.ೃ࿔*:･𝐱𝐱𝐯. you don't need to save me, but would you run away with me?

𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐒𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐇𝐎𝐋. At just fourteen, some might argue she was too young to make such a firm decision, too inexperienced to fully grasp its implications. But Ingrid knew better.

She had seen firsthand what alcohol could do. The destruction it left in its wake was not some distant story or cautionary tale—it was her reality. The evidence was there, clear as day, every time she looked at her father. The ghost of his past lingered, haunting their lives in quiet moments, when he thought no one was looking. But Ingrid saw it— the tremors in his hands when he talked about his own father, the tightness in his voice whenever he mentioned his mother. The way his gaze would unfocus, drifting off into memories that only he could see.

She knew what alcohol had done to him, how it had stolen pieces of his childhood, leaving him to pick up the fragments alone. The scars were deep and silent, woven into the very fabric of their family’s history. For Ingrid, the choice was clear. She had seen and heard too much to ever want to experience it herself.

Given all this, it was safe to say that Ingrid would never get drunk, at least not in the traditional sense. Because who needs alcohol when Spider-Man exists?

Peter had a way of evoking all the sensations she’d heard about—weak knees, a smile that felt like it reached deep into her soul, and thoughts that spun in exhilarating spirals. He managed to give her all of that without a single drop of alcohol.

Tonight, Ingrid was stretched out on the edge of a rooftop, one arm hanging casually over the side, her legs draped comfortably in Peter’s lap.

They had ventured out for their usual stargazing session, a cherished ritual of watching over New York from their high vantage point. But this time, there was something different in the air.

Peter had arrived without his mask, a detail that took Ingrid by surprise. She wasn’t quite sure what had driven him to make such a choice, but as she found herself stealing glances at him, her cheeks flushed with warmth. There was something intensely intimate about seeing Peter’s face in the moonlight, so close and so real. It made the night feel even more magical, and she realized she didn’t mind this new aspect of their shared moments at all.

Ingrid let out a strained sigh, followed by a burst of giggles that echoed lightly across the rooftop. "You know, when I was like, 5 years old, I was convinced life couldn't get any more difficult," she said, her eyes drifting to the constellation-filled sky above.

Peter looked over at her, a knowing smile on his lips. "Let me guess, you were wrong?"

Ingrid nodded enthusiastically. "Very wrong! Turns out, I had no clue what was coming. But now... honestly, I can’t even imagine being... normal." She shifted slightly, her feet still resting comfortably in Peter's lap as she looked at him with a mix of contemplation and amusement.

Peter sighed, his gaze contemplative. "Yeah, I get that. 'Normal' seems so distant, like it's from a different life entirely."

Ingrid nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "The thing is, I don’t even know what 'normal' would look like anymore. No powers, no missions, no expectations—just... existing." She giggled again, and Peter’s gaze settled on her in a way that made her stomach churn with a mix of excitement and nervousness. "It doesn’t sound like me at all."

Peter looked up at the stars, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "It sounds nice in theory. But... I don’t know, I think we’d get bored pretty quickly. We’re too used to the chaos."

A faint smile tugged at Ingrid's lips. "Yeah, maybe. But there’s this weight that comes with it, you know? Like we’re always expected to be 'on,' always ready to jump in and save the day. It’s exhausting." She sighed deeply, her gaze falling down to her lap. "Sometimes I just want to run away. I never thought I’d miss being on the run this much."

Peter didn't respond with the judgment she had braced herself for. Instead, he continued gazing at the sky, his voice gentle. "You wouldn’t miss anybody if you ran away?"

Ingrid looked up from her lap, her eyes softening as they met Peter’s. "I’d miss Natasha," she said without hesitation. "And you."

"Who said I’d let you run away without me?" Peter asked, a hint of playful defiance in his voice.

Ingrid’s laughter bubbled up immediately. "Oh, no! I wouldn’t let you come with me."

"Why not?" Peter asked, sounding mockingly offended.

"You have a life. Friends, an aunt, school—" Ingrid trailed off, shaking her head. "You’re not coming with me."

"That’s what you think," Peter said, turning to face her, his expression serious but warm. "You’re not going anywhere without me, alright?"

Ingrid looked at him, a smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You promise?"

Ingrid met his gaze, her voice steady. "I promise."