Tasm Spiderman - Tumblr Posts
The perfect moodboard for christmas this year!
🎄 . spending christmas with tasm!peter
hot cocoa late at night. swinging on top of buildings to see the pretty lights. spider-man themed gifts. matching ugly sweaters. getting tangled in the xmas lights. decorating the tree together. having an ornament with your picture in it. handwritten letters. baking. hand kisses. borrowing his sweaters. listening to christmas music. watching christmas movies under the warm blankets. ice skating. holding hands. playing with peter's hair. getting matching things. peppermint perfume.
"you're cold, bub." peter says, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck as you cuddle on the couch — "and you're very warm, pete."
I didn't see enough transfem peter parker stuff. So I gonna do it myself.
I thought about Tony interacting with other Peters. (I will call them by names of their actors). Andrew is excited and active, so his interactions with Stark can be funny. Tobey is more calm and chill, also he's oldest Peter. So conversation between him and Tony might be similar to conversation between parent and oldest child
Harry and Peter are both queer and neurodivergent. Because I said so
Harry Osborn from tasm. I really like this guy. He's very charismatic
PETER PARKER — the amazing spider-man (2012)
No cause this is me with Spiderman, like I saw a kid the other day wearing a Spiderman hoodie and I freaked the fuck out.
Getting into an extremely popular and mainstream superhero was the best decision I've ever made because I truly get to see my guy everywhere. Just saw a batman birthday cake at the grocery store and my brain immediately got flooded by serotonin. I love it
Him.
I lowkey like how Peter kept doing dumb shit even after the whole "with great powers comes great responsibilities" because it's peak teenage behavior. Like he is genuinely trying but the lack of commons sense will get him in trouble you know?
Someone on here said “I love the way you draw Andrew” and that was enough for me to draw for the full 48 hours after HDHAH
Thank you so much to that person for the compliment and the motivation RAH <3
I’m going to clean up the linework some more but was way too excited to share, I’m kinda proud of this one
(Edit: I cleaned it up a little >:D TOP LEFT SPIDEY GAVE ME ISSUES FR 🫡)
"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
"Am I the best kiss you've ever had?" ---kicking him is NOT answering the question! Uh-huh...don't think our reader wants to examine that too deeply just yet though amIrite??
Will B is a bit of a conundrum. Observant enough to catch sight of the ring and at whom reader was gazing, name dropping composers but not exactly familiar with their work, (to be fair, not a lot of folks are well-versed in classical music which he admits), and our dear Reader (to this reader anyway) knows who he is because she's done her research but he only tells her his first name and then she seemingly gives him the knowledge that she knows who he is with her subsequent question. I don't know if that was author's intention or what else you've got planned, but it sure makes me wonder if he's not so nice of a guy underneath that benign suave exterior...guess I'll have to read more to find out! Just hope Reader doesn't underestimate the amount of investigating that the opposition might be doing as she and Mr. Parker are conducting theirs. I like mystery and suspense so this got my attention.
Back to that closet though....mmmmhmmm. Seemed a bit warm in there...
Looking forward to the next update!
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
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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
LOTMF's Masterlist:
(Note: this should go without saying, but I'm not your mother and therefore it's not my responsibility to police what you read, so if you're under 18 I'd appreciate you sticking to the T & under stories.)
(All of my works are cross-posted to AO3 ONLY. If you see them on Wattpad, etc, please report them!)
Matt Murdock:
Salvation (M 🔥, 12 Chapters, ~31,200 words, Complete)
Salvation Chapter 1 - Matt's PoV (T, One-shot, ~3,300 words)
Salvation - 6 Months Later (T, One-Shot, ~2,500 words)
Meet Me in the Aftermath (E 🌶️, One-shot, ~4,000 words)
Angel of God, My Guardian Dear (E 🌶️, ONGOING)
Angel of God -- The St. Agnes Years (T, ONGOING)
Cooking Up Love (T, ONGOING)
Michael Kinsella:
It's Always Been You (Reader's Version) (E 🌶️, One-Shot, ~3,500 words)
It's Always Been You (Michael's Version) (E 🌶️, One-Shot, 5k words)
It's Always Been Us (E 🌶️, ONGOING)
Conversations (E 🌶️, One-Shot, ~2800 words)
TASM!Peter Parker:
Make My Wish Come True (T, One-Shot, ~2500 words)
Be Mine, Valentine (M🔥, One-Shot, ~2900 words)
hes so me coded guys
face reveal guys (im actually peter parker)
GUTS ! —(planned) masterlist
!!!the stories disappear onto my masterlists once they're finished!!!
