Chapter 3 Is Here! Love It!

Chapter 3 is here! Love it!

Thank you for the update on Miguel's whereabouts; one worries about supporting characters sometimes. When I think about it, that's a benefit to fanfic in a way. A canon fiction will have a character and then someone in fanfic will ponder: and just what made Gilderoy Lockhart such an insufferable self-centered bastard and write a story about his childhood...but I digress. Back to your story...

Three years separation is a long time in a relationship, even a committed one such as a marriage, not to mention one that ended as abruptly as theirs did. Angel may have missed Peter, but from the earlier chapters describing her...um...dysfunctional dad, it's not like Peter kicked her out, and he felt it, felt it deep. That's how love is--it doesn't just give us joy, it has the potential to rip out our hearts with loss. (Even with learning that she left against her will due to said dad) Glad to see Aunt May worrying about her 'boy.' I would too. Angel seems aware of this hurt ('couldn't see past the hurt in his eyes') on one level, but does she on another? As a reader, I'm kind of hoping that in addition to a reckoning with The Vulture, there is also one between Peter and Angel. I mean, I suppose they could just fall into bed together but doing that can sometimes just push the reckoning further down the path and doesn't address the pain, the misunderstandings, the things that weren't ever said because she wasn't there and Peter likely filled in the blanks with his own thoughts...dang, now I'm wishing I could read that man's mind--ha! You've got me now, author! Anyway, I understand Angel's loneliness--she's been pining for Peter, missing their intimacy and closeness, thinking of him all this time, but his perspective is going to be different (I am speculating/imagining.) No matter the physical longing he might have for what they shared in the past, everything seems to this reader like it will have to start anew. Will they confess to each other? Only you know and we'll have to wait to find out.

Couple of additional notes: did either of the duo think to grab that copy of the will prior to going on the lam? I mean, there's probably another copy, but one wouldn't want that info left right out on the table where anyone could read it (it would become public record eventually, but I'm going to assume that hasn't yet happened). This Vulture person sounds smart and able to spot weaknesses, so I'm worried for Peter and Angel. (if the will isn't integral to the plot, please excuse my digression/pondering; when writers draw me into their world, sometimes I get drawn in pretty far!)

Secondly, daaaang, Angel is a tough cookie. I've had stitches more than one time and yeah, that hurts even if it's only a couple. No deadening? That's a nope nope nope from me. (True story, once had a doc start to scalpel into my skin and the numbing shots were not quiiiite thorough enough. That'll get you sitting right straight up in the chair let me tell you.)

Really looking forward to Chapter Four!!

The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter 3: There's No Place Like Home

Summary: Unsure where else to go, Peter takes Angel back to the only other home he's ever known.

Warnings: 18+ Only, mature content, eventual smut, plenty of feels and patching up wounds

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: SURPRISE! Okay so I have been writing up a storm and realised if I only release these once a week it’ll be months between me finishing the story and you guys getting to read it, so I am gonna do drops on Wednesdays as well as the originally planned Fridays. (Also I’m an Aries who likes to be praised and whenever you guys give me good feedback it’s like a drug and I want more). For those asking at the end of part 2 where was Miguel, Miguel had already gone home, theres about half hour to 40 min time difference to Peter telling him to go home and shoot up happening. Anyway that being said, there’s nothing like going home to lick your wounds. Enjoy…

THREE

When they pulled up outside a high rise in the city 30 minutes later, the adrenaline that had been coursing through her body was finally wearing off. The dull pain in her shoulder was coming back full force; and as she sat waiting in the passenger seat, her hand bracing the injured shoulder protectively, she closed her eyes and counted her breaths and tried to work out where it had all gone wrong.

Her husband, still sitting in the driver's seat also taking his time to process the events that had just happened, lowered his head to the steering wheel. She could feel his anger brewing, that scary calm energy he was known for rolling off of him in waves. He suddenly sat back, his head slamming back against the headrest as his hand gripped the steering wheel forcefully, forcing her to open her eyes and look at him. His hands quickly flew into his hair, he was coming apart at the seams. She wondered if for a moment he had forgotten she was there.

She was about to say something when he was suddenly getting out of the car, slamming the door closed behind him. She watched out the front window as his hand tugged at his hair again before he ran it down the length of his face in an attempt to compose himself as he began to make his way to the passenger door.

The door opened with a low click as he held it open for her. She quickly unbuckled herself before sliding out of the car. She watched carefully as he stood like a sentry beside her, the only thing indicating to him being a living human, the heavy rise and fall of his breaths, the air chuffing powerfully from his nose as he attempted to calm himself down. She raised her hand again to her shoulder as she stepped forward onto the sidewalk as he closed the door behind them.

She watched over her shoulder silently as he ushered her forward with his hand splayed protectively across her back, keys clutched in his fingers as he guided her to the front door.

Neither of them said anything until they got to the elevator, the large metal doors sliding closed, encasing only the two of them safely inside. 

“Does it hurt?” he finally said, his body turning towards her as his hands reached out to manoeuvre her gently, turning her to face him.

She wanted to respond with something sarcastic, but looking up into his eyes, she couldn’t seem to find her voice. His thumb suddenly added a little bit of pressure below the wound as he checked it over and she sneered, recoiling from him protectively.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” he quickly said, holding his hands up in surrender. He watched her closely, waiting for her breathing to steady again, her body leaning back towards him, trusting him. “It might need a couple stitches.” he said as he moved the damaged fabric of her top to look at it better. She grunted again as the pressure of his fingers made the wound smart once more, but she didn’t pull away.

They felt the elevator begin to slow beneath their feet, coming to a stop and pausing before the bell went off, signalling its arrival.

He gently ushered her down the hall but she already knew where they were and which door to go to. She paused outside the door as she watched him reach behind the frame of one of the pictures on the wall. She shuffled herself to the side as she let him squeeze past her to put the key he had retrieved into the lock, turning and pushing the door open, ushering her in first with an outstretched hand as he moved to put the key back in its hiding place. 

“Peter?” a voice called out through the apartment. 

“Yeah, May.” he called out as they both stepped through the door.

