright red. But you were too far down that lane so you just nodded.

“Yeah dude” Peter didn’t say anything again, his eyes glassing over as he stared at you. “Fine...but couldIkissyouabitmorethanusualplease?”

“Uh ye-yeah, if if you want to?”, Peter said, his face flushed pink as he stared at you, adoration in his eyes. Smiling at him with what you hoped with an “I-wanna-make-out-with-you” look, you moved next to him, your face hovering about his. Kissing him lightly at first, it grew deep as Peter grunted softly under you, capturing your lips between his teeth. Suddenly, he grabbed you, pulling you down under him. Now he was the one over you, and when your hand went to his hair, he let out the softest of sounds. But you heard it...and god did it get a reaction out of you.

Now, if you were in your right mind, you would go and put a sock in the door, or tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to disable the elevator to your level. But you were too preoccupied with a certain someone to even bother about that. That is how this entire whole thing started.

Coming back to you and Peter making on your bed, your legs were thrown over his waist as he pulled you to him, your back hovering off the bed. Oh, the joys of having a superhero boyfriend. Anyway, just as he was about to leave your lips to trail kisses down your neck...the door opened.

You didn’t hear the door open though. What you did hear was the multitude of voices, and your dad’s one the loudest.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!”

You couldn’t blame him. It did look bad. With Peter not wearing his shirt and his back bare, it looked like he wasn’t wearing any clothes since our lower bodies were under your cover. Peter also covered you the minute he heard your dad’s voice, which further implied that you both were very very naked.

“DAD!”

“MR STARK!”

You stared at your dad, noticing now that the entire team was standing outside the door, their breaths held and eyes peering. “It-it’s not what it looks like! I promise…”

“Peter, get the hell out of my daughter”, your dad said calmly, his eyes looking everywhere else but at us.

“Dad, he isn’t i-in me. Look!”, you said, pulling the cover’s off you two to show your very covered legs.

“Fine, at least I won’t become a grandfather tonight. But why were you on my daughter Mr Parker?”

Poor Peter, he looked like he was about to faint. “Uh, Mr Stark w-we were just um, hugging? Tightly-”

“With what? Your mouths?”, Sam called out, laughing with Bucky.

“Not now Sam!” you yelled, shooting them a glare.

“Now, I don’t care what you do...but don’t you dare touch my daughter in a harmful way. Got it Parker?”

“Y-yes Mr St-Stark. I won’t, I love your daughter t-too much”

Looking at Peter, your eyes filled with love as you hugged him, kissing him softly. “Aw, I love you too Pete...even if you tried to fuck me right now!”

“WHAT?!”

“Kidding kidding. Anyway, let’s get outta here...please!”

Tony scoffed, turning around but then glanced at Peter. “Take care of your “little” problem before you come downstairs, Peter.”

“Huh? Oh…”, Peter said, hurriedly covering up himself. Giggling, you tried to go closer but were pulled back by your dad.

“Nuh-uh. He’s gonna take care of it. By. Him. Self.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked out, winking at Peter before you walked out. Catching up with the rest of the group, they all grinned at you, making you worried. “What?”, you asked, backing away slightly.

“I think we can all call this day a…”

“Satisfying Saturday!”, they all yelled out, with Natasha bumping shoulders with you and Steve shaking his head behind her.

You sighed, copying Steve. “This isn’t gonna go away, is it?”

“Nope”, Thor said, laughing loudly.

And it didn’t. But thank god they only caught you making out. The next time Peter and you were caught, it was much much worse. But that’s a story for another time.

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

Ooh, that was the longest fic I’ve ever written, but boy, was it a fun one to write. Thanks so much for reading it, and if you liked this one, you can be added to the Taglist for the Caught By Them series. My requests are also open if you have any ideas, but if not, then see you next time!

BTW: Spent about 20 min trying to figure out the type of disinfectant used to treat stab wounds. That’s 20 minutes I’ll never get back, but if I ever do get into a fight, at least I’ll know what treatment to use…

Tagging some people from my last series in case they would enjoy this one :)

@idkatee @eternalscribblesforthesoul @loudbluepancake @poisondevotion @scram1326 @t-hollanderr @305weasley @starknik22 @marvelfansworld @lou-la-lou @lomlparker @marvelfansworld @wowitsel @vanteguccir @fullcheesecakeengineer @ladykxxx08 @allegras-sunflower @ifyouknewhowmiserylovedme

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marky4l · 4 years

Text

Step by Step / Mark Lee

step by step / mkl

pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

From an innocent childhood friendship to a juvenile high school rivalry to a forced pairing for a Psychology paper, it seems you and Mark just can’t avoid each other. But something’s a little different now.

genre: fluff, angst (a little bit), suggestive themes, childhood friends (barely mentioned!) to enemies to lovers, college!au

notes: lia yeonjun chan hyuck jeno all make tiny appearances

word count: 17.2k

hi!!! this is my first work nd I’m really excited to put this out I’d looove if you could give it a read :^) hound me on my inbox if u wanna i take anything

“Remember when we were best friends in fifth grade?”

His voice is a little quiet, and there’s a very obvious undertone of boredom, but you hum softly anyway, nodding, as if to question why you would ever forget. Fifth grade was a suburban brew of Star Wars marathons, figuring out the world, and Harry Potter merchandise littering your house. Fifth grade was lemonade and oatmeal, knitted sweaters, and sneaking into your mom’s vanity to swipe her makeup. And fifth grade was Mark—bright eyed, geeky Mark, with his Death Star replica and weird electronica music.

Mark, who had an affinity with Troy from High School Musical and Spiderman, and wanted to be just like them. Mark, who would show up grinning to your front door everyday, pie dish in his nimble grip. He was the one who had opened a lemonade stand at the corner of your block so he could buy you the Gryffindor scarf you’d been nagging your mom about the entire holiday season. He was the one who learned the chords to your favorite Jonas Brothers song and sang it to you each time you requested it.

“Yes, I do,” you answer instead, clearing your throat.

You attempt to push down all the memories that just ran through your head and adjust the grip you have on your pen. “Well,” Mark continues, “that was ages ago. Beats me why it ever happened.”

The timidity is replaced with a tidal wave of teasing, and the annoyance that had disappeared is beginning to crawl all over you. Again. You roll your eyes and pull up the slides your professor had assigned. “Beats me why we even ended up in the same university, let alone the same class,” you jab, “if you thought I forgot about how you outright failed our Spanish classes in high school, I didn’t.”

Your friendship with Mark had reached its unfortunate demise to the hands of middle school, where you had branched out with your interests and began to stick to societal (as societal as school can get) norms. He had joined the geeky, cool kids; you hadn’t joined a specific social circle, but you had a best friend, Lia, and you were generally good with everybody.

Somehow, despite you both being in good graces with everyone, you had a deep-seated dislike for one another that stemmed from an intense academic rivalry. Specifically, the competition to become school council president. That had ended now, seeing as though you were both in college, but the abrasiveness of your banter had never worn off.

“Oh, because you were so good at Physics?” he says, voice even. His brow is raised. “We all have our strong suits, you know. You’re one to talk.” You decide to pay him no mind, instead jotting down the criteria for your final project in Psychology 1—something about the stages of grief. You’re supposed to relate it to a different human process and show how they fit with one another.

It’s absolute fucking bullshit, and the fact that Mark Lee became your partner among a hundred students is beyond you. Absolutely beyond you.

He nears your screen, reading the content of your project, eyes squinted—you’d noticed his lack of decent eyesight years ago, but it seemingly hadn’t improved. “Relate the stages of grief…hold up, what? That’s difficult as hell. What are we supposed to do, lose a loved one?” You roll your eyes, turning to him. “No, Mark. The point is to find another process that happens gradually and relate it to this—denial, bargaining, anger. Get it?”

He stares back at you. “No.”

You groan audibly, turning back to your notebook. “This is impossible. Can we just switch partners so I won’t have to deal with you?” He smirks, kicking his feet up on the library table. Absently, you note how nice his sneakers look. Reclining onto the seat, he shuts his eyes as if to contemplate.

“I heard through the birdvine our professor’s the type to pair up people she thinks would look good together for shits and giggles. Girls and boys, boys and boys, you name it. Johnny”—he’s referring to a guy who’s a year above yours, studying Biology—“tells me over five couples have been born out of this class. Isn’t that nice?” You scoff, scrolling mindlessly through the slides to keep yourself distracted.

“It really is. A shame we won’t be adding to that list, because I can’t fucking stand you.” He laughs loudly, the vibration of it remaining in the deadly silent air. “I can stand fucking you, though,” he says, and then, before you can even blush, “All jokes. Don’t get your hopes up, ‘kay?” He’s quick to get up, just as flustered as you are at the uncharacteristic phrase that just left his mouth. He collects his jacket and jogs out of the library with a small, half-assed bye under his breath.

—

Lia’s eyes bore into yours. “He actually said that? I’m telling you, he’s some weird kinky guy under that whole cool geek persona. High school Mark would never have. Oh my god. He’s a furry—he’s a furry!” She flops back onto your bed, laughing. You poke at her waist in protest.

“It’s because he’s surrounded by too many weird classy fuckboys. You know, those that think that they’re all that because they haven’t roofied a girl.” You’re half-joking, and you’re really only referring to maybe two guys you’ve happened to see Mark with. As if to read your mind, Lia continues. “Hey, I heard some of them are okay. They’re not, like…those ‘nice guys’, if you get me.”

“I do,” you quip. “But I guess I’m just trying to find a way to justify the whole 360 in Mark. I mean, in high school, he was still nerdy—well, you know. Shy. But jump to sophomore year of uni and he’s suddenly some…” You rack your head for a proper term. “Sex god?” your friend asks, holding in a laugh. “Oh, eat shit,” you fire back, “really, eat shit. And while you’re at it, feed me some, too, because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to turn in at the end of the term. Like, Jes—”

There’s a faint knock at the door, and then. “Lia? It’s—uh, it’s me, Daniel? Er, Daniel Choi.” Your wide eyes can’t possibly match Lia’s as she tugs on a decent-looking pullover and puts it on. As she swings the door open, you manage to sufficiently hide yourself under your duvet and attempt to hear their conversation.

“You know, it’s okay if you leave out the whole…saying your full name at the door part. Trust me…I know you,” she jokes, and you hear him laugh before you detect the crinkling of a plastic bag. “Chinese. Uh, I bought some extra for your best friend, because I’m not gonna pretend I don’t see the sentient blob on the bed.”

You pull the blanket off and smile sheepishly. “Hey, Daniel,” you say, “thanks for the food. I owe you an empty room next time, I swear by it. It’ll be easy, since I’m gonna be”—you heave yourself off the bed and onto the floor, where they’re both sitting—“holed up at the library for the next few weeks.”

Lia nods, chewing her chow mein, and then when she’s done, she explains to Daniel your whole huge Psychology end-of-term paper about stages and grief and whatever, oh also she’s partnered with Mark Lee, this guy that we both know from high school, and she dislikes his guts, oh you know him?

“Wait. You know him?” You repeat, and Daniel nods, ruffling his black mullet. “His room’s, like, three away from mine. He’s studying Theoretical Physics, right? Yeah, he’s always in his room doing school shit, but every weekend he’s out with the upperclassmen. He’s probably out now, ‘cause it’s Friday. How he even charmed them, though, is a mystery.”

Mid-dumpling, you roll your eyes. “Y’know, the hardest part is being partnered with him. But also, even finding what kind of gradual process to relate denial and anger too is weirdly hard. It feels like I could find something, but I haven’t gotten it…quite…” you trail off, your eyes landing on Lia and Daniel across you—they’re smiling softly at each other, and you distinguish their fingers interlocking quietly, as if you wouldn’t notice.

“…yet. Except maybe I have. How would you want to participate in my end-of-term paper?” Their gazes turn to yours, and you nod frantically. “Oh my god, I’m a genius! Seriously! Falling in love! Yes! It’s denial—anger—whatever, whatever! It makes perfect sense. The end is acceptance, too! Oh god, Li, it’s perfect. I will owe you for life if you help me out.”

“Wait, what? You dove straight into it, what—recap, please,” Lia asks, and you compose yourself before explaining giddily.

“Falling in love. It happens gradually, and we can compare it to the stages of grief. Seeing as you and Daniel are headed right there, we can use you as some test subjects. It’s not required to have respondents or subjects, really, it’s just an extensive paper, but it might help get the grade up. This is gonna be great, and if you ever wanna back out, you can, because it’s not mandatory.” Lia and Daniel meet eyes briefly, and then slowly, nod. “Okay, that’s pretty smart,” Daniel says, “I’m up for it. Are you?” Lia nods, slowly and hesitantly, and you smile widely. “You two just saved my Psych grade. I’ll be at Giselle’s tonight. Just…not on my bed.” You grab your keys and phone and bound out of your room, straight into the elevator at the end of the hall.

The elevator door nearly closes when a Converse-clad foot steps in, and your eyes rake up the figure, eventually landing on his face.

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble, “you must be kidding me.”

Mark enters the elevator with a small, teasing smile, hands tucked into his jacket’s pockets. “Hey, dude, what’s up? Was on your floor on my stop down to get some money Lucas owed me,” he says, “this is actually a godsend, because my genius brain found us a project idea. Relate grief to something else gradual? Easy as pie. Falling in lo—”

You cut him off before he can finish, “Falling in love, right. I thought of it first, earlier,” you say profusely, absently noting the pettiness in your tone. He whistles. “No need to get all possessive over an idea the previous classes have used before, man.” You continue, ignoring him. “Whatever. Lucky for our grades, I went the extra mile to get us some test subjects. Do you know the two Chois? Lia and Daniel?”

He nods once, “Yeah, their PDA on Instagram is fucking sickening, but I see your technique, and I like that—we get some extra data from their god awful PDA.” You nod once, and he continues. “It’s nearing 11 on a Friday night. Whose party are you headed to?”

“You’re welcome for the test subjects,” you gripe. “Anyway, I was so giddy about coming up with it, I just left them to…well, fornicate. As a compromise for being lab rats. I texted my…” you realize you’re starting to share too much to a guy you typically dislike talking to, and then there’s a silence in the air that’s painfully awkward.

“You texted your…?” Mark asks. “My friend, but she’ll be home at 1AM, so I’m out to kill time. No parties, just…I dunno.” He nods again, and then the elevator lets out a blissful ding. You step out simultaneously, and then he faces you. “Look, it’s freezing out, you’re in shorts and a puffer coat, and it’s three hours to 1AM, so I doubt you’ll get far.” You scoff at his words despite feeling your legs shake from the breeze outside. “I’ll be fine, dumbass.”

“Just concerned,” he says, in a tone that sounds more blank than annoyed, but he turns and heads toward the door anyway. He swivels back around briefly. “It’s in Johnny’s apartment. Just a couple people, if you get bored freezing.” He jogs outside then, and you inwardly appreciate the small gesture, but again, annoyance returns just as quickly. You linger a bit before heading out yourself, walking briskly to a local Japanese restaurant. You consider this an opportunity to have some me time, some rest after a shitty week in university. Lasting ’til 1AM alone and entertained would not at all be a problem.

You last one ramen bowl and head to Johnny’s apartment.

—

When Johnny Suh answers the door, he’s clad in a makeshift shower curtain gown of sorts, and is flushed and very buzzed all over. He hikes up the top to cover his chest and laughs profusely. “Did Mark invite you?” Behind him is a sizeable group of just about twenty people, which looks like forty in a cramped communal space. You’d been here before—Johnny likes to invite just about anyone to get stoned and listen to Kid Cudi on Fridays, and you had pushed Lia to accompany you before.

You distantly spot the kitchenette, the small living room, and then the two bedroom doors opposing each other. “The rule was to show up wearing something not marketed as clothing, but Mark didn’t follow the rules, so. Anyway, you’re off scot-free, too…” he pauses, “…if you take off the puffer coat. We’ve got heating, anyway. Free booze and weed, too.” You figure being in a flimsy tank top isn’t so bad—you’re sure half the people here are already getting laid or trying to, and nobody would really pay attention to you.

You shrug off the coat as Johnny steps aside to let you in, hugging it close to your body and navigating your way to the kitchen. The granite counters are filled with various bottles of booze, and you also note the cigarettes and blunts lining the island. You peruse the brands before settling on a sealed can of decidedly not-so-cheap-looking beer, and crack it open to take a swig. It’s warm and fucking disgusting, but there’s not much glitz in an “anything but clothing” off-campus college party anyway.

There are several people scattered among the living area, passing around a blunt—another group is playing suck and blow. You make your way over to the cheap couch on the far end of the room, taking a seat on the arm and stretching out your hand to claim the blunt. It’s Jae who passes it to you—Jaehyun Jung, an upperclassman whose infamy (for wearing nothing but toilet paper and running through campus) greatly surpasses him. “Who are you?” he asks, and you holler your name back over the Kanye West song playing in the background. “Mark invited me,” you tack onto the end as compensation.

He nods in understanding, watching you take a drag and pass it back to him. He only hands it back, saying, “It’s nearly done, just finish it,” and getting up to probably get some booze or another blunt.

You scan the area for a better place to cherish your weed, because you’re definitely not going to do it on the arm of a couch housing three couples making out to the high heavens. You spot an open window and a fire escape just beside the kitchen and walk over, ducking into the cool night air. It’s not quiet, it never is, and you treasure the peace that comes with the noise, closing your eyes and trying to milk the last few drags. All that is flushed down the drain when somebody kicks you out of your reverie and your last two drags are falling down, through the grills of the fire escape.

“What the fuck?” You look up to meet, of course, Mark’s gaze, teasing and mischievous.

“That wasn’t fucking funny, asshat. Get away from me.” You get up instantly, ducking back into the house and searching for your coat. It’s (very unfortunately) buried under a couple who have escalated from making out to borderline public indecency.

“Fuck it,” you mumble, swinging the door open and mentally preparing yourself for the cold once you get to the sidewalk, floors down. Mark follows suit, a laugh gracing the atmosphere around the two of you. “You know, I forgot how fun it is to make you pissed off. I did it all the time in eighth grade when I told our teacher you knew the solution to the Physics problems.” You’re fucking pissed. However petty, you’re fucking annoyed that you couldn’t finish the blunt, and you pay no attention to him.

He badgers on anyway. “Hey—it was a mistake, I wanted to say hi to you.” You scoff, finally turning—“Why? Because we’re friends? We’re not. We’re Psych partners, we came from the same high school, we share a couple mutual friends. But you and I are not friends, not objectively, anyway. Please, Mark. I only just re-acquainted myself with you today, but, like, you’re already so annoying!” You’re at the elevator now, and when the doors slide open, you step inside and let them close at once. You barely catch the unreadable look on his face in your annoyance, and you lean against the wall, shutting your eyes and breathing heavily.

How you’d even get to Giselle’s, or how you would wait out the remaining half-hour before she got home, was just up to whichever higher power happened to be witnessing you that night.

—

The door of your professor’s office closes with a saddening click. You stare back at her name, embossed on the wood in bold, in defeat, accepting your fate with a heavy heart. Just fifteen minutes prior, you had entered with a whole spiel prepared on how you just had to swap with somebody from your class so you wouldn’t have to work with Mark. This speech had occurred twice now—with your TA, and then once with your professor. This was your second chance, your redemption: so you prepared notes, you prepared convincing words—you had a point.

But your professor simply shooed you away, muttering how she didn’t have time for you because she was going to be receiving hundreds of papers in a few weeks’ time from a different class and she, quite honestly, couldn’t be bothered. You bite your lip, thinking back to the previous Friday—it was nearing two weeks since your small outburst at Mark. Since then, you’d expected to build a silent rapport of just working, observing Lia and Daniel, and then parting. And that was almost it. You would show up to your so-called “lab rat sessions”, cup of warm caramel latte in hand, and work.

Except Mark would constantly make noise, jeer, swipe your pen, and do other things that got on your nerves.

“You’re going to have to stop trying sometime,” Lia says, backhugging you. She’d been waiting outside. You let your head loll back onto her shoulder and whine. “Do you know when you’re so frustrated you want to cry? Yeah? That’s exactly how it is, Li. I can’t keep up with this for another two, three months. It’s like he’s not even, like, fuck, like he’s not even trying, y’know? We’re building the foundation of a pages-long paper. This isn’t some finals essay he can bullshit in three hours.”

You groan as Lia pulls away from you, whirling you around to face her. “It’ll be fine, I swear to you. I’ll help out, anytime you need it. I promise. If I start hating Daniel, I’ll even pretend like I’m in love with him. Head over heels.” You let yourself laugh and pull out your phone as you two begin to walk towards your dorm.

She tsks. “We’re gonna have a thing tonight, right? Like, a lab rat session?”

You nod, squinting over your calendar app. “Yeah, at around 5:30 to 6. It’ll be quick, but Mark and I are gonna have to stay behind to divide the work for the general paper and then start. Hopefully we can get some outlining done by tonight…so don’t wait up,” you sigh. She smiles apologetically, pinching your waist affectionately.

“Daniel and I will totally help you. He’s a Mark anti now. I told him about the party outburst thing.” You had sent her a slew of texts that night, and like every other story you had told (save for the most private ones), Daniel had caught wind of it. You’re half sure he was capable of blackmailing you at that point. “Good,” you shoot back, “I’m going to need all the anti-Mark force I can get.”

“Why?” You both turn to see Mark standing idly behind you. There’s a beat, and then: “You look like an inane stalker,” you retort, turning to continue walking. Lia follows suit—with the two of you, the vibe of the atmosphere would always come easy. If one was mad, the other would act mad, too.

“Hey,” Mark repeats, falling into step beside you, “why do you need an anti-Mark force? Tell me.” At this point, your nerves are on fire and your blood is boiling, and you’re beginning to envision beating him up on the quad. “Mark, it’s been great, but we’re going to our dorm, and in case you don’t want to catch a restraining order, I suggest you get off at your floor instead of following us like a creep,” you say sweetly, quickening your steps until he’s far behind you, smiling. Fucking asshole.

“I’ll see ya this evening, then,” he teases, and you grumble under your breath.

—

It’s 5:45 when Lia and Daniel leave the library—fifteen minutes early. You and Mark leave ten minutes later, hours before you were supposed to complete your task. You’re fuming, and for once, Mark has the decency to read the room and feel remorse.

The evening had started off well enough, though—Lia and Daniel had showed up, did their thing, described what was happening, and you and Mark had noted it down. And then, well. Mark spilled water all over your planner, which, in hindsight, was definitely unintentional, but in the spur of the moment, you could do nothing but your natural—everybody’s natural—response to getting something precious ruined. You began to cry. “What the fuck,” you sniffled, “is wrong with you?!” You had shaken the majority of water off your planner, but any and all dates had been smudged and bled, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive him. “I know I called you annoying, but this is too far,” you had said, watching his face go from teasing to genuinely sorry. “Dude, it was accidenta—”

“I don’t give a fuck—!” You quickly cut yourself off and wipe your tears when you see a young library assistant heading towards your table. Everybody composes themselves—Lia and Daniel straighten out the things on the surface and Mark sits up straight. “Hey,” he says. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but two students already came in with a noise complaint. We’re gonna have to ask you to,” he makes a gesture, “leave for now and come back tomorrow. Also, the puddle on the table…yeah. I’m really sorry.” He leaves, as if to make sure you have no other choice but to just go, and you slump back onto your chair in exhaustion.

“You two can go ahead,” you hear Mark say, “I’m really sorry about this. We’ll clean up and apologize.” Faintly, you hear them get up, and you feel Lia’s hand squeeze yours as she promises a text and food later. You let your eyes remain shut, drinking in the quiet, trying to calm your inner turmoil.

