Chapter Text
You liked to think you lived an ordinary life. Well, as ordinary as ordinary could get. You worked at a local bookstore and were the proud owner of it. Ownership came at a price which meant you were always working, always keeping yourself busy with day-to-day things such as paying bills, tending to your store, cleaning your store, and overall, just watching over it.
You were always in that store.
Even when you were supposed to be attending your niece’s talent show. After telling your sister that you wouldn’t be able to make it to the show, you instantly began to feel bad. You had promised your niece that you would make it there, but work was low on staff and everything was falling apart– you just wanted a break. Just one bloody break.
Being the owner of a particularly popular bookstore was nothing of a hindrance– no– it could never be.
Your niece would just have to find the time to forgive you because you also promised your parents that you would take care of the store until you couldn’t anymore. When they passed, you were left with nothing of a reminder from them except the memories that came with being their daughter. Other than that, you got to take over the family business. Simple as that. You knew the ropes, you knew that there wasn’t anything that could possibly keep you from this place. Sometimes you even slept there; it happened to be whenever you were too in a financial rut, when you couldn’t pay for the bills. Or perhaps it was because you just missed them. It smelled enough of them to ease your melancholy for the night.
You glanced at the watch on your hand and heaved a sigh. It read: 1:15 P.M. Time was not on your side today.
As time ticked by, exhaustion started to overwhelm your senses. Customers happily walked up to buy or rent their chosen books and then they left, yet you stayed rooted to your spot, occasionally letting one of your employees take over if need be.
The next time you looked down at your watch it read 4:25 P.M.You wanted to curse the bloody universe or time itself for taking so damn long. A distraction would have been nice– they happened all the time in New York, why couldn’t one happen now?
6:30 P.M.
Just as the remaining customers began to leave the shop, and you began to clean up, a familiar and distant noise caught your attention.
PING!
You jerked your head over to the sound, eyes locking on your cell phone that sat beside the cash register. With sluggish movements, you walked over to your phone and picked it up. It was a text message from your sister.
Sister Dearest
Are you alright?? I saw the news.
Read at 6:32 P.M.
Your brows furrowed and you quickly typed back a reply.
What’s on the news?
Sent at 6:33 P.M.
Everything was tranquil at the moment, nothing seemed to be happening. Plus, you were sure that if something were to happen, you’d most likely be right in the middle of it. Not that something has happened to you before. You just knew that whenever there was trouble, Spider-Man seemed to swoop in to save the day. He always showed up just before the panic could escalate further.
You admired him.
PING!
As soon as you glanced at your phone, something crashed through the roof of your building. It happened so close and right in the middle of your shop. Shock registered through you abruptly within a matter of milliseconds, and you stumbled backward as plywood flung in just about every direction. Your back smacked against the hard surface of the wall that connected to your office, an audible oof slipping past your lips. Without realizing it, your phone fell from your hand then skidded across the floor, landing feet away from you. Your sister’s message was still on read and remained unanswered.
Lifting your head, you examined your surroundings, noticing that your shop was completely destroyed. A lump formed in your throat and sadness dared to confiscate your will to peek over the edge of the counter. And you would have stayed that way if it weren’t for the sound of someone groaning or the rummaging of plywood.
Like a small child, you peeked over the top of the counter, your head barely darting out in view. Almost immediately, you spotted a red and blue heap underneath a pile of debris which in return had your heart plummeting down to the pit of your stomach.
Seriously?
“Oh, come on, Doc!” He groaned, trying to dig himself out of the piled mess of wood and debris. He struggled for a minute, grunting every few seconds while the screams of concerned and terrified civilians echoed on the streets outside. “Throwing people through buildings is not okay! Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”
Gulping from the sheer panic that had slowly risen into your chest, you backpedaled quietly. Before you could even get close to your office, your foot caught on a lingering piece of plywood, and you tripped over it, landing ungraciously on your ass.
“Ouch.”
Due to your clumsiness, the eyes of your unexpected guest darted over to you in a frenzy. Your mouth went dry, and from your position, you could see the lenses of his mask twitching and resizing sporadically.
“Uh, hi?”
Awkward tension filled the air all the while he just stared at you, unmoving and bewildered. Did he not know you were in here? You thought his spidey senses would have warned him.
“You’re Spider-Man,” you pushed yourself up from the floor, your limbs– specifically your ass– aching in the process.
He seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in when you moved to stand ten feet from him. “Are you hurt? How long have you been in here?” He pressed as the struggle to set himself free from the heap became more desperate. Through it all, you noticed that his eyes never wavered from you.
When he finally managed to remove himself from the mess, he stood up and cleared his throat. It was then you noticed a small patch of his mask was ripped on the right side, showing his slightly bruised cheek and revealing his eye.