Peter’s Aunt May tentatively came into view at the end of the hallway at the sound of heels clicking against the hardwood floor before they hit the hallway runner. She froze in silence as she took in the image of not just Peter, but Angel. The sudden change in May’s demeanour from warm and friendly to cold and protective made the younger woman still in the middle of the hall.

“Don’t May.” Peter warned her as he gently stepped around his frozen estranged wife, moving forward down the hall, a protective arm being placed around his Aunt’s shoulder as he turned her away and towards the living room, trying to explain everything before she made any assumptions.

Angel slowly began to follow them, coming to a stop in the doorway, her hand still raised to cover her shoulder. She stood awkwardly against the doorframe, careful not to bleed on anything as she watched Peter sit May down on the sofa, the tall brunette taking a perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of her, his hands gently resting on her knees.

“It’s a really long and complicated story-”

“But for how long, Peter?” May tried to argue in a hushed voice.

“I know, I know.” he quickly cut her off. “Look I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but we can’t go back to the house and I didn’t know where else to go.” He attempted to explain as Angel began glancing around the apartment. Her eyes fell on picture frames, throw pillows, the layout of the kitchen to her right, nothing had changed in this place at all. She slowly found herself stepping forward to a bookcase, observing the pictures that sat on the edges of some of the shelves. Okay, maybe some things had changed, she noted as she noticed the frame that used to hold her and Peter’s wedding photo had been removed, replaced with an old picture of Peter with his Uncle Ben from when he was a child. As she began to look behind it, she noticed another frame laying face down on top of the books. Her fingers reached for it. She carefully pulled it out, looking at the memory fondly. They hadn’t had a big wedding, after all she was trying to hide their union from her Dad. She gazed longingly at the picture of her and Peter outside the courthouse. They’d asked a passerby to quickly take the picture on an old digital camera May had brought with her. You could just see the corner of her shoulder in the foreground as she threw confetti at the happy couple.

Her eyes stung as tears prickled the corners of her lashes and she quickly put the photo back.

“I’m gonna go find a first aid kit.” She suddenly announced across the room to Peter, still mid conversation with May.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.” He turned his head to say to her before she removed herself from the room, heading down the hallway to where she knew the bathroom was.

She closed the door behind her, looking at herself in the harsh fluorescent lighting. She wiped away at the lingering tear at the corner of her eye hastily before her gaze dropped down to her shoulder in her mirrored reflection. She winced as she examined it in the mirror, turning her body towards the light. She sighed, her hands bracing themselves upon the basin as she closed her eyes and attempted to compose herself.

She kept one hand against the cold porcelain as her other hand reached to slip off her heels, her height dipping in the mirror as she dropped one foot and then the other onto the worn bath mat. She ran her hands over her face, pushing her hair back as she took one more tired look in the mirror before bending down to root in the under sink cupboard for the first aid box she knew was kept there.

She balanced it on the side of the sink, her fingers opening the zip and flipping the lid open. She sighed, rooting around in the kit, searching for the bits she would need and placing them on the top for easy access. She winced in pain as she slowly pried off her shirt, carefully slipping it off of her injured arm, the blood already beginning to dry sticking to her skin and she cringed and sneered as the fabric tore itself from her flesh. She reached into a drawer for a fresh washcloth, turning on the tap and running it under the faucet.  She was just bringing it to her skin, wiping away at the drying blood when the door opened, Peter letting himself in.

He froze at the sight of her standing in the middle of the bathroom in her high waisted trousers and black lace bra. When she just stood staring at his reflection in the mirror he quickly checked himself, clearing his throat and trying to ignore the blood that was beginning to rush between his legs.

“Here let me do that.” He said, stepping forward and taking the damp washcloth from her. 

She sat herself on the side of the bathtub as he rinsed the blood that was already on the cloth off, ringing it out.

“I don’t think May likes me much anymore.” she spoke timidly as Peter turned towards her and began dabbing at her skin. She hissed as he shifted his hand and dabbed higher, closer to the wound and he quickly took his hand away, fingers frozen in midair.

“Sorry,” he murmured. She quickly settled again and he moved the wash cloth over her skin even gentler. “She’s just protective of me, that’s all. Still sees me as that little boy scraping his knees and elbows everytime I fell off my skateboard. Cutting the crusts off my sandwiches…” his voice trailed off softly.

“MMM” she groaned again between closed lips as his fingers began to dab at the broken skin, her head turning away from him, eyes closing to suppress the tears that threatened them.

“I know, I know.” He tried to soothe her. “Yeah, it’s definitely gonna need some stitches.” He says assessing the wound closer. 

He stood up from where he had been crouching beside her, hands dexterously retrieving the bits he would need from the kit and placing them on the side of the sink closest to them. He then washed his hands, carefully drying them on the towel beside him. They were both silent as his fingers opened the suture packet, pulling out the fresh needle and threading it. She watched his hands attentively, willing herself to stay calm despite the impending pain she knew she’d have to endure.

“You’re not gonna like this.” He said as he crouched down beside her, tearing open a packet of alcohol wipes. He swiped a wipe carefully over her shoulder. She instantly screwed up her face sneering at the sting, her head turning away from him again as she forcefully gripped the edge of the bathtub, knuckles turning white.

“Fuck. Peter.” she hissed between her teeth.

“I know, you’re doing so well baby.” The pet name falls from his lips so naturally to try and soothe the sting they both feel. His chest aches to see her in pain, he wishes he could just kiss it and make it better, but he knew he was doing the next best thing.

“Ow, OUCH!” she called out, her voice echoing off the bathroom tiles as she flinched away from him. He released her arm from his grasp, allowing her a respite before the next step. His hands rested on her thighs, palms rubbing back and forth soothingly as she began to settle again.

“Uhh, does it really need stitches.” her voice was a broken whine as her head turned to look at him again.

“I’m sorry.” he said as he gave her a look that told her it was unavoidable.

Her head tilted up to the ceiling as she shook her head, psyching herself up. She took a deep breath before looking back at him. “Okay.” she nodded as she closed her eyes again, continuing to psych herself up. “Just do it.” she huffed. 

