CHAPTER 28
GREEN GREEN DRESS

18+ warning: smut.

IT WAS FINALLY Saturday. Six PM, sharp. The Plaza Hotel was decked out in Christmas decor, from sparkling garlands to twinkling lights and a huge tree situated in the middle of the lobby, colorful ornaments placed among the branches. Sabrina had a team decorate the function room just as nicely. She had her own tree placed off to the side – but it was half the size of the one in the lobby – and it was adorned with ornaments made by Frank's employees. The team had gathered fake, cotton snow around the ballroom, strung bright, white lights from every crevice, and hung shiny snowflakes off the ceiling. Every table was covered in a pristine, white cloth, and an intricate centerpiece made of ice was placed in the middle, along with everyone's name cards in front of their utensils and small plates. Sabrina had even hired a five-piece band with a singer to entertain the guests.

This was a Christmas Eve picked out of a fairytale. Not only was the ballroom flawlessly decorated, but even real snow began to fall outside. Sloane might've been in good mood, if it weren't for the pit of anxiety forming in her stomach. She climbed the servant's stairwell to the roof and stood by the ledge, waiting for Peter. Flurries landed on her perfectly styled hair, and she wished the trench coat her mother made her wear had a hood. It was just barely warm enough. Her feet were already aching in her heels and her tongue darted out to wet her pink lips. If Peter didn't show up soon, this weather was going to completely ruin the makeup Sabrina put on –

A pair of feet landed on the cement beside her.

Sloane's breath caught in her throat, and she gasped. Peter was dressed head-to-toe in the Spider-Man suit, his old backpack slung over his shoulders. Holding a hand to her chest, Sloane chastised, "Don't do that. I'm already nervous enough tonight."

Peter laughed and yanked the mask off. His hair stuck up in different directions. "Sorry," he replied, before his eyes drifted down her body. Peter admired the fancy updo her mother had done hours ago, the curled pieces framing her delicate face. Her cheeks were flushed enough from the cold to not need blush, while her eyes had a thin, black wing painted on them and a hint of sparkle in the corners. Her lashes were long and black, and her straight brows were unnaturally fluffy. Peter swallowed hard, eyeing her perfectly kissable, lipstick-stained mouth, and moved her arms away from her chest to flip open her trench coat. Suddenly, his eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his skull. "Oh ... my god," he said, pulling her close by wrapping an arm around her waist. "Sloane, why didn't you warn me about this dress?"

Sloane glared at him. "Because it's just a dress."

"I don't think I'm gonna be able to focus tonight –"

"You have to," she interrupted. "The Jawbreaker is bound to show tonight and killing someone at the infamous Harper Watch Christmas Eve Party will make headlines –"

Peter kissed her softly, and she couldn't stop herself was curling an arm around his neck. He groaned when she pulled away, wanting more and desperately hoping he wasn't already half-hard. "You're distracting me," she whispered against his mouth, eyelashes brushing his cheeks.

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, refusing to let go. "Happy Christmas Eve, by the way." His eyes opened then, and he leaned back. "Do you celebrate? I don't."

"We used to celebrate Hanukkah, but after my dad passed ..." Sloane trailed off, and she absentmindedly played with his hair. "Celebrating Christmas made the holidays less painful for us back then. I still have the menorah from my childhood though."

"I get why you didn't want to come to this now."

"It's not just that. There are so many people here that I don't know. I have to deal with my mother and Frank and Everett. And then, there's the Jawbreaker ..." She shook her head. When she looked at him, one side of her mouth lifted into a smile. "You've distracted me for too long, Parker. The guests are already arriving. Did you bring it?"

Peter sighed dramatically. He had wanted to hold her for a while longer but knew it was too good to be true. Swinging his bag off his shoulders, he snickered, "Of course, I brought it."

Sloane held her hand out, and a moment later, he placed a microphone earpiece in her palm. Her fingers curled around it before she stuck it in her ear, using the stray curls around her face to hide it. "We'll be able to talk to each other with these? No matter what the distance?"

"That's how I designed them. Peter pulled out another earpiece and stuck it in. Tapping the side of his ear, he spoke, "Working?"

His words echoed through the tiny speaker in her own ear. She blinked at the sensation and muttered, "That's killer."

"Okay," he said, tugging his mask back on, "you go into the party and mingle. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious. I'm going to be watching from the room and crawling around the sides of the building. We can meet in a few hours. If you need anything –" He tapped the mic again. "– Just tell me. Everything will be okay."

Sloane nodded. "Gotcha."

