This Makes My Heart So Happy And Tingly Im Sure You'll Run Into Him Again!!!

This makes my heart so happy and tingly💕 im sure you'll run into him again!!!

can i spill tea?

im bored as HELL so i'll sue you if you DON'T SPILL TEA.

“very few people asked, but this is my favourite moment in the Heartstopper show. the look between them - this is the moment Nick realises that he is safe with Charlie. and allows himself to be truly vulnerable in front of him.”

alice oseman via twitter

^^^

for the love of god please listen to old users when we say this site works differently. that you can’t just sit around with a blank blog. make posts or reblog, but do something at least. this site works because we don’t have an unavoidable garbage algorithm forcefeeding us posts based on our likes. we do not need another fucking twitter, tiktok or instagram.

“very few people asked, but this is my favourite moment in the Heartstopper show. the look between them - this is the moment Nick realises that he is safe with Charlie. and allows himself to be truly vulnerable in front of him.”

alice oseman via twitter

I love this sriescant wait for the next part

iii. melrose stains on your lips

synopsis: sylvia misses spider-man. peter thinks he'll go crazy if he walks into another café so he decides to take a break from his 'barista hunt'. you are drowning in deadlines and keep having to clean off your paint-stained bedsheets after working on a project. your friends drag you along to some random rich boy's house party to drink your problems away. alternatively, you get lost and spider-man takes you home.

warnings: alcohol use, inebriated antics, minimal sylvia

word count: 5.7k

note: i'm sorry this took so long i've been super busy and also i forgot how to write so please accept a chapter thats more than twice as long as the others to make up for it!

here’s the playlist!

series masterlist

The old lady at the laundromat definitely thought you were a serial killer. It was the most natural conclusion for her to come to, and to be honest, you couldn’t blame her. You were there once a week without fail, hauling in plastic tarps to rinse off and the scarlet stained bedsheets you were too scared to shove in your own washing machine for fear of ruining your clothes. 

It didn’t help that she refused to even look at you whenever you tried to explain it was just paint. Your story didn’t even sound believable to you, but it was really just paint and not dried blood.

You’d given up trying and resorted to keeping your distance from her. Choosing to go for night runs instead, finding the added bonus of it being cool and quiet to be very relaxing after a long day.

You walked back home dragging your now clean bedsheets. Sylvia was eagerly awaiting the sound of you unlocking the door. She darted out to dance in between your legs, purring as she rubbed up against you in a startling but very much appreciated welcome.

You should’ve been more cautious, less trusting of the cat.

You should’ve known she wouldn’t be this nice to you today. Not after you so cruelly refused to feed her a second breakfast. You caught her after she broke into the pantry and decided to start keeping her food in a locked cabinet. 

Sylvia took her chance to make an escape. She bounded down the stone stairs, leaping as she made to reach the sidewalk. A shrill noise left you as you spun around to see where she ran out from under you.

Two hands caught her midair.

Spider-man was hanging upside down from the lamp post at the foot of the stairs leading down from your house. Squirming cat in hand, he smoothly jumped down and jogged up to greet you.

“Honestly Y/N what would you do without me? She really doesn’t seem to like you does she?” He looked down at the escapist in question who had quieted down her outraged yowling considerably when she realised who was holding her. 

You could hear the smirk in his voice and shook your head, sighing as you stared at your treacherous cat. “I don’t know why she likes you so much,” you say, voice tinged with wistfulness and something forlorn.

“It’s the lycra,” he deadpanned.

You snorted. “I don’t think cats are particularly fond of it, look at her she’s so conflicted, the poor thing.”

As if on cue, Sylvia wriggled in his arms, her perpetual irritation scrawled across her face like she couldn’t get comfortable but didn’t want to leave him.

“All the ladies love a man in lycra,” the hero stated seriously.

“I’m sure they do Spider-man,” you returned, equally sombre.

He perked up slightly. “Does that mean y-,”

“Not another word,” you cut him off abruptly. Not wanting to allow him to verbalise what you knew would be another attempt at flirting with you that would inevitably result in a rush of heat crawling up your cheeks.