“No major damage done, but ah, you did just destroy my shop,” you joked, biting the inside of your cheek as you watched him establish his surroundings. A warm amusement shadowed across your face, but as soon as the words left your lips, his face dropped and he exhaled harshly. Immediately, you felt awful for even saying it. Time to dig yourself out of this whole. “It’s not a big deal– I mean, of course, it is, but– it’s–” you paused when he groaned, his lips parted in a silent apology. You mumbled shyly all the while his gaze was fixated on you, “It’s easily fixable. Don’t worry about it.”
It was not easily fixable. You didn’t know where you were going to find the money to afford such supplies to repair this place.
A huge chunk of metal was hurled into a nearby vehicle outside your shop– you could see it perfectly through the glass doors– and you flinched. You watched as Spider-Man hurriedly turned to catch his enemy tearing apart the block, his shoulders tense.
He glanced back around at you, and from the small opening over his right eye, you could tell that they were wide. “I’m really sorry,” he apologized, and your heart soared at the gentle roughness of it. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he needed to focus on the fight.
“It’s fine,” you waved your hand, feeling heat absorb your cheeks. “Go be a hero, Spider-Man.”
He breathed out a laugh and the sound immediately created tingles over the surface of your skin. He held one hand to his forehead and gave you a salute. “Yes, Ma’am.”
You inhaled through your nose and released a quivering breath, watching with awe as he shot a web outwards and disappeared whilst taking the fight away from you.
It was safe to say that you went home that night feeling a little less worried. Something told you that it wouldn’t be the last time you’d be seeing the red-masked hero of Queens. You couldn’t get the sound of his laugh out of your head or how it was so much nicer to see him in person and somewhat up-close. He made an impression on you despite destroying your shop– the one thing that actually kept you from collapsing from stress. Although, you had to admit that, even with circumstances as huge as yours, he still managed to render you starstruck. He was, in every sense of the word, spectacular.
The next morning you woke up and wondered if the events of last night had actually happened and weren’t some dream. Sure, it wasn’t as traumatizing, but you got to interact with the superhero of Queens! It wasn’t something that was on your bucket list, but it was thrilling, to say the least. Meeting Spider-Man made you realize that miracles could happen. You couldn’t help but realize that if you hadn’t have stayed at the shop, and actually went to see your niece’s play, then you wouldn’t have met Spider-Man.
Fate. It had to be fate as cliche as that sounds, and you weren’t one for cliches. You were the realist, the one who thought out all of the possibilities– the ones that made sense.
Unfortunately, that still wasn’t enough to help your mind ease from the truth.
And the truth was that: Spider-Man had definitely destroyed your book shop.
When you arrived at work, walking in through the back because it was a routine, you noticed that not only was the door unlocked but also that you weren’t alone.
Instincts kicking in, you picked up a crowbar– which you didn’t think you had– and tiptoed very carefully into the front of the shop. The voices became louder the further you reached your destination, and they were starting to sound harmless.
You dropped the crowbar once your eyes took in the twenty or so hardworking men. Each had a job, some paired up while others barked out orders. The entire vicinity was filled with tools, supplies, men using ladders to fix something, others using measuring tapes. They walked in with more tools and walked back out just to bring another required tools back in.
“Um, excuse me?”
The men continued to work as you stepped further inside the chaotic circle. No one looked over at you; it had been exceptionally loud, so you weren’t too offended.
“Hello!” You held up your hand, hoping it would catch their attention that time.
A man, who looked to be at least twenty years older than you, walked over as the men worked harder, your sudden call to attention fading into background noise. He smiled at you and held out his hand for you to shake. “Are you (Name)?” You didn’t say anything, merely shaking his hand out of pure civility then nodding to stake your identity. He beamed, letting go of your hand. “I’m Warren Tyson, I work with Stark Construction.”
At the mention of the name, your eyes went round. First, there was the shock, and then it slowly but surely sank into your chest. Realization dawned on you, despite the confusion that lingered.
“Stark?” Your mouth was agape.
He nodded, “Yeah. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, we just do everything our boss asks us to,” he gestured to the workplace around you.
And that’s when the panic occurred, steady and lurking. “I– I don’t have the money to pay you for this. I don’t–”
“That won’t be a problem, Miss (Last name). It’s already taken care of.”
You exhaled slowly, brows creasing with even more confusion. “By whom?”
Instead of giving you an answer, he simply grinned back as if he knew a secret. When you tried to ask him again, he walked off, leaving you bewildered, struck with the inconvenience of the unknown.
“Okay then.”
Minutes drug by, and you began to feel like you should be helping. The men had already moved on from working on the roof, and now they were just trying to help rebuild the books and the shelves that distributed them. Surely they wouldn’t mind if you just started to make yourself useful, right?
Sighing out of defeat, you walked over and started to pick up books and set them on their shelves. You continued to help even when the men gave you weird looks, yet it was comforting to know you could help someone voluntarily without feeling like you were forced to. You always liked helping people, your parents always told you it was what defined you for who you were.
As the clock ticked by and the hours of hard labored work dreaded on without much difficulty, you were willing for the work to be finished. When your internal command was met, you felt the entirety of the world’s worry shift from your shoulders.