Ten minutes later, when you’re out in the cold November air, Mark finally speaks. You had cleaned up and collected your things in silence. “I’m really sorry,” he says, “it was an accident, for real. I know I tease a lot, but, uh, I’m being serious. I would never have done that on purpose. I see you write shit on that thing a lot, so…I know how much you like it. Treasure it…? I don’t—whatever it is, I’m really sorry. Like, really. T’was an accident. If you need me to pay for it…” You shake your head softly, hugging your damp planner closer to your sweater-clad chest. “It’s okay. Thanks, anyway. For helping. I’ll email you what you have to do. Bye,” you turn and begin walking in the direction of your dorm. The sun is beginning to set, golden orange hues casting a vast array of colors onto the landscape of the city. You sigh softly, heart heavy with annoyance and exhaustion, and speed up before you start having a mini-breakdown.

—

Stage 1: Denial|

Your cursor blinks back at you as you finish typing in your outline for the introduction. It’s early into November, but already, you’ve had to shut your window to shielf yourself from the biting breeze outside. Across you, Lia applies mascara and talks to you. “What are you up to?” she asks, face contorted.

“This godforsaken paper,” you mumble back, “just finished the introduction outline. I’m trying to give a loose definition for each gradual ‘stage.’” Shoving your Macbook off your lap, you get up to stretch. “Which I’ll probably find on Google Scholar, honestly. If you had to give me a definition—what’s denial?”

She hums contemplatively, wand on lash, and then pipes up. “I think it’s just a stage where you can’t face the fact that you’re interested in that person. Like, why them? With Daniel, he wasn’t really my type. So the whole denial was denying I liked him, because…well, yeah. But I think it differs. Some people deny it because they’re shy, or ashamed, or weirded out that they even like them.”

You’ve had your fair share of crushes before, and sure enough, you had denied them all. But that was high school—college, though, had only brought short-lived flings and one night stands; you were an overachiever, much too committed to your own prosperity to pay mind to anybody else for too long. (Except Lia.) So you hadn’t really experienced the whole boyfriend-in-university thing—not that you particularly wanted to, but you were just human; you were curious. Lia had gotten it, and it looked wonderful.

Speaking of—“So, a week without meeting Mark in person, huh? How is that going for you?” You scoff lightly, shaking your head as you pull your hair into a bun. “It’s going just fine. Dandy, actually. We work from our dorms and you and Daniel just update us. It’s a fine arrangement that I regret was not formulated sooner.” Lia nods in understanding, and you watch her pull on a top, mutter I’m out and head outside. For the fifth time this week, you’re alone in the dorm, with nothing but your Alexa playing SZA and your laptop. You pull it onto your lap again, staring at the boldface letters you had typed minutes prior: denial. You had no firsthand experience of being mature and going through denial; not in that way, anyway. You found it stupid that people even denied when it would be less painful to just admit interest.

You blow a raspberry as you research studies related to the term, bored out of your mind.

—

Two days later, you meet Mark again.

You’d also had the pleasure of, for a minute or two, meeting a friend of his, Donghyuck Lee from Economics. He’s loud and amusing and, from your viewpoint, undeserving of somebody as boring as Mark. (That’s from a minute-long intercation.)

At Lia’s insistence (and likely Daniel’s, too), you two met up to properly work and collaborate. In fear of being kicked out again, the four of you had chosen to meet somewhere else—a cafe off-campus affectionately named something along the lines of Saltwater Coffee. Naturally, after Donghyuck leaves, you find yourself sitting idly (awkwardly) beside Mark. “They won’t be long,” he says suddenly, “er, Daniel just texted me. They’re near.” You nod, pursing your lips, eyes trained onto your laptop. “We’re almost done formulating the denial stage and we can start outlining anger and bargaining. This’ll take about a week more—maybe mid to late November? Uh, I know it seems justifiable to slack off with the holidays,” you say, “but I really want us to finish this early. The due date’s in mid-February, so we can pass this on the 14th.” You turn to face him. “Get it? ‘Cause it’s Valentine’s Day.”

He nods. “Okay. No slacking. I get it. The Valentine’s is smart, too.” You nod back in silent understanding, turning back to type frantically into your keyboard.

You hear the door jingle and Lia’s small “hey, guys”, so you look up and offer a smile. “I’m gonna go order everyone some coffee,” Mark says beside you, getting up and shuffling over to the counter. Daniel joins him, and Lia takes a seat across you, her smile knowing and apologetic. “Everything okay?” You blow a raspberry, but smile, anyway. “It’s not so bad. It could be better, but no more banter, just very annoyed auras…? You get it. It’s just been tough trying to divert my focus to this and ignore all the annoyance I feel.”

“Totally, I get that,” she says, “but all the same, I’m glad he’s matured a little bit and lessened all the ribbing.” You smile at that, agreeing, and then the conversation spirals into one about both of your days—“Professor Callahan totally pops a stiffy over Professor Michaelson”, “Daniel tells me Joshua cheated. Yes, on Jess!”, “Mia dropped out the other day and nobody knows why, hope she’s okay”—before Daniel and Mark return, coffee cups in hand. Mark places one next to you, and profusely, you look up at him, who’s just about to sit.

“Thanks, but I don’t drink brewed coff—”

“It’s a caramel latte, the only thing you drink. Heard you say that to Lia once.” He takes a seat and pulls his laptop open.

You stare at him, taking the cup and bringing it to your lips. Sure enough, it’s caramel—thick, and foamy, and sweet. You look up at him again, but he’s busy on Google Scholar, perusing through journals and studies. You shake your head before turning to Lia, who’s already looking at you, expression mirroring yours.

Sweet, she mouths, but you purse your lips and choose not to acknowledge it. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and he hums to say you’re welcome.

Your eyes flicker to him. He’s wearing a knitted sweater, but he’s pulled it up to his elbows. He’s typing quickly, and he can use all his fingers, too (you fail miserably at that), and his brows are furrowed as if he’s stressed, or in a hurry. You’ve never really noticed this much of Mark before. It’s probably, you think absently, because you’re confused. Puzzled at the gesture that you didn’t expect—at all.

After an hour, he angles his laptop to yours. “Nailed the intro. High five?” You open the Google doc on your own browser, and sure enough, the word count has increased monumentally. You can’t deny his knack for writing. “There are a few discrepancies in grammar,” you say instead. “But…okay. This is good.” You ignore his hand, in mid-air, and continue researching.

Lia holds in a giggle, but turns back to Daniel, who, after fifteen minutes, turns to you and Mark. “Lia and I are heading out, guys,” he says, and Lia quickly tacks on. “Hey, if you need me to stay, I can,” she says quickly, but you smile and shake your head.

“This might take a while. Go ahead. See ya at the dorm, Li. Bye, Daniel.” Mark bids his farewells, too, and they leave you alone in the cafe. It’s nearing a three hour crunch when he abruptly gets up to stretch, a low grunt leaving his lips. “I’m exhausted,” he sighs, “but at least we’re nearly done with this whole denial thing.”

“We’re actually only just starting,” you state, “this is going to go through a lot of editing and proofreading.”

He chuckles and walks back to the counter to order something, and you shut your laptop to rest your eyes. Your glasses rest uncomfortably on the bridge of your nose as you breathe deeply. You lose track of time, and you open your eyes ten minutes later, fumbling to get up properly. There’s a panini beside your laptop, wrapped neatly in a tissue and laid on a plate. Mark’s is empty, save for crumbs, and he says nothing.

“Get up,” he remarks teasingly after a while, and you groan in exhaustion. “I am, I’m up,” you mutter, straightening your back and flexing your neck. Inwardly, you wonder if you should thank him for the panini that is obviously yours that you obviously did not buy for yourself.

Then Mark’s hand stretches out to take the panini, and he takes a bite. “Sorry,” he says, “I had to put my second sandwich in your space. This table’s a little small.” You hum back in acknowledgement, nodding once. “It’s, uh…all good,” you respond, voice small as you type into your laptop. Internally, your body fills slowly with humiliation and confusion, but you stay quiet, and that’s how the rest of the night goes: a silent, steady beat of keyboard clicking and the occasional question.

No banter, no nothing—it’s a godsend, yes, it is, but you can’t help but miss the abrasive, playful conversations the two of you had built up over the previous several weeks. But really—had you truly assumed he had bought you a panini? As if a coffee wasn’t enough? You felt at odds with yourself for even expecting such a gesture from the guy whose main habit was to annoy you to the ends of the Earth.

“It’s late,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind and knowing you’re absolutely mortified inside. “Let’s head home.” You nod, deeming the night’s work satisfactory—maybe even beyond, considering the amount of effort you both put into the output. You shove your laptop and charger into your bag and pocket your phone, lingering awkwardly and waiting for Mark to finish packing up. He’s particular with it—he has little sections in his backpack for the wires and chargers, and even his AirPods, and his laptop.

“Very organized,” you find yourself commenting offhandedly, your tone taking on a teasing edge. He glares playfully back at you.

“Sorry I don’t want my wires to break,” he shoots back, eyeing your flimsy tote bag, “unlike some people.” You roll your eyes and, against your strongest wills, a smile appears on your lips, albeit a small one. His eyes linger on your smile for a little bit before he clears his throat and zips up his knapsack. “Let’s, er, go. Thank Jesus we’re in the same building.” When you exit, the air bites at you despite the jacket covering your body, and you quicken your pace. “It’s cold as hell.”

“Ironic,” Mark says. You hide a smile.

—

That’s what November brings you—the next week and a half are composed of just slowly learning to get used to working with Mark again and going home late into the night, crunching to the max.

Your paper begins to take on more and more structure, and two out of the six days you’ve met, Mark has set down a caramel latte for you to arrive to. The acoustic music slowly phases into holiday guitar, and the coat rack at the entrance is weighed down more and more as the days pass, preparing to welcome December.

You and Mark work silently, save for the rare banter and eyeroll, and very gradually, the annoyance that had bubbled up within seconds before had sank down. You’re not friends, per se—it’s just that the frustration and exasperation had lessened considerably.

You were civil. That’s it. You won’t try to deny that you’ve been thinking about this a little too much—about what your “friendship” had become with Mark. You hadn’t snapped at him in days, and he hadn’t tugged at your ballpen in even longer. It wasn’t that you had cowered him into silence by crying over your planner—it may have instigated it, but his behavior was…different.

More calm, more sure. Less childish. He would still tease you, but not as much. It’s nearing mid-November now, and you’ve successfully done much of your introduction and denial, needing less and less of Lia and Daniel’s presence. (Which you’re sure they’re grateful for.) But being left alone with Mark isn’t as bad as you once thought—

“Hello. Earth to you,” you distantly hear, and you whip your head in the direction of the voice as you pace back to your dorm building. Mark stares blankly back at you. “What,” you mumble back. He quirks a brow before continuing. “I was saying, I think I need to take a rain check tomorrow. The, uh”—he clears his throat—“um, yeah.”

You eye him. “Okay…?”

He nods profusely, “Yeah, all good.” The walk continues in silence, the sun finally setting down behind the Manhattan skyline beyond you and the breeze taking on a chillier temperature. You sigh softly, fatigue overtaking you as you stare at the building nearing you. “If you take a rain check, just make sure you write it within the day or after,” you say, half-sternly and half-tiredly. He mumbles a “got it” and you both jog up the steps to the lobby, where you run into, by some weird twist of the day, a small group of anti-abortion protesters.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark mutters under his breath. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You rub the bridge of your nose in your fingers, choosing to tune them out and instead maneuver your way through the door. Before you can even take a step, though, they’re all up in your face with pamphlets and brochures and a guitar. “Excuse me,” you grunt, trying to gently push them aside, but they only come on stronger. “A child is a child,” they say. “If you know anybody who’s—”

“Is this your new initiative? Preying on college students on school grounds, unaccounted for?” Mark asks from behind you. You turn to find he’s filming and stifle a laugh. “I’m surprised nobody’s kicked you out. Won’t be long, now,” he adds with a smile.

You tune out nearly everything else—it’s really just them telling Mark to stop recording and him retorting with equally snarky phrases. It’s not until maybe after a solid two minutes of back and forth that one of them, a weird middle-aged woman, pulls out a burgundy gummy bear from a bag and pushes it into Mark’s camera. He takes it from her and examines it, puzzled. “That,” she says matter-of-factly, “is the approximate size of a fetus. It’s big. It’s sentient, alive. What, I beg of you, what would you do?”

Mark squints at it. Then he pops it into his mouth, takes your hand, and runs straight to the elevator across the floor.

“There’s a bunch of anti-abortion people outside, it’s not cool!” He hollers to the receptionist before the doors close with a damning click.

There’s a beat, and then.

Both of you are doubling over in laughter. “Why the hell would y—why would you do that?! You’re insane!” The response is: “Because they’re not cool! They’re fuckin’ annoying! So I ate their baby!” There are tears in your eyes, your laughter so hard it’s nearing silent—Mark’s, though, is loud and annoying sounding, though you seem to not mind so much. The laughter subsides when the ding of your floor sounds and you straighten yourself up. Getting into a different position reminds you of the very there, very obvious brushing of your hand against Mark’s, which he’d taken just moments earlier, post-baby eating.

You freeze and jerk your hand away. “I’ll, um, go now,” you say, “I’ll see you tomorr—no, the day after.” Against your wills, you meet his eyes, and you’re surprised to find that he’s already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Okay,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. Your heart beats faster at a very small increment, but you head out and semi-run to your room, swinging it open and leaning against it.

You look up to find Lia and Daniel engaged in a heated Monopoly match. You make no noise, mind (and heart, but you can’t tell why) racing fast. You watch them play for a second before they both look up slowly.

“You’re smiling like a goddamn idiot,” Daniel says. Your face falls immediately. “I’m, um, no I’m not,” you say casually, pacing over to your bed and flopping onto it. Lia laughs loudly.

“That sounded so freaked. Like we’re your mom and you just brought weed home kind of freaked.” Pause.

“Are you hiding something from me?” She rises from her spot to look at you, head in pillow and all, and you let out a muffled “no!”, probably too defensive for your own good.

It’s Daniel’s turn to snort. You look up and glare at him, “You’re getting too comfortable for your own good. You need to humble yourself, Daniel. What’s it again? Oh yeah, Yeonjun, right?” He rolls his eyes at the use of his Korean name and turns back to the Monopoly board.

Lia flops atop you, eliciting a grunt from your lips. “Are you okay? Did somebody flirt with you? Did Mark finally fuck off and leave you alone properly?”

At the mention of Mark, your heart races—you will it to stop, and audibly groan in the process. “What is it, you bitch?” Lia asks, tugging on a section of your hair. “It’s nothing, Li! Nothing, I promise.” She glares at you before walking to Daniel and covering his ears. Instantly, he begins to let out a chorus of Lalala, and deeming the environment safe enough, you let it slip.

“Mark and I held hands. But it—”

“You what?!”

“It really, really doesn’t mean anyth—”

“How can that not mean anything? It’s hand holdi—”

“If you would listen to the backstory you’d know!” She pauses, and then uncovers Daniel’s ears and knees him.

“Okay, get out. Monopoly postponed, Jun,” she says, pushing him out insistently. He barely collects his phone and keys before he’s out, but you swoon silently when you catch him pressing a short goodbye kiss to her forehead before actually leaving. She turns immediately, fire and curiosity awfully evident in her face.

She nears you. “Explain.”

And that’s what sparks the story of the weird protesters, Mark’s power move, and the unintentional hand hold that lasted a few moments too long. She nods the entire time, laughing, and then her face straightens out again. You can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she analyzes the situation, and then she nods once.

“Okay. Perfectly justifiable to freak out.” Another pause. “But why were you smiling?” You stare blankly back at her, head working impossibly quick to formulate a reply. You’ve taken too long now, judging by the way Lia is looking at you with the most shit-eating grin on her fucking face. You groan.

“You like him, you bitch!”

You shake your head, facing her. “I don’t, dude. Trust me. I just…it was a fun experience, so naturally I’d be laughing. And smiling. But I’m just not interested in Mark! I’m not,” you fumble, being completely honest.

You didn’t—not even if you looked in the mirror and asked yourself. But you couldn’t deny the feelings you felt in the ten seconds from the elevator to your room, your heart racing and your fist curling and uncurling. When you look at Lia again, she’s still smiling, flushed. “You like him,” she says into her palm, which she’s slapped over her mouth in disbelief. You stare back at her, your expression baffled. “If I did,” you begin, getting up to discard your shirt, “I’d have told you by now. It’s really not that big of a deal unless you make it out to be.”

After that, you and Mark spend nearly three weeks walking on eggshells around each other. While conversations are no longer avoided, and you could talk without getting exasperated or too embarrassed, finger brushes are frequent, and eye contact only makes you extremely nervous. You had worked until the second stage—anger—already, but you’d still been polishing the denial and introduction. Considering November wasn’t over and the paper was due February, you figured you were moving at an okay pace. Besides, a lot of your friends hadn’t even begun.

—

There are two instances where you rush home, mortified beyond belief.

The first when when you struck up a conversation with the cute, Australian barista. Scrawled in big penmanship on his name tag is Chan. You had brought up, in passing, how often you’re at the cafe and how you probably deserve a free drink. He replied with a low hum, and you dialed down your flirty tone, slightly embarrassed. But not really. You’ve rejected plenty of people before. It’s when you’re already paying for your drink that he replied, handing you your (for a change) iced matcha with a small grin.

“I’d have flirted with you weeks ago if you didn’t have your boyfriend with you all the time. He’s always buying you your drinks.” You spluttered for a good second, staring at him incredulously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you finally said.

He had shrugged, nonchalant. “He sure as hell looks at you a lot for someone you’re not dating. And you do it just as much, if not more. I’m observant, by the way. Not a stalker.” You had taken your cup and paced over to the other end of the cafe, sat across Mark, cheeks heated.

He looked up, brow raised. You shook your head.

The second time was when Donghyuck graced you both with his presence. You quickly found out that he was a magnetic presence and you both shared similar interests. The energy you both created was both amusing and annoying to Mark.

Although you kept quiet mostly, you enabled Donghyuck’s incessant teasing, which annoyed Mark to the ends of the Earth. “You’re a dork. Isn’t he?” You look up and nod with a smile. Mark rolls his eyes, sending Donghyuck into a laughing frenzy. Mark just grunts and continues typing.

Hyuck had made a joke about how two Physics textbooks discussed why the sad man named Mark owns two of them and didn’t have a life, and you laughed.

You didn’t usually laugh, not around Mark, at least, since it was safe to say you didn’t have any source of entertainment in such a boring guy. But you laughed at the witty joke, and Donghyuck, without thinking much, had said in passing: “Mark, I guess you’re right about everything about her being pretty.”

Mark said nothing, typing. You said nothing. Nobody said anything, not even a sly Donghyuck or, from the counter, an even slyer Chan.

—

When you see Mark next, it’s three days later, and it’s, for the second time, in Johnny’s apartment.

Lia had asked if you wanted to tag along, and you found no harm in going. (“You’re going because Mark is” becomes Lia’s favorite phrase of the night, so much it’s spread to Daniel, who you’d succumbed to and spilled everything to hours prior.) The walk there has something boiling low in your gut and you’re quiet, in fear you might end up vomiting in nerves or saying something stupid. Lia teases you, but her hand clasping yours reassures you, and you squeeze it tightly.

You get there late—it’s past 1AM, and you have a sense of deja vu walking into the cramped space. It’s fuller this time—people are creeping into the bedrooms to smoke in private or do some other things, but suffice to say it’s crowded as fuck.

“Want a drink?” Lia hollers, and you nod over the music. Johnny’s neighbor is another upperclassman named Doyoung, though he’s mainly referred to as Doie by just about everybody around him.

You’ve seen his girlfriend call him bunny a few times, though you’ve long desired to repress that memory.

Judging by the fact that you can faintly hear a different song from the next room, the party has probably extended to Doyoung’s. There’s quite a gathering this week—the rich freshman who you’d befriended once before, Chenle, and his horde of friends are here; from Lia, who hands you a drink, you learn that Kun and Sicheng, two incredibly attractive juniors, are here, too—in Doie’s, though. The party only intensifies, which is hard, because Johnny’s apartment is very tiny.

Eventually, you find yourself in the bathroom, smoking a joint you’d grabbed out of the clammy hands of a tipsy Chenle and kicking a couple out under the guise that you’re Johnny’s cousin. Chenle had protested but eventually given in, pulling a new one out of his pocket.

The bathroom light is white and harsh, but there’s a very funky lamp at the corner. From your place inside the dry (and thankfully clean…looking) bathtub, you eye it. It’s a tall one in the shape of a glass of margarita.

You heave yourself up and find the switch, and then when it’s on, you giggle at the green light emitting from it. You have absolutely no idea why Johnny, Jaehyun, or their roommate Jungwoo (3J, as some call them) have a decorative, margarita-shaped green lamp, and in their bathroom nonetheless, but you shut off the main light and return to smoking your blunt. Deciding your ass aches far too much, you lean against the tile wall and cherish the smoke.

The door opens abruptly, and you curse, pushing it back closed.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” you say robotically, using the same excuse you did for the previous three couples that showed up.

From the other side, you hear a shrill laugh and sound of confusion. When you peer over the other side and see Mark, you groan and laugh. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I saw you come in. Like, twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m cherishing the party privately.”

Mark ushers himself into the dark space and shuts the door. He makes a show of locking it, as if to show you it’s possible to do so. The sound of it locking sends a wave of nerves up your spine.

“I didn’t lock it in case a medical emergency happens and they have to rush inside.”

Mark quirks his brow. “I doubt they would think to go inside the restroom and not panic and call 911, you know.”

You shrug in indifference and take another drag, reluctantly offering it to him.

He takes it, and you pause for a second to observe him. His hair, dark, and which usually covers his entire forehead like a broom or at least parts in the middle slightly, is now styled differently.

He’s in a fitting black shirt and blue jeans, and, upon your closer inspection, silver rings adorn his fingers. You will yourself to look down. It’s dark. “What’s that you’re holding?” You ask instead, trying not to extend your stare at his shoulders.

“Your puffer coat,” he says, tossing it to you. “Left it last time.”

“That time when you annoyed the shit out of me, right,” you retort.

“Yes, exactly that time. That was ages ago. Weeks ago. Look at us now.”

“Us now—what, still disliking each other?”

He laughs humorlessly, but doesn’t entertain you further. He turns to the lamp instead. “Do you know I was there when they moved this in,” he begins, gesturing to it, “Jae got it at some weird, awful flea market, and he had to buy some extra wiring to fix it or whatever. I was doing Physics homework. It was at the start of this school year. And I bet you didn’t know…” he bends down and reaches to the base of the lamp, pressing a button, “that it changes color.”

The room is bathed in red now, and you swallow. “Interesting,” you manage to say, despite the racing in your head. “Very,” he responds, taking a step closer to you. You gaze up at him. He’s tall. You breathe softly. You nod in agreement. You don’t know what to do. You want to punch him and kiss him and leave all at once.

You want to kiss him, oh God, you want to kiss him.

“Oh God,” you say softly, out loud. Oh fuck. Too much weed?

He inches closer, leaving the blunt on the rim of the sink. “Why?” He smiles a little and you smile back, nervous. He’s so close now, and he smells so good—like cologne and laundry and weed. You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mumble back.

He’s even closer now, eyes boring into yours. You adjust your strap, a nervous habit. He takes your hand and does it for you. “I like this song,” he says casually, like he’s not playing with the strap of your dress. “Do you know what it’s called?” It’s vaguely familiar to you, but you shake your head.

“It’s Jhene Aiko,” he replies, and you nod. You gravitate closer.

You stare at him. He stares back. “I’m high,” you say. You giggle. “I had a brownie and that blunt.”

“That’s a lot,” he says. “Don’t finish the blunt, ‘kay?” You nod back, and giggle again. In two seconds, your nervous mechanism has kicked in and you’re laughing like a psycho. “I’m high,” you repeat, and then he kisses you, effectively sobering you up.

Huh. He kisses you, effectively sobering you up. He kisses you.

You kiss back, shocked and relieved, deepening it, trying to get as much of him as possible. His hands are big and wide and warm, traveling all over you. You want him. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, lips molding against yours deliriously.

