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spider-stark · 28 days

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INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place.

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange.

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown.

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter.

Or, at least, none that mattered.

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do.

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play.

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift.

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether.

And Peter never even asked why.

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?”

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.”

And how true that must have been.

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too.

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night?

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.”

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?!

“Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?”

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.”

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter.

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.”

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.”

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter.

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.”

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used.

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar.

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite.

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.”

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now.

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?”

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.”

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too.

“Did he?”

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.”

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's.

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him.

“Well did he have anything useful?”

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter.

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups.

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0.

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration.

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear.

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?”

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation.

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.”

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite.

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?”

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.”

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?”

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch.

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?”

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him.

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.”

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.”

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.”

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth.

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.”

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?”

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?”

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.”

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now!

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-”

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!”

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.”

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief.

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded.

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere.

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now.

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down…

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.”

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell.

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered.

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night?

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.”

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips.

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world.

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all.

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone.

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting.

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway.

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!”

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!”

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else.

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?”

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?”

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.”

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse.

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully.

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter.

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!”

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.”

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?”

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task.

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway.

“Mj happened.”

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?”

“Yep. That’s the one.”

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.”

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.”

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease.

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth.

You sucked in a breath.

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.”

His brow snapped up. “What changed?”

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours.

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth.

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?”

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance.

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.”

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-”

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.”

“I’m not pretending-”

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.”

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.”

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest.

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.”

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?”

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

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lotus-n-l0ve · 10 months

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𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐞𝐞

— Peter Parker x Stark!Female Reader

☯ SYNOPSIS : When Peter's girlfriend pays him a little visit in Midtown High School and meets his long time bully, Flash Thompson.

☯ WARNINGS : Au, stark!reader, Peter is barely present in the fic, cursing.

☯ NOTE FROM LOTUS : Hey guys. I have been having such a bad writer's block that I couldn't write anything for past few weeks. I'm writing this to, hopefully, get over my writer's block.

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 || 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The red Saleen S7 car, parked outside of Midtown High School, gaining curious glances from the students and passersby. You wait, sitting on the driver's seat, with your phone in your hand. The past week you were out of the country with your father so you had not seen him for the past seven days and barely got to talk to him.

So when you came back today, you wanted to give him a surprise visit. You came here, all confident, but now you were doubting your choices. Maybe you should just wait till school ends?

Fuck it. You are Y/N Stark, girl. Since when do you get nervous?

You checked yourself last time in the back mirror. Perfect as always. You throw yourself a flying kiss and put on your favourite pair of glasses. The car door opens with a click and you get down. It was not long before you were walking down the halls of Midtown High, making everyone stop what they were doing and gawk at you.

You chuckle in your mind. Of course you loved being the centre of attention. You were Tony Stark's daughter after all. Now there's one problem. You don't know exactly where Peter is. You look around the hall before your eyes fall on a boy, sitting with two girl on each side.

Without any second thoughts, you walk up to him, "Hey, do you know where Peter Parker is?"

Flash tore his eyes from the beautiful girls in his arm to the legs standing in front of him. He raised his eyes to your face. His gaze so disgusting that made you want to throw up.

"Talking to me, angel?" Flash stood up, abandoning the girls.

You roll your eyes at his pathetic attempt of flirting. At least he got the angel part right.

"I asked if you know where Peter Parker is." You deadpan.

"Peter Parker? Oh! You mean penis Parker. What do you need with him? I'm sure I can help you way more than he can." Flash wiggled his eyebrows at you, giving you a suggestive look.

You just stared at him, completely unimpressed and now angered. This pathetic flirt has the audacity to call your baby penis— wait a damn minute. Penis Parker? Something clicked in your mind.

"Are you Flash Thompson?" You ask before you could stop yourself.

Surprise flashed on his face before a smug smirk appeared on his face.

"Wow! I know that I'm famous but not much. Damn!" He said, running a hand through his hair.

You giggle at his ignorance as you take off your glasses. Folding it and keeping it safely in your hand bag, you step towards him, closing the distance between you two.

"Listen here you little shit." The smirk on his fell at your words, "If I ever hear from Peter that even got anywhere near him, I'll kidnap you, shave off your head, leave you on a deserted island and post your disgusting nudes all over the internet."

