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joonie-beanie · 2 years ago

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Side-Gig | [Peter B. Parker x Reader]

Pairing: Peter B. Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter gets worried about your apparent “side-gig” and goes snooping, only to discover your side-gig is writing Spiderman smut on commission.

Contents: Fluff, Smut, Consensual Sex, Pussy Eating, Banter, Friends to Lovers???

Author’s Note: I swore off posting fics on tumblr, but since this is just a one-shot, I figured why not. I think Peter B is charming, had to write a lil smth smth for him. And by that, I mean a 7.1k wordcount fic.

You and Peter Parker are friends. Not best friends, but pretty good friends.

You like to say you’ve looked out for each other over the years. You don’t talk all the time, but it’s kind of an unspoken promise that when one of you needs someone to lean on, the other person will be there.

Which is why, when Peter and MJ separate, you make a point of inviting Peter over for meals.

At first, he turns you down every time you ask, and you know it’s because he’s wallowing—depressed about his situation. And that’s understandable. You can’t exactly say you know what he’s feeling, but if you put yourself in his shoes, you’re sure you’d be a little bit fucked up about everything too.

Therefore, you give him a little space—wait for things to settle and for Peter to come around.

Except, Peter takes it all way worse than you expect—going radio silent after your third invite in two months. Then, you really start to get worried (and also a little mad that he’s ghosting you).

So, you manage to scrounge up his new address using some internet-sleuthing skills, and show up at his door. When he opens it, he’s dressed in a greasy wife-beater, worn-out gray sweats, and white socks with a hole in the toe.

“Jesus Christ, Peter.”

You spend that evening scolding Peter and letting him cry it all out—handing him tissue after tissue as he blubbers about everything on his mind. When he’s finally done, he apologizes for ignoring your last call, and thanks you for looking out for him.

With a smile, you assure him you’ll always have his back, and that now he really has to come over for dinner, because he owes you.

Laughing, Peter agrees. And luckily, he sticks to his word.

Since then, you and Peter make a point of doing dinner twice a month—typically at your place, sometimes out at a restaurant, but never at Peter’s. Not until he deep cleans his messy apartment, and you know that won’t be happening anytime soon.

Tonight, you’re at a restaurant of your choice—a local Italian joint. Peter arrives late, per normal, and you wave him over when you see him walk in the front door. He immediately spots you and hurries over, his eyes darting to the plate of bruschetta you’d ordered for the table, that now only has two pieces left.

“Aw, that’s not fair,” he says, sliding into the booth across from you. He immediately reaches for one, shoving it into his mouth. You shrug, not sorry.

“That’s what you get for always being late. And if I waited for you, I’d be hangry by now. So really, you should be thanking me.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter says with a roll of his eyes, picking up the menu to see what it is he wants.

“So, how have you been? I know we just saw each other two weeks ago, but—how’s work?”

You sigh at Peter’s question, resting your chin against your palm.

“Fine, I guess. Work is cutting hours since things are slow right now, so I’m gonna be pretty strapped for cash the next month or two.”

Peter blinks at your response, staring at you over the edge of the menu.

“Should we be here then? We could just get the check now and go down the street to the bodega—”

“No—no, it’s fine,” you reassure him, taking a sip from your glass. From the look of it, Peter can tell the glass is filled with rum and coke—your simple, yet timeless go-to.

“This is kind of my last hurrah, y’know? Gotta get one last plate of carbonara in before I’m eating ramen and eggs for the next few months.”

“I dunno about that,” Peter responds. “Eggs are pretty expensive now—you might have to settle for canned tuna.”

You roll your eyes at him, yet can’t help the little giggle that escapes you.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know,” he says with a smile.

The waitress wanders back over, and you and Peter put in your orders. Peter also opts to get a drink (after all, if you’re drinking, why shouldn’t he), and a few minutes later, a cosmopolitan is placed onto the table in front of him.

You watch him with a wide smile as he picks up the girly drink and takes a long sip—his pinky sticking out and everything.

“You and your love of sweet drinks,” you say, swirling around the ice in your half-empty glass. Peter hums happily.

“Listen, this is way better than beer.”

Honestly, you can’t disagree.

“So,” he continues, picking up the previous topic. “Are you gonna be okay? Money-wise?”

It’s not like he has much help to offer. Being a masked vigilante doesn’t pay very well, after all, but still.

“Yeah,” you assure him. “I have a side-gig that brings in a little cash-flow, so that’ll help cushion the blow. But I think I should still be able to afford rent and some groceries. I’ll just have to budget better, y’know?”

Peter nods. “Oh, okay. Good—,” but then his brain repeats the phrase “side-gig”, and his words cut off.

“Wait, what kind of side-gig are we talking about here?”

Despite how long the two of you have known each other, Peter has never heard anything about any kind of “side-gig”. It’s a little concerning, honestly, since the two of you don’t really keep secrets from each other.

Although it’s not like you know he’s Spiderman.

“Yeah. It’s nothing illegal, I promise,” you tell him, your attitude remaining pleasant. Peter stares at you, waiting for you to say more, but your smile only grows wider.

“Not telling,” you say, laughing quietly to yourself when Peter huffs in annoyance and grabs his drink. “You’ll just have to trust me. I’d never do anything illegal—you know me.”

“I dunno,” he responds, a playful lilt in his tone. “In college I seem to remember you stealing soft drinks from the mess hall without paying—”

“Oh c’mon,” you shoot back, and Peter grins, knowing you hate when he brings that up. “We were already paying to go to classes! Why should I pay 3 dollars for a cup of watered down coke?!”

Peter laughs as you go on a mini tangent about how college is a ripoff—ordering both you and him two more drinks when your waitress stops in to check on your table.

After a short while, your food comes out, and the two of you catch up over the hot meal. Conversation flows like normal—touching on any other life updates, and also local news topics, and things of the like.

At your insistence, Peter splits a tiramisu with you to close out the evening, and by the time the dessert is gone, Peter thinks he may explode.

“Ugh, why did I let you talk me into that?” Peter groans, curling over and holding his stomach as you fetch enough cash from his wallet to cover half the bill.

“Well, if you were smart like me, you would have kept half of your entree to take home with you for later, and then you would have had enough room left for dessert. Which, by the way, is too good to waste—so don’t puke it up.”

Your waitress swings by to grab the bill, and you assure her it’s all set—passing her the small stack of money taken from both your and Peter’s wallets. She thanks you with a smile, and then scurries away, leaving the two of you alone.

You reach over the table, patting Peter’s shoulder.

“You’ll be fine. Your stomachs gotten bigger, after all.”

“Hey—,” Peter frowns, lifting his head. You’re already grabbing your purse and takeout box—sliding out of the booth. He quickly follows after you.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No,” you respond, holding the door open for him as the two of you step out into the cool New York air. “You’re actually still surprisingly in-shape for someone whose diet consists of pizza and frozen meals. But, that being said, you can’t deny you’ve put on a few pounds.”

Peter places a hand on his stomach.

“Remind me again why you’re so mean to me?”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound getting lost in the crowd around you.

“You just make it too easy,” you admit, grinning up at him. Despite himself, Peter smiles back.

Being the gentleman that he is, Peter fully intends to escort you back to the doorstep of your apartment building, but—

His spidey senses tingle, and he can tell something is off.

“Hey, um,” Peter grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Before your brain can even catch up, he’s yanking you into a quick hug, and then backpedaling towards the alleyway the two of you had just passed.

“Sorry, I just remembered there’s something I have to do. It was nice seeing you! Let’s touch base soon!”

He’s gone before you can even get a word out, disappearing around the corner. You stare after him for a moment, befuddled, and then continue on your way with a sigh.

Same ‘ol Peter.

Exactly one hour later, Peter collapses in a pile of trash—his lungs heaving, and body aching. The fight itself hadn’t been that hard—just a few wannabe criminals with deadlier than normal weapons.

No, the real challenge had been not barfing up his dinner while doing acrobatics across the city.

And maybe laying in a pile of trash to take a breather isn’t exactly helping his current predicament, but fuck—he doesn’t have the energy to move right now

Spreading out his limbs, Peter stares up at the smog-coated night sky, his mind wandering. He thinks about a lot of things—all the villains he’s fought in his time as Spiderman, the people who have come in and out of his life during it all, including you. You…who apparently has a “side-gig”.

…but like, what kind of side-gig?

Peter groans, knowing he won’t be able to let this go.

You can’t just drop the knowledge that you have a secret side-gig on him and then not tell him what it is!

And if you’re insistent on keeping it a secret, it must be something bad, right? RIGHT??

“Goddammit,” he grumbles, picking himself up. He swings off into the night, his mind reeling.

Peter lasts all of 3-days before he decides he can’t be left alone with his thoughts anymore—that he just needs to confirm what exactly your side-gig is, before his theories can get any wilder.

Because so far, his top guesses are that you’re either 1. Unknowingly acting as a middle man for some illegal trafficking operation, or 2. Providing “services” to New York sleazebags to get in their wallets.

And Peter knows it’s likely neither option—you’re too smart to get roped into something stupid. Plus, you had assured him it was nothing illegal.

But if he doesn’t figure it out, he thinks he may explode.

So…he goes snooping.

It’s not his brightest moment—using the spare key you had given him “in case of emergency” to sneak into your apartment one evening. (But to be fair, to him…this might just be an emergency).

He’d used his spidey senses to scope out your apartment before coming in, so he knows you're not home. Which is good, but…he doesn’t know when you’re gonna be back either, so he has to move fast.

Softly closing the front door behind him, Peter tip-toes across your apartment, deciding to start in your bedroom. He stands in the doorway for a moment, guilt bubbling up inside of him, but he decides to push forward anyway.

He’s just making sure you’re okay, he tells himself. You’re one of his closest friends, and you won’t tell him your secret—so it’s understandable he’d be worried.

Like the true Sherlock that he is, Peter starts with you dressers. He quickly checks each drawer—gently lifting up the stacks of clothes to make sure nothing is hidden beneath them. (The only time doesn’t is when he encounters the drawer with your bras and panties. He simply stares at them with flushed cheeks, rocking awkwardly on his heels, before he quietly closes the drawer. Surely nothing would be in there anyway, right?)

The small stack of papers on your nightstand ends up being recent receipts, and a manual on how to use the white noise machine you've apparently just purchased, considering it's sitting on the floor beside your nightstand, still in the box.

Getting on his hands and knees, Peter does a quick check under your bed, and freezes when he spots a covered box. He pulls it out without thinking, tugging off the fabric lined lid—

—and immediately slams it back down.

…veiny, pink, silicon—

Peter haphazardly pushes the box back under the bed, hurrying to his feet. He bustles into the kitchen with cherry-colored ears.

All-in-all, it takes Peter about half an hour to search your apartment, and unfortunately…he comes up empty handed. It seems like you have nothing to hide (except a box of sex toys under your bed, but Peter thinks that’s pretty understandable. You don't want dumb assholes like him accidentally finding it, even though Peter had—)

Sighing, Peter takes one last glance around your apartment.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have done this,” he sighs to himself, taking a step towards the door. But—not watching where he’s going, he stubs his toe into the leg of your coffee table.

A curse leaves his lips, and your opened laptop—which had previously been dark—jolts to life. Kicking the table must have moved your wireless mouse, Peter realizes.

Having already decided to leave, Peter fully intends to continue on his way. That is…before he takes a glance at your computer screen and sees that you have it open to a Google doc titled: “Spiderman x Reader Commission #6”.

…then, he’s scrambling onto your couch and yanking your laptop towards him.

“Number six??” he hisses dramatically, his eyes scanning over the document so fast that he doesn’t actually end up reading anything.

He has to pause and go back to try again, but the second Peter reads the sentence “Spiderman’s cock strains painfully against the tight confines of his suit, his fingers twitching against your waist as he drags you in closer”, his brain effectively blue screens.

In a panic, he clicks into a different tab that’s open—landing on your email inbox, where a thread sits open. A transaction between you and an apparent “customer”. Someone who had contacted you in regards to your open “commissions”.

Hi there!

I saw you’re accepting commissions, and I really enjoyed reading the other Spiderman fics you wrote! Would you be open to writing one for me? Preferably a Reader x Spiderman, and a smut/fluff genre. Based on the rate sheet, I think I can afford it, but I’d appreciate it if we could talk more and discuss the final price based on the idea I have.

Thanks!

Holy shit, Peter realizes. Your side-gig is writing Spiderman porn on commission.

He sinks back into the couch, his mind whirling.

How long has this been going on?? Do you…are you attracted to Spiderman?? As long as Peter has known you, you’ve never really fangirled over Spiderman. If Spiderman had popped up in the news, the two of you would talk about him, but…that was it.

And now you’re writing Spiderman smut for cash? Holy hell.

Peter supposes he should be relieved that what you’re doing truly isn’t illegal. That you’re just making money in a mostly innocent way, from the safety of your home. Meaning, Peter can call it quits, and leave.

…but instead, he leans forward, clicks back onto the Google doc tab, and starts reading more.

The document is still a work-in-progress, but Peter scrolls back up to the top, wanting to see how you’ve managed to set up this scenario.

As it turns out, a villain had injected Spiderman with some sort of aphrodisiac, and the reader is a bystander, bravely offering Spiderman her services to get him out of this pickle.

While embarrassing to admit, Peter gets sucked into the story—impressed by your ability to write, and your portrayal of him—err, Spiderman. In fact, he gets so distracted by the story and the multitude of thoughts running through his head that his spidey senses don’t kick in until danger is right on his doorstep.

Or, in reality, you are on your doorstep—your key shoving into the lock on the door.

Peter’s heart nearly rockets out of his chest, his eyes darting to the window across the room. It’s closed, and even if he used his web shooter to rocket over to it, he wouldn’t be able to safely open the window and escape outside in the two seconds it’s going to take you to finish unlocking your do—

Before he can even finish the thought, your front door shoves open, and you flick on the lights—your gaze immediately finding Peter, who is still firmly planted on your couch, looking like a deer in headlights.

You stare at him in shock.

“Peter? What…? Why are you here?”

“I was…worried about you,” Peter responds, forcing himself to smile. And it’s not like it’s a lie.

“You said you were strapped for cash, and I…I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

You kick the door shut behind you, your purse and keys discarded on the small table beside your entryway.

“I thought I told you to just trust me?”

You face him with a hand posed sternly on your hip. You appreciate his concern for you, but it’s a little upsetting that he hadn’t just been able to trust your word.

“I know,” Peter responds with a sigh. He runs a hand through his graying hair, and your gaze flits to his ears, noticing how red they are. Why is he so flushed?

“And I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I should have. Trusted you, I mean. I’ll just—,” he pushes himself up, planning to excuse himself and run, but freezes half way to his feet.

He’s half hard. Fuck.

If he gets up now, it’ll be a lot harder to hide that—especially since he’s wearing sweatpants.

Making a lil noise, Peter eases himself back down onto your couch. You cock an eyebrow.

“...you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry…back spasm.”

“Well, you don’t have to rush out. You’re welcome to stay for a while if you don’t have anywhere to be.”

You flash him a smile and turn towards the kitchen. Peter watches you as you open your fridge and bend down—fetching two bottles of water from the bottom shelf. His eyes glue to your ass the second you lean over, and Peter punches himself in the knee—forcing his gaze up towards the ceiling.

He’s going fucking insane. He’s not used to being this…feral feeling. Arousal is usually one of the emotions that evades him nowadays, but here he is—done in by fucking Spiderman fanfiction.

Who knew he’d get turned on reading about himself fucking some nameless woman? And who knew that arousal would make him thirst after you?

(Honestly, if he thinks about it, it’s not that surprising. The two of you have been friends for years, and he feels comfortable around you. Not to mention, you’ve always been attractive, even if you do like to push his buttons—)

“Here,” you say, snapping him out of his internal panic. You plop down onto the couch next to him, handing him one of the two bottles of water.

Peter reaches out to take it, and you notice the sweat beading on his brow. Why the hell is he—?

At that moment, you spot your laptop on the coffee table—open, and still showing the commission document you’d left open earlier on. Your first instinct is to reach over and slam your laptop shut before Peter can see—

…wait.

Peter reaches forward to take the water bottle from your grasp, but when he grips it, you don’t budge.

Confused, he looks up—only to find you intensely staring at him.

“Did you read it…?”

Peter’s face heats up, his eyes darting to the side to avoid looking at you.

Busted…

You pulse races, embarrassment blooming in your chest.

HE DID, you realize. HE READ IT. Your fucking Spiderman smut!

“Ah, shit…,” you mumble, letting go of his water bottle and crumpling in on yourself. You curl onto your side, hiding your face in the couch cushion.

Feeling horrible that he has embarrassed you—having discovered something you’d tried to keep private—Peter hurries to try and smooth over the situation.

“Okay, yes, I did read it,” he starts by saying. “But…it was…really good! You’re a good writer, and I can see why people are commissioning you! You’ll surely make some cash with the skill you have.”

If he was smart, he’d have stopped there, but no—Peter keeps going.

“A-And hey! I’d be willing to help too. Y’know, help give you some inspiration for your stories—”

His voice dies in his throat, realizing what it is he has just offered. And obviously, you realize it too—your head immediately lifting, staring at him with curious surprise.

“Did you just…offer…to fuck? To help me with my stories?”

The insinuation is so insane that you can’t help laughing. Peter coughs, straightening his shoulders out.

“I think I’d be very good inspiration for Spiderman.”

“Really?”

There’s disbelief in your voice. Peter narrows his eyes.

“You don’t think so?”

You hum, uncapping your water bottle and taking a swig. Peter mirrors you, his throat feeling dry.

“Spiderman is…suave and heroic, and you’re…dorky. Smart, but dorky.”

Peter frowns. “I can be…suave.”

You cock an eyebrow, a playful grin breaking out on your face. Your heart is racing a million miles an hour, because never did you think you’d be sitting here with Peter, the possibility of sex between the two of you suddenly laid out on the table. You’d never deny he’s an attractive male, and maybe because it’s him, and because you’ve missed the feel of another human being, you end up saying—

“Yeah? Show me then.”

You lean back, waiting to see if Peter will make a move.

Unfortunately, the realization that you’re open to whatever is happening right now causes Peter’s brain to stall, and he takes a second too long to act—just long enough to allow doubt to worm its way into your head.

You’re putting him on the spot. And he’s still probably dealing with some complicated feelings from the split—you shouldn’t have poked him.

Without saying anything, you decide to try and create some space. You push off of the couch, padding towards your bedroom. You’ll make an excuse about needing to fold your clothes, or something stupid—and hopefully Peter will take what you’ve said as a joke, and will move on. Yeah, that sounds like a solid plan—

Pausing in the doorway of your room, you force yourself to smile, and turn to face Peter—only to find that he’d snuck up on you—your gaze meeting his chest the second you turn around.

“Pe—,” you’re only able to get the first syllable of his name out, your chin tilting back as you look up at him. The feeling of his palm cupping your cheek is what makes your voice die out, his chestnut eyes boring into you.

You can see the hesitation on his face. A certain lack of confidence that you’re sure stems from his past relationship issues. But beneath that, you can see desire. A craving for intimacy he hasn’t shared in a long time.

You decide to be the one to close the gap—pressing onto your toes, your palm resting flat on his pec as you lean upward—connecting your lips with his. You can feel his heart racing beneath your fingertips, and you silently convince yourself that if Peter backs out, you’ll be fine with it.

Luckily, he doesn’t. His brain finally kicks into gear, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist as he kisses you back.

You make a pleasantly surprised little sound, your arms lifting to wrap around his neck—effectively deepening the kiss. A wrinkle appears between Peter’s eyebrows, his grip on your waist tightening. Your chest presses flat against his torso, and he rubs his thumb against your cheek, obsessed with the plushness of your lips and the feel of you against him.

It’s been way too long since he’s been intimate like this…that’s apparent by the blood absolutely rockets into his dick.

Although, to be fair, he’d already been half-hard before this.

“You think our local hero gets hard this quick?” you mumble against his lips with a grin, giggling when Peter makes a noise of annoyance and nips at you.

“You’d be surprised,” he responds. He slots his thigh between your knees, backing you into the doorframe. His clothed cock grinds against your stomach, trapped between your bodies, and his muscles tense.

“Adrenaline can go straight to the dick sometimes…”

(Peter has lost track of how many times, after an intense fight—especially earlier in his career—he’d swung home and immediately jerked off).

“That’s fair, I suppose.”

Your fingertips coast up the nape of his neck, tangling in the messy hair at the base of his skull. You yank him downward ever so slightly, your lips connecting with the skin of his neck. He immediately shivers, the first of many embarrassing sounds ripping from his chest as you lick and suck at his flesh.

“Think Spiderman whimpers?”

You’re teasing him. As to be expected, given the dynamic of your relationship. But Peter doesn’t intend on taking it quietly.

“Maybe,” he admits, “If you make him feel good enough. But if you wanna know what I think—”

Peter surprises you by ducking down—his arms looping around your thighs as he lifts you off the floor. Your squeal, arms and legs instinctively wrapping around him since you don’t want to fall, but Peter carries you easily enough—striding into your room and depositing you onto your bed.

He doesn’t waste any time—quickly caging you down. His knee reclaims its spot between your thighs, rubbing incessantly at the dampening fabric covering your privates, and his lips find your neck—a shiver raking up your spine as his stubble scratches against your skin.

“Peter,” you gasp when his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips ghost over your heated skin, brushing past your waist, and finding the clasp of your bra. You have to arch to give him room to work, and Peter sucks a hickey of approval into your neck. He debates telling you “good girl”, but the thought leaves him the second your bra pops open.

He needs your tits in his mouth.

“—I think Spiderman has a thing for boobs,” Peter says, finally finishing his earlier statement. This exclamation is followed with the immediate removal of your shirt and bra—Peter forcibly tugging them over your head and discarding them on the floor beside your bed.

The sight of Peter groping you and lowering his mouth to your chest is enough to have your heart skipping a beat, and you can’t help the mewl that leaves you when Peter sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

Peter groans when your fingers fist in his hair, practically keeping his mouth trapped where it is, which he hardly minds considering he intends to lick and suck at your tits until you’re panting.

And, that’s exactly what he does.

He lavishes your chest with his mouth—relishing in the way your hips jump at each little nip of his teeth or roll of your nipple between his fingers. It’s embarrassing, honestly, how wet it gets you—your panties feeling quite wet as you continue grinding your pussy against Peter’s thigh.

You try and think of some smart response in regard to Peter’s opinion that Spiderman is a tit man, not an ass man, but words seem to be avoiding you. You can’t think of anything coherently when Peter is touching you like this. Especially when his face finally leaves your chest, his lips peppering kisses down the length of your torso.

You lift your head to look at him, propping up on one of your arms. Peter reaches your navel, but doesn’t stop, heading towards—

“Peter,” you pant, your face flushing hotly as you realize the path he’s carving.

Peter hums, his eyes flitting up and meeting your gaze just as he hooks his thumbs beneath the band of your pants.

“Another thing about Spiderman…,” he begins, kissing the skin of your tummy as he inches your waistband down your hips. You watch him with blown-wide eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly—excitement and nervousness mingling inside of you.

You lift your ass off the mattress to help him shuck you of your bottoms, and Peter smiles, tossing your pants on the floor beside your other clothes.

Never in your life did you imagine the sight of Peter sinking to his knees, his hands gripping your hips and dragging you closer to him—his gaze falling between your legs. Your panties are soaked, and the sight causes more blood to rush into his dick. He’s so hard that it honestly hurts—just a little bit—but Peter still doesn’t touch himself, because—

“...Spiderman loves eating pussy.”

“He’s a people-pleaser,” you quip breathlessly, your thighs quivering in Peter’s hold when he presses a kiss to your skin, right beside your panty line. He quietly chuckles.

“Maybe.”

Peter thumbs at your clit through your panties, relishing in the whine he rips from your throat. You hips buck in his hold, craving more, and when Peter sees the desperate look on your face, he decides to not tease you.