“Want you,” you say when his hands play with the hem of your dress, teetering closer and closer to your core. “I said, I want you,” you whine, “now.” Mark only laughs, his hands under your dress and playing with the lace waistband of your underwear.

“I like how this feels,” he mumbles. “Wanna take a look.” You whimper, hiking your leg up and nodding. “Please, just…touch me,” you say breathlessly. “Please.”

“I will,” he says, voice calm. “You’re being good.” You can’t deny the noise you make at the praise, breathy and loud. You pull him in again, drunk for more, your hands raking through his hair. It’s dark, the both of you basking in the small red light. Mark hikes your dress up, inching it higher, slowly, until he sees the hem of your white lace underwear. He grunts and pulls at it. “I love this,” he says. “So fuckin’, Jesus.”

You giggle against the smile. He toys with your panties for a bit before finally pulling them down, watching them sink to your ankles. “Hot,” he jokes, and you laugh in disbelief. “Why would you even be joking abou—”

“Mark! Let’s go, it’s 2:30!” Donghyuck’s voice is just as loud and clear as it would be if you weren’t separated by a door. Jolted, you and Mark instinctively break apart and stare at the rattling door. “Maaaark,” he sing-songs, knocking to a beat. You stare at Mark, waiting for him to respond.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” he says. You stifle a guffaw, pulling your panties up.

He pouts, tapping your ass. “Bullshit,” Donghyuck says from outside. “I’m cooomin’ in!”

In the span of a minute, where you realize Donghyuck is not bluffing and in fact has a stolen bathroom key from Jungwoo’s bedside drawer, you manage to shove yourself into the bathtub and hide yourself with the curtain. Mark switches the light back on, much to both of your disappointment, and pretends to smoke the blunt you’d left on the sink fifteen minutes ago. Ergo: pre-kiss.

You find your phone on the bathtub floor and grip it, turning the brightness down. You have a plethora of messages and voicemails from Lia, five calls from Daniel, and an interesting iMessage of Donghyuck’s red, weed-induced eyes from an unknown number. It could be anybody, and that scares you.

The texts are all frantic, and they’re the last things that bring you out of your high and back to reality. Where are u, who u with?, u getting railed??!, Have you seen mark?

“Hyuck, if I actually did have a shitstorm coming out of my ass, you’d be so sorry for breaking in,” you hear Mark say. You sink lower into the bathtub, awaiting Donghyuck’s voice. “You were the one who suggested we go at 2:30, and you’ve been smoking weed for the longest time, dipshit,” he says, “now let’s go. I haven’t seen your Psych girl all night, so you can cry about it at home.” You faintly detect Mark protesting and then, “Let me just freshen up! Just go ahead.”

Reluctantly, you peek out and find Mark alone. You get up and fix your dress.

You’re sober now. The red lights are gone. It’s just you and Mark, plain and simple. Your feelings haven’t gone away, though. You’re fucking fucked. You want him to fuck you. Oh, fuck.

“Go,” you say instead, spluttering. “And I’ll see you. Tuesday.”

You leave first despite yourself, not turning around for even a split second, finding a worried (and then relieved) Lia and taking five consecutive tequila shots to down the nerves and denial bubbling in your system. She raises a brow, but you refuse to even meet her eyes, head and heart pounding impossibly fast. You want to kiss him again. So, so bad. But what the fuck did you just let happen?

—

Stage 2: Anger|

Lia hadn’t pressed, and you were nervous, but it was getting easy to diverge the details of what happened during Johnny’s party. You had instead opted to work alone, too much of a coward to even see Mark’s face. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you feared you might just kiss him if you ever saw him. So you spent days at class working, and then at your dorm working, adjusting your route to avoid, as much as possible, Mark or Hyuck’s buildings and that godforsaken cafe. You did text Mark, though, and the exchanges were brief, not even a “thank you” or “good morning” preceding them. It was awful.

Working alone forced you into a heavy load of retrospection. You would think deeply, like how you are now, spiraling into a series of questions where you studied the play-by-play of what happened in the bathroom, up against the wall. You liked it. A lot. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself. Why it even happened…God. You mentally berated yourself for giving into it. Didn’t you hate him? Or at least dislike him? Didn’t you take pleasure in scolding him or fighting with him?

“You’re freaking me out,” Lia says from her bed. She’s been staring at you. “You’ve been lying on your bed staring at the ceiling for twenty straight minutes.” She walks over to you, flopping next to you, her arms winding around your body. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you say, nervous. You gulp.

“Okay. If you’re n—”

“Mark and I kissed.”

She sits up and turns to look at you.

“Made out, more like. We were going to fuck if we didn’t get interrupted.” You’re mortified, refusing to meet her gaze. When you look up, her face is even, but you know she’s bubbling over with giddiness inside. “That is so fucking great, dude,” she replies. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because it’s Mark,” you whine. “He’s not…I don’t know.”

She lies back down. “You’re overthinking this.” You laugh, poking her waist. “I know, but I just…I feel like he might not like me much anymore.” You recount the way you left him hanging, despite the lack of awkward air and the potential to talk and become something. She tsks but justifies it, because she’s so good at that, being a mediator, and you continue with your day quietly.

Your mind is always on it, though, his hands and his lips, and you’ve scoured Spotify for the song playing that he had commented on.

It’s called Pussy Fairy. You cannot make it up. It’s a weird title, but the song is heavenly, and you can’t deny when it’s full blast on your AirPods and your hand is creeping closer and closer there, trying desperately to replicate what you felt in that moment. When you’re not sated, ashamed and sighing, you resort to working on your paper. There are moments where both you and Mark are working at the same time, and you hate yourself for getting all flustered when it happens.

—

It’s a Tuesday, in the early afternoon, when you’re out of class and cleaning out the little litter in your dorm, repasting whatever decorations fell off, et cetera. You have the time, anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt to fix the place up a bit. You’re halfway into re-stringing Lia’s fairy lights when someone knocks on the door, jolting you. You curse under your breath, hopping off her bed to swing the door open and reveal—

“What is up?!” Donghyuck grins back at you. His hand is raised in a high-five invitation, which you hesitantly reciprocate. “Mark tells me you’re meeting today, and that I should come remind you, since it seems like you forgot. He says you haven’t texted all day. Since I was on this floor—do you know Jeno Lee? Do you know it’s so amusing how Mark, Jeno, and I all have the same surname? Anyway. I was here on your floor to remind Jeno about an Econ presentation, and Mark texts me and goes, if you’re with Jeno, then remind you—you as in you, you—to come meet me and work.”

He talks so goddamn fast. “You talk so goddamn fast.”

He just guffaws, high-fiving you again. “Well, you get my point, right? Meet Mark at the cafe and work is all he said to do. If you wanna.” You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “Tell him I’ll be a little late,” you say simply, and as you’re about to shut the door, he talks again, his voice quieter this time. “I know you were hiding behind the curtain.”

You pull the door open again, so fast a minuscule gust of wind washes over both of your faces. “You’re kidding,” you say, “you’re kidding.” You stare at each other for a second before his solem features break into a smile. “I am. Mark spilled everything to me, so I decided to trick you.” Relief and annoyance break over your system as you swat Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You’re a dick,” you spit. “You’re bringing a bad image to Econ majors.”

He merely laughs and closes the door himself, light brown hair fluffing with the severity of his laugh (cackle.) Slightly annoyed, you drag yourself to get dressed, dread building up in your stomach at the prospect of seeing Mark again. Not when your mind conjures up what happened everytime you just see his name. Or the word mark. You’ve been out of it since it happened, not even responding to your usual heated debates with the conservative Trump supporter in class. You suppose the best way to confront it is to simply confront it.

When you get there, though, it’s clear that confrontation would not be an option. Immediately, when you sit, the air shifts into something oddly familiar—the atmosphere between the two of you when you first got partnered up. Except now, Mark won’t even give you a pinch of attention, or banter, instead typing his questions into the document to avoid verbal conversation. (He is a fucking petty bitch, you’ll give him that.)

You stroll over to the counter, pout set on your lips. “Hello,” Chan says politely, and you just smile half-heartedly. “Lover’s quarrel?” He teases, and you roll your eyes. “He’s ignoring me,” you respond, watching him make you a latte. “And we’re not dating. We never were.”

“Mm, right,” he says, finishing and setting your drink in front of you. You laugh a little, taking it. “No. We weren’t. But I’ll update you.”

When you return, Mark’s looking at you, quiet as ever. You break his gaze and continue working, working and working until the sun sets, nestled deep behind the horizon. When you look up again, the sky is already dark, city lights providing solace to the place. You look at Mark quizzically, as if to ask him what time you should both leave, but he just shrugs. “Any time,” he states plainly, and huffing, you get up.

“I’ll go right ahead then,” you say, trying your best to sound annoyed and get your message across. He says nothing, watching you pack up your stuff and sling your bag over your shoulder, and then eventually, leave.

Daniel is the first to see you in your raged, annoyed state—you meet him in the elevator of the lobby, your blood boiling and your fists balled. Knowing you’re headed to the same floor, he presses the button, ruffles his hair, and then lets the silence take over. And then, “What’s going on?” You breathe deeply, turning to him with a tired look on your face. “Mark’s going on,” you mumble, “he was ignoring me the entire time. And to think he was the one who requested my presence! It makes no sense. Why would he ignore me when we can just talk about it?”

“About what?”

It suddenly occurs to you that Daniel knows about your weird feelings for Mark, but not how they culminated. You splutter. “Um, about us. Everything.” Daniel looks amused, but the doors open, and you thank them for the temporary exit from the topic. He stops you right outside, though, and pulls out two ticket, card-looking things. “Wait, um. Listen, Lia and I are going to reach our seven-month…anniversary, I guess, of, y’know, being a thing. I know it seems really small, but I want to give her a little something out of appreciation, so I got us a room at this ski lodge outside the city.”

“That’s so sweet,” you say honestly, “but I must admit, it comes on sort of stalker-y. Like you’re whisking her off out of the city.”

He beams even louder. “That’s why you’re coming. With Mark!”

You gape back at him. “Did you miss the whole I-hate-him thing that happened in there?” You jab your finger towards the closed elevator doors, disbelief written across your face. He laughs. “Sometimes you can’t keep hiding behind”—he begins walking to your room, and you follow suit—“emotions, like anger. When I liked Lia, there was a point where I was just pretending to alienate her so I wouldn’t have to face that I was starting to love her. Like her. And you know, she did it right back.”

“Oh, quit it,” you scoff, insistent. “You’re lecturing me like you’ve been married a decade.”

“That’s what I want,” he says, and you gag. “The first step to that would be ski lodge trip, so you’re coming!”

You’re in front of your room now, and you pinch his wrist as he reaches for the handle, gaining his full attention. “I’ll gladly go,” you whisper, “if Mark’s out.” Daniel just laughs, shaking his head. “No, no. An overnight trip would delay your paper severely. Plus, they have two beds per room.”

“We’ll be staying in the same roo—hey, Li,” you say, quickly cutting your angry rant off when she opens the door, her face confused (to say the least.)

“Mm, hey,” she says, ushering the two of you in. “How long were you two out there?” Daniel shrugs, ruffling his hair and then pressing a kiss on Lia’s forehead. You boo from your place on your bed, buried under your duvet. “You both suck,” you holler, “always sexing it up in a sacred space. AKA my room.” Lia just grins and jumps on top of you, drawing grunts from you both. Daniel seats himself on the floor and busies himself with his phone. “How was Mark,” she whispers into your hair, and you groan.

“Bad,” you respond, “I’m so annoyed. We’re back to square one.” She makes an apologetic noise and gets up with a sigh, adjusting the strings of her pullover and then hugging Daniel. You watch them. You want to kiss Mark again. Life sucks that way.

—

Predictably, Mark turns down the offer of the ski lodge. He’s polite about it, too, especially since he and Daniel have grown a little bit closer since the start of your project. Daniel is, by no means, a “Mark anti”, but he would participate in the ribbing sometimes. Still, he’s insistent on the trip, saying it’s the best way to welcome December and that the forecast predicts a nice, thick layer of snow. It takes a week and two coffees everyday for Mark to give in, under the condition that he buy his own room when you get there.

Which, honestly, really, you have no problem with. Really, you think to yourself as you unceremoniously shove a knitted sweater into your bag. Really. Lia, who had graciously accepted the surprise, watches you abuse your bag, shoving sweater and scarf inside like they want to murder you. “Relax,” she says after a while. You laugh, playing it off (not so) casually.

The drive up there, courtesy of Daniel and a borrowed Prius, is fun, and cramped, but still decent, considering it was just an hour long. You’re in the back with Lia, and Mark is in charge of the AUX, which, of course, comes with its own bout of jokes. You even find the heart to participate and laugh in a few, not daring to meet his eyes. But all his songs are so fucking good. Frank Ocean, Jhene Aiko, SZA, and smaller indie artists flow from the speaker under his phone. The car ride has its share of epic karaoke moments—Mark plays ABBA, and Queen, solely to make sure everybody is belting out to the high heavens.

You get there when the sky’s purple and orange and there are some skiiers scattered around, though, since it’s not the proper holiday period, not too much. You trek over to the main lodge and that’s where Daniel pays for his reservations, and he and Lia retire to their room and promise to get up for dinner. You’re, again, alone with Mark in the lobby as you both stare at each other, willing the other to get up first. He does, to buy his own room like he said he would, and you can faintly hear the exchange from your seat on their nice, fluffy couch.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re renovating a majority of the rooms for the holidays. That’s why reservations were a prerequisite for staying here.”

Mark sighs. “Okay, right. I’m so sorry. Um”—it’s at this point that you go up next to him, polite smile on your face, ready to take the room key and fuck off—“could we just get an extra blanket, please? For one of the beds.” The receptionist gives a curt smile, handing over the keycard and nodding. “That’ll be one queen-sized warm blanket, then,” she hums, typing away. The receptionist beside her goes to the back, presumably to get the blanket. Mark nods, smiling. “For two queen-sized beds, it must be a big room for both of them to fit comfortably,” he comments offhandedly, fiddling with the card.

The receptionist chuckles. “There is only one bed, sir.”

Oh, God. “Oh, God,” you whisper. “One bed?” She nods with an eye-crinkling smile, like her words have not just rained hell upon the two people across her. “One bed and a sofa,” she corrects herself, reading the information on the computer by the desk. Not wanting to risk your last shred of sanity, you smile profusely, walking quickly towards your room which, thankfully, is on the same floor, at the end of the hall. It’s a small, quaint place that would be honest-to-God perfect if not for the fact that—

“There’s one bed,” Mark sighs, the truth clicking into place. “Daniel is a fucking shithead.” You drop your bag onto the carpeted floor, surveying the room with a scrutinizing gaze. It’s sizable—a bed, a couch, a window. There’s a small wooden desk that looks like its legs can barely hold its weight, and then another door, leading to the bathroom. It’s not bad at all. But you’re exhausted, the sun’s long gone, and your resolve is shredding away as the seconds tick by. “Take the couch,” you say dismissively, “or the carpet.” You make a beeline for the bed, but Mark’s arm wraps around your waist, effectively stopping you.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod “Shut up and let go of me, dick,” you stutter out. Mark loosens his grip and you shove him off, glaring at him. He gazes back down at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We can’t just make up terms without negotiation,” he says matter-of-factly, and you blow a raspberry. “Fine. Let’s negotiate then. I’m a girl and that puts me above you because chivalry isn’t dead, thus, boom, I get the bed.”

“I was in the uncomfortable passenger seat all day and my lower back hurts,” he counters.

“My legs are wobbly.”

“Bullshit. My back aches.”

“You already said that, it’s invalid.”

The back and forth only intensifies, your arguments growing more and more bizarre, until finally, your volume is so high Lia says she can hear it faintly, four doors down.

“The couch looks comfy,” you try, but Mark stands firm.

“Do you know what? The bed is big. It’s a big bed. And we’re not going to take up much space. If we divide the bed with the sofa pillows…” you pick up the cushions and line them up neatly along the middle, “…then we can sleep beside each other without having to make contact with each other.” He seems convinced, stepping closer to the bed and nodding. “Okay. I get first dibs on the shower.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you let him anyway. You’ve unpacked nearly all your things and he isn’t done yet, so you’ve resorted to scrolling mindlessly through Tiktok and laughing at just about everyone that pops up on screen. Mark finally exits after what feels like forever, and you keep your eyes trained on your screen to avoid looking at him. From your peripheral vision, he is very much shirtless. There are no words exchanged, the thickness in the air only building bit by bit.

—

Three hours later, post-dinner, post-abandoning the thought of working on your paper, you’re stumbling into your room after helping the very tipsy couple of the night into theirs. You’re beyond tired now, and you can tell Mark is, too, despite the lack of eye contact or communication between you. You don’t even look at him, brushing your teeth and removing your makeup and clipping your hair up into a bun. It’s when he does the same, and you’re both in bed, using your phones, that he finally breaks the silence.

“I’m not mad,” he says. His voice is even and calm, and you quickly shut your phone off and sit up, peering over the pillow boundary you had created. You look at him expectantly before he sighs and continues. “Why did you leave?”

You stand up, getting out, trying to increase distance. You’ve never really liked confrontation. “I was weirded out,” you spill, “and scared…? I guess with the nearness of being caught, and with all the lights on, I was just shocked back to reality.”

He sits up. “What’s reality?”

“I don’t—know,” you splutter, getting back on the bed. “Not kissing you?”

He laughs, and then it becomes silent. “Right. Let’s sleep, then.” Without another word, he pulls his lamp off, and only the white moonlight is left illuminating the both of you. Shucking yourself under the covers, feeling your heart practically thump out of your chest. You honestly think he can hear it, or at least feel it. Suddenly the boundary doesn’t do much. You turn away from him, nervous, and you can faintly hear his breathing even out. You shut your eyes for a second. When you open them again, he’s looking right at you. “Just checking to see if you’re asleep,” he says quietly. You nod. And then you lean upwards, just a touch, so your lips nearly brush slightly. “Night,” you say, before turning to sleep for real.

You’re not sure when. And how. Sure, you faintly remember digging your legs sleepily through the sheets to find warmth and tangling Mark’s in your own. But still—when you’re up, the pillow fort is at your feet, hanging precariously off the four post bed, and your back is against Mark’s chest. His breath fans lightly over your hair and you blearily register what happened overnight. His arm is slung over your middle, it’s quiet, and oh Christ, he is hard.

It’s fairly late. He’s hard. The antique clock mounted up on the wall tells you it’s around nine, which essentially gave you seven hours of sleep. He’s hard. You bask in the warmth of Mark for a while before your resolve solidifies and you gently push his arm off from its position on your hips. He only comes on stronger, wrapping fully around your waist, mumbling incoherence into your hair. He’s hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, summoning sleep to overcome you quickly, but it never does. Dread overcomes you as you feel your underwear grow damp.

“Mm,” Mark grunts, his hand around your waist loosening. You move away but his head suddenly lolls into the crook of your neck, his lips touching the side of it. You whimper. He’s a fucking asshole, even when he’s asleep. You pinch his arm, jolting him to half-awakeness, and you roll away, despite your body’s protests.

He blinks his eyes open. “Sorry, shit,” he says, voice deep and ridden with sleep. You’re fucked.

“It’s okay,” you splutter instead. “Just go back to sleep.” You faintly register that you sound just as exhausted as he does, and you bury your head back into the covers. Everything, plus the sound of his voice, has you dripping, and you breathe in deeply to poorly disguise a whimper. He chuckles, already half-asleep, from where he is, and it’s quiet for a few minutes before you realize he’s fallen asleep. Knowing Lia and Daniel will be busy for a while, you pull a spare pillow over your head and chant to yourself before falling back asleep, too.

When you awaken, the bed is cold and empty, and the shower’s running. You check the time to find only an hour has passed, but you’re much more awake now, getting up and knocking incessantly on the bathroom door. “Hurry,” you demand hoarsely, “I want to go skiing.” You hear a muffled okay and scurry over to your bag to find the pair of leggings you had packed for this. You also find your parka, and you pull off your shirt to clasp on a bra.

“Not that I don’t mind,” Mark says, eliciting a yelp from you as you tug a sweater on at record speed, “but generally, that kind of thing only goes unnoticed in nudist colonies. I could research some for you, if you’d—ow! I was joking, God!” You bonk him twice over the head with the Bible on the bedside table, your brows furrowed angrily. “You looked, asshat,” you say, collecting your things and locking yourself in the bathroom.

When it becomes increasingly evident that Lia and Daniel have no plans of exiting their room, you grumble and resort to skiing alone. But as you’re shuffling out, bundled up, you spot Mark leaning against the exit waiting for you. He looks up and tsks. “About fucking time,” he says, holding the door open for you. It’s not that cold out—maybe you’re just used to having snow and chilly weather, and so is Mark—so you barely shiver, walking around and looking for a good place to ski.

“Forget skiing,” Mark says after a few rounds. “Let’s go sledding. I have a thing.”

“A toboggan, you mean.”

“A funny word. Really, just say sled.”

You let up, anyway, the bright sky and cold ground sending serotonin right into you. Sure enough, Mark does have a nice, blue sled that he lets you on, and then the two of you are bolting down the hill at breakneck speed, laughing all the way. It’s quite a long ride, and you’re smiling and yelping so much the cloth you’ve used to cover your neck has ridden down, the cold air hitting your face harshly.

You land very ungracefully—the toboggan hits a small tree and sends you and Mark catapulting in the same direction, your hands clawing at the air for expense. You find Mark’s arm and cling onto it in the split second you’re in the air, landing on a clearing of thick snow. The arm you’ve clung onto pulls you closer, Mark grunting “be careful,” and when the whole fiasco’s over, you’re smiling like an idiot, and you’re right on top of Mark.

You’re not straddling him or anything, but you’ve just happened to land with your face a little above his. You can’t stop laughing, your face flushed and red with the cold air hitting your face. So you laugh. Why wouldn’t you laugh? It was a good day. A good ride down the hill. So you keep laughing until they’re reduced to giggles, Mark laughing right along as you pull down the covering of his mouth and tug his beanie off, ruffling your hands in his hair and dipping down to kiss him.

He kisses you right back, his lips cold but quickly growing warm with the friction. You smile into the kiss, your hands roaming all over his pink face. The kiss is giggly and light, your hands all over each other as the sunlight filters in through the thick trees overhead.

You pull away after a while. “I hate you,” you whisper. He presses a kiss to your jawline and lets it linger there. “You think I don’t?”

—

Stage 3: Bargaining, Depression|

You’ve begun to type the structure out when Lia tugs on your pajamas, her tone insistent and curious. “What’s up with you and Mark?” she presses, her cheek pressed to your stomach. You fervently hope she doesnt notice how your breathing quickens, and, keeping your voice even, you answer. “We’re…thinking about things.”

Which—you were thinking about things, to be fair. There were things to be thought and you had to think about them. It was a broad half-truth. It had been two weeks since the ski lodge thing, and you and Mark had decided it was probably best to shut the fuck up about everything you had done. (Everything meaning a few kisses here and there, and maybe a little more under the covers.) You’d hated yourself for hiding it from Lia, but you and Mark were actually feeling hesitant about moving forward with whatever you were. There was a lot of ambiguity and questions, and until you could clear it up yourself, you knew you weren’t ready to tell anybody else. You had talked about it already—clearly, the two of you were beyond jumping straight into a relationship after not liking each other that much and then becoming hesitant friends.

But it was, if you had to admit it to yourself, nice having that little secret.

“I’d want to tell Lia soon,” you tease, walking steadily beside Mark. The afternoon sun is warm on your heads, the snow falling intermittently. He turns with a small smile. “I’d want to tell Hyuck, too.” You scoff, burying your head in his chest. You probably look fucking disgusting. Around you, Washington Square Park is full of natives and tourists, and college students like you, all scurrying around and giving you that very much holiday feel.

