Bittersweet.
Ok, fine. Maybe it was a bit weird to watch you sleep from the window, but it was only for a minute. Peter was coming back from a particularly late patrol, and when he got back, he checked to see if you were asleep from the roof of some nearby building.
For safety reasons of course.
He had seen you loads of times, but this felt... different. You had passed out on your bed, your messy locks strewn across the sheets. He reveled in how beautiful you were, even while you were unconscious. He almost hadn’t noticed it from the roof, but you were still wearing your dress. That dress.
Peter’s breath hitched when you rolled over in your sleep. He tried to suppress the ungodly thoughts that were rushing in his head a mile a minute, but all he could focus on was the curve of your waist, and how the dress hugged your figure just right.
Trying to focus on anything else, Peter leaped to the fire escape as quietly as he could, doing his utter best not to wake you up. Cracking open the window, he pulled off the mask, shaking his hair free. He slid out of the suit, swearing when he brushed a bruise on his shoulder.
Peter scoffed and lazily stuffed the suit into his black duffel. He was fucking exhausted. And really hungry. He fished around for a pair of sweatpants to wear and walked over to the kitchen.
His face fell when he saw the untouched bowl of soup and the note, walking over to read it hastily. Had you been expecting him? Peter groaned and let his head fall back. He imagined you waiting for him to come back, leaving when you realized he wasn’t going to.
“Peter?”
He snapped his head back to look at you, with your hair disheveled, still groggy with sleep. He licked his lips, looking anywhere but at you. He gave you a weak smile.
“Sorry, did I wake you up?”
He forced his eyes to stay on the counter, not trusting himself, knowing you were still in that dress. You scoffed.
“Did you seriously just get back? What the hell were you doing?”
Peter could hear the smile in your voice, and he couldn’t help but reciprocate. He let his eyes find yours, smirking.
“I was out.”
He watched as your face contorted in frustration. He chuckled as you tried your best to look angry.
“What are you doing up this late? Or um- early?”
“Just a run.”
“It’s three in the fucking morning Peter!”
Peter smirked. He just couldn’t help but notice how cute you were when you were trying your best to stay absolutely pissed at him.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
You rolled your eyes and walked over to take the bowl of soup, placing it in the microwave, letting it reheat as you jumped up on the counter. Peter craned his neck to find your face.
“So...? How was your day?”
“Uneventful. How was your run?”
Peter chuckled at your weak attempt to try and get him to fess up. He knew you were definitely suspicious, but there was no way you would find out about his ‘late night activities’.
The microwave started beeping, and Peter pointed a finger at it.
“Soup’s done.”
You rolled your eyes, turning to face him.
“You gonna answer the question Parker?”
Peter faked a pout and rested his chin on the counter.
“Since when was I Parker and not Peter?”
Peter saw the momentary flash of embarrassment that flooded you, and couldn’t help but grin.
“Haha. Sorry, Zoya just calls you that a lot.”
Peter picked himself up from the table to look up at you properly.
“You two talk about me?”
He didn’t miss the way your face flushed to what Peter thought was the prettiest shade of pink he had ever seen.
“…Sometimes?”
“About what?”
You paused, mortified at potentially fucking up your answer.
“Just… roommate things, you know?”
Before Peter could quip back, you spun around to get the soup from the microwave. As you grabbed for the bowl, you quickly pulled back your hand.
“Shit!”
Peter looked up to see you sucking on your fingers, eyebrows knitted.
“You ok?”
You chuckled letting your fingers ghost over your lips, nodding to the soup.
“Yeah, I just burned myself a bit.”
Peter bit his lip, still looking at you. He spoke, voice low and gravelly.
"Need some help with that?"
You stammered, cocking your head, confused.
"W-With what?"
Peter paused, looking away, blushing.
"Um, you were uh... licking your fingers?"
You froze, not sure what to say back.
"Oh."
Peter jumped up from his seat at the counter, and before you could register what was happening, he was behind you, with his hands on your waist. Your breath hitched, which he didn't let go unnoticed.
"Sorry, I've got it,"
You mouthed a simple 'Oh' and he lightly led you out of his way, hands still at your waist. He grabbed for the hand towel by the sink, and carefully took the bowl out. He set it out on the counter, creeping up behind you again and whispering into the shell of your ear.
"Be more careful next time for me, yeah?"
Peter thought he heard a whimper from you, and he took the bowl to the other side of the counter, smirking.
"Was that rhetorical?" You stammered, not facing Peter, still standing where he left you. He hummed in response.