"Wh—"

"Shut up and listen." Flash gulped with fear, his face covered in sweat. The menacing aura around you looked scarier than the monster under his bed.

You say while jabbing on his forehead with your pointer finger, "Don't think of him, don't look at him, don't walk on his direction, don't breathe on his direction. Don't go anywhere around my boyfriend. Got it, you failed experiment of a chimpanzee?"

"Y-yes, I....um, I-I..... I under-understand." He nodded his head vigorously. Anything to get away from you.

"Good." You back away, giving him space to finally breathe in relief. Fuck! He didn't know Peter's girlfriend was this scary.

"Y/N?" The familiar voice of your boyfriend called from behind and your demeanour changed like lizards change colours.

"Hey, Pete." You walk up, giving him a quick kiss, "let's go, you are skipping class today. I missed you."

You linked your arm with him and started dragging him out of the school. Peter complied with you because he did miss you a lot too and skipping one day was not going to do any harm on him.

"I missed you a lot." Peter smiled down at you.

You left the school, leaving behind a embarrassed Flash. After you two left did Flash realised the crowd of students circling around him in the hallway. And they were chuckling while looking down at his pants?

Flash looked, "FUCK!"

His blue jeans were now dark blue, water spread on the floor around him. He had peed in his pants. His face turned red with anger and embarrassment. He should not have fucked with Peter.

FUCK!

All the rights and credits of the characters, gifs, songs and pictures used here belongs to their rightful owners.

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generalkenobee · 5 months

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Imagine Peter Missing You ...after a long night of patrolling Peter comes in through your window, careful as to not wake your family.

You looked over and saw him, still in his red and blue cald suit "hi baby, how'd everything go?"

When he didn't respond you looked up to see your boyfriend taking off his mask, his hair falling exactly how you liked it. Slightly messy, maybe even sweaty "Peter?"

He pulled you up out of your chair and pushed you into the bed "hey I still have biolo-"

"I'll do it for you" and you knew he would. He'd wake up early the next morning to do all your homework and more.

You felt his knee move up in between your legs "you're so beautiful" you pushed your weight down onto his knee. Peter brought his head down to kiss your neck.

Even though you were the one grinding and getting friction, he was the one moaning and sighing into your skin.

"long night?" In response he only nodded his head

"I missed you so much..I want you now" he paused looking up at you "please"

"here.." you got up and had your boyfriend sit with his back on the head bored. As your actions continued Peter realized what was about to happen "baby no-"

"why not?" You looked up at him.

"I don't want you to do t-that I want you to feel go-"

You cut him off by shoving him into your mouth "(Y/N s-stop" peters hand came down to hold your face while you sucked him in a little deeper each minute "why?"

"because I want you to feel.."

You giggled to yourself "oh I can feel it"

#x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker #mcu!peter x reader #mcu!peter parker #marvel! peter Parker #tobey!peter parker smut #tobey!peter parker x reader #tobey!spiderman #tobey!peter parker #tobey!peter x reader #tom! spider man #spider man smut #spider man #tom! peter x reader #tom!peter parker x reader #tom!spiderman

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angelofthenight · 1 year

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Maguire!Peter: My (y/n) is ranked for top 10 on Pokémon Go.

Garfield!Peter: My (y/n) is top 8 in candy crush

Holland!Peter: My (y/n)’s top 5 on FBI’s most wanted list

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supercap2319 · 6 months

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Y/N walked towards the living room, where his boyfriend and his two Doppelgängers were watching TV. Their eyes were glued to the screen, until Y/N came into the room. "Oh, hey, Y/N. What's up?"

"I need some advice and you guys will tell me the truth right?"

"Of course." Peter one said.

"The truth about what?" Peter two asked.

Instead of answering, Y/N turned around and unbuckled his pants and pulled them down to reveal a pink g string over his lower regions. He shook his ass in their collective faces, as he innocently asked: "Be honest. Does this pink g string make me look fat? Does it make my ass look too big?"

All three Peter Parkers could do was just stare at the pink string inside the crack of Y/N's ass as they desperately wanted to see the full package of his newly acquired underwear.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #peter parker #petee Parker x male reader #peter 2 #peter 3 #andrew garfield #tobey maguire #tom holland #spiderman #no way home #Spiderman x male reader

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petersoftparker · 3 months

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Medical Assistance needed?