Peeling your panties to the side, Peter finally connects his mouth with your pussy—his tongue licking a wet, broad strip between your folds.

Oh, shit, you think to yourself, the muscles in your abdomen convulsing as you watch one of your closest friends eat you out. The whole situation is making you feel light headed, so you can’t help it when you collapse back onto the mattress, your fingers fisting in the sheets as Peter groans into your cunt.

He eats you like a man starved, his face quickly becoming covered with your arousal. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue sinks between your walls, and you full out whimper—your hips needily grinding against his mouth.

Peter’s palm presses down on your pelvis, forcing your hips to the mattress. He doesn’t want you squirming—just wants you desperate and pliant. To see you cumming on his tongue.

His name falls from your lips again, more debauched than he’s ever heard, and Peter curses.

“Shit.”

His tone is guttural, and sexy, and—

He presses a finger inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Pete—,” his name deterorates into a moan, your brain function declining as Peter begins fucking his finger inside of you. At the same time, he focuses his mouth on your clit, his tongue urgently flicking against the bundle of nerves.

You unconsciously wriggle at the assault of stimulation, but Peter’s hand on your stomach keeps you in place.

Why is he so strong? You think to yourself, moan ripping from your chest as Peter slips in a second finger. It doesn’t take him long to locate that spongy little sweet spot inside of you. The one that causes your thighs to shake as he practically abuses it—rubbing the pads of his fingers against it repeatedly until you’re nearly sobbing.

The coil in your belly winds tight, heat searing your veins. You can feel your clit throbbing against Peter’s tongue, and the walls of your pussy tightening up around him.

“Peter,” you cry, your entire body trembling. You’re so fucking close.

“Cum,” he rasps. He needs to see you orgasm—needs to feel you unraveling on his mouth and fingers.

Hearing the gravel of his voice is the final nail in your coffin—the tension in your muscles releasing as your orgasm washes over you. Just as he wanted, you cum all over him, your cunt gushing arousal around his fingers as his tongue continues lapping at your clit, dragging out the waves of your pleasure until you’re panting and pawing at his head, trying to push him away.

After a moment, he relents—sitting back to look at you.

You’re covered in a sheen of sweat, your chest heaving, and an arm draped over your eyes. Your tits are peppered with an array of hickies, and Peter feels his chest (and cock) swell with pride. He’s clearly done a number on you. And yet…

You feel the mattress dip, and then the room is spinning around you. When things finally settle, you find yourself laying on top of Peter.

He has one arm wrapped around your waist, his palm resting on your ass. The other brushes a few stray strands of hair out of your face when you lean back to look at him.

“Spiderman also loves being ridden,” he says with a grin. You place your hands on his chest, feeling it rumble with laughter as he watches you struggle to sit up.

“You think I have the energy to ride you after you just did that? And why do you keep saying Spiderman enjoys these things like they’re facts—you don’t know.”

“Just a feeling,” he responds, licking his lips. His hands find your hips, and he grinds you downwards. Your sensitive pussy rubs against his aching length, still trapped behind his sweatpants, and it’s hard to miss the way Peter harshly swallows at the feeling.

You sigh, scooting backwards.

“Fine.”

You shove his sweats and boxers down his thighs, careful to not snag them on his dick. And damn, he really must be aching—a sticky string of precum dripping from the head of his cock, and pooling on his abdomen.

He opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything. Your fingers wrap around his cock, smearing his arousal across his length, and whatever Peter had been planning to say crumbles into a needy garble of non-words.

You can’t help but smile at the sound.

“Surprised you didn’t cream your pants already,” you tell him, but your tone is hardly teasing. No, seeing him beneath you like this—the muscles in his torso clenching with every stroke of your hand—it’s actually quite endearing.

“I’ll cum in your hand if you keep doing that,” he pants, glancing into your eyes. You spot nothing but lust there, any previous reservations gone.

“Is that so bad?” you ask, thumbing at the head of his cock. Peter’s grip on your waist tightens, and you hear him take a shaky breath.

“Yes.”

He wants to be inside you, that much is clear. And while it’d be so easy to draw it out and make him beg…you don’t feel like being mean to him. Not tonight, after he’d just given you the best oral of your life.

“Fine,” you relinquish. You scoot forward, planting one hand on his chest, and gripping the base of his cock with the other. Peter’s breath catches when you rub the head of his cock between your folds, a heady groan following a beat later as you begin sinking down onto him.

By the time his cock is fully inside of you, your thighs are shaking. Whether from the lack of energy due to your previous orgasm, the remarkable size of Peter inside of you, or both—you’re not totally sure.

“There’s no rush,” Peter reassures you, but the needy warble of his voice betrays his words.

“My legs might give out at some point,” you respond with a breathless laugh, and Peter echos you, giving your waist a squeeze.

“That’s fine. I’ll help.”

With your palms planted firmly on his chest, you begin to ride him.

And god, you feel so fucking good.

“Fuck,” Peter bites out, watching the space between your bodies, where his cock disappears inside of you with every roll of your hips. It’s been ages since a cunt has squeezed his dick like this, and honestly, he can see himself very easily getting addicted to the feel of you.

The bounce of your tits as you ride him, the cute little sounds you make when his cock rubs against the sensitive spots inside you—he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Peter,” you whine, your pace flattering. Having his cock inside of you is incomparable to the feeling of his fingers, and very quickly, you can feel another orgasm building, but…the closer you get, the more your strength falters.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he responds, praises falling from his lips. “You’re doing so good. You feel so good.”

His words cause your walls to clench around him, and he groans—his hands sliding down to your hips as he helps rock you down onto his cock. The sloppy sound of sex fills your bedroom, and you watch Peter with half-lidded eyes, soaking up the desperation showing on his face.

His hair is slicked back with sweat, brows pinched together in concentration as he forces you to continue riding him. At least, until he starts craving more.

With his orgasm quickly approaching—despite the immense pleasure he gains seeing you bouncing on top of him—Peter’s hunger gets the best of him.

He grabs your wrists, moves your arms so they’re wrapped around his shoulders, and then secures his arms around your back. Before you can even digest the slight change in position, Peter is fucking you.

An incoherent string of noise slips past your lips, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as his cock pistons inside of you. With his arms trapping you against his chest, you’re helpless but to take it—your orgasm rushing to the surface at the desperate yet brutal pace that Peter sets.

“Peter,” you sob into his neck.

“It’s okay,” he responds without missing a beat, his voice breathless. “I’m right there. Cum for me again, sweetheart.”

As if you could stop.

Holding onto him for dear life, you cum for the second time that night—your walls clamping down on his cock so tightly that Peter’s rhythm falters. A curse rips from his throat, and his hands find the plush of your ass—stuffing your body down onto his dick as he cums along with you—pumping you full of his seed.

The needy tension of the room melts away, and you and Peter can only lay there—a pile of sweaty yet sated flesh. It takes you both a minute to catch your breaths, and you make a quiet noise of disappointment when Peter’s cock slips out of you.

You can feel his cum running out of your pussy.

“Your balls aren’t dried up yet?”

Peter’s chest rumbles beneath you.

“I’m in my 30’s, not my 60’s.”

You glance up at him when you feel Peter’s fingers clearing the hair away from your face, and he smiles at you. Your heart jumps.

He must know how handsome he is, right? Even with that crooked nose of his.

“Don’t you ever get tired of taking cracks at me?” he wonders, using his grip on your ass to slide you farther up his chest. You giggle, cupping his cheeks as you find yourself suddenly face to face with him.

“Mmmm, no?”

He rolls his eyes, yet his smile widens. You lean down to kiss him, and he reciprocates easily enough.

“Feeling good?” you ask him, carding your fingers through his hair. He nods.

“Very. I…really missed that.”

“Same,” you agree, sitting back. You need to get to the bathroom before any cum gets on your nice sheets. You crawl off of Peter, swinging your legs over the side of your mattress. He rolls onto his side, watching you with furrowed brows as he tucks his dick back into his pants.

“Same? You haven’t—?”

“Not in a while,” you admit, pulling a fresh shirt and a pair of panties from your dresser drawers. You’re about to make a joke that the only action you’ve gotten recently is from the toys stashed under your bed, but when you turn to look at the spot where they’re hidden, you find that…the box has moved. It’s not where you had left it.

“Did you…find my sex toys? Before I came home?”

Peter’s face goes carefully blank, but the red flush of his ears betrays him.

You shoot him a glare, leaving your room with a huff.

“Dude doesn’t trust me…how fucking rude…”

“Hey now—!”

Peter’s feet pound against the floor as he chases after you, and he catches you around the waist just before you make it into your bathroom. His lips press against the crown of your head.

“Again, I’m sorry for snooping. I’m dumb.”

You sigh, wriggling around to face him.

“You are,” you agree, lightly patting his chest. “Dumb, and insistent that Spider man loves tits, eating pussy, and getting ridden. Still holding those beliefs?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Peter grins. “And I have other beliefs about his preferences as well.”

“Of course you do,” you laugh. You kiss his cheek, and then step out of his hold—heading into the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower,” you tell him. “There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you want any.”

Peter nods, and the last thing you see is him heading for your fridge when you close the bathroom door.

30 minutes later, you exit your steaming bathroom in your fresh oversized t-shirt and panties, fully expecting to find Peter lounging around your apartment, eating all your food. But…to your utter disappointment, you don’t spot him anywhere.

You sigh, shoulders sagging. Had it been too much to assume he would have wanted to stay the night?

Shuffling into your kitchen, you spot an empty plate on your table. One that you know had previously been piled high with leftover chicken and potatoes.

“He eats my food and runs off…of course,” you mumble, picking up the plate to put it in the sink. However, before your annoyance can truly get the better of you, a piece of paper that had been stuck to the bottom of the plate floats to the ground.

You bend over to pick it up.

Hey!

Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to stay so long, so I left my apartment earlier without locking the door. I’m running back home to lock it, but I should be back at your place by 9!

Don’t get mad at me. I’d never run off without a word :p

-PB

PS. I have a working theory that Spiderman also has more stamina than you’d expect, even for a guy who’s been doing hero work for 20+ years, so…round two when I get back?

You can’t help but laugh.

What an idiot.

But…you like him.

#peter b parker x reader #peter b parker smut #peter b parker #i can't believe I'm posting this on tumblr #immediately going back to only posting on AO3 bc it's so much easier to format LMAO #fic #reader insert #reader x peter b parker #peter b parker x you #peter b parker x y/n

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tldrthor · 4 months ago

Text

Come find me - peter parker x avenger!female!reader

Part two to promises, oceans deep // we both did the best we could do underneath the same moon, and in different galaxies // based on the song 'Peter' by Taylor Swift

Summary: you thought you would get over him, but you never did. It takes getting hurt, and Cap looking out for you, for you to finally get your head straight.

Author's notes: I ignore a lot of post-endgame stuff. Steve never left, Wanda isn't evil, Peter was never forgotten. I've left reader and Peter's ages semi-ambiguous, so you can decide for yourself what age you think is appropriate!

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You said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me.

Peter opened his eyes slowly, the light streaming in from the window attacking them. He must have fallen asleep without closing the curtains last night. As he came to, he realised what day it was. And a chill ran through his body.

"Peter!" May called. "Peter, get up! We're going to be late!" She rushed into the room, her nose curling up in disgust at presumably, the smell of depressed teenage boy. "God, we have to open a window in here. It's toxic."

He huffed, and rolled away from her. "May, I don't want to go." He had spoken about this with her already. He knew that Ned and MJ were going, but he didn't want to. He couldn't go, when she wasn't going to be there.

"Is it because of (y/n)?" May's voice was soft, gentle. Like she was talking to a scared, little animal. He hated the pity laced in her words. "I'm sorry she's not going to be there sweetheart, you know she's got a lot going on with rebuilding the Avengers."

You said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me.

He swallowed, sadness crossing his face, but May didn't see it. "She's avoiding me, anyways."

Words from the mouths of babes, promises, oceans deep. But never to keep. Oh, never to keep.

May didn't say anything to Peter, but she thought it was for the best. She knew how devastating it was, for both of you, to come back to see one of you had kept moving, while the other stayed in place. She saw, in the few weeks following the battle at the compound, how you looked like you was going to be sick every time you were around Peter.

She saw how you barely talked, barely smiled, barely did anything.

She hadn't been around for the five long years between the snaps, but from what she talked about with Captain Rogers, you had taken the losses particularly badly.

Snapping back to the present, she looked at Peter and wondered if you would ever find your way back to one another. She made a mental note to ask Steve how you were doing when she saw him later.

"Let's go, come on." She held his shoulder and gave it a shake. "Your parent's would've killed me if I ever let you skip your graduation."

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The day was a blur. MJ and Ned gave him a hug on arrival, knowing that he didn't want to be here. All he could feel was the loss sitting heavy on his chest. Tony wasn't here. Natasha wasn't here. His parents weren't here. Uncle Ben. You.

There were photos and smiles and drinks. He forced himself to get through it, for May, if nothing else.

Steve gave him a big hug as soon as he saw him, knowing that he was a poor replacement for who Peter really wanted to see. "Hey! Congratulations, Pete!" He gave him a signature pat on the shoulder as Peter muttered a 'thanks, cap' back at him. Steve continued; "(y/n) sends her regards, she's sorry she couldn't come."

Peter bitterly thought that Steve was just telling him what he wanted to hear. He knew that if you wanted to be here, you would have made it happen. He wanted to be mad... but he knew this day would be too painful for you, too.

I won't confess that I waited, but I let the lamp burn. As the men masqueraded, I hoped you'd return.

At dinner, he was distracted. MJ and Ned were talking about the latest political news -- MJ talked about some senators voting record, while Ned relayed funny memes he had found on instagram about her. This obviously descended into chaos.

Peter was more interested in the conversation going on at the other end of the table, between May and Steve.

"So tell me, how is (y/n)?" May asked, looking at your guardian.

He looked almost... resigned. He breathed out, worry lines creasing his forehead. Peter could nearly feel the worry radiating off of him. "She's doing... okay. She's throwing herself into work at the moment, somewhere in Europe. It's all tightly under wraps, but she's an amazing agent these days."

May smiled, weakly. She knew that an avenger 'throwing themselves into work' was a worrying symptom of an emotional storm. She could see it in her own kid.

"Well, tell her we were asking for her when you talk to her next."

"I will. Thanks, May."

Peter had to know more. It was like a burning, aching in his chest. He watched as Steve silently ate his pasta, something - you - on his mind. He knew Steve hadn't said everything to May. Peter longed for the days where he would've known what you were up to.

"Pete, will you tell him to not infantilise politicians!" MJ finally snapped him out of it. Ned laughed at her outburst.

Peter snapped his head back to them. "Yeah, yeah. Ned, it's like... not good for democracy. Or whatever." He felt bad actually, because it was a good point. He just didn't have the energy to back her up right now.

"Ugh! They are employed for us." She groaned.

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Peter's back was aching. He stretched it out, trying to power through the ache that came with changing position. Shit, he looked at the clock. It was 3am, and he had been sitting working on this assignment for way, way longer than he anticipated.

Just as he stood up to get ready for bed, his phone flashed, illuminating the room.

"What. the. hell." He said to no one. It was a text from you. God, he hadn't even seen you in more than a year now. Whenever you returned from the top-secret missions you were sent on, you were always mysteriously busy whenever Pete was free, or around. He knew you stayed at Cap's new townhouse in Brooklyn with him, but every time Peter went around, you had always just left. And every single time, Steve gave him a pitying smile while informing him that you had really urgent business to return to, but you were really sorry to miss him.

Are you up?

The text message read. Peter felt like he went through all the stages of grief reading it. He opened it immediately, cursing and praying to Jesus that he didn't have read receipts on. He hurriedly swiped off the message app when the typing bubble came up again.

Not a booty call, I promise.

He almost laughed at that. Almost.

Yeah, are you okay? He replied.

As soon as he had sent it, there was a tap tap tap at the window. He froze for a moment, his heart beat reaching an almost crescendo.

And then, he was moving.

He ripped back the curtain, threw open the window. And there you were. Hunched in the darkness of the fire escape, in a way that immediately, Peter knew something was wrong.

"(y/n)? What are you doing - are you hurt?" He watched as you moved at a near snail's pace from the way you were uncomfortably slumped on the fire escape to enter his room.

The light barely lit up the soft, painful smile as you looked up at him. "Hi, Pete." There was almost a slur in your words. Peter's eyebrows knitted together in both confusion and concern. His arms found your waist as he supported you in moving in through the window and to his bed.

Once you were settled, he strode across the room and flicked the small lamp on. He did not like what he saw.

Although your suit was black, he could tell that it was nearly soaked through with blood. Your nose was trickling blood steadily, and there was a large patch of crimson next to your ear, on your hairline. The skin he could see was littered with bruises even where it wasn't streaked with blood.

"Shit, (y/n)." He dove under his bed, to where he kept the first aid stuff from when he went out patrolling. He ran his hands through it, quickly finding suture material and bandages.

Thank god he had restocked recently, or you could've been in serious trouble. To be honest, you were in trouble either way.

He tried to triage your wounds. From what he could tell, the gash on your side that you were holding seemed to be where a lot of the blood on your torso was coming from. "You're, uhh... going to have to take off your suit, so I can see the damage."

He flushed as he said it. And he swore that he could see your face getting warmer, too. But he was so preoccupied on, you know, not letting you die, that he didn't properly register it.

"Sure, yeah." You reached your arm around to the zip, but as you moved your wounds screamed in pain. You hissed through your teeth and swore, quietly. You were all too aware that May was probably sleeping in the room next door, and you had to be quiet.

Peter reached out, "Let me help," He spoke under his breath. He unzipped you and you slowly shuffled off your suit, wearing some gym shorts and a sports bra underneath.

With the suit off, Peter could see exactly the kind of state you were in. Not only from the fight you had obviously been in, but you also looked unhealthy, almost weak. He remembered a you that always looked so strong, sturdy. This wasn't the person he was seeing in front of him now.

There were scars that were recent but clearly had begun to heal, there was bruises over every part of your body. The biggest gash on your side oozed thick, maroon blood. Looking at your face, he could see that your cheekbones were nearly hollow, your eyes sunken, and the bags under them unmistakeable.

Nothing like the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed teenager he used to love.

"What happened?" He looked into your eyes as he began to tend to the wounds. Which was difficult, considering you were more wound than human at this point. He cleaned up around you gash, and then muttered 'this is going to hurt' as he began to exhibit the skills you had learned from Steve's mandatory 'basic field medicine' course a few years back.

"Ow, fuck." You mumbled, your voice strained. "I got into a fight."

"Well, yeah. I had actually figured that one out." He didn't look at you for concentrating on stitching. "A little more explanation would be good."

You breathed out slowly through the pain. "Okay, I got into a big fight."

He rolled his eyes. He clearly wasn't going to get very much information from you.

"Was it a mission?" He asked.

"No, it was - jesus." You cursed once again. It was really hard to talk while someone was continuously piercing a needle into your abdomen. "Extracurricular, you could say."

He looked up. "(y/n), this doesn't look like just a quick neighbourhood patrol." He knew you were keeping information from him because you thought he wouldn't approve.

"Why did you come here?"

You broke his eye contact. "I was nearby, and Brooklyn is a hell of a trek when you can't swing through the city." He nodded, it was a logical answer. He would always welcome you here, no matter what happened between you guys personally. He was glad you seemed to know that. "And... Cap can't know about this."

Peter's concern seemed to grow with everything you said, and you could clearly see it on his face.

"Please, Peter... He's worried already, I know it. And he's semi-retired, he deserves to rest without worrying about me." You pleaded.

He was slow to accept what you were saying. "But he's practically your dad, (y/n), he raised you. You don't think he would want to know that you're injured? Badly injured, might I add. I don't think this is even something our medical training can cover..."

You raised an eyebrow. "So, you tell Aunt May every time you get hurt?"

"Well, I've not been hurt as badly as you have."

"And if you were, you would tell her?"

He broke eye contact, and looked away. You didn't have to acknowledge out loud that he knew you were right.

With your feet on the ground, tell me all that you learned. 'Cause loves never lost when perspective is earned.

The silence that hung in the air was an awkward one. It suddenly caught up to you both, what was happening. Sitting in your shorts and sports bra, on the boy you used to date's bed. The same boy you had successfully managed to avoid for the best part of a year -- with the exception of Steve's christmas party last year. Just thinking about the awkward, heart-achy small talk made a shiver roll down your spine.

"Do you want to stay here?"

The question felt loaded. Want? Need? The lines were blurred.

"If... that's okay? I can't go back to Steve's like this."

He nodded. "You know you're always welcome here. You take the bottom bunk, obviously.” He smiled.

These bunk beds used to annoy the hell out of the both of you. You just wanted to sleep wrapped in each other’s arms, but May and Cap had insisted that if you were going to stay round, it had to be bunk beds. And the door had to stay open.

The nostalgia made your eyes sting. It didn’t take a lot to do that these days, to be fair.

Peter jumped into the top bunk, and switched the light off. “Goodnight, (y/n).” He whispered, softly, to the darkness.

“Night, Pete.” You muttered in return.

———————————————————————

That night was the best sleep you’ve had since… hell, you couldn’t even remember when. It was probably the blood loss, or…

No, it was definitely the blood loss. For sure.

A sweet scent caught your attention as you adjusted your eyes to the sunlight filtering through the moth-eaten curtains. And the noise… music, clanging of pots, mumbling.

You checked your phone. “Well, shit.”

7.24am. 38 missed calls from “Cap 🦅🫡”.

There were texts as well.

2am: Everything okay? When should I expect you back?

2.24am: Sweetheart?

3.46am: (y/n), I’m getting worried, what’s going on?

4am: Okay, stop playing now. Call me.

6am: You’re in big trouble if this isn’t an emergency, kid.

Shit, shit, shit.

You jolted up, immediately letting out a yelp of pain as you remembered exactly why you were here in the first place. Fuck.

You pressed your hand to your stomach, with a little blood coming away with your hand. Shoddy workmanship, you laughed. You would have to sort it later.

Pulling on your suit from yesterday - thankfully, the blood stains blended in with the dark material - you realised getting home inconspicuously wasn’t going to be super easy. You listened to whatever was going on in the kitchen, the music that you recognised from when you and Peter were together. It all felt so familiar. Too familiar.

And you said you’d come and get me but you were 25, and the shelf life of those fantasies had expired. Lost to the lost boys chapter of your life, Forgive me Peter, please know that I tried to hold on, to the days where you were mine.

You weren’t proud of it, but you opened the window, and climbed out.

You didn’t see Peter’s face fall when he returned to the room, with a stack of pancakes in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. You didn’t see him stare at the smiley face made of whipped cream, mutter “I’m an idiot” and throw the stack away.

You didn’t see the tears fall.

———————————————————————

The aches and pains that pulsed through your body only grew worse the closer you got to Cap’s house. Climbing the stairs felt like a mammoth task, but as you got to the top and put your key in, the door opened -

He was mad mad. You stood in a sort of pseudo-staring contest for what felt like a long time, unsure whether or not it would be appropriate to look away. His eyebrows were furrowed further than you had ever seen, bags under his eyes larger than they had been for a long time.

“Get inside.” He borderline hissed at you. You didn’t respond, just walked. Slowly, subconsciously covering your bleeding side with your arm.

As you walked into the living room, familiar voices greeted you.

“What time do you call this?” Bucky stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed.

Sam sat on the couch in front of him, nursing a cup of coffee. Coffee so strong, you could smell it from the other side of the room. “You look like shit.”

You looked down. “Sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

Steve put a firm hand on your shoulder. Still wordless. He pushed you towards the couch, and then down onto it.

He sat next to Sam on the one opposite, Bucky moving to sit on the other side of him. It felt like a judging panel. You supposed that’s exactly what it was.

