"I'm Thinking..."

"I'm thinking..."

"Don't hurt yourself."

This type of give and take between characters is a recipe for some good cooking; looking forward to Part 3.

Rose Thorn Blues | pt. 2

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Part One Masterlist

Summary: Begrudgingly, you let Peter Parker help you with the story. Even if it leads you two going undercover as a couple...

Word count: ~4k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers!! Fake dating!! Banter. More Criminal activity. Swearing. A lil bit of tension.

A/n: Well, I thought I'd share this smaller part before I head on vacation. Sorry it's not longer, but I hope this holds over until I'm back home! Thank you for reading, and let me know your thoughts <3

“Should I be regretting this?” you asked, immediately shaking your head as Parker wheeled over to your side.

“Too late.” He grabbed your notebook from your hands, kicking his feet up on your desk as he began to read. His lips moved silently along with the words, each curved syllable whispering past his mouth. You looked away when his eyes flicked to yours, those lips tilting into a grin even as he continued reading.

His fingers flipped the worn page of your notes, leaving you to pick at the hem of your shirt while waiting for him to finish.

You pulled your legs closer to you, trying to focus on the material of your pants rather than the urge to draw yourself into your body. But your nerves flared at the edges of your senses, telling you made the wrong choice. And only once you were about to pretend to need coffee just to step away, Parker blew out a tight sigh.

He muttered out, “Christ…”

Swallowing down the jolt in your muscles at his words, you turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Is that good or bad?”

His hand scratched along his jaw, his gaze following the words before slowly rising to meet yours. “Uh, your research is… good. Really good. But this,” he said, gesturing to the notebook, “is pretty bad.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, that quiet doubt inside your mind growing ever so louder. Barely blinking, you stared off wondering where this could go. Where you could end up if you went through with it. Your attention only snapped back when Parker cleared his throat.

He watched you, your expressions, with no humor on his face as he whispered, “So, you really went to this warehouse… by yourself in the middle of the night?” His finger pointed at your notes that indeed held your observations from last night. Still, that didn’t stop you from trying to lie and come up with anything that wouldn’t incriminate you.

When you didn’t answer, instead glancing at your fingers intertwining, he scoffed. “You know you could’ve really gotten hurt going there alone. Or worse. I don’t think these guys play around.”

“I wasn’t alone. I talked with Spider-Man,” you said, as if that could convince Parker that your plan hadn’t been a bad idea. But he raised an eyebrow at you, a half-smile on his face.

“Yeah? Now you’re buddy-buddy with him too?” A ghost of a laugh escaped him, but his eyes hardened, not leaving you. “I’m serious, sunshine. Spidey’s not gonna be there to always save you. We gotta do this carefully.”

Choosing to ignore the unyielding tone his words were wrapped in, you grabbed your notebook back from him, your jaw set. “I know that, Parker. And I’m not exactly in harm’s way now that I don’t have any other leads. All he’s got is some BS fundraiser I can’t get into,” you said, sitting back in your chair. Silently, as you traced a finger down the writing you’d gone over dozens of times already, you grumbled under your breath about the rude receptionist you’d talked to about it.

“A fundraiser?” 

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The collar of his long-sleeve shirt swooped down an inch, drawing your eyes to the shadow of his chest before nodding. He then asked, “What could we find out from that anyway? Not like Beaumont is gonna be any more truthful with those rich people than he is with the general public.” 

He brought the end of a pen to his mouth, beginning to chew on it before you could realize he took it from your desk. You just pressed your lips together, letting it go as he thought out loud some more — now beginning to spin in his desk chair.

“He’s hiding plenty of secrets as is, I’m sure there’s gotta be some that we could uncover by getting close, right? Maybe we could-”

“Parker! Where are those pictures you promised me!”

Jameson’s voice boomed through the office, sending the both of you jumping in your seats. Parker cleared his throat and called back, “Emailing them to you now, sir.”