He paused a moment, his hands still on her thighs as he allowed her another moment to make sure she was ready. He slowly took his hands away from her, reaching for the suture, sat waiting ready. He watched her closely as she kept her eyes closed, not wanting to look, knowing she’d lose her resolve. 

“I’m gonna try to be as quick as I can, I promise.”

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed and agreed as she braced herself, his hand wrapping around her arm again.

The little noises she made as he used the curved needle to pierce her skin were unavoidable. “We’re almost there. You’re doing so good.” he cooed as she tried not to squirm under his touch. “Okay, one more, just one more baby.” he said as he passed the needle through her skin one last time, the fingers on his other hand reaching for the small pair of scissors to cut the surgical thread.

He took his hands away from her but she still didn’t open her eyes for another minute, allowing her breathing to steady as he began to clear things away. She finally opened her eyes as she felt his shadow loom over her. She looked to his hands to find him ripping open a large square shaped band aid. He carefully peeled off the backing before leaning over her and covering the area of her shoulder he’d just stitched up.

“Thank you.” she said quietly as he smoothed down the edges, his fingers brushing gently across her skin, leaving behind a tingling sensation in their wake.

They were so close. If she turned her head just a little they would kiss. For a moment he hesitated and she thought they would, but then he quickly stepped back and away from her.

“I’ll see if I can find you something to change into.” he said as he quickly turned his back on her and left the room.

She threw back her head to stare at the ceiling again as a new wave of tears threatened to spill over her bottom lashes. Her hands flew up to her face, hiding her eyes as she breathed deeply, willing her emotions away. She knew the day she’d eventually be able to go back to him would be hard, but she had never expected this. Everytime she looked at his face, she couldn’t see past the hurt in his eyes. She figured she’d be grateful he hadn’t moved on and found someone new to replace her with. Hadn’t walked back into that house and seen him lying in bed with another woman, but she knew that wasn’t her Peter. Then again, the pain her leaving had caused him, was he still her Peter. A lot can change in three years. Heck she’d changed in those three years.

She slowly stood up, wiping away her tears. Her hands reached to turn on the tap, allowing the cool water to soothe her skin, she splashed her face, wiping away the sweat and the grime and the few flecks of dried blood. She stared at herself in the mirror trying to recognise the woman she saw there as the same woman who had stood here all those years ago, but she couldn’t.

She turned off the tap, dabbing at her face with the towel as she heard three taps on the door. Peter slowly opened the door, his hand reaching out in front of him towards her, a pair of grey jogging bottoms and a white t-shirt folded neatly on top of his hand. She recognised the sweats as an old pair of his he had left here since he was a teen, the same pair she used to borrow when she stayed over. The t-shirt she was surprised to see was an old one of her own. An old Rolling Stones t-shirt she thought was long lost.

“Thank you.” she said as she gently took them from him.

“Umm, I’m gonna sleep on the sofa, you can take my old bedroom,” he said. His eyes struggled to meet her. It all felt so familiar, yet also so foreign. She wanted to say something but she didn’t know what. She just stared at him and he gave a quiet nod of his head before he closed the door again.

She crept into the spare room, her hands immediately dumping her clothes onto the empty chair just inside the door, before she closed it. He’d left the bedside lamp on for her, the faint glow adding warmth to the room. She couldn’t help but creep across the floor, her eyes searching the old familiar walls full of photos, old drawings, newspaper clippings. Her fingertips dragged across one of the old wooden shelves, taking in old school trophies, physics books, a picture of Peter and May at his graduation. The room was like a time capsule. She came to a stop in front of the end of the bed, staring at the sheets, undisturbed, lonely. It didn’t feel right, sleeping in this bed without him.

Before she could stop herself her hand was already on the door handle, ready to throw it open and creep down the hall, begging him to come to bed. But she froze. All that time, that space between them, as she stood there and felt it, it began to consume her. Instead she let her fingers drop to her sides, her feet begrudgingly walking around the side of the bed. She slowly climbed in under the covers. She stared at the door, one last time, willing him to come to her instead, but he didn’t. Tentatively she reached over, her fingers turning off the light, plunging her into darkness.

————————————————

As stated at the top new chapters will drop on Wednesdays and Fridays! If you want to be added to the tag list please put that in writing for me. Oh and if you are enjoying what you’re reading tip me like you would your waiter at a restaurant and reblog and leave me comments and feedback, it honestly fuels me up to keep writing and sharing.

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(Initial tags came from interest from the teaser and prologue. If you liked the prologue or teaser post but haven't been tagged, it's because for some reason I could't, maybe check your settings and be sure to hit the follow button so you don't miss out.)

Florence (I've never been either) sounds lovely and I hope you get to go one day. Florence, the story, IS lovely and I've enjoyed every minute of it. My 2 cents is that it is a wonderful stand-alone fic that would support a sequel if you'd ever choose to write it, and that's really what matters--you having no qualms about it either way because you, the person, come first. Well done on a pretty long fic; it was a good read!

Hiii! I just discovered Florence, read it all in one go (had to force myself to put it down and actually work lol) and I love it so much!!! I just recently went to Florence during my summer break!! I think it's gonna be one of my top 5 comfort fics now I want it tattoed on my eyelids it's just SO GOOD!!! sorry for the many exclamation points I just - I love it!!! So much!!!!!! Thank you for gracing the internet with this fic 💛

Aw!! Thank you so much 🥹 I don't even have the words to properly thank you because this message is so sweet! It's always so nice when people tell me a fic has become a comfort one for them, as it's always a comfort thing for me to write 💞

I've actually never been to Florence but it is a dream of mine! (I might spend the whole time thinking about Peter Parker and weddings if I'm there lol) But seriously thanks :D I'm so happy you could relate it to your own summer break!

if I had more energy I would write a sequel fic. I don't love where I ended things off and I do wish I included more italian aspects, but oh well. What can you do lol

ೃ⁀➷ welcome to my profile!

hello and welcome!

you can refer to me as t or dorothea, i am currently eighteen, and use she/her pronouns.

requests are currently open :)

masterlist

Cherry Pie for me, everything else comes after.