“Explain.” Steve started. His gaze not becoming any kinder as he looked at you.

“I was with a friend-” You started.

“Which one?” Steve asked, pointedly.

You swallowed. “Um,”

“You’re lying, (y/n).” He folded his arms and leaned back. “I phoned all of your friends, you weren’t with any of them. You said to Sam after training yesterday that you were heading straight home, and here you waltz in nearly 12 hours later. Tell the truth.”

“Fine.” You sighed. You knew he was telling the truth, there was no point trying to call his bluff. “I was at Peter’s.”

You watched every one of them raise an eyebrow at the same time, nearly comedically timed. Steve sat forward in his seat.

“Parker’s? Why?” He tilted his head at you. You were glad that the anger seemed to have somewhat subsided, but you weren’t in the clear yet.

You swallowed. “I, uh…”

Sam started laughing. “Oh my god, (y/n)… you dog!” He looked at Bucky and Steve, who painfully slowly caught on to what he was referring to.

“No! No, no. No. Not that, it wasn’t like that.” You felt the heat in your cheeks and prayed that it wasn’t showing to them too, although something in Sam’s gleeful expression, Steve’s embarrassed blush and Bucky’s quiet enjoyment of the situation suggested otherwise.

“(y/n), I’m at a loss right now.” Steve shook his head. “I don’t understand. Lately, you’ve been disappearing, being secretive - I mean, last I heard you didn’t want to be around Pete at all. And now you stayed at his with no explanation whatsoever, when we were all out looking for you last night?”

Your heart sank, thinking of them worried and out on the streets looking for you. You never could lie to them for long - you should just come clean.

You gave a big sigh. “I got hurt while trying to stop a robbery in Queens, and I didn’t know where else to go.”

With that, they all sat up straight. Grim expressions replaced the more relaxed ones that you had fought so hard to keep.

“Hurt? Where?” Steve immediately stood up from his spot and marched over to your couch, scanning you over with his eyes.

You pulled your hand away from the side, where it had stayed for the duration of this interrogation. It was covered in blood.

All three men immediately jumped into action upon seeing the blood. "Woah!" Sam shouted, running for the extensive medical kit Steve kept in the kitchen.

Steve knitted his eyebrows together while putting his arm around you, looking into your eyes, presumably looking for any sort of concussion or mental delay. "You've been sitting here bleeding this whole time?" He sighed, and then sort of mumbled under his breath, "What is going on with you?"

Bucky grabbed a can of coke from the fridge and brought it over to you. "Drink it, you need sugar." You could tell from his tone that he was annoyed.

"Thanks, Buck." You whispered in return.

You watched your adoptive father's worried expression as he looked at the wounds you had sustained, and the haphazard stitches that Peter had put in last night (and the blood coming through them where they hadn't been done properly).

He fixed you, properly, and bandaged the stitches just to be sure. Sam and Bucky hand him things, making jokes occasionally that you smile at, but it does nothing to improve the cloudy look in Steve's eyes.

"Guys, can you give us a second." He ushers Bucky and Sam out of the room. Sam gets up and leads Bucky away, who still looked furious. You knew he probably wasn't this pissed off at you, and rather the people who had hurt you, but you couldn't be entirely sure. Once you're alone, Cap comes and sits next to you on the couch. "Do you have wounds anywhere else?"

You shake your head. "Just bruises and minor cuts, nothing big."

"Okay," He pursed his lips. "Let's talk then."

You avoided meeting his eyes.

"Tell me what's going on, in there." He tapped the side of your head, just like he used to do when you were a teenager at the Compound upstate. Before everyone came back.

You sighed. "I feel like an asshole." He put a friendly hand on your shoulder. "I'm really sorry for worrying you, and Sam and Bucky. I'm trying not to do that, at all. That's why I didn't come back last night."

He sighs. "Sweetheart, you should never be worrying about me. It's my job to worry about you." He puts a loving arm round your shoulder.

He took a second, considering what he was going to say before continuing, "You've not been the same since the Blip, and I know it's hard. But you have to start living again." It was nothing he hadn't said before.

"But I don't really... have anything other than work. Keeping people safe."

"Hey, hey. That's not true. You have us. You know we're your family."

"Yeah, no... I know. But I just... my friends were all blipped, and Peter..." You felt a tear spring to your eye. It had been a while since you had cried about it. "I've not felt normal since they left, and then when they came back... and I was so much older."

He rubbed your back as he watched a single tear fall.

"(y/n), Peter is older now, too. And I know he never got over you, either... why don't you talk to him?"

"I think I might have burned the bridge, Cap. I snuck out the window this morning while I think he was making breakfast."

He gave you a disapproving look that made you feel like a child being scolded. "That's not very nice, kid. I think you should chat to him."

"Yeah, I guess so." You moved to get up from the couch, but sat right back down when a shooting pain radiated up nearly your entire body. "Shit."

"Hey, hey! Sit down!" Steve pushed you back down. "On second thoughts, why don't you invite him and May round for dinner? You're not going anywhere, kid."

"Yeah, that sounds better." You laughed, meekly. "Although I have to shower..."

"I'll call Wanda to help you out with that." His quick, embarrassed tone made you laugh.

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"Hey, there she is!" Sam shouted as you walked back into the kitchen where they were diligently making dinner. Wanda walked past you to the fridge, pulling out a soda. "How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Better, thanks Sam." He nodded in approval at your response.

"You look better, you know that. You looked like death warmed up earlier, and that's not even an exaggeration." You rolled your eyes at him, "You've even managed to dress nice for the occasion! It's been a while since I've seen you in anything but sweats." You pushed his shoulder, stopping the incessant chatter.

Bucky threw an arm around your shoulder. "You're a chip off the old block, y'know. Just like Stevie." You watched as it was Steve's turn to roll his eyes at his friend's antics.

The doorbell rang through the house, ending the moment. Your heart thudded in your chest, a wave of nausea overtaking your stomach. "That'll be May and Peter, I'll grab the door." Steve gave you a knowing look, like he could read your mind. "Are you going to be okay?"

You nodded, slowly, taking deep breaths. Wanda slung her arms over your shoulder, whispering "you're going to be just fine." She pressed a kiss to your cheek.

"Hi, Steve," May Parker's soothing voice carried through to the kitchen. All four of you remaining in the kitchen wandered through the hall to meet your guests.

When May's eyes fell to you, you could swear there was a tear in them. But it was gone almost as quick as you could tell. "Oh my darling girl," She wrapped you in a hug, squeezing tight. It kind of hurt, but you were desperate to not let it show. You needed this. "It's been far too long, we've missed you so much."

"I know May, I'm sorry I haven't dropped by." You apologised as she dropped the hug. She put a loving hand on your face, and smiled sweetly.

"Don't be silly, sweetie. You have nothing to apologise for." Unfortunately, she didn't know the half of what you had to apologise for.

As it came to your turn to greet Peter, your heart pounded. The others ruffled his hair, lightly bullied him over how dressed up he was. It was only a shirt and sweater, you didn't really see the problem. But Bucky and Sam were always on the lookout for ways to playfully get under spiderboy's skin.

"I think you look nice." You blurted out, almost involuntarily. Bucky and Sam smirked at your outburst, and you suddenly realised that maybe they weren't goading Peter, they were goading you.

"Uh, thanks... you look better," As it came out of his mouth, he realised that he was alluding to something you had asked him not to tell them. "Oh, um, I mean like good, you look good."

You laughed a little. "It's okay, Pete. I told them, we're good."

Steve interrupted, a firm hand on Peter's shoulder. "So, Pete. I hear you've been aiding my daughter to keep secrets from me." Peter gulped at his words. "Relax, kid. I'm just messing. Although we definitely have to improve your stitching skills because that was sloppy."

May stood, confused. "Peter, do you want to catch me up to speed here?"

"Sorry, May." Steve said. "I'll explain what these rascals have been up to." He linked arms with her and wandered towards the dining room with everyone else following. Leaving you and Peter standing in the hallway.

You finally flung your arms around Peter. "You told them?" He asked, at least a modicum of relief behind his words.

You nod. "I kind of had to, they had been out last night looking for me. I felt bad." You swallowed, and realised this was a good time to apologise. "Thank you for helping me out last night, I don't know what I would have done without you."

His arm raised to the back of his neck, as he looked away from you. "Hey, no problem. Anytime."

"I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye."

"It's... alright, (y/n). You had to get home, I understand."

"No, Peter. It was shitty of me to do that to you. I'm sorry."

He smiled, his hand moving towards yours. When he got there, he wrapped yours in his, and gave a loving squeeze. It was the most romantic contact you had had since... well, since him. You were surprised that it felt so normal.

"Let's get dinner." He whispered. You nodded in agreement.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me.

Dinner was as dinner usually is. It was delicious, clearly Steve had been cooking a lot since he took a step back from the Avengers. Sam and Bucky argued while Wanda, Steve and May talked a lot about current events. You and Peter chatted mostly about what your friends were up to, and what your plans were.

"I'm thinking of going full-time with the avengers." Peter revealed. Your eyes widened, knowing that when you were younger, that's all you had both wanted. To be fighting alongside each other, permanently.

"Peter, that's amazing!" You breathed out. "But what about college, didn't you want to go to MIT?"

"Nah," He smiled. "Changed my mind. Don't think I could do avenging and college at the same time. Plus, Tony left a bunch of science stuff behind for me to finish off, so I would have my own lab at the new facility anyway."

You couldn't help the wide grin that adorned your features. "When would you move?"

"I could move anytime. Are you um, planning to go to the new facility?" He asked.

"Yeah, I was hoping to split my time between here and there." You looked over at Steve, talking with May. He didn't need you here. You knew he would love for you to stay, but he would be just fine without you. Plus, he was only semi retired. He'd probably be at the new facility more than you. "I know Bucky and Sam are going over there full-time, that's why they're crashing here for now."

"Oh, great." He sarcastically rolled his eyes and laughed.

Your conversation was interrupted by Bucky shouting over to you, "Hey, kid! Tell everyone about the time you tripped yourself up and accidentally caught the bad guy."

"Bucky, stop telling everyone about that!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, do you want to go swinging?" Peter whispered, as everyone started clearing plates.

You eyed Cap nervously, knowing that you couldn't leave without telling him, again. Not after your heart to heart earlier. There was no way he would let you swing with Peter, not with as many stitches as you had.

"Maybe just a walk?" You mentioned to Peter. He glanced down at your side, where he had seen the wound last night, and agreed.

You both got up, clearing your dishes as you went. "You ask him." You whispered to Peter while the older avengers and May were still in conversation.

"What? No, you ask him." He harshly whispered back. You rolled your eyes.

"Hey, Cap?" You got the attention of everyone still at the dining table.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Would it be okay if Peter and I went on a walk?"

"Of course, honey. But no swinging," he sternly looked at Peter. "and wear a jacket, it's cold out there."

"Aye aye, cap'n." You saluted him playfully, walking out of the room and waving to everyone. You would see them when you got back, anyways.

What you didn't hear was Steve asking Sam for Redwing to follow you, at a distance. Just in case.

You threw on a jacket and a scarf, opening the door once Peter had done the same. It was cold. It was that kind of biting, painful cold that really settled into your bones.

The walk was mostly silent at first, the street sounds filling the gap. You gasped quietly as Peter snaked his hand into yours as you wandered. The warmth was very nice, but the implication made your heart do double time.

"Where do you want to go?" He broke the silence.

Truthfully, you had no idea. You had absolutely no direction in your brain as your thoughts were smothered by the fact that you were together, holding hands.

"I don't mind, really." You responded.

"I know a place... but it requires climbing, is that okay?" He asked, once again his eyes wandering to where your wound was healing, under your clothes.

"Yeah, that's fine. Where is it?"

He walked with you for a little while longer. Once you reached a taller building, he motioned for you to hop onto his back, as you used to do.

"Be careful," You whispered in his ear. Your hot breath so close to him made his hair stand on end, goosebumps sticking up all over his skin.

He swallowed. "I've got you, don't worry."

And so, he climbed. It was quick, he was stronger now than you remembered. You felt his back muscles tense and relax under you as he flexed out his arms to pull you both up.

He set you down carefully once you got to the top, showing you the view. You wondered how he had found these places, how he always had the most extraordinary little pockets of New York that he reserved, just for you.

"It's gorgeous." You sighed, contentedly.

You could feel his eyes on you. You could tell exactly what he was thinking, without even seeing his face. His hand wrapped itself in yours, as you pulled your jacket and scarf closer around you.

"Are you cold?"

Before you could even respond, his jacket was wrapped around your shoulders. You smiled at his chivalry, drawing the jacket around you and appreciating the extra protection against the elements.

"(y/n), can we talk?" You felt his eyes on you again. You nodded at him, unable to find words as your blood pumped ferociously around your body. "I want to try again..."

Your eyes widened at his confession.

"I mean it," He continued. "I've never... I've never stopped loving you. I've spent years trying to move on, but I haven't. There's no one like you in the world. No one."

His hand lefts yours, and found your cheek. His eyes wandered over every freckle, every scar, every bruise he could see. "You are so beautiful."

You were at a loss for what to say. You had craved these words since the moment you left Clint's farm that day. You could barely hear anything anymore, as the moment melted away to just you, and him.

And so, you did what you had wanted to do for so long.

You kissed him.

As your lips connected, it took a second for him to even register what was happening. But once he did, the passion, the emotion you felt in that moment was like nothing you had ever experienced. His hands tangled in your hair, desperately drawing you towards him.

This wasn't like to loving kisses you used to pepper over each other's lips. This was need, it was animalistic. It was war and anger and heat. It was love.

When you both finally pulled away, your breath was ragged. You placed your forehead on his, your hot breath tickling each other's faces.

"I've never stopped thinking of you, Peter." You admitted. "Not for a second. I've always regretted walking away from you, hurting you like that." You screwed your eyes shut, the pain of the memories a little too much to bear.

He raised your face until your eyes met his. "It wasn't your fault. I left you behind in the snap, and you spent five years mourning me. I never blamed you for what came after, (y/n). Never."

His words soothed the pain in your chest. You had always wondered.

"I want to start fresh with you. I want to go on dates and get to know you, as you are now. I want to be normal kids..." He stroked your cheek with his thumb.

"I want that too, Pete."

He pressed another kiss to your lips, this one short and sweet. "Good," He looked into your eyes, a mischievous glint in them. "Then we should probably get you home, we've got an early start tomorrow."

You raised your eyebrow in questioning.

"I'm taking you for breakfast, sunshine."

#peter parker x reader #steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #sam wilson x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #bucky barnes x reader #may parker x reader #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman #tom holland

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cherienymphe · 2 years ago

Text

Basic Training VII (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON acts, DUB-CON acts, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

Keeping track of the days wasn’t hard. Night and day announced themselves with the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon. It was strange how it failed to feel monotonous, each day so different from the one before despite doing so many of the same tasks. You helped with breakfast in the morning, yes, and you ate dinner with the entire house every evening, but the activities in between weren’t always the same.

It was only just the other day that you’d been shown the nursery, a modest room that had been decorated by the wives and would serve as a classroom from what you’d been told.

Faced with another visualization of how permanent this all was made you lightheaded. You knew why you were being shown these things, why you were slowly being exposed to more and more of what your life here was expected to be. It felt depressing, but not as much as it should’ve been.

After all, at least you knew what the rest of your life would look like…even if it was some sick man’s fantasy.

You hadn’t had another incident with Steve since the vase debacle. You hadn’t been able to do your household tasks for a week, and even when you rejoined the other wives, you found yourself wincing here and there. You got the feeling that Steve had long wanted to punish you, ever since that incident in the kitchen, and while you still felt heavily watched, like you’d try to make a run for it any minute…

Peter was around more, now.

You didn’t like Peter. You were sure you never would, but you couldn’t deny the security you felt in his presence. You couldn’t ignore how much safer you felt all the while knowing that he was just a few rooms away. Sometimes when you were cooking or cleaning or even just attending to some vegetables in the greenhouse, you’d look over your shoulder and make eye contact with a familiar brown pair.

The relief you’d feel was something you didn’t want to focus on.

Sometimes he’d even take over for Jane or Margaret and would take it upon himself to show you how something was done instead. He was the one to show you the nursery/playroom, following close behind him as he prattled on about it. Maybe he’d seen the slight fear in your eyes, the combination of defeat and nervousness as you stared your future in the face.

…because Peter had reached out to take your hand, squeezing it.

Something about his presence had become like a shield. Like protection against Steve and anything else you feared in the house, so dependent upon it that when you woke up for the first time in a while, and Peter wasn’t there, you felt your heart drop. You were fully awake in seconds, sitting up in a slight panic and taking in his empty side of the bed. It wasn’t made, and it was still warm, telling you he wasn’t gone long.

The bathroom light was off, and you didn’t know where he could’ve gone, but when you looked outside the window, you were rewarded with the sight of him. You felt your shoulders relax, but your heart did pause at the sight of Steve and Bucky with him. All three were talking in the yard. About what, you didn’t know, but you didn’t think you were able to go back to sleep until it was time to get up again.

It was too early to get started on breakfast, so you weren’t surprised by the silence of the house when you left your room. You could even faintly hear the cry of an infant coming from somewhere on the other side of the household. It felt surreal to be up so early. With the sun just barely peeking over the horizon, the calm atmosphere, and the faint sound of a child, the place almost seemed like…a home.

You weren’t really thinking much when you approached the backdoor, not even questioning if it would even be unlocked. You guessed you just assumed it would be seeing as Peter and the other two were outside. When you opened the door, it was clear that the sound had caught their attention, all three halting in what they were saying.

You shuddered when your gaze briefly met Steve’s, quickly looking away when it fell on Bucky instead. You gave Peter your attention as you unsurely stood in the doorway, not quite certain on how to voice your need for Peter to come back. You didn’t want to be alone. You didn’t like being alone, and as Peter quickly made his way to you, as if afraid you’d take off at any moment, you felt your eyes water at how ridiculous you were being.

“You know you can’t be out here-.”

“I’m not,” you hurried to say, keen to point out that you hadn’t even stepped outside lest Steve try to use the technicality as a reason for punishment. “I woke up, and you were…”

You trailed off, taking a step back, eyes finding the floor. You felt Peter’s hands on your shoulders as he tried to look into your eyes, and you swallowed, shrugging.

“You weren’t there.”

Peter seemed to understand what you were saying, and you heard him softly exhale. He stepped inside with you, embarrassment filling you for so many reasons, quickly looking away when your gaze caught Bucky’s as Peter shut the door behind him.

“I’m sorry-.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he assured you, guiding you back upstairs. “You just scared me, is all. You’re not allowed outside yet, so you were the last person I was expecting to see.”

You hadn’t even been able to focus on the feel of air and sunlight on your skin for the first time in months. It was something you should’ve been soaking up, cherishing before you were forced inside again, but instead, you’d only been able to focus on how much you didn’t want to be alone.

“Is Steve…? Will he…punish me for that?” you quietly asked as Peter closed the bedroom door behind you both.

“No, no,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’ll talk to him.”

He rubbed your arms before leading you towards the bed, and you made yourself comfortable. You felt the need to apologize again, feeling like you’d still done something wrong by basically dragging Peter back to bed. You frowned at your word choice, something twisting uncomfortably in your gut.

“What were you talking about?”

The question came out before you could really think about it, and Peter paused at the sound of it, looking at you with a look you couldn’t name, and you swore you saw the hint of a smile on his lips before it disappeared.

“Just something Thor did the other day,” Peter eventually told you. “He’s a very unserious guy.”

Peter chuckled at a memory you weren’t privy to, and you nodded.

It wasn’t lost on you that everyone in the house seemed to have the kind of relationships with each other that you hadn’t quite mastered yet. Truthfully, you didn’t know how any of the men knew each other, but they all seemed as thick as thieves. Not even just that, but you noticed how at ease Laura seemed around Sam or Nat around Stephen or Sharon around Clint. They all seemed so familiar and comfortable with each other.

Like a family.

It was hard for you to view this place as anything close to that. After all, these women were here the same way you were, but Margaret had been here for years and seemed to find genuine enjoyment in her relationship with Steve despite how cruel he was. Peter wasn’t half as cruel as him, so that only made you wonder what would become of you in three years’ time. Sometimes you didn’t want to think about that too hard, afraid of what answer you’d come up with.

You knew that you were weak, and you were genuinely scared that you might not be able to even recognize yourself.

It was sometime after breakfast had been made, when you were hidden away in the greenhouse, when Peter called for you. Afraid that you’d gotten into trouble for something, you’d quickly risen to your feet. You could feel Nat’s eyes on you as you stumbled into the house, voice shaky.

“Yes?”

Despite your nervousness, your voice had carried, and it wasn’t long before Peter rounded the corner.

He wasn’t alone.

The man with him had dark hair, but it was greying ever so slightly, and simple glasses framed his face. He and Peter were about the same height, and you warily eyed the strange man as they both approached you. You brushed some dirt off of you, swallowing.

“Am I in trouble?”

Peter seemed slightly taken aback by your question before quickly shaking his head, gaze softening.

“No,” he told you, reaching for you. “Bruce is our call-in doctor. He helps with all the births and health visits. We just figured it was time for a physical. Make sure you’re healthy and all…”

You were looking between them as Peter relayed this all to you, and you found yourself wondering if the doctor…knew. You wanted to believe that he didn’t, but then again, you never thought so many horrible men could congregate in one place and cohabitate with one another and their sick ideals. What was one more horrible man?

“It’s okay,” Peter softly assured you with a hand on your back as he guided you upstairs. “He’s just going to take some urine and blood samples.”

“Blood?”

You had questioned that before Peter even finished, eyes wide as you remembered your last…run-in with blood. The mention of the red substance had you feeling spacey, and for the first time in what felt like too long, you had a brief recollection of your friends…and the sight of their bloody bodies.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Peter murmured as he grabbed hold of you, quick to do so when you started swaying. “It’s okay…”

He helped you sit on the bed, and you eyed the other man as he came into the room.

“Dr. Banner will be quick. He’s efficient like that. Isn’t that right, Bruce?”

His agreement didn’t make you feel better, and you frowned when Peter spoke about getting the blood out of the way first. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the other man as he approached, heart racing at the sight of the needle. Your lips trembled, but before you could see him do anything, Peter took it upon himself to cup your chin, turning you to face him instead.

“Don’t look at him,” he murmured, brown eyes studying yours. “Just keep your eyes on me.”

Peter’s fingers brushed along your skin when you felt the pinch, and you struggled to swallow.

“Did the others have to do this?”

Peter hummed an affirmative, softly smiling at you. His other hand came up to stroke your cheek, and when you felt relief in your arm, his smile grew.

“You did so good,” he praised before looking at Dr. Banner.

You felt Peter’s hand trailing to your neck, massaging the crook of it where it met your shoulder as the other man searched for the cup you were meant to pee into, murmuring about needing to check up on Jane too.

“Thor used to come into my job, sometimes…”

Jane’s voice was very low in the greenhouse, her careful eyes on the door as she recounted her history with the God-like blond. Talking about your previous lives or anything close to it wasn’t encouraged, but after Jane had told you her ‘good news’, a hand on her stomach with a smile, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from asking.

“I always thought he was handsome…funny…a little too optimistic, at times, but very sweet…”

There was something in her eyes you couldn’t quite place, something in her memories that made her smile dim some. If you had to guess, you’d say it was the memories and feelings of a time before she knew what Thor was really like. A time where she was just an innocent woman with a crush on a seemingly innocent man, unable to imagine the hell he’d put her through.

“He finally asked me out, and of course, I said yes.”

Her face fell some, and she sighed.

“As he was driving me home…I got lightheaded…drowsy…and then I woke up downstairs.”

You frowned at that, somewhat horrified that Jane had known Thor prior to this. Peter was a complete stranger, someone you had never even seen before, and you couldn’t imagine being subjected to this by someone you knew. Someone you trusted, your eyes burned with tears as you looked at Jane, but either out of genuineness or a practiced way of coping, a smile was already on her face again.