Spider-Man x Civillian!Reader

Warnings: kidnapping, gagging, concussion

The only thing you knew for sure waking up, was that you probably have a concussion. Your eyes weren’t even open yet, but nausea made you gag immediately. “Oh shit, fuck okay” Peter panicked, rolling you onto your side. It took a few minutes of you doing breathing exercises for the feeling that you were about to throw up to pass.

“I’m gonna get us out of this, I promise” You laughed a little in disbelief, but still smiled at Peter reaching out beside you to squeeze his wrist. You didn’t know if it helped him at all, but It gave you some comfort feeling the faint rhythm of his heartbeat. “Don’t be a hero Peter.” You sucked in a breath before continuing “Not your fault we’re in this mess. Who knows maybe they just got the wrong people and they’ll let us go".

Peter sighed, not bothering to contradict you. You both knew that it was unlikely.

He repeated himself, trying to will himself to be as convincing as possible for you “It’s my job, I am going to get you out of here”. The statement making you pause before hesitantly asking “Your job? What are you talking about”.

“I’m your protector.” “Sorry, what?” You didn’t quite know if you heard him correctly, the ringing in your ears hadn’t fully gone away yet. You squinted giving him a quick once-over.

Peter had to take his wrist away, already regretting it as he did it. He occupied himself with ripping the bottom part of his shirt off to use a makeshift tourniquet for his leg while explaining “I was chosen by the Avengers, my duty is to protect you at all costs.”

“Don't wanna be mean but just gotta point out the obvious; you can’t do a pull-up."

He nervously smiled, still staring down at his lap “Surprise! I’m actually a superhero.”

He could tell you were one second away from freaking out about his previous statement, but the door was slammed open before you could. Peter wasn’t caught off guard but you unfortunately didn’t have the same abilities that Peter did. The loud noise and sudden light making you flinch away. Peter shifted his body, trying to give you a chance to adjust to the light and making a barrier between you and the villain.

The Villain cocked his head, smirk on her face. “Cute. Not effective, but cute.” Peter glared silently.

“Look, she doesn’t have anything to do with this. Leave her be and I can give you what you want.”

“And what is it exactly, that you think I want?” The Villain questioned, raising her eyebrow.

Before Peter could answer, someone else walked into the room. Peter noticed that they looked a bit panicked, speaking to the villain in a low tone eyes casted downward.

“Sir, Iron-Man has been seen on the perimeter”

“So deal with it.”

Silence overtook the room as the henchmen made no move to leave, before Villain sighed pinching the bridge of her nose. “Let me guess. You don’t know how.” With a nervous nod from henchmen, Villain snapped “You are incompetent. Fine, I’ll take care of it.”

She stormed out, swinging the door shut behind her. She didn’t notice the web attached to the handle, which allowed Peter to keep the door cracked open secretly.

“Okay, I’m sorry but we really got to get going. Can you stand?” When you didn’t answer right away he looked over at you to check if you were still awake, your dazed eyes meeting his. Dread pitted at the bottom of his stomach. His tone softened calling out your name quietly. He reached out cupping the back of your head, silently assessing for any major wounds. You responded, throwing a thumbs-up in the air quickly before dropping your hand on the ground “Mhmm, course I can stand. We gotta go?”

“Yep, we gotta go. We need to get away from the villains remember? Alright, here we go. Nice and easy.” He kneeled beside you for a moment, to slide one arm under your shoulders and the other under your knees. Once the hold felt stable, he slowly stood up. You gasped, not expecting the sudden movement. You squirmed, pushing a hand weakly at his chest “Let go. ‘m fine.”

He scoffed at your definition of ‘fine’ but offered a simple “Just relax honey, I’ve got you. We’re gonna go home now.” His grip tightened around you when you took his instructions very literally.

He could hear numerous heartbeats in the building, but since Iron-man’s arrived the number has been steadily dropping. He breathed out in relief and got to work. It was interesting to say the least, most of his missions he didn’t have a running commentary as he fought. “I’m so serious Peter. Listen to me. Why would you hide your abs from the world. Y’should fight the evil people without a shirt. Sometimes.” His cheeks flushed muttering under his breath “Oh my god, we need medical assistance right now”.

“Hate the little evil freaks. Not cool… Its like Luke yaknow. Would never do that to you.”