Beneath the sound of Parker’s squeaky desk chair rolling back to his side, you heard Jameson swear  under his breath. You didn’t dare peek over the half-wall and risk getting yelled at too. Instead, as frantic typing came from Parker’s keyboard, you wrote on a post-it note, “Able to stay late. We can talk about this piece. In peace. Haha…”

You folded it in half twice before tossing it over onto his side and returning to research — even as it felt useless to do so. A small twinge of hope trickled up your spine, so subtle you barely noticed it before it reached the base of your head. A hope that Parker said yes. 

As another site turned up blank, you told yourself asking him was just to move this story along, even if it meant spending the evening with the intern you always seemed to stand in the shadow of. But this story could bring you over the top and show Jameson you deserved that job.

A few minutes later, a flash of paper flew from Parker’s side and landed right on your eye.

“Shit…” you groaned out, lightly rubbing your eye and blinking it repeatedly — all while you heard suppressed laughter from the other desk. Quietly, you muttered, “Dick,” and opened up the note. The only thing added to it was a poorly drawn thumbs-up.

With that settled, along with the weird relief at his answer that you shoved lower and lower, you worked on some of your assigned stories. One blurred into the next, all of them superficial enough to turn your brain fuzzy over the course of the work day. You wondered what Alice was working on and if they ever made her feel like this.

By the time people began packing up for the day, long after your mediocre lunch from the closest food shop, your head nearly felt numb. At least this story could be the break you needed from all this — all the unimportant parts of reporting, like who broke up with who, and how Spider-Man is somehow the reason for it. Again.

You rubbed a tired hand down your face, letting the warm darkness of it swallow you for a moment. Your head shot up finally once a granola bar clattered across your desk.

Parker’s head then appeared from around the half-wall, the wave of his dark hair looking ran through. “I stole it earlier today, but I think you need it more than I do, sunshine,” he said, pointing to the bar with a tilt of his head.

Your stomach growled as you grabbed it, ripping it open. “That’s such a stupid nickname,” you muttered before taking a bite, looking up at him with a half-assed glare.

“It’s more creative than you calling me ‘Parker.’ That’s just my last name.” He laughed, his eyes lighting up.

Quirking your head, you blinked slowly at him. “If I’m sunshine, then you’re moonshine. Makes sense too, cause I need to be drunk to even tolerate you, Parker,” you grumbled, finishing off the granola bar.

And before he could open that stupid mouth of his, you threw away the wrapper and said, “I think Jameson’s gone if we want to start on the story. We-”

“Now?” Parker’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at you, his hand coming up to run down his neck. “Immediately vetoing. C’mon.”

Before you could ask any questions, he stood up and walked toward the doors, shouting over his shoulder, “Keep up!”

As much as your mind resisted listening to him, your eyes and legs definitely needed the break. So you followed after him, staring at his back as you made your way down the building’s steps.

Out on the sidewalk, the sun sat lower in the sky at this hour. Clouds scattered throughout kept the air from getting too hot, the feeling bringing a content smile to your face.

Blinking at him, you saw the way the sunlight showered down on Parker. The effortlessness of his hands sitting in his pockets and his hair laying perfectly messy — even his goddamn freckles glowing in the light — set a sparking anger in your chest. It only twisted, turned more sour, when he opened his mouth.

“You know… it’s not polite to stare at someone. Even if they are rugglishly handsome.”

A laughing scoff escaped your mouth, your eyes instead drifting across the crowd of people passing along the sidewalk. “I was just trying to figure out how your head fit such a little brain inside it. Does it just roll around like an acorn in there? Maybe a pea?”

Feeling the glare from his side-eye, you caught his growing half-smile. “Yeah? Could a pea-sized brain be smart enough to find us an actual dinner?”

“I mean… probably. But,” you said, tilting your head at him, “that’s not the worst plan you’ve had.” For emphasis, your stomach growled while you two walked down the street. And through grabbing carryout to eat back at the office, you made it a point to not stare at Parker — or do anything to give him a bigger ego than he already had. 

His often irritating words certainly made it easy enough, like now as he spoke in between bites of his food from the takeout box. “So, I’m thinking–”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

You let out a laugh as he flipped you off, the shaking in your shoulders helping lift a weight from them. At least it was easy to laugh with him — or at him.