Spider-man laughed, knowing full well the reason you stopped him from finishing his sentence.

“Don’t you have someplace to be? Crime to fight? Villains to prevent destroying the city?” you bit out half-heartedly, a smile creeping across your face against your will.

“I’ve been otherwise occupied by a very lovely lady, it’s hardly my fault,” Spider-man said pointedly.

You raised an eyebrow. Mouth opened to quip back at his forwardness, when he held Sylvia out to you, she looked back at him in shock at the vigilante’s betrayal, before resigning herself to her inevitable fate as she dangled limply from his outstretched hands. You frowned at her as you put down your laundry bag to take her. You placed her down just past the doorframe and shooed her into the house. 

You turned back around, fully expecting him to have taken advantage of your turned back to swing off into the night without a sound. He was still standing there, towering over you as always. Head tilted as he stared at you with those big silvery mask eyes.

“I should go, I had just stopped by to see how you were,” he admitted, finally explaining what he was doing hanging off your street lamp. “I hadn’t seen you in a while so I just…” he trailed off with a shrug.

You nodded and explained you’d not been stepping out too often, thoroughly buried under heaps of canvas, paint and projects. The two of you made small–talk, you let it slip that your friends were making you go to a party the following Friday. Spider-man seemed intrigued by this little factoid, pouncing on it and not letting it go. You waved him off, saying it was at some guy’s house who you didn’t know personally. You didn’t even know his name, to be completely transparent about the affair.

Spider-man started to say something else, before he stopped. The sound dying in his throat as he twisted around to listen intently to something you couldn’t hear.

He swung off without saying goodbye. 

— 

Peter had given up trying to find you by trawling each and every coffeehouse in the city. He finally came to his senses and realised how stupid he was being, deciding he would simply have to bring himself up organically as he spoke to you through the concrete barrier of the mask. 

He mulled it over all the way back to his apartment. He opened the door to the ridiculously lavish apartment he shared with Harry Osborn and kicked his shoes off, heading straight for his room, in the hopes of avoiding his best friend.

His beeline to the safety of his bedroom was halted almost immediately. 

“I’m throwing a party this Friday.”

Peter groaned loudly. Having been subjected to enough of Harry’s parties to last several incredibly hungover lifetimes, he felt he had done his part as a supportive best friend/clean up crew. Harry steamrolled over Peter, rambling on as he cited a myriad of reasons and excuses as to why this party was absolutely essential, how it would exceed any other he’d thrown in the past, every utterance falling on Peter’s unyieldingly indifferent ears. He snapped out of it the instant Harry said something about inviting someone he knew from an art college. 

“Wait what did you say?” he asked, quashing his annoyance that it came out sounding far too curious for him to simply brush off as nothing more than polite interest.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Peter, he repeated his last statement as his brows furrowed in suspicion. A confirmation. Peter nodded and wandered off, cogitating as he tried to figure out the chances that you were going to be brought along by this art friend Harry invited. 

Harry stood alone in the hallway, highly confused about what exactly just transpired and unsure if he had Peter’s permission to temporarily destroy the apartment.

—

As night fell, the sheer volume of bodies pressed against each other grew exponentially, making Peter wonder if their party was in violation of some sort of code or regulation for how many people were allowed in a given square footage. It was a fire safety hazard at the very least. Harry had long been swallowed by the crowd. Peter didn’t know a single person there and was seriously concerned at how many people his best friend knew. 

It was a waiting game. He had camped out near the entrance so he wouldn’t miss you if you did happen to show. Nursing his 3rd refill of a concoction he fashioned out of whatever was left out on the kitchen island, Peter surveyed the chaos from where he was quite conveniently nestled on a windowsill. The bay windows looked out into the walkway and out past the fence, he could see everyone walk in.

