ahhhh new series! (still taking requests btw)
summary: you move in right next door to a cutie, problem is, he isn't much of a talker. or anything at all. but it's okay, because you're dead-set on getting him to warm up to you.
warnings: mean peter :(
pairing: peter parker x fem!bubbly!reader
word count: 1.9k+ words
you scowled under your breath, absolutely frustrated.
"if you want us to take the boxes up to the fifth level, you're going to have to pay us extra," the man spoke, arms crossed. the movers you had hired looked to be twins, around the age of 30, perhaps? they had heavy accents and took you to be a gullible female if they believed that you'd pay an additional 25 dollars for that.
"look, i included the information about my flat being on the fifth floor, and despite having that knowledge, you took this job. i am not paying you extra, so how about you do this right, okay?" you scoffed in disbelief; you didn't know that moving into a new apartment would be so difficult. all you wanted was for these insufferable men to take your stuff to your flat so you could finally relax.
finally breathe, because you hadn't gotten any "you" time since you made the decision to move into a whole new state, which you were starting to regret now.
no, no, independence is always worth it.
probably.
either way, it was nice to get away from your overbearing parents that were currently all the way over in florida.
"lady, we don't got all day, so either pay up, or-"
"i'll take it from here," a male voice interjected. you looked over to see a brunette, with honey-brown colored eyes and a perfectly sculpted face.
perfectly sculpted.
perfectly.
you'd seen him a couple times when checking out the building. he lived in e11, which was part of the reason you'd moved into e12, right next door. there wasn't anything wrong with wanting a god for a neighbor, right?
that was a rhetorical question, of course there wasn't anything wrong with it.
after poking around (begging your landlord for his name and room number), you found out that he was peter parker from e11.
you watched him walk over and raise an eyebrow at the men, who stood unmoving. "i said we got it from here."
"you her boyfriend or something?"
"and what would it be to you?" peter adjusted his position to where his arms were crossed, shirt tight and muscles flexed.
okay, so it wasn't just his face that was perfectly sculpted.
the men exchanged eye contact and shook their heads, sighing. you stuck your tongue out at them, despite the fact they were already walking out the door, backs facing you.
you called out, "and that's one star for you guys on yelp!"
brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you looked back at peter, who was already picking up a box. "oh, hey, you don't have to do that. i'm sure i'll manage."
"it's okay. i don't mean to underestimate your strength, but these boxes aren't very light."
"yes, but-... are you sure? i don't want to burden you with this."
he glanced at you, balancing a box on top of the one he was holding, "it's no burden. unless you don't want my help, which is a different story altogether."
"uh, no, nothing like that," you hesitated. he seemed very stoic, in no mood for small talk, or to converse in general. "but thanks for what you did. i didn't need the help, i could have handled it on my own, but... um, thanks."
"did you a favor," he shrugged, "you weren't really getting anywhere with that."
you frowned at his bluntness, but bit back a retort. he was willing to help you, this complete stranger. and for that, you were grateful.
picking up one of the lighter boxes, you followed after him on the stairs. "so... um... i'm y/n. l/n," you added after a second.
"peter parker," was all he said, and you nodded as if you hadn't previously known that.
"nice to meet you, peter."
"what room do you live in?"
"e12." you stopped yourself from adding right next to you.
"'kay."
"what about you?"
"huh?"
"w-where do you live?"
"e11."
"oh," you smiled, as if you didn't know that as well. "that's so cool! we're neighbors!"
"yay."
it seemed like that was sarcastic, so you decided that it was best to maybe shut up. so that's what you did.
after a while, you were able to get all your boxes (with peter doing most of the work). you stood in your flat with your hands on your hips as peter put the last box down. "seriously," you breathed, "thank you so much. i have no idea what i'd do if you weren't there."
"negotiate with russian twins and get nowhere."
you laughed nervously, unsure of whether or not that was a joke. "um, you can stay a little longer, if you'd like. or not. that's fine, too." you were hoping he'd stay, even though you literally had nothing for him to sit on. there was no furniture... but maybe he'd want to stay anyways?
"i'm good."
"o-okay, peter. see you around?"
without another word, he slipped out of your apartment, shutting the door behind him.
you thought that moving in next to peter would make you a little less lonely, and maybe you'd make a new friend.
but perhaps your mother was right. what if you weren't ready for all this?
new job, new home, new state... new everything.
you were all alone in the big city.
but- but it would be okay, you decided, shaking your head. "it's fine. i can do this. i'm going to do this. today was a minor setback, which my mom doesn't need to know about... and i need to make new friends before talking to myself becomes a habit."
you stood in the middle of your flat, grinning. nothing was going to stop you from achieving your dream.