He furrowed his eyebrows looking down at you to ask “You would never do what to me?” He assumed you meant Luke Skywalker, but he was having trouble connecting the dots on where your mind went with the last part of your sentence. He was proven correct about his Star Wars guess when you forcefully grabbed his hand that was around your shoulders. “If I’m ever evil, I’ll let you keep this.” “Oh. Thank you.”

#marvel #peter parker #spider man #spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader #hero x civilian #peter parker fic #injured reader #tom holland #andrew garfield #tobey maguire

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prettybabybaby · 2 years

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bunny | peter parker !

¡ 18+ only ! ¡ minors do not interact !

word count: 10.9k

synopsis: Peter Parker has been your best friend for years. After you develop a relationship with somebody else, you see a side of him you've never seen before.

content warnings: RAPE/NONCON, blood, dark!peter parker, plus size!reader, negative self talk, insecurities, slow burn, implied stalking, oral (f! receiving), slapping, degradation, spit, unproteced sex, creampie, lmk if i missed any

¡ marvel masterlist !

You were sixteen when you met Peter Parker.

He had shyly approached you, a blush high on his cheeks as he handed you a stack of papers. Confused, you simply stared at them, eyebrows cinched and lips slightly down-turned.

You were well aware of who Peter Parker was. He was a member of the Midtown Academic Decathlon team that you were also part of; though you never directly interacted it’s him due to your nerves. He seemed kind, he was lanky and a little geeky, making him the butt of a lot of jokes. Much like you were. For opposite reasons, of course.

You were often teased and ridiculed for your size. You were heavier and much curvier than other girls your age. You had a puffy face and a matching plump body, most people couldn’t look past that. So, to say the least, you weren’t very popular.

Peter Parker knew all about you. He had been watching you since your freshman year. He was mesmerized when first laid eyes on you. He swears he had never seen a more beautiful sight than you, taking little, shy steps like you were afraid to make your presence known. Your hair was done in the way he would grow to like best, and you wore a pretty blue plaid skirt and a white sweater. The skirt was a tad too long and he could sense your discomfort as you tugged it down even further. He remembers staring at you as you looked around with unfamiliarity and slight fear in your eyes. The innocence in your eyes was also hard to miss. You held textbooks to your chest, in an attempt to conceal your tummy. He watched as you stood alone, your cute nose making slight movements as you stood. Your nose wiggled like a little bunny. He felt the desire to protect you, keep you next to him and out of harm’s way. He regrets not approaching you that day. It would have saved you from a lonely year.

“I was told to give these to you,” he said silently, “I heard you missed a few days.”

“Oh,” you breathed, taking them from him, your chubby hands looking silly against his thin, veiny ones. Peter thought they looked perfect together. “Thank you, Peter,” you said, quickly pulling your hands away and hiding them behind your back when you saw his gaze on them.

His eyes lingered on where your hand was against his before he looked up at you and gave you a bright smile, “no problem.”

Peter walked you to your class after that, taking the empty seat beside you and discussing the subject matter with you. And to your surprise, he followed you to your next class, and the next, and the next. By the end of the day, you were quite fond of the boy. He was a lot kinder than you’d imagined, he even promised to see you the following morning for breakfast with Ned and MJ. Of course, you tried to decline but he wouldn’t let you leave without the promise of arriving on time.

This was years ago and your friendship had only gotten stronger.

Being friends with Peter was refreshing and comforting. He wasn’t like the other guys you’d met in university. He didn’t have any ulterior motives nor did he fetishize you. He did not attempt to coerce you or manipulate you into getting what he wants because you owed it to him. No, Peter would never do that.

Peter was actually the one to look after you, he made you aware of what those who sought you were really after. They want to take advantage of you, bunny, he’d said several times. They want to ruin you. He would never elaborate on what he meant when he said that and you didn’t like to pry. He just had a good judge of character is all.

Of course, Ned and MJ were your friends too and they were very nice to you as well, but you always felt that they were only acquainted with you for Peter’s sake. You never hung out with them without Peter present but you tried not to let it bother you.

Your goal for the year was to acquire your own circle of friends, and maybe even get a boyfriend after being single your entire life. Peter had a few girlfriends here and there, though nothing was ever serious. You couldn’t help but feel slightly envious of him, he had grown to be quite attractive, making it easy for him to make connections.

He had lost the baby fat on his cheeks, his jaw was now angular and his strong bone structure was one of his most prominent features on top of his big, brown eyes and muscular body. He was muscular in a lean way, a way that isn’t entirely noticeable under the sweaters he always wore.