Those two sides are righteous for certain. I make dressing (not as big a fan of stuffing) frequently instead of just the holidays because my SO really likes it so why wait for two days outta the year, right?

Top Two Desserts--but if you don't eat sweets--Top Two Side Dishes

I'm not a huge dessert person, but I have a VERY hard time saying no to key lime pie and bread pudding.

And for side dishes: I am a HUGE side dish girlie! I love Thanksgiving because that's when the sides are the star of the show. If I had to pick just two favorites: mashed potatoes (with gravy) and macaroni and cheese. Honorable mention goes to green bean casserole, only because it's mostly a holiday dish which I think is a damn shame.

Andrew Garfield attends the 24th CDGA (Costume Designers Guild Awards) on March 09, 2022 in Santa Monica, California.

Rose Thorn Blues | p. 3

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Part One Part Two Masterlist

Summary: At the fundraiser, you and Parker go undercover as husband and wife. Which puts you two in some very interesting positions.

Word count: ~6.5k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers!! Fake dating!! Forced proximity!!! (< my excitement for those tags lol). Kissing. Banter. A lil' bit of jealousy. Sneaking around. Mention of throwing up. Swearing. Tension.

A/n: Sorry it's been awhile. You know how it is. Thank you for the love on the past parts :) I like how this one turned out. Let me know what you think, and thank you for reading! <3

As soon as Parker led you through the towering front doors of the mansion, you clung just a little tighter to his arm. Your fingers fidgeted with the simple wedding ring sitting on your ring finger, something he had picked up yesterday — presumably from “the guy he knew.” To save your nerves, you hadn’t asked, instead just accepting the likely fake diamond ring that felt too heavy and gaudy for your tastes. It certainly fit right at home here.

People in gowns and tuxedos you guessed cost more than you could ever afford walked throughout the sprawling main room. The clicking of their shoes against the hardwood floor joined their voices and the small live orchestra sitting near the podium at the other side. The sight of all these people only made your fingers play with the ring faster, your nerves alight.

A soft touch along the back of your hand had you stopping your fidgeting, your muscles stilling as you looked to your right. You slowly blinked your eyes at Parker’s, the chandeliers above bringing out the shades of brown they held.

In the boyish grin he gave you, there was calm reassurance flashing across his face. It sat somewhere between the confidence of his persona for the night, Sam, and the smugness of the Parker you were often met with. In an instant, his expression dropped easily into the facade as he grabbed two flutes of champagne for you both from a passing waiter holding a tray.

“For you, dear,” he said, handing one to you before taking a sip of his own. You watched his gaze flick across the crowd of wealthy guests. Maybe they were in the dark about where their donations went, but you guessed that more than a few knew the truth — and benefited from it. 

“Hello,” a soft voice said from behind you, and your body fought the urge to jump at the sound. A smile that didn’t reach all the way up to your eyes spread across your face as you turned. 

Parker’s arm wrapped around your back while you were met with an older couple focused on the two of you. The women introduced themselves, but you found trying to play your part convincingly while focusing on their names and the conversation proved harder than you’d expected. Especially as the heat of “your husband’s” body settled along yours.

But Parker’s voice pulled you back into the moment as he answered a question they must have asked, the rumble of his voice vibrating against you. “Rose’s grandmother recently passed. She loved this city and Beaumont’s work. The two of them were good friends, so we’re here to support him in her memory.”

The one on the left reached her hands out, clutching onto your free one. “I’m so sorry. What you’re doing here would make her very proud.”

You quietly thanked the woman before her wife asked, “And what do you two do for work?”

A long beat of silence passed over all of you, to the point where you could hear Parker swallow hard beside you. In all the planning you’d done the last few days, neither of you had come up with jobs. 

Shit.

“Teacher.”

“Teacher.”

You both said the word at the same time, a slight panicked look passing between you. 

You turned back to the women, letting out a laugh that felt too tight and forced. “My grandmother left our family money. To donate,” you clarified with a straight smile. You muttered out, “Since there’s not too much money in teaching…”

“Oh, how lovely. Do you work together?”

“Not anymore,” Parker answered. “But we’re happy with our jobs.”

“And what do you teach?”

Internally, you clenched your jaw and cursed these women for being so friendly and asking so many questions you didn’t think about beforehand. But that didn’t seem to stop Parker as he responded with ease.

“Chemistry for high schoolers. And Rose here teaches, um…” His words briefly trailed off, his tongue coming out to wipe over his bottom lip as he hesitated. Okay, maybe not as smooth as you’d hoped.

“English,” you finished for him. Leaning into Parker, you let out a laugh. It almost felt natural to place your hand on his chest as you spoke, lied, to these women. “Sam would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to him.”

That sent them both into loud giggles, a smile spreading across your face as they held onto one another.

“Oh, you two sound like an old couple already,” the left woman said between breaths. 

At least you had the bickering side of things down already. 

But as their laughter died down, the one on the right opened her mouth once more, probably to ask another question you had no answer to. The tightness holding your body hostage sagged as another couple came up, hugging the two women like longtime friends. 

Your rapid heart silently thanked Parker as he took the moment to lead you both to a quiet corner and around the crowd of people waltzing to the soft music, but you still gritted out, “You didn’t think to come up with our careers?”

“Guess my pea-sized brain can’t do all of the work here. What’s your excuse?” he whispered back. His words had you shoving your elbow into your side, but all it did was earn your bare arm a light pinch from him. 

Finding a quiet-enough area, your steps slowed, letting your mind calm down for a moment. Somehow, Parker still wore that casual smile as one hand held the glass and the other sat along your side. But you took a step out of his grasp once you saw no one was looking, letting the space between you two give you extra room to breathe. To think.

You took in the sight of the busy mansion. Mentally, you ignored the now cold spot from Parker’s missing heat, instead marking doors and noting who spoke with who. You were able to recognize some of the attendees — most of which were other local politicians. 

How far did all of this go?

Before you could think further, Parker leaned over to speak close to your ear, a distinct scent of  coffee and something familiar wafting from him. You’d expected him to explain your next steps, so you quickly looked at him in surprise when he asked, “Did you want to be a teacher as a kid?” 