bad idea, right?, james potter —there’s something intoxicating in the way that you and james just can’t keep away from each other ! (gn!reader)
the grudge, tasm!peter parker —when being spider—mans girlfriend becomes dangerous, peter makes a decision that breaks your heart ! (fem!reader)
love is embarrassing, james potter —everyone knew that james potter was in love with lily evans and everyone but you seemed to understand what that meant ! (fem!reader)
making the bed, stiles stilinski —while the world you once knew is burning to the ground, you feel as if you’re slowly losing your mind and slipping away from reality ! (gn!reader)
logical, anthony lockwood —there are mutual feelings in both your hearts, but there are mutual fears as well ! (fem!reader)
marvel masterlist
fluff (f), angst (a), suggestive (s), platonic (p), injury/ blood (w), humor (c)
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❛ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 ❜
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𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 (1.1k)
i wish I could take your pain away too (1.1k) — after pietro's death, you try to comfort your sister (a,p)
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𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐦!𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 (4.3k)
fix me up (1.6k) — there's nothing peter can do to save your life (a)
underneath the tree (1.2k) — you and peter both struggle to find the perfect gift and end up proving why you belong together (f,w)
tolerate it (1.5k) — maybe you and peter had done a good job at ignoring your problems, or maybe there was nothing worth saving anymore (a)
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𝐦𝐜𝐮!𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 (5.1k)
a holly jolly christmas (0.4k) — just a few domestic headcanons about living with the avengers (f)
lacy (2.7k) —peter parker was everything you wanted to be, but you just couldn't hate him for it (f,a,s)
hey stephen (2k) —you and peter have to fix a little mistake one of the avengers made. luckily you're a great team (f,c)
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7 works
—tolerate it
pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader
summary: maybe you and peter had done a good job at ignoring your problems, or maybe there was nothing worth saving anymore
warnings: toxic!peter, basically a very toxic relationship, underage drinking, a bit too much drinking.. let me know if i missed something
note: the ending is a bit in the air, you can make out of it what you want
"hey! how are you?" gwen hugged you smiling and sat down on the sofa beside you.
"i'm good" you smiled "where's harry?" you asked, finding it weird that he was nowhere in sight.
"oh he's off playing beer-pong with his friends" gwen explained "i saw you across the room and thought i'd join you" she paused, unsure if she should say what she was thinking, but eventually did "you looked lonely"
you nodded your head and gwen swore she saw you blink away a tear. "thanks for sitting by me" you smiled and then looked around the room quickly "i don't know where he is, he told me to wait here. it's been an hour since i've last seen him"
"oh sweetheart" you had almost bursted into tears at her caring tone "he just left you here?"
you shrugged, it's not like that was something new to you. peter would often bring you with him to these frat parties, just to disappear into thin air the moment you entered a place.
"i don't mind" you lied and gwen looked at you unbelievingly. "it's great that you are here, finally someone i know" you meant to change the topic, but gwen furrowed her brows at that.
"he left you alone and you don't even know anyone?" she asked unbelievingly "does he know how dangerous these parties can get?"
the question was rhetoric. of course peter knew that.
"i don't drink" you said, as if that would make it any better.
"doesn't matter" gwen shook her head "everyone else does" she took a calming breath "why would you even be here when you just sit on your own?"
"because peter likes to take me with him"
"and he isn't anywhere to be found" gwen looked around the room "typical"
"he doesn't always do that"
"he did it back in highschool too" gwen reminded you "i thought he had stopped with that, i thought he had changed, was the only explanation for me how you guys were still together"
"i really don't mind"
"well you should" she looked at you worriedly "why don't you just break up with that dick, y/n?"
"i love him" you said as if that would excuse everything. "i have loved him for the past five years"
"and he treats you like that?"
you shrugged. "i can't help it" you almost said bitterly "sometimes i hate him, especially when he does things like that, but i still love him"
"do you think that is healthy?" gwen asked genuinely.
you shook your head and tears brimmed at your eyes. "no" you looked into her eyes and she could've almost started crying too. "love shouldn't be like this, right? loving someone should be easy" you turned your head to look at harry and gwen followed the direction your eyes where going "it looks easy for you two"
gwen had to be honest "it's not always easy" she admitted.
"i know" you said "but i don't think it should make me feel how i feel"
"how do you feel?"
"hurt" you simply said "i feel hurt any time i look at him"
gwen was ready to repeat her earlier advice, simply convincing you to finally break up with peter parker, but to her surprise you weren't finished.
you breathed a shaky breath. "and i feel guilty" you almost whispered "there was a time where it was easy to love him, as easy as breathing and doing it made me happy. it felt like back then we were loving each other the right way and now-" you paused and sighed "i don't think we have been loving each other the right way for a long time. but somehow we still belong together, even if that doesn't make sense in the slightest"
"i don't know if it does" gwen said honestly "but that doesn't make it wrong" she thought about what to tell you, and her mind slipped by the question if a frat party was the right place for a conversation like that, but she continued to speak anyway. "did you ever tell peter that?"
"what?" you looked up to her in surprise.
"maybe it would help both of you to talk about it" gwen suggested "he might be feeling the same way" she shrugged. "but just so you know, his behaviour is still absolutely unacceptable and if he doesn't change it up i'll have harry take care of him"
"thank you" you smiled, hugging her.
when you sat back down, there was a loud voice calling your name and soon enough peter entered your field of vision. he was being held up by harry.
