Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Present day

Peter Parker was many things: New York’s Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, May Parker’s nephew, Ned Leeds’ best friend, Tony Stark’s-sort-of-personal-intern, MJ’s favorite loser, and Flash Thompson’s favorite emotional punching bag, to name a few.

But most of all, he was fed up—

And moping on a rooftop. For two hours already. 

Yet, despite the biting winds of winter nipping at him, Peter wasn’t cold. During the winter months, he always found himself particularly grateful for the heater Mr. Stark built into his suit. Without it, the mere two hours sitting still on a rooftop would’ve been disastrous for his absolute lack of thermal regulation. Dangerous, even. 

Still, it was unlikely Peter would’ve minded with the state he found himself in at the moment. Being so deep in thought—and self-loathing—that he wouldn’t even notice his metamorphosis into an icicle. 

That wouldn’t be so bad. It worked out fine for Captain America.  

Peter sighed, tearing his gaze away from the roads, many feet beneath his own. The sunlight pierced through the clouds, blinding New York with its glaring light.

Sunrise already, which meant he had another sleepless night behind his back. 

I just hope no one sees me.  

The thought of being perceived was still too…uncomfortable. Made him feel exposed, despite the suit and mask. Disgust continued to buzz underneath his skin from last night’s patrol—

Peter groaned, burying his head in his hands. He was supposed to stop thinking about that. Clear his head, destress, gather himself, and all that jazz. 

Yes, last night had been rough. Hell, come to think of it, that whole year had been rough. And it had started so nice too, but Parker Luck was one unforgiving cosmic force. 

In January of last year, Peter discovered he was aromantic asexual. The discovery was through pure chance; he stumbled upon a random headcanon online, where he first read the words and a stranger’s reasons as to why a character was aroace. Finding he related to some of the things that were written, he decided to look up what aromanticism and asexuality were, and, well, the rest was history. 

Peter still remembered the euphoria; finding words he hadn’t even realized he was missing. Since he felt the same amount of attraction to anyone regardless of gender—that attraction being zero, in hindsight—he figured he was pansexual and called it a day. Still, there was always a disconnect between himself and that label, but what else could it be? 

Finally finding a label that truly fit him? Amazing. Afterward reading about other people’s experiences with said label, and finding his own life experiences reflected back at him? Even better. Discovering just how diverse both the asexual and aromantic communities were? An unexpected, but welcome surprise. 

He’d been so happy—and most importantly—proud. 

How times change.

Where had it all gone wrong? That’s what Peter has spent the last two hours thinking (moping) about. A year’s worth of shit wasn’t easy to wade through. Still, there were four incidents that came to mind. The anniversary of the first came close, already. 

Valentine’s Day. 

Eleven months ago

Peter’s alarm screeched, yanking him out of the deep sleep he’d found himself in mere moments ago. Disoriented and groggy, he turned over to hit the snooze button—only to end up slapping his mattress. His alarm continued to blare on his desk. 

Grumbling, he got out of bed and turned it off. Peter knew why he’d put it there; having risked being late to school too much for comfort. Apparently, staying out late patrolling made it difficult to wake up early in the morning—who would’ve thought?
With his alarm out of reach it forced him to get up. All incredibly smart and logical, but that didn’t mean I-just-got-woken-up Peter liked it.

Aunt May’s footsteps pattered in the kitchen. 

Odd, she’d had a late night shift at the hospital. Whenever that was the case, Peter would see himself off to school. It wasn’t as if he was a young child who needed an adult for something as simple like that, after all. 

(Not counting the times Aunt May had to wake him up for school, but since he’d put his alarm on his desk, that wasn’t needed anymore). 

Not that Peter minded, of course. Having a quick breakfast with May was a good way to start the day… as long as the food hadn’t been made by her. 

The microwave beeped. Soon after, the smell of pancakes, and a hint of syrup, slithered its way through the gap of his door. Store-bought then. 

With relief and a growling stomach fueling him, Peter rushed to the bathroom, cringed at the visible bags beneath his eyes, got dressed, and brushed his teeth. 

“Morning, May,” Peter said, setting the table for the two of them. 

“Morning, honey. Did you sleep okay?” May glanced back at him, giving him a smile, and then continuing to do…whatever she was doing to those pancakes. From Peter’s angle, it looked like she was giving them surgery. 

“Hm? Oh, um, yeah. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” He blurted. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, of course! But you had a late night, and you really didn’t need to get up early for me.”

“I wanted to do a little something special for us,” May turned around, two plates in her hands, setting one down in front of Peter. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. 

On the plate were three heart-shaped pancakes drowned in syrup. 

It’s Valentine’s Day already?  

Peter knew it was getting close. All those adverts, flowers, chocolates, teddy bears holding a heart, what have you, were hard to miss. Despite how much it go shoved down everyone’s throats, Peter considered it a nearby future thing. 

Clearly, his mind needed an update. 

It was his first Valentine’s Day since Peter figured out he was aroace. Would it be any different from previous years? He’d never been interested in it all; never able to understand why people cared so much. When he and his peers were younger, Peter considered it a weird adult thing. Then his peers grew up, developed crushes, and started to care a lot, too, and Peter began to wonder if he was the weird one. 

But that was then. Peter was a lot wiser now. 

So surely, that year’s Valentine’s Day had to be better, right? He knew nothing was wrong with him. His disinterest in the holiday and his inability to truly get why people cared so much about it, was simply a byproduct of his aromanticism. Peter wasn’t weird. 

“Are you feeling okay?” May’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts. 

His cheeks flushed. “Yeah, sorry, just zoned out for a moment there.” Peter took a bite out of a cold pancake. 

As he chewed, he inspected the pancakes. Aunt May getting up early, even though she must be exhausted, all to microwave a few store-bought pancakes and cut them into hearts, warmed his heart. She didn’t have to, yet wanted to do something special for him. He truly was grateful— 

Peter choked on the pancake. He hadn’t even thanked Aunt May! His cheeks flushed red once again—out of shame or lack of oxygen, Peter wasn’t sure—as he coughed. 

Aunt May hurried out her chair, thumping him on the back as Peter got a hold of himself again. 

“T-thank you for the pancakes, May. They’re really good,” he croaked. 

She chuckled. “So good they stole your breath away.”

When Peter finished he cleaned their plates, grabbed his bag, and made his way to the door—

Only to be stopped by a stern looking May blocking his way. 

“May, what are y—”

“Peter, I have something important to tell you,” she said, voice grave. 

Peter perked up, all kinds of doom-scenarios filling his mind. 

Aunt May put both hands on his shoulders. “While you’re away, I’ll be catching up on some much needed and important sleep,” she squeezed his shoulders, “but no matter how important my sleep is, if you get yourself a Valentine today, you call me immediately, understood?” her face morphed from serious to smiling, eyes alight with mirth. 

Peter groaned, stepping out of May’s grip. “I thought you were about to tell me something tragic happened!”

“Oh, by the way, Murph died.”

“What!?” Peter shrieked. 

Aunt May laughed and ruffled his hair. “Just kidding, Peter. But seriously, if you get a Valentine, you call me.”

Today on things that will never happen: me getting a Valentine!  

Peter scoffed at the thought. 

He opened his mouth, ready to say goodbye to May and leave for school, but nothing came out. As he stood in front of his aunt, gaping like a fish out of water, Peter gained a sudden urge to come out to May. Allowing his aunt to get to know him better. Become a little more understood by her. Ensuring she could sleep peacefully without wondering about Peter’s romantic aspects that day. 

Should I?  

Why not? It was Aunt May. Peter already knew he was aroace for about a month, it was about time she knew too. 

And if the conversation turned awkward, he had school as an excuse to escape. 

“May, I have something important to tell you, too,” he started, and promptly panicked. How was he going to do it? Would he first have to explain what aromanticism and asexuality meant? That would take ages! 

Maybe he could give a vague description and elaborate later? Split his coming out into two parts? 

“Um, about getting a, um, Valentine, well, I don’t—no, I can’t,” he forced himself to pause and breathe. 

This is already the worst coming out in history.  

May looked at him expectantly, already used to those moments of amazing eloquence from Peter. 

“I won’t get a Valentine today—or ever really—because I’m not interested in getting one. I can’t feel that stuff for others.”

Peter knew that was far from a perfect coming out. Hell, he hadn’t even said the words. But it was a basis; something to build upon later, when he’d had time to think about what he wanted to say. 

It was good for now. He’d perfect it later, maybe when he got home from Mr. Stark’s lab— 

“Oh, honey, don’t be discouraged. You’ll find that perfect someone one day, you’re only young.”

Peter flinched. 

Ah. Right. Well. 

Shit.

He knew May didn’t mean anything bad by it. He knew she was trying to be her supportive self, not understanding that what she’d said was pretty invalidating. He knew it could’ve been so much worse; Peter hadn’t been shamed, or beaten, or even kicked out. May still loved him. 

Logically, he knew all of that. 

Yet, her response stung. That sudden urge to come out to her faded away. Instead, Peter wanted to hide away. 

Why did I have to open my stupid mouth?  

He should’ve said goodbye and left. Why did he have to do a completely butchered coming out? 

For the third time that morning, his cheeks flushed. 

May gave him a soft smile and rubbed Peter’s arm. “Anyone would be lucky to have you. When you find your person, you’ll be so happy, Peter. I wish that for you,” she squeezed his shoulder. “So, stop selling yourself short. I want grand nieces and nephews in the future,” May joked. 

Peter cringed, an uncomfortable pressure forming in his gut. 

He forced out a chuckle. “Thanks, May.”

Before the conversation could get any worse, it was time to enact his escape plan. He rushed past May, said goodbye, and left the apartment without awaiting a response. 

That was rude. Peter was being rude. And for what? Just because Aunt May didn’t give him the response he wanted? She literally wished for his happiness! 

I’m being over-dramatic.  

So what if he’ll never be able to find ‘his person’? And never have any kids, unless he adopted or something? May just wanted him to be happy. It wasn’t her fault that most people’s version of happiness meant being in a romantic relationship and having kids. Uncle Ben had made her happy, and Peter liked to believe he made her happy, too. 

I’ll buy her flowers as an apology.

Ned waited for him by the entrance. Peter opened his mouth to greet him—

“Dude, you gotta help me!” Ned grabbed him by the arm, dragging him into school and out of the way of other people. 

“Good morning to you, too,” Peter grumbled, yanking his arm out of Ned’s hold.  

The action was harsher than he wanted. Ned was being his usual excitable self. Nothing Peter wasn’t used to. Most of the time, it lifted his own mood right along with Ned’s and they’d end up chattering to each other about whatever came to mind. 

It seemed Peter wasn’t done being over-dramatic about his conversation with May. Disappointment, along with a little bit of hurt, clung to his heart and refused to leave. And Peter tried to make it leave ever since he set foot out of the apartment. It frustrated him that he couldn’t shake it off, which made him more desperate to get rid of the feeling, which then made him even more frustrated when he couldn’t. 

And now he’d been rude to both Aunt May and Ned. 

Stop being an asshole, Parker.  

Luckily, Ned didn’t seem to notice Peter’s unjustified bad mood. He’d rambled to him while Peter was distracted with his moping. 

He needed to get his act together. 

“Hey, man, are you okay? Did you get hurt last night as,” he leaned closer to Peter, “the other guy?”

Peter shook his head. “No, no, it’s nothing. I’m fine. Just a bit tired, sorry.”

Peter endured a few seconds of Ned scrutinizing him before his friend shrugged and accepted his answer. It was the truth, after all. He was being moody about nothing. 

“Anyway, do girls find love letters cool?”

Peter did a double-take. “What?”

“Last night I wrote Betty a love letter, but I don’t know, man. What if she thinks it’s lame? Or creepy? Maybe you could read it and tell me if it’s creepy or not? Or maybe I should just text her.”

Peter considered it, though it seemed weird for him to be the one giving Ned advice in that situation. With him not being a girl or able to feel that kind of stuff. 

If I were a girl—let’s call her (me?) Penny—and not aromantic, would I like to receive a love letter?  

Yeah, probably.

“I mean—giving her a written letter shows you’ve put in effort and care. Girls like that kind of stuff, I think. Besides, I’m sure she’s had texts from other guys. With a letter you’d stand out.”

Ned took a deep breath. “You’re right. Okay, I’m gonna do it.” He rummaged in his bag, pulled out an envelope, looked around him, and scurried to Betty’s locker. 

When Ned returned, his heart was beating fast. “It’s done. Whoo! That was scary.”

Peter looked from Ned, to Betty’s locker, back to Ned again. “Um, didn’t you want me to read it first? To see if your letter was creepy?”

Ned blanched. “Shit.”

Peter laughed. His first laugh of that day. With it, like the first slivers of sunlight breaking through dark clouds, Peter noticed his mood had improved. 

In typical Parker Luck fashion, his improved mood didn’t last long. 

Unfortunately, the schoolday did. Peter would know. He looked at the clock and counted the minutes many times. 

With Ned having helped lift his mood, Peter was no longer distracted by his own misery. That meant he couldn’t help but pay attention to what his enhanced hearing picked up throughout the day. 

And boy, did it make him wish he were deaf—

Okay, no, that was a little extreme. 

It made him wish he had the ordinary hearing of an ordinary person. 

Boys making gross sexual remarks about girls that Peter definitely didn’t want to hear. Having his sex-repulsion triggered by it, making him feel queasy. Peter couldn’t even manage to finish a chocolate bar because of it—which was truly the worst part of that day. It was a damn good chocolate bar, and those horny perverts ruined it. 

A small part of him argued it was technically his own sex-repulsion that ruined it, as most people aren’t sex-repulsed, but his frustration about the chocolate bar—and the creepy comments, but mostly the chocolate bar—made it easy to ignore. 

Couples full-on making out in the hallway, constantly hearing those disgusting smacking noises that came with kissing. The noises followed him throughout the day, making it hard to concentrate. 

People whining about being lonely and miserable because they didn’t have a Valentine, acting as if being single was some horrible fate. 

Those comments, especially, stuck to Peter. Knowing those people would view his life as something pitiful—something that must be avoided at all cost—well, that stung. 

Worse, all those whining comments, irritating smacking noises, and gross sexual comments were everywhere. There was no escaping it. Peter tried. 

Social media was full of the same things. Though, to be fair, expecting social media to somehow be a better place than real life was Peter’s mistake. 

Ned was an absolute nervous wreck, waiting for Betty to give any sign she received and read his letter. All he talked about was Betty, along with some whining about loneliness caused by being single. 

Not even Ned was a safe place; an escape. 

Peter was used to being an outsider. It didn’t faze him anymore, since he and Ned were outsiders together. That day, however, he wasn’t just an outsider. No, he was something even worse: the odd one out. 

When he realized that, his already frail mood plummeted. 

The second his final class of that day ended, Peter rushed out of school. He needed to get home, crawl under his blanket, and just breathe. Maybe read a book. Finish that chocolate bar. 

“Peter, where the hell are you going?” Happy’s—Happy? What was he doing there?—annoyed voice snapped. 

Peter startled. 

Shit! Today’s a Lab day.  

He’d completely forgotten. 

The familiar black Audi drove slowly towards him, standing still when it caught up. The window was down. The glare Happy shot Peter made him grateful for the empty seat between them. The more distance, the better. 

Peter gave the unhappy man an awkward wave. “Um, hi, Happy. Happy Valentine’s—”

“Get your ass in the car, kid.”

“—Day. Yeah, right. I will, yeah. Sorry.”

Peter scrambled into the car. 

Sensing Happy’s foul mood—and his own being no better, really—Peter kept quiet, for once. Staring out of the window, he tried to pull himself together again. The last thing Peter wanted was for him to be in a bad mood around Mr. Stark. The man deserved better than that. 

A giant billboard advertising some type of perfume like a ‘love potion’ for people to buy for their girlfriends came into view. Peter scoffed at the sight, and looked away, staring at the seat in front of him. 

He couldn’t even look outside in peace anymore without being bombarded by love.  

Peter needed a break from it. A moment to breathe, that’s all. 

Happy pulled up to the Compound. Without saying a word to Peter, he opened the door and let him out. 

“Thanks, Happy. And, um, sorry again, about earlier.”

Happy grumbled something Peter couldn’t understand in reply before getting back in the Audi and driving off, literally leaving Peter in the dust. 

Peter watched the man go. Nerves made his gut squirm. Peter’s mood still wasn’t the best. The thought of subjecting Mr. Stark to it—

“Do you think sunshine ever gets jealous of him?”

It startled a laugh out of Peter. A laugh that kept going, and going. Even bent over, leaning on his knees, and staring at the ground, Peter knew exactly who was standing next to him; the smell of motor oil; the slight buzz of the Arc Reactor. 

“I’m all for admiring my comedic genius, but even I must admit, it wasn’t that funny,” Mr. Stark said. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Stark,” Peter let out a final wheeze, finally composing himself again. “That was the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

Mr. Stark looked smugly pleased about that. 

He put an arm around Peter’s shoulders, leading him into the Compound. “Have I ever told you flattery works wonders on me?”

Peter grinned. “So I should start insulting you then?”

The flat look Mr. Stark sent his way was exactly what Peter hoped for. “Watch it, Spider-Brat.”

As per usual for Peter on Lab days, he ended up in the Compound’s kitchen area before going to the lab itself. What wasn’t usual, however, was Mr. Stark being in the kitchen with him. He always waited for him in the Lab, while Peter ate his fill. 

So why was he there with Peter that time? And why had he met Peter outside? 

Not that he minded. A simple second in Mr. Stark’s company, and he’d already laughed much more than he had all day. Peter reveled in being around him, his mood improving by the minute. 

“Is Pepper around?” Peter enjoyed having her around. The two of them often teamed-up against Mr. Stark. It was hilarious. 

“No. Your partner-in-crime left for a business deal in Tokyo earlier today. Can you believe that? My own fiancée abandoning me for Tokyo on Valentine’s Day,” Mr. Stark tsked. “Unbelievable.”

“Good thing you’ve got me to keep you company.”

Mr. Stark raised a brow, a smirk playing on his lips—Peter knew from experience that wasn’t a good sign for him. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine, Parker? I’ve gotta say, I’m a little disappointed in the execution. I expected a flower or maybe some chocolates, at the very least.”