Today Peter sat across from you, latte in hand as he basked in the morning sun. His tight black shirt highlighted his muscular arms and chest, you caught yourself staring as you sometimes did when he ditched the ill-fitting clothing. His chocolate brown curls framed his face beautifully, looking golden where they met the sun. His lips, colored like pink peonies, rested with the slightest pout.

You sipped your London fog, squinting as you looked up in search of the singing bird in the tree above your head. You caught sight of it. The creature’s delicate red feathers looked like fire in the golden sky as it flew away. Your stare fell on Peter again, “our 8 AM lecture was canceled today.”

Peter hummed, not moving from his previous state, “I know.”

You huffed, “why’re we here, then?” you set your cup down, “it’s way too early. We, no I, should be in bed.”

Peter’s lips quirked up into a smile, “I wanted to hang out.”

“At six-thirty A.M.? We could’ve hung out at a more reasonable hour, like, I don’t know, eleven,” you began ranting and you saw one of Peter’s eyes open slightly. “Or maybe twelve, we could’ve gotten breakfast or… or brunch!”

“You never eat breakfast,” he said, swinging his head forward, eyes now fully open and on you.

“I do…” you claimed, your nose scrunching, lips pouting.

Peter clicked his tongue, “not enough.”

“Well, whatever,” you opted to change the subject before he could continue further.

“We still could’ve met up later. Like I said, brunch.”

“I don’t know,” he began, sitting up all the way now, “I kinda like being out this early. It’s nice and quiet.”

“I guess so,” you murmured, leaning back to rest on your elbows.

Peter watched you, gaze moving from your Mary Jane-clad feet to your pretty hair. You wore a dress today. It was Peter’s favorite dress, not that you knew that. It was a lilac purple color and it had short, puffy sleeves. He liked the way the dress clung to your curves and complimented your skin tone. It was the shortest of all your dresses, so he especially liked the way it rode up your thighs when you sat down, making your pudgy thighs all the more visible to him. He stared at them now, noticing the way the plush fat pooled around you like a sea of soft flesh as you relaxed. He wanted to grab them, bury his face in them and drown in you.

His eyes ran up your body further, over the curve of your tummy and swell of your breasts. The necklace Peter had gifted you last Christmas sat prettily around your neck, resting on your bare chest above the heart-shaped neckline of your dress, rising and falling as you breathed. He stared at it, not noticing when you opened your eyes to look at him.

“Okay?” he heard you ask.

“Mhm,” he replied, tearing his eyes away and giving you a soft smile.

The morning had passed rather quickly and you perked up after your second tea of the day. Your last class of the day was your creative writing class. As you strode in, you took your usual seat in the front of the room, setting your things down beside you.

Your focus was on the board in front of you when you felt a gush of air on your left. You looked over, catching sight of a tall figure sitting down beside you.

“Hey,” the man exhaled, setting down his things next to yours.

You opened your mouth to respond but you ended up holding your hand up to signal a hello.

The man smiled, “I’m Harry,” he held a hand out for you to shake.

You looked at it, quietly introducing yourself as you took his pale hand. Your touch was featherlight as it took you by surprise when he gripped it tightly with a slight laugh.

Harry was effortlessly charming. He was cute and cool and he had a sharp sense of humor, you learned. But on top of that, he had a contagious smile and a gaze that made you feel like you were the most important person in the room. You often caught yourself gazing at him from the corner of your eye trying to be inconspicuous with your staring. He had shiny blonde hair that you thought resembled Peter’s. Only lighter and shorter and straighter and not really like Peter’s at all.

You weren’t sure why your mind had suddenly wandered to Peter. Maybe a part of you wondered what he would think of Harry. Or maybe you were subconsciously comparing them. You weren’t sure.

“Hey, um,” you turned towards Harry who had begun speaking. The class had ended and you were gathering your things. “We should meet up,” he grinned, “maybe at the library?”

You weren’t used to social invitations, much less from men like Harry.

“Does tomorrow at four work for you?”

You nodded, unable to find your voice. You felt blood rush to your face at the look he gave you next. It was like he was trying to figure you out, understand you with a simple glance. Like he was trying to read you like a book.

“Great,” he picked up your bag for you, “looking forward to it.”