It was time to re-open shop.
So, as you thanked the men for their hard work and they gave you thankful grins. You flipped the sign from closed to open and walked over to stand behind your counter. Giving your shop a once-over, you were surprised to see a note beside your cash register. It poked out from underneath it, catching the majority of your attention.
You reached for it and pulled it all the way out, taking in the noticeably scribbled handwriting. Something fluttered in your chest when you read it over, eyes scanning with fascination.
You never told me you owned this place. I guess if we had more time to chat, you probably would have. Also, I’m sorry I destroyed your shop, you have every right to despise me, but if I’m being completely honest, it would suck if you did. You’re really pretty. I’m going to regret writing that, but it’s totally worth it.
I hope you don’t mind the extra help. I just couldn’t sleep knowing I wrecked your shop. I know I’m probably coming off as a suck-up, but I really need you to forgive me.
Please, forgive me.
Sincerely,
Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.
By the time you were done reading the note, your cheeks were on fire and your chest was strained with suppressed giddiness. You bit your lip, holding back the urge to giggle out of pure levity. You touched your cheek, feeling hot, extremely hot– this was all his fault. The damn superhero was in every way charming and he knew it.
There was no way you couldn’t forgive him.
Just as you heard the familiar jingle above the shop doors, you tucked the piece of paper into your pocket and relished in the sweet, sweet sentiment.
And unbeknownst to you, a certain Spider sat perched on a rooftop, watching a smile blossom onto your cheeks with a crooked grin of his own.
When the night was over and you were well rested, you walked back into work with a permanent grin etched across your face. You greeted your customers with ebullience, a once in a lifetime sort of demeanor, one you rarely used. It was a good day.
It had been a long while since you felt that way. Having such a lasting solicitude made you feel better about yourself.
You were reorganizing some of the books when you heard a jingle. Without moving your focus from the stack of books in front of you, you spoke. “Morning! Let me know if you need any help.” You received no immediate answer, and quickly tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.
As you slid the last book into it’s desired place, a voice so undeniably soft and anxious captured your attention with a muttered, Hello.
“How may I help y–” You turned around to face the customer, but was suddenly caught off guard by the utter, raw beauty before you. Blue captivating eyes, a slightly defined yet crooked nose in the center of his face, little stubble that shadowed around his chin and mouth, and tousled, dirty blond hair that made you want to run your fingers through it. He wore an army green coat over a plain black v-neck that showed off his attractive collarbones and faded blue jeans.
Realizing that you had been staring, you cleared your throat, letting the moment pass, leaving behind the exception of your burning cheeks.
Your stomach fluttered and you inhaled sharply. Was he a model or something? He sure looked like one– matter of fact, he looked like something out of a romance novel.
He gave you a beaming smile, a single dimple puncturing his right cheek as he stuffed his hands into his front pockets. You could’ve sworn that you felt your soul leave your body.
“H-Hi. Did you, uh, did you need any help?” You managed through your daze.
“Um…” His eyes went big and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. As if he didn’t think you would’ve asked that question, he scanned the shelves on either side of him, nervousness stretching across his face. “Yeah!” He reached for a book and then held it out for you, “I wanna buy this,” his face reddened, “Please.”
You looked down at it, giggling softly before looking back up at him through long lashes. “Fifty Shades of Grey?”
Of course, he just had to choose the most inappropriate book in the shop.
His cheeks turned a bright crimson and his lips parted as he tried to think of something to say and to save him the embarrassment, you gave him a reassuring smile, that certainly reached your eyes, and giggled once more. “Let me just ring this up for you,” you turned around quickly, hoping he couldn’t see just how flustered you were. There wasn’t anything more embarrassing than having someone catch you interacting to the instance that made you that way, to begin with. “So, are you new here? I don’t think you’ve ever come in before.” You inquired as you moved to stand behind the counter, eyes glued to your task, though you could feel his attention on you, unwavering as if the words that flew from your mouth were the most intriguing thing in the whole universe.
When it seemed too quiet, you finally looked up and were met with the same red-faced, dazed expression from before. In return you were able to feel the tightening in your chest twist, causing your mouth to go momentarily dry.
As if your blatant staring was the key to snapping him out of whatever half-comatose state he was in, he shook his head and blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
You wanted to chuckle out loud by how unbelievably obvious he had been in his infatuation. It wasn’t difficult to place– he was curious by you, at least, that’s what you thought. Could there be any other reason?
Instead of asking the same question, you merely grinned in your mirth and scanned the bar-code on the side of the book. Instead, you turned on your charm– or what little charm you had– and summoned up the more flirtatious side of you. He was handsome– adorable, even– there wasn’t any way you were going to let this perfect opportunity pass up.
“You like reading these type of books?” You offered with a sly grin, the corners of your lips curling upward in a playful gesture.