Peter perked up. He grabbed his bag, rummaging through it under the curious gaze of Mr. Stark. Smiling when he found what he was looking for, Peter threw it at him. 

Mr. Stark caught it. As he inspected what it was, his gaze went from curious to shocked to disgusted. “Why do you have a half-eaten chocolate bar, you absolute heathen?”

Peter shrugged. “I never got back to finishing it.”

Mr. Stark’s eyes snapped to him. Peter shrunk back a little at the intensity of his gaze. Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say, though Peter had no idea why. 

“You? The one with a black hole for a stomach? I find that hard to believe.”

Ah. He wanted to know if something was wrong with Peter. Was that why he’d met Peter outside? Had Happy told Mr. Stark something? 

Sure, Peter knew he hadn’t been his talkative self back in the car, but surely that wasn’t cause for concern? Happy was hardly one to judge; Peter at his worst was still more approachable than Happy at his best. 

Still, if Mr. Stark was worried about him, Peter couldn’t deny it felt…nice. 

“Some guys at school were being gross and I lost my appetite. I forgot about it afterwards.”

As Mr. Stark tensed, Peter bemoaned saying the wrong thing again.  

“They were harassing you?” Although he stood rigid, Mr. Stark looked like he wanted to summon a suit and blast Peter’s hypothetical harassers. 

Peter may be against murder, but it warmed his heart. 

“No, no, no, I just overheard them talking,” Peter gestured to his ears. “Enhanced hearing can be really annoying sometimes, you know?”

Mr. Stark looked at Peter’s ears, and his eyes gleamed. “Excellent!”

Peter frowned. “What—”

“Not the many annoyances you no doubt face because of your hearing, but I’ve been wracking my brain the whole day thinking about what we could do in the Lab together, and I’ve finally figured it out,” he gestured with his hands as his excitement grew.  “With a little help from you, of course. You can take some of the credit, just don’t be greedy about it.” With that, Mr. Stark walked out of the kitchen. 

Peter stared at Mr. Stark’s, confusion freezing him in place. 

“Come along, young buck!” he called from the hallway, and Peter hurried to catch up with him. 

“So what are we doing?”

Mr. Stark put his arm around Peter’s shoulders, shaking him a little. “I was thinking we could build you a pair of hearing aids—wait no, not ‘aids’. Hearing restraints? Eh, we’ll workshop the name later.”

Peter grinned, giddy excitement coursing through him. “That would be great, Mr. Stark!” 

A device that could limit his hearing whenever he wanted? Peter could cry tears of joy. How had he never thought of that before? His life as Peter Parker would become so much more comfortable. 

Ever since the spider bite, Peter had learned how to manage the constant noise. Yet, his enhanced hearing still pained him sometimes, and inconvenienced him most times. The only reason his sleep hadn’t suffered because of it, was because Peter was already sleep-deprived anyway. 

The two bounced ideas off each other, excitedly rambling—yes, Mr. Stark could be just as much of a rambling geek as Peter. It was a side of him the press never captured—in the Lab. 

As they talked, and bantered, and laughed, Peter noticed his bad mood was completely gone.

When DUM-E blasted Mr. Stark with a fire extinguisher, it was as if the bad mood had never been there at all. 

Present day

As he thought back to last year’s Valentine’s, one thought struck Peter the hardest: 

I never bought May flowers.  

After everything else, it had slipped his mind. 

A swell of guilt bubbled up inside Peter. Besides never giving Aunt May any flowers—or even an apology, come to think of it—he still hadn’t come out to her, either, even after all that time. A fact that would be less awful if Peter hadn’t come out to anybody else during that year. 

But he had. 

It wasn’t as if Peter never wanted to come out to Aunt May. Following Valentine’s Day, there were many times where the urge to tell her resurfaced. Each time, he’d redirect the conversation or open his mouth to start one. Each time, the memory of his first ‘coming out’ on Valentine’s Day flashed in his mind. And each time, Peter chickened out. 

I’m a coward.  

Below Peter, New York buzzed; so very alive and so very loud. He hadn’t put in his hearing restraints—no, they never named it something else. Peter wanted to call it The Deafinator, which disgusted Mr. Stark, who put an end to the naming process—he never did when he went out as Spider-Man. The enhanced hearing was too much of an advantage during patrols to lose. 

The sky had long lost its orange hues. It was overcast, with a few hints of blue where clouds parted. It must be late morning.  

How long have I been sitting here, already?

Peter shifted his positioning, just then realizing how numb his ass had become while he’d been lost in thought. He really should go back to the apartment. Peter was pushing what meager luck he had by having his little…contemplation on a Saturday. He didn’t want to risk the universe realizing something was going in his favor, and deciding to fix its mistake with another dose of good ol’ Parker Luck. 

Yet, he remained still. If he wanted to go back home, he should’ve done it sooner. The chances of being spotted were much bigger now. It wasn’t worth it. He would probably have to wait until nightfall. Swing back under the cover of night while sticking to the shadows, just like he had done last night. 

Usually, having to wait for hours in one place, unable to do anything, and alone with his thoughts, would have left Peter an insane, restless mess. 

That time, however, Peter merely shrugged at the situation he found himself in. It could’ve been worse. Peter was used to sleep-deprivation, so he was fine on that front. If he ended up getting too thirsty to bear, there was some ice on the rooftop with him. He could melt that, and have his enhanced immune system deal with any potential bacteria. Keeping warm was no problem, either. Food was his only concern, but even that concern was small, bordering close to the rest of his apathy to his current situation. Peter had gone without food for longer stretches of time before; he could do it again. 

Besides, Peter had plenty to think about that would help keep his mind off his hunger. 

The whole situation he’d had with Ned came to mind. Peter being unable to find an escape in Ned during Valentine’s Day seemed so trivial to what happened later. At least on Valentine’s, Ned still sought him out. Still wanted to be with Peter. 

Peter couldn’t say the same a few months later. 

Chapter Text

Nine months ago

Peter walked through the bustling streets of New York. The hearing restraints sat comfortably in his ears. He knew The Deafinator had been an awful name from the moment he suggested it, merely wanting to mess with Mr. Stark, but his—admittedly—terrible joke meant they had no official name for them. So hearing restraints it was. 

Nameless they may be, Peter was glad they existed. Normally when he walked down the streets, the sheer volume of everything around him made him hunch his shoulders a little, as if to protect his ears from the sound. With the restraints, Peter could walk around comfortably like a normal person. It helped his confidence—and his improved posture was a nice bonus too. 

His phone buzzed and without having to look, he knew who had texted him. Ned had been texting him since the early morning, after all. Most of it was keyboard smashes and emoijis, but somewhere in-between the unintelligible chaos, Peter deciphered that Ned had some good news to tell him, and he had to stop by his place as quickly as possible. 

So there he was, making his way over to his best friend’s place. Peter had made a quick pit stop at Delmar’s to refuel the endless pit that was his stomach—he had given Murph a few pets. Luckily the cat was still alive. Aunt May really had been joking—and was now nearly there. 

Peter had to admit, he was curious about what Ned wanted to tell him. It must be really good; as excitable as Ned was, he wouldn’t have been that excited about anything less than absolutely amazing. 

As possibilities swirled through his mind, his own giddy excitement grew. Peter had to tamper down a smile—the last thing he wanted was to look insane, smiling to himself like some devious supervillain concocting their evil plan. 

When he arrived, Ned hurried him inside and to his room before Peter could even get a word in. 

“You,” Ned said, pointing at Peter, and by doing so shoving a finger in Peter’s face, “are a genius!”

Peter flinched back from the finger. “Um, thanks, man?” Though he really was grateful for the compliment, he had absolutely no idea why Ned gave him one. Had Ned seriously been spamming his phone since the morning, urging Peter to come to his place, just to compliment him? Compliments were nice and all, but that was a little extreme. 

“Betty and I are officially dating!” Ned squealed, an ear-splitting grin on his face. 

Peter let out a breathless laugh. He rushed forward and hugged Ned. “That’s amazing, dude! I’m so happy for you!”

Sometime during the evening on Valentine’s Day two months ago, Betty had texted Ned about the letter he’d given her. Her response had been positive: she was interested in getting to know Ned better. The two of them started texting regularly—which meant Peter started advising Ned about his responses regularly—and they had gone on two dates. 

And now they were finally official. Ned did it. For all his over-thinking and frequent asking for advice, his friend managed to pull it off. 

Peter felt like a proud mother hen. 

He pulled back, taking in the sight of his friend. 

Seeing Ned’s easy grins, the way his eyes twinkled, made Peter want to do anything he could so his best friend kept looking so amazingly happy. His friend, who hacked Mr. Stark’s suit for him, who was his Guy in the Chair, one of the few people he trusted to keep his crime-fighting secret safe. His friend, with who Peter could build LEGO sets and discuss Star Wars fan theories. That friend, Ned Leeds, deserved all the happiness in the world, and Peter would do whatever it took to make sure Ned got it. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you, man. You were like the Yoda to my Skywalker.”

Peter chuckled and put on a, quite frankly, horrible Yoda impression. “Proud of you, I am.”

“Thank you, Master.”

A beat of silence passed between the two. 

They both snickered.

“So, are you two lovebirds doing anything special to mark the occasion?” Peter wriggled his eyebrows. It had been a while since Ned and Betty had gone out on a date, everyone at Midtown being too busy with midterms. 

Ned spluttered. “Dude!” He gasped, scandalized. 

Peter frowned. “What?”

“The walls here are too thin for you to be talking about,” Ned eyed the wall, before leaning closer to Peter and continuing in a whisper, “sex. If my mom heard you, she’d never allow me outside again!”

Peter blinked once. Twice. Thrice. 

Huh?  

He hadn’t talked about sex…had he? Was that an innuendo of sorts he wasn’t aware about? 

Great, now his mind plagued him with an absolutely lovely visual of Ned and Betty having sex. How wonderful. Peter loved being a visual thinker. 

Peter grimaced. “A date, Ned. I meant a date.”

“Oh,” Ned looked a little sheepish. “Yeah, we’re going out this weekend.”

Peter made sure to keep his face neutral and his voice serious. “Better stock up on some condoms, then.” 

Ned had already put the idea in his head, and Peter wanted to take some revenge on Ned for the pleasant visual from earlier. 

The blush that crept on Ned’s face was a sight to behold. He opened his mouth, probably to protest what Peter had said, when the door flew open. 

Mrs. Leeds stood in the doorway. “I’m going to the store. What did you need to stock up on? I’ll add it to the list.”

Peter disguised the laugh that burst out of him as a cough, while Ned spluttered. “Nothing, Mom. It’s fine. See you later.”

Mrs. Leeds closed the door. The two of them remained silent as they listened to her footsteps pattering away from Ned’s room. 

When Peter deemed it safe enough, he burst out laughing. 

“I hate you so much right now.”

Ned tried to look angry at him, but it made him look constipated. 

The sight set Peter off into another laughing fit. 

If Peter had known that the day Ned told him he and Betty were official would be the last day his best friend would be spamming him, he would’ve appreciated it more. 

The change had been gradual. Slow. Perfect conditions for Peter to have been able to delude himself that things hadn’t changed for the last month-and-a-half. Much like a frog being cooked to death by slowly upping the temperature of the water. 

I should start calling myself Frog-Man.  

The only reason Peter didn’t, was because ‘Frog-Man’ didn’t have the same oomph as Spider-Man. 

Frogs got kissed and turned into princes. Spiders were feared and attacked for existing. 

Peter didn’t want to get kissed, and he already got attacked on a regular basis. So in the end, Spider-Man still suited him better. 

Peter sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes. That was the stuff his mind went to when he’d been alone for too long. It proved how much Peter not only missed, but needed his best friend’s company. And yes, he specifically meant his best-friend-Ned, not Betty’s-boyfriend-Ned. They weren’t the same. Peter had enough of Betty’s-boyfriend-Ned; a whole month-and-a-half’s worth of him. 

Like the water’s temperature slowly rising, Betty’s-boyfriend-Ned had phased out Peter’s-bestfriend-Ned. 

Ned still kept him company at school, as he always had. The quantity hadn’t changed—for that Peter was grateful, at least—but the quality had. A good ninety-percent of Ned’s topics of conversation were Betty related. 

Apparently, being obsessed with your partner at the beginning of the relationship was a normal thing. Peter had read that it was addictive, even. The brain made people addicted to their partners, like those people were some drug. And people are supposed to want that? Yearn for that? To Peter, it sounded terrifying. 

Was that the reason why Ned often whined whenever he and Betty were apart for some time? Had he been suffering withdrawal symptoms? 

He’s sure making up for it now . 

Peter had been waiting for Ned in the cafeteria for a while. 

He decided to take out his hearing restraints to confirm his suspicions. He winced at all the noise that assaulted his ears the moment he took the restraints out. It reminded Peter of when his powers first manifested. 

Lo and behold, Ned was making Peter wait ages for him because he was making out with Betty somewhere in the halls. And now Peter had to hear those noises. All because Ned was late. Ridiculous.

The only ridiculous thing here is you acting like a jealous ex-girlfriend . 

Peter sighed and put his hearing restraints back in. He really was being ridiculous. Of course Ned was focused on Betty. They just started dating! Once the honeymoon period had ended, Peter was sure Peter’s-bestfriend-Ned would return. Peter doubted it would be a full return, but hopefully Peter’s-bestfriend-Ned and Betty’s-boyfriend-Ned could share custody over Ned’s mind and body. 

All Peter had to do, was toughen it out until the honeymoon period ended. Afterward, things would be fine again. Hell, things were already fine at the moment. He was just being over-dramatic.  

Peter Googled: ‘How long does the honeymoon period last?’. 

The answer made him want to throw up, cry, panic, and punch something. The order didn’t matter. 

Six months to two years.  

Surely during all that time it wouldn’t be as strong as it was as the beginning? Surely Ned wouldn’t be equally obsessed with Betty at the six month mark as he was at the start of their relationship? 

Could Peter even wait six months to get his best friend back? And potentially even longer—though Peter would rather not think about that. The deadline was six months. Nothing longer. 

Please, nothing longer.  

Maybe Peter should move to Egypt, since he’d been in denial for so long. Three months, to be exact. Three months of being around Ned, but never truly being with Ned. Peter was nothing but an afterthought to him. A nice and convenient little placeholder for when Betty wasn’t there. 

Speaking of Betty, she started joining them all the time now. It was always Ned and Betty. They were considered a unit; two halves of a whole. Which was weird because four-and-a-half months ago they were individuals; their own person. Then just like that, it was as if Ned and Betty had lost their identity. It scared Peter a little to see it. How much people could lose of themselves once they got into a relationship. And apparently that was normal? Expected?

Peter didn’t know whether to feel grateful or sad to be missing out on that. On one hand, all of it scared Peter. On the other hand, he could see the appeal of having ‘your person’. 

Because he ended up losing his. 

And damn, Peter was lonely. 

Ned deserved to be happy. Peter wanted him to be happy. Was willing to go to great lengths to make sure his friend was happy. 

Peter should be happy for Ned. 

But his own misery made it difficult to be. 

For the past few months he’d been feeling like a ghost; nothing but an invisible presence haunting his apartment and Midtown. Surrounded by people, but nobody saw him. Not even his best friend, who’d shifted his gaze elsewhere. 

Those months had made it painfully clear how little Peter had in his life without Ned, community wise. 

Peter could only go out as Spider-Man for a few hours each day. If Peter slacked off at school—or worse, skipped school—May wouldn’t allow him to go patrolling at all. 

He saw Mr. Stark two days a week for Lab Days—which weren’t so much ‘days’ as they were a few hours after school. 

May still worked a lot, so he couldn’t spend much time with her, either. At least the amount she worked was a little less than before she found out Peter was Spider-Man. Since then, Mr. Stark had convinced her to let him cover the expenses of all the food Peter needed to eat to satisfy his enhanced metabolism, which freed up a little time for May. How much he needed to eat had put a strain on the bills, and had forced Aunt May to take even more shifts at the hospital. Out of guilt for being a burden, Peter stopped eating as much as he needed. Eating the same amount that an ordinary person needed. That ended up biting him in the ass when he passed out during a patrol as Spider-Man and Mr. Stark needed to pick him up. He, of course, snitched to Aunt May, and Peter had felt horrible for making her feel horrible. Her guilt was the only way Mr. Stark managed to get her to agree to finance Peter’s food. He had argued to contribute even more, but the Parkers weren’t ones for handouts. Though Mr. Stark was stubborn, May could be even more mulish.

Peter knew he was being ungrateful. Plenty of people had less than him. Would kill for what he had. But Peter couldn’t help but want. He wanted more. 

He wanted his friend back. 

Peter had read up on the experiences of other aroace people in the community. He wasn’t sure whether he found it comforting or sad that losing your friends when they got into a romantic relationship was a common experience in the community. 

Peter spent one night reading other people’s experiences with that, freaking himself out in the process. 

Has my orientation doomed me to a life of loneliness?

It got so bad, Peter decided to go to an in-person meet-up for asexual and aromantic people in New York. He’d never dared to go to one before—what with his social skills being so amazing and all. But he wanted to be around people who understood. Who saw him. 

He left the meet-up early and never returned.

When Peter came back to the apartment, he put on the suit. 

That day, Spider-Man was spotted around Queens much earlier than normal. 

Peter whooped as he swung through the air. Weightless. As Spider-Man, he was free of the burdens of Peter Parker. 

Spider-Man was a symbol. And symbols didn’t get lonely. 

The thing with having Aunt May know about Spider-Man and her and Mr. Stark keeping in frequent contact with each other, was that May always knew when and how long Peter went out on patrol. 

Apparently, the amount of time he’d gone out the past few days activated Concerned ™ Aunt Mode. 

Which was how Peter found himself sitting on the couch with a tight-lipped May, who was trying—and failing—to hide her concern. 

There was no escaping it; they were about to have A Talk. 

May took a deep breath and put on a smile. “I’ve noticed you’ve been going out as Spider-Man a lot lately,” she started. 

Peter tensed. He had a feeling he knew where the conversation was going and he didn’t like it. 

“Peter, honey, are you alright? Even before this you’ve seemed…different. More down as of late.”

Huh, that wasn’t what he’d expected her to say. Not that he liked that turn of conversation much more than the ‘you-should-stop-being-Spider-Man-for-a-while’ talk Peter had expected.