Peter was laying on your bed when you arrived at your little studio apartment. He was half asleep, strong arms wrapped tightly around your stuffed bunny and surrounded by your assortment of other stuffed animals. He shot up at the sound of the door opening, “hey.”

“Do you ever go home?” you kicked off your shoes and set your bag down. “This place isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

In his mind it was. Just perfect. It kept you close.

“Why would I? You’re such good company, bunny.”

You snorted, “I’m sure that’s the reason and definitely not you trying to get away from Ned and Betty.”

You moved towards your bed, plopping down next to him, adjusting the skirt of your dress that had ridden up when you landed. Peter watched your hands as they rested on your tummy. He could see right down your dress. He could see the white bra hugging your tits, a little bow between the cups.

“What?” you asked, self-consciously moving your hand to your chin.

“Nothing. Don’t do that,” he looked at the ceiling. It bothered Peter when you did things like that. As if you weren’t the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

You simply huffed, “how did you even get in here?”

He motioned toward the open window, “you need to start locking it. One of these days a creep could just come waltzing in and you’d have no idea.”

“A creep like you,” you joked with a breathy laugh. You tore your stuffed bunny from his arms.

“Worse,” he said lazily.

Silence filled the room for a few seconds as Peter began to doze off again.

“I met this guy in class today.”

Peter was suddenly very awake. “Oh,” a pause, “who?”

“He said his name is Harry, I don’t know his last name but he was very nice.” You sounded excited, “we’re meeting up at the library tomorrow to study and get some work done.”

Get some work done. Sure, that’s what you were gonna do. Peter knew better than that. You didn’t, of course. That’s why you were so lucky to have Peter with you, by your side, protecting you from evil college guys who just wanted to get under your skirt. They wouldn’t have a clue what to do to you. How to make you feel good and have you purring sweetly in their ears…

“So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t break into my home.”

“Huh?”

You gave him an unamused look, “you weren’t listening.”

He grinned, “I’m always listening.”

You rolled your eyes, “I said, don’t come by just in case we come back here.”

Peter furrowed his brows in disgust. What business would he have coming back to your apartment if you were just going to study? Did he ask you if he could come over?

“Why would you do that?”

You shifted uncomfortably, “I don’t know…”

Peter felt sick.

“We should do something else instead. There’s a new Vietnamese place not far from here. MJ says they have really good pho.”

“Peter…” you started. He knew you were going to say no. You rarely said no to him. “How about Friday? We can get takeout and come back here and watch movies. Your pick.”

His first mistake was looking over at you. Your chubby cheeks and pretty lips pulled up into a sweet smile. Your eyes were pleading, please say yes, please say yes. His second mistake was giving in.

“Fine.”

Peter left your apartment shortly after that. You had spent the rest of the night going over the conversation trying to figure out where you went wrong. He seemed upset as he hugged you goodbye. His brown eyes didn’t hold the same warmth they always did. Maybe he thinks I’m trying to replace him. But that wouldn’t make any sense. You only just met Harry. You didn’t know anything about him besides his first name.

“Hey!” Harry called a tad too loudly for the library. He stood from his seat, waving you over.

In all honesty, you didn’t expect him to be there. It was a little before four and you had arrived with low expectations. Though this was only intended to be a study session and nothing more, Harry was a very attractive man. He was funny and charming and extroverted and you… were none of those things.

“Hi,” you mumbled as you neared the table he was seated at. It was in the far corner, furthest away from the librarian. Or any of the other stressed university students.

“I chose this table so we won’t have to whisper,” he smiled, patting the open seat beside him.

His eagerness made you blush. “Good idea,” your voice was still small.

He chuckled, “thanks,” he dramatically whispered.

You blushed further, “sorry.”

The both of you were silent as you took out your laptops.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for some time now,” he started. “I read one of your pieces when the semester started and I really enjoyed it. You’re a phenomenal writer.”

“Really?” he appeared nonchalant as he typed in his password. As if he hadn’t just given you the kindest compliment you had ever received.

“Yeah, it’s so obvious how passionate you are. I mean every time I look at you, you look so entranced by the books you read or by the professor or your work.”

He looked at you?

“Oh,” your face felt warmer, “um, thank you.”

He smiled at you, “no problem, it’s true.”

You felt butterflies in your tummy and you began to log into your laptop to avoid looking at him.

You began to work in silence, hyper-aware of every time Harry leaned in close to you, reading your story as you typed. He smelled of musk and vanilla. His head of blonde locks tickled your ear.