It took another hour before Peter gave up and threw himself into the writhing crowd. The music was earsplitting, the bass thrumming in his bone marrow. Peter felt like his brain was numb, incapable of processing a single thought. Each of his synapses had individually shut down and he had become part of the many-legged creature that took over his home. He didn't know how long he’d been mindlessly swaying along before Harry yelled in his ear.

“PETER HEY THERE’S SOMEONE I’D LIKE YOU TO MEET,”

Peter winced and spun around just before Harry yanked at the crook of his elbow, pulling him to the outskirts of the pulsing crowd where the music was somehow even louder. He could feel his eardrums vibrating as they threatened to shatter. 

“HARRY WHAT? WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?”

“OK THIS IS FELICIA REMEMBER I TOLD YOU ABOUT HER?” AND HER FRIEND Y/N!” Harry screamed this directly into Peter’s ears, because he was a good friend and didn’t want Peter to humiliate him in front of the pretty girls he invited by getting their names wrong.

Peter did a double take so fast he gave himself whiplash. He stared at you incredulously. It was actually you. You were here, standing in front of him; a smile on your face as you waved at him.

In the lull while the next queued up song started, Harry grabbed Felicia’s arm and they took off. Felicia threw you a not so subtle wink over her shoulder before cackling as Harry chased her, leaving you and Peter alone, glaring at your respective friends for abandoning you. You turned to the tall boy standing in front of you. He stuck his hand out.

“Hi, I’m Peter. Parker. Peter Parker.”

You snorted and took his hand, shaking it and then dropping it gently while he smiled at you like a blessing. 

“Hi Peter Parker, I’m Y/N.” 

You made small talk, wandering to the makeshift bar Harry made on the marble countertop. Peter didn’t know what drink number he was on, he barely felt it anyway. Peter grabbed a beer while you perused Harry’s collection. You lifted a bottle of wine in question and Peter shrugged, nodding in approval at your selection and theft of an entire bottle. You were already buzzed having pre-gamed with Felicia and some other friends before arriving.

You found it easy to talk to Peter, he was funny, smart, and it was glaringly obvious how pretty he was. He seemed vaguely familiar and you found your gaze drawn to his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. He looked like the kind of boy who would break your heart without even realising. 

You think you would let him.

— 

You somehow wound up in the centre of the stupidly large crowd, dancing with Peter after downing your body weight in wine, vodka and some saccharine sweet cocktail Peter made for himself that you ended up stealing sips of when he wasn’t looking. 

Everything was warm and slow. You felt like you were sinking into a cloud, all weightless and floaty.

His hands ghosted over your waist like he was scared to touch you. You spun in the lovely cage his arms created, your chests so close they’re almost touching. Peter was looking down, watching you. You couldn’t read his expression, burnt amber eyes shined at you from under his long lashes. 

The rainbow flashing lights cast a stained glass glow on him. His perfectly messy brown hair that you suspected was entirely accidental was painted red and violet. His skin was dappled blue and green. This shouldn’t have been as attractive to you as it was. Peter was glowing, and it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you when you found yourself bridging the dwindling gap between you.

You were flooding his senses. Everything was you, you, you. The little noise you made when he nibbled on your bottom lip. The smell of your honey infused shampoo, all silky and cloying. You even tasted like the peach vodka Peter had a sneaking suspicion you’d been stealing from him and the press of your lips on his confirmed it.

The feel of you against him was like a fever dream. Peter thought he was undergoing some bizarre sort of metempsychosis, his soul transmigrated back into his body in a metaphysical mix up. 

He wasn’t allowed to dwell on this for too long. Your hands coming up to rest around the back of his neck, fingertips scratching the hair at the base of his head. Peter could feel you smiling against his lips at the groan he let escape when you grew bolder, snaking your hand into his hair and tugging gently.

Peter’s gossamer touch, his hands hovering over your form, had settled. He was gripping you tightly now, one hand on your waist and the other holding your face. His thumb stroking your soft skin. The fabric from your dress all scrunched up, like he was scared you’d deliquesce into a melrose apparition. You moaned into him and Peter took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

You broke away first, chest heaving. Your foreheads touched, still leaning into each other. Breathing the other’s air. You were so close you could count each eyelash, each little freckle that kissed along his jaw. Peter opened his mouth, about to ask you something, when you were abruptly pulled out of his arms. 