Peter sat up straighter. “Yeah, yeah, um, I’m fine. Really. All good.” He forced out an awkward chuckle, and cursed his absolute social incompetence. 

Aunt May frowned, clearly not believing his bullshit. “I know something’s up. Talk to me, Peter. Please.” Her voice sounded so…small. Broken. 

Peter’s heart squeezed at the sound. 

How could he resist?

That familiar urge to come out returned. He wanted to be understood. To be seen. That was how he could get that from May. A redo. To rectify that horrible coming out—

Like a phantom pain, the sting Peter had felt from May’s response on Valentine’s Day echoed within him. 

With it, the urge disappeared back into whatever abyss in Peter’s mind it came from. 

Peter itched to put on the suit. Feel the fabric on his skin. The adrenaline and freedom that came with swinging. 

Far far away from the conversation. 

He was about to come up with some excuse to leave, but May’s pained look stopped him. Peter couldn’t run out on her. 

It wasn’t as if he needed to come out to May in order to explain what was going on with him. 

Peter wrung his hands. “I’ve just been missing Ned. Ever since he, um, got a girlfriend. A few months ago now. That’s all.” He shrugged, trying to play it all off as casual and like he hadn’t been miserable for months. 

Aunt May studied him. In silence. An increasingly awkward silence. A silence that begged to be filled. 

“I mean—I still see him at school and stuff. Like, he hasn’t abandoned me or anything. Things are just a bit different between us now, you know?

“He’s just always talking about Betty—that’s his girlfriend, by the way—and when he’s not talking about Betty it’s because she’s right there with us, so talking about her like she’s not with us would just be weird. And rude.” Peter took a gulp of air after his rambling. 

May gave a small nod. “When’s the last time you’ve hung out with Ned? Just the two of you?”

“Um,” Peter wracked his brain. “Not since the start of their relationship? I think. No! Yeah, the last time was when he told me they were official.”

May smiled. “You should ask him to do something, just the two of you.”

“I did!” Peter snapped—and wow, where had that come from?—“I tried so many times, but each time he had plans with fucking Betty instead.”

Peter forced himself to take a deep breath and get a grip again. “Eventually, I just stopped trying because what’s the point, you know? I already know what the answer will be.”

What was the point in seeking out constant rejection? Clearly, Betty made Ned happier than Peter did. 

“Oh, honey,” May said, voice sympathetic. Peter bristled. He didn’t want sympathy. “You should tell him that you miss him. I’m sure he hasn’t noticed; it’s normal for people to focus most of their energy to their relationship, especially since it’s his first one.”

Yeah, right. And ruin Ned’s happiness? I don’t want to be responsible for that.

Peter let out a noncommital hum. “Yeah, sure.”

May’s pinched eyebrows made it clear she didn’t believe him. Before she could say anything more, Peter leapt up out of the couch. “So, was there anything else you wanted to talk about? Or…” or can I go out as Spider-Man now?  

Aunt May sighed and the look she gave him was both apologetic and determined. “Tony and I talked about it,” Peter felt his heart drop, “and we’ve decided that it’s best that you don’t go out as Spider-Man for a week.”

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds—

“What? Seriously?” Peter yelled. 

Why would they—No, how dare they? Spider-Man was too important to be grounded like some little kid! Peter hadn’t even done anything wrong! His grades were fine. He went to school and suffered through the whole day, five days a week. 

“People need Spider-Man! What if someone gets killed during the week because I wasn’t there to save them?” Peter argued. 

“You’re too young to be working yourself to the bone like this! I haven’t seen you smile—genuinely smile, for days.”

Peter scoffed. “So, what? You take away the one thing that brings me joy?”

“No, Peter,” May’s voice was sad. “I want you to take a break. Be the kid you like to pretend you’re not. The safety of everyone in New York doesn’t fall on your shoulders.”

Peter seethed. Anger coiled in his gut, wanting to strike. He bit his tongue. The small part of his mind that was still logical, knew if he opened his mouth, he would say something he’d regret. 

“Fine,” Peter said through gritted teeth. He walked to his room, shutting (slamming) the door behind him. 

He paced around. Peter wanted to rally against their stupid decision. Go out as Spider-Man, anyway. All personal feelings aside, people depended on Spider-Man. 

But he didn’t even so much as glance at the suit. He knew the second he’d set foot out of the apartment with the suit on, KAREN would snitch to Mr. Stark, who would snitch to Aunt May. 

And the last thing Peter wanted was for more communication and decisions between the two of them. 

He was certain they would extend the grounding or even take the suit away. Hell, Mr. Stark had done it before! 

So, for as much as Peter hated it, he had to comply. Sit out his sentence. 

Peter sat down on his bed with a huff and crossed his arms. 

This is bullshit.  

Four days into his sentence, Peter felt like he was going insane. Energy buzzed beneath his skin. He always longed to swing around or be high up. And worst of all: Peter was often alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that spiraled into feelings of loneliness. Thoughts that wouldn’t shut up.  

Is this how caged animals feel?  

Peter stopped pacing—he’d been pacing a lot these days—and flopped down on his bed, arms spread out. 

The first day of his sentence, Peter had spent it in his room, pacing and looking calm and collected (pouting). 

The second day, he spent hours mindlessly scrolling on social media and catching up on some shows and movies he’d neglected to watch. 

Lazy day like that was most teenagers’ dream, but for Peter it ended up being a nightmare. He wanted an escape from his thoughts. An escape from the dark pit of loneliness that resided in his heart for months. 

What did he get instead? 

Romance and sex everywhere.  

In every show he watched, there was at least a romantic subplot, and a random sex scene. 

The vast majority of what he saw on social media was about romance or sex or both. Even in fandom spaces Peter got bombarded by people shoving romance and sex into everything. And good for them, Peter knew they were just having fun. 

But damn if it didn’t make Peter feel worse. 

On the third day, Peter decided to stay off social media and distract himself by watching shows for younger audiences. Those tended to focus on ‘The Power of Friendship’ and all that, which was something he desperately needed. Even if having to watch a children’s show pricked at his pride. He’d already been grounded like he was a kid. 

Peter also didn’t like that it insinuated that prioritizing friendship was something childish . As shows aimed at teens with teen characters always featured a lot of relationship drama and, of course, sex. 

Still, the shows were wholesome and enjoyable…for a while.

In the middle of an episode, a sudden wave of sadness overcame Peter out of nowhere. Seeing brightly-colored characters being all happy. Seeing them being surrounded by friends, having fun adventures with them. Having what Peter wanted. It became too much for him. 

Luckily, he had a Lab Day with Mr. Stark a few hours later to distract him from, well, everything. 

Now on day four, he was currently lying on his bed, arms spread. He’d done nothing that day. He was restless and very, very bored . The Spider-Man suit called to him like a siren’s song. The only thing that stopped him was fearing the possibility of his suit being taken away.  

His phone buzzed.

Peter’s eyes widened when he saw who texted him. 

Ned!  

Ned hadn’t texted him first in ages. 

Ned Leeds (Chairmaster): ‘Hey, man. Wanna do a movie night at my place tomorrow? It’s been a while.’

Peter didn’t even have to think on his response. 

Peter Parker: ‘Yeah! What time?’

Ned’s response was immediate, which was even rarer than him texting first. 

Ned Leeds (Chairmaster): ‘Seven work for you?’

Peter Parker: ‘Sounds good. See you then!’

Peter smiled at his phone as excitement bubbled in his chest. He was going to hangout with Ned one-on-one again! And he didn’t even have to ask! 

Things were finally looking up again. 

Peter should’ve expected this, really. How many times had it seemed like things were getting better, only to be struck down by Parker Luck? Yet, each time, it came as a shock to him. 

Ned Leeds (Chairmaster):‘Sorry, dude. Betty just texted me that her parents are out, so I’m gonna hangout with her. Rain-check?’

Peter Parker: ‘Sure, that’s fine! Have fun :)’

It wasn’t fine. 

Peter had been excited for the movie night since yesterday. He’d been counting down the hours. Then, with only three more hours to go, Ned had texted him. 

Peter gripped his phone so tight, it was a wonder it hadn’t broken. 

One minute Peter stood staring at his screen. The next, Spider-Man was spotted swinging through New York. 

A woman screamed nearby. Peter launched a web to the nearest building, swinging to the sound of the distressed woman as fast as his muscles could carry him. He had to rely on his enhanced senses to find crime. KAREN refused to cooperate, constantly droning on about how Peter needed to finish his ‘break’. After a while, Peter had muted her. He could go old-school. 

He perched on the side of a building in a dark and abandoned alley—because of course that was where crime happened. A young woman was trapped in the alley by a broad-looking man, who also happened to be pointing a gun at her. 

Peter had to be quick and smart about disarming him. A gun was easily fired, and a stray bullet could end with the woman bleeding out on the ground. 

Just like Uncle Ben.  

He shook his head as if to shoo that particular thougt away. He had to concentrate. 

“Money or your life, bitch!” The man spat. 

Peter wasn’t sure why he hadn’t noticed his approach. Perhaps because he’d been focusing his senses on the mugging before him? The thought of Uncle Ben distracting him for a moment? Both? 

Either way, Peter heard him loud and clear now. 

“Hello, Spider-Brat,” came Mr. Stark’s voice through the Iron Man suit. The Iron Man suit that hovered behind him. That the woman and the mugger noticed, too. “A movie night with Ted, or so I’d been told.”

Peter rolled his eyes. He really wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. “Not now, Mr. Stark! I’m busy.” He gestured to the—now paused—mugging. 

“What the fuck?” The mugger said. Peter was inclined to agree. 

Mr. Stark lifted his arm and sicced a bunch of tiny explosives on the mugger, who got knocked a few feet away, unconscious. 

The woman took the opportunity to flee. 

Peter looked from Mr. Stark, to the knocked out mugger, back to Mr. Stark. “That was a bit much, don’t you think?”

Despite the Iron Man suit hiding his face, Peter could sense the look of angry indignation Mr. Stark threw his way. “No, what is a bit much is the amount of time you spent going out as Spider-Man. The thing you’ve explicitly been banned from for a week.”

Right. That.  

“Mr. Stark, I just—”

“FRIDAY, dear, what day are we on right now?”

Peter’s hearing picked up the response: “Today is day five of the ‘Spider-Baby’s-week-long-nap’ Protocol, Boss.”

Peter rolled his eyes  at the nickname. He wasn’t a fucking child. 

“Huh, that’s strange. That means our good samaritan Spider-Man is breaking the rules. That is, unless you’re unable to count above five?”

Peter huffed. He wasn’t going to justify that with a response. In fact, he was already fed up with the conversation. 

He climbed up the building, ignoring the Iron Man suit and the salty man inside it. When he reached the top, he sat down on the ledge. Mr. Stark slowly followed him up. Peter watched his ascension, preparing himself for the inevitable argument that was soon to follow. He remembered the Ferry Incident well. 

“Don’t you climb away from me when I’m scolding you, young man,” Mr. Stark said as he reached the top. He hovered in the air for a bit, before landing on the roof with a plonk. 

The suit opened up, and an annoyed Tony Stark walked out. 

Peter sighed. 

Here we go.  

“Did you call the cops? You know, for the mugger?” Peter looked down at the—still unconscious, that wasn’t good—mugger. Perhaps calling an ambulance was the better option. 

From the Iron Man suit, FRIDAY chimed. “Police are en route. ETA five minutes.”

Cops could do first-aid, right? Peter sure hoped so. 

“Do you mind telling me why—during what was supposed to be a week-long break—KAREN kept alerting me that your suit had left the apartment?”

Peter slumped. He was tired, miserable, and really really not in the mood for a lecture. “Because this building isn’t my apartment.” He had aimed for his voice to sound deadpanned, but with his misery coating it, it sounded more, well, dead. 

Mr. Stark stared at him. From what Peter could tell, he was still annoyed, but there was a pinch of worry in his gaze. 

“Take off the mask, kid.” His voice was a little more gentle than before. 

Peter took off the mask. When he made eye-contact with Mr. Stark’s piercing gaze, he turned his head to the side, looking away from him. 

He heard a sigh. “Okay, kid. I take it you didn’t just disobey your Aunt May and I for kicks. So, what’s up? Besides us two on this rooftop.”

Dumping his troubles on May when asked was one thing—she was used to the occasional ‘teen drama’ Peter brought to her—but dumping them on Mr. Stark? Peter refused. There was no way he would embarrass himself like that in front of his mentor. He was Tony Stark! Iron Man! He had better things to deal with than Peter Parker’s personal issues. 

Peter shrugged. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Mr. Stark deadpanned—Peter was a little jealous Mr. Stark managed to pull that off well—”So, you’re telling me that you did disobey May and I for kicks? ‘Cause I’m telling ya, that does not do you any favors right now.”

“No! I didn’t—I wasn’t—I just needed—” Peter’s mind whirled, trying to find a way to explain without it coming across as the stupid teenage drama it was. Nothing. “Never mind. It’s stupid, anyway.”

Silence fell between them. Peter didn’t dare look back at Mr. Stark. The last thing he wanted was to see his—no doubtedly—’I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed’ face. Except he always managed to still throw some anger in there, as well. 

As a calloused hand fell on his shoulder, shaking him a little, Peter’s head shot up. He hadn’t been expecting that. What he also hadn’t expected, was for Mr. Stark to look at him with—what Peter could only describe as—softness. 

For a moment, Mr. Stark stood next to Peter, his hand still firm on his shoulder, as Peter sat on the ledge. Then he removed his hand, using it to clap Peter on the shoulder instead. 

“C’mon, up ya get. Chop-chop. We don’t have all day.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. “What are you—”

“Well, Mr. Parker, you promised May that you’d go out to have a movie night. I’d say it’s about time you delivered on that promise.” Without another word, Mr. Stark stepped back into his suit. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that I’m inviting you to a movie night at my place. There’ll be plenty of snacks to satisfy your endless hunger. My treat, of course.”

Peter blinked, dumbfounded. He scrambled off the ledge, standing up. “Really?”

“Really really. So, let’s go. Put your mask back on.”

Peter put on his mask. “How do you want to do this?” He gestured awkwardly between them. 

Mr. Stark said nothing, merely holding his arms out. 

That was how Peter found himself being flown through the air, carried bridal-style. 

Mr. Stark cooed. “Aw, my little Spider-Baby.”

Peter groaned, causing Mr. Stark to laugh. 

They were well into their fourth movie when FRIDAY informed them it was getting late. With neither of them feeling like going all the way back to Peter’s apartment, Mr. Stark urged Peter to ask Aunt May for permission for Peter to sleep over at the Compound. Peter argued against it. He didn’t want to risk May saying no. He’d been enjoying himself too much. Much more than Peter had in ages. Peter soaked up those extra hours with Mr. Stark like a flower deprived of sunlight. The last thing he wanted was to cut it short. 

Mr. Stark countered Peter by informing him that he needed May’s permission to let Peter stay, since he didn’t want to be accused of kidnapping a minor. 

Peter had nothing to argue back against that , so he had reluctantly asked May for permission. 

She’d said yes. 

Sometime during their sixth movie, Peter’s eyes started to droop. Contentment hugged him, draping over him like a warm blanket. His stomach was full, he’d laughed so much he still felt the strain, and the movies they were watching—surprisingly—had no or incredibly little romance or sex. It was amazing. Peter wished to stay like that forever. 

The sound muted. 

“Hey, Pete,” Mr. Stark said. Peter perked up. Not because Mr. Stark addressed him, but because he sounded somewhat hesitant. Mr. Stark and hesitant didn’t compute in Peter’s mind. It snagged his attention. 

“You know,” Mr. Stark said, making eye-contact with Peter and taking a deep breath as if to steel himself, “you know you can talk to me about anything, right? Whatever’s floating around in that genius brain of yours. Pinky promise. Cross my heart.” He crossed his finger over where the Arc Reactor glowed through his shirt. “Your thoughts and,” Mr. Stark made a whirling motion with his hand, “feelings. They’re not stupid. I promise.”

Peter noticed his own mouth hanging slightly open, but was too awestruck to do something about it. 

Mr. Stark kept looking at him for a moment, nodded at himself, and leant back on the couch. “Just figured I should let you know.”

Peter blinked, taken aback. Mr. Stark kept surprising him that day. First no argument on the rooftop, even though Peter had been certain it would’ve happened. Then Mr. Stark had—knowingly or unknowingly—eased the wounds of Peter’s insecurity. Not only that, but he’d decided to open up a line for if Peter wanted to talk about his increase of patrolling. 

Maybe it was the tiredness. Or the echoes of his laughter from earlier that night ringing through his mind. But Peter found himself wanting to talk about it with Mr. Stark. 

“It’s just—” Peter didn’t miss the way Mr. Stark sat up a little straighter—”For these past few months I’ve been so—” Say it. Just say it. Let it out —”lonely.”

An odd sense of both relief and dread flooded his system. It caused Peter’s body to default to its favorite state: panic. 

Peter took a deep breath. “Five months ago Ned, my, um, bestfriend—which you know, of course. I don’t know why I said that—well, he got a girlfriend—her name is Betty—and ever since he’s sort of, kind of, left me on the wayside, you know? We no longer hangout together because he’s always with Betty, and, um, when I do see him at school all he talks about is Betty, unless, of course, if Betty is already there with us and I become an awkward third wheel. It’s just become clear to me that without Ned, I don’t really have, um, many people around me to spend time with. I see you a few hours twice a week—which I really appreciate and enjoy, of course! I don’t want to sound ungrateful because I’m not!—and I see May whenever my schedule around school and her work schedule align.” Peter needed a moment to catch his breath. Embarrassment burned on his cheeks. He hated his panicked ramblings. “So, yeah. I guess all of that, um, loneliness, has just been eating away at me. These last few days it was harder to cope with it. Going out as Spider-Man helped.” He ended his ramble with a half-hearted shrug. 

To his credit, Mr. Stark wasn’t—visually, at least—overwhelmed by his panicked ramble. 

He looked considerate, mulling over Peter’s word vomit in his head as if it was important. 

“Have you told Fred about this?”

Peter snorted at the wrong name. “No.”

“Why not? It sounds like there’s a communication issue between you two. Not like I’m the master of communicating, but it doesn’t take my genius intellect to see what the problem is.”

