After the events of No Way Home, Peter Parker had the chance to restart his life and start fresh. But without his family, friends, mentors or fellow Avengers, his life began to spiral into darkness.
His new neighbour however, seems to make that dark...
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Y/N L/N
Being one of the guest presenters at tonight's Stark Gala, I was loaned a stunning designer dress from their styling team. They had it customised and altered to my body shape and I had picked it up a few days ago to be absolutely certain it fit properly. It was a dress that made me feel like I'd be the most beautiful person in any given room on any given night. And that night was certainly tonight.
It was a floor length gown which hugged my figure beautifully, leaving little to the imagination as to what my body shape looked like underneath. Although, it wasn't promiscuous or tacky, it was classy and perennial. It was something you could imagine Audrey Hepburn or Marilyn Monroe in, if they lived in this era of fashion being driven by sex appeal.
Scanning through to find one of the millions of photos I took of myself in my bathroom mirror at home, I sent it to Peter in a hopelessly obvious attempt at a thirst trap. I know we were dating and he wasn't interested in other girls but I still needed to show him how lucky he was that he had me. I looked fucking great tonight, he needed to see.
I had arrived earlier this evening to walk down the red carpet, a daunting and confronting experience for an average person like myself. Photographers knew me as 'the girl who won the Stark Peace Prize last time' and bright lights were flashing in my eyes from every direction. It was overwhelming and all I wanted was to have Peter walking with me. He had been held back at work this afternoon and told me he'd meet me here later. I don't know when 'later' is though.
I silently looked around the room, scanning the event guests as they mingled around with glasses of expensive champagne and tiny canapés being passed by suit clad waiters. Pulling my phone out of my clutch, I hoped to see a message from Peter. Perhaps a courteous text saying that he was on his way and that his taxi was in traffic. Or maybe a missed call with a voicemail saying he was still at work.
Yet there was no word from Peter.
Y/N Hey where are you??
Typing quickly as I approached the womens bathrooms, I patted some extra powder on my face to eradicate any potential shiny spots for when Peter showed up. The women along the vanity of mirrors were all doing the same, swiping on more lipstick or fluffing up their hair. The Stark Gala was like the Oscars but for real people, not people acting. That sounded dumb, let me rephrase that. So at the Oscars you win an award for pretending to be someone else. At the Stark awards, you won awards for being yourself. Kind of like a Nobel Prize I guess...
I had always dreamt of coming to one of these growing up; mostly just to dress up all nice and fancy and meet Tony Stark. Soo when I was nominated for the Peace Prize last year, I cried in my dorm room for hours. When I won that same prize, I was rendered completely stunned. I don't remember what I said in my speech nor what happened several hours afterwards because everything in my mind turned to a blur. An exciting, unforgettable, adrenaline fuelled blur.
My purse lightly vibrated in my hand and I rushed to check my phone at an almost embarrassing speed. A single notification sat there planted on my screen, from none other than Peter Parker. Finally.
PETER Hey, I'm sorry to do this so last minute but I don't think I can make it tonight
PETER Please don't hate me
You've got to be fucking kidding me.... I have been looking forward to this event for weeks, planning my speech to the exact words, planning my makeup precisely and finally I had a date to bring and he cancels last minute? Why the fuck is he bailing so last minute? Jesus christ I need a drink.
There's a large bar stretching along the back wall that I find myself walking to before the ceremony began, getting a soda water and lime. It looked just like a vodka soda without the soda so I keep up with the illusion that I'm drinking alcohol along with the vast majority of guests around me. I rarely drink, and if I do it's only ever one or two glasses and in the safest of environments.
"I'm so sorry, can I get a tequila shot please? Something to uh, calm the nerves," I asked politely, taking a deep breath as I prepared myself for the ceremony to begin.
My speech was the most terrifying thing I'd ever done in my life, speaking to a crowd about the impact the late great Tony Stark had made on each an every one of us. I spoke about the perils of modern media and how as a young kid, Tony genuinely helped shaped my life. And after I awarded the Journalism award to this years recipient, I headed straight to the bar again.
For someone who doesn't drink, I was frequenting the bar an awful lot.
Ordering another shot, I downed it and thanked the bartender before I felt a hand tap me on the shoulder. The band was playing 'Sway' in a sultry jazz rendition and I hoped desperately that the person behind me eod inevitably be asking to dance with me.
"May I have this dance?" An elderly man smiled, grinning at me widely in a stupor of what I presumed was alcoholism. He was very, very drunk.
As he escorted me to an open space amongst the dancing couples filling the ballroom, I smiled at Pepper Potts, swaying gently next to us with her husband Happy Hogan. I know they faced a lot of backlash for marrying each other after Tony's death, but I think it was quite sweet.
"I thought your speech was beautiful by the way," the man slurred, his hand sliding down my back a little too low for my liking.
"Oh... Thank you so much," I said politely, stepping away from him to make a little more distance between us.
"Excuse me, I'm so sorry to interrupt but I'd love to steal Y/N away for a dance if that's okay," a familiar voice asks, Peter now appearing next to the elderly gentleman and I.
He's wearing a dark navy suit; an expensive navy suit that slightly comes down over his wrists and pant legs that brush along the tops of his dress shoes. It was just the tiniest bit too big for him although it didn't look overtly ill fitted. In fact he looked quite dashing in a suit.
But I'm still angry at him. For being late, then bailing, then stressing me out about my speech that I was already stressed about, then showing up magically without a fucking text.
"You look incredible by the way..." Peter says quietly in my ear as he wraps his arm loosely around my waist
"And you look incredibly late," I said back in a snarky tone, swaying with him along to the music.