Raising an eyebrow, scanning the expression he wore, you replied, “Yeah… I did. You too?”

“Yeah…” He nodded, staring downward as if in thought.

Your attention went back out to the people, chewing on the inside of your cheek as brief moments passed in silence. All too quick, he followed up with, “Though there’s not much espionage or breaking and entering in teaching these days.”

You gave a quiet laugh, suddenly wishing you’d gone into teaching. The thought made you take another sip of your champagne. A small sip — you needed to stay focused on tonight and learn as much as possible about Beaumont.

But Parker once again came close, the back and forth of him almost making your head spin more than the alcohol could. He whispered, “I spotted a sort of VIP section I could make my way into. It’d be easier to do with just one person, so you can mingle yourself into some important conversations. Beaumont’s not out here. And his little speech and the auction aren’t until later anyway. How does that sound?”

His eyes traced over your face. A slight crease forming between his eyebrows was the only indication that he wasn’t actually the suave Sam Bennet.

You gave a few hesitating nods, your gaze looking at anything but his eyes. You could do this — you’d spoken with people to get information from them before. And even if you couldn’t, maybe Rose could.

Before leaving, Parker shot back the rest of his champagne and set the glass on the nearest flat surface. You fought back a disbelieving scoff when he winked at you and strode toward a closed door on the other side of the room. 

For a few moments, all you could do was watch after him. The party felt much bigger as you stood there alone. A small part of you wondered whether he also felt like that.

You shook your head, clearing your mind with a deep breath in and out. You straightened your back and lifted your chin. Scanning the crowd, you spotted a member of Ellis Beaumont’s team. The middle-aged man stood along the wall near the orchestra, his attention fixed on his phone. You felt as if you’d found your prey as you set down your drink and made your way toward him, one heavy step in front of the other.

You knew he handled marketing for Stronger Together and Beaumont in general, a target full of information ripe for your picking — information you could ask about without drawing suspicion. But all the false confidence you built up deflated as you approached, watching as another member of Beaumont’s team pulled him aside for a hushed conversation. 

Swallowing down a frustrated groan, you instead pivoted to look as if you were enjoying the band. The dancing strings and piano would normally be lovely to listen to, but now it felt like the soundtrack to a headache threatening to form along your temples. 

The two team members walked to the door Parker went through. You didn’t have long to look around for another person to question before you felt a presence to your left. 

“So, do you prefer the upbeat plucking style of Brahms or the legato tone of Debussy?”

The question came from the young man next to you, and within an instant of seeing his styled hair the color of the night and the sharp line of his jaw, you knew who he was.

“I’m just kidding,” he said, flashing a white smile that crinkled the corner of his dark eyes. “Classical music’s never been my strong suit, and I stopped learning their names years ago. Though…” He paused, admiring you, “I wouldn’t mind learning yours.”

Your mouth opened slightly, your mind forcing out a small laugh that you hoped sounded believable enough. Was this actually happening?

Shaking your head, you stuck out your hand. “That might be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard. But the name’s Rose,” you told him. 

He took your hand, wrapping his long fingers along your skin with a smile that could take anyone’s breath away. “You’re not wrong about that, but it got you to talk to me,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m Will.”

You bit back the urge to say I know. You’d done enough research to recognize William Beaumont, the only child of Ellis. In his mid-20s, Will had already quickly risen through the ranks of politics — though not that it seemed to interest him all that much.

But he had to know something and might just share that knowledge with you. Whether he saw the wedding ring around your finger, he didn’t say. 

Flirting for information was not something you had much experience in (or any experience in), but how hard could it really be?

At the expectant look he gave you, one that said he’d rather have his attention on you than anything else in the world, it suddenly felt very hard.

Shoving down your worries and trying to fall into your role like Parker could, you smiled sweetly at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Will.” You let your hand drop back to your side as you said, “And for the record, I’d have to go with Debussy.”

His hands sat casually in his pockets, his head giving a light nod. “Since I’m not entirely sure who he really is, I’ll have to agree with you.” He let out a soft laugh, his easy tone lightening the tightness in your chest just a fraction. 

A moment passed as you laughed along, the band continuing to play softly. “So, if you were being honest with me, do you ever get tired of these things?”

He sent a sly side eye your way, a smirk crossing his face. “If we’re being honest, then I’d have to say yes. If you’re going to repeat my answer to my father or his associates, then I’d say that I never bore of helping this wonderful city of ours.” The way his voice turned almost mocking at the end made you hide a smile, your face turning slightly away from him.

“What a very professional answer. I can only imagine how many meetings you’ve had to sit in on and say something like that.”

“An excessive amount, yes,” he said, running a hand down his jaw.

“Do these fundraisers all go the same way? Conversing, speech, dinner, auction, then more conversing? I’ve never attended one like this before.”

He gave a short nod. “For the most part. It’s close to the same speech every time, and nearly the same kinds of things auctioned off — most of them coming from donations made primarily by the wealthiest guests here.”

Things you were sure you could only imagine owning. The thought of listening to another speech from Beaumont after all your research only made the small stabbing in your head increase.

Trying to sound casual, unassuming even, you asked, “And what do you exactly do?”

His face shifted toward an unreadable look, making you fight uneasiness rising through your body. You followed up with, “I think it’d be boring if you just sat and listened, so I hope you get to actually play some part in the organization.”

You watched his gaze consider you for a moment, the seconds passing forcing your heart into your throat. Part of you debated faking getting an emergency phone call to get away if this went south.

Tilting his head, a soft smile spread across Will’s face. He held out his hand toward you, palm facing up. “Would you care to dance with me, Rose?”

A twisting feeling reeled through your stomach, your body on edge in an instant. At your hesitation, he said, “Just one dance. And I can answer your question while we’re out on the floor.”

As you raised your hand and laid it in his, you mentally said every expletive you knew at this terrible summer internship, at Parker, and at yourself. But you held an easy smile while the two of you made your way to where others danced along to the orchestra’s playing.