“I don’t,” Peter wrung his hands, “I don’t want to ruin his happiness,” he murmured. 

Mr. Stark snorted. “That has gotta be the most Peter thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Peter glared at him. All he got in return was a raised eyebrow that challenged Peter to prove him wrong. 

He couldn’t. 

“Either way, it’s a stupid thought to have.”

Peter crossed his arms. “I thought you said my thoughts weren’t stupid.”

“I’d like it to be noted that my earlier comment doesn’t include thoughts that make you miserable.”

“But that’s most of them—”

“Listen, kid. You and Jed have been friends for how long? Since you were littler kids? If he didn’t like to spend time with you, he would have ditched your ass years ago,” Mr. Stark paused. “Don’t tell your aunt I said ‘ass’. 

“Point is, the whole only talking about his girlfriend thing and constantly being around her thing you were talking about? That’s normal. When you get into a relationship I’m sure you’ll be all over your girl. Or boy. I don’t judge. Ged’ll bounce back, eventually. Telling him about all this could speed it along.” Mr. Stark gave him a pointed look. 

Peter froze. His mind stuck on ‘When you get into a relationship’ . 

The words slipped out: “I’m never going to be in a relationship. Ever. I don’t—no, can’t feel that stuff,” Peter thought back to his quote-unquote ‘coming out’ to May, and steeled himself for the finishing words he knew he had to say, “I’m aromantic asexual. You can look up information about it if you want, but for me it basically means I can’t feel romantically or sexually attracted to anyone.”

I just did that. 

I just did that!  

He actually came out to someone. 

Why do people do this? It’s terrifying!  

Peter wrung his hands. 

When Mr. Stark looked like he was about to reply, Peter’s nerves shot up, and he felt the need to add: “You’re the first person I’ve told. I tried coming out to May a few times, but I keep chickening out.”

Mr. Stark looked taken aback by that, a small gasp escaping him. “Oh,” he sounded choked-up. He cleared his throat. “Well, thank you for telling me. It doesn’t change how I see you, of course. It’s all good. I still…care about you the same.” He sniffed and cleared his throat again. 

Peter beamed, feeling a warm glow in his chest. Mr. Stark accepted him. It wasn’t as if Peter thought he wouldn’t. He was about ninety-five percent certain he would be fine with it. That five percent, though? The scariest thing. 

He let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark gave him a soft smile. “Of course, kid.” Then he clapped his hands and got up from the sofa. “Now, it is high time for your bedtime. This was fun. We should do this more often. Let’s make it a tradition; Friday night movie night. How does that sound?”

Before Peter could reply with a resounding ‘Yes, please!’, Mr. Stark continued: “I doubt Aunt Hottie will allow for a sleepover each time, so we’ll just have to snatch up the opportunity for one when it shows itself.”

Peter grinned. “Sounds great, Mr. Stark!”

The man nodded. “Good. That’s good. Now off you pop, to bed. Don’t get me in trouble with May, she’s terrifying.”

Peter turned to walk to the guestroom he’d been assigned. When he reached the door he looked back around at Mr. Stark. “Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”

“‘Night, kid. Watch out for your fellow bed bugs.”

“Spiders are arachnids, not bugs.”

Mr. Stark flapped his hand. “Eh, same thing.”

Present day

Peter stood up and did a few stretching exercises. The sun towered above New York. Midday already. Sitting still for so long on the hard surface of a rooftop hadn’t been kind to his body. Specifically, his ass. 

Note to self: take a pillow with you next time.  

Peter wore the misery he was feeling like a used scratchy blanket that dragged around his shoulders. He’d worn it before, after all. From those months when his loneliness had peaked. 

He eased himself back down on the rooftop with a sigh. Part of him hoped Mr. Stark would join him on the rooftop, just like he’d done on their first Friday movie night. Yet, knowing that Mr. Stark had read those articles and comments, seen those videos—

No, being seen by him or anyone else wasn’t an option. 

Ironic, wasn’t it? Peter had wanted to be seen for so long, and now the thought of it was enough to make him shudder. The universe had processed his request too late, and in a horrible manner. 

At least the whole thing with Ned had been resolved. Peter had finally managed to get over himself and told Ned that he missed him. It only took a week for the two of them to find their groove again. Mr. Stark had been right: telling him had sped up the process. 

Still, the whole experience soured something within Peter. He and Ned were on good terms again, sure, but worry had wormed itself into Peter’s mind. Ned had—pretty much—abandoned him for a while, even when their friendship had been at its strongest. If he could do that once without having even noticed, he could do it again. Hell, any person Peter ever befriended could do it, and he’d just have to live with it. Get used to it. All because Peter couldn’t get with the program. 

Sure, he knew there were aroace people who dated, but that wasn’t something he could do. The idea seemed nice sometimes, but to actually start dating someone would be unfair on his hypothetical partner and himself. Maybe Peter could ever find someone who was fine with living together platonically, without moving out when they got a romantic partner, but he doubted it. It didn’t take a genius to see people valued romantic relationships over platonic ones. Peter’s orientation had made things harder for him at best and royally screwed him over at worst. 

Did I ever mention I’m tired? ‘Cause I am.  

Peter knew living a happy single life was perfectly possible. He’d read stories online of other aroace people who were happy and fulfilled. Online was also the only place Peter could find literally anything aromantic or asexual related. There was barely any representation, and Peter knew no other aroace people in real life. He’d tried to get to know other aroace people that one time he went to that meet-up, but it ended up not being for him. So the only people in his life he could talk to about it were Ned and Mr. Stark, and though they tried—Peter knew that—they had trouble understanding.

Peter couldn’t complain, though. They knew, they listened those few times he’d bring something up surrounding it, and they accepted him. He left both coming outs with a lighter heart. 

However, what happened after Peter came out to Mr. Stark had been a lot better than what happened after he came out to Ned.  

Chapter Text

Three months ago 

Peter adjusted his position on Ned’s wobbly air mattress like a dog spinning around before lying down. The two of them were having a sleepover at Ned’s place. Things were pretty much back to normal between them since Peter talked to Ned about the whole missing-him-because-he’s-constantly-busy-with-Betty-thing. Peter had expected a simple ‘oh, oops, sorry’ and maybe a small increase in hangouts between the two, but Peter should’ve known better. Ned had apologized profusely, and gone out of his way to fix things with the sort of grim determination of a warrior going into battle. Just because Peter’s feelings mattered to him. Peter smiled at the memory. 

Ned had talked with Betty. The two of them had decided it was good for both of them to spend more time with their friends, not just each other. They ended up with a schedule of sorts: Ned and Betty would see each other on Wednesdays and Sundays, with all the other days open to be filled more spontaneously. Ned’s ‘spontaneously’ mostly consisted of switching between hanging out with Peter and hanging out with Betty. It kinda made Peter feel like a divorced parent sharing custody with his kid. 

Now they were in Ned’s bedroom, Saturday night, having a sleepover that Peter had suggested. He’d been a little nervous to do so, part of him still expecting to be rejected for Betty, but Ned had been eager for a sleepover. 

With hours of legos, gaming, chatting, and laughing behind them, Peter felt a relaxed and contented exhaustion wash over him. Ned scrolled on his phone, occasionally showing Peter a funny video. The two had lapsed into a comfortable silence, happy to just be in each other’s presence. 

Peter’s phone buzzed. A smile tugged at his lips when he saw who texted him. 

Tony Stark (Fe Male): ‘It’s 4 am go to sleep you rascal.’

Peter Parker: ‘Good evening to you too, Big Brother.’

Tony Stark (Fe Male): ‘I’m simply a concerned citizen looking out for the youth who need their beauty sleep.’

Peter Parker: ‘The elderly need their beauty sleep too.’

Peter waited a little while for a response. When none came, he assumed the conversation was over. Just as he was about to put his phone away again, he got another text. Peter couldn’t prove it, but he was certain Mr. Stark did that intentionally. 

Tony Stark (Fe Male): ‘I miss when you were too scared of me to be sassy.’  

Peter grinned. He sent an emoji sticking its tongue out and put his phone away. 

Ever since their first Friday night movie night about a month ago, Mr. Stark had been contacting Peter more frequently in-between his visits to the Compound. It could range from anything: from asking how Peter was doing or what he was doing, to giving random anecdotes about his own day, to elderly confusion whenever Peter sent him a meme. Whenever he saw Mr. Stark’s name pop-up on his phone, he felt giddy excitement. 

The newest texting exchange between them made Peter think about his coming out to Mr. Stark, and how happy it had made Peter. Mr. Stark had been chill about it all ever since, with the occasional ace or aro pun whenever he could think of one ( “Your design is ace-symmetrical.”) . It was a nice show of support. 

Ned chuckled at some video on his phone. “Dude, look at this.” He laid down on his side, facing Peter, and stuck out his hand. Peter flinched back at the sudden bright light hitting his face. He squinted his eyes to see one of those Stormtrooper interaction videos from Disneyland. Rationally, Peter could tell the video was more amusing than funny, but at 4 am everything was funny. Once the video was over Ned pulled his arm back again and continued his scrolling. 

This is nice.  

Peter stared at his friend. He couldn’t tell if it was because Ned was his best friend and had done his best to make up for those lonely months, or because it was that time of night where it felt safe to bare his soul, but the urge to come out to Ned started niggling at Peter’s mind. 

Apparently, sleepovers got him in the mood to come out. Usually, for some people, it got them in the mood for something else.  

Should I?  

It went well with Mr. Stark. And this is Ned for Pete’s (hehe) sake!

Peter swallowed. “Can I, um, tell you something, man? Something pretty personal.”

Ned let go of his phone, accidentally dropping it on his face. “Of cour—ow!—of course.”

Weirdly enough, Peter’s body didn’t activate panic mode. That relaxed exhaustion shielded him from his body’s most basic response to anything. It made thinking before speaking a lot simpler. 

“So, beginning this year I, um, discovered something about myself. You know how I thought I was pansexual?” Peter looked at Ned for a reaction. His friend nodded. “Well, turns out I was wrong about that. It’s true that the, um, sexual and romantic attraction I felt towards people was equal, no matter the gender, yeah, but the attraction I felt was zero. I realized all of that, when I came across an orientation—”

Ned pinched his brows. “Wait, hang on, are you coming out to me?” he asked, bewildered. Then his eyes widened. “Oh my gosh I just interrupted your coming out! I’m so sorry! Just ignore that.”

Peter chuckled. “It’s okay, man. So, I came across this sexual and romantic orientation and realized that it fits me. It’s called ‘aromantic asexual’, which for me basically means I don’t feel sexually or romantically attracted to anyone.” Peter paused, trying to think of anything else to say. When he came short, he continued: “So, that. I just wanted to, well, let you know, you know?”

“That’s cool, dude! That you figured yourself out and stuff.” Ned leaned on his arm, facing Peter. “Never heard of that, though, but I’ll look it up! No worries. It’s all cool, my man.” He leaned closer and held out his hand in a fist: waiting for a fistbump. 

Peter fistbumped him, grinning. 

“Not to like, undermine your coming out moment, but I’m tired. I’ll look it up and stuff when I’ve got a decent amount of sleep!” Ned laid down on his back. “All cool,” he whispered. 

“Thanks, Ned.” Peter couldn’t repress his smile as his eyes closed. 

The following Sunday, they were both woken up at 9 am, which meant the two of them didn’t exactly get a good night’s sleep. Even Peter, who was used to that, felt groggy the rest of the day. Ned, who wasn’t used to it at all, moved around like a zombie. Peter wondered how his hangout with Betty would go with the state Ned was in. 

Peter had made his way back home in his groggy state. He’d spent the rest of the day taking it easy, playing a game and watching a movie with Aunt May, and trying not to fall asleep and ruin his chances of sleep the upcoming night. 

With both teens in varying states of exhaustion, neither had brought up or even thought about Peter’s coming out. 

Since Peter had passed out sometime before 10 pm Sunday evening, he actually managed to get a decent amount of sleep, and woke up a few minutes before his alarm even went off. Waking up out of himself left Peter feeling much more rested and relaxed in the mornings, as opposed to getting yanked out of his sleep by a blaring alarm. He took it easy as he got himself dressed, ate breakfast, and headed off to school. 

There he met up with Ned, and the two of them went through the familiar motions of a schoolday. 

During lunch, the two sat by themselves in a corner, ignoring the rest of the school as they yelled, laughed, and some even threw food at others. 

Peter’s phone buzzed. 

Tony Stark (Fe Male): ‘Pete, help me. Pepper just handed DUM-E a fire extinguisher and told him to get me.’

Peter chuckled, catching Ned’s interest, who looked over his shoulder as he answered. 

Peter Parker: ‘What did you do to deserve it?’

Tony Stark (Fe Male): ‘Is it so hard to believe I’m simply the innocent victim in this story?’

Without missing a beat, Peter replied: ‘Absolutely.’  

After a minute with no reply, Peter shrugged and moved on. 

“It’s so cool that you’re just casually texting with Tony Stark!” Ned said, looking at Peter’s phone with wonder. 

“Yeah, it’s really fun.”

His phone buzzed again, and both boys instantly looked. 

Tony Stark (Fe Male): ‘He got me.’

Peter and Ned snickered. 

“By the way,” Ned started, suddenly looking a little nervous, “after Betty left and I had taken a nap yesterday, I looked up that aromantic asexual thing you were talking about.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat and he sat a little straighter. “Yeah?”

Ned nodded. “Yeah, and I think I get it? It certainly helped when I looked ‘asexual’ and ‘aromantic’ up separately. Though my autocorrect kept changing ‘aromantic’ to ‘aromatic’, which was annoying.”

Peter snorted at that, but kept quiet, worried to say something and ruin…whatever kind of moment it was. 

“So, do you, like,” Ned looked around and leaned closer to Peter to whisper, “masturbate?”

Peter reared back from him. “Dude!”

Ned blinked at him owlishly. “Sorry, sorry! Was that a rude question to ask an ace person?”

“It’s a pretty invasive question to ask anyone, regardless of their sexuality,” Peter said. “If I had come out to you as gay, would you have asked me if I masturbate to men?”

“I mean,” Ned shrugged, “I might have.” At Peter’s deadpan look he hastened to add: “I’m just curious! But if I ever ask you an invasive question about all this again, you can just tell me to shut up. Sound good?”

Appeased, Peter nodded. “Alright, sounds good. Oh, and I do, by the way.”

Ned frowned. “Do what—” his eyes widened in realization, “oh! Cool.”

Ned spent the rest of lunch asking Peter things, with Peter answering most of his questions. Although he enjoyed being able to talk about it with someone else, never having had the opportunity to before, there was one thing that irked Peter a little. All of Ned’s questions had to do with the asexual side of things, the aromantic part of Peter’s identity ignored and forgotten. Which kinda sucked, as between his asexuality and his aromanticism, Peter felt more connected to his aromanticism. The fact he didn’t feel romantic attraction or want a romantic partner, while society put romance on a pedestal above all else, meant he had to deal with his aromanticism more often and in a more meaningful way than with his asexuality. Not wanting romance or to be in a relationship was frowned upon, people thinking you’re traumatized, emotionless, or some other stupid things. Not wanting to have sex with someone you’re not in a relationship with, although Peter was sure there were some people who’d find that weird, wasn’t really frowned upon. And since Peter was never going to be in a relationship, he didn’t have to deal much with the pressure to have sex, while he would have to deal with the pressure to date. So all in all, his aromanticism had a bigger role in his life than his asexuality, which really only caused him the occasional bit of confusion and sex repulsion. 

Peter’s first instinct was to keep that small irritation to himself, but if those lonely months had taught him anything, it was to communicate with his best friend. 

Making sure to keep his tone gentle, Peter said: “It’s nice that you’re, um, showing an interest, but I’m not just ace, you know? I’m both asexual and aromantic.”

Ned froze, looking a little sheepish. He opened his mouth to say—

A derisive snort came from Peter’s side. “You’re what now, Penis? Asexual? The fuck even is that? Just say you can’t get any instead of trying to be special,” Flash sneered, coming to sit down next to Peter: “Freak like you, of course you can’t get any. Who would want you?”

Peter stilled, too stunned to say anything. 

“Piss off, Flash! It’s a real thing. And Peter could get anyone he wanted! He just doesn’t want to,” Ned said. 

Flash laughed. “Yeah, right! ‘A real thing’, just like his totally real internship, I’m sure. Penis Parker just can’t stop making shit up to feel—ah!” Flash yelped as he got shoved out of his seat and fell on the floor. 

In his place, MJ sat down. She spared Flash one judgy glance. “If you’re going to be an ass and bully someone for their sexuality, at least know what that sexuality is. Otherwise you look even more like an idiot than you already do, Eugene ,” MJ said the name in a mocking tone, before grabbing a book out of her bag and beginning to read it. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Flash scrambled up. 

It snapped Peter out of his stunned position. He was used to Flash messing with, insulting, and threatening him, but he wasn’t just going to sit by if he tried anything with MJ. Flash had never gotten physically violent before, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. 

MJ kept reading. “This is the part where you walk away.”

“Yeah, bye, Flash. Lovely chat, as usual,” Peter drawled, backing MJ up. 

Flash scoffed. “Whatever, you sexless freak. You should get that fixed, weirdo.” With those amazing parting words, he stomped off. 

Peter knew he shouldn’t let it, to just ignore everything that came out of Flash’s mouth, but those words, and the ones from before, well, they stung. Quite a bit. 

“You okay, man? Don’t listen to him, he’s just a stupid jerk,” Ned said. 

Peter shrugged. “Yeah, I know. It just sucks to hear, you know?”

“I’m ace, too,” MJ said casually, continuing to read her book as she sat next to Peter.  

Peter perked up. “Really?”

Another asexual person in his—admittedly small—social circle? 

“Yep,” MJ looked up from her book and pointed a finger at Ned. “You better not ask me if I masturbate, or I will hit you.” She waved the hand that held her book. 

Ned paled. “I wouldn’t ask a girl that! I have a girlfriend. I’m pretty sure that would be cheating.”

“Wait, you heard that?” Peter asked, looking around the cafeteria for anyone else nearby. If MJ could have heard their whole conversation from earlier then others could have, too. It was one thing with Flash knowing he was asexual (and aromantic, although Flash hadn’t remarked on that), it was another to have the whole school know it. Flash was going to be enough of a pain in the ass about it by himself already, Peter didn’t need the extra bullshit from other people on top of that. 

