[Parker Residence – Kitchen]
Forest Hills, Queens
June 3, (2015)
Wednesday, 6:39 p.m.
Peter poked at his dinner, swirling spaghetti around his fork while May went off about her newest obsession—organic tomatoes.
"I'm just saying, Pete, if we switched to homegrown vegetables, we could cut grocery costs by like 40 percent. That's science. Ish. Probably."
Peter laughed softly, nodding like he was listening, but his mind was already in another borough.
"Sounds great, May."
"You okay?" she asked, tilting her head with that radar-mom look. "You've been quiet."
Peter smiled faintly. "Just... thinking. About a project. School stuff."
"Hmm," May narrowed her eyes. "That school stuff wouldn't happen to have brunette hair and really intense eyes, would it?"
Peter choked. "What—no! I mean—May!"
She grinned. "I knew it! Knew it. My little nerd's growing up."
Peter groaned, grabbing his plate. "Love you, May. I gotta go to Ned's. Be back around 8 or 9!"
"Tell him I said hi—and use deodorant, sweetie!"
Peter facepalmed all the way down the hallway.
---
[Train Ride – Forest Hills to Williamsburg]
Queens to Brooklyn
7:12 p.m.
He sat near the window, his backpack at his feet, hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show how anxious he was—tapping his fingers on the seat.
He pulled out the crumpled paper again. Riley's handwriting stared back at him.
Should I go?
What if it's weird?
What if she didn't actually mean it?
What if she's waiting right now?
What the hell do I even say?!
He wore a black hoodie, gray tee underneath, and clean blue jeans. Simple. Safe. His hair was kinda a mess but in that soft, accidental way. Hopefully not too dorky.
---
[Green Residence – Front Steps]
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
7:44 p.m.
The house stood calm on the outside—two stories, clean brick, nice lawn—but Peter could already feel it. There was tech humming behind those walls.
He took a breath, rang the doorbell, and immediately regretted not running his fingers through his hair first.
Click.
The door opened, revealing a woman with long chestnut hair tied back and a casual cardigan—Emily Green.
She blinked at him. "Oh. Uh—who are you, young man?"
"Peter! I—uh—Peter Parker," he said, instantly pulling that awkward smile. "I'm here to see Riley?"
Emily stared for half a second longer, probably trying to imagine this kid as her daughter's someone.
"…Come in, Peter. You're very welcome here."
Peter stepped in, shoulders stiff, sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor. The inside was a subtle mix of warm home and soft Stark-tech touches—floating displays in corners, sleek digital panels near doors, auto-dim lights.
Emily nodded toward the living room. "You can wait there. We'd love to have you stay for dinner if you want."
"Oh. Thank you," he said, sitting down carefully like the couch might reject him.
Upstairs, Emily walked into Riley's room with a smirk.
"He's here."
Riley was brushing her hair, finishing up in front of the mirror. She spun around instantly, heart leaping.
"What?! He actually came?!"
Emily raised an eyebrow. "Yep. Casual hoodie, nervous smile, pure teenage panic energy."
Riley blushed instantly, covering her face for a second. Then she stood, adjusting her soft green blouse and the long black skirt flowing down to her ankles.
She caught her reflection again and smiled—biting her lip as she grabbed her repulsor glove and slipped it into her bag.
He came. He really came.
And now... she was ready to show him.
---
[Green Residence – Living Room]
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
June 3, (2015)
Wednesday, 7:56 p.m.
Peter sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, fingers fidgeting with the seam of his hoodie. The walls were lined with subtle tech—hovering photos, a quiet hum behind the lighting. Everything about the house whispered advanced—just like her.
And then—
Click. Step. Step. Step.
He turned.
Riley descended the staircase slowly, one hand brushing the railing, her green blouse hugging just right, her long black skirt swaying with every step. Her hair was soft, slightly wavy, and that glow in her eyes… unmistakably hers.
Peter's heart skipped a beat—but his face? Cool as ever.