"I know you'll do anything I tell you to either way,"
You scoffed, crossing your arms and turning to look at him.
"What's got you this cocky, Parker?"
Peter rummaged around for a spoon, setting it down with the bowl, sitting down. You scoffed, but the blush was still very evident in your cheeks.
Peter had never seen you look prettier. In the dim light, you looked something like a fine painting, and Peter wanted nothing more than to be the artist.
"Nothing.”
You rolled your eyes and gave him a light chuckle before heading back to your room. Peter smiled as he watched you walk back to your room, hearing an unmistakable groan of frustration when the door clicked closed.
Peter settled back into the chair, turning his attention to the bowl. He swirled the soup around with the spoon, his mind shouting a million things at him at once. He felt every muscle in his body tense as the events of the day replayed in his head. He had kept up his smug facade, but truthfully, Peter was fucking terrified.
The threat Peter had received shook him to his core. He wouldn’t risk exposing himself, but if there were hostages involved… Peter couldn’t imagine the anguish they’d go through.
Peter buried his face in his hands, shaking. Tears slipped past his fingers onto the counter, filling the dimly lit kitchen with the sound of quiet sobs. Peter rarely cried, but when he did, it was mostly at himself. This was all his fault, if he had captured the person, whoever they were, maybe New York could sleep tonight.
Peter could’ve slept easy knowing that he had done his job right. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t, because if he did there wouldn’t potentially be innocent people hurt. You wouldn’t run the risk of get hurt.
Peter tried to compose himself, but the tears just didn’t stop. He felt so ashamed, so guilty, guilty of putting people at risk. At this point, the soup had run cold, and you were fast asleep. God, he couldn’t even finish the soup before it got cold. The image of you when you had burnt yourself flashed past Peter’s eyes, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him.
You had burned yourself, just to heat up some soup for him. Sure, it probably didn’t hurt much and it wasn’t a big deal, but Peter couldn’t help but feel bad about it. What made him feel worse, was that he had tried to fucking flirt with you instead of offering you ice or something. Wow, what a gentleman. Peter sighed and sipped the soup from the bowl.
To his surprise, it was almost sweet.
Class was as boring as it had been before, and the minute it ended, Peter rushed to see you. You had left before he could catch you in the morning, leaving out a box of cereal and some milk. Once he saw you packing up your things from your desk, he ran over, grinning like a madman.
“Hey! Could you send me the notes? I didn’t catch a thing the old man said.”
You rolled your eyes, scoffing playfully.
“Jesus Peter, start taking your own fucking notes.”
Peter smirked, stepping forwards.
“You have my number anyways.”
You looked up at him, chuckling. Oddly, just hearing you laugh made Peter feel warmer.
“You never texted me!”
“Oh. One sec!”
Peter fumbled to find his phone, rummaging through his bag. Once he found it, he texted you.
“Okay, now you have my number,”
You scoffed again.
“Wow, thanks Peter.”
Peter looked back down at you, shooting you a wink.
“You’re welcome.”
“You really don’t get sarcasm, do you Parker-”
You were abruptly cut off by the sound of gunshots and screams outside of the lecture room. Peter completely froze. Talking to you, he had almost forgotten about the matter at hand, the threat.
As quickly as he could, he grabbed your hand, pulling you into a nearby supply closet. Peter swiftly closed the door behind you, falling down in the process. His grip on you had never faltered, and you ended up falling on top of him. Instinctively trying to keep you as close as possible, Peter pulled you into him, so you were straddling him. Your breath hitched as you felt his breath on your neck. In the dark, Peter became even more hyper-aware of his surroundings, especially the feeling of you on top of him. He could feel his heart race, and his grip on your wrist loosened.
“Sorry-” Peter was cut off by the palm of your hand clapping on his mouth.
“Peter,” You whispered as quietly as you could, your face inches away from his. “We need to stay quiet.”
As if on cue, more gunshots and screams came from outside, closer than before. Peter realized that the police weren’t going to get here as fast as they needed to, and without a second thought he pushed you off of him, grabbing his bag.
“Peter! What are you-”
Peter’s hand found yours as he struggled to find the words to explain.
“I have to do something. Please just promise me… just stay. Please, just stay for me, okay?”
You had to have been confused out of your mind, but you still answered, a lump forming in your throat.
“Peter… I trust you. But please stay safe okay? Stay safe for me too.”
Peter pulled you into a hug, burying his head in the crook of your neck before leaving. There wasn’t a trace of him, except for the lingering scent of his cologne on the right side of your neck. You breathed it in, holding your breath for as long as you could.
