𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓, p. parker

v. dog crushes

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғɪᴠᴇ ── ᴅᴏɢ ᴄʀᴜsʜᴇs

PETER PARKER FIRST felt something for Frankie Strange when he was twelve. It was stupid and childish, but he still remembers the way his heart beat so fast, not quite understanding what was happening but knowing that it had something to do with her.

She had stood before him as some boy from a different class continuously harassed him, hands balled to a fist and that fire in her eyes as she glared at him, strands of hair falling from her braid after a day in the park.

"Only I get to be mean to him!" She snarled and Peter remembered thinking that if looks could kill then his bully's family would be grieving them now. "Leave my Peter alone and find your own."

Peter had been twelve and he didn't exactly understand what falling in love meant. It had only been something he watched in movies, heard about in books but surely there's no other way to describe what had happened that day as anything other than falling in love.

At least that's what his twelve year old brain had come up with. It wasn't love or at least not yet, but it was an infatuation that would follow him around all throughout his adolescence. When Frankie staked her claim on him that day, Peter had taken it seriously.

Kids were supposed to have multiple crushes, fall for multiple people, but Peter remained Frankie's. His day revolved around her ─ seeing her, arguing with her, talking to her. It was almost pathetic, almost a little too much. He always thought it'd stop eventually. He thought the feelings would fade. Frankie did always make a point to let him know that she wants nothing more than to be the one to put the last nail on her coffin, but nevertheless, nothing changed.

And now here he is, seventeen years old with the same feelings he had when he was twelve.

They had decided to build pillow forts between them the night before after coming to the conclusion that they're both mature enough to share a bed. Peter was too injured to sleep on the floor and there was absolutely no way that Frankie would give up her bed and so they reached a compromise.

And yet the pillow forts seem to be useless, now laying on the floor after being kicked off by Frankie in her sleep.

Peter really isn't quite sure how they ended up in this position but somehow he woke up with a heavy weight on his chest, a hand clutching his shirt and his nostrils filled with the scent of jasmine.

Reaching over to wipe the sleep from his eyes, he realized Frankie is laying on his arm, body rising and falling at a steady rhythm.

Now, Peter would be lying if he said he hadn't fantasized about this exact thing for years, however, as much as he'd love to savor the moment and marvel about the fact that he's still very much on his side of the bed meaning she had been the one reach over and cuddle, he's absolutely positive that Frankie will probably end up strangling him for it.

And Peter quite likes living, thank you very much.

With much precision and care, heart still aggressively beating against his rib cage, he began gently ripping her hand clutching his shirt before slowly pulling his arm from under her. Carefully, he began shifting her back to her side of the bed ─ only ever slightly relieved at getting his personal space back to allow him to gather himself and take a deep breath ─ immediately noticing the lack of warmth that had been clinging to him only a few moments ago.

Unable to help himself, he reached forward and gently tucked in rogue strands of hair that fell to her face and he wondered how biology could explain the physical pain in his chest when all he wants is to be with her.