He buys you a hot cocoa and hands it to you. “Are you heading home soon?”

You take a sip, your tongue hot. “If my ratty dorm counts as home, then yes.”

“Home is a feeling, not a place. Does your ratty dorm feel like home?”

“Kind of. Lia’s there. And so is the rat infestation in the ceiling.”

Mark nearly chokes on his cocoa. “You’re gross as fuck.”

You let out a loud laugh, your beanie nearly falling off with the bounciness of it. Mark reaches behind you to catch it, pressing a kiss to your lips in the process, soft and light and God, you like it. A lot. “Clumsy,” he remarks, pulling it back on and dragging a generous amount of your hair in front of your eyes as he does it. “It’s gonna be Christmas soon, and thank God we’re nearly done with this paper.”

“It was my genius idea to combine bargaining and depression,” you quip. “That’s my gift to you. Merry Christmas, Mark Lee.” He laughs at that. His laugh, you’ve noticed, is goddamn loud, and it’s a literal cackle, but he always looks so happy when he laughs. And buoyant. “You look stupid,” you say, but the smile on your face is undeniable. He glares playfully at you, taking your hand and walking you both in the direction of your building.

“New York in the snow,” he hums. “Always a great place.”

“It’s full of tourists,” you counter. Always disagreeing.

He chuckles and then, like clockwork—like how you’ve done it for the past six dates—you separate when you’re just shy of a meter away from the lobby entrance. Your fingers curl in search of his, and you jog up the steps, eager to get into the warmth of the building. The lobby’s pretty empty, save for a couple of students. Mark’s ahead of you, already pressing the elevator button and waiting impatiently.

“We’re alone,” he sing-songs, his eyebrows wiggling. The doors open right as you take Mark’s hand, and you look up to meet Daniel’s wide eyes. Then you look to the right to meet Lia’s.

Despite your inner turmoil, you remain nonchalant, pinching Mark’s wrist instead of holding it like you’d planned. “That’s why our professor fucking hates you,” you say, narrowing your eyes. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, but you muster a neutral expression, shoving your hands back into your pockets. Lia knows you, though, and her furrowed eyebrows and parted lips say everything—but you just shrug, playing off what they could have caught you doing. “Hey,” you say, walking into the elevator with Mark. It all blows over.

AKA: Daniel has to drag a curious Lia away from you, with a promise that you would converse later. You and Mark are alone again, in the elevator, your hands barely touching, laughs loud. It’s all blurry after that. You’re high on a laugh and the thought of a kiss—you drag him over to your room, hands in his hair, breathless, loose kisses. You’re both so exhausted, though, that all you manage to extend your energy to is taking your tops off and making out lazily to the songs you’d recommended to each other.

“Mm,” he says when one of your songs starts playing. “It’s a nice song.” You nod with a smile. “I know it is, it’s one of my recommendations. It’s called Softly.” He plays with the strap of your bra. “I’ll give it more of a listen, then. Also, a red bra to school? Whatever will the professors think,” he jokes lightly, pressing insistent, but soft kisses on your shoulder. You laugh, pinching the inner part of his arm and eliciting a swear from him. “I was joking! I know you wore this for me, stupid.” The wind whistles outside, barely audible from the half-open window across the room, overlapping with the music.

This all feels too real, now.

You pout lazily against his bare chest. “Get off before Lia gets in,” you mumble, your heart beginning to race. He does, for what it’s worth, rolling off your bed with a loud thump and tugging his shirt and sweater back on. You watch him (fondly) annoyedly, your hair draping over you as you get up to properly shove him out. “Out, out,” you chant, laughing, and he giggles, turning abruptly to poke at your waist.

“Shut up,” you groan, a smile on your face. There’s a beat, then he pulls you close and kisses you, running outside right after with a literal guffaw. You watch him, wrapping your fleece blanket around your frame as he runs to the elevator, sweater backwards and hair messy.

—

Doubts are normal. This you’re assured of, but your head pounds with the sheer amount of things you’re cramming into it. You squint impossibly harder, trying to get the nail polish into the crook of Lia’s nail. You’ve probably overdone it, judging by the way she jabs her knuckle in between your eyebrows, her face contorted in worry. “Are you…okay?”

You narrow your eyes, the inner debate of telling her raging on and on. The nail polish drips onto her fingernail, rolling onto her pant leg, and she yelps, but her eyes are still on you. “You can tell me anything,” she says, softer this time. You know she’s serious—you know you can. You always have. You told her about every fling, one night stand, pregnancy scare, bad grade, hot professor, and spoiled deli food you’d encountered since you ever became friends. She knew you. And you were so sure she knew what you were about to say.

Except you didn’t know what you wanted to say. Your feelings were a mess, and you wanted one thing as much as you wanted the other. You couldn’t place what you wanted, and if you had to narrow it down, you’d realize that you were scared of what you wanted. You were never really one for commitment, or a relationship, or really anything, for that matter. And the fact that you were so hung up on thinking about what you and Mark would become—Mark? It all seemed so dystopian, almost. Like you’d never expected it. Your friendship was a childhood bubble that popped in the span of your first high school semester, and that was that. But just two days ago you were being kissed all over by the same guy you’d had a cutthroat student council president competition with.

It seemed so absurd? Crazy? Those adjectives were a little over the top. Deep down, if you dug deep enough into the parts you didn’t even tell yourself, you knew what you were. And if anybody else were to know, it would be Lia.

“I’m scared,” you choke out, your voice shaky. “I’m scared and sad, and happy and angry, and I want this but I don’t.” You cover the nail polish, shaking your head. “This is all so new to me. I hate how much I feel, especially because it feels so wrong. You know me—relationships are just not cut out for me. They’re scary and new. And people in relationships turn all gooey. I’m scared that this won’t last, but I’m scared that it will, and I’ll be doomed to an eternity of bland, padlocked relationships. It’s weird. I could be feeling this way for anyone, but it had to be Mark? If only I didn’t hate him, then maybe we could’ve gone off on a better foot. If only this whole thing never fucking happened, right?”

“It’s okay,” Lia cuts in. “Being scared is okay. It’s part of the whole process. And nobody said you had to get along like conjoined twins in a relationship. They just go when they go and end when they end. Not every relationship starts as a high school sweetheart thing and ends with three kids and a picket fence. And I’m so sure Mark would be so understanding if you didn’t like him or if you chose not to continue.”

“You knew?”

She laughs. “Of course I knew. I know a post-sex glow when I see one, and I was blinded that morning at the ski lodge.” You groan, pinching her indignantly, hiding your face in your hands as she laughs out of view. “Okay. Take some time and think about it, but for now, I want to get my nails done, so.”

—

It’ll be a week before you come up with what you want, and the whole time you generally avoid talking about solemn topics with him in person.

It’ll be another few days before you finally talk to him personally—with your paper nearly finished, you suggest a meeting at the library. It’s just two days before Christmas Eve, and you know Mark’s going to be driving to Canada, so you want to snatch him away for your own personal time for just a second. The snow has all but thickened as you meet outside the building, the silence deafening.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. You know he’s probably picked up on your erratic, quieter behavior in the past several days, but you gulp and lead him inside anyways, to your favorite section. “It’s almost Christmas Eve,” he says, watching you stall, surrounded by Philosophy books from just about every century. “I know,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too nervous.

“You sound nervous,” he says.

“Do I?” you ask shakily, your voice taking on an unnaturally high pitch. “I mean, er. I guess I sort of am. I guess I’ve been thinking about everything lately—about you and me and everything that just happened so suddenly. Because—because it did happen so suddenly. I just…needed time? Yeah, time. To think about everything. Because it all happened so quickly, I…” you stutter. “I’m scared of these things. I’m not used to them. Relationships? Things that last longer than a couple weeks? I don’t like these.

I have something bigger I want to focus on and anybody who gets in the way just isn’t worth it. And it’s so weird how it was you out of all people I started thinking about it with. Usually I just have the rare fling and then they’re gone, and I’m not even mad. But you’re different. And I like it.

But I just needed time to find out if I really liked it. If I really wanted to try. I know it’s only been a few weeks, and I probably sound really fucking stupid, but you get me—you get me, right? And that’s how I realized—if it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I don’t know why I overthought it. I mean, it’s a good thing and a bad thing that I did. Like, on one hand, I got to really think about how this would play out, and on the other, I’d just end up spiraling. And it’s just weird. I hope you don’t know I hated you. Hate you? Hated you. I was just—it was all so juvenile. Everything just stemmed from that one awfully dumb high school rivalry. But other than that, you were always a cool…see what I mean? I’m kind of rambling—even if I thought I had planned this out. And. Yeah. I dunno. I fucking…I hate you, stop laughing.”

Mark smiles down at you—you’re busy pretending to read a Sartre book to look unfazed, but your flickering gaze says it all.

“Okay, stupid,” he says, bordering onto a laugh. “If that’s your way of saying you’re willing to give this a try, then I graciously accept. Should I be saying something equally long? I—is that how this works?”

You roll your eyes and kiss him instead, pulling him close, Sartre’s postulates dropping to the floor alongside your tiptoes.

—

Stage 4: Acceptance|

“Acceptance is just that. Just accepting that you love that person after weeks or months of all the other stages. With her, it was. Like. It’s the whole sitting down after silence, having some time for the revelation to set in before you realize you love them. Or like them? Well, love them, I guess. But I don’t know why you would be asking me this.”

You bury your head further into Mark’s shoulder, your eyes strained from how long they’d been trained onto your screen. You smile up at Daniel, thanking him for the input and beginning to type it in, watching Lia doze off on his shoulder. “We’re asking because we’re not quite there yet,” Mark hums, “it’s just February. It’s barely been two months.” You nod, watching Mark type where you left off on the document. Daniel snorts from across you. “You’re just about, I guess.” Mark chuckles, shrugging so your head bounces off his shoulder unceremoniously.

“Like I’d ever fall in love with that shitstorm,” he says pointedly.

“Oh, and I’d fall in love with this dickwad?”

“You’re perfect for each other. Bullying, but we all know Mark brought back gifts from Canada and that you stitched an initial onto his sweater.”

“To practice my embroidery. Also, I stitched Mark’s initial. M. Asshole.”

“Okay,” whistles Daniel, his hand unconsciously coming up to make sure Lia doesn’t fall off his shoulder. “But hey, you’re just about to submit this paper and I’m fondly remembering all the times you despised each other. And when you”—he points at you, devilish grin on his face—“started gushing to Lia about how he”—he then turns to Mark—“kissed you at Johnny’s party.”

“God, it’s not the time for that yet, we’re still a fresh couple,” you groan, burying your head in your hands. “You have so much dirt on me, Choi.” Mark just laughs, though, loudly, bringing the other cafe-goers’ attention to yours. He bites your shoulder to stifle it, eliciting a laugh from you. “I agree, there should be a certain time requirement for pre-relationship embarrassing stories,” Mark says, closing his laptop. Lia gets up at that point, already half-awake from the ruckus (AKA Mark’s laugh), pulling on Daniel’s sleeve. “Alright, and that’s my cue to get this girl some more coffee and then go.”

“Mm, I’ll come with,” you say, “I need a refresher before we leave soon, anyway.”

You walk in between them, your fingers laced in Lia’s as she squeezes them sleepily. They order first and then they’re off with a smile and a polite goodbye, leaving you to order your drink. You gaze up at the menu, and then down at—

“Long time no see,” Chan says with a knowing beam. “How is your not boyfriend boyfriend?”

“Well, he’s my boyfriend now.”

“See, I always know. What do you want?”

“An iced ca—how did you know?” You ask, tempted.

“It’s just…the energy? It was a hit or miss, but I kinda got that feeling that something was going to happen.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “An iced caramel then.”

“And a black coffee for her best friend!” Hollers a new voice that you could never miss, turning slowly towards the entrance to meet Donghyuck’s crazy eyes. He’s in a suit, which isn’t unusual given the sheer amount of presentations he’s had to do since the new year started. You roll your eyes but put in the extra cash anyway, much to Chan’s amusement. Hyuck nears you with a sly grin. “I hear you’ll be submitting your paper soon. I just want my name in there so I’m in your professor’s good graces.”

“She’s not even going to be your professor, Hyuck,” you say, taking your drink and smiling at Chan. You and Donghyuck both walk back to where Mark’s sitting, you beside him and Hyuck across the both of you. “Yes, but it pays to be in somebody’s good graces, I swear. See what happened? I got you two together. I orchestrated your entire love st—”

“Okay, now you’re just lying, Hyuck,” Mark says with a laugh, finishing up the first few paragraphs and closing his laptop. “We’re not even in love.” But his friend lets out a teasing smile, his eyes narrowed, and he gets up with a loud farewell and alibi about “being needed by my better friends.” You assume he’s talking about Jeno.

—

You walk to Mark’s room alongside him, thanks to the promise of his roommate, Jaemin, sleeping at a friend’s. Your fingers are intertwined loosely. The sun’s setting and Mark’s room is sheathed in beautiful shades of orange and pink, a vast array of dusk settling over the space. It happens quietly, but full of laughs, which is how it happens when you’re both tired and/or shitfaced. You do this a lot—a routine of sharing new songs or books you’d picked up over the week and then making out while they play in the background or while one of you read. It’s awfully, horribly, terribly fucking intimate.

“Your bra sucks,” he jokes.

You love it.

“Get better abs and we can talk about it,” you counter, poking his toned stomach. He really, fully guffaws at that, pulling you onto his lap and then tugging his guitar out from where it stands at the corner. You flop back onto his bed, watching him play—and then registering the familiar opening of the Jonas Brothers song you used to request nearly everyday. “Lovebug,” you muse with a smile, singing along to his voice, carried away. You’re sleepy and light, and you know deep down—in that space of yourself where you’re all but honest—that you were going to fall in love with him someday.

Later, when all you’re doing is hugging him as he reads your latest Philosophy requirement to you, he pauses.

“Is this the 21st century idea of love?” He asks idly, unclasping your bra and connecting the moles on your shoulder. You hum.

“It’s the Gen Z idea,” you say, connecting the ones on his bare back. “And this isn’t love.”

“Corny.” he smiles against your collarbones. You kiss his neck. It’s all very gradual.

—

hope you liked it :) drop an ask! I absolutely love all types of feedback

#mark lee #mark lee imagines #mark imagines #mark drabbles

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tomboyneedshercoffee · 5 years

Text

Thin Ice Pt4 || Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Peter spend some alone time and secrets get revealed.

Word Count: 3.4k

Author’s note: This is literally the fastest I’ve ever uploaded but you guys gave me so much support from the last chapter and honestly it made my day. Thank you guys for being so sweet!!!

Warnings: Mild swearing

part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || to be continued

For the past day, your friends and the rest of the decathlon team were stuck indoors waiting out the blizzard that was supposedly coming your way. However, by some miracle, the resort wasn’t hit too badly and your itinerary had only been pushed back a day.

Everyone was excited to go skiing more but you had other thoughts on your mind. You weren’t sure what to do about Brad and better yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about Peter. You only got a couple of glances at him between meals and even then, it was like he was avoiding your gaze.

You wondered if Brad had told Peter that you had kissed and the thought alone made you mad all over again.

“ You okay Y/N?” Betty asked as you looked down at your plastic fork that was bent from how hard you were gripping it.

You nodded and inhaled deeply as you put the fork down and started to eat your waffles with your spoon,” I’m really tired. I just want to go back to bed.”

From your dining booth, you could look directly at Peter, eating away with Ned without a care in the world. You watched as Peter laughed so hard, he held his sides in pain.

Before Peter could catch your gaze, you turned your attention back to your friends and crossed your arms.

“ You’ve been sleeping for most of the trip. Ever since that night the boys came over you’ve just been in bed. You even missed the huskies that they brought to the lobby!” Cindy said as she felt your forehead,” are you sick? I have dayquil in my bag.”

You swatted her hand away and looked down at your half-finished breakfast,” I’m fine. You guys should just go on ahead and ski without me. I’m not really up for it.”

MJ eyed you suspiciously as Betty and Cindy continued to interrogate you.

“ But you love snowboarding! What’s up with you cause something is obviously bothering you,” Cindy sighed as she put her hand on your shoulder,” is this about Brad?”

You put your hoodie over your head and rested your head against the table,”Can we please never say that dude’s name again.”

MJ shook her head and brought out her phone from under the table. Unlike her friends, MJ quickly put the pieces together and came to the conclusion that you needed something to cheer you up. She went to her messages and sent a text to Peter.

MJ: Something is up with Y/N & it has something to do with brad - u gotta get her out of the hotel room before she throws herself off the side of the mountain

MJ sent the message and looked over at Peter’s table, waiting for him to get the message. Peter’s phone buzzed and when he went to check, his face dropped and he looked over in your direction.

Peter: what did he do to her??? Did her hurt her???

Peter: I’ve never seen her like this before

Peter: what if she doesn’t want to hang out with me :(

MJ rolled her eyes and typed out vigorously.

MJ: This is ur chance to get alone time with her dumbass! Think of something NOW!

Peter: okokok but what about ned? I can’t leave him alone

MJ: we’ll hang out with him - I’m sure betty wants some action with ned too

Peter put his phone down and looked over in your table’s direction. He watched as Betty poked the side of your head but you didn’t even flinch.

After you went into the bathroom with Brad alone, Peter thought his chances of winning you over would be finished. That whole night Peter tossed and turned in his bed as he thought of what you two could’ve been doing in there yet at the same time, he tried to get those thoughts out of his mind completely.

Even though the thoughts pained him, Peter wanted to find out what happened that night and why you were so upset about it. It made him feel a tad bit better cause you feeling so bummed meant that maybe nothing happened between you and Brad but at the same time, what if Brad did something to you that made you feel this way?

The thought only made Peter fume silently as he told Ned everything that was going on. Once Ned hesitantly agreed, Peter shot another text to MJ and told her he had a plan.

MJ looked down at her phone and got up from the booth,” I think we should head out now. You sure you don’t wanna come Y/N?”

You raised your head from off the table and nodded,” I’ll be fine. I’ll catch you guys for lunch.”

You didn’t bother saying goodbye as you shuffled out of the booth and made your way to the elevators. As you got into the elevator and pushed your floor number, you leaned against the corner and closed your eyes.

There was so much on your mind and it kept eating away at you. After a lifetime of being friends, Brad sabotaged it and threw all of those great memories away over a stupid kiss. You felt guilty too because maybe you egged him on in a way and that you should’ve told him not to kiss you at all instead of falling for a “cheek kiss.”

As the elevator doors closed, Peter slipped through at the last second and you opened your eyes.

“Oh hey, Peter!” You said as you stood up straighter,” I thought you left with everyone else.”

Peter’s heart was racing as he pushed his brown curls off of his forehead,” Y-yeah about that...I was wondering if you wanted to hang out today?”

Your heart skipped a beat and deep down, you knew you had too much going on in your head right now. At the same time, you didn’t mind spending more time with him and you could use a distraction.

“ Sure, I would love to,” You finally said as Peter smiled nervously,” what did you have in mind?”

“ There’s this terrain park at the top of the mountain and I thought it would be cool watching people do tricks and stuff,” Peter said as the elevator stopped at your floor,” we would need to take the ski lift up there if that’s okay.”

Peter followed you out of the elevator as you nodded happily,” Yeah, that sounds like fun. I’ll go get ready but I’ll meet you in the lobby in like...thirty minutes?”

Peter looked down at his phone to check the time and smiled,” Great. I’ll see you soon then.”

As you both parted ways, Peter walked slowly to his room so he could make sure you got to your hotel room safely. Once you got into your room, Peter raced to his room on the opposite side so he could get dressed.

After you got ready, you practically rushed to the lobby to find Peter nervously tapping his fingers against his thigh. When he saw you, he did a double-take before standing up.

“ Ready?” Peter asked as you nodded.

The two of you walked side by side out of the lobby and through the shops as you both talked about the trip. While the two of you were talking, your phone buzzed and you casually pulled it out to check to see who it was.

Brad: We need to talk

“ Have I ever told you that I really like your phone case?” Peter said as he pointed towards it.

You turned off your phone and stuffed it into your pocket,” Are you making fun of me for liking Spiderman?”

Peter shook his head and laughed. It was really strange to see merch of himself out there and he never really knew of the impact he had on people until little kids started dressing up as Spiderman for Halloween.

He felt like a celebrity but the closest comparison he could think of was Hannah Montana.

“ No I’m not. I’m just surprised you don’t have a Captain America one or an Iron Man on it instead.”

You and Peter both made it to the line for the ski-lift and while Peter was excited to get some alone time with you, he was nervous that he would ruin things.

“ Puh-lease. Spiderman is by far the most superior avenger. I used to have a poster hung up in my room but my brother told me it was creepy so I took it down...I understand though. I guess it just reminds my brother of too much.”

“ What do you mean?” Peter asked as the line moved up.

“ I don’t really tell people this,” You sighed but figured why not,” but a couple of months ago, my brother and his girlfriend were walking home from the movies and these guys pulled a gun on them. They tried to rob them and they even beat my brother in front of his girlfriend. He thought they were going to kill him but Spiderman came and saved them. He’s thankful for being saved but I don’t think he ever got over how scary it all was.”

Peter felt his heart sink to his chest. He remembered that night vividly because of how hard the girlfriend was crying. He always thought it would get easier and that maybe he would get desensitized over time but he remembered every encounter like it was his last.

“ I’m sorry... I didn’t know he was your brother,” Peter said as he quickly caught his mistake,” I mean I-I remember hearing about it somehow...but that sounds terrible. Is he doing okay now?”

You shrugged and let out a puff of air,” He seems fine. I think he’s so stressed about his first year of college that he doesn’t really think about it anymore. It shook me up too. I was never really afraid of crime and all that but I guess when you live in New York, you’re always paranoid about when the next attack will be.”

You watched Peter’s solemn expression and you nudged him lightly,” I didn’t mean to bring down the mood. I just wanted to defend myself on why I love Spiderman so much. I just wish I could thank him, you know, for everything.”

Even though you weren’t looking at Peter, he still smiled towards you.

“ I think he knows. Trust me.”

Once it was your turn to go on the lift, you and Peter walked over and waited for the seat to come from behind. You both sat down as you moved the bar down to rest against your laps.

As it brought you further and further into the air, you noticed Peter gripping the bar.

“ Are you afraid of heights Pete?” You teased as Peter shook his head.

“ I’ve just never been on a ski lift before. I mean, on the bunny slope sure but it was way smaller. This isn’t even that sturdy,” Peter said as he shook the bar softly, causing the lift to creak,” fuck we are really high up.”

You looked around and you couldn’t help but smile. You loved seeing the whole mountain in fresh powder as Snowboarders glided down effortlessly below you. You felt like you were in your element and even though your cheeks were already rosy from the cold, you felt like you could stay up here forever.

“ It’s been a while since I’ve seen you smile like that,” Peter said as he tried his best to ignore the height,” it’s nice.”

For a moment, you had forgotten about all the problems that were lurking in your head and it was all thanks to Peter. You loved how easy carrying a conversation was with him and you would’ve never told anyone about what happened with your brother but something about Peter just made you instantly warm up to him.

You exhaled deeply as you leaned back in your seat,” I’ve just been going through a rough patch that’s all.”

Peter moved his legs up and down before turning back to you nervously,” Did Brad do something? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but I’m here for you if you want to talk.”

You wanted to tell Peter everything but you couldn’t do that without getting your feelings revealed. Not only that but if Peter did like you and he found out Brad had kissed you, it would change things and you liked the way things were.

“ Brad and I have just been friends for so long, you know? When you’ve known someone ever since you were in diapers, you start to let things slide. Maybe that’s why I always make excuses for him and his behavior sometimes,” you sighed as you turned to Peter,” you know, you sometimes remind me of him.”