Weaving through the crowds of people running, Peter rushed towards the direction of the screams. He had only managed to pull on his web-shooters and mask in the little time he had snuck into the bathroom before running back out, but it was enough to protect his identity. He had to find where the gunshots were coming from, if it had anything, anything at all to do with the threat he had received, that would mean hostages were involved, and Peter couldn’t risk that.
By the time the gunshots had stopped and the screaming subsided, Peter stopped someone to ask them what had happened.
“Some man… I-I don’t remember all of it, there was lot of yelling, but he had a handful of people with him, and they all- all of them had… guns and they were shooting everywhere, it was all so fast!”
Peter froze.
“Did he say anything about hostages?”
The person nodded before running off, presumably to somewhere safer. Peter’s vision blurred, and he felt his head overflow with a thousand things at once. His knees felt like they were going to give out, but he persevered, running towards the direction he heard the gunshots. Just as Peter hit a dead end, he felt a jolt as he heard a commotion with his enhanced hearing, back where he had came from. Back from the lecture room.
Peter bolted for the lecture room, his head suddenly clear except for one thing, you. He found the closet and frantically pulled open the door, his heart beating out of his chest.
It dropped when he realized you weren’t there.
Peter swung from building to building, now in his full suit, which he had pulled on half-heartedly in the closet. The panic started to really set in as he let his mind wander to what could’ve happened. Maybe you had just went out to find him, he reassured himself. But Peter knew, he knew deep down that they had taken you. He could barely remember the last time he had been this shaken. The idea of losing you fucking terrified him, so, so much more than he thought it would. But why?
Just as the thought crossed his mind, he saw you, tied up on the roof of a nearby building. Wait, that wasn’t right. The man had said hostages, not hostage. Peter swung up to the building next to it, trying his best to stay out of sight. He scanned the scene a second time, trying to figure out a plan to get everyone out safely. The men in masks didn’t seem like anything special, and they definitely weren’t anything the police couldn’t handle. There were already several police cars stationed at the base of the building, probably waiting for the men to make a move. Peter squinted, and he could see one of the men holding a gun to the group. Specifically, to your head.
The sight sent Peter into a rage-induced panic, and without a second thought, he swung himself up, grabbing the gun from the man, and tossing it off of the building before any harm could come to you. He pinned down the man with his webbing, turning to face the other five. Peter shook out his arms, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He tackled who he assumed to be the boss, the man who had made the threat the night before, tangling the rest in webs the best he could.
“Still wanna see who I am?”
The man growled, jumping away from Him. He looked down at Peter, sneering.
“Coward. Show yourself and nothing bad will happen to this poor little girl..”
Peter gritted his teeth, motioning to shoot a web at the man, only to discover the web shooters weren’t working. Fucking perfect. The man chuckled, surging forward to strike Peter. Peter rolled out of the way, grabbing at the man’s ankles, letting him face-plant on the concrete. A beat passed, and he stayed still. Once Peter was sure the man was unconscious, he ran over to you, motioning to hug you before remembering the current circumstances. He was still in his suit. Instead, he reached out to untie your restraints. Peter looked up at your tear-streaked face through his mask, and a pang of guilt hit him. He shouldn’t have left the closet. Once you were properly freed, Peter kneeled down to your level.
“Jesus, are you ok?”
You looked at him and let out a shaky sigh.
“Yeah- Yeah I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s just…”
Peter put an arm on you shoulder, finishing your sentence.
“A lot to process, yeah. You don’t have to talk to me, but let’s get you somewhere safer, yeah?”
You cocked your head at him.
“How…?”
Peter smiled, not that you could see it through the mask. He nodded at his web shooters. You raised an eyebrow at him.
“I thought those weren’t working?”
“They’re just blocked. Give me a sec…”
Peter fixed the web shooters, shooting an experimental web at the man on the floor.
“See?”
You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief.
“I am not swinging back home.”
Peter smirked, holding out a hand to help you up.
“Who said you had a say in that?”
Hesitating, you took his hand and shrieked when he took his other hand and wrapped it around your waist, shooting a web at a building, swinging through the New York traffic.
“AHHH! OH FUCK! SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, DON’T LET GO!”
Peter smirked as you buried your head in the crook of his neck, and a warmth spread in his chest. You had your legs wrapped around his waist, and with each swing your breath hitched as the wind whistled around you. Suddenly, you looked up at Peter.
“Wait, how do you know where I live?”