“Yep,” MJ popped the ‘p’, “but I’m observant.” 

“But that’s cool that you’re ace, too!” Ned exclaimed, and Peter could see the moment a lightbulb went off in his friend’s head. “You guys could start a club or something!”

Peter and MJ looked at each other, then back at Ned. “Nah,” they said simultaneously. 

“What? Why not?”

MJ shrugged. “Two people does not a club make. Besides, I’m too busy for such a hassle.”

“Yeah, same. I’ve got a busy schedule.” Peter gave Ned a pointed look. 

His Guy in the Chair got the hint. “Oh, well. Maybe one day.”

“Maybe,” MJ said, going back to her book. 

Peter’s prediction was correct: Flash was going to be a pain in the ass about Peter being asexual, now that he knew. 

The following day, while Peter made his way to class with Ned, Flash passed them in the halls. He knocked his shoulder against Peter’s as he passed, muttering only loud enough for Peter and Ned to hear: “Asexuals are just mentally ill.”

Peter did a double-take, not having expected that at all. He stared at Flash as he gave Peter the middle-finger while walking away. 

Again, it stung. Peter hated that it stung. Hated that he gave Flash the satisfaction of allowing it to sting. Usually his insults slid off Peter like water off a duck. Why couldn’t he do that now? Why did they pierce and stick to him? 

“Come on, man. Just ignore him. This is what he’s always like.” Ned tried to comfort him. And he was right. It wasn’t anything new. 

Usually when Flash acted like an ass towards Peter, he would either roll his eyes and dismiss him or even use his wit to say something back. He never took Flash seriously, but for some reason, with that new brand of insults, Peter kept getting stunned to silence by them. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. 

During lunch that day, Flash once again graced Peter and Ned with his presence. He didn’t sit down next to Peter that time, clearly having learned at least something from his encounter with MJ the day before, sitting opposite him instead. “You know, if asexual people really are born weird like that, you must be an evolutionary defect. We’re all meant to reproduce, after all. Freaks like you don’t belong with the rest of us. The human race is better off without you lot.”

Well, that certainly stunned Peter. 

What. The. Fuck.  

Hot pressure pressed behind his eyes. Tears threatened to well and spill over. Peter gasped, holding them back. He could not let Flash see him cry. He should not even be crying over Flash, of all people. They were just stupid, ignorant words. Peter wasn’t a baby. 

“Fuck off, Flash! What on Earth’s wrong with you!” Ned yelled, standing up from his seat, hands balled into fists. Peter had never seen him so angry before. 

Clearly, Flash hadn’t either, as he flinched. Then he scoffed and got up. “Whatever. Don’t get mad at me just for telling the truth, loser. If Penis can’t get himself fixed, he might as well have never been born.”

Peter watched him go through blurry vision. He wiped at his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry, damnit! They were just words. It was just Flash. Not a big deal. He was too old to be crying about words. They didn’t even matter: they were only born out of ignorance and Flash’s compulsive need to be an asshole to Peter. All he really wanted was to hurt him, and Peter was letting it happen. Pathetic. 

“That was way out of line,” Ned seethed. “Are you okay, man? What he said was absolutely disgusting.”

Peter sniffed. “Yeah, um, I’m fine. I’m just gonna go—go to the bathroom real quick. I need to pee.” Peter got up and hurried away, tears still threatening to fall. 

He sat down in a stall, breathing heavily in an attempt to stay calm. 

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.  

Tears rolled down his cheeks. 

Fuck, I’m crying!  

Peter supressed a sob. He absolutely couldn’t let anyone hear him crying in a bathroom stall. If Flash got wind of it, he’d be even more insufferable. He needed to distract himself. 

Peter grabbed his phone, going to his text messages with Mr. Stark on instinct. 

He was about to ask him how his day was going, hoping to be told about some funny anecdote or get whined at about a boring meeting, but Mr. Stark sent him something first. 

Tony Stark (Fe Male): ‘Hey, Pete. I’m absolutely packed with meetings this week. Ross is being more of a pain in the ass than usual. We’re gonna have to cancel Lab days this week. I’ll make it up to you on Friday.’  

Oh. 

Peter really wanted to see him again that day. Being with Mr. Stark always made him feel better, and he needed that after all the things Flash—

Grow up, Peter. You’re not a baby.  

It was fine. He didn’t need to go crying to Mr. Stark like a child. He could wait until Friday. Mr. Stark was busy. 

Peter Parker: ‘Good luck! See you Friday.’

Tony Stark (Fe Male): ‘Thanks, kiddo.’

“Parker, you there?” MJ’s voice—MJ? What was she doing in the boys’ bathroom?—said, her shoes appearing in front of the stall’s door. 

Quick! Think of something to make her go away!  

“Um. I need to shit.”

A beat of silence passed. 

“It can wait. Come out.”

Peter wiped at his face, doing his best to hide the evidence that he’d been crying. He knew it would still be obvious, especially to the ever observant MJ. The same MJ who was in the boys’ bathroom for some reason. 

He got up and opened the door. “Why are you here? You could get in trouble if someone else sees you here.”

MJ crossed her arms. Before her right hand disappeared beneath her arm, Peter swore he saw something blueish. “Not in any more trouble that I can get in for punching Flash.”

“You what?” Peter shrieked, surging forward to grab her right hand, which was bruised. “MJ! You shouldn’t have! Now you’re hurt and definitely in trouble. You could get suspended!”

MJ retrieved her hand and shrugged. “Worth it. I heard what he said to you.”

“MJ, you shouldn’t have done that. Not for me—”

“I didn’t just do it for you,” MJ snapped, “he insulted all ace people, which includes me, too. The bullshit he was spouting was basically eugenics. I stand by my actions. He deserved much more than a punch to the face.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah, fair enough. Thank you, though. Not just for the punch, but for yesterday as well.”

MJ smiled a little. “No problem.”

Sadly, the punch didn’t deter Flash from harassing Peter. He didn’t dare to outright walk up to him anymore, like the two times in the cafeteria, but he’d sneer a few shitty words as they passed each other. 

Peter spent Wednesday doing his best to avoid Flash in the halls and classroom. His hateful words rattled around in his mind. With each new insult, the chaos and noise got louder. They dogged his steps, wherever he went. 

He tried, he really did, to not let it ruin his mood. But it was hard to stay happy when somebody, whenever they got the chance, liked to tell you you were defective, a freak of nature, and needed to be fixed. 

Ned started acting as Peter’s bodyguard of sorts. MJ was nowhere to be found. She’d gotten suspended for sure. 

During class, as Peter was zoning out and staring out the window, someone tapped on his shoulder. Peter turned around, confused, and got a folded note handed to him. He wasn’t an idiot. Peter knew exactly who had sent it before he even opened it. Yet a sick sort of curiosity had him opening the note. 

The note wasn’t a note. 

It was a piece of paper with two photos on it. One of a woman and one of a man. 

They were naked. 

Peter grimaced and quickly folded the ‘note’ up again, checking to see if anybody saw what was on it. He hid the note in his pocket. If he threw it away, and someone saw it, people would think he was a pervert. 

Peter looked across the classroom at Flash, who was already looking at him. When they made eyecontact he smirked. 

He then proceeded to point at Peter’s pocket before making a jerking off motion with his hand. 

Peter quickly looked away, his cheeks flushing. The two photos flashed in his mind, causing his stomach to squirm.  

What next? Was Flash going to send him porn? Unbelievable. 

“There’s something seriously wrong with him,” Ned whispered, glaring daggers at Flash. 

“You must be an evolutionary defect.”  

Maybe Flash isn’t the only one who has something wrong with him.  

“Hey, I’m just gonna go the bathroom real quick. I’ll meet you at the cafeteria, alright?” Peter told Ned. 

“I can come with if you wa—”

Flash barked a laugh as he walked by. “Going to put that note of mine to good use, huh? Asexual, my ass.”

Peter waited for him to pass before turning to Ned again. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry. See you in a few minutes.”

What he was going to do, he had to do alone. It was private. Embarrassing. And most of all: shameful. But he had to do it. He had to at least try. 

Peter went into a stall, sat down, and fished the ‘note’ out of his pocket. He opened it up, and gave it a proper look that time. His sex repulsion stood at alert; not ready to be felt yet, but preparing to do so. He inspected both the naked man and the woman, hoping to feel, well, anything . Anything other than the beginning of repulsion. 

Nothing. 

In the corner, written in pen, Flash had left a little note addressed to Peter. 

Something to help fix you.  

His grip tightened around the paper, crumpling bits of it. He didn’t need to be fixed. He didn’t! Peter was normal. Asexuality was normal. Peter knew all of that. 

Yet white hot shame coursed through his system like a poison. Peter put a hand on one of his cheeks: it was hot. If he looked in the mirror, a beet red face would stare back at him. 

Peter groaned and put his head in his hands. 

He didn’t want anyone to stare at him ever again. Especially not Flash, with his cruel words and disgusting hand motions. 

If it weren’t for his promise to meet Ned at the cafeteria, Peter would’ve spent the entirety of lunch hiding in the bathroom stall. 

Before leaving, he flushed the ‘note’ down the toilet. He expected to feel some satisfaction at the act, but he only felt uneasy as he watched it get sucked away. 

Thursday was much the same as Wednesday. When he came home from school that Thursday, Peter actually ended up bursting out in tears right in front of May. She did her best to comfort him, but without knowing why Peter was upset, there was only so much she could do. 

May tried to get him to talk about it, of course she did, but Peter absolutely could not bring himself to open up to her about it. He didn’t want to repeat those words that continuously rattled around his mind. Didn’t want to recount the ordeal with the ‘note’. It was disgusting, and embarrassing. Peter didn’t want May to look at him as some sort of freak because of it. 

Besides, in order to tell her about what happened, he’d have to tell why it happened. The last thing Peter wanted was to come out to May. Not after those days of Flash’s torment. Coming out to Ned was a mistake. Peter should’ve kept his stupid mouth shut. 

When it became clear to May that Peter wasn’t going to open up, she made him hot chocolate and they watched the original Star Wars trilogy together. Peter ignored the worried glances she kept throwing his way. 

Peter would be forgiven to think that, after everything Flash had already said and done, it couldn’t get any worse for him. 

Then Flash managed to corner Peter the moment he found himself alone, and said his worst words yet: “Next week I’m going to tell everyone all about what kind of freak you are, Penis.”

Before Peter could so much as blink, Flash sauntered away. 

Peter couldn’t really remember what happened after that. He drifted through the Friday on auto-pilot. His attention was frayed, he couldn’t keep a conversation for the life of him, and the only thing that still made him feel connected to his body was the constant anxiety pumping through his veins. 

As he walked out of school, he was vaguely aware he’d said goodbye to Ned. After that, he made eyecontact with Flash, who smirked and mouthed the word ‘freak’. 

Peter looked down and continued on. 

The familiar black Audi stood parked nearby. 

Right, movie night with Mr. Stark. 

Peter wasn’t sure if he was up to it. Not after the week he’d had. May already knew something was wrong with him. Mr. Stark would notice it, too. In fact, Peter wouldn’t be surprised if the two of them had already been in contact about it. And he knew from experience that, where May knew when to stop pushing Peter if he didn’t want to talk about something, Mr. Stark would keep trying to get it out of him. And if he failed, he’d find some other way to discover the truth. 

With a heavy sigh, Peter walked up to the car and opened the door. 

“Hey, kid. How was school,” said a way too excited Mr. Stark. 

Peter did a double-take. “Mr. Stark? Why are you here?”

“Well, I know I don’t have Happy’s sunny disposition, but I figured I could come pick you up this time. I did say I’d make it up to you for those missed Lab days, after all. So get your butt in here.”

As Mr. Stark drove them to the Compound, the two of them made some small talk, with a bit of banter in-between. Peter sensed a certain edge to it, though. Something was off. When he noticed Mr. Stark shooting him the occasional glance, he knew why. 

Peter was right. Aunt May and Mr. Stark had been in contact about him. No doubt May hoped Mr. Stark could get him to open up, as he was prone to do. 

Great. Just great.  

After the shitstorm that was the past week, and the threat of next week, Peter wanted to be able to watch some movies and get distracted so he didn’t need to think . 

What he was going to get instead was an interrogation. 

It started after the snacks had been laid out and before the movie had started. 

Mr. Stark sat down casually. “So, how was your week, Pete? Must’ve been boring without my amazing presence there on Tuesday and Thursday. Still, couldn’t have been more boring than mine. Ross sucks up joy and whimsy like a black hole, I tell ya.”

Peter decided to get straight to the point. He wasn’t in the mood for games where they tip-toed around each other until Mr. Stark finally went in for the kill. “May told you about yesterday, didn’t she?”

He sighed. “Yes. She’s worried about you.”

“It’s fine. It’s nothing. Can we watch the movie now?” Peter asked impatiently. 

Mr. Stark gave him a look. “People don’t burst out crying over nothing, Pete, and especially not when they are ‘fine’, as you put it.”

Peter crossed his arms, a little embarrassed that Mr. Stark knew about the crying. Obviously May had informed him, but he’d hoped she’d let that part out of it.

“C’mon, Pete. You know you can tell me your woes, you’ve done it before. Exactly six weeks ago now, in fact. That’s what movie night is for.”

Peter huffed. “Isn’t it for—oh, I don’t know—watching movies?”

Mr. Stark was unperturbed by Peter’s snark. “Friday night movie night isn’t just for watching movies, but also for us to bare our soul. It’s like therapy. If therapy was fun.”

“‘Us’? I’m the only one who’s done it,” Peter snapped. 

He was exhausted, both mentally and emotionally. Peter couldn’t be bothered to stay perfectly polite. He was done. The week had been Hell. 

But hey! At least it wasn’t boring!  

Mr. Stark nodded slightly. “Fair enough. We’ll trade then. One soul-baring for another. Shall I kick us off?”

Peter blinked. “Um. Sure?”

Mr. Stark leaned back, slinging one arm over the couch. “Earlier? I lied. My week hadn’t been boring, it had been incredibly frustrating. Ross was a royal pain in the ass, and I’ve barely slept. And while I spent hours shifting through endless mind-numing reports, all I could think about was how I—” he paused, shooting a quick glance Peter’s way— “how I missed having you around. Messing around in the Lab together. And it made me feel like a right old piece of shit for cancelling on you, even if it was necessary.”

Peter stared at him, dazed. 

He missed me?  

“Really?”

Mr. Stark smiled softly. “Really really.”

He didn’t say anything more; he didn’t need to. How he looked at Peter made it clear what he was communicating: ‘Your turn now’. 

A soul-baring for a soul-baring.  

But could Peter do it? Mr. Stark knew about his aromanticism and asexuality, at least. That meant he didn’t have to go through the pain and mistake of coming out to him. The deed was already done. 

Peter was tired. 

He sighed and pulled his knees up, resting his chin on top of them. “I had a really shitty week.”

“Yeah? How come?” Mr. Stark’s voice was gentle. 

“It just—” Peter groaned— “It’s my own damn fault! I should’ve just kept my stupid mouth shut! None of it would’ve happened if I wasn’t a fucking idiot! Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth sh—”

“Okay, whoa there, buddy, slow down. Pete, slow down. You’re not an idiot, alright? You’re the smartest person I’ve met. Just slow down for a sec, and tell me what happened, okay?” Mr. Stark soothed. 

As Peter breathed heavily, Mr. Stark waited for him to get his bearings again. 

His breath hitched, and he croaked out: “I don’t really know where to start.”

“How about you start with what happened on Monday, hm?”

So that’s what Peter did. He told Mr. Stark about his conversation with Ned—adding a quick note that he had come out to Ned the weekend before—and Flash overhearing him and giving him shit for it, and MJ interfering. Then he went on about Flash’s comments on Tuesday and how MJ punched him over it—Mr. Stark snorted at that—and MJ being suspended because of it. He moved on to the Wednesday, telling Mr. Stark about the ordeal with the ‘note’ and the small text Flash had written on it. After that he mentioned more of the awful comments Flash had made towards him, eventually ending on his threat to out Peter to the entire school the next week. 

While Peter recounted the week, Mr. Stark started sitting ramrod straight. His whole body was rigid. His breathing heavier. 

“So, yeah. Shitty week,” Peter finished lamely, resting his forehead on his knees and staring at the couch. 

He heard movement, two socks appearing in his field of vision right after. Mr. Stark was standing in front of him. 

“Stand up. I’m gonna hug you now.”

For a second, Peter forgot how to breathe. Then he practically leapt off of the couch and barreled into Mr. Stark’s chest, who let out a small ‘oomph’. 

Mr. Stark’s arms wrapped around him, and he chuckled. “Or you can hug me first,” he joked. 

Peter soaked up the warmth of it, and breathed in Mr. Stark’s scent. For the first time that week, he felt safe. He was finally safe. 

Not wanting to overstep, Peter stepped out of the hug first. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

He smiled. “No problem, Pete. That’s what I’m here for. That and to keep that endless appetite of yours satisfied, of course.”

At the reminder of Peter’s metabolism, his stomach growled. 

“Right on cue,” Mr. Stark handed Peter one of the bowls filled with chips, “make sure to finish your plate. Spider-Babies need to eat a lot to grow healthy and strong.”

Peter rolled his eyes and chuckled. 

As he ate, Mr. Stark sat back down on the couch again. “Right. Now, where does this ‘Flash’ live?”

Peter paused his eating. “Mr. Stark, you really don’t—”

“You’re right. That’s not necessary,” he said. “FRI, dear? You know what to do.”

“Gathering all information available on Eugene ‘Flash’ Thompson, Boss,” FRIDAY said. 

“Great! In the meantime, how about that movie, huh?”

Peter stared at Mr. Stark wide-eyed. What was he going to do? Surely he wouldn’t hurt Flash? Right? Peter sure hoped so. He didn’t want Mr. Stark to go to jail. 

“You just sit back, eat, and relax, Pete. I’ll deal with Flash. Little ass won’t be your problem anymore. Promise,” he took one look at Peter’s face and added: “And I also promise not to hurt him. Physically.”

“A-alright. Thanks. Again.”

“No problem. Again.”

Present day

Peter realized he never asked Mr. Stark just what he had done to handle Flash. All he knew was that the following Monday, Flash avoided him like the plague, and continued to do so ever since. And considering he heard nobody else talking about his sexuality, Flash hadn’t outed him, either. 