She saw him, sitting there, and her gaze drifted down instinctively—gray shirt, black hoodie, fitted jeans. Okay wow.
He looked... really good. But she had to contain herself.
Riley walked over and sat next to him, trying not to sit too close, even though their knees almost touched.
She smiled—sideways, casual. "You actually look good."
Peter turned slightly, eyebrows raised, smirking. "You make that sound like it's a surprise."
She laughed—quietly, almost nervously. "It's not. I just—didn't expect you to come. Not really."
He looked down at his hands, hiding a growing smile. "Yeah, well… I wanted to."
Just then, Evelyn plopped down on the carpet in front of them, half-watching cartoons on her tablet while Emily settled in a chair with a mug of tea, giving Peter the Mom Look.
"So, Peter," Emily began with a pleasant tone and a loaded smile. "Where do you live exactly?"
"Uh—Forest Hills. Queens."
"Good area. You take the train?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Emily sipped her tea. "And how long have you known my daughter?"
Riley's eyes widened, shooting her mom a subtle please don't look.
"Since—uh, school started," Peter replied, scratching the back of his neck. "We're in a couple classes together."
"She talks about you," Emily said, teasing slightly.
Peter blinked. "Oh… she does?"
"Mooom," Riley muttered under her breath, cheeks pink.
Peter caught it, smirking just a bit—blushing on the inside.
Evelyn looked up. "Are you Riley's boyfriend?"
Peter choked on air.
Riley's hand flew over her mouth, eyes bugging out.
Emily raised an eyebrow, not hiding her amusement. "Ev."
Evelyn shrugged. "What? I'm just asking."
Peter opened his mouth, no words coming out.
Riley finally recovered and leaned forward, grabbing Evelyn's tablet. "Time to lower the volume, kiddo."
But the moment between them lingered.
And neither one could deny it—
That blush said everything.
---
[Green Residence – Riley's Room]
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
June 3, (2015)
Wednesday, 8:19 p.m.
Riley turned slightly, pointing the glove at her desk lamp.
Pzzzzt—VWHOOM!
A quick, focused blast of purple energy knocked the lamp clean off the table. It clattered to the floor, smoking.
Peter nearly jumped off the bed. "WHOA! Okay—okay—that's real. That's so real."
Riley's eyes sparkled. "Told you."
Peter stood up, pacing like his brain was glitching. "Riley… that thing's clean. Like—it's legit. Stark-level legit. I mean—if I had access to Stark tech like you…"
He dug into his hoodie pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped a video. "Check this out."
On the screen: a rough metal glove, duct-taped wires, an arc made from an old car battery converter. The glove hummed—and briefly fired a spark of blue light.
And then—
"OWWW!" Peter yelped in the video, flinging the glove off and stumbling into a stack of boxes in his closet.
Back in the present, Riley burst out laughing, covering her mouth.
Peter cringed. "Yeah. That's why it lives in the closet now."
She laughed harder, tears forming. "You're—such a disaster."
Peter grinned, pretending to be offended. "Hey! Prototype One suffered for that moment of glory."
But Riley wasn't mocking him—not deep down. If anything, she was more in awe of him. His brain, his effort, his creativity—with nothing. That alone made her chest warm.
"You're smarter than you think, Parker," she said, nudging him.
He looked up at her. "Can I… try yours?"
Riley raised a brow, then smiled. "Yeah, alright. Just don't blow up my window."
She slipped off the glove and handed it to him carefully. Peter slid it on with reverence, like he was holding Mjolnir or something.
He slowly raised it—pointing it at her.
"P-Peter—" she backed up, hands up playfully. "Don't you dare."
His grin widened. "Don't worry…"
He fired—just past her right shoulder.
VWHOOM!
The blast thudded against her closet door, making her flinch with a gasp and half-laugh.
"Peter Parker!" she scolded, stepping back with wide eyes.
But her cheeks were burning. Because damn… his confidence? The grin? The fact he looked so hot with her tech?
Yeah… she was kinda very into it.
"You're trouble," she mumbled, arms crossed, trying to hide her smile.