Felicia and two other girls he assumed you arrived with dragged you away, the last of you he saw was an apologetic frown at him before Felicia stepped behind you. Her long silvery hair swished like a whip and then all four of you were lost.

Peter didn’t remember the music being that loud two minutes ago.

—

You stumbled towards the wrought iron gates and giggled to yourself deliriously. Fingers curled around the cool metal, you let your head sag. Forehead gently pressed into a bar as you murmured meaningless words to nobody in particular. You sniffed and rubbed your eyes, belated realising you had smudged your mascara once you pulled your hands away to find the little black streaks staining your fingertips. A small pout inched its way onto your face at this, pulling your eyebrows down along with it.

Sighing, you pushed off the gate and walked, alone and unsteady in the direction that seemed like it would take you home quickest. Your head was spinning and you could feel everything. You wandered along, the notion of home tugging you along, down this road and that.

It was all fuzzy around the edges, you snickered thinking of how everything looked like it belonged on the inside of a cotton ball. You kept walking, dragging your hands on the sides of buildings. It took about 15 minutes of mindless strolling for you to come to the conclusion that you were hopelessly lost. Nothing looked right and for some inconceivable reason, you couldn’t recognise any of the buildings or street signs as you spun in a lazy circle. 

The dimly lit streets offered little to no consolation for your predicament. You kicked yourself mentally for this, knowing that had you maintained some fraction of sobriety you’d immediately know where you were. 

Tears welled up in your reddened eyes, little salty pools gathered to mock your despondency. You were probably going to get kidnapped, you thought. Or worse, you would wake up after sleeping out in the street in the cold and missing your class in the morning and come home to find all your art torn to shreds because Sylvia got hungry when you never came home and decided to take her infinite wrath out on your work. You were going to get thrown out of college and your aunt was going to come back home and disown you. 

Fat tears rolled down your face, bottom lip trembling for all it was worth as you unsuccessfully willed yourself not to cry. Arms tucked tightly close to your body as you trudged along. You almost didn’t register the person you nearly bumped into, lost in your pacing and the impending threat of never finding your home again.

“Hey, hey look at me, what’s wrong? Are you okay sweetheart?” strong hands come to rest on your shoulders, steadying you. 

You risk a peek up at the stranger, imagining the worst possible outcome of this unexpected interuptance. The silvery, unblinking panels of Spider-man’s eyes stare back at you owlishly. 

It’s as though someone melted the moon down into a shimmering ore, the residual glow of a captured asterism still reflecting off its metallic surface in a pathetic bid to emulate ommatidia without realising that spiders didn’t even have them.

You lit up once you registered Spider-man as the stranger and hugged him tightly. Earlier tears were already forgotten. He laughs softly and pats your head, confused, but delighted nonetheless at the show of affection. He peels you off delicately, like you were made of butterfly wings and promises, all soft and easily broken. Taking your tear-streaked face in his gloved hands, he scanned you up and down, making sure you didn’t somehow hurt yourself in the 5 minute window he didn’t have his eyes on you. 

He had been worried when he lost sight of you at Harry’s house. Searching for an inordinate amount of time before overhearing your friend after almost an hour, telling whoever she was dancing with that you had just said your goodbyes had sent him running out of the house as fast as his legs would allow.

He had to stop to change into the suit in what may have been the most humiliating experience Peter Parker had the pleasure of living through. He refused to acknowledge it and he would vehemently deny everything if by some nightmarish chance he was ever questioned about it.

“I’m lost,” you mumbled to him, unsure all of a sudden.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

You nodded vigorously, nearly sobbing with relief at his arrival and hugged him once more. Peter stiffened infinitesimally at this and then melted into you like butter left on the counter on a hot summer day. You were too delighted by the prospect of home and a warm bed waiting for you to even care.