Peter was quick with a comment as he shifted in his seat carefully,” Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

You playfully rolled your eyes as you tilted your head to the side to get a better look at Peter,” Well maybe what Brad used to be. On mother’s day, he always takes my mom out to brunch because my brother and I can never wake up early. I see that in you, you do things out of the kindness of your heart and you always do what’s right no matter what. You’ve been through a lot these past couple of years and you haven’t let it corrupt you or your heart.”

Peter shrugged as he tried to cover up his blush,” You got all of that from just a couple of days?”

“ I know we weren’t close before the trip Pete but I’m not blind. You’re literally the most selfless person I know,” you took a beat and decided to test the waters,” That’s why all the girls like you so much.”

Peter could feel his ears and neck flush as he laughed nervously before sighing quietly,” Girls don’t like guys like me.”

I like you.

“ That’s not true and you know it. What about Liz and MJ? Plus I heard Vanessa and her friends in gym think you’re hot. You’re funny, super smart, kind, and cute; you’re the whole package. Any girl would be lucky enough to be with you.”

You didn’t know it, but Peter could sense how fast your heart was beating and even though you tried to hide it, your voice trembled.

Peter shifted in his seat yet again but this time, his body leaned closer to yours,“ I guess I don’t care about all those girls...There’s only one girl that’s been on my mind.”

You could feel yourself turn into putty and your heart was racing like never before. You couldn’t believe what was happening and you didn’t even bother to hide the blush that was creeping onto your face.

You studied his face carefully and for a moment, it was like time had stopped just for the two of you. A rush of adrenaline pumped through your veins as you rested your hand on his thigh before pressing your lips against his.

Once your lips touched, Peter didn’t hesitate and immediately kissed you back. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that Peter had never felt before.

Your heart fluttered inside your chest before pulling away.

“ Just to make sure, I’m the girl that’s been on your mind right?” You teased Peter bit his lip and nodded.

“ Yes Y/N and I’ll prove it to you,” Peter pulled you closer to him as he kissed you again, smiling against your lips.

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

“ Thanks again for today, I liked spending time with you,” You smiled sweetly as you and Peter walked hand in hand back to your hotel rooms.

“ Me too but I’m just glad you had a great time. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind lately. You know I’m here if you need anything,” Peter said as you both stopped in front of your room.

You looked at Peter one last time before pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. You squeezed his hand before sliding in your room key.

“ I’ll see you later?”

Peter hummed a quick mhm and once you closed the door, Peter made a triumphant fist in the air.

You pressed your back against the hotel door and squealed happily like a schoolgirl. You took off your coat and hung it up as MJ looked up from her book.

“ I’ve never said this to anyone but wow you’re actually glowing,” MJ grinned as she patted a spot beside her.

You weren’t planning on telling MJ what went down but you felt like you would burst if you had to keep it in any longer. You told her everything from what happened in the elevator all the way until he walked you to the room.

MJ listened patiently and after you had finished your story, Cindy stepped out of the bathroom.

“ Hey Cindy, you’ll never guess what happened!” You beamed as you sat up from the bed.

Your face dropped when you saw that Cindy’s face was less than excited.

“ What’s wrong?”

Cindy let in a sharp breath as she held up her phone,” I think you need to see this.”

You and MJ shared a look before you got up from your seat and came over to Cindy. She hesitated before opening up her most recent message from Brad.

Your heart plummeted straight into your stomach as you reached for the phone slowly in disbelief.

It was a picture of you and Brad kissing in the bathroom and from the angle, it looked like you were actually kissing Brad back. That’s why he wanted you to close your eyes, he was setting up the camera.

“ You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whispered as you felt tears welt up in your eyes. Your mind immediately thought of Peter and you started to feel dizzy,” please tell me that he only sent it to you.”

MJ got up from her spot on the bed and shook her head,” That fucking prick...Y/N...he sent it to the decathlon group chat.”

@spaghetittiesbcimgay @holland-in-disguise @yeahimcrying @greatpizzascissorstaco @mysticalbanshee @weyheyavengers @infinityflamesworld @fandom-fangirl22 @peterparkoure @crumpets-are-better-with-jam @marvel4geeks @sad-sagita @juliebean247 @quitepointless @bannanasz @spideyyeet

533 notes · View notes

rejectofsociety · 4 years

Text

Febuwhump: Day Four (I forgot to post it yesterday, leave me alone)

Prompt: Impalement Alternative - “Please Come Back”

Summary: Peter and Michelle’s relationship has been having issues for as long as their daughter could remember, and it’s been wearing her down.

Word Count: 3693

Warnings: None

Written for: @febuwhump

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Maizie's memories of her parents mainly consisted of fighting and yelling. She wasn't doing any of the fighting or yelling, but her parents were always hard at it while the little girl was curled up in her bed with her sheets over her head as she drew pictures. She drew pictures of her motaher and father being happy together— happy in ways that she felt they never really could be.

She wasn't sure why they really were together because when she had preformed in a school play at age six and all the children greeted their parents backstage, the parents seemed happy to be together. They held hands and smiled and kissed each other on the cheek— Maizie didn't even know parents did that! She thought they were all bitter and disgusted with each other to the point that they despised being in the same room together. In fact, her father almost always slept on the living room couch while her mother slept in their bedroom. Some nights, Maizie would creep out of her room and crawl into bed with her mother or join her father on the couch— those nights were the nights where she slept best.

Sometimes she didn't know if her parents realized how much she hated their fighting. The way their harsh words lingered in her ears and their loud voices shook her to her core left her feeling distraught after every fight. There were nights where she was certain her parents had forgotten about her, being too caught up in their own squabbles. Some nights, one of her parents would storm out of the house and she would cry herself to sleep, not knowing if they'd ever come back. But they would. The next morning, they would come back and simply say they needed to go to her uncle, Ned's, house to cool off. She occasionally imagined herself storming off; just snatching her backpack off the ground, racing towards the door with a loud "fuck you!" (whatever that meant), then running off into the night. Her parents normally took the car, but Maizie couldn't drive yet.

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"Dad," Maizie called one night when she was nine and laying in her father's arms.

"Yes?" Peter muttered softly.

"Why do you and Mom hate each other?" She asked.

Peter's eyes widened a little and he looked down at his daughter, "May, we don't hate each other. We just..."

"Hate each other?"

"No, no. I just said-" he sighed and shook his head, struggling to find words that were gentle enough for her.

"Why are you and Mom still together if you hate each other?"

He tightened his grip on her slightly and stirred under the blanket, "I guess..." he suspired quietly, "Maizie, your mother and I were too young to have kids when you were born-"

"Then why did you have me?"

"Um- well," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "uh- we didn't plan on having you. It just kinda... happened. But I don't regret it, because I love you. A-and your mother loves you too, she really does. So we stay together so we can take care of you— neither of us can really do it alone."

"Oh..." his words still didn't make full sense to the girl: how did someone accidentally have a kid? How could someone be 'too young' to have a kid? How could someone not take care of a kid alone? Her friend's father could do it just fine.

"Does that make sense?" He asked, sensing her confusion.

"No," she admitted.

"I'll... try to find a better way to explain it," he sighed.

"How old were you and Mom when I was born?"

"Your mother was eighteen, I was seventeen. We had hardly been dating for a full year," he laughed softly upon remembering how young and dumb they had been.

"But then you got married, right? Aren't moms and dads supposed to be married?"

He shrugged, "not all the time. And no, we're not married."

"Really? Why not?"

"Never really got around to that part, I guess."

"Oh..."

"Do you have anymore questions?"

She hesitated with a list of questions in the back of her head, "...no."

"Good. Now go to sleep, it's been a long day."

Maizie nodded silently then nuzzled into her father's touch. She loved him but she also knew he wasn't great with explaining things. It was like he had too many thoughts and too many explanations— all of which were the same, just worded differently— and he couldn't organize them into a few sentences. Her mother, on the other hand, could spit out sharp and precise answers effortlessly.

"Mom, why do you hate Dad?" Maizie asked the next morning as her mother drove her to school.

"I don't," she replied quickly, "I love him."

"Then why do you fight all the time?"

"Because he's annoying and a bad listener," Michelle clenched her jaw at the thought of her boyfriend, "and the only way I can get him to listen is by yelling at him."

"Oh..."

Michelle felt a twinge of guilt twist her stomach into knots, making her sigh softly. Truthfully, she didn't like Peter all that much but her daughter shouldn't have to live a less than decent childhood just because her mother had made a handful of mistakes. Michelle loved her daughter and wouldn't trade her out for anything. Yes, her life had been made much more complex when the little girl entered the world, but that didn't make it worse. The only thing making her life worse was Peter. Why? Because she wanted to give her baby girl the life she deserved, one where she never shed a tear and felt loved every second of her day. What was preventing her from doing just that? Peter fucking Parker. And yet... she could never find the will to let him go. Maybe she was waiting for him to end things, just to make sure they really weren't in love. It was as if she were waiting for every single tiny drop of love for him to drip out of her heart, just out of fear of ending things too soon.

"You know... I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, but you are not one of them," Michelle said as she pulled up in front of the school, "and I just want you to be happy."

"Then stop fighting," Maizie simply stated, the words sounding too mature and formal as they left her young mouth.

Before Michelle could reply, the girl opened the car door, clutched her backpack, and hopped out the car. Michelle gnawed on her lip as she listened to the car door close once more.

"I love you," she murmured to the empty space.

Anxieties rolled around in her mind as she pulled away from the school. The drive back home was mentally excruciating. With nothing to fill the silence, every thought in her head was tied in some way to Peter and their daughter, but not in the usual loving way. The thoughts were painted with brushes of helplessness and worry while also centered around a realization she had always hoped she could never have to come to: her daughter wasn't happy with her life. Nine years old, and she already couldn't stand her parents— she couldn't stand Michelle.

Upon arriving home, Michelle instantly sat on the couch and texted Peter.

—

Michelle: can u come home?

Peter: no I'm at work

Michelle: tell them something came up. We need to talk

Peter: fine. Be there in 20

—

She tossed her phone off to the side then stood up and began pacing. Her mind raced as she began making a list of what her next steps would be. She needed to be thoughtful with the way she approached this. She could not have her daughter being unhappy in her home, not when it was a completely avoidable situation.

What if we can't fix this? She thought in horror. She stopped her pacing and stared ahead blankly, I guess... she eventually concluded, if we can't find a way to fix this, we'll break up. We'll finally break up and Maizie can visit him on weekends. It seemed like an obvious solution and something they should probably have done long ago and they really had no reason to be together. Maybe somewhere in their hearts they were still the same, stupid teenagers who fell head over heals in love.

"Something has to change between us," Michelle stated the moment Peter walked through the front door.

"Obviously," Peter retorted, making his way to the kitchen where Michelle waited, "so, where do we start?"

Michelle raised her eyebrows, "just like that? You're agreeing that quick?"

"Of course. You think I don't want this relationship to last? I love you and I love Maizie, I don't want to lose either of you," he spoke firmly

For the first time in a long time, a small, saddish smile spread across her lips, "I'm glad we can agree on something. It's been a while."

He nodded, "yeah, it has."

"But I was thinking that we can't do this ourselves. I mean, this is the longest we've talked to each other without fighting in a long time."

"It's kinda..." his voice trailed off as he thought about their situation, "...how did things get so bad between us?"

"You don't listen to me," she spat, "I told you I needed you, and you chose the city. I told you you needed to be a father and you chose to be Spiderman."

Guilt twisted in his stomach and he grimaced, "I..."

"You're completely oblivious," she hissed, "you didn't even realize what you were doing."

"Michelle, please calm down. I can quit being Spiderm-"

"I don't think you can," she deadpanned.

Peter raised his eyebrows at her, annoyance flaring in his chest, "if you think I'm a bad listener, you clearly haven't met yourself."

"Really? You're gonna pull that shit?"

"Yes, I am. Our relationship has gone to shit, and you can't keep trying to force all the blame on me, just because you wanna be right!" he snapped.

Michelle grit her teeth, but before she could open her mouth to spit a reply, Maizie's stressed and crestfallen gaze flashed through her mind. She stepped away from Peter and forced herself to draw in a deep breath. Peter watched her with sharp eyes, making her skin crawl with a strange amount of self consciousness.

"Please don't look at me," she quietly requested.

Peter immediately averted his gaze to his feet. Michelle gave a soft sigh of relief and leaned against a kitchen counter.

"That's one good thing about you," she observed.

"Hm?"

"You can keep me comfortable," she explained, watching a small smile twitch onto his lips, "you keep Maizie comfortable too."

"Thank you," he mumbled, still smiling softly, "you can still make me smile-- that's a good thing."

"Not as much as I used to though," she commented, somewhat regretfully.

"But you still do on occasion, and that counts for something."

They went quiet, avoiding each other's gazes as they thought things through. Peter rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, as if trying to relieve the tightness in his muscles. Michelle's eyes wandered to meet him and she sighed quietly.

"Your neck hurts?" She guessed.

"Yeah," he mumbled quietly.

"Come here," she took his hand in one of hers then lead him to their couch.

She nudged his blanket off to the side and gestured for him to sit down. He obeyed then she sat next to him, turning him sideways slightly then sitting next to him. She placed her hands on the base of his neck and tenderly pressed her fingers into his muscles, feeling the tension and knots in the fibers.

"What do we need to do?" Michelle asked as she massaged his neck gently.

"Um..." he thought for a moment, "remember when Betty came back from college and she and Ned were having relationship issues?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"They got a counselor and things started to get a lot better between them," he continued then groaned softly when he felt a knot relax.

"I don't..." she sighed and hesitated, her hands still expertly working through his tense muscles, "I don't know about a counselor."

"Why not?" He wondered patiently.

"I don't know, it's just..."

"Embarrassing?"

"A little."

"Would you rather be momentarily embarrassed and love me a little longer, or-"

"Fine, let's do it."

He smiled softly, "good. Now- shit," he groaned, "that one felt good."

She chuckled, "I can tell."

"Heh, yeah um... I'll text Ned and ask which counselor he and Betty went to— I remember they liked her."

She nodded then leaned forward and lightly kissed his neck. Her lips tickled his skin then made a gentle warmth bloom and spread across his body, enveloping him in a beautiful sensation he had missed.

"You haven't kissed me in a long time," he hummed.

"I know," she sighed, "... let's get an appointment as soon as we can. I miss loving you."

"I miss loving you too."

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How Maizie had left her school without anyone noticing was beyond him. Sure she was quiet at school and generally kept to herself, but wasn't it literally the school's job to keep the kids safe and inside? Maybe it wasn't, but that's not what Peter was thinking about at the moment. What he was thinking about was the call from her school reporting that she had been marked absent, followed by confusion and anxiety, calling Ned, calling May, calling Betty, they called everyone only to be filled with the dreadful realization that their little girl had run away. It was the most gut-wrenching feeling either of the parents had ever experienced.

You failed. You failed. You failed. How could you let this happen? His mind chanted endlessly as he swung through the city on swift webs. His eyes observed every detail of his surroundings, desperately searching for his daughter.

His spider-sense screamed suddenly and his eyes darted to the ground to spot Maizie crossing a road. Her head was down and expression scrunched up as she fought back sobs. Tears instantly rushed to Peter's eyes and he swept down to her and scooped her into his arms. She yelped slightly in surprise but didn't fight back, only watched in wonder as Spiderman swiftly carried her to a roof.

"K-kid," Peter shakily croaked out, holding the girl close to his chest as his body trembled.

"Spiderman?" she looked up at him, her voice was wobbly, "wh-what's wrong?"

Peter took a moment to hold his daughter and gratefully take in her precious existence. She was here in his arms— unharmed and alive— and he wasn't letting go. He was never letting her go.

"Y-your father told me he couldn't find you," he managed, "it scared me. I-it scared your parents worse."

"You know my dad?" she sniffed.

"Yeah, we work together."

"Oh. He never told me that," Maizie said as she wrapped her little arms around her second favorite superhero— War Machine was her first favorite, Captain America came third.

"Really?" He raised his eyebrows under the mask, "I'm almost offended."

She managed a tiny giggle then sniffed again. Peter looked down at her and brushed a few tears off her cheek gently. Maizie buried her face in his chest and he wrapped his arms around her a little tighter. I need you home, May, he thought desperately, how can I get you back?

"You smell like my dad," Maizie mumbled, her voice slightly muffled.

"I hope that's a good thing," Peter replied softly, his shaking muscles and palpitating heart gradually beginning to relax.

"It is. Smells like home," she drew in a deep breath to calm herself then raised her head to look up at Spiderman.

He nodded then hesitated, gently stroking her hair with one gloved hand, "why are you running away?"

Maizie's entire body began to quiver and her breathing grew shaky, "I-i'm having a r-really really b-bad day," she managed and Peter could see the tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, "a-and I don't wanna go home if my parents are just gonna fight. A-all they do is fight! I just wa-wanna play together but they j-just wanna yell."

Peter's heart broke a little more with every word that left her mouth. Her hands clung onto his body and she rested her cheek on his chest like a pillow.

"Your parents are going to try to stop fighting," he said softly, "they told me."

"They've said that before," she mumbled, "they're lying."

Peter let out a shuddering breath and considered every word as it left his mouth, "they're serious this time. They're getting help. Do you know what a counselor is?"

"Um... I-i think my school has one. She helps kids when they're sad or mad."

"That's good. Do kids seem to feel better after talking to her?"

She nodded, her tears slowing down once more, "y-yeah."

"Good, I'm glad," he sighed softly, "your parents are going to see a counselor. I can't speak for your mother, but your father really needs this. He loves you and your mother so, so much but he's really... he's really sad and he's mad too— just like the kids your school counselor helps."

"Why's he so sad?"

"Because... it's complicated. But he wasn't ready to be a father when you were born, and he knows he's made a lot of mistakes and wrong decisions, y'know? A-and he feels like a bad father and he takes it out on your mother. He knows it's not fair to either of you and he loves you so much, but sometimes he forgets what he's supposed to be doing," he rambled, "he forgets that he isn't just Michelle's boyfriend, but he's your father and he has to take care of both of you. Does- um... does any of that make sense?"

"Kind of, yeah," she nodded slowly, "but he's going to fix that, right?"

"Yes. He's going to fix that as soon as possible."

Maizie sighed in relief then furrowed her brow, "how do you know all this?"

Peter hesitated before replying, "um..."

What was the logical explanation for a superhero knowing the emotional conflict of a random civilian? Spiderman was friendly, but he wasn't exactly a therapist. Besides, Maizie was smart for her age— it wouldn't take her long to figure out the truth.

With a quiet sigh, he gripped his mask and pulled it away from his face. Maizie watched him, and instantly recognized her father. Her heart skipped a beat anxiously and she immediately began making a mental list of apologies.

"A-am I in trouble?" she asked frantically.

"No," Peter promised and she sank deeper into his touch, "just... Maizie, we need you. Please come back."

She paused, considering every word Spiderman— her father— had spoken to her. He sounded so sincere and desperate— she knew her family loved her, it was just a matter of them acting like it. Really, she never thought her parents would care enough to show her love and the fact that her father had just proven how much they both cared about her was more of a shock to her than the fact that he was leading a secret double life as a superhero.

"I... I wanna come back," she decided.

Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and hugged the little girl tightly. Maizie buried her face in her father's neck and instantly felt herself comforted by his protective warmth. Panic suddenly rose in her chest as she realized what she had been about to give up— warm hugs, home cooked meals, a cozy bed, snuggling when she couldn't sleep, endless and unconditional love, and so much more that she couldn't even begin to list.

"I wanna go home!" She cried, "I wanna go home right now!"

"Sh, it's okay," he gently hushed her, stroking her back with one hand, "it's okay, May. Let's go home. I can carry you."

She nodded rapidly, "p-please."

"Yeah, lets go," he sighed softly.

After slipping his mask back on and holding Maizie in the most secure way possible, he stuck a web to a building and swung through the gentle breeze. Peter simply swung as calmly and in-control as possible— he just wanted to get home. He didn't use any of the playful or fancy tricks he used to use when he and Michelle were younger and he'd take pleasure in making her scream and laugh as they swung through the city. He hadn't done that with her in years. He missed her arms and legs wrapped tightly around him as she switched between terror and pure joy every few seconds.

Finally, the two arrived home. Despite being in his suit, Peter didn't mind walking through the front door seeing as no one was out and about to see him.

The moment Michelle spotted her daughter, she rushed to her and knelt in front of her. Maizie threw her arms around her mother's neck and hid her face in her curls. Maizie rambled her apologies and cried while Michelle held her closely.

"Maizie, calm down," Michelle hummed softly, "it's okay, I'm not mad. I'm just happy you're here."

Maizie sniffed and nodded, "o-okay... I love you."

"I love you too," she hesitantly let go then kissed her forehead, "can you go to your room and get cleaned up?"

She nodded again, hugged both her parents one more time, then made her way to her room.

Michelle stood up and looked over at Peter as he removed his mask. Their cheeks were stained with tears, their curly hair was a tousled mess, and their eyes were reddened with exhaustion.

"We're a mess," Peter observed.

Michelle smiled and walked to him, "yeah, we look like shit."

They exchanged soft chuckled and Peter brushed Michelle's hair out of her face. His fingers lingered on her cheek and she let out a quiet breath and placed her hand over his, closing her eyes lightly as she savored his touch.

"I love you, MJ," Peter promised.

"I love you too."

31 notes · View notes

wiccanz · 5 years

Text

Lightweight

Summary: Y/N Stark, surprisingly, has never gotten drunk in her entire life. After Sam makes a comment making fun of her for it, her pettiness gets the best of her, leading her to drag Peter into her quest to drink and possibly get drunk. Chaos ensues, and feelings spill out. Warnings: underage drinking (pls be responsible), swearing Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader A/N: I’M BAAACKKK!!!! i think this one’s fun,,, there’s only brief mentions of tony but still it’s stark reader lmfaosjskdhs anyways, i hope u guys enjoy this!! also my requests are open pls my inbox is dry af

“So you’re telling me, THE Y/N Stark, daughter of Tony Stark, has never even had a drink? Not even a sip?” Sam chuckles. “Shut up” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. Steve tries to hide his smirk, not wanting to seem like he’s an irresponsible adult encouraging you to drink. “Stop it, Sam. she’s not 21 yet, it’s okay. In fact, it’s better than okay” he shrugs.

You stick your tongue out at Sam, making him roll his eyes. “I would try it, but I’m afraid of my dad. That man has eyes on me everywhere. I can’t seem to get rid of it!” you groan. “Don’t even think about trying it. Don’t forget we ALL have eyes on you” Steve points at you. You nod, glancing at Sam, who was trying to hold back his laughter.

Despite of Steve’s warnings, you still were up for the challenge. All those times you tried to even approach the bar at one of your dad’s parties was like you approaching a bomb, with some Avenger or Happy dragging you away in a heartbeat. Sam’s teasing just made you even more eager, desperate to shake off that sheltered-rich-kid-who-hasn’t-done-wild-shit-normal-teenagers-do image people seem to have of you.

Needless to say, Peter was the first person on your mind as soon as you thought of your plan. Disable all cameras by your dad’s alcohol cabinet, sneak into the old common room, which has become you and Peter’s hideout, and get drunk there.

“So, what do you say?” you excitedly grinned at Peter, who stared back at you with wide eyes. “Are you serious?” he furrows his eyebrows. “Your dad is going to kill me. Then you. I am not getting drunk with you Y/N. We’re not legal yet” he sighs. You frowned, taking his hand and holding it between both of yours. “Come on, Pete. it can just be me. I just wanna try it. Please?” you pleaded.

Peter shook his head, letting out a deep sigh as he closed his eyes shut. “Fine. but can we please not get caught? I’ll just be there to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.” he leaned closer. You nod, pulling him into a hug. “If we get caught you can always swing me out of here” you joke, making him chuckle as he pulls away.

“So, when are you planning this whole thing?” he quirks an eyebrow. You look down at your watch before looking back up to face him, a cheeky grin on your face. “Right now” you shrugged.