He brought your right hand up in his left, his other hand smoothing across your arm and landing on your back. You tried focusing on your fingers laying atop his shoulder, feeling the soft material of his jacket beneath you. 

“If we’re still being honest with one another, I am not the world’s greatest dancer. I apologize for any toes I step on,” you quietly told him, your words accompanied by a nervous laugh you didn’t have to fake.

His hold on you supported your body as he began to move, your feet trying to follow his. He gave a kind laugh, his hand squeezing yours once. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, your gaze cast downward to make sure you moved the right way. Slowly, you began to recognize the repeating pattern of steps, your muscles becoming a little less wound tight.

“That’s it,” Will said with an encouraging tone. “Now, can you bear looking up instead of at our feet?”

A laugh slipped from your lips as your eyes trailed higher until they connected with his. You appreciated his kindness, but being here by yourself, there was no way you’d relax enough. Not until–

From the corner of your vision, you spotted Parker walking from that door he’d slipped through. You watched him begin walking this way and scan the crowd, one hand holding another champagne glass and the other running through his hair. It was only once he found you that he stopped, and it brought a relieving sigh from your chest.

As you danced and turned though, you couldn’t see Parker from this angle anymore, but Will said, “There you go. Not so tense anymore.” 

You offered him a grin, one that you fought to maintain as too many thoughts ran through your head. You needed to focus.

“So, I’m dancing,” you began with a laugh. “Your turn to hold up the bargain.”

He returned the laughter, those crinkles around his eyes returning. “Fair enough.”

People passed by in a blur as he continued to lead you across the floor, the orchestra’s music thrumming along with your heart. You’d long lost sight of Parker with all the spinning.

“Sometimes, I do just sit in meetings — whether I’m also listening depends on how boring the topic is. And other times, I pitch ideas for projects or try to lead them.”

You nodded. “Which seem to be doing well, correct? I haven’t followed Stronger Together all that closely lately, so I haven’t seen its impact up close yet.” 

Please, you silently begged him, to give you something.

His eyebrow twitched upward as he hesitated, the muscle of his jaw feathering. “It’s never as easy or quick as we’d wish, but that doesn’t stop us from working toward the organization’s goals. Especially ones I’m passionate about.”

“Like what?” you asked almost a bit too quickly. You tried giving a look that said you were just excited to hear about him.

“Like ensuring everyone has the right to a proper education. We don’t always have jurisdiction for these projects, but what does jurisdiction matter when people’s lives are at stake?”

A smile — a real, genuine smile — overtook your face. “That’s exactly what I say. How can we let red tape get in the way of helping one another?”

He let out a sigh, one that seemed to course from his whole being. “I sure wish my coworkers thought the way you did,” he said, pulling your body just a little closer to his. 

A small feeling, one spreading from your chest, hoped that he was telling the truth. That if you discovered Ellis Beaumont’s crimes and told the world, maybe there’d be a better future in his son.

As that comforting thought passed through you, your eyes caught a moving figure from the corner of your vision. You couldn’t miss the sight of Parker dancing with a woman several yards away. She looked vaguely familiar, perhaps someone involved with the non-profit. 

Your gaze drifted to where Parker’s hand laid on her, the deep plunge of her gown’s back letting his hand rest across her skin. The two of them danced easily, their hold on one another looking so natural. 

You eventually looked up, your steps nearly stuttering when you saw his eyes were already on you. They traced over your form, just the flash of a hard look crossing his face before his mouth began to move. Hopefully, he was asking a question that would lead you both somewhere. But even as he spoke, he stared over her shoulder at you.

That warmth in your chest spread outward. Up your neck, the heat snaked through your skin until your breaths came a little quicker.

Only once you and Will turned again were you able to break from the moment, to focus back on the man you were dancing with. You squeezed your eyes shut for just a second. 

Determined to get something out of this whole thing, you opened your mouth to ask him another question — but he spoke first.

“So, tell me about your husband, Rose.”

Your gaze immediately found his and the expectant darkness waiting in them. “What?”

“Your husband,” he repeated, angling his head toward your wedding ring. “What’s he like?”

A breathy “Oh” passed between your lips…

So this wasn’t flirting? Your mind couldn’t make sense of what William Beaumont wanted, not as you danced in his arms while “married” to another man.

“He’s, um. He’s nice.”

At Will’s laugh, one of your own following, you said, “Most of the time, he’s sarcastic — and I wish there was a way to attach a zipper to his mouth. I think, though, underneath it, there’s kindness that he doesn’t always show. But you know it’s there when you get to know him.”

As you turned again and made eye contact with Parker still far away, you mindlessly muttered, “Sometimes, I wish he wasn’t so smart. It makes me look bad.” A wry smile crossed your face, and you could’ve sworn the ghost of a grin appeared on Parker’s as well. “And while he’s the most chronically late person I know, he’s there when you need him.”

A moment passed before Will pulled back, staring at you as if he could see all the way through you. The orchestra played the final note of the song, your steps slowly coming to a stop. You could only stand there as he leaned closer, his mouth right along your ear. His breaths made goosebumps rise across your shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Heart pounding in your veins, you whispered, “For what?”

“For dancing with me.”

With that, he pulled back, squeezing your hand once more before letting it return to your side. “Enjoy the night, Rose,” he said, nodding his head and turning. You quickly lost him through the sea of people, not that you really tried to search for him long.

Guests around you began to disperse to their tables, a sign to get your feet to move — wherever your own seat was. Lights dimmed above, creating a stir of conversation between people while you looked around, searching for Parker.

You barely finished the thought when he appeared at your side. His arm wrapped around yours as he whispered, “C’mon.”

You followed, the cold shock of Will disappearing under the warmth of Parker against you. But as you both weaved through people still going to their tables, you saw he wasn’t taking you somewhere to sit down and listen to Beaumont’s speech.

Instead, the two of you went through double doors into a hallway leading to the bathrooms. People walked in and out, and if you hadn’t done the research beforehand, you would’ve seriously questioned where he was taking you.

But you’d remembered there was an exit near here, past the bathrooms. There would also be another door — one that took you up and further into the mansion. 

With minimal guests around to witness, he walked right to it.