With a pointed stare, he continued. “I’m thinking that we have to find the connection between Beaumont and spidey… man. Spider-Man. With that warehouse you nearly burgled.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow at him as he leaned against your desk. With your feet propped up next to where he sat, you ate your food from your desk chair. The office lay bare beside you two, your ID cards giving you access after hours. Unsurprisingly, the brainstorming hadn’t been terribly productive yet.

“I did not burgle anything… yet. But I haven’t seen anything between those two before. Maybe Beaumont’s just a big fan. He’s taking all our money just to grow his collection of supervillain memorabilia.”

Parker let out a quiet laugh. “Sounds like something Jameson would do.” 

You internally shivered at the idea of finding your boss’s secret stash of Spider-Man collectibles.

Silence slipped over the two of you, just the noises of eating and the building’s air conditioning as you both thought through the details. Eventually, he said, “So this Ellis Beaumont guy has to have some sort of conflict with Spider-Man, meaning we could research what crimes of Beaumont’s that Spider-Man has stopped.”

An unsure look overtook your face. “That’s way too many to look through — and it’s not like that information is recorded anywhere. This politician keeps things tightly under wraps…” you sighed, letting out a tired laugh that didn’t feel all that funny. “It feels like I’m right back where I started.”

“Could that fundraiser of his give us answers?” Parker asked, his eyes glancing at yours.

You hesitantly nodded as you swallowed your next bite. “Probably, since it’s at his house apparently. But without an invitation, we’re kind of shit out of luck.”

“So we get an invitation and do some snooping during the event. Easy enough.”

Parker had put his food down, and you did not like the growing smirk on his face. “Before you say anything,” he told you, “I know a guy. It’ll be fine — we’ll just dress the part and do some investigative journalism.”

“Oh, so it’s bad to check out a warehouse, but we’ll just crash the fundraiser of a member of the government body and suspected criminal? You’re insane.” A scoff escaped your mouth when he nodded. 

As you dropped your feet from the desk, you wanted to regret letting Parker in on this story or at least question who this guy was that could get you two into this fundraiser, but you had no better plan — or the guts to pull this off without him. 

“This has got to be pretty illegal…” you whispered.

Parker gave you a smile that both calmed you and let butterflies loose in your stomach. “Absolutely. But Beaumont committed the crimes first, so we’re just evening it out.” He crossed his arms, the fabric of his long sleeve wrapped tight around them. With an expectant look, he raised his eyebrows at you. “So, are you in?”

A minute passed as you thought, considering any other plans that wouldn’t end with the both of you in jail. But you came up with nothing. 

This better be one hell of a story. “Okay, fine. Let’s do this.”

“Great!” he said, clapping his hands together. “One more thing, though. We’re going to have to go as a couple. I’m thinking our last name could be–”

“Excuse me?” You cut him off, your eyes widening. Despite your mouth opening, nothing came out. You just dropped your gaze to the wall behind him as you let out a long breath.

“How else are we going to be convincing? All the other people joining are families or couples, right?”

He explained it so matter-of-factly. You understood, really. But pretending to be married to him while sneaking through a mansion? All for a ridiculous unpaid summer internship?

“Parker, have you come up with a torture plan?” You put your face in your hands, quietly groaning. You could be cordial with him and cautiously appreciate his (persistent) help on the story, but the idea of acting as a couple in love with him brought an uneasiness to your body. 

Would Alice approve? It felt again like you weren’t following your heart, which wanted to hide deep down behind your ribs.

Parker looked at you, his mouth pressed tight. “Hey, not exactly like getting down on a knee to you was my original plan here,” he muttered.

Still, you looked back at him, ignoring the intensity of his stare. “So what will our last name be?”

Bennet, it turned out, would be the last name on your IDs and invitations for the banquet in two days. Sam and Rose Bennet. 

During the days leading up, the two of you worked on regular assignments under the eye (and screaming) of Jameson. 