They both paused, staring at each other, wondering who was going to walk away first. Sloane shivered from the cold and stepped back slightly, just as Peter reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Electricity shot through her at just the mere graze of his fingers. She could tell he was smiling under his mask when he said, "You look really beautiful tonight, Sloane."

She hung her head low for a moment, embarrassed, and then replied, "Thank you, Peter."

"You should probably go down to the party before I get too excited and kiss you again."

A chuckle escaped past her lips. "Will do," she said with a salute of her hand. Taking a few steps backward, she whispered to him, "See you later, Spider-Man."

━━━━━━

Sloane had never been good at small talk.

She did her best while weaving through the groups of unrecognizable faces. After dropping her jacket off at coat check, Sloane deposited herself near the main entrance, keeping track of every person that came inside. Sabrina and Frank waited in front of the doors and greeted their guests, while Everett was off skulking or drinking from a flask hidden in his suit jacket.

Sloane's mouth watered at just the thought of a flask, but she needed to keep herself in check. Guests were given a glass of champagne at the door. She couldn't help but feel incredibly jealous.

A few people were turned away at the door by security. She watched Sabrina claim she had never seen their faces before, as if she knew everyone at Frank's company. With a roll of her eyes, Sloane whispered into her ear mic, "An older couple was turned away at the door. Trying to sneak in, I think."

"They were," Peter's voice came through the tiny speaker. "I heard them talking about a fake invitation outside. Reporters working on a story about Harper Watch."

Well, it looked like Sabrina had been right. Go figure. "See anything else out there?"

"Just a lot of old people walking in. All black tie, like you said. Nothing out of the ordinary yet. Why do you sound bored?"

"I'm not bored. I just ..." Want to drink. She frowned. "I hate small talk. I'm so shit at it, and that's all there is to do."

Peter laughed. "How do you suppose we catch a killer without mingling a little bit? Get out there and report back if you hear or see anything weird."

"Ugh, fine," she said, ending the conversation and stepping out into the hoard of people.

Sloane continued to speak to each group, introducing herself as Sabrina's daughter and judging their faces by whether her mother had complained about her or not. Some praised her career choice, others asked if she had any other goals in life ... and this was why she didn't like mingling. Geriatrics were the biggest critics of all. If you weren't already married or in a long-standing relationship, you were basically a spinster from the Renaissance period.

An hour later, Sabrina silenced both her guests and live band by tapping a butter knife against her champagne glass. Even just the sight of the bubbles dancing in the flute made Sloane wonder if she should go to the bar – no, not on the job. Sabrina announced that it was time for the first course. Everyone took their seats, and of course, Sloane had been seated with one of the old couples that felt she was at a dead-end career. Lovely.

The appetizers came out: a hot bowl of minestrone soup and a garden salad on the side. Warm rolls with spiced olive oil were also placed on each table. Sloane felt strange to be sitting so far in the back with people she hardly knew, while her mother and Frank were entertaining at the main table up front. Everett wasn't seated at the same table, but he was right across from them. And there Sloane was, in the back, with a whole table of critics and no alcohol.

What if she simply asked –

No.

The main course came thirty minutes later. Sloane had chosen the spaghetti dinner as her meal of choice. The rest of her table had chosen the veal. Typical. She had made the right choice though – the marinara sauce had the slightest kick to it and she could basically taste all the spices. The meatballs were definitely fresh and – god, she could eat this for days. Waiters walked around filling up empty glasses of champagne and her throat ached for it. She consumed her entire glass of water, hoping it would save her parched throat.

When the dessert course finally arrived an hour after, Sloane wasn't sure if she could take this small talk anymore. All these people wanted to talk about was their grandchildren or the future of Harper Watch. The wait staff handed out bowls of bread pudding and Irish coffees and – fuck, she was going to go insane if she didn't have one. All the alcohol around her was making her feel dizzy, but she promised Peter she'd be strong. When they placed both in front of her table setting, Sloane could only stare at them. She watched the tiniest bit of coffee on the rim drop down the side of the glass mug. She could already tell how much Bailey's was in it from the color, and there was a lot.

She shouldn't have a sip. One sip turned into a gulp and a gulp always turned into downing a whole glass. But what if – No! But the alcohol was calling her name. The Irish cream smelled like home: like Vermont, like her crackling space heater on a cold evening, like the wool blanket she liked to wrap herself in before a long night of writing.

She was going to have just a sip. That's it. Nothing more. Or maybe –

"I need you to meet me in the coat room right now."