“That was… Well, it feels like a lifetime ago,” she slowly said, shaking her head. “…but, now we’re married, and I’m pregnant.”

She rubbed her stomach again, and you felt your own turn.

“Don’t you ever think about leaving?”

Your question was barely audible, fearful of anyone overhearing, but Jane heard you all the same.

“Not anymore,” she honestly told you. “It seemed…pointless. Masochistic to torture myself like that.”

You took a deep breath, heavily exhaling.

“Did you ever…?”

“Try?” she finished with a smile. “Oh, yeah. Twice, I think. After Thor had to sink to Steve’s level of punishment for the whole house to see, I never tried again.”

Your eyes met hers at that, and something seemed to pass through you both at the reminder of how Steve punished Margaret, sometimes. You didn’t even know that any of the other wives knew, and you wondered if it was something like an open secret. Again, you found yourself hurting for the new mom, unable to fathom how your humiliation at the hands of your so-called husband was just a known fact amongst the household.

“You shouldn’t…you shouldn’t try,” she eventually told you, making you look up. “When I was finally able to go outside, it was the first thing I did…and you’ll get caught…and it’s just not worth it.”

She sounded sad for you, but you felt sadder for yourself. You didn’t know how to tell her that you hadn’t even considered the thought in what felt like ages. It was just the other morning that you’d opened the door, and the thought of taking off, the thought of dashing right by the three men in the hopes that you could make it, hadn’t even crossed your mind.

You just hadn’t wanted to be alone.

You looked down as her words marinated within you. Jane had tried to escape twice, and there was no telling how many times Natasha had tried. You’d tried once, and it was barely an attempt, caught by Peter before you could even get your room door open. You didn’t need anymore confirmation of how weak you were, and even at dinner, you found yourself entertaining Jane’s advice and how masochistic it was to entertain thoughts that would never come true.

You weren’t half as strong as she was, and if she’d eventually given in, then what were you holding out for?

Peter could tell that you seemed distracted, touching your hand here and there, grabbing your attention. You gave him small smiles, unable to do much else, until he took another bite of the casserole.

“Pepper said you made this…”

You glanced over at the strawberry blonde, watching as she was engaged in a conversation with Steve and Tony.

“I did,” you told Peter, your eyes meeting his again.

“Really?” he quietly wondered, smile widening as his brows rose. “You did a good job.”

His hand came up to touch your cheek, and something like relief filled you. It was your first time cooking it without having to dump it afterwards, and while Pepper had assured you it looked and smelled great, Pepper was also known for placating you.

“I did…?”

Peter chuckled at how unsure you seemed.

“It tastes great.”

When he turned back to his food, you didn’t mirror him, keeping your eyes on him instead. You thought about when he’d eventually go back to work regularly like he used to before…and you didn’t like how it made you feel. Your chest tightened, and you blinked, finally turning towards your plate.

Without Peter, you really didn’t know how you’d function. After your punishment, you were even more afraid of Steve than you had been before, and you knew how much your slow adjustment irritated him. You knew that if it were up to Steve, you’d be punished every time you ruined a dish or burned some bread or messed up a load of laundry.

You didn’t even want to think about how many talks Peter had with the blond on your behalf.

It was something that weighed on your mind deep in the night, tears in your eyes at having to tiptoe around everyone again. Sure, you were adjusting much better, now, but that was exactly why Peter would have to go back to work again. You were better, now…so, he no longer needed to be here so much and neglect his job.

The thought had you shaking, holding in tears, and Peter must’ve felt it.

“Hey,” he said, turning on the lamp. “What’s wrong? Was it another nightmare?”

You shook your head.

Even those had become less frequent as of late.

“What is it?” Peter worriedly wondered, reaching for you.

You sat up, moving out of reach and wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I don’t want you to go back to work,” you eventually admitted. “I don’t like it when you’re not here. Steve…”

“He’s a lot, I know,” Peter softly said, touching your back. “…but I’ll have to eventually. This was only temporary…to help you adjust without the threat of severe punishment hanging over your head.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hating that, and Peter made soothing sounds as your head drooped.

“You’ve been doing so well…”

You didn’t say anything to that, unable to voice the mindfuck this entire ordeal was. Peter was the reason you were even here, and so he should be the last person you want around. On the other hand though, he felt like the only thing standing between you and Steve’s ire, the memory of how the blond almost seemed to spit the word ‘weak’ out that day in the basement. He thought you were pitiful.

Pathetic.

…and he was right…but Peter didn’t make you feel that way.

Peter didn’t make you feel dumb for messing things up. He didn’t look at you like a bug he scraped off the bottom of his shoe, like a nuisance. Peter never looked at you like he was just waiting for you to screw up, but instead like he believed it wasn’t possible for you to. You wiped your face, hating that some tears had escaped.

“Why me?” you murmured.

He didn’t hear you, at first, a soft hum escaping him as he moved closer, fingers brushing your neck.

“Why me…? You didn’t even know me…not like Thor knew Jane,” you forced out, voice shaky. “So, I don’t get it.”

You looked at Peter, gaze almost pleading.

“Why did you choose me?”

Why did he choose you and change your life forever? Why did he choose you and get your friends killed? Why did he choose you and force you to leave your mom all alone? Why did Peter choose you and ruin your life?

Peter reached up to wipe your face, moving closer and grabbing your arm. You couldn’t read the look on his face as he pulled you against him, his other hand coming up to rest on your head. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ears, and your lashes fluttered at the sound.

“I just…knew. “

Your brows furrowed.

“I watched you smile and laugh, and get that little knit in your brow when you hear something that confuses you…”

Your frown deepened at Peter’s words.

“You do it all the time here, like you’re always confused…and you probably are, but I think it’s too cute.”

You could feel Peter’s lips against your hair.

“I just knew it had to be you.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting to be honest. It’s not like you and Peter had ever been anything more than stranger who almost ran into each other at the bathroom entrance once. What else could you have possibly expected him to say? Peter hadn’t known a thing about you then, and it could be argued that he still didn’t, and you suddenly found the bedding interesting.

“I knew I had to have you…and I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t take you.”

You pressed your lips together, sniffing.

“…that wasn’t your decision to make,” you tearfully mumbled.

Peter heard you though if the way his hold on you tightened was anything to go by. His fingers briefly pressed into your skin, hard enough to make you wince, before he eventually loosened his hold. He let out a sigh, chest dramatically rising and falling beneath your head.

“I disagree.”

He pulled away, forcing you to do the same, but his hands remained on you, pressing into your shoulders as his eyes met yours. You had never seen Peter look so serious, lips pressed together and face even as he looked at you. You didn’t think you liked it, and you got the feeling that you said something you shouldn’t have. He suddenly took your chin, his grip tight.

“I wanted you…and so I chose you,” he slowly began. “…and that’s never going to change.”

Your lips trembled.

“You’re mine, now, and you’re never getting away. Do you understand?”

You started to nod before his hand slid down your neck, thumb lightly pressing against the front of your throat. The corner of his lips curved upwards into a small smile.

“I need to hear you say it,” he softly encouraged, and you took a deep breath.

“I understand…”

Peter’s gaze was expectant.

“I’m yours, now,” you whispered.

Satisfied, Peter pulled you against him again, burying his face into your hair.

It was the first really bad nightmare that you’d had in a while. A whole month actually. You woke up out of your sleep gasping for breath, clawing at your throat like something was choking you. You barely registered Peter beside you, waking up with you and reaching for you. He was faintly calling your name, that you could make out, but once you could breathe again, you paid him no mind.

You were too preoccupied with screaming.

It hurt your throat, rubbing against it like sandpaper and making it raw. It came from deep within your chest, the faces of your friends staring at you in the darkness, and you flailed on the bed. Your face felt colder than usual, and you realized it was the cool air hitting your wet cheeks. Every time Peter tried to grab your arms, you pushed at him, sobs festering in your chest.

“Y/N, you have to be quiet,” you heard him tell you. “You’ll wake up the whole house…”

You couldn’t really find it in you to care all that much. Your chest was so tight that it hurt, agony paralyzing you at the memory MJ’s final bloody act to push you away. You sobbed as you remembered Wanda’s heartbroken scream at the sight of her dead brother before she too was treated like nothing more than a wild animal. The disbelief you’d felt at Pietro’s murder was so vivid despite the fact that it had long happened, and you’d had months to accept it.

Peter finally wrapped his arms around you as you cried into his chest, the dark-haired man shushing you. Something about waking the whole house again. Something about Steve, and the mention of the blond had you crying harder. You pushed against Peter, nails digging into his skin as you tried to get away, but he only pushed back.

“Y/N…Y/N, stop,” he softly hissed. “Stop it.”

You’d never heard him sound so stern, and that too made you cry.

A choked wail escaped your lips…and then it wasn’t.

…because it was swallowed by Peter.

His lips on yours had you gasping, heart skipping a beat and chest clenching. His hands were still on your arms, trying to settle them as he moved his mouth over yours. When he let one of them go to rest his hand on the back of your neck, you used your free hand to push against his chest, but it was futile. You only realized it was so dark because your eyes were closed, but when you opened them, Peter was so close that you really couldn’t make him out.

Moonlight cast a pale glow in the room, shining light onto Peter holding you against him, tasting the inside of your mouth as he laid you down. His other hand was on your face, now, holding it in place as he kissed you. You could feel his heart beating against yours, his body completely pinning you down.

“You’re okay,” he murmured against your lips. “You’re okay…”

That’s what he always said, but it never felt true.

When you tried to push him away again, he took your wrists, pinning them on either side of your head. Peter was still kissing you, mouth molding almost perfectly against yours, a hum escaping him when your lips parted. He kissed your bottom lip and then your top one, his own finally trailing to the corner of your mouth as he kissed that too.

When he lifted his head, his nose brushed against yours, and under the glow of the moon, you could see his eyes boring into your own.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he softly said when you blinked at him, sniffling. “You’re okay.”

He let one of your hands go to run a finger down your lips, brushing it along your chin as he briefly pressed his lips to yours again.

“You’re safe, alright…?”

Your heart was still beating wildly in your chest, but remnants of your nightmare were slowly fading away, and you gave him a shaky nod. Peter kissed your cheek a few times before sitting up and pulling you with him. When he had you fully leaning on him as he laid back down, his arm curled around your waist, keeping you against him. You were still shaking, breathing still uneven and tears still in your eyes. Your lashes fluttered as you could feel Peter wiping them away, and you closed them completely when you felt his lips brush over yours one more time.

#dark!peter parker #dark!peter x reader #dark!peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader #Peter Parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction

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love2poetry · 6 months ago

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loml

⤷ mcu!peter parker x artsy!reader

𝜗𝜚. . . synopsis. you are both peter's love and loss of his life

𝜗𝜚. . . general tag. mostly fluff & some angst

.ᐟ. . . content warnings. if you see any grammar mistakes, keep them to yourself pls thx<3 might be cringe tbh

♫⋆｡ our field of dreams, engulfed in fire your arson's match your somber eyes and i'll still see it until i die, you're the loss of my life

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ sophia's letter ! i wrote this as it's raining and can you guess what scented candle i have lighting? 😝 anyway i went through a depressive episode for no reason so i took a hiatus, but i might be back for the summer. i often go through another one when school starts so im gonna do the most now. i was thinking of making a part two for this using 'peter' but idk. anyway, HIIII NEW GRACIE ALBUM THIS WEEK RAGHH

prequel

wc. 1,926

spring had just began, more warm days after months of freezing cold weather. today, however, seemed to be one of the few cold, rainy days february had left. you had finished homework earlier today, always wanting to have your weekends free as much as you can, so you decided to occupy your mind with something else more calming.

after finishing the last of your ap psychology assignment, you walked to your kitchen and made yourself a quick matcha. as you measured the green powder into your cat mug - a lovely gift peter got you because one of the cats in the bug is a calico, like your own cat - a thud was heard from your room. it was followed by an 'ow' quickly after, causing a small smile to form on your lips.

peter.

at the sudden noice, autumn, your calico cat, run cautiously out of your room. after finishing your matcha with some creamer, you also walked to your room.

peter looked towards the door upon sensing you. his spidey sense usually only triggered when danger was near, however, when it came to you, peter was able to feel you. he couldn't describe it, but there was something in you that made him feel safe. it was a warm feeling that ran down his spine, and maybe it was because he was in your room, but he could also smell the vanilla lotion you love to use. everything about you made him feel like he was engulfed by a soft blanket.

so it was no surprise that the first thing peter did was offer you a smile. you automatically smile back of course. how could you not when he looks at you like that, like he was going to somehow bring you the moon he often photographed because it made him think of you.

'it's raining,' peter pointed with a boyish grin. the obvious pitter patter coming from your windows made you tilt your head playfully. 'you don't say.'

peter patrolled the streets of new york everyday as his alter ego, spider-man. but on days like this, he likes to use the weather as an excuse to come see you earlier instead. he has a build in heater in his suit of course, but in his opinion it doesn't work as well as a good cuddling season with you.

peter sets his masks down on your night stand. 'cuddles?'

you took a sip of your matcha as you walked to your desk. 'i have to work on my portfolio.' you heard him walk to your dresser that sat on the corner of your room where you had a drawer with his clothes to change to after patrol. 'i thought you were done with it?'

'yea, it's just,' your fingers glossed over your sketches. junior year was ending and soon college applications will start. it had been your dream to attend the art school of chicago, and now that applications are around the corner, you want to make sure everything is perfect. 'it doesn't feel complete.'

once peter was out of his wet suit and into his favorite pair of bright pink hello kitty pants matched with a plain white tee, he sneaked his arms around you, taking your comforting scent in. you felt him place a kiss in your hair, 'i think it's perfect.'

you turn to look at him with an unimpressed expression. his smile widens and he can't fight the urge to kiss you any longer. peter gently presses his lips into yours. he's always been delicate with his kisses, especially after being spider-man. you knew it was his way to ground himself after a day of fighting criminals, so you let him be as soft as he needed.

you loved it that way. you loved him that way.

peter pulls away first. 'i have some photos i took last week. you could draw some if you need.'

peter's hobby went hand in hand with your art. thanks to being spider-man, he was able to take some shots of new york no one else would be able to obtain, and he often let you sketch them, so often that half of his storage is pictures he takes for you to draw. the other half is probably of you.

you hum in agreement, still looking into peter's eyes. you have never loved brown as much as you do now.

'tomorrow.' peter took your mug in one hand, then used the other to hold your hand while he drag you over to bed. 'today, we cuddle.' he set your bug on the night stand.

you smile. 'okay.'

you two settled under your warm covers with you closest to your mug incase you want a sip, but before you could find a comfortable position, peter stood up, muttering a quick 'wait!'.

you frown, but understood what he was doing when he pulled a lighter from your drawer in the night stand. he lit up the candle that rested on top. apple pumpkin. you bought a few pumpkin scented candles last fall, and peter grew to love this specific one. he wasn't a fan of scented candles because of his enhanced smell, but this one was subtle enough for him to enjoy without getting a headache.

once peter returned to bed, he wrapped his arms around your waist with his head on your chest. he slightly tilted his head to plant a kiss into your skin. 'i love you.'

his whispered confession filled you with butterflies. you don't know what you did to be lucky enough to love this boy in your arms, let alone be loved back by him. one of your hands wrapped around his back, while the other caressed his check, slightly squishing his face. his chuckles echoed in the room along the rain when you started kissing his face.

two kisses on his right check, two more on the left, three on his forehead, and one on the bridge of his nose.

'i love you more.'

a bright smile stayed on peter's face as he shook his head. 'that's not possible.' your smile matched his, 'i think it is. no, i know it is.'

'i love you most.' before you could disagree, you felt his hands sneak under your shirt, cutting you off by tickling your sides. you squeak in surprise and try to squirm away. your laughter fills peter's ears, 'okay! i can't breathe!'

peter paused his movements and you inhale to suggest, 'we both love each other equally.'

peter makes a thinking face. 'i'll let you have this win,' he rolled his eyes playfully before settling in your arms again.

the two of you stayed intertwined in bed until you felt peter's breathing slow down, indicating he had fallen asleep. his weight was on your side now, but looking down at him you decided you wanted to engrave this moment forever.

swiftly, you reached for the small sketchbook you keep on your night stand. thankfully, you had left a pencil there too. you sat up slightly, making sure not to disturb peter's slumber. his arms tighten around you making you freeze, but the light snores coming from peter tell you he is still deep in his sleep.

you find a clean page and begin drawing shapes until you like how they all sit together. you move to the face proportions, not focusing on shading yet. your hand makes the hair part look effortless, and it may be from the many times you've drawn these curls. moving back to the face, you use your finger to blend the lines better.

finishing the rough draft, your focus goes to the nose, moving to the freckles you have memorized.

'stalker.'

peter's deep voice caused a blush to creep into your cheeks. it wasn't the first time peter caught you drawing him, he has seen the many sketches and paintings you've done of him, but you still shy way when his eyes follow every detail of him you've embedded into your mind.

if only you knew peter feels the same. to know the person he loves more than anything has memorized him, his body and soul, fills him with an indescribable feeling. he does the same with his camera. most of his photos are moments you've shared together that he wants to remember forever.

peter not having storage on his phone from all the candid pictures he has of you is his version of when you learned to draw the lines that form around his eyes when he smiles.

'shut up,' you nudge your leg against his. there's smiles on both of your faces as peter snuggles closer to you.

the room is rather dark by now, only the candle peter had previously lit and another lamp you always have create a cozy atmosphere. the warm glow of the lamp reaches your features enough for peter to see and he takes his time to draw his own painting of you in his mind.

the flickering flame of the candle mixing with the apple pumpkin scent ignite a perfect portrait of peter you ache to fabricate, you take a mental picture for later.

you could be here with peter for all time.

neither of you knew that it was only momentary.

peter climbed through the window, a plastic bag in hand. he pulled his mask off, wet hair falling over his eyes.

the loud thunder from outside shook his apartment. it started raining earlier that day, so peter decided to cut his patrolling short. he hadn't done it in a while.

his body was freezing from the harsh wind that he old suit would have kept him warm from. he walked towards a basket full of his clothes that sat in a corner, that was his dresser for the time being, and grabbed a gray shirt.

when peter picked up the shirt, he caught a glimpse of what once were a bright magenta hello kitty bottoms, is now a dull shade of pink. with a sinking feeling, peter decided to put them on as well.

he made it to his twin size bed where he left the bag and took out the single purchase he made.

a small scented candle. apple pumpkin.

once lit, he set it on the small dining table his studio apartment came with. he stared at it until the soft scent filled his nose. his throat closes when memories of you that are still imprinted in his mind come back. peter feels his left eye twitch as tears threaten to spill, but he refuses to cry.

he can't afford a breakdown. he has no one to turn to anymore. peter doesn't know if he can pick himself back up if he breaks. it was easier with tony because he had may and friends who cared about him. but especially because he had you.

now may is gone, he's a stranger to his friends, and every detail of peter you had memorized has been erased.

peter turns back to his bed and pulls the covers to get in. he continues to stare at the flame emotionless, slowly dissociating from his lonesome.

even after everything, peter can't comprehend how you could go from perfectly drawing the creases on his lips without a reference to not even remembering his name.

do you still have those pieces of him?

do you still draw him even now like it is muscle memory?

is he in your dreams like you are in his?

you will continue to occupy peter's mind until the day being spider-man finally kills him. you were his deepest love, and now his greatest loss.

#୧ ‧₊˚ 🏹 ⋅ 𝕾𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐀 𝕭𝐋𝐔𝐑��𝐒 #୧ ‧₊˚ 🎀 ⋅ 𝕾𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐀 𝖂𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 #୧ ‧₊˚ 🍰 ⋅ 𝕾𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐀 𝖂𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #mcu!peter x reader #mcu!peter parker #loml taylor swift #peter parker blurb #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #no way home #peter parker angst

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bouncybongfairy · 6 months ago

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Safety Precaution

Peter Parker x Fem Reader Smut

Summary: One rainy night while Peter was stalking you, he noticed you left your window open. Him being the thoughtful gentlemen he is, comes in to close it for you; no other reason.

Word Count: 1.0k+

Ref Account: @kaionyx

TW: Stalking Kink, CNC, Somnophilia, Fingering, Face Fucking

No Dialouge Smut

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Peter was hanging from a tree outside the pizza place where you work. Absolutely mesmerized by every aspect of you. Not even your physical beauty; he loved how kind and soft you were. How sweet and gentle you acted with all the children that came in. The way a couple strands of hair would fall into your face. He’d been going through a high-grade depression. You were the first thing that sounded better than bed-rotting. He watched as you finished closing up for the night. It made him infuriated when you chose to walk home instead of taking a taxi. The two of you lived in the same apartment building, so part of him felt justified to follow you home. He was headed that way regardless, it also enraged him to let his mind drift. Thinking about what would happen if he wasn’t there to protect you.

His own thoughts would get pretty dark, so he couldn’t imagine some douche on the street with no self control. You were completely unaware of Peter who was growing more and more flustered while watching you. Entering a small deli and ordering a sandwich, walking around the isles deciding what chips and drink you want. He got a small (huge) kick out of your obliviousness to him; it somehow made you cuter. Rubbing the tiredness out of your eyes, forgetting that you had makeup on; or maybe just too drained to care. It was the end of the week and your brain was fried from a lack of rest. Quickly making your way home after grabbing dinner. You shoved your key into the door and used your full body weight to get it open. Smelling the familiar scent of home was extremely comforting. You set your bag on your desk and started changing.

He was watching from outside your open window, admiring how the light from the lamp illuminated your figure. So entranced, that he didn’t realize it began to rain. He didn’t really give a fuck to be quite honest. Watching you at the most intimate time of the day, winding down after a stressful work week. Admiring the way your tongue slid along the wrap while you rolled a blunt. The way the glow from the television was reflecting off your soft skin. Hair pulled back in a fucked up bun with a stain on your oversized tee-shirt from your food. Even after you’d fallen asleep, he continued to watch. Smirking when he noticed how the wind was pushing the rain into your apartment. He didn’t want you to get sick so, he figured the best course of action would be to close it for you. He quietly climbed through the window, careful not to make any noise.

You were asleep, T.V still blaring which made it easier to sneak in. Laying on your back, and the blanket half covering your body. The walls were plastered with pictures and posters while you shared half the bed with stuffed animals. Chuckling softly after seeing the Spider-Man poster with the cheesy ‘it’s a bird… no, it’s a plane…’ line written above his picture. God he felt so possessive and hungry; it took actual effort to stop himself from jumping on top of you. His blue hoodie was soaked, he took it to the bathroom and hung it over the windowsill. Not being able to hold back anymore, he gently pulls the blanket back. Laying there with your shirt bunched up, almost revealing your chest.

Your body was radiating heat, your skin was so soft. He ran the back of his index finger along your thigh. In comparison to the brightly colored room, he looked so out of place. Like a stain on a white shirt; you don’t notice until it’s too late. A mixture of the tiring work week and being high made you fall into a deep sleep. He crawled next to you and pressed his body against yours, surprised when you molded into him. Pushing your bottom against his groin, making his stomach flip. He pulled your shorts down gently, doing the same with his pants and boxers. Pushing his length against you while slowly running his finger up and down your slit.

Propping his foot up on the mattress and gently lifting your thigh; draping your leg over his hip. Your skin was so soft and he was trying his best not to dig his fingernails into your flesh. Moving up and beginning to toy with your chest. Softly rubbing his thumb over your hard nipples. You were starting to stir awake, not understanding why you were feeling so flushed. He could feel your heartbeat begin to quicken, watching the goosebumps cover your skin. Eyelids begin to flutter slightly, he smiles and pulls your panties to the side, focusing his touch on your clit. Clenching his jaw from cute aggression as your legs start twitching.

“I know you’re awake,” he spoke softly into your ear.