But if someone looked closely, they’d see your leg constantly shaking beneath your desk and Parker’s nails being bitten down to the bed. They might be able to hear the whispered comments between the two of you — most about what your story would be. They would even see the things neither of you could make out, like the unasked questions on the tips of your tongues or the pull that seemed to exist between you and Parker.

The story you decided on was high school sweethearts — private school, of course. Something arranged by your equally rich and philanthropic parents, whose money you’d be happy to donate to Stronger Together during the fundraiser. 

In reality, you both scrounged up enough money to rent nice enough clothes for the event and hoped that you wouldn’t have to pay for any extra damage. Besides the money concern, the risk of something happening to the clothes (and you, more importantly) weighed over your mind. Parker didn’t seem to have any worries, or voice them to you at least, about this whole plan going sideways.

So, you planned for it by yourself. Which exits would be best, which people you should probably stay away from. And you still didn’t ask how Parker exactly got you two into this, not that you were sure you wanted to know.

It didn’t even cross your mind the night of, not as you stood in your apartment, slipping on a floor-length gown that seemed to lay just right. Your fingers ran along your body, fixing things here and there until you were sure no rich politician would look twice at you and suspect something. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you weren’t sure you recognized yourself — or the idea you had of yourself. Maybe that was a good thing.

Your frayed nerves turned electric as your phone went off, a text from Parker letting you know he was here. For a minute, you hesitated. The constant thrumming in your chest clouded your thoughts, telling you something that you couldn’t quite make out.

As a second, more impatient, text came through, you gave one last glance at yourself and walked out into the hallway.

Each step to the front door in shoes that squeezed your feet much too tightly felt like a jolt to your heart. A breeze pushed past you as you walked out to his car — one that he’d have to park far away so the valet couldn’t see his shitty 2004 Honda Civic.

Parker stood leaning against the side of the vehicle, one hand scratching at his jaw and the other shoved far into his rented tux’s pockets. He stared down at his shoes, his vacant look telling you he also had a thousand thoughts running through his mind.

But as his gaze drifted up, connecting with yours, that worried crease between his eyebrows smoothed out, his hand dropping from his jaw down to his lap. Your steps slowed, your fingers clutching tight onto a purse you borrowed from a friend. 

Those honeyed eyes turned bright as a ghosting smile spread across his face. You took in the image of him staring at you in that tuxedo — one that you could tell he wasn’t used to if you looked too hard. Not that you were doing that, of course. Still, the expensive material sat nicely along his tanned skin from the summer sun.

Though, you couldn’t figure out what felt off about him until you came closer, the buzzing in your ears growing much too loud as you neared. Reaching a hand up, your eyebrows furrowed, you went to fix his hair. The caramel strands sat straight and slicked back. It didn’t look like he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times.

But as you felt his breath brush along your skin, saw the stillness of his body, you paused. Too close. Too much, even for a fake couple.

You dropped your hand by your side, begging your body to calm down. You avoided his eyes as you took a step back. “Sorry,” you whispered, maybe for the first time to him, “Your hair just looks so…”

“Stuffy? Obnoxious? Greasy?”

“Pretentious is what I was going to say.”

His tight laugh brought some sort of relief to your tense muscles, even as he pushed off his car and muttered, “Glad we both look the part then.”

You raised an eyebrow, staring at him while fighting a smile. “You know, Parker — or Bennet, I should say — a real gentleman would’ve opened my door for me.”

Right before he plopped down in his car, he said, “You’re lucky I’m even picking you up, Mrs. Bennet.”

Quietly, you let out a huff and got into the passenger seat. Your hands brushed along your dress, straightening it out.

As you picked off a stray piece of lint, you said, “I’m not sure this is the right way to start as a couple.” You tried to make your words sound easy, but it didn’t even sound convincing to you.

Parker began driving, keeping his eyes on the road as he drummed a finger along the steering wheel. “You’re right — but don’t let that get to your head, sunshine. Okay, when did we first meet?”

“We first met fifteen years ago, but we didn’t start dating until ten years ago when our parents put us together. Toward the end of high school…”

“Where we went to different colleges but made the long-distance thing work. Somehow,” he said, waving a hand as if it didn’t matter or no one would ask how.