Sloane had never jumped out of her seat so fast. She didn't care how off it looked, or whatever devastating news Peter was going to bring. She needed to get out of there and fast. Sloane looked back at the Irish coffee for a moment, and then raced off in the direction of the coat room. "Roger that," she muttered back.

After asking a few members of staff, she found the coat room just to the left of the women's restroom. She told the bored employee at the door that the Plaza front desk was asking for her, and the young twenty-something raced towards the exit. Sloane turned the knob slowly, surprised to find it unlocked, before slipping inside.

The room was as big as a millionaire's walk-in closet. She scanned the room after locking the door behind her. Racks upon racks of expensive coats were hung about, riddling with personal belongings. A grand chandelier was even decorating the ceiling, and a grand window blowing in frosty air was situated in front of her. She could hear the local Christmas Eve carolers roaming the streets below.

Sloane's lips went to form Peter's name, but then he was jumping through the window, as if he was gliding on air. He shut the glass behind him and shook a few snowflakes from his suit. Sloane's fingers fidgeted with anticipation, not knowing what to expect. With a knitted brow, she said, "What's wrong? Did you see something?"

"What?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, no. Nothing suspicious so far."

Sloane's hands slapped at her sides. "Then why am I here? I think they're about to start speeches and employee awards."

"Like you give a shit," he snickered, taking a few steps forward. "I have a confession to make –"

"You called me here for no reason?"

"No – well, yes," he quipped. "I didn't get you a Christmas present."

"Oh, well ..." She shrugged. "I didn't get you one either. I didn't think we'd be exchanging gifts, and you said you don't really celebrate." She had considered buying him something while shopping for her family, but didn't know for sure. Now that they were dating, she supposed she should've asked. Her mind had just been preoccupied with other things, like how she should've been back at the party in case the Jawbreaker showed up.

Peter walked toward her slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. The way he moved was so languid that Sloane could already feel her underwear getting soaked. Once he was in front of her, he took one gloved hand and traced her cheek before clasping her chin. He kissed her – with the mask on. His tongue prodded against the spandex fabric of the mask, licking just the surface of her teeth. His other hand snaked around her waist and held her close. She could feel his hard cock poking out from the stretchy suit and – oh, fuck, she was like putty in his hands. Almost like a piece of clay he could mold whenever he wanted. Sloane whimpered against his mouth, practically drunk with want and need for him.

Instinctually, her fingers slipped past the waistband of the bottom half of his suit, past the sprinkling of dark curls before feeling for his cock. She rubbed at the pre-cum leaking out of the tip, spreading it down the full length of him. He gasped into her mouth, not expecting her touch. She smiled while kissing him, and then began pumping him slowly. His cock pulsated underneath her touch. She felt how veiny he was, the tiny hairs she hadn't noticed before. Seeing his cock was one thing, but having it in her hands really made her notice how big it was. It was honestly a miracle his suit kept it at bay – until now.

He trembled against her, and then began thrusting into her hand. She could tell he was getting close, so she moved faster and he moaned her name and – God, she wanted him inside her, but she just couldn't ruin her goddamn dress –

The hand that had been holding her chin moved to her hair, pulling her mouth away from his. Her hand stilled. "Sloane," he said slowly, carefully, "if you keep going, I'm going to finish in your hand, and neither of us wants that."

She released her grip on him and pulled her hand out. With a raised brow, she asked, "We don't?"

"Well, I mean ..." His head tilted from side to side. "My Christmas present to you was going to be that we have sex with the suit on –"

Sloane's eyes went wide. "Right now?"

Suddenly, Peter was shoving a coat rack out of the way and pushing her against the striped wall. He practically knocked all the oxygen out of her. Those large eyes on the mask were studying her, the drool dripping down her chin, and he wiped it away delicately. "Yes, now," he finally replied, steadily getting down on his knees. He began to lift the heavy green velvet of her dress and she helped bunch it at her waist. Then, he asked, "Do you not want me to?"

"No, no, I want you to. Like, bad," she said while he tugged her soaked underwear off. "Is this ... like, role-play? Are you into this?"

He lifted his hand. "I mean, I have ... thought about it before, but never went through with it. I guess it's role-playing. It's basically just me fucking you with a spandex suit on. You are the one that wanted to fuck Spider-Man so bad."

She rolled her eyes. "There was just something about the mystery of it all."

"Okay, pretend you don't know it's me then." He pried her legs apart, carefully setting one over his shoulder to have more access to her entrance. "Pretend I actually wasn't an idiot and met you at that dive bar after you drunk-dialed me."

