TASM Peter Parker Imagines

Red Hot, Red Dress

Based on a request for a songfic for "Seein' Red" by Dustin Lynch

Peter stares at row after row of his photos, and he can't seem to truly see a single one of them. How is it that hours of stalking the city with a camera in hand, taking snapshots of every possible thing, has all led to the collection here before him? They're fine, sure, but Peter can't seem to get out of his own head. His boss at the Daily Bugle tolerates him, appreciates his photos so long as Peter isn't in the room, but the biggest judge of Peter's work here by far is Peter himself.

Peter runs a hand through his hair irritably, tugging at the longish brown curls as if they'll do anything to convince him to focus. All the photos look the same to him, no matter the time of day or where they were taken. Every single one of the locations in the city blurs into the same snapshot, repeated time and time again. Dynamic landscapes, flashes of a busy city, and those same pinpricks of red in every photo here.

Red. Peter can't seem to get rid of the color. Once he noticed it for the first time, the color seemed to show up everywhere. It's the color of the framed art print hanging across the room from his desk, the mask and suit stuffed into the bottom of his bag (just in case), the pen Peter's tapping absentmindedly between his fingers. It's as if wherever Peter goes, that same color follows.

It's in his photos too, popping up again and again. The crimson scarf of a woman walking by grabs Peter's attention, so does a bright ruby pair of rubber rain boots on a splashy, happy child habituating the puddles outside the Daily Bugle building. There are stills of cars stopped in front of red lights, tattered sports flags waving garnet all over the city. Every smile speaks to Peter of drops of blood, and it's as if every time he sees the color, he can feel it rushing through his veins, steering his life in shades of red.

Peter leans back against his chair, dragging his gaze away from his photos. He needs to catch a break, seriously. The coworker to his left looks up with a grin. The guy only started working here a few weeks ago, but he's already become a pretty good friend to Peter.

A second later, Peter remembers the guy's name as Herb Vaughn before he starts speaking. "Everything alright over there, Parker? Don't quit on me yet."

Peter forces a laugh. "I'm not quite that far gone yet. I just can't seem to get my mind to focus for longer than a minute."

Herb nods knowingly. "I know what you mean. There's a girl, isn't there?"

Peter's grateful that he chose not to reach for his bottled water at this moment, because he's already spluttering in surprise. "There's a what? I mean, yes, kind of, but what do you mean by that?"

Herb just taps a finger on his desk. "I've seen that look before. You think you can leave girl troubles at your door, but if there's been a schmuck on this side of the world who's been able to do that, I'm a billionaire."

Peter chuckles to himself. "I'm sure billionaires could work at the Daily Bugle if they really wanted to. Don't let that stop you."

Herb laughs, slapping his knee like he's decades older than he is. "I'll keep that in mind if the times ever change. Anyway, what I mean is that you're not thinking about work because you've got your heart set on some girl instead of photography. Am I wrong?"

Peter has to dutifully shake his head. "There is a girl, but we're already dating. No pining for me."

Herb shrugs. "Maybe you're nervous. She a bit out of your league?"

This time Peter really laughs. "Herb, we're stuck taking photos of the same four boulevards every morning just to sit at our desks for the rest of the day. I'd say just about anyone is out of our leagues."