7 Prove me wrong

Peter slipped his hands into his hair, dragged them down to cover his eyes. Tears? Yeah, but what from? Confusion, love or loss?

He slumped down the tree, and sat with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head bowed. It was not okay to cry, not even alone. He had an image to purvey. Mr unbreakable, Mr ironheart, playboy extraordinaire. Peter, gallant Peter, happy go lucky, that boy's a charmer, he is. It occurred to him that he had proven Y/N right.

It was the first night they'd spent together, in Y/N's room. He could tell she was nervous. Not her first time though.

"Am I going to be just another girl on your hit list?" She had asked, dead serious, arms folded as if to protect herself. Peter had wrapped her is a hug from behind, resting his chin on top of her head.

"No, love, you're different." He cooed.

"Fine, but how do I know that?" She twisted, to face him. "You could just be playing me, and I'd fall for it. I've already fallen for it."

She pressed into her tiptoes and kissed him.

"Prove me wrong."