Peter took off the glove, smirking. "You invited me."
She looked at him, then looked away, lips still curved.
Oh yeah. She so did.
---
[Green Residence – Riley's Room]
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
June 3, (2015)
Wednesday, 8:29 p.m.
The repulsor glove rested between them now, humming softly on the desk. Peter sat cross-legged on Riley's floor, still in a slight daze. Riley was beside him, her skirt folded neatly over her knees, leaning close.
"Okay," Peter said, pulling out his phone again, "you've seen Prototype One—the one that almost took off my arm."
Riley giggled. "Iconic debut."
Peter swiped through his camera roll. "But check this out."
He tapped on a video. It showed a hand-sized drone, cobbled together from an old fan motor, busted RC car parts, and a hacked phone camera for aerial feed. On screen, Peter guided it with a janky controller, and the thing actually hovered mid-air before bumping into a wall and crashing.
Riley's eyes widened. "Wait—you built a functioning drone out of junk?"
"Sort of," Peter shrugged, suddenly shy. "Flight time's garbage, but the stabilization code's mine. All manual."
"That's insane," Riley whispered, eyes shining. "Peter, that's like… beyond genius."
Peter scratched the back of his neck, red in the face. "It's nothing crazy. Just trial and error. Like… a lot of error."
Then Riley pulled out her phone, opened her hidden album, and showed her own vids.
One showed her tweaking the repulsor glove's pulse settings—burn marks on her desk proving the trial. Another was her early HUD interface, pieced together from her dad's old Stark overlays and reprogrammed into a cracked tablet.
"No way," Peter muttered, jaw slack. "You built a heads-up display?"
"Barely functions," Riley grinned, "but it makes me feel cooler while debugging."
They kept swapping. Idea for idea. Sketch for sketch. Crash vids. Glitches. Failures. Victories.
And in that moment—no suits, no powers, just two brainy teens trading secrets—the room felt warmer.
No pressure. No nerves.
Just them.
Peter glanced at her—really looked at her—and saw that same spark in her eyes that always flared in his chest when he imagined building something that mattered.
And Riley? She looked at Peter and saw someone who truly got her. Not the Stark name. Not the family shadow. Just her.
She smiled softly.
"This is the best part," she whispered. "When no one else is watching."
Peter nodded.
"Yeah… it really is."
---
Perfect buildup—here's the next cinematic scene, keeping the vibe warm, curious, and charged with that growing spark:
---
[Green Residence – Riley's Room]
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
June 3, (2015)
Wednesday, 8:44 p.m.
A soft voice floated up the stairs.
"Dinner's ready!" Emily called.
Peter glanced toward the door and started slipping his phone back into his hoodie pocket. Riley stood, reaching for the repulsor glove resting on the desk, her hand hovering over it. She hesitated, clearly planning to stash it back in her bag.
Peter looked up and softly said, "Wait—can I try something with it?"
Riley blinked. "You want to take it?"
He nodded, eyes wide with boyish curiosity. "Just for a bit. I have an idea."
For a second, she hesitated. It was alien tech. Stolen. Unstable. And not exactly something you hand over lightly.
But then… she saw the look on his face—pure wonder, like a kid in a candy store who'd just been handed a golden ticket. And something about that made her heart skip.
"…Okay," she said quietly, and placed it in his hand.
Peter lit up. His fingers cradled the repulsor glove like it was priceless. "Thanks," he whispered.
Riley smiled—soft and slow—fighting the overwhelming urge to kiss him right then and there. The way he looked at her tech, not like it was dangerous or messy, but like it mattered. Like she mattered.
Peter stood, tucking the glove into his hoodie pocket with a careful pat, then turned to her.
"Come on," he said, offering his hand casually.
Riley didn't even hesitate. She took it.
They didn't hold on. But they didn't need to.
---
[Green Residence – Dining Room]
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
June 3, (2015)
Wednesday, 8:49 p.m.