You took Peter’s hand, leading him to your dad’s alcohol cabinet. “Are you sure you disabled all of the cameras? Like all of them?” he asks, nervous as you opened it, grabbing 6 bottles of beer. “I replaced it with the footage of us building a LEGO imperial star destroyer from last week. We did that thing all night, he won’t suspect a thing” you explain, giving Peter three bottles before taking the other three.

As you two step out of the elevator and into the old common room, you set the bottles down on the floor by your bean bags, both of you sitting down right across from each other. “How much are you supposed to drink before you get drunk anyways?” Peter asks. “I don’t know” you reply, cracking open the first bottle.

Before you could even take your first sip, Peter stops you. “What do you mean you don’t know? I don’t think this is a good idea” he hesitates, trying to get ahold of your bottle, but you move it away from him. “You’re not gonna drink, Pete” you say, finally taking your first sip.

“This is….bitter,” you gulp, taking a look at the bottle. “I think I like it” you say, continuing to drink it. Peter just sighs as he watches, standing up to grab a can of soda and a bottle of water from the mini fridge. When he returns, you’re already chugging it. “Slow down, drink some water.” he says as he sat back down, handing you the bottle of water.

You remain silent, opening your second bottle. “I said slow down, you cannot get drunk” he scolds you. “Isn’t that why I’m drinking?” you cock your head to the side. “No. maybe you’ll get tipsy, but that’s it. I can’t let you get drunk, Y/N” he replies.

But 6 bottles later, you’re already breaking into song and dance in the middle of having a conversation with Peter about whether he should change the color of his suit or not, what university the two of you plan to go to in the future, and other things that can be either really dumb or really deep.

Peter isn’t bothered by your interruptions, finding it amusing and adorable, absolutely forgetting that he needs to keep you in check. “Let’s play truth or dare” you blurt out, making Peter quirk an eyebrow at you. “You hate that game” he replies, making you pout. “Nah” you shrug.

“Okay. You first. Truth or dare?” he starts. “Truth” you choose, making Peter think of a question for a few seconds. “Alright. Do you like someone?” he asks, making you groan. “C’mon, Peter, that’s something a 12 year old would ask me” you pout. “But yeah, Iike someone” you add, making Peter’s face light up.

“Really? Ok, then skip me first. I dare you to tell me who you like” he insists. You nod, moving next to him to lean closer to whisper to his ear.

“I like Spiderman” you whisper, making his eyes go wide. “W-what?” he stammers. “Shhh, if you tell him I’ll kill you” you sigh, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I’m Spiderman, Y/N. I like you too---” Peter’s voice fades off as he realized you were already fast asleep, making him smile to himself. He sighs before scooping you up and carrying you bridal style to the couch nearby. “Goodnight then” he quietly scoffs as he pulls a blanket over you.

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lapixie · 5 years

Text

Ten Years Later Chapter 2

Part 1

Chapter 2

Tony doesn’t go right to sleep. Instead he goes online, and he looks up everything! He learns about the last ten years the best way there is, by looking up all the gossip and news. He learns that they still have not perfected the flying car, but they did shoot one into space. What the fuck Elon? Simpsons was still playing. Supernatural went away, then came right back. They were on season 22 now. Destiel was still not a thing.

Then he looked up his friends and family. Holy shit! Peter was gay...or well...bi...maybe pan? Whatever he was, he wasn’t straight. And the world knew that he was Spiderman? He didn’t go too deep into that, figured it would be best for him to wait for the kid to tell him everything about that. And actually, maybe it would be better for the rest of them to be the ones to give updates on their lives also. He finally falls asleep as the sun was coming up.

The next morning, everyone woke up to the smell of bacon, sausage, eggs, home fries and pancakes. Walking into the kitchen, they were all surprised to see Tony at the stove.

“Morning Mr. Stark, I didn’t know you could cook?” Peter asked, while adorably running his hands through his hair.

“Breakfast, the most important meal of the day!” He blustered, trying not to stare at Peters abs peeking out from where his t-shirt was rising up.

Pepper laughed out loud, saying “What he means is; Breakfast, you cook it for the girl you’re about to kick out so there’s no hard feelings!”

“Hey, no slander Pep! I did it to the boys too!”

Peter choked on his coffee he had just taken a sip of, sputtering “Boys? Mr. Stark, I didn’t know you swung that way…?”

“Yeah, no sense being a playboy if you’re gonna limit yourself to only half the population!”

“Oh.”

“Does it bother you? I didn’t think it would, the internet is full of photos of you with other people. Including Flash?! What the hell kid? Isn’t he the one who bullied you for so long?”

“People change Mr. Stark. The snap changed a lot of people. Some for the better, some for the worse. Flash was for the better. Also, it’s been a while since I’ve been a kid.”

Tony felt his eyes slowly sliding down Peter’s body, but snapped them quickly back up to meet his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah. Well, if you’re not gonna answer to kid anymore, you better call me Tony.”

With a hitch in his breath, Peter answered “Sure Mr….Tony. Might take some time to get used to though.”

They joined Pepper, Happy and Rhodey at the table, where the others had already started eating. They took turns filling him in on the people that had survived the snap.

“What?!” he yelled, “Thor got fat?!” He couldn’t help but chuckle, thinking of the handsome alien god with a belly of pudge. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

“Tony,” Peter gave him a stern look “It’s not funny. His whole planet was destroyed, then Thanos killed most of the survivors, including his brother, then his snap decimated what was left. We’re lucky he didn’t kill himself! Besides, he’s still badass and could beat you one handed.”

“Kid!” He cried, clutching at his chest. “My heart! I thought you loved me!”

“I do love you Mr. Stark. Which is why I would never lie to you. Thor would kick your ass.” He deadpanned.

“Hey, what happened to Tony?!”

“What happened to not calling me kid?”

“Touche. Moving on…so you went to Europe and met Quentin Beck?”

“Yeah, I messed up. I trusted him. I was in a really bad place. You, May, and Ned had all just been dusted. SHEILD was pressuring me to be Spiderman more than I was willing to at the time. I just wanted a vacation, ya know? But even that had some world ending, cataclysmic happening. By the time we thought we were done with all that, I was just ready to be me. Just Peter. So I gave Beck EDITH. The last thing you had trusted me with, and I just gave it away…”

Seeing Peter’s face so contorted with guilt and grief was breaking Tony’s heart. He couldn’t believe that he had had a hand in one of the worst times of his life. “Oh, kid, I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to handle that responsibility so young!”

With a quirk of a smile, Peter replied “It’s okay. I made it right. It was really bad for awhile though. Mysterio told everyone that I was Spiderman, at the same time he told them all that I was a murdering psychopath. With video evidence. Long story. SHEILD stepped in and proved me innocent, but I had already been outed. It was crazy for awhile. I was dating MJ and scared for her. The bad guys were actually the least of the problems. It was the paparazzi. They wouldn’t leave us alone! Plus, I was still having panic attacks from being hit by the train.”

“Excuse me?! What by the what now?!”

“Yeah, Mysterio was messing with my mind. Anyway, Everything finally started getting better, everything calmed down. Me and MJ decided we were better off as friends after a couple of years. I had my great gay awakening. Dated Flash for about a year, we were better off as friends too. And that’s about it for me. Oh, and while searching for a way to reverse the snap, I found a couple of cures, including one that let’s Bruce choose when he wants to Hulk out, and lets him keep his mind. Almost like an animagus mixed with wolfsbane potion? No? It’s a Harry Potter thing.”

“Wow. That’s...a lot. Pep, how about you? Tell me your last ten years have been a bit...tamer?”

“Well, I had a baby, then another, ran away to Paris to get married to Happy. It didn’t work out, but we’re still great friends.”

“What? Seriously?” That was...shocking to say the least. He always thought Happy was gay. And he didn’t mean in the...haha...happy way.

Pepper laughed. “No, but your face is priceless.” She said while rolling her eyes. “Actually, most of my time has been spent putting out fires started by Tony Jr. over here.” She pointed over at Peter.

“Hey!” Peter cried, with a hand over his heart, a fake wounded expression on his face. “I resent that! I’m much worse than him!”

Pepper gave a little half-smile, half-laugh that Tony recognized from how she used to look at him. Just yesterday for him, but apparently an entire decade for her. It was finally starting to sink in. He missed ten years of their lives. He missed seeing Peter grow up. Happy and Rhodey were grey. Pepper had wrinkles. They had all continued living their lives. Without him. And he couldn’t even be mad. He was gone! They couldn’t exactly pause time to wait for someone to get him back.

“Mr…Tony, are you okay?” Peter sounded worried. He couldn’t do that to the kid, not after everything he went through with EDITH. Because of him.

Shaking his head, like it could remove the thoughts from his brain, Tony smiled and replied “Yeah, Pete, I’m fine. Just jet lagged. That’s a thing, right? If you can get jet lagged from changing time zones, imagine my jet lag changing decades!”

Everyone laughed, just as he meant them to.

“So Happy, honeybear, tell me, did you find a mad passionate love for each other in the ten years I was gone?”

Happy and Rhodey rolled their eyes simultaneously, which just caused Tony to laugh more.

“See?! You’re already in sync!”

“Tony, shut up. I’m actually still happily single, and Happy is not so happily single.”

Happy elbowed Rhodey in the side, mumbling that he was fine.

“Happy, who broke your heart? Who do I need to reign the might of Tony Stark down on?” Tony was joking, but he was also totally serious.

“Careful boss, you reign your might, you’ll be taking on a certain Spiderman!” Happy chuckled, picturing this.

Tony felt something cold in his chest. Happy and Peter? No. Peter was his! Well, not his, his, but his protege!

Peter was watching Tony, as if he was expecting him to laugh and say something like he could take him, but instead Tony just got real quiet.

“Don’t worry Tony, even if you went after Aunt May, I doubt I’d have to do anything! She’d tear you apart all by herself!” He would probably deny it to his dying day, but Peter totally giggled at that.

Tony’s head snapped up from where it had started to droop towards his chest, his eyes meeting Peters.

“Aunt May? I thought he meant ...so it wasn’t you?” The relief Tony felt was immense. And completely inappropriate. It was none of his business who Peter dated. He didn’t even know the kid any more. Case in point, not a kid!

Peter and Happy started laughing uproariously, so hard he thought they may just fall over.

“Me and the kid?! Are you out of your mind? He just got over his annoying never stop talking stage. And he relapses! Oh God, kill me if I ever even think about it! Also, uh, I’m straight, so…” Happy shrugged, like “what are you gonna do”?

“Yeah, Tony, no offense to Happy, but he’s not my type. If I wanted to be with someone who rolled their eyes and stopped listening anytime I was talking, I would have stayed with Flash.”

His eyes were warm as he said this though, like it was fond memories.

“Well Pete, if they don’t listen to you, that’s their stupidity. You were already one of the smartest people I knew, and you were a teenager at the time.”

Remembering the kid he was, looking at who he was now, made him sad. He missed so much of Peter’s life.

“Thanks Tony. Wish more people felt that way.” Peter was smiling while he said it though, so he could tell he wasn’t really upset.

“Okay well, for me it’s been less than 24 hours since you saw me last, so not much has changed.”

As they cleaned up from breakfast, Tony couldn’t help staring at Peter. When he raised his arms to put dishes in the cupboard and his abs showed under his shirt. When he bent over to put the pans away, and he showed off his amazing ass. Tony could feel himself getting hard. He had to nip this in the bud.

“Okay Pete, I think I might go get reaquainted with the lab. Dum E, Butterfingers, and U must be missing me. And Friday has been suspiciously quiet.”

“It’s not suspicious boss! I’ve just been letting you get re-acclimated. I was being nice! Last time I do that!” For an AI, it was shocking how much emotion you could hear in her voice. She was the most sarcastic, loving, AI in the world.

“Friday! Baby! I’ve missed you!” Tony yelled with a big grin on his face.

“No you didn’t boss. It’s been less than a day for you. But I appreciate the sentiment.” She drawled. “Now, come, your kids have missed you.”

With that, the elevator opened and sat waiting for Tony.

“Guess that’s my queue. Later Underoos!” He yelled, scurrying to the elevator, with his hands in a peace sign, hearing Peter yelling that he wasn’t Underoos anymore in the background. “You’ll always be my Underoos!” He called back with a grin. Man, it felt good to be back!

@stxrker-fan-xx

#starker #starker fic #tony x peter #peter x tony #au #ten years later

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pickybearcub · 4 years

Text

Getting to know Spiderboy: Chapter 9

Pairings: Peter Parker x OC Genre: Friendship/ Adventure/ Family Warnings: None

Summary: Ten minutes. Ten minutes was all it took. She found his backpack in the alley and left before he got there. Now, before Peter knows it, Ned thinks he has a secret girlfriend and Spiderman has to be her kibble runner.

Note: Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Masterlist

"Internship retreat?"

"It was such a surprise for me too." May gushed. "Peter didn't tell me anything until Tony Stark himself came to say that he was accepted for the internship. Though, honestly, I don't like that man very much, but it will still be a once in a lifetime chance for Peter."

"Wow." Was all Nadia could say. She'd expected that Ironman would take notice soon. Trying to approximate time was still a tricky thing. Besides, a super-powered vigilante popping up practically beside the Avengers tower would garner attention quickly.

The "retreat" must have been related to something about the Avengers. The latest news was that Captain America had gone rogue. It was that, right?

"I'm proud of him. But I wish he told me. It was a bit of a rush when Mister Stark had him whisked away for the retreat." May chuckled.

Nadia smiled. "He probably just wanted to be sure that he got it before he told you."

May mirrored the younger woman's expression. "That would be just like Peter."

Nadia spent a bit longer with Peter's aunt, sharing some gossip and a recipe for turkey meatloaf. She figured there wasn't much she could do for now. Peter would be in Berlin for a few days.

She didn't want to go to the archives to study. She'd already gone there months ago. She knew that she would start overthinking things if she went through the books again.

The dark-haired woman thought about the fight that the teen was going to be involved in. She knew she didn't have anything to worry about and that Peter would pretty much have the time of his life.

But still…

He was going to face some heavy hitters.

"New York, Queens. It's a rough borough, but hey, it's home-"

"Who you talking to?" Happy interrupted.

"No one. Just making a little video of the trip." Peter smiled sheepishly, reverting to his normal voice.

"You know you can't show it to anyone."

"Y-Yeah…" He hesitated for a split second. Nadia would love to see this when he got back. "I know."

"Then why are you narrating in that voice?"

"Uhhh, 'cause it's fun." The teen said simply like the answer was obvious.

"Fine." The man said flatly.

"So why they call you "Happy"?"

When the divider hummed shut, Peter stopped recording. The dismissal didn't dampen his spirits though. He was going out of the country for the first time in his life. All the way to Berlin too.

Still hyped, he couldn't help but send a quick text about the truth of his trip to the only person he could tell. His aunt probably told Nadia all about what Mr. Stark said, but his sister figure would definitely know that something was up. Ironman wasn't exactly the kind of person to have time to personally congratulate every person who was lucky enough to get into any Stark-related grants or internships.

His phone buzzed before he could though. When he saw the name on the message, he couldn't help but wonder if clairvoyance was part of Nadia's ability to use magic.

Nadia: So… nice job getting into the Stark internship. May said you're on a way to a retreat?

Nadia: I'm thinking Stark knows then?

Peter: Yeah! Berlin. Can you believe it?! No one's told me exactly why I'm going there though.

Peter: But still… Berlin! On a plane! Gosh I've never ridden a plane!

Nadia chuckled at how Peter's message was punctuated with emojis at the end. She could imagine his voice as he spazzed out at the opportunity.

Peter: Yeah. Mr Stark knows. I was surprised wen he showd me that vid f me on youtube w/ the car nd the bus.

Then her phone gave a string of beeps and several messages popped up one after the other on her screen.

Peter: Can u believe Ironman chose me?

Peter: Ironman!

Peter: mAbe that means I get 2 b an avenger!

Peter: 8'll b awezm 2 mEt Thor. Hez sppsd 2 b d god f thunder!

She smiled at how the messages deteriorated more into text speak. Peter always spelled out his words. He must have been really excited.

Peter: Oh yeah, I think me going 2 Berlin has something 2 do w/ Cap America going crazy

Peter: I'm not sure.

Peter: We're arriving at the airstrip. Happy might get mad f he sees me texting. Promise I'll send u a message once we get 2 Berlin.

He seemed to have mellowed out a bit in the last messages.

Nadia: Okay Spiderboy. Enjoy your trip. If you really are going up against Cap, be careful. He may be a grandpa, but he's a super-soldier.

Nadia paused before she sent one more message.

Nadia: Get me a souvenir if you can. :)

"So he texted you."

The young woman wasn't surprised to see the man standing in her living room. She did see the sports car parked in front of her apartment building.

"Yup." She answered simply, popping the "p". She continued on to her kitchen, putting a hand on Stevie's head and giving his ears a scratch to calm him. The canine had been standing tense at the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, growling at the billionaire. "Coffee?"

"Judging from your lack of a real reaction, I think the little Spiderling already told you about me."

Nadia shrugged and brought two mugs of coffee to the living room, setting them on the table. Stevie followed close behind.

"The moment you left his apartment." She took a seat in the armchair beside her couch, watching the man look at the pictures she had on her wall, “His aunt told me about the retreat.”

Stevie lay down protectively by Nadia's feet and gave Stark another warning growl. The billionaire just threw the dog an uncaring glance.

"He really trusts you. Sees you as a sister even." He picked up a particular frame and angled his body away from her. Tony thought he was being subtle, but Nadia saw the glint of his high tech phone when he pointed it at the picture and scanned it.

"I guess. I see him as a little brother, plus he's attached to me because we both share a secret." She looked pointedly at Stark with her next statement. "But, you know my secret too."

"You can say that, Sabrina." He turned around, holding up the picture. It was one of her as a child, with a woman in her twenties who had ash brown hair and blue eyes. His phone pinged and he glanced at the screen, raising an eyebrow before he looked back at the young woman sipping coffee.

"Anya Capelli… She's your mother?" Tony asked. "You look like her, except for the hazel eyes and dark hair."

Nadia gave a nod, not really minding the nickname. "I always thought that was a side effect of the magic." She shrugged. "On the other hand, I think I have the same eye shape as my father."

Tony gave her an unreadable look. The billionaire and the young woman both raised a single eyebrow at each other.

"Well then…" He clapped his hands together. Nadia could see the tension in his shoulders. Funny, from what she knew about Tony Stark, he wasn't one to get awkward. But then… this was a unique situation.

"You look like you're doing alright. Cute dog and nice apartment, by the way." He gestured around. "Cozy place. A little small though..." He trailed off and cleared his throat. "I just came by to tell you myself that I'll be taking Underoos on a little trip. Don't want you doing voodoo on me or whatever if you jump to conclusions about the kid suddenly leaving." He wiggled his fingers.

"Just promise to watch him, Stark." She sighed. "You'll know just what "voodoo" I can pull if he gets hurt on your mission," Nadia said almost threateningly.

"Of course I will." Tony rolled his eyes. The young woman just gave him a pointed look.

"I'll make sure he eats his vegetables." He said flatly.

"Good."

There was another moment of silence before Tony turned and made for the door. "Now, that that's set, I better get going. Gotta go after Capsicle and his boy band after all."

Before the door shut closed behind him, Nadia called out from the living room.

"Be careful out there!"

The young woman stared at the door. Stark was leaving now. His original departure might have been delayed a bit because of her and the man waiting for her to get back to her apartment. Leaning back on her couch, Stevie jumped up on her lap and she couldn't help but indulge him with a good scratch behind the ears. She closed her eyes, deep in thought.

Berlin….

The airport fight was probably going to happen by tomorrow once Peter arrived and got his new suit. After that fight, Nadia wasn't sure just when she would get the chance to see Steve Rogers again. She'd been in New York with her mother during the Chitauri attack years ago, subtly lending a hand and keeping civilians safe. She'd only caught glimpses of the Captain in action then, though hadn't really met him.

Sad… Steve was technically the first hero her grandmother decided she would watch over back in the 1920s. And Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier... There was just no chance once things were set into motion. It would have been nice to get to know both of them personally before they were labeled war criminals and were forced to go into hiding.

---

Tags are open: DM me if you want to be added or removed.

@spiderkittene @livecheerlovedancing @weavulex @bethelnie-blog @tregua-oca @lagunaleonhart-blog @venerican-blog @lenncola-blog

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itsmyfuneralokay · 5 years

Text

Queens |Part Four|

Part one Part Two Part Three Part Four

Summery; part four ;) go read 1-3

Peter Parker X Reader

Peter couldn’t sleep that night. Something was crawling through his Spidey senses and leaving footmarks. He still had the thought in the back of his mind that possibly she wasn’t sneaking off for some meaningless hookup. His eyes finally gave in and he passed out, until his alarm a few hours later.

At school, he couldn’t rid the uneasy feeling from his stomach. He tried to focus on his work, and he didn’t even notice Chemistry had rolled around like he usually counts down to.

“Why so fidgety, Parker” a familiar voice teased.

He was so distracted by this feeling and these thoughts that he didn’t even see her sit down.

“Ah just- you know. One of those days.”

“are you- like are you good? do you need water or something?”

“no no- I’m good- I’ll be good- I just-“

“ok slow your roll take a deep breath” she laughed at his rambles. They seemed really familiar, but how’s that if she’s only talked to him a handful of times?

She could sense something was bothering him, but she couldn’t sense what it was. she decided it’d be best to leave Peter be and not annoy him with Spiderman talk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter and Ned took their usual route home, and Peter explained to Ned the feeling in his stomach.

“I dunno man, maybe you have food poisoning again.”

“no it's not like a sick feeling, well, like not a physical sick feeling, it's like my spidey senses have been ticked and now it won’t go away”

“When did it start?”

The realization hit hard.

“I gotta go man- Ill see you at school” and with that, he was off in a run until he was out of sight, and could swing his way to his apartment window.

He quickly changed into the suit and hollered a ‘gotta go’ to Aunt May. Within minutes he landed in front of Y/N, just a block away from her apartment.

“in public now too?” she teased him.

“listen I get you don’t want to tell me where you were sneaking off to, but I was thinking about it last night after I left your fire escape, and ever since then iv had this really bad feeling- like a physical- oh for fucks sake- my spidey senses have been peaked.”

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“what do these senses usually detect?” she asked quietly.

“most of the time, they tell me when something bad is about to happen.” Peters words sat heavy with her. He seemed frustrated and tired.

“did you sleep last night?”

“Y/N why is that important right now- can you please just- can you just reassure me your not in any danger?”

She paused for a moment, before grabbing his hand and pulling them into an alleyway.

“Listen I don’t wanna freak you out, but can we please go to my room to talk about this? How about tonight at 8, once my brother has left for work?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter could not be the friendly neighborhood spiderman that day. He tried to focus and do things he normally loved doing, but no crime in Queens seemed to distract him from the feeling in his body.

He swung around for hours and hours helping the little guy, but in reality, he was just trying to pass time.

Finally, it was time, and Peter carefully knocked on her window.

A few minutes passed, and he decided to knock again.

No answer.

Did she really stand him up? Was she even here?

Peter was just about to give up and leave when he felt the fire escape rattle. He looked over the ledge and his body relaxed.

“Sorry I'm late,” she said climbing off the ladder, and pushing a yellow folder into his arms.

“hold this please”

They climbed into her tiny room and it was exactly how Peter had imagined it. She had posters on her wall of bands he had never heard of before, and it was slightly messy, but in a comfortable way.

She went to her closet and pulled out another pile of papers before spreading them out on the carpet, and sitting down in front of them. She patted for Peter to sit next to her.

He took a closer look and realized she had spread out poorly printed photographs.

“I don’t understand-”

“that’s why I'm gonna explain it if you'll hand me the folder” she interrupted.

“as my brother was getting into his car, I slipped this from his briefcase without him noticing. He’s always so secretive about the papers that go into this folder- well okay let me back up. So the night that I snuck out, I was sneaking off to Lawrences office building. But the address he wrote as his work address on some mail he got, was not an office building at all. “

Peter jumped as a noise coming from outside her room.