"he's wasted" harry explained, which wouldn't have been necessary. you had known it immediately when you had first heard him call for you.
"y/n" peter slurred, trying to free himself out of harry's hold "let's make out"
you sighed and ignored him, instead turning your head at harry and gwen. "could you maybe help me to get him home?" you asked "i would do it alone, but it's late and i don't—“
"of course" gwen interrupted your rambling. harry nodded as well.
"thank you" you said, relieved.
gwen and harry helped you navigate through the crowded party, guiding peter, who was clearly in no state to walk on his own. as you exited the chaos of the frat house, the cool night air hit you, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and exhaustion.
"he's really out of it," harry remarked, glancing at peter struggling to keep his balance.
"yeah" you nodded, a tinge of embarrassment in your voice. "i appreciate your help. i didn't want to deal with this alone."
gwen gave you a sympathetic look "you shouldn't have to deal with this at all," she said, genuine concern etched on her face.
as you reached peter’s place, you collectively managed to get him inside and settled on the couch. harry, ever the protective friend, shot peter a disapproving look.
"i’ll take care of him," you assured them, grateful for their assistance.
harry hesitated, "are you sure you're okay?"
you nodded, "yeah, i’ll manage. thanks again for helping."
after gwen and harry left, you found yourself alone with peter, who was now slumped on the couch, still lost in the haze of alcohol. you sighed, both annoyed and exhausted by the evening's events.
you unfolded one of the blankets, burying peter under it. then you made sure he was laying on the side and set a few alarms to check on him throughout the night. you left the room, slipping into the bed in the other room.
the night was not as busy as you had predicted it to be. peter did not wake up and was fine and breathing as normal any time you checked on him, probably thanks to his faster metabolism, getting rid of the alcohol as fast as it had registered in his body.
it was only nine a.m. when you silently walked out of the bedroom on your way to the toilet. peter was still asleep, peacefully laying on the couch. your eyes softened when they fell on him. he looked so tired, but still much more like him than yesterday.
he was just sitting up when you came back from the bathroom. "hey" he muttered, his voice hoarse.
"hi"
you contemplated gwen's words from yesterday, the sincerity in her eyes when she spoke about love not always being easy. the heaviness in your chest returned as you looked at peter, wondering if it was time to address the issues that had been piling up between you.
"peter," you said, your voice firm but weary. "i think we need to talk."
he blinked at you, not quite awake yet. "talk? right now?"
"yes, peter, right now" you took a deep breath. "I can't keep feeling like this. like i'm alone in our relationship like i'm waiting for you all the time."
his brow furrowed in confusion, but you pressed on, "i love you, but things can't continue like this. we need to figure out if we're still right for each other."
peter's eyes widened. "what are you saying?"
"i'm saying we need to either fix this or admit that maybe it's time to move on," you replied, your voice steady despite the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.
the room fell silent as peter processed your words. eventually, he let out a heavy sigh, "i didn't realize it was this bad."
tears welled up in your eyes, "it's been bad for a while now, peter. we can't keep pretending like everything is fine."
he nodded slowly, a mixture of regret and realization crossing his features. "i want to make us work, but i don't want you to feel like that" he paused, just for a second, a few tears slipping over his cheeks "i didn't know.."
"i should've told you"
"i should've noticed" he looked up at you, regret evident on his features.
"yeah" you admitted "maybe you should've" you softly put a hand on his shoulder, he grabbed it, comfortingly squeezing it.
"i've been acting like a dick, maybe because i knew deep down that something was wrong. i thought shutting you out would shut the problem out too" he admitted and you nodded, somewhat understanding what he was talking about.
"i've been holding on to something too" you said softly "but ignorance won't help us anymore"
"i'm sorry" he said, adverting his eyes.
"i know, peter" you nodded "me too"
Fucking stunning.
blood-splattered angels [tasm!Peter x assassin!fem!reader]
My own take on my TASM prompt challenge (open to anyone who feels like writing; it’s not a competition or exclusive).
Summary: THIS PROMPT - Spider-Man is kidnapped and held hostage by a mob. And then they make their biggest mistake - sending you the address.
Words: 3.8k
Warnings: John Wick-level violence, death, blood, gunfire, whump, torture, male nudity/degradation, panic attacks, noncon voyeuristic photography, mobster-style shootout, description of flu symptoms, vomit, strong language, badass!reader, OP’s awful attempt at writing broken English in a Russian accent.
This was bad. Really bad.
Peter was starting to come out of it, his dazed eyes flickering open—senses bombarded with harsh fluorescent light.
His face was wet with blood, sweat, and yes—he wasn’t ashamed to admit it—tears. The bile on his tongue was so putrid, he thought he’d throw up. Again. Maybe his actual stomach this time.
His body ached and shuddered uncontrollably. It felt like the worst flu of his life, and whatever he thought Ebola probably felt like. Every inch of his skin hurt. What little strength he had left in his muscles was depleting with every involuntary tremble.
He was having a very bad day.
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