“And now, using the money we’ve saved up through our parents’ endowment funds and-”

“Wait, what does that even mean?” you asked, realizing he came up with this without telling you until now.

“It uh… it’s something to do with donations. I Googled it — it’s fine. Anyway, we’re using that and their savings to give back like they have always wanted. Great, fool-proof.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded for a second before shaking your head. “Parker, that makes no goddamn sense. This is a terrible idea.”

“Well, we’re going to be there soon, so too late now.”

“It’s actually not too late,” you told him, your throat feeling tight. “Let’s just turn around, okay?”

“Hey,” he said as the car came to a stoplight. He turned to look at you, the shine of the light illuminating half of his face. 

His voice came out soft. “You nearly burgled a criminal’s warehouse, and you lied to a government official’s secretary, or something. This will be a piece of cake, alright?” Ever so quietly, a warmth bloomed in your chest, melting the cold fear that’d been wrapping around you. You gave him a short nod, making him give a tight-lipped smile and keep driving. “Great! Now, suck it up, sunshine, and come up with a better backstory. I can’t do all of the thinking in this marriage.”

A laugh bubbled up from your mouth. You rolled your eyes, even though your fidgeting had calmed down. 

With a long breath out, you said, “What about if my grandmother left me money in her will, and I’m honoring her memory by giving it back to the city she loved?”

“Not bad… and sorry for your imaginary loss. I think it’ll keep people from prying too much further.”

“I hope so,” you muttered, hoping this half-baked plan would work.

Eventually, Parker slowly rolled the car to a stop. He parked on a smaller residential road a few blocks away, but you could still see the lights shining into the sky from Beaumont’s place. His castle to overlook all the peasants of the city.

Your shoes clicked across the pavement, the two of you nearing the mansion. With each step, you tried harder to ignore your heart hammering louder. 

You breathed out a shaky breath when Parker held out his arm next to you. Hesitantly, you took it, wrapping your arm around his. Normally, you might’ve ignored the hardness of his body or the warmth seeping into your skin, but the solid, unyielding feeling of him brought some sort of grounding.

Leaning his mouth toward your ear, Parker said, “Which one do you think is going to pop first? The vein bulging from Jameson’s forehead or the huge one in his neck?” 

The laughs you let out were sharp and involuntary, a smile breaking out on your face. Looking at him, at the grin he sent your way, you said, “Definitely the one on his forehead. And you’re going to be the one to make him mad enough to pop it.”

“I’ll be sure to wear those plastic ponchos the next time I’m late.”

“So… Monday? We can pick one up after the fundraiser for you.”

The giggles underlacing your words slowly died down as you turned the street corner, your eyes catching all the other couples approaching the towering house. Valets stood at the front, taking car keys from guests before they came to the doors — guards standing on either side.

“You’ve got the invitations?” you whispered to Parker, your hold on his arm growing tighter. 

He quietly scoffed. “Of course I have them. Who do you think I-” His words stopped, his hands patting down his suit jacket for the invitation. Right as you felt your stomach threaten to curl in on itself, he flashed you a grin. “Just kidding, they’re right here,” he told you, grabbing them from his pocket.

With a forced smile plastered to your face in front of all these guests, you gritted out, “I’m going to murder you.”

“You are too funny, dear,” Parker said, or more likely, Sam Bennet said as the two of you walked up to the doorman holding his hand out for the invitations. 

The way Parker’s mouth curled around the affectionate name felt foreign at first, but the way the doorman looked at the two of you — as if you really were a happy couple — made it feel right. 

And that was it, that was all it took for a softness to flow over you and let yourself become Rose Bennet. For tonight.

@hollandweather @dil3mma @reidslovely

Relatable, especially late night writing after cocktails.

Mystery girl must be five tiers + from 'eh'...and I'm here for when Peter's memory returns....

Nice job!

