tutoring sessions — peter parker (part three)
prompt: it’s your last tutoring session and to your surprise—peter’s late. you’re waiting in the cafe after your mom dropped you off, books open, work half-done, when someone decides to hold up the cashier.
notes: bro holy shit this thing blew up i’m shook and i wanna thank y'all for reading this. i have an idea for one more last part four for the end of this. please request more! thanks to those who messaged me and asked for this part three (i got so many anons): @theperksofbeingyourmum, @rosaetum, @k-baileyy, @legendarydazekitten, @yoyococo18, @kuerbistumorstan, @fandomtainment, @deans-angel-of-thursdays, @themilkface, @lucifersnipnips
The unusual buzz of the small suburban cafè that you lived near gave you a feeling of discomfort, causing you to shift in your seat over and over again, staring at your bottle of water that made a ring of wetness on the cover of your textbook. You sighed and moved it, wiping down the water damage and biting your lip. Your eyes glanced around, falling on people you didn’t know—besides the barista, who you saw every time your parents took you here for an early coffee—and you checked your phone.
Mom: Call me when you need to be picked up.
Mom: Does Peter need a ride?
You frowned, tapping your foot anxiously on the ground. I wouldn’t know. You sent back a quick and simple ‘I don’t think so,’ before slumping further down in your seat.
Where was he?
Peter hadn’t bailed on one tutoring session, at least not without a good excuse, and you were quick to wonder where he was. He wouldn’t have just bailed on you—would he? No, no of course not, pull yourself together, he’s just running late. You shook your head and decided to study on your own, knowing that you couldn’t be so reliant on Peter. After all, you and you alone were going to be taking the test, and you couldn’t lean on him to help you then.
Still, it sucked that he didn’t tell you he might’ve needed a rain check.
You flipped open your notebook and gazed at the scribbles of numbers and exponents among its pages. Normally you’d think you were screwed, but ever since last session you felt more confident. You could do this, you were smart and independent, and thanks to Peter, a lot better at math than you were a week ago. You finished each problem slowly, revising and checking your work online with Google and your phone’s calculator to make sure you weren’t making silly mistakes again. Finishing, you stared at your paper.
It hadn’t been long, maybe twenty minutes at least, but your hand was cramping. You bit your lip. Could it be? Did you really finish these problems with little to no mistakes? You let a smug look rest on your face as the thought registered and you smiled.
“Who needs Peter anyways,” you jokingly whispered to yourself, before putting your chin in your hand and drawing with the other. Your brows knitted together as you said that, however, your cheeks instantly flushing.
It was no mystery that your brain had been a jargled mess already due to the sudden overdrive of algebra, but you had found yourself thinking of Mr. Peter Parker more often than before and MJ often had to snap you out of it when you sat together at lunch. You would then grumble at her because, this was her fault, she paired you guys up together—but she wasn’t wrong in thinking she had done you a favor.
Something about, “You’ll thank me later,” she claimed; or whatever she would mutter about in the rare times she wasn’t reading a book that was about the human brain or by Sylvia Plath.
You didn’t like admitting it, especially because he was your tutor and you needed to focus, not fawn during this time—but God, you think you liked him. You liked him as much as a fifteen year old could like another fifteen year old. You blushed just at the thought of it and worked up the nerve to send him a text message.
Your last conversation had been about a movie he was raving about—Trust me, [Y/N], if you see this movie it’ll change your life, I have a DVD of it in my closet somewhere if you want—and you had never seen someone so excited about the things he liked. It was nice, you’d think, to see someone with so much ambition. Even if he made you feel pretty crappy since he technically stood you up.
Which was so not cool, by the way.
hey, peter. guess who finished all of her extra study work by herself with no mistakes (hopefully)?
that’s right, me!
i’ll pat myself on the back, thanks.
You hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but in all fairness, he did deserve part of it. It really wasn’t okay that he just left you on your own after this was your last study session and the test was tomorrow.
Closing up your books, you began to stand and call your mom so she could pick you up. It had rung three times when suddenly you felt something cold against your head, and a muffled whimper from people around you.
“End the call and slide it over,” A raspy voice commanded and your heart froze in place. He sounded out of breath, like he was running away from something. Like he was running away from someone. “And then afterwards, don’t move unless you want a head full of metal.”
You gulped and swallowed your pride, ending the call and sliding over your phone, keeping your hands away from it. Dumbass, you thought, but you kept your mouth shut. The guy backed away from you slowly, eyes burning into your own, before he turned to everyone else.
“Give me all the money in the register and we’ll be okay, and no one—” He points the gun at you, and you realize that you had to be the youngest person here, “—gets hurt. Got it?”
The barista is nodding, face red and flustered.
“Good, now hurry up.“
Everyone’s silent as they all watch her shove stacks of dollars in his backpack, and you try to get a closer look at him. Like a cliché, he had to wear a fucking ski mask. You held back a groan of disgust. You guessed criminals had no time to be creative when they were out ruining people’s lives.
The guy wasn’t all that big, maybe five foot ten at most, and he was lean. The only thing intimidating about him was the gun in his hand.
“Wow, I didn’t you could go skiing this early in the summer,” a familiar voice says, and your ears perk up. “Awesome mask, I love your creativity!”
Spider-Man’s there and everything clicks in your head. You’re watching, silently just like everyone else. A superhero. An actual superhero.
“I’ll just take this, thank you!” Spider-Man shoots a web and uses it to catch the gun, before shooting the guy in the face as he dodged a right hook. “You really shouldn’t be carrying firearms, I bet you don’t even have a license for this thing. I’m appalled.”
The guy is about to say something, but Spider-Man flings a web over his mouth.
“Sorry, I can’t listen to rule-breakers. Part of the whole agenda.”
With the criminal webbed up and disarmed, everyone simultaneously lets out a breath of relief. Some people even start cheering.
“Is everyone okay?” He asks, looking around. Or at least you think he is (it’s hard to tell with that mask), when he lands on you. He quickly clears his throat, making his voice sound gruff. “You okay, Ma'am?”
You nod, but give him a suspicious look.
Peter gulps underneath his mask.
Is that [Y/N]? Karen goes, and he mumbles a confirmation quietly so no one else can hear it.
I thought so. You constantly look at their Instagram when you’re in your mask. It’s quite hilarious.
“Karen, not now,” he says, but she continues.
Weren’t you supposed to tutor them today? It says so in your schedule.
Peter’s eyes widen and so do the ones on the mask and everyone’s still in awe of him actually being there. Crap. He knew he forgot something.
“Glad to know everyone is good,” he manages to squeak out as he hears sirens headed this way. He looks away from you and shoots one more web as the guy continues screaming against the strings already wrapped around him. “Bye, Mr. Bad Guy.”
With that, he opens the glass doors and shoots a web up at an apartment building, swinging away. As he leaves, the chatter around you begin to build back up, raved and excited. You put your hand against your chest to feel your heart beating rapidly. Thump, thump, thump.
You gaze out the café windows and grin to yourself, calling your mom to tell her you were fine and alive so she didn’t worry and that you were done studying. You figured that when she asked about Peter, you’d make up an excuse about how he was a little tangled up in things so she wouldn’t think much of him leaving you there.
She really was beginning to grow fond of him ever since he had stayed over for dinner after one tutoring session, and that was the most you could say for the only boy you’ve ever had over.
You smiled to yourself once more and sighed. You had no idea how you were going to think about that final tomorrow now, but you took out your phone one last time, sending a text message to Peter.
thanks for that…
You smirked, knowingly, thinking of his reaction.
You may have been bad at math, but you were certainly not an idiot.