-
your new job at the daily bugle wasn't going to start for another week, so you had time to unpack and adjust. music blared from the speakers, helping you get into your new groove. you sang and danced around to it, laughing like a fool (you were sleep deprived).
you took the plastic wrapping off the couches and adjusted them to where you liked, with much struggle, of course. next came chairs and tables, and you were glad to get those out of the way. once you'd completed moving and unpacking some of the bigger things, you had gotten bored.
but, nevertheless, you still wanted to be productive. finally, you settled on decorating the living room. taking out pillows, throw blankets, and pictures, you put them all in their designated places.
in complete exhaustion, you tossed yourself onto your couch. "aw, crap, where i am gonna sleep tonight?" you groaned.
in hindsight, maybe you should've done the bedroom first. man, you were kind of a mess without your mother.
laying there, gazing up the bare ceiling, your thoughts drifted to peter. he was mean, but in a reserved way. like it wasn't really to be mean, but more about how his personality was. "oh, well, i'll just make him warm up to me."
after all, you did need friends. so why not start with peter?
with a new task at hand, you jumped up, speeding towards the kitchen. you planned on making him cookies, after all, who didn't like those? you preheated the oven... before realizing you had to unpack all your kitchen related items.
and you had to go shopping for ingredients.
you had some money to last you until a new paycheck, so you might as well spend it somehow. besides, this could be a way to get peter to like you.
not like that.
well, not yet.
first, you had to get him to be friends with you. no, scratch that. you had to go shopping first.
-
"you need butter to make cookies, right?" you asked yourself, glancing over to your cart that currently held milk, eggs, and flour in it. "oh! and sugar! ...vanilla extract? why on earth haven't i googled this yet?" shaking your head in dismay, you pulled out your phone, searching up what you needed.
"okay... so...chocolate chips. gah, how did i forget that? cornstarch, and salt," you looked at the aisle you were in, pausing momentarily. after a second, you threw a pack of measuring spoons in. "obviously, you need chocolate chips for chocolate chip cookies!"
sighing, you glanced up, only to be met with the eyes of a bewildered woman. "um... sorry," you mumbled sheepishly, forgetting you were in public.
seriously, you needed new friends. pronto.
you wheeled your cart to the checkout aisle and waited in line. looking up, you saw a masked figure on the television. you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and tilted your head, squinting to read the caption; "spider-man stops yet another robbery".
"huh," you murmured quietly. "spider-man."
"mommm, isn't he so cool?" turning your head, you saw a little boy pointing at the screen.
"what? yeah, he is," she said, filing through her wallet.
you pulled your phone out of your back pocket, going into safari. the knit between your eyebrows hadn't left as you tapped on the first news link, jjjnews.com.
spider-man, the masked menace.
you looked up and frowned. menace? you thought he was a hero, given the whole robbery thing. come to think of it, the name sounded familiar. "spider-man..." you hummed, testing it out once more.
whether he is in affiliation with the avengers, we do not know. the infamous spider-man, often referred to as the masked menace by his critics and opponents, raises an intriguing question: why does he feel the need to conceal his identity? what secrets is he keeping from us that drive him to hide behind a mask? could it be fear of exposure or perhaps a deeper motivational factor? but what drives him to conceal his true self from the world? what secrets lie beneath that mask, and what is he purposefully keeping hidden from those around him?
these questions continue to haunt not only the citizens of new york city, but also his closest allies. while spider-man is praised as a courageous crime-fighter, some question if there is more to his story than meets the eye. as a beloved hero or feared vigilante, the truth behind spider-man's persona remains a mystery waiting to be unraveled.
with the emergence of new heroes comes a surge in villains as well, and perhaps spider-man's presence only adds fuel to the fire. it is time for the authorities to take action against this dangerous masked figure before any more harm is done.
you pressed your lips together, and exited the app. that was enough of that, because as far as you knew, this guy sounded like a hater. this man, expecting no incentive at all, risked his life every day to keep others safe.
what more did people want, honestly?
seeing as it was your turn, you picked things up from the cart and set them down onto the checkout. pulling out your wallet, you inserted the chip in the credit card.
"that'll be $37.50."
"um, okay," why was that more than you thought it'd be?
yay, cookies, right?
somehow, you managed to make it home without crashing into someone, or someone crashing into you. you didn't have a car yet, nor did you trust yourself with on here in nyc, so you took a taxi.
being completely honest, you were kind of excited about this. being more completely honest, you didn't know how to bake. (or cook.)
but maybe it'd be okay. i mean, how hard was following instructions on a screen?