He held you close, his grip on your waist tightening every time you faltered. He didn’t know how you did it, but you managed to walk 3 blocks in the opposite direction of your house. He stopped walking when he realised you were dragging your feet and were leaning further into his arms. 

You were falling asleep on him. 

Peter sighed and looked down fondly at you, half slumped on him. He chewed it over in his head. He could just swing you home safe and sound before you knew it and face your wrath later, if you even remembered it, or he could continue walking you home and risk you falling and spraining your ankle and only getting home in half an hour provided you avoided a hospital visit.

It was no contest in his head. The chances of you having any recollection of this in the morning had plummeted every second you spent in Harry’s house. 

Peter looked both ways down the road before he scooped you up, hands securely under your knees and behind your back. You didn’t seem to mind or even notice, perfectly happy to wrap your arms around his neck, snuggling into his warm, solid frame; fully intending to go to sleep. Until he shook you gently and craned his neck down to whisper “Y/N, hey look at me. I am so, so sorry for this but please please don’t freak out and hit me, I promise it’ll be quick.”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you pulled your head out from where it was nestled under his jaw to look at him, all doe-eyed and disoriented; not able to understand the weight behind his words. He didn’t give you time to process before you found yourself airborne.

You clutched at him desperately and yelped. A shriek left your lips every time he let go of a web. Eyes shut tight and head tucked into his chest, you dug your chin in as far as it would go, definitely jabbing him in the sternum every time you dared to open your eyes, but he didn’t complain.

He should’ve been more concerned about you tearing into the suit with how harshly you had the fabric twisted into your fists, you thought in some deep, cavernous recess of your liquor-addled mind. 

For what it was worth, Spider-man didn’t lie. It was all over in under 5 minutes.

He put you down gingerly, arm still around your waist to steady you. You looked up at him, bloodshot eyes full of reproach, your bottom lip sticking out like a petulant child. 

“I’m sorry,” he shrugged as though it couldn’t be helped.

You were amazed at how he always did that; spoke with so much sincerity and honesty that made you hang on every word he uttered. 

It was aggravating.

He sounded so heartfelt and all you wanted was to be annoyed at him. Like telling off a puppy that slobbered all over your shoes when it brought them to you, hoping the action would somehow be helpful and make you smile.

Any protest you had died on the tip of your tongue before it could be spoken into existence. A begrudging thanks was the least you could offer him, still wanting him to feel some tiny amount of guilt for giving you a tour of the city from an angle you wished to never see again if you could avoid it.

Peter watched the annoyance sublimate into something else. The dazed, faraway look in your eyes should’ve forewarned him.

He coughed awkwardly, squirming under your stare. Your pupils had dilated. Expanding so much in the dark, the shallow grooves of your nerve rings stretched out like talons from your pupil to grasp at what little illumination was available. Peter could just barely make out the sliver of your coloured iris. He shifted again, uncomfortable as you seemed to look simultaneously right at him and straight through him. Like you were searching into the very fibre of his being, seeing something people shouldn’t be able to see.

“Are you going to go inside?” he tentatively asks in an attempt to pull you out of your head.

“Depends.” you say simply.

“On?”

“On you.”

“O-oh?” Peter’s voice came out higher than he wanted, Adam’s apple visibly bobbing through his suit.

“Are you going to come in with me?” something malevolent laced your words, hidden under a giggle and the coquettish smile blossoming on your face. Your petal lips twisting up at the corners like rose thorns. 

You looked like you wanted to eat him alive and Peter was immediately lightning-struck by the thought that he would happily let you; at a later date when you could, at the very least, walk in a straight line without falling over and he could be sure you were fully aware of what you were saying.

It was a cruel joke. Some cosmic entity with severely sadistic tendencies was stuffing its face with hot buttery popcorn, calling its closest friends and family to come watch the miserable path Peter’s life was travelling down.

He could still taste your tongue in his mouth and you were flirting with him more brazenly than he thought you ever would. You had always reciprocated his blatant flirting but it was always much tamer, as if you were only doing it to indulge him. If Peter couldn’t hear the way your heartbeat picked up ever so slightly when he said something mildly risqué, he would’ve assumed the attraction was entirely one-sided. He never thought you actually meant any of it. 