The table was already set—roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, steamed veggies, and warm bread. Emily smiled as they walked in. Evelyn was already seated, swinging her legs and eyeing the bread basket like it was treasure.
Peter slid into the seat Riley pointed at, still slightly distracted, eyes scanning the details of the home. The sleek lighting, the modern layout, subtle design features that screamed Stark design influence, even if muted by homely touches.
Riley sat next to him, quietly watching him take it all in.
"You really like this place, huh
Got you. Here's the next dinner scene—subtle, emotional, with that slight tension only moms can bring:
---
[Green Residence – Dining Room]
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
June 3, (2015)
Wednesday, 8:52 p.m.
The clinking of silverware filled the room. Warm yellow lighting cast soft glows over the dinner table as the four of them—Emily, Evelyn, Riley, and Peter—ate together.
Evelyn talked the most. Something about a fourth-grade art project and how the glue got stuck in her hair. Emily laughed, brushing crumbs off her daughter's cheek with a napkin.
Peter just listened, politely chewing. Not too fast, not too slow. Just… quietly.
Emily noticed.
She tilted her head and smiled, pouring him another half-glass of water. "You okay, Peter?"
He nodded, swallowing. "Yeah, it's great. Thank you. The food's really good."
She gave him that classic mom-look—half-suspicious, half-soft. "You're a quiet eater."
Riley looked at Peter and gave him a small grin under her breath. Peter smiled back, a little awkward.
Emily leaned in slightly, still curious. "So… what about your family, sweetheart? What do your parents do?"
That one hit a little too quick.
Peter's fork slowed mid-scoop. His posture stiffened slightly.
Riley noticed. Her eyes flicked toward him, concerned.
Peter finally exhaled, voice low. "Um… my parents—they were on a plane when I was really young. I don't know how young, I just know they never came back."
Emily blinked, caught off guard. "Oh… Peter, I'm so sorry."
He nodded gently. "I don't remember much about them. Or about Uncle Ben either. He raised me for a while, but… the only one I really have now is my Aunt May."
Riley's expression softened completely. Her hand moved just slightly on her lap, like she wanted to reach for his but didn't.
Emily stayed quiet for a moment, then said warmly, "Well, you're always welcome here."
Peter gave a soft smile, not meeting anyone's eyes.
"Thanks," he said.
Evelyn suddenly broke the silence. "Do you have any pets?"
Peter chuckled, the tension melting a little. "Had a goldfish once. Named him 'Fish-Stick.' Didn't last."
Everyone laughed, even Emily.
And just like that, the mood lifted again.
Riley smiled across the table, heart full.
And under the table, her foot nudged gently against his.
This time, he nudged back.
---
Perfect—here's that next cozy cinematic chapter with Max, a warm goodbye, and that classic Parker energy:
---
[Green Residence – Dining Room]
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
June 3, (2015)
Wednesday, 9:04 p.m.
Peter helped clear a few plates, still feeling the weight of the conversation earlier—but also lighter somehow. Emily had this way of being direct yet warm, and Evelyn was a chaos tornado of cuteness.
Then came him—Dr. Max Green.
He'd walked in just a few minutes ago, fresh from a private consulting gig, blazer draped over one arm, tie loose. Tall, poised, sharp-eyed. Peter recognized that Stark Industries edge in him instantly. But surprisingly… he smiled.
"You must be Peter," Max said, walking over and extending his hand.
Peter stood and shook it, a little nervous. "Yeah. Uh—Peter Parker, sir."
Max chuckled. "No need for 'sir.' Heard a lot about you. STEM team at Midtown, right?"
Riley shot her dad a don't embarrass me glare.
Peter blinked. "You did?"
Max smiled, nodding as they walked toward the living room. "Emily told me. You've got some serious mechanical instincts, huh?"
Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "I… I tinker."
They talked for a few minutes—drones, AI, old Stark tech, minor conspiracy theories on alien metal alloys—and Peter quickly realized Riley's dad wasn't just smart. He was sharp. But he also didn't make Peter feel small.
He listened.
He liked Peter.