Eventually, you presumed he grew bored as he shut his laptop and turned to face you in his chair. You attempted to ignore him but your typing began to slow and your focus was only on the boy beside you.

You gave him a faux look of annoyance, “I thought we were here to study.”

“We are,” he propped his head up on his hand that rested on the table. “To study and get to know each other.”

Get to know each other.

That was unexpected.

You couldn’t ignore the butterflies that erupted in your tummy, “Oh, okay, yeah.”

Surprisingly, you had a decent amount in common with Harry. Of course, not overly so. Not like you and Peter. But this is a good thing. You’re making your own friends.

“Oh, he’s so lovely, Pete!” you gushed, your nose wiggling as you spoke.

“Mhm,” Peter watched you with a strange look, mouth full of boba pearls, “you’ve mentioned that.”

You gave him a smile that normally would have made him turn to mush. Only this time, it didn’t. Had you smiled at Harry like that?

“I’m excited!” you waved your hands in the air, “I’m making my own friends, Pete. I’m an independent woman now.”

He rolled his eyes as he took another sip of his tea, “good. Good for you.” He couldn’t help the bitter feeling that rested in the pit of his stomach.

Independent. You had made a single “friend” (Peter didn’t even want to think about that. He knew Harry was just using you, that’s not what friends do. You shouldn’t throw that term around like that. He was your friend. Peter was your friend.) and you already pegged yourself as independent. He could laugh in your face. You were far too pure to face the world without him by your side. Like hell you were independent.

You pouted, your eyes searching for his, “are you angry with me?”

Angry? Why would he be angry? Because you hadn’t shown at your arranged time? Because the reason you were late was that you wanted to squeeze in an extra “study date” with Harry? No, he wasn’t angry. Not at you anyway.

“Of course not, bunny. Could never be.”

It was true, he wasn’t necessarily angry, he was more so slightly bothered by what you had done. That’s how it usually was. You would do something that Peter did not agree with but he would never be angry. Just mildly annoyed. He couldn’t be angry with his sweet little bunny. You probably didn’t even know the consequences of your actions. He couldn’t blame you for that.

You smiled, leaning in to hug him. Peter was immediately enveloped in warmth, your soft body melding with his. The sweet scent of lavender and honey was all around him. Your hair tickled his neck where you buried your face. You were on your knees on the couch, allowing Peter a view of your backside covered in your loungewear.

He loved your hugs. They always succeed in lifting his spirits and making him a little dizzy. You were just so warm and soft and perfect for him.

You pulled away, still smiling as you sunk back into your spot on your tiny, tiny couch and pulled your tea to your lips.

He let himself watch as you wrapped your lovely mouth around the straw. A minuscule puddle of milk tea formed on your bottom lip, and you licked it up as you removed the straw. Your tongue was wet and a delightful shade of pink as you slid it across the expanse of your lip.

He felt a throb in his sweatpants. Shifting, he asked, “so, what else did you do today?”

You hummed, chewing the balls of boba in your mouth, “that’s all. Just hung out with Harry. We have a lot more in common than I thought,” you giggled. “We just don’t run out of things to talk about.”

He inhaled, feeling himself go soft, “that’s a lot of talking in the library.”

“Oh, we didn’t go to the library,” you shook your head.

He gave you a look, “where did you go?”

You looked hesitant, “um, we went to his flat. It was nearby and he had forgotten his books, so it was easier to stay there.”

How convenient.

“Bunny,” Peter started.

You had a guilty look on your face as you stared at him, “I know,” your voice was small, “not safe. I know… but he’s not like the other guys Pete. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“How can you be so sure, hm? You’re in no way prepared to protect yourself. What if he had done something to you? What would you have done?”

“He wouldn’t…” you looked down, “he wouldn’t do anything.” You bit your lip as you nervously whispered, “I think he likes me.”

Peter could hardly hear you. He was sure he hadn’t heard correctly because of how softly you spoke. “Speak up, bunny. I can’t hear you.”

“I said I think he likes me,” you said a little louder. He could see the embarrassment on your face. Like you couldn’t believe you had said that out loud.

Peter swallowed, “oh.”

There was a pause, “what makes you think that?”

“Well,” your nose fluttered, “he said he’s never met anyone like me. And he,” you glanced up at him before returning your gaze to your lap, “he tried to kiss me.”