A gasp leaves your mouth as you tighten around his fingers. Like his words went right to your core and started burning throughout the body. He could feel and hear your heart racing, like prey being pinned down to the ground. Continuously pumping his fingers in and out of you; curling his digits and pushing in deeper, massaging g-spot. He bites down on your shoulder, throbbing and twitching as you groan and whimper. Bucking your hips and squirming, enjoying the pleasure of being stretched but trying to get away from the pain of his teeth in your skin. Something in him snapped and became more aggressive.

Standing up and roughly pulling you off the bed. You were still sleepy and dazed, unable to see very well because of how dark the room was. He pressed your back against the bed frame and grabbed your hair, lining up his leaking member with your lips. Jerking your head up and down his cock so fast you began getting dizzy. Not giving a fuck weather you could breath or fight back. His leaking tip smashing the back of your throat, the walls tightening whenever you gagged. Drool and precum dripping down your chest. You tried to pull off him to catch your breath but he wouldn’t allow it, if anything pounding harder into your mouth.

Loving the way you kept sputtering and whining, on your knees and ready to do whatever he wanted; willingly or unwillingly. He stared down at you, black tears from the mascara rolling down your cheeks. Eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide and scared; hair matted and strands stuck to your face which was red from lack of oxygen. Seeing you like this made him cum down your throat. Making sure he buried himself as deep as he could despite your nails scratching at his legs. Ensuring that he pulled out right after your eyes got glossy and your whines stopped. Pulling out and helping your limp body back on the bed before leaving; ensuring the window was closed before swinging off.

#andrew garfeild smut #andrew garfeild x reader #andrew garfield fanfiction #andrew garfield #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #andrew garfeild spider man #peter parker spiderman

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petriwriting · 8 months ago

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All Over Again - College!Peter Parker X Reader

Summary: College!Peter Parker, Female reader (She her pronouns). After No Way Home, Peter is in college. He's tried to move on from his past, but cannot let go of one person. So he has to get her to fall in love with him, all over again.

A/N branching out with more of my comfort characters from different fandoms. Warning for google translated Tagalog (filipino) Also this accidentally became mega fluff. oops.

"Are you okay?"

Peter asked with concern. He is battered and beaten, tired, but relieved and a bit sad. Y/N Embraced him, tightly. "yes, we're fine. i'm so glad you're okay," Peter looked at his friends his eyes were so saddened seeing them.

"You're going to forget who I am," he says, Y/N, Ned and MJ all look at him in confusion. "what?" says Ned, "What are you talking about?" MJ says, full of concern.

"Peter, Please," Y/N says, stepping forward, looking at him. He holds her face in his hands gently. "It's okay," Peter Coos. "I'm going to come find you, and I'll explain everything." Y/N's face begins to swell with tears, "I'll make you remember me." He says assuredly.

"Like none of this ever happened." Peter glances over to Ned and MJ. "Okay?" Peter asks, waiting for reassurance.

"What if that doesn't work?" Y/N asks, desperately looking at him. "What if that doesn't work and we- I can't remember you?" Y/N pleas. "Please Peter I can't lose you,"

"I know," Peter says "There's nothing else we can do." He begins to wipe the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. "Y/n, please" Peter says, it's breaking his heart at just the thought of not being able to see her every day. "Trust me." He says, Y/N nods, and their lips meet in a passionate embrace, a moment of desperate love. "I Love you," Peter whispers. "I love you," she manages to whimper back.

"Promise?" Ned says after their embrace.

"I Promise." Peter says.

They shake hands and embrace, and MJ gives Peter a tight hug.

Peter takes another look at Y/N, feeling as if he's losing the best part of himself. The three watch him leave, each crying and grieving the soon to be loss.

~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~

Y/N reported to work promptly and on time, as usual. The small Coffee shop was practically empty, aside from one customer who was busy on his laptop - probably swiftly typing business proposals. he had his airpods in his ears, and had been slowly sipping a black coffee.

Y/N wondered what it was like to have a job, to be important to someone. For some reason, they woke up last week feeling somewhat empty, a sudden and strange longing and depression. It was as if she was missing a piece of herself.

Despite the existential feelings, Y/N still wiped counters and brewed coffee for everyone. A rush of relief hit her when the bell at the door rang, alerting her of a someone's presence. It was Peter Parker, A name that did not yet mean anything to her. She thought he was cute, and he smiled softly and waved. "Hi, Welcome inn." She said, putting on her best fake nice customer service voice. "Hi." Peter said. He was taken aback by her beauty, even at work in some stuffy uniform. "I've missed you." He wanted to say, but didn't for the sake of not wanting to come across as a total creep. Y/N waited promptly to write down his order. "What would you like?" she prompted. Peter just stood there, it was slightly awkward. "We have your standard coffee shop staples, lattes, espresso, flat white, mocha," Y/N listed off the different kinds of drinks, and Peter let her. It was like music hearing her voice again. "We also have one that's new, it's called the Spider-Man latte. It's basically like a regular latte, But we put white chocolate and spider sprinkles on the whipped cream. Very popular right now." Y/N continued to explain.

"That sounds great." Peter said, "Alright, One Spider-Man Latte coming right up." she said, grabbing a coffee cup to prepare the beverage for him. "Is dairy ok?" She asked.

"what?" Peter said awkwardly. "Dairy, like milk. some people like almond milk, or like soy milk. for some reason people really like nut milk." Y/N said, with a slight amusement. It was almost a flirty quip.

"Well regular cow milk is fine. . ." Peter trailed off, "Unless you have spider-milk." Peter was immediately embarrassed. God that was so awkward.. He thought. Peter wasn't much of a flirt, but the Y/N he knew would have laughed.

Y/N paused for a moment and then smiled softly. "Well we dont carry that, but if you figure out how to milk a spider, please come back and let us know i'm sure it would be a total hit."

Peter smiled softly watching her decorate the top of the cup with whip cream and sprinkles.

"That'll be... $6.75."

Peter handed her cash, and she gave back the correct amount of change. Peter put it right into the tip jar, knowing she would probably use the money for her lunch later. "Thanks, Hey- You look really familiar. Have I seen you here before?" She asked, out of curiosity.

"Well I think we have class together, actually." Peter admitted.

"Oh, which one?"

"Physics." He says prompty, knowing that she sat in the back of the class everyday...

"Oh really?" Y/N shrugged. "I'm not really doing so great in that class to be honest. I got a C on the midterm, some of the questions were a little unclear." She said with a slight laugh.

"oh, i'm actually doing well, I could tutor you sometimes if you want?"

Peter offered, Y/N was unsure of how to proceed, but when she looked into his eyes, it was as if she'd seen him before. she just could not remember...

"That's really nice actually, I'd appreciate that." She said, taking a pen out of her apron and writing her number on a piece of receipt paper. "Here, you can text me. I get off at 6."

"And what was your name again?" she asked.

"Peter Parker."

"right, Peter parker." She repeated his name back to him. "i'm -"

"Y/N," Peter said immediately.

"How did you... Oh." Peter had gestured towards the name tag she was wearing.

Y/N nodded, wondering why there was suddenly butterflies in her stomach over a boy she couldn't even remember was in one of her classes. "Well, enjoy your coffee, Peter."

"you too!"

He said, which caused them both to chuckle.

A Few Weeks Later.

The two had texted as if they were old friends, as if they'd always known each other. sending memes and cute messages throughout the day.

It was late in the evening, Y/N was lonely, so naturally she sent a text to her classmate and new friend.

She opened the contact for Peter Parker and drafted a text message. Heyy she brushed her thumb over the text before ultimately deciding to just press send.

A few minutes later, a reply popped up.

What are you up to?

Just at home rn

That sounds fun

Not so much..

Sorry :(

The bubble with the three dots appeared for a moment, then disappeared. Y/N was a bit disappointed in this. Then, the phone was ringing. Facetime call from Peter Parker, she answered almost immediately of course.

"Hi." She said excited to see him.

"Hey." Peter said quietly.

"How was class today?" Y/N asked, watching and waiting for Peters reaction on her phone's screen.

"It was alright, but you weren't there.." Peter looked down sadly. "You didn't miss much though, cause' we were just recapping the exam questions." Y/N frowned. "Yeah, I wasn't feeling all that great this morning, I just could not get out of bed..." Y/N trailed off. "I'm not sure why."

Peter looked hurt by this, because deep down he was. He couldn't bear the thought of his decision hurting her. He hated thinking about it at all.

"Well I know of something that I think could make you feel better.." Peter began. "Oh yeah?" She perked up. the butterflies in her stomach were back. "Yes, but it would be kind of a surprise. Can I Come over?" He asked. Y/N nodded. "I think that would be nice. I could use some company." She says. "I'll text you my address now." Y/N says.

"You're not like a serial killer or anything though right?"

Peter chuckled, he had already collected himself ready to go. "No of course not!" Y/N smiled. "okay well then i'll be waiting on this surprise, It better be worth it!" Y/N joked. "I'll see you in a bit."

The call ended, and Y/N went to go freshen up, butterflies in her stomach. she had no idea where they came from.

Less than 15 minutes later, Peter had arrived with flowers, Y/N's favorite candy, and a pizza for them to share. They ended up talking for hours, and falling asleep to a movie on netflix, Y/N leaning right onto Peters shoulder. This was the first night Y/N felt herself somewhat starting to fall for him.

Later.

After going on a few dates and talking even more, Y/N was officially falling for Peter Parker. He visited her work to bring her lunch almost every day, and they were texting each other constantly.

Today, they had a date planned. Y/N was ecstatic, she had spent hours getting ready, and fantasizing about the romantic evening. It was their first nice date at an italian restaurant. She was even dressed in her nicest outfit.

Y/N finished getting ready for the evening, stopping by the mirror to put on a pair of earrings. The plan was so romantic it was as if it was straight out of a movie. An early dinner at a nice restaurant, an evening stroll through the park to go to a museum. She sent Peter a Quick text I can't wait to see you tonight. she checked to see the word "Read" which was followed by the current time.

Upon entering the street where the restaurant was, Y/N was greeted and sat at the table Peter had reserved for them. was she early? when she had checked the time, she wasn't all that early. but Peter was late. she waited, imagining that he missed his train, or got lost, or forgot about some homework. Although that was so out of character for him.

The time ticked by, after about an hour, she had watched people come and go from the busy restaurant, deciding to just leave. It was dark out by now, and the walk home felt dangerous.

She pulled out her phone to call Peter, see if he was running late as a last resort. anything. Maybe it was just too good to be true.

It rang for a while before going to voicemail. at the beep Y/N left a voicemail.

"Hey pete." Her voice was defeated. "I just wanted to see if you were okay and what was going on, Since you stood me up. I just," she sighed heavily. "I really really like you, and i thought you liked me but i guess i'm just head over heels for someone that doesn't care like I do. I'm sorry. But i'm going home for the night. Just text me later, ok?"

She was beyond disappointed. Y/N walked home alone, made it back and cried. She undressed, putting on a pair of shorts, some fuzzy socks and without realizing it, one of Peter's T-shirts he had left at her flat. It had been three hours or so since Peter had left her at that restaurant, alone. In total defeat, she curled up into bed, ready to lull of into sleep to avoid this awful feeling.

Knock.. Knock.. Knock...

It wasn't at the door, but at her window. Y/N jolted up, terrified someone was trying to break in. or worse. She waited quietly, listening, before her phone started buzzing. It was Peter. She answered quickly, scared she was about to get robbed she just wanted to have someone on the line in case. "Hey, It's Peter im outside." he sounded so quiet, his voice was hoarse and he sounded exhausted. Y/N opened the window in confusion.

"He climbing the goddamn fire escape..." She thought. Opening the window, Peter spilled in. His face was brusied, his cheek had a small scratch with blood dried to his face. He looked awful. "Oh my god." Y/N exclaimed, helping him to her bed. He was beaten up pretty bad, and limped slightly. "Peter what happened??" Y/N demanded. "I uh, I got mugged." Peter lied, he was never a particularly good liar to those he loved, but Y/N was filled with worry. "Pete," She grabbed his face gently wiping the blood off his cheek. "I'm so sorry," She sighed. "I feel like an idiot.."

"why?" Peter asked. "I thought you stood me up I was angry and upset, I feel awful knowing you were getting mugged!" Y/N exclaimed. Peter sighed. It didn't feel right.

"I wasn't mugged. I'm sorry Y/N." He said softly. "I have to be honest." Peter stood, and walked over to face the balcony, taking off his shoes. Y/N saw he was wearing red socks although the apartment was dark. "I have to tell you something." Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, in confusion and shock.

She watched as peter took his sweatshirt and jeans off, revealing his suit to her in the moonlight. y/n gasped softly.

"it's you." she said.

Peter nodded.

"And that's not even the craziest part..." He half smiled, going back to sit on the edge of the bed with her once again. "You're going to think i'm absolutely insane." He whispered. Y/n Shook her head, beginning to think she was dreaming.

"I'm Spider-man." Peter said softly. "And I Love you."

Y/N wanted to burst into tears, but sat frozen in shock.

"I always have, since the first time I saw you. You were in my class in elementary school, your hair was braided and you always said hi to me..." He said, smiling at the memory. although y/n had no memory of him whatsoever. "We were in Love, but I had to make a decision that potentially saved the world.." he said, grabbing y/n's hands in his own. "I had Doctor Strange cast a spell, so that everyone would forget who I was. I can prove it. That necklace you're wearing," Y/N looked down to see the necklace around her neck, she had no idea why she felt like she should wear it everyday and no memory of ever buying it.. "I got it for you in high school. and look," Peter pulled up a picture of Y/N and himself on his phone, it was his lockscreen. The two were sharing french fries on the top of a building in new york.

"Peter," Y/N said gently. "I told you I would find you one day, and explain everything. I didn't want you to think I was some creep or some asshole that would stand you up at the restaurant like that,"

"And I know that living a double life is extremely difficult, and people get hurt. I know that being spider-man puts you in danger, So for a while i kept quiet." He explained.

"I just want you to know the truth. you deserve that."

"Peter," Y/n breathed quietly. "I Love you." She said, Peter couldn't wait any longer and kissed her, deeply and softly. Y/N was beginning to feel the emptiness become whole again.

Years later.

College Graduation.

Everyone was excited, MJ even wore a dazzling gown, and Ned wore his best suit, Y/N was dressed nicely, and Peter was wearing a nice suit. It felt like the ending of a movie where everyone is happy and the hopeful song starts playing. It was a new chapter in life for everyone. Peter had become a huge part of Y/N's life, even rebuilding his relationship with MJ and Ned as well. It felt oddly nostalgic for him.

"Halika, oras na para sa larawan!" Ned's Lola exclaimed.

Y/N looked at Ned, so did everyone else. "She said lets get a picture."

The group chuckled and gathered for a picture. Ned was in the center, by peter, who had his arm around Y/N leaning over to kiss her cheek. MJ had her arm around Ned, smiling widely. As they all posed the camera clicked, and Lola was very pleased. "you all look beautiful!" Lola said, smiling teary eyed. "Am so proud of you." She gave Ned a big hug. She hugged MJ, Peter and Y/N.

"I'm proud of us too!" Ned exclaimed.

_ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _

Epliogue

After graduation, Peter had planned a romantic date night, Giving Y/N absolutely no details. She walked with Peter up to the rooftop of their shared apartment.

There ware rose petals, candles, and a table and chair set up with a nice bottle of champagne and two glasses set up. Y/N's favorite flowers were in a vase in the center of the small table, The view of the city's skyline was in the distance as they walked. Peter pulled out the chair for her and the two sat.

"Pete this is beautiful..." Y/N smiled gratefully.

"Y/N," Peter began, he was nervous, Y/N could tell, but she kept quiet. She always made peter feel fluttery, He was so madly in love with her.

"Now that we've graduated, and we've got the rest of our lives ahead of us..."

"I know that I want to spend it with you." He says, reaching for something, and getting down on one knee to propose a tiny antique ring. "This was my Aunt May's ring, It was my mothers' too. I want to give this to you and ask," Peter gulped. "Will you marry me?" He asked.

Y/N was elated. She was so in love with him, everything felt so perfect. "Yes!" She exclaimed. Peter slipped the ring onto her finger and she admired it for a moment before embracing Peter. Peter picked her up, twirling her around before kissing her.

The moment was so sweet, they proceeded to pop the bottle of champagne and sip the golden bubbly liquid from their glasses. "I can't wait to spend forever with you." Y/N said, admiring her new ring. "you have no idea how long i've waited to ask you." Peter admitted. "I've carried that ring around for years."

"i'm so glad you found me again."

"You have no idea." Peter said quietly.

Enjoying the moment, there was a breeze in the air, and birds flying by every now and then. It was as if the city yielded for them in that moment.

"So does this mean i'll be Mrs. Spider-man?" she said light heatedly. "Well yes, but maybe don't tell everyone- would kinda defeat the purpose of a secret identity." Peter said with a chuckle. Y/N smiled and laughed. "Y/N Parker." He said. "I like that." Y/N said, and then repeated him to hear herself say the words. "Y/N Parker."

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literaila · 2 years ago

Text

untrustworthy

tasm!peter x reader

summary:

"are you mad at me?"

"did you get me bologna sandwiches?"

warnings: angst, alludes to depression, lost of interest, pushing people away, this is a pining fic because they’re not actually together, angst, fluff at the end, peter sucks but he’s also great?

a/n: i haven’t written anything in weeks and this is so terrible but take it or leave it. i am.

if you've learned anything in the past year, it's that you couldn't trust peter parker.

you couldn't trust him to finish his portion of your shared slideshow for your physics class. and you shouldn't have trusted him to tell you if he couldn't get it done before the due date--sparing you both from the wide-eyed, slightly over-amused gazes of classmates who thought peter's "the end" slide was purely a comedic stroke, and not just laziness, or a miserable attempt to pretend he hadn't cost you thirty percent of your grade.

and even after, you couldn't trust him not to give you a look--his signature look--sending you plummeting towards forgiveness before he'd even gotten the chance to apologize.

you couldn't trust peter parker to pick up a mutual friend's birthday cake or get himself home safely without cracking his glasses, or not to eat all of the cookies that may made for you on his way to your apartment. you wouldn't trust him to wash your dishes or sleep on your couch without burning the entire building down.

it was a dangerous thing, you'd realized, about three months after you'd met him, to try and count on him.

peter parker would borrow a pen from you, flicking his hair your way and smiling that charming smile, and then proceed to give it back to you at your thirty-year reunion. or never.

you'd learned not to expect him to show up for anything on time, ask him to pick anything up for you, or let him do laundry in your apartment.

peter parker was anything but dependable. and if you could give the past version of yourself any advice, it would be not to trust him.

not to let that foolish hope exist before it was crumbled between strong hands like a grocery receipt, never to be seen again.

you wouldn't let that faded, reliable version of peter exist.

you couldn't trust peter parker to do anything or make any promise he would actually keep.

you couldn't even trust him to stay away from you when you wanted space the most; like now.

because as soon as you heard that knock on your door, a bitter part of you was scowling at the intrusion, cursing your friend for bothering to exist or always showing up when you didn't want him to.

and you knew that just like every other thing peter did, he wouldn't take no for an answer. even if you didn't answer the door. even if you threw your phone down into the garbage disposal.

you were pretty sure peter could pick a lock. and also slightly suspicious that he'd had a copy of your key made behind your back.

so when peter walks into your living room, hair dripping from the rain, arms full of grocery bags, you aren't surprised.

you barely even blink at him before returning your attention to your tv, where a couple was viciously debating the cost of crown molding.

his presence is its own curse because you can feel every movement he makes, just like always.

"hey," peter says, smiling evilly. he ignores your ignoring. doesn't even mind the fact that you haven't looked at him. "i brought you some stuff."

he kicks his shoes off--into your living room, of course, mud sticking to your carpet--and heads to the kitchen.

"just some basics," he continues, not bothering to listen to any reply, verbal or not. "bread, eggs, milk. i got you some disgusting orange jello and a couple of those pre-made sandwiches they make at the deli. they're a bit... flat, but they should be okay still."

you turn the volume up.

peter doesn't mind. "there's also some protein bars in there--chocolate--just in case you want something quick," he walks back into the room, holding a glass bottle. "and i saw this banana-flavored soda when i was walking out, for us to try and throw up together."

he shakes the bottle around, smile on his idiotic face, not even bothering to think about the harsh reality of carbonation.

"open that over the sink," you mumble to him, still not meeting his eyes.

you curse your weak willpower for ruining your silent game. and peter, for knowing that he would win eventually.

peter tilts his head, tsking at you. "not even a thank you for your very thoughtful, handsome--" he plops down next to you, moving your legs so that he can tickle your feet. "and genius best friend?"

"thanks, peter."

instead of looking over at the man who was definitely trying to get you to yell at him, you choose to watch the ceiling on the tv crumble over brand-new hardwood.

you frown.

peter runs his hand up your calf, goosebumps riding his wake. "are you mad at me?"

"did you get me bologna sandwiches?"

"no, turkey."

"then no."

peter removes his hand. "what's wrong with the bologna?"

"they put rat poison in it."

peter pokes your thigh. "and you've been letting me eat it? you know i love those sandwiches."

you turn even further on your side, wall going up between the two of you, forcing his hand off, mumbling, "wanted to test a theory."

"what theory?"

finally, your eyes meet his--stupid brown, caring, auburn, and hateful eyes. "if rat poison would kill you or not."

peter scoffs.

you let your lip quirk up, irritated at his perfect mouth and thoughtful grocery list, and warm hands climbing up your stomach, and then look away. back to the house infested with termites. if there's anything to hate, it's adoration. the ridiculous attachment you have to him, even now.

"are you calling me a vermin?"

you roll your eyes. "well, you're not dead so..."

and it was all normal. peter sitting this close and trying to mold himself into your skin, the puppy eyes he was trying to give you, and his devious smirk. his teasing and lack of common sense, his stupid jokes, and stupid thoughtfulness, ruining the silent treatment you'd meant to give him. the space you'd been forcing between the two of you.

it was all normal, but you can feel him lurking, waiting for a moment to say something. you can feel him staring at you.

"what?" you say, sharp and rough, after thirty seconds of it being too much. of peter being too close and too quiet.

his presence is a burden on your heart.

peter's hands began to massage your legs, forcing you to let him in closer than you want him to be. "what, what?" he repeats.

your eyes meet his with defenses already prepared. "what are you doing here, peter?"

the words are weapons. one punch to the jaw and a knife shoved into his back.

you're trying to get him off of you, get him out that door and back into the world where he belongs so that you could stay here and rot, just like you want to.

but peter's eyes stay soft, his hands are kind and his intent is obvious. he isn't trying to fight with you.

he blows out a breath. "what're you doing here?"

you both stare at each other for a moment and then you look away, shaking your head. "i live here."

"you know that's not what i mean."

"do i?" you ask, voice sarcastic and mean. and it would be fine--usually. you and peter are mean to each other for sport.

but he wasn't being anything but easy. careful as he stretched your muscles out like he could tell that you hadn't used them in days.

trust peter to break your only rule.

it was silent again; only the sounds of commercials in the background, a woman swearing that aleve changed her life.

peter clears his throat. "why haven't you been answering my calls?"

"lost my phone."

"and class?"

"i've been sick."

"you missed an exam," he pushes. "you're gonna have to make it up."

"already emailed connaly."

"good." peter swallows, and you can feel his pounding, his questions even when he's not asking them.

you want to push him off of the couch. you want to push him off of you, leave bruises from the fall, and tell him to find someone who can be his friend. who can do this.

you want to be understanding, and as careful as he is. you love him enough to not scream, even if you want to.

"peter, i really just want to be alone, so--"

"when's the last time you ate?"

you sigh, pulling away from him.

but peter has a firm hold on your legs, and even if you tried, you couldn't kick him away.

"when was the last time you showered?"