Also, MJ had returned to school that same day as if nothing had happened. 

Peter stood up and took a walk around the rooftop in order to keep the blood flowing. He’d been sitting for ages. The sun was much lower in the sky.

 Late afternoon already. 

Beneath him, he heard the loud buzz of everyone making their way back home from work or school. 

Peter sat back down on the ledge with a sigh. His stomach rumbled, reminding him of the hunger that started to gnaw at him. It was fine. He was fine. Just a few more hours and then it would be dark and he could sneak back home. All Peter had to do was toughen out the hunger until then. And he knew just the thing to help. 

Peter reached out and broke off a piece of ice. He pulled up his mask to his mouth, cupped the piece of ice in his hand, unmuted KAREN and told her to up the heat of the suit at his hands, then promptly muted her again. The ice started to melt, and he drank the water. 

See? This is working out fine.  

He pulled the mask back down and leaned back on his arms while staring up at the sky. 

Even three months later, the things Flash had said still haunted Peter. His mind liked to use it as material to torture him and keep him up with during the night. Along with the phantom pain of the words’ sting, Peter felt shame whenever he relived the words in his memory. Shame for what? He wasn’t sure. For the fact he hadn’t stood up for himself? Just let himself be spoken to like that? For his asexuality? Did a part of him believe Flash was right? He didn’t know. Maybe it was a little bit of both. 

Either way, just because Flash left him alone now, didn’t mean those words did. It was ridiculous how much they stuck to him. Peter hated himself for it. Even now, he was giving Flash power. He was supposed to be free of him, damnit! 

Last night’s events—Hell, the past three nights’ events—reminded Peter a lot of what Flash had done to him with that ‘note’ and the jerking off motion. At least with Flash that was, all things considered, pretty mild. And only once. And only done by one person, without many other people knowing about it. 

The same couldn’t be said for two days ago. 

Chapter Text

Two days and three nights ago 

Peter perched himself on top of a lamppost. “KAREN, what time is it?”

Along with showing the time to Peter, KAREN responded: “It is now 11:26 pm. Reminder that you need to be home in thirty-four minutes.”

Peter glanced around the street he’d found himself in. That Wednesday evening had been a quiet and uneventful patrol. He’d chased and caught two bike thieves, pet a dog, and scooped an injured bird off the road and brought it to the nearest wildlife rehabilitation center. Other than that, all Peter had been doing was swinging around and performing tricks in mid-air. 

It was safe to say he didn’t see the point of staying out for another thirty-four minutes. With nothing to do, he might as well head back home. 

Peter readied himself to shoot out a web and swing away. His finger pressed on a webshooter—

“Peter,” KAREN interjected out of nowhere, causing Peter to fumble. 

“Argh!” he yelped as he stumbled and fell off the lamppost and onto the ground with an ‘oof’. 

Please tell me no one saw that.  

“What is it, KAREN?” Peter brushed himself off, a little annoyed at his AI. 

Said AI showed him a map of the nearby streets, along with a line for Peter to follow. “I’ve picked up on a commotion nearby. Suspected gang activity. Possibly armed.”

Peter perked up. Now that caught his attention. The Wednesday evening was officially not boring anymore. 

“I’m on my way.” Peter launched a web to the nearest building and took off, following the route KAREN had laid out for him. 

It didn’t take long until Peter could hear the commotion himself. Male voices yelled threats at each other. A gun got cocked. 

Definitely armed then.

“You better get yo asses off our turf before I put a bullet through your skulls!” 

Peter landed on the front of a building that stood right next to the alley where the commotion was happening. Quickly and quietly, he climbed to the top of the building. When he got to the roof, he snuck to the edge and crouched down as he took in the scene before him. 

Two groups of adult men, three each. Group one had two armed with guns, and group two had one armed with a gun. KAREN pointed out another two knives, and the gunless man from group one had a fucking machete of all things. 

“I take it they’re from rival gangs?” Peter asked quietly. 

“That is correct.”

Peter snickered to himself. The girlies are fighting.  

“Right. Let’s do this.”

Take out the gunmen first.  

Peter webbed the two gunmen from group one against the wall, before leaping down into action. “Wonderful evening for a catfight, isn’t it?”

The men all exclaimed in surprise at the sudden interruption. He used their surprised confusion to his advantage. Peter kicked the gunman from group two to the ground before pinning him down with webs on both hands. 

Now to deal with the pointy things.  

The three remaining men had shaken themselves out of their stupor, and began circling around Peter like vultures. 

Peter’s Spider-Sense screamed. He leapt out of the way right as a machete sliced the air where he just stood. Machete-guy roared when he missed. 

Peter landed sideways on a wall, near one of the webbed up gunmen. “Look at you guys all working together,” he cooed. “Setting aside your differences to defeat a common enemy. It brings tears to all eight of my eyes.”

He webbed the wall on the opposite side, launching himself off the current one. Peter used the momentum to attempt to kick one of the knife-wielders as he zoomed past. 

His Spider-Sense shrieked. 

After kicking one of the knife-wielders, machete-guy charged him mid-swing, barrelling into Peter. 

The two rolled over the ground a few times, ending with Peter lying on top of machete-guy. 

One of the men let out a wolf whistle, while another jeered: “You two gonna fight or fuck?”

Peter rolled off machete-guy and got back on his feet in a second. He was glad that the mask hid the blush he felt creeping on his cheeks.

Gross. And definitely fight.   

Machte-guy roared again, but before he could get up, Peter had him webbed to the ground. He ended up snarling at Peter like some sort of rabid animal instead. 

Only one guy remained. The man looked from his knife, to his comrades, to Peter, and back to his knife. 

Peter put a hand on his hip. “You wanna do the whole thing where I have to hurt you and then web you up, or would you rather just skip to the webbing up part? Personally I vote for the latter, so ball’s in your court, pal.”

The last knife-guy turned and ran. Peter shot a web at his feet, causing the man to faceplant on the ground. Then he shot out two more webs to pin his hands to the ground. 

Peter took a look around the area, admiring a job well done. “KAREN, are the police on their way yet?”

“Police are en route. ETA two minutes. Reminder, you have twenty minutes to get back home.”

Peter clapped his hands together. “Well, that was fun, guys. Enjoy prison!”

Near his feet, machete-guy attempted to bite him. 

Peter let out a small yelp and scrambled away from him. “You’ve got some serious issues, man!”

To Peter’s surprise, machete-guy stopped his snarling and attempted biting, and sighed. “Yeah. I really need to work on my violent tendencies.”

You don’t say.  

“Well, I appreciate the honesty,” Peter launched a web to a building further away. “Keep that up in the interrogation room!” He yelled as he swung away from the scene. 

Peter waited nearby and out of sight until the police arrived. Confident they could handle it all from there, he turned and started swinging back home. 

A loud sound near him woke Peter up. He groaned and stumbled out of bed, making his way to his alarm—

Which wasn’t going off. And wasn’t going to be going off for another twenty minutes. 

What the?  

Peter belatedly realised the sound was his ringtone. 

He rubbed at his eyes before grabbing his phone. 

Ned Leeds (Chairmaster) is calling…  

What on Earth did Ned need to call him so early for? He could’ve slept for another twenty minutes! Those minutes were precious to him!

Peter scowled and picked up. “Someone better be dying,” he grumbled. 

“I’m so sorry, dude. People suck.”

Peter blinked, taken aback by the immediate and sincere sounding apology. That was a bit extreme considering the circumstances. “I mean—it’s pretty annoying to be woken up early by a phone call, but it’s fi—”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Ned interrupted. 

Peter frowned, leaning against the headboard of his bed. “What do you mean? Why did you call?”

“Oh,” Ned said dejectedly, “you haven’t seen it yet, have you?”

“Seen what? I just woke up!”

“Ah, crap. I wanted to be the one to comfort you, not break the news to you.”

Worry gripped Peter’s heart. “News? What news?”

Ned sighed. “Just look online, man. There’s a video of Spider-Man going viral, along with a bunch of articles written about him…you…Spider-Man.”

Peter shot up, heart beating fast. “What? What video? And what articles? Are they good or bad?”

A beat of silence passed. Peter’s stomach swirled with anxiety. 

Ned’s voice was a few octaves higher. “They’re not great, man.”

Shit! Shit! Shit!

“I-I’ll call you back, Ned.” Peter hung up and instantly looked up ‘Spider-Man’. 

At the top of the page was a link to a video that had been posted on social media. Peter clicked the link and the first thing he noticed was that the video was from his patrol last night. The angle of the video made it clear that whoever filmed it, had been hiding at the entrance of the alley Peter had fought in. 

How did I not notice that?  

The video started right after Peter had dodged machete guy’s first attack. He saw himself take down one of the knife-wielders, get barreled into by machete-guy, the wolf whistle and the sexual comment, and webbing up machete-guy. It was surreal to see himself in action like that. People had posted videos online of Spider-Man before, but most of them were either blunders or Peter doing a couple of stunts for people when they asked. 

The video continued on, showing Peter putting the hand on his hip, talking to the final knife-guy, and knife-guy trying to run away. The person filming gasped as knife-guy ran towards them. Peter saw the surprise in the guy’s eyes when he saw a random civilian was filming the whole ordeal, right before his feet got webbed and he faceplanted. 

The video ended. 

Peter frowned. So someone had been an idiot by putting themselves in danger to film him in action, why was that news worthy? And why would that mean there were ‘not great’ articles written about Spider-Man? Were people angry that Peter had allowed a citizen so close to the action? He didn’t even know someone was there filming it all! He’d been busy not getting shot or stabbed. 

Peter opened the comments to see what people were thinking. 

He wished he hadn’t. 

@laurensjournal: look at the way he webbed them up he definitely uses that trick in the bedroom lmao

@yourmomsayshi replied to @laurensjournal: what if instead of spider-man he was called freaky-man and nothing changes?

@rae_lynn replied to @laurensjournal: wish spidey would do that to me fr

@jingle_balls replied to @rae_lynn: when I’m done with him it won’t just be a web squirting out of him

@therealroland replied to @laurensjournal: always thought that bug was a sex pest. just look at the way he’s dressed in spandex

@x_jessica_bailey_x replied to @laurensjournal: brb gonna commit a crime so spider-daddy comes to get me

@itspoppy_11: the hip placement HAHAHA he’s so cunty

@noobmaster69 replied to @itspoppy_11: he definitely takes it up the ass for sure

Peter closed the comments, shut his eyes, and took a deep breath. His heart hammered in his throat. The things those people were saying about Spider-Man…

He shuddered. 

And apparently there were articles, too. A logical part of Peter knew looking up the articles would only upset and repulse him more, but morbid curiosity had him looking them up anyway. 

Spider-Man Tumbles With Criminal—And People Are Loving It

‘Spider-Man Can Web Me Up Like That Anytime’: How Spider-Man Became Our New Thirst Subject

No Face, All Fantasy: Why Spider-Man Captivates Social Media

‘He’s Definitely Packing’: Social Media Loses Their Minds Over Newest Swinging Sex Symbol

Peter’s alarm blared. 

He jolted, dropping his phone. 

He walked over to his alarm in a daze, putting it out on auto-pilot. 

Why?  

Just why?  

Why did someone have to risk their life to film Spider-Man? Why did they have to post it online? Why did people feel the need to comment those disgusting things? Why did they even feel comfortable enough to comment stuff like that for everyone to see? 

Peter crossed his arms, hugging himself. The way thousands of people were talking about Spider-Man; sexualizing him. Disgust buzzed beneath his skin. Peter wanted to crawl under the covers and never emerge again. 

“Freak like you, of course you can’t get any. Who would want you?”

Thousands of people, apparently.  

A soft knock sounded on his door, before it creaked open. “Oh, honey, are you okay?” May’s voice was gentle. 

“Have you seen the—” Peter looked up at May and paused when he saw her thinned lips and worried gaze. That was answer enough. 

Peter ducked his head away in shame. May had read those disgusting things people were saying about Spider-Man. Read how strangers sexualised him and fantasized about doing all kinds of nasty things with or to him. 

Peter’s eyes widened. 

Ned has read it too!  

A spike of anxiety flooded his body. 

And Mr. Stark will see it eventually as well, if he hasn’t already!  

He knelt down on the ground, hands on his head. Breathing heavy. 

Nonononono this can’t be happening!  

May knelt down beside him, rubbing soothing circles on his back and telling Peter how everything will be alright. 

When Peter was calmed down enough, she gave him a hug. “How about you don’t go to school today? I can stay up for a few hours with you and we can watch a movie together.”

Peter shook his head. “No if I—if I stay here I’ll just be looking at all that, um, stuff all day. School will be a good distraction.”

May inspected his face for a moment and then sighed. “Okay, but just take it easy. And call if anything happens, alright? Me or Tony, just call.”

“Yeah. Um. Yeah, I will.”

Peter should’ve taken May up on her offer to stay home. Staying at home and reading all the stuff about Spider-Man would’ve been much better than being surrounded by people who’ve read the same things—

And were talking about it. Constantly. 

I’ve never been more grateful for the hearing restraints.  

At least they ensured he only heard the people in his immediate vicinity. Peter shuddered to think what it would’ve been like if he was able to hear the entire school talking about it at once.

From the moment he had met up with Ned and his best friend had given him a pitying look and another ‘I’m so sorry, man’, Peter knew he had made a mistake. 

What kind of teenager declined the opportunity to take a day off school, anyway? He’d brought it upon himself, really. 

“If you pause the video at this exact point and zoom in you can see his bulge.”

A girl laughed. “Look at this comment: ‘please tell me the suit has a zipper. Asking for a friend’.”

“I’m not gay, but I’d let Spidey web me up like that and do whatever he wanted to me in a heartbeat.”

Peter went through the schoolday with his shoulders hunched and a continuous grimace on his face. 

Part of him wondered if he would find all of it flattering if he wasn’t a sex-repulsed asexual. In a way, they were calling Peter—no, not Peter, but Spider-Man—attractive. Yes, a lot of them did it in a needlessly explicit and disgusting way, but if he looked beyond that, a bunch of people were basically calling him hot. And last Peter checked, calling someone hot was a compliment. He should be flattered. 

He wasn’t flattered.

Peter was uncomfortable at best, and downright disgusted to the point he felt a little sick at worst. 

Which was why his lunch was left uneaten. 

“Asexuals are just mentally ill.”

“It sucks, man. People should just mind their own business instead of being gross,” Ned said in an attempt to comfort him. “But you know what the media is like; in a few days something else comes along and this thing dies out. You just gotta stick it out until then, my dude.”

Peter sighed. “I guess.”

He left lunch early, telling Ned he needed to go to the bathroom. 

He checked if there was anyone else there. Once it was clear all the stalls were empty, Peter stood in front of the mirror and inspected his reflection. 

This. This is what people are horny for?  

Obviously they couldn’t see his face or anything, but they could see his general body. Its shape. That was enough for people to salivate over. Enough for people—according to some of the things he’d heard and read—to jerk off to. 

Peter cringed and looked away from the mirror. An uneasy feeling sat firm in his gut. 

Peter’s phone started ringing. 

Tony Stark (Fe Male) is calling…  

He gasped and double-checked if the bathroom was really empty—just to be sure—before picking up. “Um. Hi?”

“Hiya, Pete—” something clanged in the background—”I was just wondering how you were. So, how are you holding up? Managing okay or about to do the Peter version of hulking out on all those perverts?”

Peter entered one of the stalls and sat down with a sigh. “I’m managing okay, I guess? Just the things people and the media are saying about me…”

“You gotta ignore that stuff, kid. Easier said than done, I know. Really, I do. They’re all just a bunch of boring people with boring lives, which is why they need to obsess about the lives of cool guys like us,” Mr. Stark said. “And the horny ones just desperately need to get laid.” He added like an after-thought. 

Peter snickered at that. “Yeah, you’re right. And in a few days this will have all blown over, right?”

“It’ll be gone like the wind and fall into irrelevance—DUM-E, I swear if you don’t put that down I’m selling you to a community college—” muffled footsteps sounded over the phone—”Before you know it, your spotlight will be stolen away by some B-list celebrity getting caught cheating.”

The two continued to talk over the phone until lunch was over. It made it all seem less world-ending than it was to Peter before. The situation wasn’t ideal, but it would blow over. 

“See you in the afternoon, kid.”

In the meantime, Peter had something to look forward to at least. 

Peter whooped as he performed a somersault mid-air, before landing on a rooftop in an—in his completely unbiased opinion—awesome looking pose. 

Messing around in the lab with Mr. Stark earlier that day had done wonders for Peter’s mood. While he was there he could forget all about the thousands of strangers being disgusting towards Peter—no, not to Peter; to Spider-Man. 

“Yo, that was sick!” a twenty-something-year-old guy holding a phone pointed towards Peter yelled. “Hey, Spidey! Can you do a ‘flip?”

Peter smiled beneath the mask. One of his favorite parts of patrolling was when people asked him to do stunts for them. 

He performed two backflips in a row, much to the excitement of the guy filming him. Then he gave the guy a little wave, flung out a web, and swung away, chuckling as he heard a: “See ya, Spidey!”

Peter knew that video of him doing the backflips and the earlier somersault were going to end up online, but he didn’t mind. He hadn’t been in action; nobody had been in danger. It was just a nice and wholesome interaction between two people. There were already plenty of videos of Peter doing stunts floating around online. Those were the kind of videos that people should be making of him. The comments under them praising Peter’s skill were the kind of comments people should be making about him. Peter was glad he’d helped a normal Spider-Man video into the online space. Anything to pile on to and hide that video from the other night. 

Helping three lost people with directions, getting a cat from a tree, retrieving a kid’s balloon, and preventing one carjacking later, Peter hung upside down from a web, swaying slightly in the breeze, satisfied with that night’s patrol so far. 

KAREN informed him he still had two hours left before he needed to be home. 

The night’s still young.  

A bunch of footsteps walked towards him. 

Peter looked up (down?) from where he hung, seeing a group of people, consisting of both men and women, heading his way. His Spider-Sense remained silent; not a threat then. So, why were they approaching him? 

The group seemed excited to see him. They pointed at him and jostled each other. A few snickered. 

Peter smelled the alcohol on their breaths. 