"This sounds a lot like role-play," Sloane chuckled.

Peter swiped one long finger into her folds, lifted his mask up to his nose, and tasted her slick. "Do you want me to stop?"

She was already gripping his hair before he could finish. "Never," she sighed breathily.

A loud gasp tumbled out of her lips as his mouth closed around her clit, sucking, tongue ever so slowly working into her walls. He took his time, even though there was a chance someone could unlock the coat room at any moment. Their first time together was fast as all their emotions erupted like a volcano, spilling across the floor of Peter's studio apartment. He had wasted no time when his tongue had been inside of her, desperate to see her cum, to know it was him who did it. But now, his moves were calculated. Every second seemed slower than the last.

His stubble scratched the inside of her thighs, and she began to sluggishly rock her hips against his face. Instinctively, Peter pushed her one leg on the ground even wider, wanting more of her, tasting every bit of the juices leaking out of her. He moaned her name, licking at her clit messily. The pressure was building deep in her gut, and her toes curled when he said her name again. She wished she could have him like this for hours: sucking, licking, teasing her clit; bringing her to orgasm no matter how overstimulated she was; seeing his blown-out eyes as his hard cock grinded against her leg.

Her grip on his head went tight as she whined, "P – Peter –" His tongue strokes were slow again, bringing her back down, and she sighed defeatedly. Snaking a hand through the deep armholes of her dress, she played with her nipples, wishing her fingers were Peter's. But Peter's hands were preoccupied. He slid one hand between her folds, and the moan that slipped past her lips was guttural. Two long fingers sunk into her, almost knuckle-deep, curling upward as he continued steadily lapping. The heat of his mouth had her in a tailspin. Her stomach was twisting, and –

Sloane's words faltered: "I – I'm going to –"

Suddenly, he lifted his head away from the inside of her wet thighs. Spit trailed down his chin and his lips were shining with her slick. He licked his mouth clean, and just the sight had Sloane whimpering. He got to his feet, grabbed her chin again, and kissed her heatedly. Her brain felt like it was swimming in an ocean of lust. Her thoughts were lazy, practically drunk on his touch. Nothing else mattered anymore – not the holiday party, not the Jawbreaker, not anything.

The pressure that had been ready for release died down, and she sighed against his lips. When he leaned back, wiping the drool from her mouth, she asked, "Why are you being such a tease?"

"Haven't you been paying attention this whole time?" His mouth curled to one side. "Spider-Man's always been a tease."

"Peterrrr," she said, dragging out the name in an annoyed tone, "you're being rude. Seriously, when are you going to fuck me?"

He couldn't help but snort, "Like, now." He then patted the sides of his suit. "Wait, fuck. I didn't bring a condom." Hitting his forehead, he added, "Oh, fuck. I'm sorry, Sloane. I'm such a dick –"

She captured his lips between two fingers and silenced him. "I'm on the pill," she clarified, "and I want you inside me. Now."

His mouth parted a little in shock. "Are you sure?"

"Never been more sure of anything in my life."

Pulling the mask back down over his mouth, Peter yanked his bottoms down just slightly to reveal his prominent erection. It sprung out, the tip beading with even more pre-cum than before. Sloane ended up turning around so her back was to him, wanting to take him from behind. She pressed herself against the wall, one hand grasping the coat rack next to her and the other holding up the ends of her skirt. "Please, don't ruin this dress, Peter."

"I won't," he promised, adding a laugh at the end. "I like you too much in it. I've literally thought about fucking you with it on the whole night."

Gripping his cock to line himself perfectly with her entrance, he leaned forward and his mask grazed her ear. He whispered, "Pretend I agreed to meet you at that bar. We met in the bathroom and all the lights are off. You've been waiting for me and you're already wet and I push you against the sink –"

"D&D sessions with the boys really stepped up your role-play game, huh?" She giggled.

His answer came in the form of sinking himself into her, no warning. The squelching sound that emerged was absolutely filthy, and Sloane heaved. "By the way, don't call me Peter right now," he said, still inside her. She could just hear his smile as he added, "Call me Spider-Man."

Sloane's response came in the form of a deep whine, rising from the concave of her chest. The hand that had been clutching the coat rack on her left smacked against the wall, nails digging into nothing. Peter placed his own left hand on hers and laced their fingers. He drew back – slowly, teasingly – before cramming his cock back in, one second at a time. She'd never get used to the fullness of Peter Parker, the way he knew exactly how to split her open. Sometimes it felt like her body was completely molded for him, to take him. His balls slapped against her bare ass and he pulled out again, breathing heavily in her ear.