His eyes were the size of baseballs, and if he weren’t the brightest shade of red earlier, he was now. “It’s actually for my– my aunt. Yeah, she loves reading these books.” He was quick on his feet, you had to give him that. With furrowed brows, he watched as your pace slowed down slightly as if you were preserving time. “I heard about the crash two nights ago– must’ve been a terrifying experience to be caught in the middle of it all.”
His heart skipped a beat when your face dropped.
You shook your head and bagged the book, eyes finally reaching his. “No,” you pursed your lips, handing him the bag and then continuing to shrug right after. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do get a lot of panic attacks,” your focus drifted and you went to fiddle with the sleeve of your shirt. “But I wasn’t alone.”
“You weren’t?”
Your eyes flew up to meet his, but shying away when you noticed the absolute curiosity shimmering in the depths of his oceanic blue orbs. “Nah, Spider-Man was there,” you mumbled, feeling your stomach burst with that childlike giddiness you endured at the thought of him. A rush of butterflies consumed your stomach and you inhaled. “He was…” you looked up at your customer, his eyes wide and somewhat hopeful. “Incredible. I mean to see him do his job up close? I was in shock and it usually takes a lot for me to reach that level of sheer anticipation– it’s almost like feeling fear and excitement all at the same time.”
“Must’ve been one fascinating introduction,” he whispered as his eyes softened along with his entire face.
“Fascinating? Maybe.” You pondered, the elation in your eyes mirroring the goofy expression upon your face. Clearing your throat, you looked back over to your customer, observing the now veneering expression clouding his face when merely seconds ago there was a certain awe-struck fragility shining in his eyes. “Anyways,” you gave a lighthearted laugh, now noticing the crumpled up dollar bills on the counter beside your cellphone. “I hope your aunt knows what she’s getting herself into with that book. It’s pretty colorful if I do say so myself.”
It was meant to come off as a joke, and in no way was it supposed to sound as inappropriate as it had, but once the words were out there was no taking them back.
He laughed, giving you a crooked grin. “Ah, well I’ll make sure she knows.”
“Great,” you gave him a toothy smile, and subconsciously tucked another strand of your hair behind your ear. It was a habit. “I hope you have a good rest of your day… um–”
“Oh, Peter,” he said quickly, holding out his hand for you to shake. The color in his cheeks darkened when you slipped your fingers through his, interlocking them with a lingering tenderness. “Peter Parker.”
“(Name) (Last name),” you nodded, the blithe you felt previously now twice as strong. “I hope to see you again, Peter.”
You remained a professional exterior, something your parents taught you before they passed. It was welcoming to know that despite your fondness for the man before you, you still knew how to keep your career before all else. The only exception to that was only if your heart was no longer yours. Being the hopeless romantics your parents were, they liked to remind you that a love like theirs was hard to find, and if you found it one day then you had to make sure you kept it.
With a lingering glance, he finally managed to turn around and walk away, but halfway to reaching the exit, he stopped. You noticed this and held your breath. Something stirred inside your stomach, a wonderful fuzzy feeling as if you were re-living your first actual crush.
“Wait!” He swiveled around and quickly walked back over to you. “Can I get your number by any chance?”
Bold of him, you examined with a waning grin.
Without giving him a verbal reply, you reached for a pen. That same shyness you bored for the cutie in front of you resurfaced when you urged him to hold out his hand. He fulfilled your silent request with an adorable doe-eyed expectancy that made your body tingle.
As he laid his hand in the palm of yours, you felt your cheeks grow hot with a glowing radiance and then scribbled down your number in black ink.
You watched him leave your shop with a lovesick expression and waited for the time he would message you.
It was nearing just 6:30 P.M. when you heard the familiar pingsound coming from your cellphone. There wasn’t a dim feeling in your body when you unceremoniously rushed over to check who it could be. Admittedly, you were hoping it was the bashful flirt from earlier.
New Message!
From: Unknown Number
Hey, it’s Peter! :D
Read at 6:31 P.M.
A smile so wide stretched across your cheeks and you hid your giggles through biting on your fingernails.
You quickly typed out your reply with trembling fingers.
What’s up!
No– that’s too bland. You didn’t want to come off boring. Lord knows you have many experiences of the like throughout your years as a massively obnoxious teenager.
You pressed the backspace button and re-typed your reply.
Hiya! Did your aunt like the book??
Sent at 6:32 P.M.
It was times like these when you missed having your mother’s two-sense to boost your usually deflated ego. Never were you the best flirt or a conversational person in general. It took practice to keep a conversation going– practice you didn’t have or refused to have because you always preferred to keep to yourself.
Yet with Peter, it was different. You didn’t think you’d leave your shell so soon.
After you added his number into your contacts, you waited patiently for his reply. Keeping yourself busy when his messages came back just a little bit too later than they previously had.
From: Peter
I’m gonna be honest with you… I didn’t get the book for her.
Read at 6:37 P.M.
I knew it! You got it for yourself, didn’t you? ;)
Sent at 6:38 P.M.