“is that your parents?” he said panicked.

“No- I only live with Lawrence,” she said questioningly.

“it's probably Mrs. Henderson across the hall.”

“Anyway, the reason I decided to go in the first place didn’t seem like that big of a deal at first. I came into the kitchen a few days prior and saw he was rewiring some crazy tech gadget thingy. And like yeah, he works in programing but he's never brought anything cool home before, and then I got a closer look and noticed it had a STARK INDUSTRIES symbol. Now, these are where the files come into place. “

She pulled out some of the papers and searched them for a specific date, then she opened her laptop and googled the Washington post.

“a lot of tech from Stark Industries was stolen just after Iron Man’s death went public a few months ago”

And then she showed Peter a paper from her brother's folder listing every piece of technology they had stolen from Stark Industries.

Peter mentally winced at the mention.

“So I went to his ‘office’ which turned out to just be a warehouse, and snuck in through an open window... these are some of the photos I took, and these are photos of the stolen tech.”

Peter analyzed all the photos, and his heart sank. It didn’t sink because he realized they were the culprits, it sunk because they stole his intelligence. Tony’s work, his genius ideas and groundbreaking technology, most of which were never even publicized, was sitting in someone else's possession.

“so, do you feel better now?” she said quietly, noticing he hadn’t said a word the whole time.

Peter snapped back into reality.

“the uh- the feeling isn’t gone. I don’t know what it means.”

Both of them just sat in silence for a moment. She scooped up all the photos and put all the documents back into the folder. She slipped it all into her backpack.

“Wait- what are you gonna do with all that? I have to show someone this- someones gotta get that stuff back, it's probably extremely dangerous in the wrong hands I don't-”

“Spiderman. You're the someone. “ She said dumbfounded.

“what- what am I suppose to do?”

“Dear lord sometimes being the brains of the operation is a curse,” she said sarcastically, heading to her window.

“You coming?”

A/N: I really can’t tell if this is just a bad version of homecoming or if I'm on to something so

also I think there's gonna be one or two more chapters I'm not sureeeeee

ONE MORE THING can someone pls help a sis out I have no idea how to link my masterlist in my bio so that it's accessible for mobile users

comment if u wanna b added to the tag <3

Tags: @paintingbellarke @morgannope @thekennysaur @coffee-and-stardust @jackiehollanderr @elazarofir @shaydeevee33 @antomargareta @lolbuckyismylife @m-a-d-d-y17

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #tom holland #tom holland x reader #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman far from home #spiderman homecoming

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iyata-zarette · 5 years

Text

Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman Pt 3

Word Count:

Peter Parker/ Spiderman x Reader

A/N: if your marvel fan fic doesn’t have a stan lee ‘cameo’ (kinda), how is it marvel?

The next morning I woke up on time for school, but I didn’t feel like going to my first three classes. I was guaranteed an A in French and in chemistry so I asked my mom to call the school for me. She agreed, only if I could stay at the house this weekend while her and my dad were visiting my aunt out in Buffalo.

I agreed and thought about texting Peter to let him know we could meet at my house this weekend but I wanted to play it cool, so I decided I’d tell him when I got to school and I rolled over to try to fall asleep for another hour or so.

However, I couldn’t fall back asleep. I rolled back onto my back and sat up looking around my room. I decided even if my room wasn’t exactly messy, I was going to get something done if I couldn’t sleep. Moving around the room, I roamed around like a reverse tornado. As I moved around I could see my phone buzzing on my desk but I figured Michelle was texting me and she could wait.

I packed up my backpack and made myself a late breakfast and headed back to my bedroom to check my texts.

7 texts from MJ. 1 text from Peter. I smiled, feeling butterflies in my stomach.

Saving Peter’s text for last, I opened MJ’s messages.

MJ: hey where tf are u?

r u rlly gonna make me sit alone in homeroom?

rlly? I thought I meant more to u than that.

read this article btw: link

r u coming to school at all today?

if ur coming late, buy me a coffee

peter asked about u.

I smiled at her last text and opened Peter’s text.

Peter: didn’t see you w/ MJ in homeroom. are you doing okay?

I quickly responded.

(Y/N): why? worried about me?

Peter: no, just don’t want to get a bad grade on our project. :)

I giggled.

(Y/N): i’ll be at school before lunch.

Peter: can’t wait.

I read the text over and over again. Peter couldn’t wait… to see me? I smiled the entire time I got dressed and the entire walk down to my coffee shop.

After 20 minutes, I was headed to school. I decided to treat myself and take a cab to school and snap-chatted a picture of my two coffees to MJ before putting my phone away to look out the window. We pulled up the the light right before Midtown and I noticed a white car with tinted windows parked near the stairs up to the subway.

I held my breath as I watched a man walk up to the car from the stairs. He looked around and I finally saw his face: it was the man who I’d bit. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up as he got into the car and my cab turned to drop me off. I kept my eyes glued on the white car until it turned down the street and disappeared from sight.

“Hey, lady!” the cabbie was looking at me in the mirror. “The meter’s still goin.’”

I got out of the car in a daze and I walked towards school like a paranoid schizophrenic. I didn’t stop checking behind my back until I was in the office.

“Are you okay, dear?” the lady at the front desk asked. “You look a little pale and your mother didn’t mention you being sick…”

“I’m fine,” I said rubbing my clammy palms on my pants before picking up the two coffees again.

I got to my locker and then made my way to English. MJ was sitting in the back of the classroom and I quietly made my way to her. I sat down and slid her coffee across the table to her.

“Seemed like studying went well last night,” she said, not looking up from her phone. I turned and opened my mouth but she interrupted me. “I heard Peter talking to Ned.”

I nodded and took my things out and class started before MJ was able to interrogate me further.

——————

School was over and I paced at the front of the school. They had to be waiting for me this time too. I couldn’t understand how they’d found me and I certainly couldn’t understand why they were so interested in me.

I was waiting for Peter inside the school this time as I peered from the windows, scanning the crowd for the men that attacked me. I realized I was at a disadvantage because I hadn’t seen the driver and he could easily be the one who was outside waiting.

“Hey, whats-oh,” Peter looked startled as I spun around like a deer caught in headlights. I glanced back out the window. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I sighed. He glanced around and leaned down to me. “You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

He nodded and I took a deep breath.

“Okay, I didn’t tell you everything that happened when I got lost the other day,” I began as I launched into the story. Peter listened to me without interruption and didn’t look particularly surprised when I mentioned Spiderman. He nodded and looked outside.

“You didn’t go to the police?” he asked.

“No, I thought it was just a fluke and I assumed after they’d been glued to their car, they’d have been picked up by the cops.”

Peter frowned and muttered something under his breath.

“Okay, well you’ve only seen them at school right?”

“So far,” I said, glancing out at the thinning crowd.

“Well, then as long as they don’t follow us onto the subway-”

“They know we’ll be headed that way,” I said interrupting him. He grabbed my arm and he towed me out the front door behind a group of band students carrying their instruments.

“We need to move now,” he said peeking above a trombone. “The longer we wait, the more students go home and the more vulnerable we become.”

I followed him, crouching a little. I kept scanning but Peter shook my arm.

“Keep your head down,” he said, turning away from me. “We’re almost there.”

I could see the stairs and my heart skipped a beat as I felt Peter’s hand around mine. He pulled me hard and we ran from behind the band kids to and up the stairs. Peter pulled me to the far end of the platform and after we stopped I began to turn my head to check my surroundings but Peter grabbed my face to stop me.

Our faces were inches apart and my breath hitched as he stared into my eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but continued to stare at me like a fish as the train pulled up to the stop.

“Peter?” I asked, glancing at the train. He shook his head and looked above me before pulling me onto the subway car.

Again there was no standing room, so we stood face to face; this time my hand entwined in his. I glanced out the window as the doors slid close to see one of my attackers standing on the platform scanning the crowd. I gasped and turned back around to face Peter, he looked down at me and squeezed my hand. My hand hurt from how hard I was holding on to him, but he was gripping my hand just as hard.

For a moment, it was just the two of us; nothing else around us mattered. I was getting lost in his eyes and he broke a smile. I felt my worry melt away as I smiled back up at him.

We jumped as an older man stumbled into us as he tried to get to an open seat. He gave Peter a dirty look and his mustache twitched. I watched in silence as the man got seated behind Peter and smiled when the old man smiled back at me. My hand began to tingle and I shook Peter’s hand off to crack my knuckles.

I took a big shaky breath.

“It’s nice to see you breathing again,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice but couldn’t bring myself to look at him yet.

I felt tears building up in the corners of my eyes now that I thought about the implications of what had happened the last few days. I looked back up at Peter and his smile vanished. Still holding on to the rail above us with one hand, he pulled me into a hug with his other hand. I pressed my face into his chest and wrapped my arms around his waist as I tried to stifle my tears. Peter pressed his cheek against the top of my hair.

I felt safe in Peter’s arms and I took another big breath through my nose. Something stirred in the back of my head and I pulled away to wipe my eyes. Peter was looking down at me with concern etched all over his face.

“You smell safe,” I said, making him chuckle. I looked back down at his chest at the black mascara stains on his tee shirt. “Fuck, I’ll spot clean that for you.”

“It’s not a problem, May can probably…” he trailed off as I looked up at the map and moved towards the doors as we began to slow. “You know we have a couple stops left, right?”

“We’re getting coffee,” I said as the doors opened.

Peter followed me out of the subway and we didn’t speak the rest of the way to his apartment.

——————

“I think you’re ready,” Peter said as I circled the final answer on the study guide. “Just review questions like 35 and 47 and you should get an A.”

I sighed and laid my face on my study guide.

“Is that a guarantee?” I mumbled through smushed cheeks.

Peter laughed and I picked my head up to turn around to face him. In the time I’d spent with my back to him, he’d somehow managed to mess up his hair so it was sticking up in all different directions.

“We still have some time before you have to leave,” he said as he rotated his laptop towards me. The intro to the crime documentary was paused on his laptop and he stuck out his bottom lip at me. I glanced at my phone.

“Actually, my parents are leaving tomorrow for the weekend and I should probably go spend some time with them,” I said, immediately feeling guilty as he frowned down at his computer. “We can watch it after we work on our project at my house on Saturday?”

Peter nervously scratched the back of his neck.

“So, what are you do- what are you up to tomorrow?” he asked, nervously. My eyes widened and my cheeks felt warm. “I-I mean if you don’t, um, already have plans…”

“I, uh, I kinda already do…” I said feeling my cheeks burning. “MJ and I got invited to a party out in Brooklyn.”

Peter’s face fell and he looked away from me.

“But, you should totally come,” I said, quickly. “Bring Ned, I’m sure you guys would have fun.”

Peter turned back to look at me, almost smiling.

“Do you know how to get to Brooklyn?” he asked. I furrowed my eyebrows at him.

“I mean, even if I didn’t there’s always cabs-“

“Because I’m worried,” he continued, cutting me off. “That you’ll get lost.”

I pressed my lips together and held back a laugh as I tried to look as angry as possible. I looked around and grabbed a chess piece off his desk and chucked it at him. He caught it with one hand while he continued to laugh at me.

“Jackass,” I mumbled, standing up and looking around for my shoes.

“You’ll get over it,” he said, standing up. “You’re not gonna let me walk you home again are you?”

“Nope,” I said popping the ‘p’ with my tongue. “Just the sidewalk.”

Peter rolled his eyes but didn’t say another word as we left his apartment. As we walked down the stairs I tried to decide how I was going to get to school tomorrow. I could take a cab again, but I could only afford to take a cab so many times.

We got to the front door and Peter held it open for me to follow him out onto the sidewalk.

“Hey, do you take the same route to school?” I asked turning around abruptly. He looked a little confused but he nodded. “I was wondering if-uh-maybe, you’d wanna take the train-uh- with me?”

Peter’s face lit up immediately but quickly changed to a smug grin.

“You’re worried you’re gonna get lost, aren’t you?” he asked. I pouted up at him while I tried not to laugh. “Yes, of course I will. Do you know what stop to meet me at?”

I nodded and threw my arms around his neck, and thrust myself at him in a very aggressive hug that forced me to the tips of my toes. He barely budged when I slammed into him and I heard him laugh into my hair. His arms wrapped around my waist under my backpack.

I sighed as his arms tightened around me. We stood in each other’s arms a little longer than friends probably should, but I didn’t care.

“Thank you,” I murmured into his shoulder. “For earlier.”

He murmured something into my hair and we shifted so my feet were flat on the ground. Just like on the subway, it felt like nothing else mattered; it was just me and Peter. I wanted more than anything to stay in his arms but my phone began to ring in my back pocket.

I sighed irritably and pulled away from him to see that my mom was calling me.

“I should probably go,” I said as I shoved my phone back into my pocket. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright, get home safe. Uh, text me when you get there,” he said as I turned down the street. I gave him a thumbs up. “Unless you get lost.”

Without turning around I shot him a middle finger over my shoulder, earning a laugh from behind me. I heard his front door shut before I rounded the corner.

—————

I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face the whole way home. I walked straight into my room and opened my window to let some fresh air in. Taking out my phone, I sent Peter a quick text.

(Y/N): made it

There was a chime from my fire escape. I curiously peaked out my window but the only thing on the fire escape was an abandoned bird’s nest.

Before I could investigate further I got a text from Peter.

Peter: kaow

I squinted down at my phone.

(Y/N): are you having a stroke?

Peter: No. lol

I meant to say good.

I’m glad you made it home safe.

I smiled down at my phone.

(Y/N): ok. c u tomorrow :)

Peter: can’t wait. :)

I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as I walked into the living room.

Peter Parker couldn’t wait to see me.

#peter parker #peter parker fanfic #peter parker x reader #peter parker fan fiction #spiderman fan fiction #spider man fan fiction #spiderman fanfic #spiderman fan fic #spider-man fan fic #spider-man fan fiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fiction #marvel imagine

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jamespottervevo · 6 years

Text

painted red (to fit right in) 1/3

James Potter is Spider-Man, and no one gave him an instruction manual.

He really could have used that manual.

Spiderman!AU | no movie spoilers | 7.k words | ao3

thank you to @frxddi @n0tromulus and @sitienessuficientecoraje for beta reading!

(if you showed any above average interest in this fic [yes I read tags bc I crave validation], I’m going to tag you here- @elanev91 @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world @frustratedpoetwrites @cornerforward13 @padfootdidit)

CHAPTER 1: i feel it in my bones

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

James Potter came to in handcuffs. Again. Sirius kept a tally, for some asinine reason, of all the times he woke up handcuffed. Specifically in public. Not that he made a habit of being handcuffed in private either, that would make things a bit awkward around the house, paper thin walls and all that. He would never be able to look his mum in the eye if she walked in on him in cuffs, or the suit for that matter. He really didn’t want her to walk in on him in the suit. Not because he didn’t like it! He looked pretty sick in red after all. It was just- James took a breath, blinked once, then twice, then tried desperately to ignore the ache that had found a home at the base of his skull.

He was in the back of a squad car and for some inexplicable reason, no one had thought to try and peel off his mask. James supposed that, in the officers’ defense, the seam was really hard to find sometimes. But, on the other hand, what was with the police in New York? Had they even been trained or had they just been given a gun and told to shoot brown people?- something very fucking unfortunate for James.

He looked back down at the cuffs on his wrist, jangling them a bit to see if by some miracle the cops had forgotten to actually lock the damn things, but no dice; maybe they had been trained after all. At least they’d been so kind as to cuff him in the front. He could work with that. His eyes flicked toward the rear view mirror and he watched as a few officers milled about, surveying the scene, chatting loudly, kicking garbage, generally being vaguely scummy in a sort of indistinct way. He grit his teeth and cracked his neck, bouncing just a bit in the seat to garner up some sort of energy, to shake off the fucking jackhammering going on in his skull.

He twisted in the seat, as subtle as he could manage before kicking at the door, hard, and knocking it open. (It occurred to James later that he could have just used the handle.) Okay, so maybe he really needed to work on that whole “not alerting every cop in the area to his escape” thing, but he was like, sixty percent sure he might have had a concussion. He couldn’t be blamed for the stupid things he did while most likely concussed, but he knew for a fact that Sirius wouldn’t let him live it down once the video footage broke.

But right,- cops, staring at him and yelling, hands drifting to weapons. James took another deep breath and pretended his head wasn’t a few seconds off from exploding before he began running, feet hard and fast hitting the pavement. He couldn’t see, sensory overload the helpful little voice in his head supplied as he jumped over a fire hydrant, down the sidewalk, sirens starting to blare behind him again. Everything was too much. Too much light, too many colors, too much movement. He picked up on it all and felt like he might throw up his Cheerios. He really shouldn’t have had that second glass of chocolate milk either.

“Come on, come on,” James mumbled, eyes dating; he just had to find a building tall enough… He grinned as he turned the corner, all but smacking right into a beautiful skyscraper. Okay, maybe it was a little ugly but it was absolutely perfect. He glanced over his shoulder, the police turning the corner. James flicked his wrist, and offered the police officers a wave as the web shot from his hand and plastered itself to the wall up ahead.

“Well, officers, it’s been a ple-” He cut off as the force of the web retracting finally grabbed him, yanking him off toward the wall at a speed that was definitely not safe for the concussion he definitely had or the breakfast he was definitely going to throw up. He’d never thrown up in the mask and he absolutely refused for that first to happen while being chased by a few very angry cops while handcuffed.

Webslinging? Much harder while handcuffed he might add.

But cuffed or not, the feeling still opened up some part of him. Like...magic. Everytime he was in the air, James felt more alive than he thought should be allowed. Like every breath he’d ever held suddenly rushed out of him, no weight to burden him. Nothing had ever made him feel quite so real. It was as close to flying anyone could ever get, he reasoned.

Well. Flying with a little more thought, he amended, as he shot another web, twisted his body to avoid slamming head first into a billboard. Something about lotion. Or maybe yogurt. He hadn’t been able to get a clear picture while hurtling past at breakneck speed. But it had looked like Jamie Lee Curtis, so probably yogurt.

While yes, being in the air, grabbing buildings and flagpoles and billboards to swing and throw himself farther and farther away from the cops was nice (breathtaking, spectacular, fucking fun), it didn’t exactly stop his head from threatening to explode. Had the sun always been that fucking bright? When the sirens started to fade out into nothingness behind him, James began trying to find his alleyway.

Despite what the papers said about him, he didn’t think he was a “public menace” at all! Sure, maybe he still hadn’t quite got a hang of the whole “hero” thing yet, but it’s not like anyone ever gave him a manual. Couldn’t just google “am I a spider?” or “how to be a superhero?” - though, he did think there was a wikifact article on that one actually- or even “how to look good in spandex?” And yes, maybe he’d tried to google that one.

But.

Just because knew he couldn’t truthfully be labeled a public menace, it didn’t necessarily mean people, you know. Agreed with him. So landing in the street? Not a good plan. Besides, all of his belongings were stashed away behind a dumpster and a cleverly placed board in the alley behind the Indian grocery near home. It took a few more swings before he caught sight of the familiar signs and swung himself down into the alley. His nose scrunched. Oh god. He’d forgotten it was garbage day. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, he supposed as his feet hit the ground. He stumbled, having momentarily forgotten that he had definite brain damage and also was handcuffed and probably could taste color thanks to the overstimulation.

James gave his surroundings a cursory glance- he had to be quick about this- before yanking his wrists apart, hard, splitting the cuffs with a satisfying CRACK! Fucking hurt though. And now he just had two locked on bracelets. And still had his suit on. And-

His phone was going off.

James’ train of thought slowed as he heard the blaring saxophone riff of “Careless Whisper” increasing in volume from inside his suit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. His alarm. Throwing another glance around the alleyway first, James ripped off his mask, hair standing straight up and undoubtedly looking like a rats nest. George fucking Michael was going to get him caught in a skeevy alleyway, half dressed, in handcuffs. Is this what his life had come to? Goddamnit. He hoped his mom didn’t put all that information in his obituary after she definitely murdered him for galavanting about as a superhero without her permission.

After a bit more fumbling, he managed to unzip his suit and shove his hand into it, silencing his “hey dumbass it’s time for school” alarm. Because he was a dumbass who was definitely going to be late for school. James looked around hopelessly, as if he could find a magical key somewhere in the alley that would let him get the fucking cuffs off.

What a sight he bet he was- half dressed in his Spider-Man suit, squinting without his glasses, wobbling from the concussion. James paused, and reached out to steady himself by throwing a hand onto the wall.

His (wildly out of focused) eyes landed on a mostly distinguishable blur. Huh. So, maybe it wasn’t a key, but a pipe should work, right? Without much thought (because, as James would admit, he rarely did anything with much thought) he slammed his wrists down onto the pipe as hard as he could.

The metallic clang echoed through the alley and he had to bite back a cry of pain as the reverberations shook through his wrists, but the cuffs snapped off. A couple bruises were nothing new! He’d be fine!

James spent a few more moments fumbling in the alley. Nearly falling headfirst in the dumpster while reaching for his backpack. (He’d learned his lesson and had wrapped the bag in a quadruple layer of plastic grocery sacks to keep the Garbage Reek off of it.) Tripping over his own feet as he stripped out of the suit. Almost tearing a gigantic fucking hole in his t-shirt as he tried to get it on over his head. He was doing great.

Once he was finally changed and his suit was hidden and his backpack was de-plasticed, James glanced down at his phone. Fuck. Fuck. 7:39. He couldn’t exactly websling his way to class and he’d told his parents he was spending the night with Remus so it’s not like he could manage a ride off them. Fuck.

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

james potter to Big Chungus: anyone near devars rn?

sirius black: tf u at devars for at 7 in the morning

sirius black: ik we have ladoo at home unless ur fatass ate all of them

remus lupin: I’m pretty sure that pete ate most of the pack james thought he’d hid in that hollowed out book on his shelf

peter pettigrew: you promised you wouldn’t tell!!!!!!!!!!!!!

james potter: 1) hate all of u.

james potter: 2) not about snacks just need a ride so come get me

remus lupin: be there in five you absolute jackass

remus lupin: but I want some of those chickpea things from the store as payment

remus lupin: the ones with the peanuts with them

james potter: literally said this wasn’t about snacks like two secs ago. Not even in the store

remus lupin: u want a ride? Bc this is about snacks now jim

james potter: ...which size bag do u want

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

The thing was, he’d never meant to be a hero.

He hadn’t purposefully shoved his hand into a creepy spider’s weird science prison containment cage during the field trip to RidCorp. Hadn’t gone out of his way to bend metal pipes in half on accident (that had been a shock to say the least). Hadn’t woken up one morning with the intention of sticking to walls. Door handles. Stairway railing at school. James Potter had been happy! Never wishing he had more or could be more or should be more.

Because he loved his life! He loved his parents and his friends. He played soccer and helped carry the debate team to victory and fucked around in some of his classes! No seventeen year old in their right mind would purposefully go out of their way for that sort of responsibility! He barely remembered to take out the garbage- of course he never meant to become a hero!

He’d also not meant to accidentally save Lily Evans’ life.

But life just had a way of intervening, didn’t it?

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

“You’re staring.”

James jolted slightly, glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose. Sirius made himself comfortable far too close to James’ ear before throwing himself down at their usual lunch table.

He decided not to grace Sirius with a response and instead rubbed his neck, pretended he wasn’t thirteen different types of pathetic. “I was not staring- I mean. No, what? Who would I have even been staring at?” Smooth, Potter, he thought, really fucking smooth. Inconspicuous.

Sirius raised an eyebrow as he swung his backpack from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor with an unceremonious thud. James flinched at the sound. (Concussed, remember? A week later and he was still dealing with headaches) A few people glanced their way, but it wasn’t as if Sirius seemed to care. Well, James reasoned, he probably had done it for the attention in the first place. James adjusted his glasses, concentrated quite fiercely at a place on the wall, poked at his food with little intention of actually eating.