"i've been sick, peter, it doesn't--"

"left the house?" he prods. "or moved from the couch? when was the last time you looked in the mirror?"

you sit up, looking at him without meeting his eyes. "you should go. i could still be contagious." the words are tense, your face is stone, unmoving, and unwilling to do any of this with him.

peter moves closer to you, his hands lingering just inches away from your marble face. "what's going on?" he asks, so softly that you can barely feel it on your plastered skin.

his concern and care, his stupid face and stupid eyes and--

"i can't do this, peter."

"you need to talk to me," he says, without even processing what you've said. "you need to tell me what's happening because it's been almost two weeks since i've seen you, and this..." he gestures around the room.

a place that used to be your home.

"what happened?"

and if anyone could get it out of you--pull the secrets you have hidden in your chest, ignoring your screams of pain--it would be peter. he would be the person that you talked to.

that is if you wanted to talk at all.

if you wanted to move from his couch and look into his eyes like you had been for months before this. like he was more than a classmate, or friend who had stuck to you. like he was someone who you wanted to care about.

someone with perfect lips and wonderful eyes and an addicting laugh.

someone who you might want to tell more, share more.

the person that you'd been a month ago would've told peter. even unsure if he could keep that secret or stay with you, you would've told him. trusted him that much. more than he deserved.

but the person sitting on your couch staring into those same eyes doesn't want anything.

to move or breathe or have to tell peter that you just don't care anymore.

that whatever you have to tell him is gone, that your words and voice have been ripped from your chest, that this couch, this distance you've been trying to build is the only remedy to fix the hole that remains.

but you don't want to see him. you don't want to tell him anything. you don't want to breathe his air and risk infecting him.

"nothing, peter. i'm fine."

"you look like you've spent the last month in the hospital."

"well, you look like a goddamn swimsuit model, so i guess we're even."

you're watching as his serious face shifts, and you can see it as he fights back a laugh, his eyes just barely flickering.

and you wish that you didn't care. you wish so badly that it didn't matter. you look away, thinking to pretend that none of this exists.

you've had enough nightmares like this lately.

"hey," peter says, one fingertip turning your eyes back to his. and you know it's not a dream, because your imagination can never get those eyes just right. "i'm here to listen. whatever it is. we'll work it out. i just need you to talk to me."

"i told you, there's nothing--"

"and you've got to stop lying to me like i can't tell."

you scowl.

peter's eyebrows lift, a fraction of affection appearing on his face. "c'mon, just tell me. i won't laugh."

you look down, at his hand resting on your thigh, and the hole you've burned into the couch.

you don't want to look at his eyes anymore. you're tired of trying to look away. and not talking to him.

you sigh. "nothing, peter. just..." you blink, but it's not enough to push his regard off of you. to rid yourself of the toxins he's breathed into you.

you were almost immune to them, just a few weeks ago. mithridatism only works if it's consistent.

and his eyes are more dangerous when you haven't seen them.

you freeze. "there's nothing," you repeat, defenses falling, hands going to push him away from your face.

and peter knows what's going to happen before you do. "hey," he says, already soothing. "whatever it is..."

and peter grabs you before you fall. he catches that first tear, and it's his forever. his arms fold around your shoulder, his strong hands keeping your head up.

"there's nothing. it's all gone. everything i want, everything i--"

his hands are tilting your face up to his but you can't look at him. you can't look into his perfect eyes and feel ashamed of yourself anymore.

you're sick and tired of feeling sorry for yourself.

"i can't feel anything, peter. i don't want to do anything but sit here and hope that eventually, this feeling goes away. that it all just..." you shake your head, feeling him invade you.

and then you lean in and let peter hold you up.

you hadn't even realized that you were crying. hadn't realized how far down you'd pushed the words until they were bubbling up.

bile crawling up your throat.

"i'm sorry," you whisper to him, just before he crushes you into a hug, your head buried into his neck. your tears staining his perfect skin. "i'm so sorry."

peter shakes his head against you, holding you even closer.

and you can't breathe with how tight he's holding you, but this sort of breathlessness is welcome. much better than the other kind.

you laugh against him, feeling how sore your body is. how angry you are with yourself.

"i've got you," peter whispers, into your hair, kissing your forehead. "we'll figure it out."

you shake your head but say nothing.

you finally breathe him in, desperate after denying yourself for so long. you don't have to worry about anything as long as peter is right there.

"god," he says, after a few minutes pass. "i'm sorry i didn't come sooner. i thought..."

thought you were okay, you can hear. thought that you needed space, that time was a perfect solution.

"not your fault," you mumble into him.

peter leans back, just so that you'll look up at him. "why didn't you tell me? you know i would've come," he says, "if you'd just called."

"i didn't want--" you swallow, looking away. "i didn't want you to know. or see."

peter scowls. "what did you think would happen? i would leave? or tell you to get over yourself?"

"maybe."

"are you insane?"

"maybe."

peter doesn't even laugh. he makes you look at him again, not knowing how cruel those eyes of his are. "i would've stayed," he tells you, "no matter what. even if you told me that you murdered someone. or run over a squirrel with your bike. i would've been there. i'm going to be there."

his jaw is tense and his eyes are so serious, but you sniffle, shaking your head. "even if i murdered a squirrel?"

"i mean... it would be hard. but i'd do it."

you laugh.

he swallows, shaking his head. "you need to tell me what's going on, okay? instead of ghosting me for two weeks, acting like you died or something."

"i answered a couple of your texts."

peter glares at you.

"okay. i'm sorry."

he shakes his head again, almost smiling, if a little bit sad. "are you okay?"

you fall back into him, suffocating yourself into his shoulder. you don't want to answer that, and hope that peter doesn't push.

for once, he does what you want, wrapping his arm back around you, pulling you in closer.

"okay," he says, and breathes with you.

you sit with him for a few seconds, glad that he's there, and then you ask, "how'd you get in?" voice muffled by his shirt.

"it was unlocked, you idiot."

you frown, looking up at him.

peter laughs.

"no, it wasn't."

his eyes return to normal, deviance stuck in his expression. "i used my key," he answers, innocently.

trust peter to ruin the moment.

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @sharkswaters @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys

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lovelettersforthedamned · 1 year ago

Note

Idkidk mean or depressed peter trying to push you away bc he’s afraid of falling for reader (he already is) but one night reader catches him after a nasty fight and cleans him up and sexy times happens but he’s finally opening up to her?

It’s Not Your Fault, It’s Mine!

--genre + trope: hurt/comfort, college!au, angst, flufffff.

--pairing: college!tasm!peter parker x college!gn!reader

--word count: 1.5k

--summary: something has been off about your friend, peter. he's been giving you the cold shoulder, and one bad night leads to the reason why he's been so distant.

--warnings: mentions of blood (bleeding nose), peter gets kinda mean, mention of alcohol, bruises, hurt/comfort, FLUFF.

There’s been a weird tension between you and Peter lately. Although you two are strictly friends, Peter has always been quite touchy. Both of your friends have seen you snuggled up next to him at parties, and holding hands while walking through campus. It was never weird for you and you never noticed how comfortable you were doing it until Peter stopped initiating it entirely.

The beginning of the week seemed fine, October brings midterms, which means more work, for the both of you. It began to get harder to find time to see Peter, either you were in class, or he was busy.

That’s how it was the entire week, until Thursday. You finally scheduled a time to hang out at his apartment to watch a movie and get takeout. As you head up the flights of stairs to Peter’s place, a weird pit in your stomach continues to drop, making you anxious. After finally reaching his apartment and knocking, he opens the door. You could’ve blinked and missed it, but right under his jaw was a sickening black and blue bruise, along with some dried blood right under his nose. His hood from his jacket is up, who knows what else he could be hiding underneath it.

Once he opens the door, he immediately turns away, trying hard not to let you look at his face further. Walking in quickly, you shut the door behind you, “What the fuck happened?”

Still facing away from you, he walks towards the fridge, opens it, and takes a long look inside. “Nothing happened,” a monotone voice meets your ears.

He reaches deep into the fridge and pulls out a beer, opening it and taking a swig as he leans against the kitchen counter. You take a few steps toward him until you’re in his direct line of sight. Reaching up to inspect his face more, his hand comes up to swat you away.

You open your mouth to speak, but you are quickly interrupted by the boy in front of you, “(Y/N), can we talk?”

This catches your attention fully, crossing your arms as you peer up at him, frustration lighting your body on fire, “Sure.”

“Whatever we are, or whatever this is,” his eyes are avoiding contact with yours at all costs, he’s nervous, “I don’t want to be involved with you anymore, and I don’t want to see you around anymore.”

Your once worried demeanor turns into one of shock. You suddenly feel like a deer in headlights, the warm air of Peter’s apartment now becoming too hot. Taking a step back, you speak before your mind can think of a real sentence, “What?”

“I’m telling you to leave, (Y/N),” his tone coming out harsher. His gaze finally meets yours, and he regrets he ever dared to look. Your lower lash line is filled with tears that are threatening to spill at any second. In reality, Peter would never in a million years tell you this, but fuck, does the thought of you scare him terribly.

He was comfortable in this safe middle ground of romance with you, there were no titles, strings, or commitments. It was nice having you, you brought a familiar sense of safety wherever you went. Maybe that’s why Peter gravitated towards you.

He thought he was going crazy one night, his mind had seemed to collapse at the mere thought of you. There was no escaping the thought of your smile, the warmth you brought to him, and the way your touch lit up his skin. All he could think of was you, and it was killing him. He wanted whatever you had to stay where it was, but it seemed impossible the more he thought of you. In all honesty, he’s afraid to love you.

Stepping back from him, your voice starts to shake, “You don’t mean that.”

“Please…please, just leave (Y/N),” his head dips, a tear falling from his eye, “just go.”

Looking at his slouched form, you bite your lip to prevent it from wobbling anymore. You remain there for a second, hoping that this is some sick dream, you’re waiting to wake up from it at any second.

Peter still sees your feet planted in front of him, he finally looks back up at you, but now his nose is bleeding again. Wiping the sleeve of his jacket against his nose, the fabric is now stained with the deep liquid. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself before he turns around to face the sink, turning on the water and running his sleeve under it.

You walk silently behind him, reaching your hand up to rest on his back and leaning into his arm. This time, he doesn’t push you away. You stay there for a few minutes before he turns to face you completely, “I’m sorry.” That’s all he says before he falls into your frame, wrapping you in a hug so tight that you almost can’t breathe. Pushing your second wave of shock and confusion aside, you hug him back. You’re not sure what was going on, but what you did know was that he needs you right now. And although the words he spewed at you were harsh, you pushed them aside, because Peter is hurting.

That was another reason why Peter loved you, you care for people selflessly, even after being hurt by those same people. “Let’s go sit on the couch,” you suggest, grabbing a few tissues before following Peter. Sitting down, you’re able to look at his face closely, noticing his nose first, you grab a tissue to clean him up. There was a gentleness to your touch, he wouldn’t blame you for hurting him more, especially after what he said to you. But no, your touch is feather-like.

Throwing the dirty tissues on the coffee table, you ask, “Can I take off your hood?” A nod is seen in response. Lifting both hands to pull down his hood, you see another bruise forming on his temple. Your fingers dance over it, scrutinizing it. Even though you barely touched his face, he craves your touch more. Quickly standing up, you make your way back to the fridge and grab a pack of frozen peas from the freezer, along with a kitchen towel to wrap around it.

As he watches you walk back, all he can think about is how he hurt you. He hurt you and you're helping him. Placing the cold bag on his face, you grab his hand to hold it there. Right as you start to pull away, he traps your hand inside of his, grasping your attention, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

You sigh as you realize what’s about to come up, pulling your hand away from him and putting both your hands in your lap. “Why did you say that? There has to be a reason, right? What did I do?”

His heart cracks at your last question, his outburst caused you to think that you did something wrong. He swallows before responding, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I have no excuse for what I did, and I’m sorry. I just–the thought of us scares me.”

“That’s why we said we would keep this platonic,” you say, “we’re just friends.” That’s what you told everyone, that’s what you told yourself, but you couldn’t keep ignoring that inkling feeling whenever you were with him. There was always a pull towards the feeling of being something more, but the second it popped into your mind, you shut it down immediately. You couldn’t lose Peter.

He was panicking at your response, was he making a fool out of himself for making this such a big deal? “I know we are,” he starts, dropping the cold bag of peas to the side, “and that’s great, don’t get me wrong, but god (Y/N) you make it so hard to be just that. And it’s so annoying because it’s not your fault! It’s mine! I’m in love with you, and it’s driving me crazy because the thought of you not existing in my life hurts me. There’s not a moment in the day when I am not grateful for you. You have changed my life and you don’t even realize it! Fuck! I am in love with you.”

You look at him with wide eyes, you weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it was not that. He’s breathless, panting at his hurried confession. On the inside, he was freaking out, you weren't responding.

“Can you please say something–”

Your response contains no words, your kiss says enough.

You softly cradle his head, keeping his bruises in mind. The kiss was soft, a pour of emotions flowing through your lips. Pulling away, you finally give him a verbal response, “I love you too, does that answer it?”

“I don’t know,” he teases, “I think you need to kiss me more to fully confirm your answer.”

“You’re such an idiot, Parker,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss him again.

--author's note: HELLO!!! thank you so much for the request anon! im sorry, there's not a lot of spiciness in this one:(( my allergies are literally killing me right now, so apologies for posting so late and the lack of posts recently! BUTTTTT, be aware of a fic tomorrow featuring someone else on my masterlist...don't forget to support your writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging! my asks/inbox is open, so send me anything!! ok, bye ily<3

#andrew garfield peter parker #peter parker #peter parker x reader #marvel #spiderman #fluff #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #college au #peter parker oneshot #tasm!peter parker oneshot

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rancidpancakebatter · 11 months ago

Text

For Him - [P.P.]

Pairings: Peter Parker x Depressed!Reader

Summary: You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.

Word Count: 7.0k

Content: THIS FIC IS CENTERED AROUND A DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMTION.

Depression, language, Mentions of self-harm, Mentions of suicide ideation, friends to...open to being more?, Whump comfort, No actual harm comes to the reader, Happy Ending

( Masterlist )

A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing (I know I've said that before) and while my series are on pause, I've been trying to get back into a schedule with it. This piece is very personal to me and is very much something I wrote for myself. I'm sharing this only because I hope it can bring others the comfort it brought me. Or something close to it.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” Peter watched you helplessly as you continued to sob.

Your cries ripped from your chest, and you wished to reach inside the fresh gashes, grasp your heart, and grind it to dust. Anything to make it stop. It felt as if the tissue of your cardiac muscle was pulling itself apart, each painful pump shredding the fragile tissue further. You weren’t sure how much more you could take- how many beats you had left in you. You felt delirious.

It’s common knowledge that when your body is going through immense pain, such as breaking a bone, it goes into shock. Your sympathetic nervous system shuts off momentarily because your brain makes the executive decision that you can’t handle it. You wondered how much pain you could withstand before your body tapped out.

Everything was too much. Your brain couldn’t keep up. Neither could Peter. He watched on in horror as you screamed, clawing at the carpet, pushing your face into the ground, cradling your stomach, and rolling back and forth.

You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.

You had been ghosting Peter for six days (after two weeks of not seeing each other and you flaking on plans), and he had had enough. In his line of work, he tended to worry, however irrational that worry was, it was still there, palpable. You hadn’t been to class all week, he went to your job to surprise you, but you weren’t there either. He thought maybe you were upset with him, but the nagging thoughts racing through his mind couldn’t let you be. If something was wrong, he needed to know.

Peter has had a key to your place since you moved in. He was the only person you trusted, and you knew that sometimes he hated going home, finding it hard to leave “work” at work. You loved that your apartment was a safe place for him. Somewhere, he could rest his head and forget, for a moment, about Spider-Man and return to Peter Parker.

To say your place was a mess was an understatement. You were respectfully tidy; your space consistently looked lived-in, as opposed to Harry’s place, which always looked like a catalogue.

The smell of rotting food triggered his gag reflex momentarily. He soon got his bearings and saw dishes piled everywhere; the full plates looked almost untouched. Various fast food containers littered every surface. Clothes were draped over random furniture, and he could smell you too. He didn’t smell your strawberry shampoo and cocoa butter lotion but rather sweat and musk.

He entered cautiously, calling out to you, but heard no response. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for any possible distress. He worried for a minute that his Spidey-Sense™ wasn’t working. Obviously, something was wrong, but his sixth sense remained dormant in his nerves.

Then he heard it, breathing, a heartbeat. He moved in its direction, slowly approaching the couch. Curled up in a ball, you lay there, surrounded by malodorous clutter. You looked very uncomfortable slotting yourself between mounds of tupperware and dirty clothes. He called out to you again but got no response.

He lept over the back of the couch, landing in front of you, disregarding anything in his path. He brought a hand to your face and the other to your exposed wrist, checking for a pulse. You turned your face away from him, and he felt a rush of emotions surge through him.

Firstly, he was elated: you were alive, your pulsed drummed with the precision of a seasoned battlefield drummer, and you didn’t seem to have a fever or show any other indications of illness.

Secondly, he was angry: he hadn’t heard from you in a week, but he sees your phone on the floor in front of him. You were trying to move away from his touch as if his hand on your face was the broccoli your mother demanded you eat before leaving the table. And when he called to you, you didn’t respond- despite very obviously being awake.

Then, he was worried: he watched as your fingers trembled, your hand limp as he held your wrist. You looked dull, as if someone had turned down your saturation, drowning you out in the background of surrounding hues. Your eyes were glassy, seemingly unfocused as you stared ahead. You looked despondent, a husk of his dear friend.

He called out to you again, and you let out a small whimper. He was beginning to panic. You, on the other hand, were trying to find the will. The will to care, to respond, to look at him, to live.

“(Y/n), can you hear me?” again, you gave him nothing, and he felt panic rise in him again.

“(Y/n), come on, you gotta give me some sign of life.” You focused all of your energy, fighting desperately against your brain, and blinked, long and slow.

“Was that on purpose? Was that your response?” You blinked again, and Peter felt his chest tighten.

“Are you okay? You’re freaking me out, Bubs.” You blinked twice, and Peter stopped for a moment.

“Is two blinks a ‘no’?” You blinked again.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, and you realised he was stressed. You wanted to care so badly. Your friend was hurting, and it was your fault, and you couldn’t even care. Some friend you are. Peter deserved someone better, someone who could be there for him, someone who didn’t completely fall apart when the world became too heavy, someone who could convince themselves that breathing was a good thing. You felt someone shaking you.

“Hey! (Y/n), come back to me, buddy!” You blinked again, and the shaking stopped, but you could still feel his eyes boring into you.

“I asked if you were on drugs. Are you overdosing right now?” You blinked twice. You were feeling tired again. How ridiculous that you can lay here all day, but having to blink is too exhausting? You let out a yawn, and Peter relaxes some.

“(Y/n), can you try and talk to me? I’m freaking out here.” With a great amount of effort, you opened your mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

It was barely audible; your voice croaked due to its inactivity. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were wet. You had done that. The ache in your bones grew and spread at the realisation. Peter just shook his head.

“I don’t need you to be sorry; you need to tell me what’s going on.”

To anyone else, he would have sounded cold, but you knew this tone. Peter was working a case, searching for clues, answers. You were dealing with Spider-man. You felt bad that you had drawn that out of him, that he was so distressed he had to put on his suit of armour.

How could you tell him? There was nothing going on. Not one thing, at least. It was a bunch of small things that you were handling like a baby. Your parents were upset with you, your grades were slipping, your job was stressful, you were constantly fatigued, and everything just felt like so much work. Work that you didn’t sign up for. Work that you were done doing.

“(Y/n), what’s going on?”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice at you, but he was growing annoyed with your crypticness. He wanted to help you- wanted to make sure you’re okay- and he couldn’t do that if you didn’t tell him.

You let out some sharp breaths that almost resembled crying, but no tears left your eyes. You wondered if you had run out; if your brain had decided you had met your quota and had cut off your supply. Or maybe you were just so dehydrated that you didn’t have enough water to spare.

You watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. You had made him cry. You were uncaring and cruel. You were hurting him. You were a shitty friend. He was so worried about you, and you did nothing to ease his concern. He had called you many times, and you would watch as your phone danced on the table. You would listen to his voicemails, at first light-hearted before quickly turning to panic. You stopped listening to them three days ago, unable to process his emotions as well as your own.

“Bubba, please. What is going on with you? You haven’t answered my texts, you haven’t been to class, you haven’t been to work. I’m really worried. Please, please talk to me.”

He was begging and the thought broke your wretched heart. You attempted to curl more into the couch, to hide away from the pain you saw in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder stopped you, and you didn’t have the strength to resist.

“I’m sorry.”

You watched as Peter’s face contorted wildly between emotions: anger, fear, concern, sorrow. He chewed on his lip as he looked you over again. His mouth gaped as if he was tripping over his words before they could even leave his mind.

“Why? What-? Did you do something?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

How could he even ask that? He knows what you did. He had just listed half of your offences. How could he even stand to look at you? You were a monster, vile and vicious.

You blinked again, and Peter frowned. You knew he wanted to hear you speak, that it would ease his worry, but you couldn’t. Saying the words is hard, flexing all those muscles to use your voice. Too much. It was all too much.

“What did you do?”

You can hear the fear in his voice. It makes you sick to your empty stomach. The weight of his question weighed on your chest.

You knew what he was asking. It was a question you had been asked many times by your parents, by professionals, and your friends. You had lost many over the question. Some of them running away screaming at your honesty. Others have told you it’s not your fault, they just can’t carry the weight. So they leave you to carry it on your own.

You recognised the way his eyes quickly darted to your wrist, then moved to any possible exposed skin. You saw the way he checked his surroundings, looking for anything there. You knew what he was looking for, even if he didn't.

You almost wanted to laugh at that. It was funny to your fucked up brain. They always want to know. They insist on it. They have to know if you’ve done something to yourself as if their knowledge could rewrite time and change futures. As if they know they have the special combination of words that would make you see the light and bring you back. As if they could say something-- anything --you hadn’t heard before. But that wasn’t the funny part. The funny part was being right.

You knew that it was getting bad again. You knew if Peter saw you like this, he would get scared. You knew he would assume the worst. And here he was, doing just that. The funny part was knowing that when people see depression, they expect it to just be this, and if it’s not, you’re fine. And when it does look like this, you must be suicidal.

And honestly, you wish you were. And you shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. At least then you could do something with it. But instead, you’re curled up on your couch, immobilised, waiting for the storm to pass. You look and feel pathetic. But for now, it’s funny. Mostly because you can’t handle how frustrating this is.

You tug your sleeve down, and Peter’s eyes track the movement, tracing over the smooth skin as it’s revealed. His body remains tense even as you stop. You move the other one, and he’s just as attentive. When both wrists are revealed to be fine, you expect him to relax, but he doesn’t.

You watch as his chest rises and falls, not quickly but noticeably. As if he’s trying to stay calm. You appreciate that, though feeling like a bit of an ass for it.

He takes a deep breath, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “So then, why are you sorry?”

He looked at you expectantly, and you felt like crying again. It was too much. You knew what you had done, how shitty you had been. It’s all you could think about as his calls continued to go unanswered and your filth continued to pile around you. But he was asking too much. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips. You didn’t want him to hear them.

If he did, he might realise you’re right. He’d leave you here, and you’d never hear from him again. He’d be another soul lost to your devastation. Another broken person you made by knowing you. He’d realise how you tainted him, recognise you as sickness, and cut you off. And you couldn’t be mad at him when he did it. Because he would be right.

Or he would defend you. All that Peter Parker love pouring from him, insisting that everyone is good and deserves a chance. He would ignore all of your words, writing them off as nonsense. And maybe, maybe you’d start to believe him. You’d let him convince you that you’re okay. But soon, he would realise that he was wrong about you.

Either way, he would leave you. So maybe if you push him now, it won’t hurt so bad later. If you don’t let him build you up, you won’t fall as far.