You found out that, naturally, he just wanted to talk to you. He was extremely curious. That was all he told you on the subject, but you were glad he did.
The rest of the night went by exceptionally mellow. You spent it texting back and forth with Peter while binge-watching one of your favorite shows on Netflix. And when it neared midnight, you wished you hadn’t felt so tired.
As you laid in bed, snug underneath your blankets, you let your mind wander over to the ridiculous crush you had on Spider-Man. Even if your encounter with him was short, a part of you seemed to like the idea of falling for the red-masked superhero of Queens.
Yet nothing was more toxic than falling in love with someone like that.
You tried clearing your thoughts; it had been a while since Peter last messaged you. Matter of fact, it’d been almost two hours, and you still couldn’t force your body to shut down to rest. So, you watched the twinkling fairy lights that hung from your bedroom ceiling and waited for the moment your body would get the signal to relax.
Right when your eyes began to flutter from the sudden wave of exhaustion, your phone beeped from its place on your nightstand.
From: Peter
(Name)?
You lethargically typed back your reply.
Yes?
Not even two minutes later, your screen brightened with a message.
Go to the carnival with me tomorrow night.
A beaming smile broke out across your face and nervous excitement bubbled within your chest.
Peter Parker, are you asking me out on a date?
A date. Something you haven’t been on in a while. The last time you had made yourself available was months before your parent’s accident, and ever since, you vowed to always protect your heart from shattering.
PING!
From: Peter
Would you say yes if I were?
After a minute or two of just blankly staring at your screen, you told yourself that if you were to get your heart broken by anyone, Peter Parker would be the only exception.
Wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Tomorrow. Today was tomorrow. It was the day you would go on your date with Peter.
Was it too soon? Your mind was on overdrive. One part of you knew that this was going to be the best date in history, yet the other half of you was dreading it. You tended to mess things up, at least, you tended to mess up the good things in your life. Peter was a good thing even despite only knowing him for one whole day.
He was different; there was something about him that lured you in. Something mysterious that you have yet to figure out. You could honestly say that you were living a life right out of a novel. Or a really poorly written fanfiction.
It’s too soon.
Definitely too soon, you thought as you eyed yourself in the full-length mirror in front of you.
“Normal women would wear a dress to a carnival, (Name).” You stuck your hands into the pockets of your faded blue overalls– your mother’s old ones– and gave a half-twirl. “You. You are notnormal.”
You took a deep breath and exhaled nervously before running your hands through the little ringlets you created with your curling iron a mere twenty minutes ago. Something about this outfit made you feel like you were going to stand out tonight, even more so being surrounded by other people.
“Yeah right,” you huffed and clicked your black and white converse together. “You look like someone who was forced to act normal for once and just gave up altogether.”
You glared heatedly at your reflection, face clear of any makeup and visible for the world to see just how exhausted you truly were. Great. Peter was going to see right through it– he was going to see right through you.
“Just act like a human. It’s easy. You’re a human. Pete’s a human…” as if you had no control over any part of your body, the most daydreamy look erupted across your face. “He’s ethereal… he doesn’t even look real. He’s–”
Knock. Knock.
The sudden noise provoked a surprised squeal out of you and you jumped, heart racing from the interruption. Was it 6:30, already? He was definitely early– he just had to be. There was no way he was exactly on time.
Giving yourself one last once-over, you decided that this would have to be it. You would wear the one thing you really felt comfortable in, and if Peter didn’t like it then– well, you hoped he would.
Skipping to your front door, you stood on your tiptoes and peeked through the peephole. When you saw Peter standing there looking as incredible as ever, you hummed in approval; the man was a God. He wore a flannel which was buttoned up, safe for the first two that unconcealed his utterly attractive collarbones once again, and another pair of blue jeans.
How could he make the simplest of outfits look so damn enchanting? It’s like he didn’t even have to try.
However, here you stood with an outfit you criticized for fifteen minutes.
“Pete? You’re early.” You called out through the door, hoping he would hear you.
Startled, he glanced up to where the peephole was and your cheeks instantly felt warm. “I hope that’s okay,” he offered, running his fingers through his hair. He cleared his throat, “I’m a very impatient man.”
“Fair enough,” you laughed. “Just– give me a minute, okay?”
He nodded, cheeks bright with embarrassment.
As nervous energy consumed your bones, you took a wobbly step towards the mirror and examined yourself once more. Just go for it, you pussy. You rolled your eyes and smoothed out your overalls before grabbing your keys that hung precariously on the key rack beside the mirror. You conjured up just about every last bit of your courage and opened the door.
There he stood, as handsome as ever, and here you stood. You looked fucking ridiculous, and Peter– he was just ridiculously hot, that’s all there was to it.
Nonetheless, he still gazed at you as if you were the most beautiful star in the galaxy.
“Wow,” he breathed, eyes shimmering with affection. “You– you look–”
“Pathetic, I know.” You laughed, a gentle lightheartedness coating your words.
“No! No, I was going to say adorable.” He commented as a warm amusement glinted in his unearthly blue eyes.