He righted himself and sat down on top of a lamppost, his feet dangling casually off the side. “Hey, guys. How you doing?”

“You’re that spider guy right? The one from that video?” One of them—a young woman probably in her late teens or early twenties—asked in lieu of greeting Peter back. 

Peter shifted on the lamppost as dread crept in. The sudden urge to shoot out a web and swing away gnawed at him. Still, he stayed put. It would be rude to leave now. Not without good cause. Just because they mentioned that video and were all drunk didn’t mean the interaction was going to suck. “Yeah, that’s me. Spider-Man.”

One of the people in the back took out their phone and started filming. 

Peter’s dread worsened. 

Please ask me to do a backflip or climb a wall or something.

The same girl let out a chuckle and gestured to a few of her friends—three guys and two girls, all about the same age. “My friends here are big fans of your work.”

Said friends nodded emphatically, but Peter was hesitant to take the compliment. Something about the smiles that played at their lips and the glint in their eyes—it set Peter on edge. His Spider-Sense was still silent, though, so clearly they weren’t a threat to him. 

Am I just being paranoid?  

Peter gave them a thumbs-up—cringing internally at the action—and forced his voice to be overly cheery. “That’s cool! I appreciate you guys’ support!”

Giggles went through the small crowd. 

He was still being filmed. 

The girl continued: “Yeah, they just wanted to show you their gratitude.”

Peter opened his mouth to tell them that wasn’t necessary—

The three guys unzipped their pants and the two girls lifted their coats and shirts. Exposing themselves. 

Peter froze. A strangled sound escaping his throat. 

“Thank you, Spider-Man!” They all said in unison before bursting out laughing. 

Peter didn’t—no, couldn’t reply. He sat there uselessly and absolutely dumbstruck as his mind tried to comprehend what the fuck was happening.   

“He’s taking a good look!” The person filming laughed. 

Peter snapped out of it and whirled his head to the side; away from the scene before him. With shaky hands, he activated a webshooter and escaped the group of people.  

Their laughs followed him for a long while. 

He stuck to the side of a skyscraper, catching his breath. His heart beat a mile a minute. His whole body felt jittery. 

Peter shuddered, trying to get rid of the disgust that buzzed beneath his skin. 

What just happened?  

Peter woke up before his alarm went off and just knew . 

Knew there would be another viral video of Spider-Man. 

Knew what kinds of comments people were leaving on it. 

And knew that looking it up wouldn’t be good for him. 

Yet, Peter couldn’t stop himself. 

People couldn’t bring themselves to look away when they saw a tragedy happen. Spider-Man or not, Peter was still just a person. It didn’t matter that the tragedy was happening to him. He just had to keep looking. Had to keep reading. Peter wondered whether victims of tragedies experienced the same thing. Could a person in a car accident tear their eyes away from the shattered glass that had cut them? From their own blood pooling on the inside of their wrecked car? From the broken body of the person in the car with them?

Peter had even installed an alert on his phone to notify him whenever a new article about him got posted online. 

It didn’t surprise him that the video where people flashed Peter was getting the most attention. Of course it couldn’t have been from the stunts he performed in front of a camera that exact same night. 

@joe_mama commented: he can take a good long look at my dick whenever he wants

@jingle_balls replied to @joe_mama: he can look at mine while hes deep throating it

@liv.k.23 commented: omg guys do you think spidey could be bi? he looked interested in both the girls and the guys

@kayla_xx replied to liv.k.23: @bi_myself thoughts?

@itspoppy_11 replied to liv.k.23: omg @bi_myself pls make a video on this!

@noobmaster69 replied to liv.k.23: fucking knew he took it up the ass  

Peter’s alarm went off. With his eyes still glued to his phone, he went to turn it off. On his third attempt to press the right button without looking, he succeeded. 

Web-slinging Bi-con? Fans Are Clamoring To Find Out. 

Caught On Video: Spider-Man Taking A Peek At Both Women And Men

Fans Enraged: Accuse Spider-Man Of Being Woke-ified

Peter was so disgusted, uncomfortable and stupefied at the situation, that he felt numb. 

As if people sexualizing him and flashing him as a current fucking trend wasn’t bad enough, now they were trying to pry into his personal life. Trying to guess what his sexuality was. As if that was any of their business. 

It made Peter consider coming out to have all the speculation be over and done with, but he knew that would cause a different kind of shitstorm. His experience with Flash finding out about his sexuality was proof of that. He didn’t want to breed more Flashes by coming out to the public. Not only would that affect Peter negatively, but he’d be throwing his fellow aromantic and asexual people to the wolves. He couldn’t do that to them. Peter could just imagine a young aromantic and/or asexual person having to see the kind of shit he’d heard from Flash being plastered all over social media for days on end. That imagined scenario was enough for Peter to remain firmly in the closet. 

When May came into his room and hugged him, that time Peter did take her up on her offer to skip school. 

Peter lay curled up under the blankets. His room was completely dark; Peter having closed the curtains. He didn’t want to risk anyone being able to see inside his room. To see him. 

The only light came off his phone which he held with him under the blanket. 

Peter had been right the day before: if he stayed home, he would spend the whole day reading and basically obsessing over what people were saying about him. Unable to look away. 

As he delved deeper and deeper into that rabbit hole, the worse it got. 

The utter disgust he had felt towards the things people were saying about him, and the group that had flashed him, slowly started to morph into disgust at himself. 

Something about him made people act like that. They didn’t even have to see his face. The shape of his body was enough, and the thought of people putting their eyes on it made him curl up tighter. 

Peter gasped as his phone started ringing. 

Tony Stark (Fe Male) is calling…  

Peter stared at his phone while it continued to ring. 

He didn’t answer it. 

Once it stopped, Mr. Stark sent him a few texts. Peter didn’t know what they said. He didn’t open them. 

It wasn’t anything personal towards Mr. Stark. Ned had texted him a lot throughout the day, and he’d gotten the same treatment. Even MJ, who’d sent him a single text, had been ignored. 

All of them had read the same things Peter had. Had seen the video of what happened the night before. Knowing his friends and the man he looked up to the most had seen that—

Peter’s stomach squirmed. 

He knew he should at least inform Mr. Stark that he wasn’t going to go to Friday night movie night. Tell him he wasn’t feeling good, which was the truth, really. But he couldn’t make himself do it. It was as if there was an incredibly tall building in Peter’s mind that he just couldn’t manage to climb to the top of. It kept going and going, and as Peter continued to try and climb to the top, he wasn’t able to send Mr. Stark—or anyone else—a text. Couldn’t even open their chats. 

May will tell him . 

The two liked being in contact, after all. And May was smart enough to have noticed Peter wasn’t feeling well. It wouldn’t surprise him if she already informed Mr. Stark. Maybe that was why he’d just called. 

Peter looked at the time; 4:43 pm. With the exception of Fridays, Peter had always gone out patrolling at around 8 pm. In less than four hours, he had to get out there again. Be seen again. 

Damn, did he dread it. 

Never before had Peter dreaded going out on patrol. 

It made him feel like an absolute piece of shit. The world wasn’t going to stop just because Peter was a little uncomfortable. Crime still happened, people still got their lives endangered or ruined. He had a responsibility to help. 

Instead, he was hiding in his room like a child; too scared to go outside. 

Pathetic.

Three hours and seventeen minutes later, Peter got out of bed, washed his face without looking at himself in the mirror, and put on the suit. 

No matter how he was feeling, people needed Spider-Man. Peter was never going to stop being Spider-Man. 

Even when being Spider-Man became difficult to do. 

He thrust the curtains aside and opened his window. 

“You’ve got this,” he told himself, before leaping out the window and shooting a web. 

Peter did not have this. 

That Friday night was easily the worst night of them all. 

Everywhere Peter went, phones pointed at him. People all desperate to have filmed and posted the new delightful viral video of him. 

Instead of asking him to do stunts, Peter got asked a bunch of… uncomfortable questions. 

“Top or bottom?”

“You one of those queers?”

“Could you swing overhead of me again? I wanna get the perfect shot.”

If it weren’t weird questions, Peter found himself getting whistled at and catcalled from all around. 

“Yo booty lookin’ fine as hell in that suit.”

“Nice an’ tight, just as I like it.”

“Hey, Spidey! C’mere and web me up real good.”  

Peter jolted whenever he heard someone nearby speaking louder. Behind every corner, underneath every building, people were lurking. Waiting for him to pass by so they could ogle and film and call after him. He’d crashed into three building already because of it. 

Still, he kept going. 

Four people would’ve gotten their cars stolen if Peter had stayed inside. A kind elderly woman would still be searching for her dog if he remained curled under the blankets. 

For moments like those, he kept going. 

Until he couldn’t anymore. 

Peter’s arms ached from how fast he was swinging. 

He had to get home. Had to hide away. 

As he made his escape, the memory of earlier that night flashed in his mind. 

Peter managed to avoid the three men he’d heard talking about finding Spider-Man. He had no inclination to find out why they wanted to find him. Especially when he’d heard ‘like that video’ come out of one of their mouths. 

While swinging through New York, Peter did his best to stick to the shadows as much as possible. To keep his swinging as lowkey as possible. Never before had he felt like more of a vigilante—having to sneak around through the city—than he did at that moment. 

He stuck to the shadowy side of a building, listening with baited breath if it was safe to swing to the building on the other side. He’d muted KAREN right after he had left the apartment. AI or not, he couldn’t handle talking to her. 

“Help! Please, somebody! Help!”

His safety be damned, Peter swung towards the cries for help without hesitation. 

A panicked man—maybe in his late twenties—shook an unconscious man who lay deathly still on the ground. 

“Trent? Trent! Wake up, man!” the man said. “Somebody help!”

Peter made sure to land audibly and with some distance between them so as not to startle the already panicked man. “Hello there, sir. What’s wrong?” He made sure to keep his voice low and calm. 

The man whirled around, eyes widening when he saw Peter. “M-my friend. He just suddenly passed out out of nowhere and I can’t wake him up!”

“Okay,” Peter slowly walked over to the two men, “how about you call 9-1-1 and I’ll check on your friend, alright?”

The man fished his phone out of his pocket. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good.” He turned his back on Peter to make the call. 

With that man taken care of, Peter focused on the unconscious one. 

His heartbeat sounded norm—wait, no, it was faster than normal. 

Peter frowned and listened to the man’s breathing: short and occasionally hitching. 

That can’t be right—

The ‘unconscious’ man’s eyes flew open. With a laugh he jumped up from the ground, put his hands up and leaned slightly backwards. 

His zipper was open. 

The man was exposed. 

Just like the last time he got flashed, Peter froze. His mind struggling to comprehend what was happening to him. 

The other man walked into Peter’s field of vision, pointing his phone at Peter with the flashlight on. 

They’d lured him to them by faking an emergency. So they could flash him and film it. 

The men began to laugh. “I knew you liked dick!”

Flash’s voice—as it had the tendency to do lately—sneered in his mind: “Going to put that note of mine to good use, huh? Asexual, my ass.”

Peter whirled on the man filming him, snatching his phone out of his hand and simultaneously kicking him in the gut. The man got flown a few feet away, rolling on the ground and coming to lie still with a wheeze. 

Peter snapped his phone in half and let the broken pieces drop to the ground. 

“What the fuck!” yelled the man who flashed him. He’d tucked his little guy away again. 

Peter stepped forward to move to him, to hurt him as well, but seeing the blatant fear in the man’s eyes had him pause. 

He looked to the man he injured, who was struggling to get up, his heart racing with adrenaline and fear. 

They were scared of him. And they were right to be. 

He’d injured an innocent man!

Peter stumbled back. “I didn’t—I was just so—I wouldn’t!”

The uninjured man scurried towards his injured friend. “Let’s go, man. Quick!”

Peter watched them go. 

He had to get home.  

Peter smacked against his window. His fingers fumbled as he struggled to pry it open. When he succeeded, he rushed inside, closed the window and the curtains, and started pulling at his suit. 

Get it off, get it off, get it off.

He discarded the suit in an undignified heap on the ground. 

For a moment, he merely stood in the middle of his room, breathing heavily. Then he shuffled towards his bed, let himself under the blanket, curled up, and cried. 

Peter shot up with a start, his whole body feeling jittery. With shaky hands, he ripped the blanket off himself. He shook his arms and legs, trying to dispel the nervous energy that tingled underneath his skin. 

Without permission, Peter’s eyes drifted to his suit. It lay crumpled on the ground where he’d left it…how long ago? 

Peter checked the clock on his alarm. 4:47 am. What time had he gotten back to his room? With everything that happened, he’d never thought to check the time. 

Had he fallen asleep? Peter couldn’t remember trying to go to sleep. After he managed to stop crying, all he remembered doing was just lying under the covers, trying not to think about that last patrol. 

He rubbed at his eyes and sniffed. Exhaustion still clung to him, so he doubted he managed to get any sleep. Probably just dozed for a little while. 

Better than nothing, I suppose.  

Peter shuffled over to the suit, picked it up, and laid it gently on his bed. Mr. Stark spent millions on it, he should’ve treated it better. No matter how he was feeling. 

His fingers rubbed the suit, feeling its fabric. 

I want to put it on again.  

Peter startled at the thought, along with the sudden longing that came with it. 

He wanted to put on the suit? So soon after what happened? 

Grabbing the suit from his bed and holding it out in front of him, the answer was simple. 

Yes. Yes, I do.  

Peter looked back at his alarm. 4:49 am. The perfect time if Peter wanted to go out as Spider-Man without being spotted. It was both too late and too early for people to be outside—with some exceptions, of course. But the few people who were outside, could easily be avoided. 

Decision made, Peter donned the suit and went back outside. He left his phone behind and KAREN remained muted. He wanted to be alone and unreachable, at least for a little bit. Just so he could take a moment for himself. Clear his head, destress, and gather himself. 

Swinging through the city, the cold winds bit him. Soon, Peter began to feel a bone-deep chill creeping up on him. That was definitely one of the massive downsides of his spider mutation: he couldn’t thermoregulate. 

Peter activated the suit’s heater, a contented sigh escaping his lips as the cold got chased off. 

He swung through the city aimlessly. He hadn’t spotted anyone outside, and—hopefully—nobody had spotted him, either. 

Peter went higher and higher, pushing himself. 

Eventually, he landed on the side of one of New York’s taller buildings. Peter sat down against the building’s side, looking down at the rest of the city. Everything was so much smaller from where he sat. It was weird to think how, a few hours ago, Peter had been swinging around closer to the ground, having a horrible time. All those people would look so tiny from his position now. 

He looked up, spotting the building’s roof a few feet above him. Peter turned and climbed the rest of the way up. When he reached the roof, he sat down on the ledge, his feet dangling above the rest of the city. 

Sitting far above his problems, Peter could finally take that moment for himself. 

Present day 

Thinking back on that last patrol specifically, Peter itched for his phone. He still couldn’t shake the urge to look himself up. He wanted to know if those two guys had posted that video. Sure, he’d snapped the phone in half, but it could’ve had some kind of back-up. 

Peter hunched in on himself. 

He’d snapped a civilian’s phone in half. Destroyed somebody’s property. Then proceeded to attack him. 

The Daily Bugle was right: Peter was a menace. 

He’d failed last night. Failed to be Spider-Man. All because he couldn’t ignore a few weird acting people. 

Peter looked up at the horizon. Sunset was getting closer. He didn’t have to sit on that rooftop for much longer. Once it was dark enough, he’d stick to the shadows again while swinging back home. There, he’d get out of the suit and maybe give May a hug. 

Peter perked up. 

Shit! May doesn’t know where I’ve been all this time!  

She must’ve been worried sick. 

A part of Peter wanted to say ‘fuck it’ and go back home right that moment. Then he remembered the catcalling, the filming, the flashing, and he remained where he sat. The risk of being seen was too high, and as much as Peter hated to admit it, at that moment, easing May’s worry wasn’t worth that risk. It wouldn’t be long until he could go home, anyway, and May would’ve already been worried for most of the day. What was one more hour or so? 

Wait until it’s dark, sneak home, get out of the suit, and give May a hug and an apology—both for worrying her and for being rude on Valentine’s Day last year. 

After that, he would eat, catch up on some much needed sleep, and go out on patrol again the following night. 

Peter had to make amends for last night’s patrol.    

On the way back home I should find some flowers for May. 

May would no doubt want an explanation for Peter’s absence the entire day. Maybe while he told her what happened, he could finally come out to her? She deserved to know, at least. Even if the idea filled him with dread. Mr. Stark, Ned, and MJ knew. May deserved better than to be the only one left in the dark. 

Besides, with everything he’d already gone through that year, Peter doubted it could get much worse. And if May did end up disowning him or something—well, then at least the year kept up its streak of getting consistently shittier as it went on. 

Here I thought your life was supposed to get better once you figured yourself out.  

With the year he’d had after discovering he was aromantic asexual, Peter wondered if his orientation was a curse. That the moment he used that label for himself, he’d put an extra target on his back. 

Would the year have been better if he hadn’t known? 

Ignorance is bliss, after all.  

The familiar sound of thrusters heading his way interrupted Peter’s musings. 

“You know,” Mr. Stark’s voice—coming from the Iron Man suit—said, “I really don’t appreciate getting ghosted.”

Chapter Text

Present day 

Peter watched dumbly as Mr. Stark landed on the roof. He hadn’t meant to ghost him, it just sort of happened. Everyone had gotten ghosted. Still, having Mr. Stark bring it up had Peter hunching in on himself. He’d worried both May and Mr. Stark—and undoubtedly Ned, and possibly MJ, too—with his antics. 

I keep hurting innocent people.  

Peter truly was the worst. 

He should’ve been better than that. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” Even to his own ears, Peter heard how soft and defeated his voice sounded. He turned his head away, looking back down at the ground. His mask remained on. 

The Iron Man suit opened, followed by footsteps heading his way. Peter could sense Mr. Stark standing next to him. With a sigh, Mr. Stark sat down on the ledge next to Peter.

Peter kept his gaze averted from him, deliberately continuing to stare at the ground many feet below them. Much like a child after being caught misbehaving. 

Usually, whenever Peter’s mind or somebody else compared him to a child, it rankled him. Not that time. 

I really am a child.  