And then, he spit on his gloved fingers.

Sloane almost came at the obscenity of it all.

He reached around her waist, hooking those two fingers into her folds, and she felt the ridges on his gloves meet her clit. "F–Fuck, oh–my–god." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Do you want me to keep going?" He asked, his voice still husky with lust.

His tip was teasing her entrance again, waiting for her agreement. If he didn't let her orgasm soon, she felt like she was going to deteriorate. "P–Please," she mewled, cheek pressing against the wall. "I–want to–take–all of you, Pe–Spider-Man."

Her words were a string of breaths, but Peter understood her loud and clear. Something about the name triggered a feeling so carnal in him that he slipped between her legs once again, bottoming out inside her. He hit a button on his glove by accident, causing a string of webbing to shoot out onto her left hand, gluing it to the wall. Sloane knew she said something then, but she couldn't comprehend what. He filled her completely, and everything felt so new and free without the barrier of a condom. Sloane didn't have sex without a condom often – only with those she trusted – and she knew then that she had been clearly missing out on this with Peter. She felt every vein, every groove and – "Ohmygod."

He drove himself back inside, again and again, going faster with each thrust. The head of his cock grazed her most sensitive area, and Sloane choked back a cry. His wet fingers held her open even wider. He began to circle her clit, dragging her slick around inside of her. The sound, coupled with the smack of balls against her backside, was probably one of the most vulgar things she'd ever heard. Peter moaned in her ear when he felt her begin to tighten up. She could hear it echo through the mic still in her ear, and her pussy throbbed at the sound. She adored knowing how much he loved being inside her.

"You take my cock so good," he breathed, and then nibbled onto her jaw through the mask.

"You can fuck me whenever you want, Spider-Man."

"I'll come whenever you call."

How completely absurd they sounded.

Sloane's back arched, trying to take him deeper. She felt winded as he fucked into her, his fingers never leaving her clit. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she prayed to god that her makeup wasn't going to be messed up. But right now, she couldn't care less. All she wanted was to take him, again and again, feel her muscles clench around his length. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she realized he was leaving messy, open-mouth kisses along her jaw. She turned her head and met him halfway, pressing her lips to his through the mask.

He drove into her like a jackhammer plunging into the ground. Sloane was sure she could feel him so deep as if he was inside her stomach. She was really crying now, begging for release as her walls began to tighten even more. His fingers worked against her clit at an alarming pace, the ridges on the tips of his gloves making her whole body tingle. She would feel this for days, and her release was coming – "Spider-Man," she whimpered, "I – I'm –"

"It's okay," he said quickly, his lips brushing hers. "Me too."

Every muscle below her waist squeezed around his cock as he hit her most sensitive spot. Sloane was sure she saw nothing but sparkling light. She came for what felt like forever, and his fingers kept stroking her like it was their job. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." She couldn't stop talking, couldn't stop chanting his name – or his alias, I should say. Her brows knitted together; her jaw went completely slack.

Peter's pace sputtered when he felt her go tight. His orgasm came quickly after, filling her with his hot release. His cock thrummed inside her, and Sloane moaned when she felt his cum mix with hers. She felt light-headed. Peter could only utter a broken string of words, none of which she could hear over the ringing in her ears.

He was still inside her, chest pressing against her back. Her left hand was pinned with clear, sticky webbing. They both leaned onto the wall for support and breathed for a long two minutes. It was almost painful to breathe, like she got the wind knocked out of her. Maybe she did.

She felt empty when he pulled out of her, and their mixture of release dribbled down her legs. He yanked at the webbing on her hand and a tacky residue was left when she was able to move it away from the wall. Sloane came out of her fucked-out haze a bit, desperate to not get a drop onto the ends of her dress. Peter ran over to his backpack that he'd deposited near the window and grabbed a few tissues, cleaning her up. He chucked them in the trash once he was done, and she pulled on her underwear before turning around to look at him. Her skirt fell down to the floor as he shoved his now-soft cock back inside the bottom half of his suit.

Peter reached out, and with the same fingers that plunged relentlessly into her, he pushed a few stray hairs away from her sweaty forehead. His body pressed into hers, and she sighed, missing the way he felt inside her.

Sloane tugged his mask off, wanting to see him. His hair was sticking up at every angle. His face was red, either from embarrassment or the workout they just put themselves through. She smiled and took his face in her hands. "I think you might be sweating even more than me," she said before kissing him softly.