Your heart soared and you bit your lip, “Really?” He nodded. “Well, you don’t look too bad yourself, Parker.” As if you were just taking time to fully observe him, you noticed a large cut across his eyebrow and the smaller bruise covering the entirety of his left cheek. You stepped closer and touched it, pulling your hand back when he flinched. “What happened?”
He waved off your obvious concern, “It’s nothing. Just fell… slightly.”
“Slightly?” You wondered, voice uncertain. He gave you a nod while avoiding your eyes, yet you found it extremely difficult to erase the cuts and bruises from your memory.
You didn’t know Peter well enough to question his motives, so you’d leave it be. For now.
When you arrived at the carnival, the lights from the various rides suddenly reminded you of all the other times your parents took you here. It was warm outside thankfully, so you thought it was cute when Peter grabbed an extra coat. You didn’t question him, but you knew he only brought it for your benefit.
“The lights…” you whispered, awe-struck. “They’ve gotten brighter since the last time I was here.”
In your peripherals, you noticed him glance over at you in the middle of speaking. Tingles erupted across your skin when his attention never wavered from the side of your face.
“When was the last time you came here?”
You froze, not necessarily wanting to divulge on the topic, yet still feeling the need to let your friendship with Peter grow. The only way for that to happen was for you to open up to him.
Was it too soon?
Definitely, but who cared?
Well, you did, but–
“(Name)?” Peter’s fingers brushed against yours, curling around them with hesitance and then successfully interlacing them altogether. You hummed and he blushed a deep scarlet as your eyes refused to meet his. He opened his mouth to ask you something, but you suddenly cut him off.
“Take me to the top of the Ferris wheel first, and then we’ll talk about our pasts like they do in the rom-com movies.”
He took you to the very top.
The city lights of Queens overlooked the rest of the carnival below, and it was the most beautiful view. Well, the second most beautiful view, you thought as you glanced at Peter. His eyes were unfocused and glazed over as he stared ahead, wringing his hands together as if he were in deep thought.
“My parents…” You started.
“They died, didn’t they?” His voice turned somber, focus never drifting from the view ahead.
“It was a car accident,” your voice lowered, chest feeling unbearably heavy. “You know the whole drunk driver bit, spinning out of control, hitting them head-on.”
He stayed silent, eyes finally flashing over to you just as you turned away. You were too distracted by your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed his fingers reaching out for yours, sudden desperation at its peak.
A guttural sound crawled up his throat, “How old were you?”
“Twenty-one.” You mumbled, sliding your hands underneath your thighs to warm them up. The weather had drastically changed from mildly humid to a slight chilling breeze. “They were on their way to see me,” you added then sniffling as your nose turned a bright red from the cold air. You held your breath then released it. “It was–”
“Not your fault.” He said softly before you felt something moderately heavy drape across your shoulders. A warmth filled you within milliseconds and that’s when you noticed that he took off his jacket– since he left the other one back in his truck– and used his to keep you from getting too cold.
“It’s not easy to admit it to myself,” you hummed, leaning your head on his shoulder without thinking anything of it. He tensed underneath you, but your head was everywhere except in that moment.
“Hey,” he nudged your shoulder and you finally looked up at him. “I’ve been where you are. Trust me, it’s not worth blaming yourself.”
Your brows creased and you lifted your head, eyeing him carefully. “Did you lose someone close, Peter?”
“Parents died when I was four,” he nodded, and from where you sat, the anguish was clear across his face. It was hard to hide a pain so crushing when you were burdened with the same kind.
His eyes scanned your face and it looked as if he were seeing a different side of you and finally being able to take it all in.
“Guess you’re just as broken as I am then,” you whispered with a softening gaze, lips tugging into a small grin.
And in that bittersweet moment, you still found that you enjoyed his company no matter how broken you were.
Your date went by in a blur. After getting off the Ferris wheel, he persuaded you to play against him in balloon popping. He won even if his focus had drifted to you every time you so much as giggled. You pouted, he won you a stuffed penguin, you forgave him, he smiled, your heart soared. It was a game of tug of war, seeing who could steal each other’s hearts with rudimentary and spontaneous outbursts first.
It was Peter’s brilliant idea to take you over to the nearest photo booth. You tried to plead with him, tried to tell him that you hated your picture being taken, however, the man was sneaking his way into your heart and the urge to give in overpowered your useless pleas.
Inside the photo booth was snug, although the two of you fit in despite having no space between your thighs. The butterflies in your stomach never faded and only grew larger in quantity when he pulled you into him by a hand around your waist. It got to the point where you offered to sit on his lap; the air that surrounded you grew thick and silent and you could hear the erratic thump thump thump of his heartbeat.
By the time it was ready to actually take the pictures, being this close to him grew as natural as breathing.
For the first round, the two of you got away with doing ridiculously funny expressions. And for the next round, you had your arm around the back of his neck, pulling him close to you as if you were pretending to squeeze him. You were slowly yet surely growing more comfortable.