Infrunami

summary — peter’s memory is really good (no it’s not)

pairing — tasm!frat!peter parker x fem!reader

disclaimer — i don’t own tasm or peter. i’ve also been listening to infrunami on repeat for 4 days and had to do something about it.

warnings — mentions of drinking/alcohol, possible ooc, and this is (let’s all say it!) unedited

The frat house was just about as clean as it could be. It was rare for a house full of boys to be spotless, especially with weekly parties like the one going on right now. Surprisingly enough, this particular party had been relatively chill--no broken glass, no body shots. Maybe it was the pungent haze of weed in the air that floated from the mouths of those with sloppily rolled blunts and dying pens. Instead of a blunt, Peter's fingers were wrapped around a red solo cup.

"...and honestly, it's sort of weird because, y'know..."

There was a girl attached to his arm. He wasn't drunk enough to forget her name—well, he wouldn't have forgotten it if he even knew it in the first place. She seemed nice enough: a giggly blonde majoring in poli-sci...or was is psych? Honestly, her introduction was all sort of fuzzy. One minute, he was alone, the next, he was hearing about a research project that was 'sort of weird.'

"Hey, you mind if I go grab another drink?" Peter interrupted her rant, his voice low.

"Oh, yeah, sure," she nods in response, glossy lips stretched into a smile.

He gives her a closed-lipped grin of his own before picking himself off the wall and heading to the kitchen. He weaves his way through the house in an eerily graceful fashion. Upon reaching the kitchen, he looks down at his full cup.

Peter wasn't a dick. At least, he liked to think he wasn't a dick. He wouldn't just tell a girl to piss off if he wasn't interested; he'd make excuses and slip out as fast as possible. Maybe in the long run it was sort of a dick move, but he rarely ever saw those girls again (and if he did, he'd look the other way). There was the fact that he was bound to forget a few faces as well.

“No lady-friend tonight, Parker?” Zack—one of his frat brothers—chimed in his ear. He slipped past Peter and to the keg they’d set on ice in a plastic kiddie pool. Never once did he think he’d see a Sonic the Hedgehog themed kiddie pool next to the oven.

“It’s like, ten, give it a rest,” Peter shot back, sipping at his beer.

“I saw you talking to that blonde.” Zack smiled and made a gesture of approval as he filled his cup.

“Eh,” Peter shrugged.

“‘Eh?’” Zack’s eyes widened, “I’d say she’s at least three tiers up from ‘eh’ category.”

"Eh," Peter repeats, leaning his head back. It wasn't as if he had a girl wrapped around his arm at every party, but it also wouldn't be surprising to see it. Between his freshman and junior year of college, his body count had increased significantly. He had regular hookups—at least one every week and rarely ever with the same person more than once or twice. It was easier to just love 'em and leave 'em. At least, that's what he told himself every time he was ordering an Uber for the girl in his bed.

"Well, if you're gonna 'eh' her, mind if I give it a try?" Zack asked, taking a gulp of the beer, swiping the foam off his lip with his thumb.

"Be my guest," Peter waved him off casually.

"I'm gonna go full Zack-Attack," he grinned widely, shooting Peter a thumbs up.

"Never say that again," Peter called out, though, Zack had already turned his back to approach the blonde. And so it was just him and his beer. His beer and him. A cup and a hand, a drink and a tongue, a—damn, he was bored. Normally, he really liked these parties. He could get a decent buzz or high and usually end the night with someone going down on him. Tonight, though, was so dull. He felt (ironically) like a fly on the wall, watching the world around him through a vignette filter. The boredom was almost comforting. Nothing was happening, but then again, nothing was happening. He could bask in the fact that he had nothing and no one to do—

Thump.

Karma was real, and it was a total bitch. Right when Peter had decided that his night was going to be one of peaceful indifference, he watched an obviously inebriated boy stumble past him. He saw it all happen in slow motion: the way the his feet dragged into one another, one shoe catching the lace of the other. Before the realization that he was falling could hit, Peter grabbed the boy's shoulder and righted him. Unfortunately, the drink in the boy's hand hadn't been so lucky. It slipped from his hands and splashed out beyond him like amber rainfall. If Peter hadn't had much to drink, he probably could've caught it. But his senses were somewhat dulled, and the liquid was already pouring from the lip of the cup.

"Oh, shit."