So you said nothing, holding his gaze until you couldn’t anymore. His face shifted again, and you couldn’t take it. It was too much. It was your fault. You managed to roll over from your side to your stomach. You paid no mind to the various objects falling off the couch; you didn’t care that Peter had to dodge the debris. Especially when it distracted him long enough to let you hide. You buried your face into your crossed arms but didn’t close your eyes, the dark pocket you created being more than enough.

You felt hollow. Like life had finally broken you, taken everything that you were. You weren’t yourself anymore, just a husk. One that wouldn’t eat, or change clothes, or leave the house. But you weren’t empty. No, you had been carved out, but disgust and anger filled you now. But those big feelings left you feeling tired, tired constantly. No sleep was restful, no break long enough. It was baked in, carried in your bone marrow.

Peter was silent and you listened closely to his breathing. You couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given up yet, why he was sticking by your side. So you told him to leave.

You waited patiently for him to shout, for his footsteps to fade away, but he didn’t. He remained there, where you could feel his eyes on you. It was pissing you off.

“Leave!” you tried again, the sharpness of your tone muffled by the couch cushions.

You waited again, and this time, you heard movement. You heard a piece of silverware land softly on the coffee table and trash move around the floor. Finally, you thought. But then you felt a weight lean against the couch, then soft noises coming from a phone.

You peeked your head out to see Peter sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, scrolling through Instagram. He didn’t chuckle or laugh. He wasn’t really looking at his phone. His eyes were darting over to you every few seconds. You knew he knew you were watching him. This game went on for a long time. Nearly an hour passed in silence, one watching the other.

“I’m not leaving,” he said eventually, “not without you.”

That exhaustion was melting now, and all that left you with was anger.

“Fuck you,” you spit, then tucked your head back into your arms.

“I don’t think you mean that.”

Oh, fuck him. You snapped up, your arms supporting your body as you glared at him from the couch. He looked surprised, but not frightened. Peter had put himself in a terrible position. You were swirling with hatred, and now he had made himself a target. You couldn’t help the words tumbling from your mouth.

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!” you shouted, your voice crackling like flames. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel! You don’t get to come in here where you’re not wanted and fuck with me. I don’t want you here! I don’t want to see you again!”

He winced at your words, and that made you feel a little powerful. You were hurting so much, seeing him feel a fraction of it made it feel smaller.

“I haven’t talked to you in days and you think, ‘Oh, I’ll just pop over.’ What a fucking joke!”

You laugh, though there’s no humour in it.

“I was worried.”

His eyes are wet again– his voice is so small –like he was seconds from breaking.

Good. Let him break as I have. Maybe then he can see, and understand. Or maybe he’ll leave, get the hell out of dodge. Doesn’t matter.

“No, you were selfish,” You bite. “You got lonely and figured I would be there. You didn’t want to think I just didn’t want you anymore, so you showed up. Because you know no one comes looking for you. Not without the suit.”

You watch as he recoils. He’s looking at you like a monster, and he should. You are. His mouth hangs open, his eyes locked onto yours. The air feels stiff, like a sheet of glass waiting to be shattered. He sniffled a little, and suddenly you didn’t feel so powerful. The game’s not fun if he’s not yelling back. He’s not telling you that you’re right or wrong, he’s not mad. He’s just hurt.

The anger drops from your face and now your eyes are wet too. You feel like you might vomit, but you know that’s just a bluff. You can’t remember the last time you ate something. Or more than three bites. Food doesn’t smell yummy anymore; it doesn’t taste flavorful. Your empty stomach isn’t as noticeable, and chewing is too much work for such little payoff.

Peter’s eyes soften slightly, like something’s clicked for him. His brows pull down and his lips pout.

Pity. He’s showing pity. You’ve hurt him, and he pities you.

You rise quickly, and Peter is quick to his feet to meet you there.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your mouth as you feel your breath quicken. You were going to break down again. “You should leave.”

You pushed past him, ignoring his calls after you. You beat him to your bedroom, where you shut and lock the door. Both hands cover your mouth as the tears begin falling and your chest starts heaving. It hurts; the muscles sore from how often this seems to happen.

You hear him jiggle the handle, calling your name through the door, begging you to open it. You sink down, your shirt bunching against the wood as you descend. But you wait. You can’t let it out now, not with him here. He shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t have to put up with it.

Eventually, the knocking stops, and you hear him walk away. You wait longer still until you finally hear the front door open and close.

Then you scream.

It’s deep and guttural. A middle finger to the universe. It’s pure agony released from your throat. It’s all the words you can’t say fast enough. A battle cry from a broken soldier.

You continue to weep, crawling towards your bed, littered with clean clothes you haven’t folded, books you haven’t picked up, and various other trinkets you haven’t put away. But then the exhaustion comes back.

You curl in around yourself, crying out again in frustration.

You’re weak. You’re tired. You’re cruel. You’re pathetic. You’re fat. You’re too skinny. You’re disgusting. You’re heedless. You’re everything, but never enough.

Peter had never felt so defeated. He could see that you needed him, but you didn’t want him. That wasn’t a new feeling to Peter. He had long ago abandoned any hope that you would see him as more than a friend. Even if everyone you ever dated left much to be desired, you didn’t want him.

But this was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before.

He had gotten close. May had gotten pretty close herself. But it was never that. Whatever you were dealing with-- however you were dealing with it-- he didn’t know what to do with it.

You had never looked at him like that before, so full of hate. You had ripped him to shreds on your living room floor. Your words hurt, and it looked like you wanted them to. Like you enjoyed hurting him. It was scary. But then he saw it. That glint of fear in your eyes. The regret falling on your brows. And when you looked like you might cry, he knew.

That was something he did recognise, something he had seen in himself many years ago. The need to hurt. That primal urge to rip everything around you to ribbons. So it can look as ugly as you.

He followed you to your door, beginning to understand the hurt you were feeling. He didn’t want that for you. He wished he could remove it like a faulty wire, but you shut yourself off. He could hear your ragged breathing on the other side of the door, even through his pounding and shouting. But you wouldn’t open up, and he couldn’t do anything until you did.

He weighed his options and tried his best to leave. He wanted to trust that you would be okay, that you would someday unlock the door, but for now, he had to leave you be.

He picked up his stuff, made a mental note to come back and help you clean, and stepped outside. Before he released the handle, he heard you scream. A very real scream. He moved with urgency, panic rising in him. He fumbled with the key in his hands painted with red and blue nail polish. It was chipped from the many years of hanging on his keychain.

He called out to you but got no response. You continued to howl from the other room, and he rushed there. Trying the handle, he cursed, finding it still locked. He had never heard a noise like that before. Your guttural wailing filled his mind. He had one thought, banging and pulsing through his head: Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her.

He didn’t want to kick down the door and frighten you, so he spun hopelessly outside it, fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make use of his big brain. There was pounding mixing in with your cries now, and Peter felt scared that you were reaching a peak he wouldn’t be able to get you down from.

He threw his backpack to the floor and began opening pockets. His eyes glanced over his wallet, and then he dove for it, pulling out the library card you made him get. You had drawn on it because he complained about how boring it looked. It was the spiderweb in the corner that caught his eye now. From it hung a little spider, but its abdomen was shaped like a heart. He had teased you relentlessly for it at the time, pointing out its anatomical incorrectness. You told him it was a reminder, but for what you never said.

He pushed the thought aside, sliding the card between the door jamb and the lock latch, wiggling it until he felt it release. Your cries could be heard from the other side, so he steeled himself. You needed him, and you needed him strong. He could do that for you. He could do anything for you.

He was taken aback, for a moment, by the display before him, his lips parting in a gasp. You thrashed about, showing rage in your despair. He felt a wave of disgust for himself. He supposed he had let this happen, let you stew too long.

All this time, he thought you were fine. In the same way he was always ‘fine’. But every time he wasn’t, you were there. You were by his side, ready to talk him down. But him? He just waited for you to do it on your own.

He would see the signs and put his head in the sand, remembering how embarrassing it is when someone notices and asks. Remembering the rage that would boil up in him, as if this person could even begin to understand where he was coming from. But he forgot how much he needed it too. How much that small kindness meant. He forgot the value of a shoulder to cry on and an ear to hear, even if they don’t understand.

But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He can’t focus on what he could have done, only what he can now. Because you’re here now, and he wants you around later.

He drops to his knees, his hands coming out to hold you before he stops himself. He calls out softly instead.

It’s apparent to him that you didn’t realise he was there, your wild eyes scanning over him, trying to decipher if he’s real. Your chest heaves as you lay on the ground, your face swollen and red. His heart breaks, for a moment, whispering an apology you don’t hear.

It hurts to have him look at you like that– to see you like this. But this is what you were afraid of, him seeing you and running. But so far, he hasn’t. And you’re selfish, bordering on desperate. It doesn’t matter why he’s here; it just matters that he is. And as much as you desperately want him to leave, to forget you and move on, you can’t help clinging to him.

The one ray of sunshine you have. The one who always gets it even if he doesn’t. The one that remembers to get things in your favourite colour and reminds you to change your water filter. Your rock. And you could use a rock right now, and you can't bring yourself to worry about it destroying him.

You begin heaving again, and Peter panics, still unsure how to help you. His eyes are too much, so you roll around onto your belly, your legs curled up underneath, your forehead against the carpet. Your hands are wrapped around your gut as everything in you comes out. All the rage, and despair, and confusion leaking through your broken cries.

Peter only intervenes when your fists start slamming down against your stomach. You can feel his hand trembling as it grabs yours, and you scream again. His hand retracts, uncertain how to move forward.

Snot is running down your face, and you can feel some dribble on your chin. You feel like a child. You feel like a disgusting mess. He shouldn’t have to see you like this.

It hurts, god, it hurts so much!

His name leaves your lips, broken and frayed around the consonants, and he scoots closer.

“What?” He asks, sounding nearly as broken as you. “What can I do?”.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!”

You’re not sure why you asked. You weren’t sure what he could do. But you knew he would do it. That’s what he does, fix things. He fixed your laptop, and May’s stove, and your bad study habits, and your sour mood. He always did and asked for nothing in return.

But maybe this was too big of an ask. How could he fix this- A chemical imbalance that you’ve been fighting your entire life? How could he fix what doctors hadn’t? What if you couldn’t be fixed?

You slammed your fist back into you, each hit punctuated with an insult.

Disgusting Pathetic Selfish Broken Useless Dumb Weak

But then, you felt gentle, shaking hands once again. His touch was warm but different from the fire you felt inside. It didn’t burn, but sooth. He had come up behind you and guided your arms tighter around yourself, using his to keep them there, coaxing you into sitting up and resting against him.

He was all around you now; his heart beat steadily against your back, even as yours pounded fiercely. You screamed again, but this time Peter didn’t let go. He held you tighter, hoping desperately that if he held on harder, he could keep you from slipping away. That you would feel his love on your skin. That he could shove the broken pieces back together enough to help you set them right.

Your head hurts; pressure building behind your eyes. But you felt safe, even in this pain. Because Peter was here, holding you tightly. He was here, even if he shouldn’t be. He was here. And you found yourself relaxing into his hold, melting against him.

Your sobbing fell into a quiet whimpering, letting him soothe you with gentle shushes and his forehead resting on the side of yours. He readjusted his hold on you, rubbing up and down on your arm with one hand and pulling you closer with the other. You hung loosely like you had lost the strength to hold yourself up. Peter swore you wouldn’t have to.

“I got you,” he whispered, placing a kiss where his head once was.

Soon, your cries became sniffles, and you turned around to face Peter. His face seemed sad, maybe even tired, but he smiled at you nonetheless. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but true and genuine. That was still too much, feeling embarrassed by your current state, so you hid.

Peter let you wrap your arms and legs around him, trying not to shiver as your nose rubbed against his neck. He pulled you into his lap, relishing in your tight hold. You were coming back to him.

He rubbed soothing patterns on your back, resting his head against yours while whispering encouragements.

“Good job, sweetie, you’re breathing so well for me. That’s right, big breaths, you got it.”

The world slowly stopped spinning, and your body stopped spazzing. You got the feeling back in your fingertips, running them in circles across Peter’s back, trying to recalibrate. He breathed with you, praising for each one you took.

Then, you were still, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Peter could feel your eyelashes slowly brush against his neck as you blinked.

“Hey,” he called softly. You hummed, and he was grateful. “I know you're tired, but you should take a bath first.”

You shook your head no, curling into him deeper. His heart panged, wanting desperately to hold onto you longer, but not like this.

He scooped you up, and you whined, wrapping your legs around him tighter as his arm came around to hold your hips. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but you weren’t used to being toted around.

He let you cling to him as he began filling the bath, making sure the water was warm but wouldn’t hurt. He then travelled to the laundry room to grab some fresh towels and threw in some bubble bath he had found under the sink.

“Come on, baby,” he tried, “In the bath, you go.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the nickname and tried not to think about how much you didn’t want Peter to let go.

It’s not him, You told yourself, he’s just here.

But it didn’t sound very convincing, not even to you. But regardless of your wishes, you knew he wouldn't always be, and what would you do when he left? You’d probably end up on the floor again, or worse.

“I’ll still be here when you’re done,” He said, as if he could read your thoughts, “I promise a bath will make you feel better.”

You took a deep breath, raising your head to look into his eyes. Galaxies lived there, swirling and teeming with life. Every emotion, every thought, bubbling in his irises. And one came through over all of them, ringing through the silence.

Love.

You saw it there as he looked at you. How could this be?

Love.

Had he not seen how monstrous you could be, how depraved and insane you truly were? How could he possibly find it in him to still love you? And how could you let something like that go? He had a love for you that you didn’t have for yourself, but you needed it.

You nodded your head, pushing the thought aside, as you rose on shaking legs. Peter smiled, then left, grinning at you through the crack in the door.

“Thank you,” he said before closing it behind him.

You peeled off your sweat-soaked clothes, feeling embarrassed once again when you realised you were only in a t-shirt and a pair of underwear this entire time. Peter was a very good friend, and you couldn’t imagine why he was thanking you for anything.

You got into the water, your muscles relaxing as soon as they broke the barrier. You stretched, letting yourself sink deeper into the water. You lay there for a moment, relishing in the peace, in the momentary break in misery.

You dunk your head under the water, holding your breath and counting. You come up gasping, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You feel alive again.

You do that a few more times before actually washing your body. You try not to wince as you scrub the film from your body and hair. You took the time to pamper yourself, letting the lavender scent surround you. You even shaved so you could curl up in your fuzzy blanket later and just feel the softness. Peter was right- a bath made you feel a lot better.

You wrapped yourself up in your towel, feeling fresh and a lot less heavy, and opened the door. Peter was there sitting on your floor, thumbing through your record collection. You gasped at the vision around you, and Peter jumped up, a smile on his face.

“Hey, you’re back!” He saw your surprise and hastily apologized, “I hope you don’t mind. Just thought I’d put on some music.”

You shook your head at the man, ignoring his apology completely. You didn't care about the music. Your eyes wandered around the made bed, with fresh sheets, and the clothes that once occupied them neatly folded. The dirty clothes on your floor were gone, the hamper was empty, and when you listened carefully, you could hear the washing machine running in the other room.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” you said, embarrassment rising to your cheeks.

“It’s all good,” he brushed off, like it was nothing. “I pulled these out for you to change into, but you can- you can wear whatever, of course. And...I don't have to tell you that.”

The way he fumbled over his words was adorable, but you remembered then that you were only in a towel, standing in front of your best friend. You clutched it tighter, and he seemed to notice then too. Redness grew from his neck to his cheeks, and he quickly turned around.

“Sorry!” He shouted. Then calmly, “Sorry, I’ll uh- I’ll let you change.”

You reached for the pyjamas he set out and slipped them on. It felt nice. I mean, the pj’s weren’t new, but wearing something Peter picked out for you, with you in mind, felt…sweet. And they were extremely comfortable. You smiled softly as you smoothed out the fabric, then opened the door.

Peter was standing just on the other side with his back turned to it, but upon hearing the handle, he turned. His eyes quickly skated over your form before he beamed at you. You invited him into your room and turned down the record he had put on so it was softly playing in the background.

He stood awkwardly in your room, hands in his pockets, like he didn't know what to do next. You felt a similar way, sitting back on your bed. The silence was loud; both of you stuck between wanting to ask a million questions and not sure how to make the words right.

You figured he had done enough of the work today; you could try for him.

“I’m sorry,” you began.

He turned to you, worry written across his brows and a retort on his lips, but you cut him off.

“I- I was cruel to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

His face falls as he sighs, then trudges over to sit at your side with heavy feet.

“It’s okay-” he begins.

“Don’t say that,” You spit, some of that anger you tried to bury coming back. Peter stilled, and you felt bad, but he had to hear you. It was important. “Don’t say that how I treated you was acceptable because it wasn’t. You don’t deserve that from anyone. If I had seen someone speak to you that way– or ignore you the way I did –I would have killed them. I don’t get to lash out at you like that, okay?”

Peter’s eyes were twinkling again, and you couldn’t understand it.

“You- you shouldn’t have to put with it,” you continue shakily, “and I don’t think you should stick around.”

Peter rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“Tough luck.”

You look at him baffled, but he remains unfazed.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he explains, “I spend most of my days chasing people who actually want me dead. You having a little outburst because you’re hurting and you don’t know how to say it? I can handle that.”

He grabs your hand, and you try to stop the butterflies taking flight within you.

“You disappearing for a few days? That’s nothing. Me leaving?” He laughs full-on now; it rolls through him, blooming from his chest, “That’s never gonna happen.”

“Peter-” you try, but it’s he who cuts you off now.

“No, I’m not hearing any of it. I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “I’m not leaving you again. I will be right here, for as long as you need me, and even when you don’t.”

His hold on your hand is tighter now, as if he’s trying to press the promise into you. Placing it in your hand and hoping you never let it go. Or maybe it was more than the promise. You look into his eyes, and you see it again– love. You can’t make sense of it. Over and over again, that look. One you’ve seen so many times. Why?

“Because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” He answers your silent question, “Because I don’t want you to do it alone, not when I’m right here.”

He lifts your hand and puts it over his heart. You can feel how fast it’s beating. Yours flutters in a similar way. It’s terrifying and thrilling, this promise he makes. You want Peter there, always. That’s why he has a key, free to pop into your life whenever he finds the time. Because you always want him there. It’s why he’s your emergency contact and the only person you trust (other than May, but you would never ask it of her) to water your plants when you’re away.

But if he stays, you’ll grow attached. More attached, at least. He’s seen one of many battles in a war you’ve been losing for as long as you can remember. He’s crazy enough to think he can handle more when you barely can yourself. But maybe that’s what you need, someone to fight with you. Someone to fight for.

You bring your arm around his neck, pulling him into a jarring hug. He accepts it, pulling you closer. You’re trembling ever so slightly, but you’re not fighting him anymore. He knows what this means. You’re letting him stay, and he’s so grateful.

You allow yourself to just breathe with him- to let him be here, and hold you. You never got that before, and accepting it now is hard, but you can do it.

“Do you wanna stay the night and watch some b-horror films?” you asked.

Peter smiled against you, and your heart leapt at the action.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You feel a bit selfish as he steps into the bathroom to change into comfier clothes, as he crawls into bed and lets you curl into him, as he drapes his arm around you and holds you close. You can’t give him what he wants right now, what he deserves, but you want to. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, but you know that you can. You can do it for him. You're strong enough.

Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @mirrorballin24, @miwagila, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @onlyangel-444, @preciousbabypeter, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @remuslupinsdocs, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

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blooming-violets · 9 months ago

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Nicest Thing Peter x Reader for 11. In joy? I really like that fic. I reblogged it on my old account. I feel like thats an underrated fic of yours (maybe bc it came out in 2022? Idk). Would love to see what happened to them!

It's still one my favs because it is just so...me?? Like if I had to chose anything that represented my personality perfectly, it would be Nicest Thing. Just a depressed, sad bitch who loves angst and Peter Parker and enjoys Kate Nash. I feel like I need another Kate Nash song for this "sequel" fic. I'll base it off her song Trash because these two are trash for each other.

You can read this as a separate, on its own Peter x Reader thing if you'd like or you can read it as a future piece to Nicest Thing.

Warnings: Smoking a joint and getting stoned

If porn bots can over take all the tags then I better not get flagged for these gifs.

Peter looked at her through blazed out, squinting eyes. A haze of smoke filled their bathroom as they passed the joint back and forth between them. They were seated in the unfilled tub, fully clothed, and facing each other. She had made him take the spot next to the faucet under the claims that sitting over the drain made her feel “icky” like she might get sucked in. He didn’t mind. Even if their leaky faucet kept dripping cold water over his shoulder.

“Do you remember the Rugrats episode when Tommy and Chuckie are afraid of getting sucked down the bathtub drain because Angelica tells them a story of some other baby who died that way?” He asked, handing her off the joint.

She placed it between her lips and he watched with a slow blinking, admiration for her. He loved her. She had been with him through everything. He owed his entire life to her. Without her in his life, he would no longer be here. She was everything important in the world.

She smiled, remembering, and let out the most beautiful laugh. She always got extra giggly when they smoked. It was one of his favorite sounds.

“Don’t they fill the drain with play-doh and shit? It’s a weird reddish, pink color. Why do I remember that specific color so much?” She replied, mystified.

Peter chuckled, “Because old school Rugrats was filled with some crazy ass imagery. It sticks in your mind.”

“Yeah but I remember thinking that I specifically wanted to eat that color...like maybe it would taste nice…like the imaginary food from Hook.” She passed it back to him, letting the smoke exhale in a little, circular puffs from between her lips.

“Do you want to get into a pretend food fight with me and see if anything appears?” He grinned.

Her red rimmed eyes squinted back at him as she laughed, “With the way these munchies have been hitting me the past few minutes, I think it might actually happen. I could imagine food hard enough to make it show up.”

His mind started to wander as a hungry smile spread across his face, imagining all the food he could eat, and he spoke with a dreamy whisper, “Pizza bagels.”

“What?”

“Let’s make pizza bagels. ‘M hungry. Starvin’. Gonna die if I don’t get some food in me.”

Her eyes glowed with excitement at the idea, “Pizza bagels. Yes, you’re a genius!”

“I know,” he giggled, it bubbled out of him without any self control. It wasn’t the weed that did it. It was her. He felt free when he was with her. He flicked out the joint against the ashtray balancing on the edge of the tub. “I really am. Smartest man alive, probably.”

She snorted, “Okay, I wouldn’t go that far. Get your ego in check, Parker, before I have to slap some sense back into you.”

He beamed at her, his love consumed him, feeling it outshine every other emotion rattling around inside of him. She was beautiful. Stunning. Picture perfect. He wanted to hang her up on his wall like an expensive piece of art so he could admire every day of his life.

Her shoulders shrunk up to her ears under the intensity of his gaze.

“Stop that,” she whispered. “Don’t look at me with those eyes or I’ll kick you. I’ve got a perfect aim for your crotch in this position.”

Peter shook his head, “Nope, sorry, I refuse. I can’t help it. You look…perfect. The nicest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“You’re stoned.”

“Yes. Doesn’t change the fact that your lips look very enticing.” He winked at her and tried to scoot forward to get a taste.

Her socked foot landed against his chest, pushing him back in place, “I thought we were making pizza bagels, not kissing. Weren’t you just starving a minute ago?”

“Starving for you, maybe.”

“Peter!” She let out a loud laugh, keeping him at bay with her outstretched leg.

He was so in love. Completely enamored. Whipped. Head over heels. Trash for her. Whatever he wanted to call it. He belonged to her so wholly. His bleeding heart was in her hand for the rest of his life. He would follow her to the ends of the earth and back again.

“If you don’t let me kiss you right this very second, I am going to turn this shower on.” His hand reached over his shoulder to grip onto the shower knob with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

She gave a sharp inhale, “You wouldn’t dare.”