The staircase behind was thin and illuminated by only a few warm lights. Unable to walk side by side up the steps, Parker let go of your arm and led the way. You only heard the muffled sounds of the hallway behind you, making you a little hopeful that this wasn’t an often-used section of the house. 

“What did you find?” you asked, your hands pulling up your dress while you climbed the stairs.

After two flights, Parker stopped before a door. He turned the knob, letting it swing open silently into a hallway shooting off into many rooms. As he stepped through, he angled his head toward you and said, “Nothing. Which makes me very worried.”

All you could do was begin chewing on your bottom lip and follow him. The plush carpet luckily hid your footsteps, but every nerve in your body stood on edge. You imagined that they’d be fraying and burnt out by the end of this night.

“I know there’s something here though.” Parker motioned toward a door on your left. “You check that one. I’ll look in this one,” he told you, pointing to the room across from it.

Eyeing him, you grumbled under your breath, “A please would be nice.”

And without looking, you knew he was rolling his eyes. Still, you went to the room — even though some instinctual part of you almost insisted that it was safer to go together. You had no idea what was on the other side of this very nice and expensive hardwood door.

The only thing that got you to turn the handle was the sound of Parker going into his room without hesitation. Though you thought calling it the “sound of his audacity” had a better ring to it.

And following in his footsteps brought you to a… bathroom. Sure, it appeared fancy with its probably imported floor tiles and French-inspired sink or something, but the only suspicious thing in this room was why anyone would choose those ugly decorative towels.

Still, you looked through everything — even the medicine cabinet, which made you feel like some sort of rude house guest. You took a photo or two of the bottles inside, most of which turned out to be painkillers. Strong ones.

Before moving to the next, you listened for any footsteps or voices. With silent steps and slowed breathing, you crept from the bathroom — only to be met with Parker walking freely from his room without any caution. At the incredulous look you gave him, he just gestured for you to hurry up.

You made a point to glare at him as you approached the next door. As it creaked open, your body wincing at the noise, you stepped inside. At first glance, it seemed to be a bedroom, which wasn’t exactly what you were looking for. It had no computer to search through or a convenient map laying out their entire plans.

It appeared to be largely unused, a faint layer of dust coating most of the furniture. But as you walked toward a small desk in the corner, you saw some papers scattered atop it. Some appeared to be emails that held no significance without any context. Others seemed to be invitations to a few of Beaumont’s fundraisers.

The walls or shelves in the room gave no indication as to who these papers belonged to, but you took pictures of them regardless. As you set them back, you looked further down. The desk also had drawers.

One pull on it told you they were locked though, and surprisingly, lock picking wasn’t a skill you listed at the top of your resume. Maybe you could try and get through the back…

The door squeaking open made you jump, your body straightening up and hitting the desk. You stifled a groan as your eyes found Parker at the entrance of the room. Silently, he held up his hands — not in apology but in a way that was supposed to somehow absolve him of any guilt. 

You could already feel a bruise forming along your hip, your hand rubbing the bone. Parker approached you, whispering, “Settle down, Nancy Drew. Have you found anything useful?”

“Unless you can open these locked drawers, how about you keep your mouth shut, Parker,” you quietly gritted out.

His grin grew into something taunting. “Guess I’ll keep this mouth wide open then, sunshine.”

You watched with furrowed eyebrows as he knelt down and took two bobby pins from his inside pocket. Before you could even ask, he interrupted. “I come prepared, so keep your smart comments to yourself.”

Widening your eyes with a huff, you stood there, leaning against the wall. Your arms crossed in front of your chest as you observed him. 

“So… when did you learn to pick locks?”

Under his breath, you barely heard him mutter, “When’d you learn to flirt for information?”

As you were still processing his words, your mouth opening slightly in shock, Parker popped open the drawer. Any retort died in your throat — but stayed very clearly in your mind — as you looked past him at the papers he pulled out.

They seemed to detail some sort of… super suit? Scribbled notes sat on the margins of blueprints for a suit with metal arms, protective armor, even grenades. Almost like they were a mismatch of parts from Spider-Man’s villains. Doc Ock, The Rhino, The Green Goblin.

A shaky breath punched from your lungs, your stomach sinking so low you had to set a hand on the desk to steady yourself. Was Ellis making himself into a supervillain?

The thought barely seeped into your mind when you both heard a floorboard groan from out in the hallway. Your head whipped to the door, neither of you moving an inch. At another creaking sound, Parker silently made his way to peek out from the room.

He must have heard something you didn’t because his entire body tensed, but your hands were already moving. By the time he turned back to you with wide eyes, you stood next to him, your heart beating rapidly in your ears.

“We’ve gotta go,” he whispered, the words barely audible. You fought back the urge to say no shit. You weren’t sure you’d even be able to utter the words with how your body now shook.

Parker crept out into the hallway, looking both ways. He nodded for you to follow with a quick jerk of his head. But as you closed the bedroom door behind you, the squeaky hinges echoed into the air. Your eyes met Parker’s, his jaw tight as alarm flashed across his face.

In an instant, his fingers grabbed onto your wrist. He pulled you across the hall to the nearest room and clicked the door shut behind you. 

Through the whiplash from sudden movement to stillness in complete darkness, you felt a hand cover your mouth. The back of your body leaned against what felt like wooden shelves while your front pressed into Parker. 

You felt the beating of his heart against your own.

Despite him covering your mouth making you want to do the opposite, you willed your breaths to slow down until they were nearly silent. Though you couldn’t see, you guessed the two of you were sandwiched inside a closet of some kind.

You brought your hand up to remove Parker’s from your face. You might’ve pinched him if you weren’t hiding from whoever was also here, though that didn’t stop you from flipping him off in the shadowy closet. You felt him push your hand away with a quiet huff.

Only a moment later, through straining ears and clenched muscles, you heard a door open. Then footsteps.

Your eyes squeezed shut, the heat in the tight space beginning to grow unbearable. That, on top of your mind and body turning into a live wire from your nerves, made it feel harder to breathe.