You didn’t even know you had drunkenly made out with the man standing in front of you less than an hour ago. 

Spider-man sighed and conceded. 

You squealed and clapped like he just performed a trick for you. Grabbing haphazardly at your bag, you spent what should’ve been a stupidly long time to fish for your keys and even longer to open the door. You dropped the keys at least twice and kept trying to unlock the door with the wrong key, utterly oblivious to the fact that there were only 2 keys on the chain; swatting at Spider-man every time he went to take the keys from you and do it himself.

He cheered when the door finally swung open, much to your delight. 

Ever the gentleman, Peter held the door open for you to stagger into. You were whispering something under your breath. Peter only caught fragments of words, half sentences and unfinished thoughts. Your hand trailed the walls as you wandered through the hall, half for support and half unconscious action while Spider-man closed the door behind himself.

Peter had never been inside your house, always dropping you off at the door and swinging away before you had the chance to invite him in. It felt reverential and oddly intrusive despite your wanting him to come in. He could only compare the feeling to reading someone else’s diary while they watched. 

Maybe a better analogy was seeing an artist create something right in front of you, a piece that would mark them down centuries later as the most influential artist of the time period.

He knew the house belonged to your aunt, but he still saw pieces of you everywhere. The pile of shoes strewn indiscriminately near the entrance, the flecks of paint that seemed to cluster as he walked further into the house like a trail of multicoloured constellations leading to your art studio.

The clattering of you taking your shoes off drew Peter out of his head, mildly alarmed you were going to fall. You balanced on one leg as you undid the lacing on your shoes. He ran to you, arms out to catch you but you tipped over before he could get to you. 

He crouched down, looking all over you for the second time tonight; searching for signs of any grievous, hospital worthy injury you sustained in your fall.

You looked at him blankly before remembering yourself. Your lips a faultline, the earth shaking as they split. You beamed up at Spider-man, entirely nonplussed by the fact you were sprawled out on the floor. One shoe dangling from your ankle, your elbow digging into the sole of the one you discarded previously as you pushed yourself into a more comfortable sitting position.

“Are you hungry? I’m hungry,” you said. 

Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked down at you, the flesh tender and worn from a whole night of biting down on it in all his stress. You babbled on, listing whatever you could remember off the top of your head that you still had stocked in the kitchen. 

The hero nodded his head as you spoke, something that pleased you infinitely as he stuck his arms under your armpits to bring you to your feet and began herding you in the direction of what he hoped was your bathroom. You didn’t seem to notice any of this, happy to carry on what had turned into your steadily growing list of groceries for the next week.

You frowned when you realised you were standing in your bathroom. Head tilted, you stared as he spun around to gain his bearings. He glanced back at you and deemed it safest to push down gently on your shoulders until you were seated on the toilet lid. You did all this without complaint, easy and compliant like a doll. 

Peter turned to the sink and cabinets once he decided you were at no further injury risk. He rummaged around until he managed to procure what looked like a bottle of makeup remover and some cotton rounds. Still holding the bottle and a handful of cotton, he faced you again for a brief second before pausing. Realising it would just be easier if you were at eye level with him rather than still seated on the toilet, he placed them down on the counter.

“Ok, hey Y/N, hi, you wanna stand up for me? Can you do that for me? Please?” he murmured. Something embarrassingly tender sneaking into his voice, curling around each word and weaving itself in between every letter. Making a home in his larynx, electing to only come out when he used that special voice, the tone he reserved exclusively for you.

You sighed and shuffled to your feet, wobbling slightly as you slid off your perch. Peter’s hands hovered over your extended forearms. He manoeuvred the both of you so that you were in front of him, with your back to the mirror. 

“Ok, can you put your hands up here and hold on?” he gestured to his shoulders. You did as he said, somewhat perplexed by the order. You still hadn’t figured out why you were in your bathroom with the hero.