Sirius snorted. “So you mean to tell me that you weren’t staring at Evans then?” The lilt to his voice made it very apparent that yes, Sirius knew that he’d been staring at Evans and was now being the world’s largest dick about the fact.

Before James could continue his scathing silent treatment, Remus sank into his customary seat. “Oh, no, James was definitely staring at Lily,” he provided. Traitor.

James pulled his phone out from his pocket and finally tore his gaze away from the very intriguing concrete wall and tapped out a message.

james potter to remus lupin: et tu brute

He set down his phone with a huff. “I was not fucking staring at Evans,” he lied. Poorly. Because as he spoke, his gaze shifted back toward her direction. James only vaguely registered Remus’s scoff at the text message because…

God.

Lily E. Evans (so he may have glanced at her student ID. Once… Okay, four times) happened to be the singularly most beautiful person he’d ever met. Fuck, that he’d ever seen. And that included Kim Possible, who he may or may not have had a fat crush on as a kid. (He had a type, okay? The guys never ceased to give him shit over that, but resolutely, James refused to be shamed for the level of self awareness he was positive people would be plenty jealous to achieve.) Evans blew everyone else out of the water.

He loved her hair- thick and red with impossibly good looking bangs. (James melted whenever she pulled it into a ponytail and had managed to fucking fail gym class freshman year because he was distracted. Over a ponytail. Gym class! He was a student athlete!) Her eyes that he could have composed sonnets about if he knew how to do that sort of thing. Her dimples. Freckles. The stubbornness written into her chin, her jaw. Her eyes. Her eyes. Her eyes.

Then there was the way she laughed and flipped her hair over her shoulder and only ever used purple InkJoy pens. The fact she laced her boots to the very top and tucked in the excess. How when she seemed anxious, she’d put on cherry lip balm like a nervous tick. The way she always knew the answers to anything Slughorn asked before James could even comprehend the question. How she gave tours to all the new students and never faked a smile. God. Then there was her smile. He’d thought a lot about her smile. How to make her smile at him instead of scowl. Huff. Frown.

Evans was...was an angel. A goddess. A-

“You’re literally about to start drooling.” Peter snapped James from his reverie. The tater tot that hit him in the face shortly after helped as well.

James snatched the weaponized tot off the table and popped it into his mouth. “No I wasn’t,” he lied once again, this time around the food in his mouth. He swallowed. Stole another one of Pete’s tater tots. When had he sat down anyway? Had he been that enthralled in Evans-land (again)?

Unable to help himself, James took one last glance in Evans’ direction before the undoubtable barrage of soggy potatoes could commence.

Her head was thrown back as she laughed, a featherlight hand on Snape’s shoulder. His stomach clenched.

Evans was a pipe dream.

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

sirius black to peter pronounced venti wrong three separate times in the starbucks line: take bets, is minnie gonna let us pick our groups for this project

peter pettigrew: i hadn’t slept in 40 hours! Bc you made me stay up! Watching every fucking fast and furious movie

peter pettigrew: and then made me give analysis after each one

peter pettigrew: and keep a comprehensive ranking of them

remus lupin: pete did you drink three venti coffees????????

sirius black: he got thru one before he said “his heart was going to burst”

james potter: jesus christ dude

james potter: but tokyo drift is obviously the best

remus lupin: isn’t gal gadot in some of those?

remus lupin: my mother keeps telling me to find a nice jewish girl think she’d be okay with this?

sirius black: jim ur opinions are trash, pete ur coffee habits are wack, remus I keep telling u we’re soulmates god. Now FOCUS.

sirius black: groups. for. project.

remus lupin: dude of course she’s not letting us work together

james potter: yeah do u like...not remember what happened last time

remus lupin: pete still can’t eat spaghetti

peter pettigrew changed chat name to PTSD (post traumatic spaghetti disorder)

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

He died. That had to be what had happened, right? Maybe all the brain trauma he’d been hiding from his parents had finally caught up to him. What movie was it where everything turned out to have all been a dream? Because that was another likely situation. Really, anything felt more plausible than McGonagall- Minnie, his guardian-fucking-angel, a saint on Earth- pairing him with Lily E. Evans for the history project.

James did a great job pretending he hadn’t seen the less-than-thrilled look on Evans’ face when the pairing was announced. Because he was living. The project meant he’d have an excuse to talk to her without coming across as a creep. That he’d be able to spend time with her outside of school.

Pathetic? Oh, definitely. But James couldn’t make himself care because Evans’ number was written in purple ink, tidy little numbers, on the back of his hand. He may or may not have memorized it before class had even ended. So yeah. Pathetic. Happily, happily pathetic.

James kept looking down at his phone.

lily (love of my life) evans: meet me at the nat. history museum by on the front steps?

lily (love of my life) evans: 5:30 okay?

James knew without a doubt that if Evans had asked him to show up at four in the morning and wait all day, he would have without question. So 5:30? No problem. It gave him a little extra time for his patrols too! (Admittedly, he was the only one keeping track of his patrols, but it wasn’t like he should sit by and do nothing, not with the powers he’d been given. Right? Right.)

James couldn’t wipe the grin off his face, not even when he ducked into the closest abandoned alley to change. This time, he’d managed the foresight to wear most of his suit on under his school clothes, save for the mask and gloves. He was learning, thank you very much.

He could only imagine what he looked like, swinging from building to building while still wearing his backpack. (A text from Sirius informed him that he “looked like a whole ass fucking weeb.”)

Swinging from one building to the next, just listening, focusing, he let his senses kick into overdrive to pick up anything unusual. Since the bite, the world had grown too loud, too much, at times. James learned how to turn it off, eventually, but it took him time. Days of headaches and nausea and blurry vision, days when he could suddenly see the flecks of dry skin on Pete’s cheek from across the room. When he could smell Evans’ perfume tables away in Minnie’s class and he nearly fainted. It definitely took time. But he liked to think he’d gotten better at it all. At trying to be a hero, using his powers.

He hadn’t...done much, admittedly. He’d helped that one woman get back into her car; he’d climbed up onto the roof to grab a basketball for some kids. Oh, he’d gotten back a stolen bike, chased down a purse snatcher. Pulled a kid from the street to avoid a jackass on a motorcycle. Small things. Good things, but small things. He’d only been at this for a few months- just long enough for the police to hate him on sight and the Daily Prophet to label him a menace just because he may have accidentally done some light property damage. Maybe.

But doing nothing? Now that felt like a waste. James swung up onto the edge of a roof, plopped down to make himself comfortable, and tugged off his mask. He gulped down fresh air and tilted his head back, letting the wind rush over his face. The building was too tall for anyone to be able to make out his face from down below, or at least he hoped that was the case.

After a little more fumbling, James pulled his phone from his suit and began tapping at the screen while still wearing his gloves. Of course, that didn’t fucking work because it never worked. He huffed and yanked a glove off with his mouth, his other hand pressed against the ledge for balance. He could just imagine his obituary if he fell.

“James Potter was beloved by everyone except his mother who he’s going to send into an early grave because of his shenanigans. He looked like a fool and at the very least could have worn a jacket. He fell off the building because he never ate his ratha poriyal because his brother told him it would make him turn into a Chupacabra. It’s a miracle they didn’t fall off the roof together. He leaves behind a messy room and an angry cat who has begun peeing everywhere in retaliation. In lieu of flowers, send a cleaning crew.”

So he held onto the ledge.

Evans hadn’t texted yet, which meant he still had a little longer to kill before showing up at the museum like a lovestruck fool. James took a few minutes to absently scroll through Twitter, check his email, stockpile a few memes for the guys later. He snapped off a selfie, angling it just right before sending it to the groupchat, just to flex.

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

Casual. Casual. He could do casual. He could definitely do casual. Casual? Not an issue. James Potter was smooth as fuck. He kept his focus on the soccer ball in his hands as he stared up at the stucco ceiling. He tossed the ball in the air, caught it, repeated. Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch.

“So,” he began, fighting the waver in his voice. These were his best friends. They’d understand. Right? They’d believe him. “You guys heard about Spider-Man?” Saying it out loud felt like coughing up dust.

Sirius glanced over from his nest in the beanbag chair, raised an eyebrow, shifted slightly. Remus made a soft, disgruntled sort of sound as Sirius moved and made a bit of a show of adjusting his legs across his lap, draped from where he sat in James’ desk chair.

“You mean the dude that’s been running around in pajamas?” Remus asked, scowled down at Sirius who had simply started wiggling in the seat. Ever the help, Pete began tossing licorice bites across the room to Sirius to further egg on his wiggles. Well. Maybe hinderance, based on Remus’s look as he bapped Sirius on the head with his novel before looking over at James. Sirius caught a bit of licorice in his mouth and he and Pete threw their arms up in triumphant glee. “I’ve seen him on the news some, yeah.”

The ball was in midair as he began to sputter, sitting up. “He does not wear pajamas!” Without sparing a glance, James stuck his hand out and caught the soccer ball in his open palm. Remus looked mildly impressed. Mildly. High praise, really.

Peter chewed on a piece his of licorice. “No, I agree with Remus. He’s definitely wearing pajamas,” he mumbled around his candy after taking his time to come to that conclusion. A conclusion James had hoped would be rational and obvious because of course Spider-Man didn’t look like he was wearing pajamas.

Sirius snorted, tapping away at his phone. “You’re just agreeing with Remus because he’s smart,” he deadpanned, gaze unwavering. Instagram, if James had to guess. But!

“So you agree with me then, right? He’s clearly not wearing pajamas!” James exclaimed, relief almost obvious in his tone. He set the soccer ball down. Uh. Fuck. Okay. His hand was stuck. He casually just...left it there. On top the soccer ball. Like anyone would do.

Sirius let out another snort. This time his eyes wandered over the edge of his phone to land on a perfectly, totally chill, super normal James who just happened to like resting his hand on a soccer ball. “What? Fuck no, of course it looks like he’s in pajamas.”

“But-”

“Remus is smart, not wrong.”

James was melting. God. Okay. Just be calm. Don’t make things weird. Take it eas- “I’m Spider-Man!” He shouted, cut himself off when he remembered they were in his bedroom and his parents were home and he didn’t need the wrath of Euphemia Potter at six o’clock on a Tuesday. “I’m Spider-Man.” He repeated, a little quieter, a little calmer.

This time, it was Remus who broke the silence first. With a surprised yelp of laughter. He set down his book and looked at James, nose wrinkled in amusement. It made him look younger, James realized, the nose thing. “Dude, c’mon. You’re telling me that you, James Fleamont-”

“God don’t remind me-”

“- Potter are Spider-Man,” Remus finished, the corners of his lips tugged up into a cheeky grin.

James suddenly felt, oh what was the word? Re-fucking-gret.

“Do you not remember freshman year gym with Hooch? Because,” Sirius started, “I do. You fell from the top of the rope climb and smacked your bigass head onto the gym floor. You threw up. We all watched you throw up.”

James could have done without the fucking laughter in his tone. Brother who? No. He was an only child from there on out. “Okay that was only because I saw Evans do this thi-”

“You also fell down the stairs last month, like, all of the stairs,” Peter chimed in because of course! Clearly it was mock-James-during-his-big-dramatic-alter-ego-reveal-moment-time! “A lot of people saw that too,” he added with clearly careful thought, fucking reminiscing about James falling headfirst down the stairs. As if he didn’t have enough brain damage already.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking (wow, he had a habit of not thinking) James flicked his wrist and shot out a web, snatching Sirius’s phone from his hand.

The room went very...very quiet. The trio turned to look at him, faces blank, as if their reactions were buffering and then Sirius opened his mouth-

“What the FUCK.”

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

peter pettigrew to SPIDERJAMES??????????????????????: okay so can u lay eggs

james potter: dude wtf no??????

sirius black: okay r u sure tho? Like have u really tried to lay an egg?

james potter: why. the fuck would i try to lay an egg??

peter pettigrew: science

james potter: I don’t lay eggs.

remus lupin: what happens when you masturbate

james potter: I do NOT want to answer that

sirius black: yknow, also p invested in jim not answering that

peter pettigrew: ………morbidly curious

remus lupin: it’s just as valid as asking about eggs.

james potter: I regret telling all of you anything ever in my life

james potter left the chat

remus lupin changed chat name to spidersemen? is it a thing.

sirius black: im so uncomfortable

remus lupin: good. hard questions should make you uncomfortable

peter pettigrew: ha! Hard.

sirius black: u were so pure before we were friends

remus lupin: you don’t know my life.

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

James shifted on the roof, slipped his phone back into his suit. 5:06. He had exactly 24 minutes to get get to the museum, change, and make himself look perfectly loveable to be just on time to meet Evans. Right. Super duper reasonable! He swung his legs around from the edge of the roof, moving back onto solid ground and grabbing his backpack in one fluid motion. The museum was...James squinted, used his finger to point as he counted, six blocks away. He could totally handle that in 24 minutes.

Wait. Mask. Right. He bent down to swipe his mask off the roof ledge when his body went cold. His muscles tightened, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as a creeping feeling rolled up his spine. He could hear see smell taste everything oh god there was a baby crying down the street- pizza- cat being chased- woman yelling on the phone- trashcan.spiderwebonthefireescape.taxisnearlycolliding.tacotruckemptyinggrease-Hey Get Out Of Her- No I Didn’t Tell Him Ab- I Love You Have A Good D- Yeah I Got The Shit It’s-

James let out a sharp gasp and broke focus, his hand curled tight around his mask. It happened, sometimes, an overload like that. The kind that made every nerve in his body go into hyper-super-what-the-fuck sensitive mode. He felt it, all the time, really. Walking down the street. When he answered the front door. When he saw the police. He didn’t have to have the suit for that. He once tried to explain it as anxiety dialed up to fifty, when there was danger, his body reacted. Like an allergy.

Without a doubt, that spider-sense never led to anything good, especially not when the feeling came across that violently. And in that moment, all James could hear, smell, think was “Yeah, I got the shit. It’s pretty low quality, you sure this is what he wanted?”

James yanked his mask on, took a deep breath. Focused.

“Yeah, I got the shit. It’s pretty low quality, you sure this is what he wanted?”

He started to run and without hesitation, threw himself off the roof, arms spread, a nose dive. A leap of faith that he wasn’t about to do something incredibly stupid. Focus. James shot out a weh on instinct, catching a fire escape and throwing himself higher, faster.

“Yeah, I got the shit. It’s pretty low quality, you sure this is what he wanted?”

Close. James was close. His body felt tense, on edge. He swung around a building and nodded at the wide-eyed woman in the passing window, waved. He heard the slam of a car door. A van. An alley.

“Yeah, I got the shit. It’s pretty low quality, you sure this is what he wanted?”

He landed with a loud, metallic thunk, a creak as the fire escape settled under his weight. James winced, scrunched his eyes shut, said a little prayer that the men didn’t hear him. He quickly ducked behind a comically small potted plant and prayed that would be enough.

Slowly, James peered around the plant, nudging one of the leaves out of the- weed. He was hiding behind a cutesy terra cotta pot of weed on someone’s fire escape. Okay then. He stored that information away for later and took everything in.

A nondescript black van sat parked in the alley, one of the back hatch doors swung open. James could just barely make out a few cardboard boxes stacked in the back. Two men stood to the side, backs turned to James’ hiding place. One in a hoodie, a cigarette in one pale hand. One in a button up shirt tucked into dress pants.

“How much more is he gonna need?” Hoodie asked. His voice hadn’t seemed to have dropped. Young sounding. James scooted a little closer, pushing the plant for cover and immediately regretted the action as the pot scraped across the metal grating. Loudly. Whoopsie.

He studied Hoodie, nose scrunched as he wondered why a teenager wou- oh. If that was a teenage dude’s ass, he was definitely going to have to reevaluate some things later. People did always think that Sirius was his boyfriend which like, gross? They were practically related and he’d seen Sirius’s dental hygiene habits up close and he did not want to get personal. If he’d date any of his friends, obviously it would be Remus. Was that even a question? Actually, Pete would be rather supportive no matter what.

James frowned. He did have a bit of an obsession with George Michael- He paused the steamrolling thoughts and just...filed that crisis away for later.

Button Up shifted, folded his arms over his chest. “Unsure. The experiments have been going as we’d hoped, but it’s not even close to passing under FDA regulations.” Button Up sighed and pulled a bulky looking phone out of his back pocket. James squinted. Was that a flip phone? Who the fuck still used a flip phone?

Button Up held a finger up to Hoodie and brought the phone up to his ear. The three waited, James with baited breath, Hoodie with restless posture and puffs of smoke, Button Up with a perfectly blank face.

Hoodie moved her weight from one foot to the other and pulled her hand from her pockets. She pushed the hood of her sweatshirt off, revealing a mess of dark, curly hair. She took a drag off her cigarette. Exhaled. “Look, I’m in a hurry here. Your boss has my number if he needs anymore, but he’s gotta remember that my supplier takes his time with this. I won’t be able to pull this much out of my ass again.” Hoodie spoke around the cigarette in her mouth, blew smoke toward the van.

Button Up didn’t glance in Hoodie’s direction. “Yes. Hello sir! I- yes...no we didn’t run into any issues- Five boxes as ordered, I’ll be...Uh. Yes. I’ll ask.” He snapped his phone shut, cleared his throat. “He wants five more shipments, as well as a few...test subjects. Double the pay if you get it done by the end of the month.” Button Up cleared his throat, moved as if adjusting a tie.

Hoodie nodded once, then twice, dropped her cigarette butt to the ground and extended her hand. Button Up clasped it in a way so professional, it was almost funny. “He better, or else. Don’t think the boss would like it too much if the Prophet caught wind of this, now would he?” There was confidence in her tone, another shift in her posture. Holding her head up higher. Power, James realized. Whatever this was, the cards were in her hands.

Button Up withdrew his hand and turned away from Hoodie, closing the back door of the van. James’ body thrummed with energy, jittered. They’d not said anything illegal, but he knew better than to doubt his spidey sense. He needed to do...something. Follow one of them or catch one in a web or… Something.

In his moment of internal debate, James had missed Hoodie’s retreat, leaving Button Up to focus on. He turned toward the fire escape as he rubbed his temples and James got a decent look at his face. He felt...a little disappointed honestly. No super badass scars or tattoos, and he wasn’t that good looking. He looked plain, forgettable. Hanging from his shirt was a security badge. James couldn’t quite make out the words, but he recognized the logo.

RidCorp. The pioneer and leader in innovation when it came to new pharmaceuticals and genetics, RidCorp was the public’s darling when it came to the future. Cures for cancer and growing new organs and...James had just watched an employee make a shady deal in an empty alleyway.

He didn’t hesitate. When Button Up turned once again, started to walk toward the driver’s side door, James dropped down from the fire escape with a THUMP. He took a moment to prop a hand on the wall, cross his ankles as he leaned. Button Up swivelled on his heels, fast.

James wiggled the fingers on his free hand. “This looked like a lot of fun. Can I join in? I’m a great conversationalist!” He wished he had a camera to capture the look of absolute “what the fuckery” on Button Up’s face.

“Shit,” Button Up hissed as he leapt into the van and slammed the door shut. Before James had the foresight to memorize the license plate, Button Up was speeding off down the alley. The van made a violent turn into the street and was reasonably met with angry honks and shouts.

James grinned, shot a web, and let the momentum carry him after the van. Button Up hadn’t managed to get very far before James caught sight of him again. He kept up the pace of webswingjump, webswingjump, until he was close enough to land a web onto the top of the van.

Unfortunately, it was impossible to swing from superpowered spiderwebs in a very crowded city, down a very crowded street, without drawing attention.

“Is that Spider-Man?”

“Who’s he chasing?”

“God that costume’s stupid looking!”

That comment was just hurtful, but it wasn’t as if he had time to stop and argue with a random New Yorker. He perched on the roof of the van as Button Up sped down the street, veering in a way that clued James into the fact he was trying to be shaken off.

He stuck himself to the roof with one hand as he bent over, upside down in front of the windshield. “Use the spray,” he shouted, pointed down at the wipers, “I’m sure that’ll help! Usually gets bugs off!” He gave a thumbs up and Button Up slammed on his brakes. The suddenness of the stop dislodged James from the roof and if it weren't for his reflexes kicking in, he’d have flown headfirst into the street. Instead, he fired off a web and swung himself up onto the side of a building, breathing hard.

The van started moving again as James carefully tried to come up with a plan. He’d not expected to get nearly so far. He couldn’t let Button Up get away! Before he could undoubtedly have his brilliant lightbulb moment, police sirens began blaring in the background. Oh fuck.

He looked around, glad for the mask to hide his panic. Sirens. Sirens. Sirens. James tilted his head. A few blocks out still, it sounded, but that didn’t exactly give him much time-

Time. He threw a panicked glance over his shoulder toward the clock hanging off a department store front. 5:26. Evans. James looked back and the van was...gone. Fuck. The police were closer; the van was gone; he couldn’t be arrested again; Evans was going to kill him.

After a moment of deliberation, James started to websling, throwing around his weight as he flung himself up in the air, higher and higher, quicker and quicker, to get to the museum in time. Evans would make that face at him if he was late, the one that made him want to retract into his own body and wither away. Disappointment.

His heart pounded and James could hear it in his ears, breathing fast and hard and his hands were so sweaty. When he finally caught sight of the museum, a wave of relief washed through his body because not only did he see the museum, but a blur of red hair just turning down the sidewalk.

He was going to be on time. Sweaty. But on time. He swung in closer, aiming for the alley around the corner. Evans wasn’t going to hate him. She’d fall in love with him for knowing the names of all the dinosaurs and they’d get married and have the cutest child and- no. no. no. no. no.

James’ body went ice cold.

The scaffolding over the entrance where workers were taking down a metallic spider.

The giant hunk of metal slipping out of place.

Falling. Falling. Falling.

He didn’t think.

He just moved.

It happened faster than even James could comprehend.

The screaming. The warnings. The panic.

A girl looking up too late.

The spider was too big for James to simply push the girl clear of its path. So he shot a web at her waist and pulled her into his chest, curling around her as he threw both hands up to catch the spider as it fell. (Talk about irony.) The weight of it all sent vibrations down his arms and he couldn’t breathe, too high off adrenaline, couldn’t think.

And then… quiet. People stunned into silence around him on the steps, shocked workers up above, the girl no longer screaming in his arms. James gave a grunt and dropped the spider to the side, let his arms drop.

He panted as he looked down and met a pair of green green eyes. Those eyes. Evans stared up at him in wonderment. Relief. Whatever it was, James wanted to savor the moment.

He cleared his throat, stepped away, put his hands on his hips because that’s what superheroes did right? “Alright, E- Miss?” He forced his voice lower. As low as he could make it. Pretended it didn’t crack when he spoke.

Evans blinked up at him, her shoulders shaking. He loved the coat she wore, it matched her eyes- oh god, she’d been talking. “- I...thank you,” Lily finished, hiccuped. James grinned because no one could see.

Admiration. That was the look in her eyes. He didn’t know what to say.

Sirens picked up volume in the background. Cops and an ambulance, James distinguished. Someone in the crowd had probably called 911. Right. The cops definitely still hated him. His feet did not want to move but after a few seconds of internal wrestling- he could just yank his mask off right, show Evans that he wasn’t an entire jackass- James flicked his wrists and fired off a web.

Then he finally spoke “I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” he continued trying to sound like Batman, let the web start to pull him away, “that’s what I’m here for!” God. He needed a better catchphrase. But Evans eyes were still on him and she seemed so adoring that he nearly forgot to fire off another web to keep from landing face first in the street.

He had spidey sense, not common sense.

When he wrapped the corner, he could already hear the chatter from the crowd picking up intensity, the sirens halting as the emergency responders arrived at the museum entrance.

The thought hit him as he landed in an alleyway. Evans was going to think he was so late to their meetup.

Fuck.

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