His eyelids were droopy; his smile lazy. "That was fun."

Sloane laughed. "We can do it again any time you want. Just say the word." Blowing another strand of hair away from her eyesight, she asked, "How bad is my mascara running? Be honest."

Peter was quiet for a moment, delicately grazing the tips of his fingers over her cheekbones. He noticed she had a light scattering of four or five freckles across each cheek. There was also a small scar on her forehead. He learned new things about her every day.

"You're so pretty," he murmured, pressing his own cheek into one of her hands.

He didn't dare tell her about the flecks of mascara gathering underneath her eyes, the tear lines settling into her concealer, or her swollen lips. Because it didn't matter to him. All that mattered was that she knew she was beautiful.

The way he was looking at her made her crumble. She felt something so deep for him, something she had never felt for anyone before. It seemed insane that in just two months, she fell for someone she had barely known years ago, even with a serial killer also on the loose. Her insides twisted; her heart might just burst. Oh, god – fuck, she might just be –

"Peter," she said, unable to keep her thoughts at bay, "I lo –"

She stopped herself when she saw his expression change. His brows lifted slightly and his mouth parted. This was definitely not something he wanted to hear. Was it too early to be feeling this way? How could she be sure he felt the same way? And if he didn't ... she didn't know if she could face him again. Her pride would win that battle. She quickly shoved those words down before they could overtake her again.

He blinked, waiting for her to continue.

"I love –" She swallowed hard, and then her lips formed into a big grin. "– The holidays. Thank you for my Christmas present."

He released his signature giggle, and she felt that twist inside her stomach again. "Anytime. Just say the word," he added, repeating her words from just moments ago.

Peter leaned in to kiss her.

And then a scream reverberated through the locked door.

The couple tossed their heads in the direction of the door, and Sloane could easily recognize her mother's voice through the thick wood. Without thinking of how she may look, she untangled herself from Peter, unlocked the door, and ran out of the coat room. Her hair was slightly tousled, her makeup only a bit disheveled, but she didn't care. Peter tugged his mask back on and followed her without a second thought. The attendant in front of the coat room stared at Sloane with confusion, and then found her eyes growing even wider when Spider-Man sprinted out moments later.

The Jawbreaker was here. He had her mother. She hated her mother, but she wouldn't let them take her too. Sloane had already suffered so much loss.

Oh–my–god. Ohmygod. TheJawbreakerwashere.

Fuck. Fuck! What were they going to do –

Sloane rounded the corner back into the function room, stopping abruptly a few feet in front of Spider-Man. She scanned the room, taking in the shocked dinner guests, before finding Sabrina at the main table. She was standing alongside Frank, and there was a waiter to their right with a tray of broken wine glasses at their feet. Red liquid formed in a puddle on the floor. Sloane noticed the same liquid staining the front of her mother's gold dress. Thinking it was blood, Sloane stepped forward, reminding herself that she had hidden her trusty knife on the ankle strap of her heel.

Sabrina's brows were pulled together, an angry expression on her face. Frank then stepped out in front of her and raised a hand. "Just a spill of red wine," he clarified. "No need to worry. Please, enjoy your desserts, or join the band on the dance floor for a waltz."

Red wine?! Did she scream over an under-compensated waiter spilling red wine on her dress? Sloane's head whipped around the room. There was nothing wrong at all. No Jawbreaker. No victims. No blood. She wanted to say she couldn't believe it, but Sabrina's reaction over a wine stain was completely in character.

Suddenly, Frank's stare locked with something behind Sloane, and then everyone was looking. She turned, seeing her boyfriend's head dart from side to side. He was masked up, covered head to toe in the Spider suit, in front of everyone. Sloane blinked incredulously. A guest behind her stood from his seat, pointed in Peter's direction, and screamed, "It's Spider-Man!"

The room erupted into chaos. Every guest was standing, cheering, calling out to Spider-Man. Peter whirled around her without saying goodbye. He sprinted into the crowd, waving quickly to some people he passed, while exclaiming, "Sorry! Gotta go!" Approaching one of the tall windows near the main table, he unlocked the screen and turned to where Sabrina still stood. "Hope you get the stain out," he muttered before jumping out the window and swinging away from the Plaza hotel.

The whole room was still in awe at the surprise guest, even her mother. But somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, Frank's crystal green stare never left Sloane's.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: nearly 6k words later 🫣 am I fuckin GOOD

yes I wrote a smut chapter purely inspired by green green dress from the tick tick boom movie, specifically the bonus track sung by andrew garfield. let's not talk about it !