When you decided to get closer, and right before the flash went off, you pressed your lips to his cheek. You pulled back as soon as your lips made contact with his skin, your own cheeks glowing in the light.
“Couldn’t help myself,” you commented, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. “They just looked so kissable.”
And he was still blushing during the drive back to your apartment.
When he pulled up in front of your place, he made you wait in the truck so he could get out and open the door for you. Whoever said chivalry is dead apparently hadn’t met Peter; he was the embodiment of old school.
He walked you up to your door and then handed you your penguin. For a good minute, you just stood there, unable to meet his eyes because all he did was stare at you.
When a sudden thought occurred to you about still wearing his jacket, you began to take it off, but he stopped you.
“You can keep it.”
You looked up at him, eyes wide and questioning. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t mind,” he gave you a one-shoulder shrug, eyes twinkling under your porch light. “It looks better on you anyways.”
You snorted and then rolled your eyes, finding it easy to relax around him. “How long did it take you to come up with that one?” You inquired, raising one eyebrow.
“I was thinking about it the entire way back.” He confessed, laughing when you chortled humorously.
“Thank you for tonight, Peter,” you said, swaying back and forth on your feet in the most childlike manner you could muster. It felt nice to be this carefree and especially around someone who wasn’t a best friend or a family member. "You really know your way to a woman’s heart.”
He whispered an adorable, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You repeated, voice soft, eyes softer. Not waiting for another second longer, you stood up on your tiptoes and pressed a lingering kiss to the edge of his mouth. When you pulled back, he had his eyes closed, following you with a blind faith.
“Taking your date to the very top of a Ferris wheel and then getting her to open up about her past really just makes a girl’s toes curl.” You added, amusement bleeding from your tongue.
He laughed when you laughed.
You were really starting to love the sound of that.
A cheeky grin broke out across your face when you backpedaled to your front door, eyeing him with great affection as he watched you with wide eyes. He looked as if he were experiencing the aftermath of being hypnotized, something you found completely innocent and precious.
“I get off work at 6:30,” you offered, gripping your doorknob with one hand while the other gripped your stuffed penguin. “We can order take-out if you’d like.”
He nodded immediately, flexing his fingers with an unbearable urge to hold your hand. “I-I’ll call you. Tonight. And– and tomorrow.”
“Good,” you stepped across the threshold, keeping your unwavering eyes on him. Biting your lip, you inhaled sharply. “Goodnight, Peter.”
He smiled warmly at you, and stepped backward, not realizing there were still two more steps to take before he got fully to the ground, and almost tripped. You held a hand to your mouth to suppress your giggles, the dazed look in his eyes only became more visible.
“Are you okay?” You asked out of pure instinct.
“Y-Yeah,” he smiled shyly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, (Name).”
“See you, Peter.” Your smile was beaming and when you closed your door you turned right back around and peeked out through the window, watching as he left, a little lovesick for him.
This giddy sensation never left, not even when you walked up a flight of stairs.
But you couldn’t deny the fact that the feeling diminished as soon as you felt someone watching you through your living room window.
A split second and soon your eyes landed on a piece of paper that was stuck to the glass. Skepticism got the best of you and soon you were tearing the paper off the window with trembling hands.
Rooftop.
- S.M.
Your eyes widened, and a strange feeling entered your gut. It started off as a low rumble and then gradually shifted into something unfermented, pleasant. You looked at the window and then back to the note, and slowly, you felt a grin stretch across your cheeks.
Without changing into your night clothes, you threw open your front door and ran up another three flight of stairs, barely contained exhilaration ascending into your chest.
You burst through the door to the roof, a cold breeze hitting you with force. Instantly, you curled into Peter’s jacket– the one he let you keep– and searched the area around you. Labored breaths, sweaty palms tucked into sleeves, heart dropping down to your stomach and repeating. Where was he? The smile on your face was momentarily replaced by a look of concentration; you felt like a little girl on Christmas morning– waiting for your parents to wake up so you could unwrap your presents.
There was a tap on your shoulder, “Boo.”
It elicited a yelp from you, and you turned around to catch the sight of a red mask. Wide lenses stared back at you, and you giggled.
“You’re here. What are you doing here?”
He merely stood there for a minute, silently taking you in. If you were able to see his face, you’d be able to see just how awe-struck he was, but if the mumbled words weren’t enough indication of his current state of awe, then you didn’t know what else could be.
“I– I wanted to come by and apologize,” and suddenly, his voice had changed. It wasn’t a subtle alteration, but you definitely noticed the difference. His voice was lowered as if he were trying to hide the sound of his natural voice. “Again.”
“I already forgave you,” you whispered, bringing your over-lapping, sleeved hands up so you could warm yourself up. He didn’t say anything. Your brows furrowed, a playful smile breaking out shortly after. “Did you just come here to apologize? And what happened to your voice? You sound different.”