Peter had already thought this through, and was making a beeline for the nearby police station.
“I don’t.”
With that, you arrived at the station, and Peter dropped you with an awkward thump. You climbed off of him, dusting yourself off. Before you could thank him, Peter was gone.
Peter sat in bed, waiting for you to get back. What would he say? It’s not like he could deny why he left, it was glaringly obvious, and you definitely weren’t stupid enough to fall for anything he threw at you. He considered just straight up saying you had hallucinated him there, and that’s when he knew he had to get some rest. Peter closed his eyes and slowly slipped away.
Peter blinked, his vision clouded. He looked down to see you, limp, and tied down to a chair. Peter quickly knelt down to check if you were ok. He tried to comfort you, but he couldn’t hear his voice. It didn’t seem too important.
“Peter?”
Peter tilted your chin up so you were face to face.
“That’s me.”
You knitted your eyebrows and threw your head back.
“Peter…”
Peter parted his lips, confused.
“What’s wrong? Are you ok?”
Suddenly, your restraints were gone and you were alert, running your hands over Peter’s once-clothed chest, that was now bare.
“Peter!”
You leant forward to kiss him, and Peter sat still, frozen. You broke away from the kiss, pouting.
“Peter… why won’t you?”
Peter let out a soft “Huh?” and cocked his head.
“Why won’t I what?”
You groaned, pulling yourself out of the seat onto his lap.
“Fuck me, Peter.”
Peter woke up with a gasp. What the fuck? God, he was gross. You could’ve been seriously hurt- or worse today, and all he had dreamt about was… Fuck, what even was that? It’s not like it was a wet dream, you hadn’t actually done anything, but it was still… risqué? Peter flushed, burying his face in his hands. He sat up in his bed for a glass of water, realizing how parched he was. Rolling out of bed, he stumbled into the kitchen.
The minute Peter saw you, he completely forgot about the water. He ran up to you, trapping you in a crushing embrace. You let out a soft “Oh!”, but hugged him back, awkwardly patting him on the back. After Peter finally broke away, you looked up at him quizzically. Before you could say anything, Peter patted you down, looking for any injuries. He looked up at a still very confused you.
“You’re okay, right? Not a scratch?”
You gave him a weak smile, tousling his soft hair.
“Yeah, why?”
Peter sighed and looked down.
“Fuck… I’m so sorry, I never should’ve left you alone, I just don’t know what I was thinking,”
You jumped up on the counter, taking a heavy breath.
“How’d you find out?”
Peter stumbled around his words, still looking for the right thing to say.
“I just… did.”
You scoffed and watched him as he stared you down.
“What, do I have something on my face?”
Peter looked away, blushing.
“No, I’m just really, really glad you’re okay. I mean- so much could’ve gone wrong I’m just glad that-”
Peter coughed, almost letting slip an “I”
“That Spider-Man saved you.”
“Yeah, I’m a bit star-struck about it too, to be honest. I’m really grateful that he did, but he left before I could thank him.”
At this point, Peter was looking anywhere but you.
“I’m sure you can thank him again sometime.”
You smiled.
“Yeah, I hope I can.”
You sat in bed, not sure how much time had passed. The whole day, you had felt like you were watching yourself from the outside looking in, and you still had trouble believing it was real. Everything that had happened seemed like something you’d made up in your head. The only thing that had seemed real that whole day was the cool metal of the gun on your forehead. When you shut your eyes closed hard enough, you could still feel it. Well, maybe not the only thing. You let your mind drift back to the closet, and how Peter’s hands had felt on you. You had imagined something very similar in one of your many fantasies you had about him in high school. Of course, the circumstances had been different, and the reason he pulled you into the closet was very different.
You shook away the memory, focusing on something else, anything else.
Spider-Man.
Loads of girls you knew had crushes on him, especially Zoya. You were pretty sure she actually ran his fan page, which wasn’t entirely out of character for her. She had her theories about who he could be, her favorite being her high school crush, Flash Thompson. You couldn’t really care less, you were just grateful that he protected the city, whoever he was.
You found your thoughts drifting back to the closet, and you wondered where Peter could’ve gone. Why would he need to leave the minute there were people in danger? Why didn’t he stay with you? And why had he taken his bag? You remembered how he had ran off multiple times, and how he always left, only to come back late at night. You thought back to how he had been fucking ripped, despite only skateboarding. You were drawing a blank, except for one thing that couldn’t possibly be true.
Was Spider-Man…
You sat upright in your bed, gasping.
“Peter?”