Only a child would be too scared to be seen; hiding away the whole day and waiting until it was safe enough to leave. Be it hiding all day on a rooftop to avoid being seen by people or hiding under the blankets until your parents came to your room, to avoid being seen by the monster you’re convinced is hiding under your bed.  

Peter’s stomach rumbled. 

“Geez, kid. Tell me ya ate something while you were here all day.” Mr. Stark broke the silence. 

Peter fiddled with his hands, suddenly feeling pretty embarrassed about his earlier lackluster attitude about food. “Um. I drank some melted icewater?”

In the corner of his eye, Mr. Stark turned his head to look at him. “Melted icewater,” he deadpanned. 

“I unmuted KAREN for a moment to, um, up the heat at my hands.”

Mr. Stark let out a long sigh, turning his head away from Peter and looking at the horizon. “How long are you planning on staying here?”

Peter checked the sky. The first streaks of orange hues painted the sky. The sun was on the precipice of setting. “Until it’s dark.”

“You better not be lying to me, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Stark stood up, walking back to the Iron Man suit. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

That was all the explanation Peter got before the suit closed around Mr. Stark and he took off. 

True to his word, Mr. Stark returned to the rooftop a few minutes later, holding a plastic bag. The smell of food—specifically, Peter noted, Thai food—wafted from the bag. On cue, his stomach rumbled. 

Mr. Stark plopped the bag on Peter’s knees. He ordered him to eat, and sat back down again on the ledge next to Peter. 

He remained silent as Peter started digging in like a starved animal. When was the last time Peter had eaten? The quick protein bar he’d shoved in his mouth before going on patrol? It had nearly been twenty-four hours. No wonder his stomach both ached and rejoiced at the amount of food it was getting now. 

Once Peter was satisfied enough, he worked up the courage to ask: “How’s May?”

Mr. Stark leaned back in a casual manner. “Oh, you know. Just wondering whether her beloved nephew is lying dead in a ditch somewhere. No biggie.” Despite the light tone he’d used, Peter could hear the edge to it. 

Oh. He’s pissed.  

And he had every right to be. As did May, and Ned, and even MJ. 

Peter crumpled up the bag and held it tight in a fist. “I’m sorry.”

He had a feeling he would be saying those words a lot the upcoming days. 

“Why do we keep ending up in this situation, Pete?” Mr. Stark sounded tired. 

Peter chanced turning his head in order to look at him. “What do you mean?”

His gaze snapped to Peter, who instinctively shirked back a little. “You, being miserable about something, worrying both May and I. You, bottling everything up and pretending that you’re fine. It’s like pulling teeth to finally get you to open up!” Mr. Stark took a deep breath, reigning himself in again. “You can’t keep doing this, Peter. If not for your own health, then for May’s. She’s worried sick.”

Shame coiled around his gut. Peter couldn’t bear to keep looking at Mr. Stark, lowering his head back to the ground again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

The words stung, but Peter knew they were true. It was never his intention to worry the people around him, though! In fact, he kept stuff to himself exactly so the people he cared about wouldn’t have to worry! Yet, he still ended up worrying and hurting them. Every time. Peter was an idiot to have believed it would be different that time around. What kind of aunt wouldn’t be worried about her nephew hiding in his room all day? Wouldn’t worry when she saw how upset people’s behavior made him? 

Peter needed to change. 

He hesitated for a moment, psyching himself up for what he was going to ask. “Have—have you seen the, um, the footage of the—” he cringed, having to force the words out of him—”the Baby Monitor Protocol? From last night?”

He still hated that name. 

“Nope,” Mr. Stark said, “I’d hoped you’d tell me what happened by yourself. Without me having to prod or bargain.”

Peter flinched, but decided to soldier through. He could tell him. He just had to open his mouth and tell Mr. Stark what happened last patrol. How he’d been tricked. Gotten flashed. And completely snapped, having actually hurt an innocent pers—

He couldn’t tell him. 

But Peter owed it to Mr. Stark to tell him. 

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, let out a strangled noise, and closed it again. “I don’t,” he started, “I don’t know how to. Tell you, I mean.”

“I see.” The way Mr. Stark said it made Peter think he—in fact—did not see. 

Peter needed to make sure he could see. If not through words, then through actions. He unmuted KAREN. “KAREN, could you send the footage from last night’s patrol directly to Mr. Stark’s phone, please? Starting at the part where I heard that guy scream for help.”

“Absolutely, Peter. Sending now.”

Mr. Stark gave him a confused look, but fished his phone out of his pocket either way. 

The footage started to play. 

Peter sat frozen on the spot. He itched to shoot out a web and swing away. Cover his ears and turn his back on Mr. Stark as he watched the footage. But he didn’t. He had to face what he’d done. Face what had happened. 

The footage ended once Peter heard his past self entering his bedroom. 

Peter swallowed. “So. That,” he said lamely. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Mr. Stark sounded scandalized. “Sorry for what? Giving those perverts their due? Don’t you dare be sorry for that.”

“Don’t say that!” Peter snapped. “I hurt an innocent man! Destroyed his property! Who knows how much money he lost buying a new phone and getting medical attention!”

“‘Innocent man’? Pete, last I checked indecent exposure is still very much illegal. You hurt a guilty man who committed a literal crime against you. Asshole should be grateful he didn’t get arrested.”

Peter huffed. “Attacking someone is illegal, too.”

“Self-defense.”

“Against what? They weren’t armed. Weren’t enhanced. What possible threat could they have been to me?” Peter let out a long sigh. “I should’ve been better. Shouldn’t have let the media get to me so much. What does it matter what a few people said about me?”

“What does it mat?—” Mr. Stark groaned—”Of course it matters! The disgusting things they said hurt you. That matters, Peter. To both May and me.”

Peter deflated. “Oh.”

Shaking his head, Mr. Stark said: “I should’ve helped you more. Done something to nip the whole thing in the bud. For that, I’m sorry.”

“What? It’s not your fault. You’ve got nothing to be sorry about!”

Mr. Stark gave Peter a pointed look. “Neither do you. What happened last night wasn’t your fault.”

Peter said nothing to that. Merely gave a noncommittal hum and a shrug. 

To his surprise, Mr. Stark chuckled. “I suppose that’s the best I can get when I’m up against your massive guilt-complex. Geez, it’s big enough to rival my own. No wonder Pepper and Rhodey keep joking that we’re related.”

Peter blinked. “They do?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time. You should’ve seen the surprise on their faces when the paternity test I did—oh, FYI, I used one of your used forks from the kitchen in the Compound—came back negative. I’m pretty sure FRIDAY had taken a photo of it—”

From the Iron Man suit, FRIDAY chimed in: “That is correct, Boss.”

“Still,” Mr. Stark’s face grew serious again, “I would be proud. If you were my son.”

Peter’s eyes widened. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Without thinking, he pulled the mask off his face. “Really?” He didn’t even bother to try and hide the awe in his voice. 

“Really really.”

A little flustered at Mr. Stark’s admission, Peter felt a slight blush creep on his face. “I would be proud too, you know? If you were my dad.”

It was subtle, but Mr. Stark’s face lit up. Then he cleared his throat, looked away from Peter for a moment, sniffed, and looked back again, his eyes gleaming. 

Mr. Stark nudged Peter’s shoulder. “We’ve got good taste,” he joked. 

Peter chuckled, feeling a warm glow in his chest. 

Mr. Stark sniffed again and then clapped his hands. “Right. It’s about damn time I do something about the media. It’s true it’s best to ride these things out until they focus on the newest scandal,” his eyes widened slightly. “I could be the newest scandal! Do something stupid to divert their attention.” 

“What? Like the time you peed in your suit?” Peter asked with a small smile. 

Mr. Stark grimaced. “Not my finest moment, I’ll admit. But I’ll do it again in a heartbeat if it means stealing attention from Spidey,” he smirked. “I don’t like sharing the spotlight, after all.”

“You really don’t have to, Mr. Stark, but—” Peter hesitated. 

“But?” Mr. Stark urged. 

Almost shily, Peter said: “It would be nice. If you could take the attention away from me.”

“Done. By tomorrow they’ll all be creepy towards the right hero: me.”

Peter felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Just like that—by opening up—somebody helped him with his problem. Because he cared about Peter and wanted to help him. And Peter had let him. 

It encouraged Peter to open up again. “Mr. Stark? Can I tell you something else?”

“No. I came all the way over here to try and get you to open up and talk to me as a joke, ha, ha, ha,” Mr. Stark said in an overtly sarcastic tone. 

Peter shot him a half-hearted glare. Mr. Stark gave him a cheeky smile in return, looking absolutely delighted with himself. 

Then his face softened. “Spill, kid.”

“I’ve been thinking and reflecting quite a bit today, and, well, I, um, realized a couple of things. About me being aroace, I mean. Specifically, my feeling surrounding it,” Peter paused, thinking of a way to put it into words. Part of him still shied away from doing so; urged him not to bother Mr. Stark with his problems. He ignored it and powered through. “It’s just—when I found out about it a year ago, I’d been so happy and proud of it. But after all the shit that happened—Valentine’s, the whole things with Ned, Flash, the media. I think that that happiness and pride has been replaced with—I don’t know, frustration? Sadness? A bit of shame?”

“That’s understandable, considering what you’ve been through,” Mr. Stark said. 

“Except, nobody around me truly understands!” Peter blurted, frustration bubbling up at his lack of community in regards to that part of him. A familiar pang of loneliness—much like the loneliness he’d felt months ago when Ned had been focused on Betty—made his heart ache. “Besides for one person, I know nobody around me who’s ace or aro or, hell, both. And much as I do really like that one person, I don’t really know where I stand with them. Interactions between us are always on their terms. So,” he shrugged, “that doesn’t really give me all that much, either.”

Mr. Stark looked considerate. “Talk to me about it like you would a fellow aroace person.”

Peter hesitated. “I don’t know, Mr. Stark. You wouldn’t really know what I’m talking about, and I don’t feel like having to give a Ted Talk or something about terms I use.”

Mr. Stark tsked. “Give my intellect more credit,” he nudged Peter’s shoulder. “C’mon, Pete. Try me.”

Peter had no idea how he could broach the topic in a way Mr. Stark could understand. Yes, he’d said to talk to him like he was another aroace person. Yes, he’d told him to give his intellect more credit. But Peter didn’t feel like opening up, only to still not be understood. 

“Tell ya what. How about you start by telling me what the hell happened on Valentine’s Day? Since I don’t know about that one and would very much appreciate to know whether I should start blasting people,” Mr. Stark said. “I vaguely recall you saying something about boys being gross. Do they need to get the Flash treatment?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “No! Nothing like that—wait, what did you do about Flash, anyways? You never said.”

Mr. Stark shrugged. “Merely had a little chat with the principal and the ass’ parents. I may have flaunted my wealth a little, as well. So they’d understand me, of course.”

Peter snorted. 

“Now, Valentine’s Day. Tell me your woes, my fellow aroace.”

Alright, then. But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.  

He fiddled with his hands. “Well, basically, I tried to come out to May. Decided to do so after she told me to call her if I get a Valentine, and I was like: ‘as if that’s ever gonna happen’—obviously I didn’t say that out loud , just thought it,” Peter began. Having spent that morning thinking back on last year’s Valentine’s Day, and processing it properly, he came to realize what had truly annoyed him the most. “and it was all so… grating. First with May assuming I even wanted a Valentine and acting as if that was somehow more important than her getting enough sleep. Then with me absolutely butchering my coming out to her, and her response basically being—even though I know she meant no harm—the whole ‘you’ll find the right person’ thing. And that was just the beginning of the day! Everywhere I went, everywhere I looked, romance got shoved down my throat. As if it’s the best thing ever and everyone should want it! And if you don’t, you’re miserable and sad.”

Mr. Stark hummed. “Amatonormativity’s a bitch.”

Peter blinked, frowning a little. “Wait. You know what that is? What it means?”

“Yep,” he said. “I started looking more into information about aromanticism and asexuality, the aroace community, and whatnot after you told me about missing that community in real life.”

About one month ago

Peter was at the Compound watching a movie with Mr. Stark. It was some sort of older comedy; Peter had forgotten the name. In fact, he hadn’t been paying much attention to the movie at all. It felt childish to admit, but Peter was in a bit of a mood since the day before at school. It felt even worse to admit it was because of MJ. 

Since finding out she’s ace, Peter had tried a couple of times to talk about ace things with MJ, but each time she seemed closed off to it. Which was cool, he supposed. She obviously didn’t have to talk about it with him if she didn’t want to. Not wanting to overstep on some boundary, and to avoid completely pushing her away by annoying her, he gave up on trying that Thursday. He was fairly certain MJ had noticed the change—somehow—already and appreciated it, but with MJ it was hard to gauge how she felt about things. Peter was never quite sure where they stood with each other. Were they friends? Friendly acquaintances? Was he just a student she could tolerate? 

All of the above, somehow?

It all drove home to Peter how he still didn’t have a community for his being aroace. In that regard, he was completely alone. An achingly familiar bit of loneliness started niggling at Peter since. 

You’ve got the only gay in the village. Now get ready for the only aroace in the city.  

He knew that wasn’t technically true. There was a real life meet-up group, after all. But it certainly felt that way to him. 

Mr. Stark paused the movie. “Okay, we’re already half-way through this with nary a chuckle out of you. What’s bugging my favorite bug?”

Peter frowned. “Spiders are arach—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they’re not bugs,” Mr. Stark flapped his hand. “Question stands.”

He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Mr. Stark said, unconvinced. “You do realize that whenever you say something’s ‘fine’ alarm bells start ringing in my head that things are—in fact—not fine, right?”

“Where’s this coming from?” Peter said, crossing his arms. “Just because I didn’t laugh at the movie? Maybe it just isn’t that funny.”

Mr. Stark placed a hand on his chest with a mock gasp. “How dare you! This is comedy gold.”

Peter snorted. “Debatable.”

“Pete,” he said, tone serious again, “you know I’ll keep prodding. Or do I have to say something first again?”

“Don’t bother, Mr. Stark,” Peter sighed. “Look, fine, it’s not exactly ‘nothing’, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Which is basically the same thing.”

Mr. Stark snorted. “Debatable.” 

Then he sobered. “Maybe something can be done about it and maybe there can’t. Won’t know ‘til you tell me.”

Peter already knew nothing could be done about it. Not unless Mr. Stark could somehow make an aromantic and/or asexual detector—an ‘aro dynamic tr ace r’. 

His Spider-Sense warning him snapped him out of his musings. Peter ducked just on time to dodge a—pillow?

A small pillow landed on the ground with an undignified flop . 

Peter looked back at Mr. Stark, who didn’t look guilty about throwing a pillow at Peter’s head in the slightest. 

“Come on,” Mr. Stark drawled. “Tell me.”

“Seriously? Who here is supposed to be the child, again?” 

Another pillow was aimed at his head. Peter dodged. The pillow joined its kin on the ground. 

“You know, you’re not exactly fostering a safe environment to open up,” Peter argued. 

Mr. Stark grabbed another pillow, maintaining eye-contact with Peter and a raised brow the whole time. 

“Okay! Okay! You win,” Peter put up his hands. “You can stop with the pillows.”

With a satisfied smirk, Mr. Stark dropped the pillow. 

After a bit of grumbling, Peter opened up. He told Mr. Stark about how he missed having a community in real life—not online—of people who were aromantic and/or asexual, as he felt alone in that regard and at times that ate at him a bit. Made him moody. 

“There is a meet-up group of aros and aces in New York, but when I went there I discovered that group wasn’t for me.”

Mr. Stark cocked his head slightly. “How come?”

“For an aro and ace meet-up, it was all incredibly focused on dating and sex. And yeah, there are aromantic people who date and asexual people who have sex. That’s fine! I’ve got no problem with that; you do you. It’s all a spectrum. But it did mean that—even there—I felt like a bit of an outsider in what should supposedly be my community,” Peter said, and still feeling a little salty about the pillows being thrown at him, he added: “And most of them were about your age, you know?” he paused. “Old.”

The offended look Mr. Stark shot him was priceless. “Excuse me? I am not old.”

“You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry,” Peter said mock seriously. “‘Ancient’ suits you much better.”

Mr. Stark opened his mouth, then paused with a frown, before saying: “I’m just glad Pepper didn’t hear you say that. She’d never let me live it down.”

From the ceiling, FRIDAY spoke up. “Sending audio file to Ms. Potts.”

Mr. Stark groaned, sitting back on the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Great. Thanks, FRI.”

“You are very welcome, Boss.”

Peter burst out laughing. 

Present day

“I’ve been educating myself since. Not to brag, but I’m basically an expert on all things aroace now—in theory, of course. A month was long enough for that, easily. I became an expert in thermonuclear physics over night, after all.” 

Peter swallowed roughly. Not even Ned—bless his heart—had made such an effort for him in regards to that part of Peter. He himself had completely forgotten about that conversation from a month ago, until Mr. Stark brought it up. What Peter had considered more venting his frustrations as opposed to wanting any help with it, Mr. Stark had taken seriously. 

It warmed his heart. 

“So if you ever need to talk about this stuff, I’m here. Even if I don’t immediately understand, I’ll figure it out. ‘Cause—in case I haven’t mentioned it before—I am a genius.”

Tears welled in Peter’s eyes. He quickly looked away, trying to be discreet about wiping them away. Though he was certain he wasn’t as discreet as he wanted to be. 

Mr. Stark leaned towards him. “I see you, Pete. You’re not broken. You’re not weird,” he said, then smirked. “The only weird thing about you is that you keep half-eaten chocolate bars in your bag.”

“That was one time!” Peter protested, his earlier fumble with discretion forgotten. 

“Hmm, I remember it happening more often than that.”

“That’s because you’re confusing things in your old age.”

Mr. Stark huffed. “Spider-Brat.”

The two of them made eye-contact. They snickered. 

“Thank you, Tony,” Peter said. “Again.”

Tony’s breath hitched. He blinked and then smiled softly. “No problem, kid. Again.”

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence. Simply happy to bask in each other’s presence on the ledge of a rooftop. 

The sunlight laced through the buildings, bathing New York in a golden glow. Finally, it was sunset. 

Peter tore his eyes away from the breathtaking view, glancing at Tony instead. He smiled. 

Peter Parker was many things. 

Right there, sitting on a rooftop with Tony and watching the sunset, he was one thing most of all—

He was certain next year would be better.