His eyebrows raised, taking on that challenge, “Oh really?”

She knew she fucked up the second before the shower burst to life. From his position in the tub, it shot over his head to spray directly into her face. She shrieked and fell back, sliding down the sloped edge of the tub until she was nearly on her back.

It was all the opportunity he needed to pounce. He leapt on top of her to the sound of her laughter and blocked the shower stream from her face with his back. His arms wrapped protectively around her head as he laid over her. Water pooled around them, warming their bodies, and soaking through their clothes.

They didn’t feel it.

All he could feel was the devoted love burning a hole in his chest where his heart used to be.

She giggled up at him, blinking water droplets from her eyes, and whispered, “You’re an ass.”

He laughed in response and crashed his lips over hers, mumbling against them, “You love me.”

She sighed in content. Her arms snaked around his neck to draw him closer, melting happily into his kiss.

“I do.”

#i will take every opportunity to stick this man in a tub or shower #andrew garfield #tasm #tasm x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter #tasm peter x reader #tasm fic #tasm peter fic #tasm peter parker fic

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untilwedont · 1 year ago

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Better Luck Next Time

a/n: this is a remake of my first ever fic on tumblr :) thank u so much for 1000 followers, that means so much to me 🌸💌

pairings: Peter Parker x M!Reader

Warnings: Angst, $u!c!de, Depression, Cussing

“m/n, it was just a kiss! one kiss! i-it meant nothing!” peter exclaimed. he was lying, like usual. the lies that he told just became more and more frequent. his eyes were completely dry, but he was very obviously stressed. maybe it wasn’t from the fact that he was going to lose m/n, but that fact that he was caught. “a kiss?! peter thats bullshit and you know it! I— I thought we had something!-“ m/n yelled back, although he was cut off by pete. “we do have something!” he tried to calm you, but that was just his way of manipulating you into loving him again.

“oh, but did we still have something when I saw you not only kiss her, but— but touch her? Your hands were all over her, peter! so don’t..- don’t tell me that we have something when you know we don’t!” at that point, tears streamed down m/n’s face like a waterfall, never ending. “m/n..” peter tried talking, but was quickly shut down.

“just save it, peter. all the things I did before with you, I wish I could take it all back.. everything! because it never meant anything to you, did it? I swear I tried to do everything I could to keep this relationship stable, but obviously that meant nothing. God— i wish i never met you.”

peter was silent. his mouth was slightly agape, but not a word came out of it. maybe he was left speechless, maybe he really couldn’t care enough to stabilize the relationship. the second maybe is probably the most accurate one..

“peter im done. we’re done. I never want to see you again.” m/n said, leaving the room without giving peter the chance to say something.

when you got home, you were a crying mess. you didn’t have to look in the mirror to know it, it was just obvious. nobody was home. It was just you alone. alone with your thoughts. ones that weren’t so good to have. nonetheless, you took this as a chance. something you’d regret, or probably wouldn’t.

you didn’t want to stay anymore. you couldn’t. life was hard enough already, and peter cheating was just the cherry on top. opening the bathroom cabinet, you grabbed a container that just so happened to be filled with pills. you looked up at the mirror. “i look like a mess.” you mumbled, shaking heavily as you opened the cap of the pill bottle.

you dumped a handful onto your shaky hands, setting the container on the ground. a minute passed as you just stared at yourself, pondering your thoughts. slowly, your hands raised to your mouth, though it didn’t feel like it was from decision.

shoving them into your mouth, you swallowed best you could before leaning your back against the wall. your vision became blurry as you slid down slowly. your breathing became heavier and it felt like your throat was slowly closing. you became hot. sweat dripped down from your forehead. you knew it was just a matter of time before death came along. “time for a nice, long nap..”

——————

OG:

"M/N, I promise, it was just a kiss!." Peter tried telling me. He was lying, I knew he was. Not even a single tear coming out his eyes. Eyes dry, as mine were glossy. Tears coming out of my eyes, rolling down from my cheek onto the hard floor. "A kiss?! Are you joking Peter? You guys were all up on each other. How do you expect me to sit here and just... believe the lies you're telling me?!". "M/N..." I cut him off , "No peter. You know, who was there with you when you felt down? when you felt like you couldn't continue on anymore? Who was with you every step of the way? I was Peter. Did you ever decide to check up on me? On how I was ever feeling?. Peter, I swear on my life I always try." Peter was speechless, but I could tell he didn't care. He never did. Or maybe I was being too overdramatic? Surely not, right? "I'm done with you peter. I'm fed up with you. I never want to see you again." I was sure I'd never see him again. Before he could speak, I walked out. I slammed the door behind me and ran home. G

I got home, I looked like a crying mess. I knew it did but I didn't mind. I noticed no one was home so I took this as my chance. I knew if I didn't, I wouldn't want to do it later. I couldn't stay in this horrible world any longer. I grabbed a container that held pills and ran to the bathroom. As I opened the container, I looked up at the mirror. "God I look horrible". I thought to myself. It didn't matter though, soon i'd be gone. I took a handful of pills and shoved them in my mouth. I slowly sat on the ground, my whole body shaking. Is this what it's like? As I looked around the room, everything became blurry. I slowly closed my eyes, knowing what was about to happen to me. Better luck next time.

#male reader #gay #malereader #male!reader #peter parker x malereader #peter parker #marvel x male reader #peter parker x male reader #andrew garfield x male reader #tom holland x male reader

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reverieblondie · 1 year ago

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Neighbors

Chapter 1: Spider-Catcher

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: None for this chapter ;) but be warned this series will be SMUTTY!

Summary: Moving to a new city could be challenging for anyone. Your new home is taking a lot of getting used too. Maybe you can make a friend, preferably someone who is okay with catching spiders...

A/N: Okay...I know this isn't Miguel content...but we are just going to pretend it's 2014 so I can have my moment with tasm!peter. This story was originally for Peter B. but then I watched The amazing Spider-Man and emotions took over. This will be a series I will be writing so please look for updates. Also I have a Miguel series in my drafts and a small dark fic for him. Plus I am also working on Gabriel O'Hara fic as well so hope you will keep your eyes out for those. Please comment if you want to be on my tagging list! And request are open!

Word Count: 1,787

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Chapter 1: Spider-catcher

“Hey on your left!”

A man on a bike rushes past you while you are walking. Hands filled with overflowing grocery bags, you had not seen that you had wandered into the bike lane. Jumping out of the way you narrowly avoid getting mowed down by the angry cyclist.

“Mororon!” the man yells back at you

“I'm sorry!” escapes your lips as you shout out to the man who is long zipped by “dick…” you mudder under your breath. Sure you were in the wrong lane but you didn’t see your mistake so he shouldn’t have been so angry with you.

You sigh, taking a mental note: watch out for New York bike riders…stay out of their lane

The short walk from the store ends when you reach your new apartment building, well, new to you. The complex itself was ancient in a bit of a sketchy area but the rent was cheap for New York, so you would not rethink your dwelling too much, though sometimes it was hard to stay optimistic.

When you first moved into the apartment it was…depressing…It had bare walls with some cracks, the smell of smoke completely taking over the place, and decked out with some ancient appliances you were grateful at least worked. The last three days had been spent moving in your furniture, getting a job, and scrubbing down every wall in your apartment to rid of any suspicious grime. Now with your apartment decorated and you living there for the past few days, you felt like you were finally adjusting to the residence.

You hope that once you get your groceries in and have your first home-cooked meal in the place it will definitely feel like home. Being new to living on your own and new to the city everything was taking some…adjusting. Call it cliche but you had always dreamed of moving to New York ever since you were a little girl, so when you got the chance to move up here for school you were eager to jump at the opportunity. Who wouldn’t want to move to the city where dreams are supposed to come true right?

Now that you're living it however it was not the tale of living up your dreams like you had envisioned as a child. In your dreams, you expected to live in a large lavish apartment, unlike the more than modest one you were currently in. You would have tons of friends and go out every day, your going out consists of you going to pick up take-out and as for friends, you didn’t know anyone.

Classes didn’t start for a few days and you started work tomorrow, hopefully, some friendship opportunities will present themselves soon. Another childish thought you had in your mind was, that you would be friends with everyone at your complex, but with the way people seemed less than friendly towards you, that thought was seeming to fade more and more. Just need to stay positive, you haven't even been here a week, don’t let it get you down, was the mantra you just kept repeating in your head.

Pushing through the front door of the complex, you make a beeline for the elevator. There is no way you are going to be carrying all your groceries up the stairs where you live on the 12th floor, no way that is happening! Getting into the elevator after making the journey from the store to your apartment; you're thankful that the cramped elevator is empty so early in the morning.

Living on the 12th floor had its perks but also had its cons, especially when you had a slow elevator. It takes a creaking and shaking eternity to get to your floor; you're sure your ice cream must be starting to melt by now. Finally hearing the ding you get off and walk across your floor. As you set your groceries down, digging for your keys in your purse, slight movement catches your eyes forcing you to look up towards your door.

Right on your door above the knob was the biggest spider you had ever seen. Spiders and you had never been best friends, in no way did you want to kill one, you just thought that it was best they lived their lives away from you and your home. Looking at the spider it seems harmless, it’s not like it seems poisonous or life-threatening. Maybe you can just scare it? Shoo it away? It's huge but maybe it will get scared and run off your door. Just be tough, it's just a spider…a huge spider…with creepy eight legs…and fangs…staring at you….

Shuddering at the thought of the spider you can feel yourself developing arachnophobia by the second. Getting a grip on yourself, you push down the bubbling fear and motion your hand like you're waving the spider off. Your whole body teases hoping it won't run anywhere near you or worse jump on you. It’s just a dumb spider, what could it really do to you?

Little did you know that this spider was no punk, this spider must have seen a thing or two because instead of being normal and running off it, hissed and you swear it jumped towards you!

The sudden movement of the spider makes you recoil with a startled scream. Now would you usually jump like this? No, but this spider was out for blood you could see it in his evil eight eyes!

As you're moving back in panic, the door across from yours flies open with a guy around your age coming out of it looking alarmed. The sudden appearance startled you causing you to jump away from him, landing your back on the door you were just screaming at. The fluffy-haired guy looks at you with wide eyes not understanding at all what is happening.

Opening your mouth to apologize and give an explanation you turn and see the spider close to your face, The sudden proximity makes you scream again which in turn makes the neighbor scream.

Jumping from your door you grab onto the stranger and hide behind his back using him as a human shield from the spider, “Get it! Get it! Get it!” is all you can manage as you cling to his shirt. His hands are raised in surprise as you paw at his back, keeping your eyes on the spider. His eyes are on you with that same look of confusion on his face as to why some random person is screaming and now clinging to him.

“What are you talking about?” He asks in a confused tone and a hint of frustration.

Looking up at him, pointing to your door you're an incoherent mess, “H-h-huge spider!”

“Huge spider…” He repeats before he looks at your door and sees the spider, in your eyes it’s an aggressive beast, to his eyes it's a common spider seen around the building all the time.

Understanding the situation he sighs and you take it as a sign to let go of the person you don’t even know. Watching as he shakes his head and goes back into his apartment you feel your heart sink that you won’t be getting help for your spider problem. Approaching your door you look around trying to figure out a plan, but suddenly a hand is tapping your shoulder. Turning around, you see he has reappeared with a paper and an empty Chinese take-out box nudging you to move out of the way.

Standing back you watch as he effortlessly places the box over the spider and then slides the paper under it. As you're watching him trap the creature you start to really take in his appearance. Looking at his outfit you see a worn-out T-shirt (crumpled in the back thanks to your grabbing) and plaid sleep pants, brunet hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush all morning. Now that you're looking at him closely, you can admire his athletic build with some great arms and large hands….damn…plus that face, though he looks completely exhausted he's still…kinda cute.

Once the spider is caught he closes the box and turns to you, quickly you adjust your gaze from his hands back to his face. Though when you look up at him with a smile you are only met with a look of annoyance, alright seems peeved. Wanting to lighten up the situation and thank him you go to say thank you but he just walks past you with a grumble.

“Dramatic…”.

Dramatic! The word echoes in your head leaving you slack-jawed as you watch him leave down the hall to the elevator disappearing inside. How can he call you dramatic, that thing was ferocious and sure you screamed and cowered but you're not dramatic! Plus he doesn't even know you. In a huff you finally get your keys and unlock your door, turning your head towards the elevator then to the door across from yours you roll your eyes.

Putting away your groceries you're still thinking about your grumbling neighbor, so much for you thanking him for his help. If he wants to call you dramatic you would be dramatic and not thank him. So much for the possibility of having the spider-catching neighbor as a friend.

As you're putting away your stuff your frustration must hit a peak because you decide it's time for you to give him a piece of your mind. Nobody just insults you like nothing! Who knows maybe he would respect you for it. Going over to your door you open it and see him about to enter his apartment turning his head to look at you with an unimpressed gaze.

Stepping out, you fold your arms before speaking, “Excuse me, but what gives you the right to think it’s okay to call me dramatic?”

Turning to face you he mirrors your stance “Oh, you heard that? I mean you were the one screaming over a spider.”

“A huge and scary spider”

Peter holds his hands up in mock defense, “You know you're right, I barely made it out with my life.” he says in a voice dripping in sarcasm. - great he's a smartass…

“Whatever, thanks a lot, next time I will handle it on my own.”

“Just make sure to keep the noise down next time.”

Rolling your eyes you shoot him a dirty look as you start closing the door,

“Just wait till you see the cockroaches…” he mutters

Your motion comes to a quick halt “What?!”

“Nothing~”

With that last remark, he shuts the door leaving you with your thoughts of all the other creepy critters this place could be littered with. He’s messing with you, right?

Right?!

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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int-writersmind · 1 year ago

Text

The Quid Pro Quo

Paring: College! Peter Parker x Reader (reader's an English major)

Summary: On a rainy night, sparks fly when the two of you exchange notes on each others classwork.

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre: Fluff

authors note: hey, I might be a recent college graduate, doesn't mean everything is accurate ok? 🤭

Light rain taps against the window of Empire State University's library windows. You find yourself alone on the second floor at a table, wanting to tear your hair out over your Physics homework.

It was Friday night, the library was practically empty since most students were out partying or at the very least not thinking about their classwork. You, on the other hand, had made a deal with a fellow student to help one another on each’s work, a classic quid pro quo. You, an English major, were gonna exchange helpful notes on your classmate's Frankenstein paper that was due Monday, and he, in return, would help you prepare for your Physics test the following Tuesday. It was a great idea, brilliant even, if only Peter Parker weren’t running late.

You check your phone one more time before standing up and stretching your legs. You walk over to the big gothic looking window your table was next to, glancing at the rain smacking into the glass.

God, there were so many things you could have been doing right now instead of standing here like a young wife waiting for her husband to return from the sea. Like curling up with a nice book, with a hot cup of your favorite beverage, getting lost in whatever world and-

“Sorry I’m late!” came a familiar voice.

You turn and see that Peter Parker had decided to finally make an appearance after all. With your arms crossed, you watch as he quickly runs up the steps, tripping and almost falling while doing so. “I was starting to think you died or something.” You say quite sarcastically.

“Oh much worse,” Peter says, “Subway delays.” As you return to your seat, Peter sits on the other side, quickly taking out his own laptop and notebook. “What should we start on?”

“I don’t know if I can stand anymore Physics right now,” You glance at your phone, A Daily Bugle notification on top: Spider-Man v Lizard! Havoc on the A-Line!. You swipe it away, maybe it was better to go straight to the dorms after this. “Let’s just start on this Frankenstein paper since it’s much more open-ended.”

“Boo, I hate open ended,” Peter turns on his laptop, “At least with science everything can be quantified.”

“What about theories huh?”

“Theories can be backed up or disproven! English, it’s-it’s sooo subjective.” Peter sighs, “What do you mean the blue curtains represent depression! I have blue curtains, but not because I’m depressed but because they were on sale!”

“Ha-ha, like I haven’t heard that before” You shake your head and roll your eyes, “So, let’s see what you have. Wait, maybe it’s better if I-” You get up from your seat and walk over to sit on the chair next to Peter. “That’s better, now we can look at the screen together.”

Peter places one arm on the back of your chair, no thought really behind it. You pause for a moment before fake coughing, re-focusing on the screen in front of you.

Peter was one year older and the two of you met at an English course, Literature by Women, a gen-ed for him but a required class for you. You got to know each other the first week of the semester when your Professor assigned partner work to go through a set of poems. Ever since then the two of you would occasionally text each other with simple questions about class. That’s when you found out Peter was in a higher track for Physics and became an absolute annoyance when it came to questions. But Peter always lent a hand and never with any bitterness.

“You ok?” Peter asks.

You look at Peter whose face reads concern, “Yeah, just a little tired that’s all. Long day.” You turn back to the screen glancing at the title and opening lines of Peter’s paper.

“Ugh same,” groans Peter, “I got so caught up with something, I forgot to eat lunch”

“Oh, I think I have something.” You stop a few lines into the first paragraph, reaching over the table to grab your bag on top, you dig inside until you find half of a sandwich that you bought earlier. “Here, I didn’t know this sandwich had tomatoes and I just find them disgusting.” You make a face of disgust that causes a small laugh to come from Peter.

“You know you can always just take the tomatoes off right?”

“What about the tomato juices?” You say, “The remnant of the tomato never goes away!” You make a huge swapping gesture, “Do you want the damn sandwich or not?”

He puts his hands up in fake surrender, “Ok, ok.”

Peter takes his arm off the back of your chair scooting closer to the table before digging into the sandwich. You settle into reading Peter’s paper about the ethics of Dr. Frankenstein.

“Ok…ok, what you have so far it’s…”

“Horrible..terrible–” Peter sighs.

You turn and gently smack Peter on the arm, “Oh shut up,” You say, “It’s a good foundation, clear thesis, your paragraphs for the most part support it–”

“But…”

“But,” You widen your eyes and make a face. “You focus too much on the actual science of everything going on, focus more on the emotional. Victor uses the Creature for his own selfish desire not only for scientific exploration.”

“You got all of that from my paper?”

“More or less,” You turn your attention back to the computer screen, scrolling over the paper again. “See, anyone can write a thorough paper if they put their mind to it.”

“And…anyone can pass Physics if they put their mind to it as well. Let’s switch topics.”

“Oh, god no,” You say. “The greatest weakness of English majors…Science!”

You lean back as if you were fake fainting, a little too far back as you almost tip over in your seat, but Peter catches your arm just in time. “Woah there Faint-y, can lose you yet.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Peter closes his laptop, and grabs his notebook, you hand him your Professor given study guide. Peter glances at the document, nodding and shaking his head at certain terms. “Ok little English major, time to blow your mind with some science!”

“Certainly, but not in the way you're imagining.”

Peter just rolls his eyes and points to one of the first lines in the study guide that you're underlining and adding several question marks to. “Let’s start here.”

Your little tipping incident sent your chair slightly further away from Peter’s than earlier. With the underside of his hand, he pulls your chair, and you, closer to him. This causes you to hitch your breath. “Pete you gotta stop doing that.” You joke.

Peter doesn’t look up from the paper. “Stop doing what?”

You huff and glance away before looking back at him. “God are you purposely annoying or just clueless?”

Peter finally looks at you, a slight smile on his face, “I just need you close to me…to-to, uh, to explain this concept. Obviously.”

“Yeah,” You blow a raspberry. “Obviously.”

You groan, letting your head fall into your hands on top of the table, “I’m resigned to the fact that I might have to drop out of Physics.”

“No, don't! Physics is super fun!” Peter says with a little bit too much enthusiasm.

You peek one eye through your fingers, “Pete, I don’t think we’re working on the same frequency.”

“Ok, well I have a totally funny Physics joke for you,” Peter readies himself, “What did the male magnet say to the female magnet? Seeing you from the back, I thought you were repulsive. But seeing you from the front, I find you rather attractive.”

You pick your head up and lightly punch Peter in the arm, “You’re lucky you’re cute, because I’m already–Ah, spider!”

A modest size brown spider crawls out of reach from your hand on the table. You reflexively go to swat at it but Peter catches your hand before you could do so. You glance at Peter’s hand on yours rather than at him. He quickly lets go of your hand before he goes and picks up the spider ever so gently.

You follow him as he walks over to the window, the rain slowing down. He cracks open the window, urging the bug outside. You lean against the other side of the window, arms crossed over your chest, you can’t help it when a dry laugh escapes your mouth, “Sorry, but are you secretly some kind of spider-whisper.”

“Hmm,” Peter closes the window, “Maybe. Just looking out for the little guy I suppose.”

You can’t help but smile, truly genuine this time. You reach out and take one of Peter’s hands. “Come on, I think we’ve earned a break.”

You pull Peter by the hand, taking a second to close his laptop, and throwing your jacket over everything on the table. You turn around, switching what hand is holding on to Peter’s. You continue down one path weaving up and down other bookshelves, passing empty tables, you make a sudden turn down an aisle letting go of Peter’s hand. You trail your fingers over the spines of the books, as Peter follows behind you, hands in his pocket. When you make it to the end of the aisle, you stand in front of a window, the rainstorm continuing on. “I actually find rainstorms to be rather romantic.” You say.

“The Shelly kind or the Valentine kind?” Peter says, leaning against the bookshelf.

“Both.” You peek back, a smirk playing on your lips. You walk over to Peter, standing with just enough space for someone to squeeze through.

“Not so romantic when you’re caught up in it.” Peter glances at the window, then at you. “I’ve been caught…too many times.”

“So have I,” You step a little closer, testing the waters, Peter doesn’t react. “But you have to admit there’s something, I don’t know, intimate, about being sheltered in place, with just one other person. Like under an umbrella, or the awning of some corner store bodega–”

“Or in-between bookshelves at your college’s library?” Peter’s hand comes up to gently grasp your hand, your fingers slowly interlocking with one another. He pulls you in close, in between his legs. You place your other hand on his chest to prevent yourself from falling. “I might not be an English major but I think I can read between the lines.”

“And if I wasn’t so tired, I would totally come up with a Physics joke.” You response, your face flush red.

He brings his other hand to your face, his palm resting on your cheek, his fingers slowly disappearing into the nape of your hair. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Hmm, maybe…let me ask you one question?” You say.

“Shoot.”

“Can I kiss you first?”

Peter smiles, then nods. You bring the hand that was on his chest upwards, sliding up his neck, until your own hand is entangled in his hair. You close your eyes and lean forward, pressing your lips ever so gently to his. He pauses for a moment before kissing you back, slowly, taking his time. His lips felt soft against your own, warm and comforting, even if you could still taste the tomatoes from earlier. You can’t help but giggle at the thought.

“What is it?” Peter says between kisses.

You move away just a little, you quickly peck him on the lips, once, twice–”It doesn’t really matter.”

Peter deepens the kiss, bringing both hands to hold your face, his thumbs gently caressing the skin beneath them. You loop both your arms around his neck, letting your body fall into his, your chest pressing against his. His tongue enters your mouth and it falls in rhythm with yours, dancing an unseen dance.

The two of you stop for a moment, foreheads resting on one another. “You know I’m still dropping Physics right?” You say through closed eyes and heavy breathing.

“Then I’ll keep kissing you until you change your mind.” Peter answers.

He holds you in his arms as he stands up fully, keeping his grip on you tight as he kisses you again. One of his hands drifts to your bottom, an open hand just resting on top of your clothing.

“Oh Parker,” You whisper. “Not as innocent as you look.”

“You have no idea…”

He buries his head into your neck, placing kisses up and down that make your eyes roll back. “We should…we should definitely continue this study session back at my dorm…since you know… the library closes soon.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” Peter says as he now moves on to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe.

You break away from him, pushing him back ever so lightly, taking his hand in yours. You lead him down the aisle, half-walking, half running.

“Come on, I still have a Physics test to pass”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey there, thanks for reading! Hope you liked it. If you like this consider checking out my other fluff-y story Potential Customer . Goodbye Void!

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