And Peter liked him back.
Then Peter checked his phone. "Whoa—it's past nine already? Jeez, I should head out. I gotta catch the B train."
He turned to everyone, slipping his hoodie back on, trying to keep it cool. "This was… honestly really nice. Your family's awesome. Your house is awesome. And the food was…" He gave a thumbs-up. "...awesome."
Emily chuckled. "You're welcome anytime, Peter."
Max raised a brow. "You're not taking the train this late. I'll drop you."
Peter waved his hands. "Oh no, no—it's totally okay. I do it all the time—"
"I insist."
"…okay then," Peter gave in, grinning.
"I'm coming too," Riley added, already grabbing her jacket.
Max looked at her—about to say something—then nodded. "Fine. Let's go, kids."
---
[Green Car – Interior, Front Seats]
Downtown Brooklyn to Forest Hills, Queens
June 3, (2015)
Wednesday, 9:36 p.m.
Peter sat in the back with Riley, her leg brushing his now and then, both of them pretending not to notice.
Max drove, occasionally asking about Midtown's robotics program or how Peter got into science. Peter responded with that shy-loud enthusiasm—awkward but passionate. Max liked that.
And Riley… was watching Peter the whole time. Proud. Quietly glowing.
As they neared Forest Hills, Peter pointed. "It's the one with the weird mailbox with a missing 'P'."
Max pulled up smoothly. Peter opened the door, hoodie zipped, repulsor glove still tucked safe inside.
"Thanks for the ride," he said. "Seriously."
Max nodded. "Stay sharp, Peter."
Peter turned to Riley. "I'll text you."
"You better."
He lingered a second longer, looked like he wanted to say something else—but then just smiled, nodded, and headed inside.
Riley watched until the door closed behind him.
She exhaled slowly, cheeks warm.
Max didn't say anything, but he glanced at his daughter with the smallest of knowing smiles before driving off into the night.
---
[Parker Residence – Living Room]
Forest Hills, Queens
June 3, (2015)
Wednesday, 9:47 p.m.
The door creaked open as Peter stepped in, trying to be as quiet as humanly possible. Hoodie zipped, hands in his pockets—he was hoping to slip past the kitchen.
No luck.
"Peter Benjamin Parker."
He flinched.
May stood leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, glasses low on her nose, half-empty mug of tea in her hand. Her expression? That perfect mix of mom-mode and interrogation.
Peter gave a tiny wave. "Hey, May…"
"Don't 'hey' me. You were supposed to be at Ned's. I called Ned. He's out cold. Probably dreaming about LEGO Death Stars."
Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, okay. So—I wasn't at Ned's."
"No kidding."
"I was… at Riley's," he admitted, eyes flicking up cautiously.
May blinked once. Then sipped her tea.
"Riley Green?"
"Yeah."
"The Riley Green you've been talking about for weeks now? That Riley?"
Peter sighed. "Yes."
May tilted her head. "And you didn't think to text me that plans changed?"
"I didn't want to make it a big deal," Peter mumbled. "It just sorta happened. Her mom was there. Her little sister too. Her dad dropped me off."
May softened just a little. "So… dinner with the whole Green family, huh?"
Peter frowned. "Can we not make this weird?"
She smiled faintly, walking closer. "I'm not mad. I just… worry when you're out late and go radio silent. You've got exactly one overprotective aunt left, Pete. Let me do my job."
He looked up at her, guilt creeping into his face. "I'm sorry. I should've messaged."
May nodded. "Yeah. You should've. But I'm glad you had a good time." A beat passed. Then: "So… what's she like?"
Peter groaned, heading toward his room. "May…"
She called after him, smirking. "You like her, don't you?"
"No comment!"
"I'll take that as a yes."
"Goodnight, May."
"Night, loverboy. And don't stay up too late building robots or whatever you snuck in your hoodie."
Peter froze for half a second, then shut the door behind him—heart thumping.
---
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Hey, it's the writer here, did you like this chapter? Did it cut for you? Lemme know below in the comments.