Webs and Hearts- tasm!p.p

4. Peter 'Falling for You' Parker

Warnings: none

Summary: you didn't know the desk you sat down at was somebody else's, so instead of telling you to move, peter just sat on your lap, taking notes. Also, you didn't want to move him because he was really familiar and cute

_

You fell in love a week ago; six days, 21 hours and 35 minutes ago actually. Rubbing the right half of your cheeks, you groggily sat amidst the tumult of other students. Where did you sit? You had no idea, you'd admit.

The last thing you wanted to do was was getting lost again, lost in those ceaseless entity of hickory eyes, the tickle of those brown hair and the flustered smile when you had profusely apologized.

Did second chances exist? You didn't know if you'd again be chanced by Mr whoever he was' presence.

Love at first sight sucked, you winced as the gates opened again with a rowdy boom and thud, trying to get your mind anywhere but the drilling noise in the lecture hall.

Hickory eyes, brown hair, the unmistakably quick reflexes, you wanted to goad about them and do nothing else. And then, much to the silliest horrors of your daydreaming self, when you sensed you chair pulled back, you broke into a nervous sweat.

Why the hell was your brain still trying to be in this stupor? And why the bloody hell your chair was pulled.

Your heart threatened to exchange it's place with your stomach or whatever the fuck was beneath it. You sat on the last aisle because daydreaming was easy, because retreating into the myriad of unmistakably never happening situations was easy, and this time, you didn't know what was happening.

Only seconds later you saw someone sit on your lap, the whole screeching of chairs halting at once, and as you gingerly found out the difference between your heights, you slouched back- you would not be seen.

"Excuse me?" You confronted in a small voice to whoever was sitting on you, his head tilted towards you, and as he smiled at you, you caught on your breath.

Dreaming? Daydreaming? Dying??

"Excused," was all he said and his focus returned back to the professor who was babbling anything in the world.

"No i mean," you leaned forward, keeping atleast two inches between you both, "Why are you sitting on me?"

You heard the reverberating chink of your pen falling on the table as he leaned back, his back pressed against your chest.

Hickory eyes, brown hair, soft soft soft, you internally whined.

And with the endearing feelings, rushed in the whole race of embarrassment as you remembered how a week ago (six days, 21 hours, 49 minutes actually) you had unintentionally jumped on his back, thinking it was your cousin. You could tell he was shocked, almost collapsed on you when you kissed his cheek, shouting a big 'thank you!' as you huffed and looked up at the sunset.

Turned out, contrasting much with your air-headed mood, your cousin was trudging up the hill five minutes after you, shouting a "y/n, hope you didn't die!".

It was only then you realised that you were hiked on a stranger's back who didn't even yeet you off the hill.

You mummered a string of apologies while he only passed a flustered smile, kissing on the cheek. "Welcome," he mumbled close to your ear and was off.

You shook of that day's events, trying to focus on the present. The thing is, he is sitting on you at the moment. Looking at you with unmistakable intrigue.

"As it happens," his head moved in a movement you will equate to the sound of 'boink' , "its my seat."

Stupid, stupid, stupid, you muttered under your breath, always clumsy, air-headed-

"It's nice, isn't it?"

You looked at him as if he read a bon mot in some foreign language. "What's nice?"

"Didn't catch your name."

You rolled your eyes as if to say 'duh'. "Y/n L/n."

"Peter 'falling for you' Parker."

You chewed on the inside of your lips and nodded in agreement.

"It's nice how you get flustered, " he patted your register as he got up. "Don't forget to send me the notes."

Ignoring the stares of the whole lecture hall, you hid a small smirk as you looked at your register; a number was scribbled at leisure, with only a signature- Peter 'falling for you' Parker.