Peter Parker ▹ Spider-Man | imagines

counting stars

Warning: mature language and content
third person
word count: 5,557 [A/N: I am really proud of this imagine, I loved writing it. Please leave some love in comments and votes.]
1:30 pm | your family doesn't approve of your relationship with peter — love so young must be impossible, they say. And isn't it?

You shut your locker hard, your mind tumbling in frustration. You had just received your newest Algebra II test: a big fat D+. You had spent the last few nights burying your nose in your book, attempting problem after problem. You thought you were so ready; and you weren't. You knew something was wrong when you couldn't remember what pi over two was in degrees.

As you shut your locker, you saw Peter's smiling face. His eyes were hidden by a few daises he held in his hands. You tried to smile, but you were so disappointed in your grade. He noticed.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, realizing his surprise wasn't doing much for your mood. You leaned your back against your locker, fitting your hair behind your ears.

"I didn't do so well," you mumbled. Peter knew what you were talking about immediately, and he gave you a sorry expression.

"I'm sorry, my love," he whispered. He reached over, fitting the flowers into the space between your ear and your head. He smiled sadly. "You're looking so pretty today."

A smile tugged at your lips, and Peter pumped a fist into the air. "Hell yeah, I still got it," he winked. You laughed a little; his eyes glittered with affection.

"I promise you I will help you. Next time, you're getting an A," he assured you. He offered you his arm as the bell rang. Your next class was with him, and you couldn't have been more relieved. "How about I take you for ice cream later, and I'll walk you home?"

He always knew how to make you feel better. You nodded, and Peter's smile just grew. Nothing made the day sweeter than seeing you happy.

2:45 pm

You scrambled to lick the chocolate ice cream cone, its edges already melting in the bright afternoon sun. Peter watched you with a wide grin, admiring you as chocolate began to gather around your mouth.

"Oh, Peter, this is so messy," you complained, feeling chocolate dribble onto your fingers. He had the sweetest expression plastered on his face, and you giggled.

Peter was beginning to walk you home, and you were dreading it slightly. Peter wasn't really welcomed at home. For one, your parents weren't very fond of you beginning to date so young. Two, Peter was in boy in a house that had met many boys. You had older sisters. They had dated many boys, and your parents were convinced they were experts in reading any teenage boy.

"Sex, sex, sex," is all they said boys wanted. "They just want to kiss you. They don't want you for you. Trust me, honey," is what they would say. And every time you would disagree, they would say, "That's not the first time we've heard that either, dear."

Your dad was intimidating. He always expected to see a gentleman, and he always expected boys to act like one. And although Peter was nothing but a gentleman, your parents didn't approve. You started to believe maybe they just didn't like teenage boys in general.

And although your family gave Peter every reason to run in the other direction, he stayed. Although they treated him with the utmost of uncomfortableness at home, he continued to walk you home. Although they blamed him every time you were even a minute home too late, he proceeded to come inside and tell your parents goodnight.

And a few nights ago, you had gotten into the most heated argument of your life with your parents. About what? Peter, of course. They said you needed to begin to end things with Peter, that things were getting too serious after only six months together. And you refused. You defended Peter until the end. You two had shared many secrets together, even that Peter had a . . . night job. You told them if that is what they wanted, they could invite Peter over for dinner and tell them their reasons themselves. Because if anything was to happen between you two, it would have to be by your parents, but never you.