Karma actually wasn't that bad, Peter thought, as his eyes flashed ahead of him. Instead of splashing onto the floor, the beer had landed on an innocent bystander. An extremely attractive innocent bystander.

Her face was crinkled up like a disappointed mother who just came home to see her kid shoving stuffed animals down the toilet. Though her jeans were nearly beer-free, her shirt was entirely soaked, Splash Mountain soaked. Her gaze first landed on the boy, then on Peter. Okay, so karma was actually really cool.

"I am so sorry!" The boy slurred, his eyes drawn open in horror.

"Yeah, I figured," she sighed. She didn't sound condescending—she just sounded like she was already over it. The ends of Peter's lips twitched, but he suppressed the smirk.

"I can't believe I spilled my drink on you!" The boy was much less over it than she was, "I'm so sorry! I—oh, man—"

"Hey, bud, I heard they're doing Jägerbombs out on the porch," Peter whispered to the boy. The guilt was gone from his face almost instantaneously, replaced with an almost childlike sense of wonder.

"I fucking love Jägerbombs!" He exclaimed, his empty solo cup forgotten as stumbled off and out of the kitchen.

"I've never seen someone move on so fast," Wet Shirt Girl spoke up, watching the boy nearly fall again.

"The power of Jägerbombs," Peter suggested. He slipped his windbreaker from his arms and held it out to her, offering a smile along with it.

"Here," he said, "It doesn't exactly fix the wet shirt, but it works for now."

"Thanks," she nodded, grabbing the jacket. She slid it on with an almost exhausted sigh before speaking again: "I’ll only smell horrible now."

Peter laughed at that. He watched her zip it up, he watched the way it strained against—

"I'm Peter." His eyes connected with hers again. A brief look of shock took over her face before it melted back into the same neutral expression she held before. He almost wondered if it was a brief stroke of imagination that made him see her widened eyes.

"I bet you are." Was her reply. Oh?

"That's usually the cue to introduce yourself," he said, a hint of a smile still on his lips.

"Usually is," she nodded. There was a brief moment of silence, an awkward pause at which they stood at a stalemate. Peter took her in again. She was cute. Really cute. Even if she had been weird about introductions, he couldn't help but admire her. So, he spoke up, his voice splitting through the silence but not the tension.

"Do you want to borrow a shirt?" He asked, "My room's right upstairs." When she didn't immediately reply, he quickly added: "I swear I'm not trying to pull anything, I just figured it would probably be pretty uncomfortable wearing a beer shirt."

She watched him for a moment, her eyebrows crinkling in a way that made Peter fight off another smile. He knew he'd won when she let out another sigh, the tired, over-it kind that he was already becoming familiar with it.

"Alright," she nodded. Peter chose not to hide his grin as he mimicked her nod. He led her away from the kitchen and towards the staircase, peering over his shoulder every once in a while to make sure she was still in his tow. Sure enough, every time he looked, she would be there, pulling the windbreaker—his windbreaker—around her.

His room wasn't messy, exactly. There were scattered papers and rogue socks, and of course his flannel sheets were crinkled at the foot of his bed, but it wasn't disgusting. Their entrance was nothing less than unceremonious.

"This is my room," he stated the obvious, gesturing around.

"I would've never guessed." She shook her head. He gave her another small smile before he crossed the room to his dresser. He searched his drawers for something baggy and stupid, something he wouldn't miss. After a few seconds, he landed on a gray shirt with a smiling pterodactyl on the front. Faded words words under the creature read 'You're Dino-Soaring!' Good enough.

“Hopefully this shirt isn’t too provocative,” he grinned as he handed it over.

“Hm, I’ll have to make it work,” she said, inspecting the shirt in an overdramatized sort of way. While she looked at the shirt, Peter went right back to looking at her. She’d be a welcoming sight to wake up to next morning. He wouldn’t even mind paying for her Uber—hell, he might even walk her out of the house, make sure she gets in—

“You got a bathroom I can use? To change?” Her voice interrupts his thoughts, and he shakes the clouds from his eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded. A few doors down and they make it to the bathroom. Peter goes first, checking for drunk bathtub dwellers, before slapping the doorframe.

