shots, 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘳.

[011] glue.

Peter groaned softly as he arched his head back, his eyes shut tightly.

"Dollface!"

You poked your head through the doorway of his office and the smell of cigarette smoke filled your senses.

"What, Peter?", you inquire. It wasn't often he called you into his office, usually he was extremely secretive about his work. In fact, he actively kept you away from his workplace, be it through padlocks or web-stuck doorknobs. As soon as you gauge your surroundings, you realize four things at once.

Number one, his office was clouded in smoke, but it wasn't cigarettes. Your eyes reach his workshop bench, a contraption releasing smoke and sparking.

Number two, Peter himself was against the wall, several inches above the ground. His back was sticking to the matte surface and his glasses were cracked. His hands were by his sides, placed delicately against the wall. His gloves were on, stained with a silky yet sticky white substance, as was his coat and pants. You eye his hands.

"It's web fluid, darling. Don't blow your wig. I ain't ever gonna call you over for that."

Number three, as your eyes reach every corner of the room, you notice that the same sticky, white fluid present along Peter's body was spread across the entire room. It streaked against the wall and dripped from the ceiling. Large puddles of it flowed along the floors, each crevice of the room left untouched.

Number four, Peter's hair was a mess. His face was paler than usual, almost as if he had seen a ghost. His hair was ruffled and shot up like a rocket. It seemed as though something had blown up right in front of his face.

All four of these things led you to draw a plausable inference. Peter had been working on his web fluid formula and tested it with his webshooters, causing it to somehow blow up and release the rest of the fluid. You stare at Peter, waiting for his request.

"Well? Can a fella get some help over here?"

"Uh- and how-?"

"I'm stuck. This web fluid is damn too sticky. Ain't even webs, it's jus' fluid.", he says. He sounds slightly embarassed and his eyes slowly leave your gaze. "Shake a leg, hon. And pass me a smoke in the meantime."

You finally step into the office, careful to avoid the substance on the floor and grab a pack of smokes from his desk. The atmosphere of the workplace has aired out and most of the smoke from the webshooter has dissipated, yet the smell of burning metal is still evident. You tread lightly to Peter and cough, the smell of his coat and the burning metal coming together to make a inssecent odor.

"Strike a match for me, darling." You pull out a cigarette and place it in his parted lips, striking a match and lighting it. You hear his heavy breath inhale deeply and he sighs at the sensation before nodding for you to take the smoke out. He blows a ring of hot, black smoke into your face and smiles at your light coughs.

"Thanks.", he says. "Now help me outta these darn webs. Bottle of acetone over on that table should do the trick. Don't get it in my face." You walk over to the table, still coughing from the smoke. Being Peter's girlfriend was sometimes like taking care of a needy pet.

"Careful."

You reach the acetone and tread over to Peter, lightly throwing some onto his outfit and hands, prompting Peter to fall from the wall, his boots making a light thud as he dusts himself off.

"What would you do without me, Peter?", you tease, propping up his collar. He smiles down at you and chuckles. His low voice sends shivers through your body.

"Land myself in a chicago overcoat, that's what." You laugh at his words and he returns the gesture, his voice still slightly tinged with embarassment. His eyes move to the rest of the room and the broken webshooter.

"This was a curve.", he sighs. "God damn web fluid left a darn mess 'round here."

"It's alright, I can help ya clean it up."

"You sure, dollface?", Peter says. You nod at his words as he brushes past you, but not before giving you a small peck on the cheek. You follow close behind him, careful not to step in the sticky web fluid.

"Better throw away this webshooter before it-"

In one swift move, Peter's chest is on yours. The webshooter released further waves of webs and you find your chest on his and your face inches from his. Your arms are by your side, stuck and immovable. You can feel Peter's hands touching yours. The hard, concrete wall both of you were launched in feels cold against your shoulder. Heat creeps on your face and you glance down, avoiding Peter's cold eyes. He groans loudly in frustration.

"Blasted- agh! Applesauce!", he yells. You keep your gaze on his chest rather than his eyes. You can feel his cold stare on the top of your head.

"What do you s'ppose we do now, doll?", he scoffs. The heat still hasn't left your cheeks. He shifts against you but the webs merely lace tighter.

"God, what is this made out of? Superglue?"

"That- may have been one of the components, yes.", he says sheepishly, shifting slightly in the webs' grasp.

You laugh against his chest, the embarassment leaving your voice as he chuckles along with you. "Peter!"

He lets out a deep laugh. "What, hon?"

"You're ridiculous, ya know."

"I know." He pauses after chuckling softly. "So how do you suggest we get outta this mess?"

"It's your web fluid, you tell me."

"Doll, it wears off in four hours 'cause it was only a prototype.", he sighs, pausing once again. "I wager you don't intend to spend the evening stuck to me like glue."

"Why not?"

"ʙʟᴜᴇ?"
▬▬

ᴇɴᴅ
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 995