“What–?” He cleared his throat and puffed out his chest, “I don’t– I don’t know what you mean.”
You snorted, your brow quirking up with a tender indignation. “You’re making your voice deeper. It’s obvious.”
“No– No, actually– I’m not.”
“You really are.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“(Name)–”
A gasp, “I never told you my name.”
The silence that engulfed you became thick with tension. From where you stand, over the gentle roaring of the wind, you can hear the heavy intakes of breath coming from him. It rugged, hoarse, almost attractive in a way. You found yourself taking a step closer to him, mustering up what little stealth you had.
“What are you trying to accomplish here, (Name)?” He said it again, this time his voice slowly returning to normal, and immediately you liked the way it sounded coming from his lips. He whispered it delicately, making it sound like a prayer, like a plea.
You gave him a triumphant grin, “Nothing at all,” you stood on your tiptoes and neared his face. “Spider-Man.”
It was conspicuous, the way he tried making his voice deeper. You thought nothing of it at first, only finding it dorky, but then you really started to listen. Your first clue was the way he said your name– only Peter had the capability of making your toes curl when speaking your name the way he did. Then it was the not-so-subtle panicked tone in his voice, or when he laughed out of pure anxiety. It only happened for a minuscule of a minute, but you heard it.
You weren’t even upset.
Peter was Spider-Man.
Peter Parker was the masked superhero that destroyed your book shop and then felt guilty enough to fix it.
His entire body froze and that’s when you knew for certain.
“I know how you can make it up to me,” you pondered lazily.
“H-How?” He cleared his throat, shuffling on his two feet.
Instead of answering him, you reached forward and fiddle with the rim of his mask. Your breathing became heavy and suddenly you felt as if you were being suffocated, you were lightheaded. Just when you felt you were about to fall, his hands come to rest on the curve of your sides.
“Do you trust me?” You dared to ask.
There was a prolonged silence that filled the air between you, and the only thing you could hear was his sharp intakes of breath.
“Y-Yeah.”
Just as the words left his mouth, you slowly pulled his mask up, and then placed it right above his nose. Placing either of your palms on his cheeks, you anchored yourself before lowering his mouth on your own.
His lips were soft– warm even. It was innocent apart from the adorable sounds he was making. Whimpers crawled up his throat, and then he groaned, and he would hum. He kissed you as if you held the key to the universe.
Discretely, you managed to tug his mask the rest of the way off, his blond hair flopping over his forehead. With the mask in one hand, you held his cheek with the other, pulling him further into you.
He had yet to notice the lack of fabric covering his face.
When you pulled away, and it took him longer to open his eyes, you noticed just how beautiful he looked up close. You nuzzled your nose against his with an elevated yearning which prompted him to re-capture your lips with his.
You pulled away before he could touch them, giggling softly. “Easy there, Hotshot.” You pecked them once, to tease him, and then eased backward, heart fluttering when he pouted.
“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”
At your words, his eyes flew open and his heart sank. He groaned, trying to grab his mask, sighing deeply when you held it out of his reach and behind your back. “(Name), you– you weren’t supposed to find out so soon. It’s not safe for you, and you already know too much.” He stopped rambling, feeling himself caving when you stared at him doe-eyed and curious. “I didn’t want to risk your safety.”
“You underestimate me, Peter.” You challenged, face growing soft. “How do you know I’m unable to defend myself?”
“I don’t. I didn’t mean it that way–” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, it’s just really dangerous for you and you’re too important to me now and…”
You interlocked your hands together behind his head, “And?”
“I don’t want you getting hurt or–” he swallowed thickly, screwing his eyes shut. “(Name)… I didn’t think I would fall this hard so soon.”
“Me neither, but that’s just how life is,” you gave him an Eskimo kiss. “It gives you this wonderful opportunity to mess up with the one person who will never limit your chances at doing so.”
He opened his eyes, they were a soft, shimmering blue. His hold on you tightened, and he leaned his forehead against yours, looking down at you. This was the definition of puppy love, you were sure of it.
“What if you get hurt?”
“Then I get hurt.”
“But what if–”
“Then we will deal with it together, Pete.” Your voice became stern and prominent as you watched him closely. You touched his chest with the hand that held the mask, and he settled his larger one over yours. He looked so lost, so scared. It was okay, though because so were you.
He opened his mouth to argue, to hope he still had a way to prompt you to change your mind, but with one look, he knew you were dead set on staying. It broke his heart.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you squeezed his cheeks with one hand. “You’re stuck with me.”
He liked the sound of that.
Something loud broke out across the street; you could hear the sirens faintly, but as you glanced at Peter you could tell he needed to go.
“Duty calls.” He breathed, expertly sliding his mask back over his head. He walked over and perched himself on the edge of the rooftop, reluctance filling him to the core, preventing him from taking that leap of faith.
He looked back at you and you gave him a reassuring nod, smiling like the lovesick idiot you were. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Don’t be late.”
“I wouldn’t even dream of it!” He laughed and finally took the leap.