“All yours,” he announced, leaning against the wall next to the door. She gives him a salute before entering and closing the door behind her. It only takes a minute or two before she’s emerging again, extending the discarded windbreaker to him.

“It’s a little sticky,” she warns as she hands the jacket back to him. Peter’s eyes wandered down to her shirt.

“Oh, look, you’re ‘Dino-Soaring!’” He chuckled, the low, throaty kind that says he’s holding back an actual laugh.

“I’m always Dino-Soaring.” Her laugh accompanies his. His lips curl up in another smile.

“Do you wanna get something to drink? I can promise this one won’t end up on you,” he suggested, holding that same grin.

“Alright.” Her nod makes his lips quirk up higher. In a reverse of moments prior, he leads her down the stairs and to the kitchen when the sticky remnants of the spill have dried to the floor.

“What’s your poison?” He asked as he tucked the windbreaker under his arm.

“Just Coke—I think I’m gonna tap out for tonight.” Her eyes travel over the sticky floor and the stained shirt in her hands.

“Two Cokes, coming up,” Peter nodded. Two red cans are procured from the fridge in an instant.

“Thanks,” she hummed as she took the drink from his hands, “And thanks for the shirt, too. It really would’ve sucked to have to wait until I’m home to change.”

“Don’t mention it.” He waved her off, cracking open the tab of the Coke.

“Living in a frat must be…sticky.” She can’t seem to peel her eyes off the spilled patch of beer.

“Sometimes,” Peter chuckled, “But it’s not all bad. I get to give out dinosaur shirts.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that I’m not the first girl to ever Dino-Soar around these parts,” she gasped in mock surprise.

“No, no, trust me, I’ve never seen someone Dino-Soar quite like you,” he grinned in reply. He liked her. She was a little awkward, but so was he. He liked her smile, her laugh. He’d probably like her name, too, if she would ever give it to him.

“You never told me what your name is.” His head cocked to the side in a questioning manner. Her expression twisted in a way that told him she knew that was coming.

“That’s right,” she hummed, “Never told you it. Before I do, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he nodded approvingly.

“Do you not recognize me?” Her lips curled in a small smile, “Peter, we’ve had classes together since freshman year—and not just the lecture hall ones, like, the ones where there’s only twelve people in the room. It’s sort of a statistical marvel. I’m honestly less offended and way more impressed that you don’t know me.”

The words hit him like a semi-truck. Really? She’d been in his classes? She had to be joking—no, she wasn’t joking, the look on her face told him that much. He immediately searched through his memory for her face, combing through classes. Peter never took himself as someone with a bad memory, but he was starting to change his mind. She had to be lying—she wasn’t lying.

“You’re—”

“Where have you been? What the hell are you wearing?” He’s interrupted by another voice. Sliding onto the scene (and effectively ruining Peter’s chances of salvaging the situation into a hookup) is a girl with puffy red hair. Freckles dot her olive skin and scrunch with her as she brings her nose up.

“Long story,” Dino-Soaring Girl responds with a smile, the one she’d been giving to Peter only a moment ago.

“Okay, okay, we’ll come on,” the redhead grasped her arm gently, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Liv threw up after doing a Jägerbomb and we’re gonna head out. I don’t wanna leave without you.”

“The power of Jägerbombs,” Dino-Soaring Girl shook her head. Before she was dragged off, she turned to Peter for one last look.

“See you in class?” She suggested with a smile. He didn’t get to respond before she was gone, the redhead threading through the masses of people. Peter watched her go, unsure whether he should be confused or smiling. He chose the latter.

Peter Parker wasn’t dumb, but he was stupid. And, he was out of a dinosaur t-shirt.

I. Am. So. Over. This. Kindness is free and too many people take without passing it along. Be a bigger giver than a taker.

Please someone photoshop this into a crowd of screaming fans....

Look at him go

Tagging some folks for fun, no pressure:

@sincericida @luvablehand @blooming-violets @theradioactivespidergwen @p3mybeloved @periprose @ficthots@rancidpancakebatter