𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

Late, But Still Loving

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Angst, broken promise, emotional hurt, missed date, guilt, injury, soft confrontation, relationship tension, comfort, reconciliation.

Summary → Peter breaks his Valentine’s promise, leaving you waiting alone, and must face quiet heartbreak when he finally comes home.

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Valentine’s Day wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

It was supposed to be warm and exciting and a little cheesy—pink lights strung up in restaurant windows, overpriced desserts, Peter’s nervous smile when he reached for your hand like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

He had promised.

Not a casual “I’ll try” promise. Not a “you know how it is” promise.

A real one.

“I swear,” he’d said earlier that week, standing in your kitchen while you leaned against the counter, arms crossed, pretending you weren’t worried. “I already scoped the area. Nothing big planned. I reserved the table, babe. I’ll be there. On time.”

You’d raised an eyebrow. “You’re not allowed to swing away in the middle of dinner.”

“I won’t,” he said instantly. Too fast. Then softer, sincere. “I promise.”

Peter Parker didn’t throw that word around lightly.

So you believed him.

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You took your time getting ready.

You didn’t rush. Didn’t panic. Didn’t check your phone every two minutes.

You curled your hair just enough that it looked effortless. Put on the dress Peter loved—the one he once said made you look “dangerously pretty,” then immediately apologized for sounding dumb. You did your makeup soft, romantic, a little glowy. You even wore the necklace he gave you last year, the shiny silver one he’d saved up for and been more proud of than any internship.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled.

Tonight was going to be good.

The restaurant was already buzzing when you arrived. Soft music, low lights, couples leaning close, laughter spilling over candle flames. The host smiled when you gave your name.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Your table’s ready.”

Nice.

That made your heart flutter a little.

You sat down, smoothed your dress, placed your phone face-up beside your plate. You texted him.

You: I’m here 💕

Delivered.

You smiled to yourself, glancing around, imagining him bursting in a little breathless, hair messy, apologizing for nothing because he’d still be early.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

You took a sip of water.

Fifteen minutes.

You checked your phone again. No reply.

That was fine. He was probably swinging. Phones and webs didn’t mix well. You told yourself not to spiral.

Thirty minutes.

Your smile faded, just a little. The waiter came by, asking if you wanted to order drinks. You said you’d wait.