And you knew you had to be quiet, but your back screamed at you to move from the hard shelves digging into your spine. As you tried to silently shift forward to find any kind of relief, you were stopped by palms quickly landing on your hips. 

You heard a strangled sigh come from Parker as he held you firm, your body unable to move any further under his grip. Your top half leaned into him more in this position, your hands instinctually holding onto him and finding hard muscles beneath. 

In the dark and under the threat of making any noise, you were unable to ask him what he was doing. All you could do was feel him.

But his head came nearer. You swore he whispered, “I…” before trailing off. He was close enough that you could feel the word caress your cheek. Then, as if time froze for a few seconds, neither of you even breathed while the footsteps grew louder and louder until they came so close to the door.

And then they kept going, the footfalls becoming just a bit quieter with each one.

You would’ve sighed had the hands on your hips not still held on so tight. His breathing sounded labored, his body rigid. With worry starting to take over your senses, you barely let his name pass your lips. So quietly, you whispered, “Peter?”

You knew he heard you because every muscle of his tensed. The movement had his arm hitting the shelves, and all of the blood rushed from your head as something fell and hit the floor with a dull thud. 

The footsteps stopped.

Parker grabbed your shoulders, his grip twisting the material of your dress wherever he touched. Maybe he knew that your mind was spinning, that your stomach threatened to empty itself, or that most of your extremities had gone numb despite the heat. He held you there, keeping you grounded as the steps became louder once more.

“Do you trust me?” Parker said, the words wrapping around your body with a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

Your mind’s first instinct was to tell him no, you absolutely did not trust him. You wanted to ask him whether he even trusted you. But your throat allowed no response to pass, your tongue unable to shape any of the sounds. 

And… if you were to once again follow your heart, follow the pull in your gut, you’d nod. 

So you did. 

With that, he leaned forward to press his lips to yours. A quiet noise of surprise came from you as his fingers now danced up to hold your jaw. Only once you responded, your fuzzy mind catching up enough to kiss him back, did he lunge further forward. 

Quick breaths came from his nose as his mouth overtook yours. His body pressed roughly against you, the feeling doing nothing to slow your dizzying senses. Your fingers gripped the hair at the nape of his neck. And by the time you’d finally responded with the same intensity as him, nearly fell face first into the feeling, light flooded in from behind your eyelids.

Breaking apart from Parker with a start, you blinked until your vision made out the security guard in front of you. Your chest still heaved and your heart still pounded. Even your fingers still itched for him to ground you again — so much so that you grabbed his hand as the worker let out a scoff.

“Christ… Don’t you have anything better to do? Or any place better than this?” he asked, his flashlight flicking between the two of you.

“Sorry, sorry. We’ll go,” Parker muttered, his voice tighter than you remembered. He used one hand to shield his eyes from the light and put the other on your back to guide you from the closet. 

He made a good show of not knowing which way to go, making the guard point toward the door you came from with a tired look on his face. It took everything in you to not hide behind your fingers, embarrassment crawling up your neck and heating your cheeks.

Neither of you said a word while walking back to the main room, just pointedly not catching each other’s eyes. It felt harder to swallow, to think even.

Finally, outside the bathrooms, Parker broke the silence. He turned to you, saying, “Your, uh, dress.”

He approached, trying to fix the rumples he created in your gown. But you batted his hand away, unable to deal with his touch on you again right now. Your fingers smoothed it out yourself while you told him, “Flatten your hair back down.”

And before he even finished, you’d begun walking down the hallway to the doors. Anything to create room between you two — because you could still feel the weight of him clutching your jaw and the burn still present on your lips. 

And you didn’t want to think about what you just did for this story, or about kissing Peter fucking Parker.

His shoes clicked against the tile as he caught up. Your eyes saw a glimpse of him reaching out, your body bracing itself for his grip around your arm. But he stopped short, instead pleading, “Wait.”

“What?” you asked, a soft bite to the word. Your head sat on a swivel for anyone who could be watching or listening.

He gritted his teeth for a moment, thinking. “Should we go back? To take pictures of the diagram?”

With a tight smile, you told him, “No need.” 

Your fingers pulled the papers from where you’d tucked them into the front of your dress. You only paused long enough to feel smug at the surprised look on his face before hiding them once again. 

Without seeing whether he’d follow, you strode through the double doors — just always walking barely ahead of him. Luckily, your seats were near the back and away from the spotlights trained on the stage. 

Once settled into the chair, your hands firmly in your own lap, you let out a long breath. From beside you, Parker leaned in close, whispering, “Sunshine… Can I ask you something?”

Your eyes darted in his direction, nausea suddenly flooding your system all over again. You only looked at his shoulder as you slowly nodded, wondering if it was a mistake to do so. 

“Am I…”

He paused, and you could’ve bolted right then and there. Letting out a sigh, he asked, “Am I like the best kiss you’ve ever had?” 

He barely made it to the end of the sentence before his usual shit-eating grin returned to his face.

You relished in the way it twisted in pain when you kicked him under the table, hoping it’d leave a bruise. Partly, you were grateful he broke the tension, but that didn’t mean you weren’t thinking of breaking his foot too.

Turning back to the stage, you finally focused on the man standing atop it. That salt and pepper hair, dark eyes, and “winning smile” looked back in return.

It was hard to pay attention to his speech still going on when all you could think of was Beaumont’s diagram of the super suit. In your head, those eyes turned hateful, that smile cunning. You still felt them even as the speech ended, all of it just propaganda as you expected. 

What information you took from the auction was just how much money was going toward Stronger Together — which was a hefty amount. And all you got from the dinner was that they needed to learn how to better season their food.

After it all, Beaumont was immediately surrounded after the auction. People you assumed were shareholders or investors (i.e., rich people) took the conversation back into the VIP area before you could even think of approaching him. Honestly, you weren’t sure you could handle any more sneaking or lying for the rest of the night anyway.

But you had what you needed, for now.

And while making your way toward the mansion’s towering front doors alongside other couples, you could’ve sworn there were two sets of eyes burning a trail past your every move. One of them you refused to meet.

@reidslovely @keepingitlokiii @thedevax @sincericida @dil3mma @hollandweather