Your feet left the floor. Peter picked you up and plopped you on the counter, a startled noise escaping the pair of you as your nails dug into his suit covered flesh. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You keep scooping me up without telling me!” you insisted in indignation. You hissed at the cold marble pressed against your thighs, your dress having ridden up when you were placed down. Spider-man leaned in, fitting snugly in between your spread legs as he reached behind you. You laugh giddily at this, remembering what happened outside.

“At least buy me dinner first Mr. Public Menace,” you muttered.

His head reared back at that.

 “No! I’m not- the bottle was behind you, I swear I wasn’t-”

You cackled wildly at his expense. Peter shook his head in disbelief and tipped the contents of the bottle onto a cotton pad. Your laughter died down while you watched him, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

“Wait, those are gloves? Like they come off?” you inquired, intently eyeing the hollow between your bodies where his bare hands worked at trying to put the lid back on the bottle. His head nearly bumped yours when he moved to look at you. He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and nodded.

“It’s easier to clean, and I don’t have to replace the whole suit as often. The hands always get ruined ‘cause of, you know, all the swinging and friction and stuff.” His hands moved as he explained when he decided to detach them from the suit. You found it beyond endearing.

His hand came up to your face. Fingertips under your chin, he tilted your face up. Your eyes peering into his mask. And then, gentler than you imagined he would, gentler than you thought possible, he swept the cotton over your cheeks. The side of your face fit perfectly in his palm. His thumb rested easily on the crest of your cheekbones and the rest of his fingers stretched to cup your neck. 

You were half convinced he was doing absolutely nothing to remove your makeup, he was treating you like you were made of glass. 

“I’m not going to break, you know,” you whispered. 

“I know sweetheart.”

He shifted almost imperceptibly closer to you. Peter’s thumb brushed over your eyelids, closing them for you. The soaked cotton was cool over your eyes, his index and middle fingers pressed on the skin. Lingering there before he dragged it to the side, a trail of little black flakes from your mascara like a comet’s tail that he swiped away. You kept your eyes closed and leant your face into his warm hand as he worked.

“Are you gonna fall asleep on me again?” he questioned once he finished, shaking the hand supporting you as he spoke.

Your face scrunched up, eyes squinting as you glared at him. He was backlit, the smooth edges of his silhouette trapping you in a penumbra. All blurred lines and darkened edges.

He stepped back, proffering his bare hand to you, palms up. You clasped them in yours, throwing your weight into your joined hands as you jumped off the countertop. You flicked the bathroom light off, the honeyed light melting away behind your back. 

Spider-man hummed some song you couldn’t quite place quietly as you walked through the stygian-stained shadows that so lovingly swathed the walls in velvety ink. You walked in front of him on the stairs, his fingers pressed lightly against the small of your back in the event you lost your footing on the spiral stairs. 

It tickled. The little avian flutters of his fingertips tracing up and down your spine while never straying past the fabric boundary and onto your skin. 

You didn’t turn the light on once you got to your bedroom. Spider-man crouched next to you on the floor, head tilted curiously at you as you laid on your side facing him. You reached your hand out slowly to trace the outline of his eye panels. The material like porcelain under your index finger. 

A shudder passed through his suit-covered body when you deviated from your original path. You began running your fingertip over the bridge of his nose. His hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you from continuing and placing your hand down on your pillow. 

“Good night Y/N,” he whispered, lips pressing against the top of your head in a chaste kiss through his mask.

You mumbled a sleepy goodbye to him as he got up and walked out of your room. 

Peter left through your bedroom window after running downstairs to grab you a glass of water and some painkillers for you when you woke up. He left them on your bedside table, along with a little note reminding you to drink the water and to eat something.

 —

You woke up to sunlight pouring in through your open window. Squinting as your head throbbed, your eyes fell on the items cluttering your little bedside table. A glass of water, two pills and a handwritten note which made your lips quirk up in a small smile.

A small doodle of a spider dangling from a string of web sat next to the name signed at the bottom of it.

:(

till deactivation do us part