Oh.

Peter didn’t know how to react. He stared at your pretty eyes with his brows cinched and an analyzing gaze. The first thought to pop into his was: did you kiss him? Then: did you want to kiss him?

“Oh,” he managed to say, “did you?”

You inhaled, “um, no…” you trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. “I couldn’t.”

Good. He doesn’t deserve to feel your lips. He doesn’t deserve your first kiss.

“I don’t know how,” you looked up at him. Your eyes looked glassy and you had a look of embarrassment on your face.

It should have been obvious. Peter did keep any potential love interest as far from you as you could manage, yet he was still flustered.

He hummed, feeling blood rush to his groin, “you don’t?”

You shook your head, “no… never learned how.”

Your lips looked so pretty as you pouted, shame present on your face. Peter wanted to reach over, pull you in close, and kiss you softly. He wanted to run his hands through your hair and up your soft curves. To hear your lovely noises as you gave into him.

He grimaced as the image of Harry’s dirty lips inching closer to yours. Your pure, innocent mouth being tainted by his filthy one. He could have that. What else would he make you do?

He could only imagine your gasp of surprise, your inexperienced movements, your sugary taste. But you were sitting right in front of him, weren’t you? You had enough confidence in him that you would even confess such a thing. He was obligated to help you, wasn’t he? You’re essentially asking for help, right?

“I could,” he paused, unsure, “I could teach you.”

“Really?” You straightened your back a tad, eyes widening at the offer.

You trusted him so much. After all these years that you’d known him, Peter had never once misled you in any way shape, or form. He was the person you trusted most because you knew he had your best interest in mind. He was your best friend. He was there to keep you safe.

“Mhm,” he moved a little closer, “if you’d want that, I can.”

You nodded eagerly, “yes, Peter, please.”

Yes, Peter, please…

You sat still as Peter invaded your space.

He licked his lips, you reluctantly placed one hand on your thigh, and the other reaching up to cup your chubby face. The warmth of your being was seeping into him so deep he felt warmer than he ever had.

You looked at him expectantly, your glassy gaze flickering from his honey brown eyes to his lips.

“Are you ready?” He whispered, mouth mere inches from yours.

You inhaled, “yes, Peter. I wanna be good for Harry.”

He ignored the pang in his chest, “well, you have to be good for me first, bunny.”

You nodded, fluttering your eyes shut. He watched you for a second. Your nose wiggled faintly as you breathed and you sat patiently waiting with your pouty lips puckered up slightly.

He was able to see it all this close to you. All of your imperfections that he never had the privilege of noticing before. It only made him long for you more.

Peter ignored the thought in his head that said if he knew you’d give in to him so easily under the pretense of teaching you, he would’ve offered his services much earlier.

He leaned in, hovering just before your lips, eyeing how your eyebrows furrowed and your lips extended further. But not a single complaint about Peter’s excruciatingly slow pace because he knows best, and he knew you knew that.

He could feel your shaky exhales on his skin as he finally connected your lips. He felt himself twitch, once, twice, at the sheer feeling of your lips pressed against his. It was harder to refrain from going further - maybe a hand up your thigh, up to your belly and to your tits, maybe wrap them around your neck…

He felt your face contort as he began to finally move his mouth against yours, your kisses were as sloppy as he’d imagined them to be. And he was correct, your inexperience made him painfully hard. He reluctantly removed his hand from your thigh and placed it on his bulge. He just couldn’t resist. You let out a high shaky breath as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, tasting you.

Peter could taste the remnants of your milk tea on your tongue. You attempted to mirror his movements and he felt another throb at your feeble efforts.

He rubbed his hand onto his hard cock to resist the urge to do something completely inappropriate like take your hand to place it on his thigh to get him even closer to his release. He didn’t believe it would take much at all for him to cum. Your mouth moving against his was more than enough.

You began to get the hang of it and it somehow made Peter’s erection even more painful. His hips involuntarily jerked as you wrapped your arms up around his neck, tugging him close. Your thigh brushed against his cock, and he sighed. You gasped, your tongue halting its sloppy movements.

He could feel you pulling back and he chased your lips, pushing into you and not permitting you to disconnect your mouths. You leaned back against the arm of the small couch in your attempt to pull away from your best friend’s lips. Peter followed you, body against yours. His cock sat on your thigh and he hoped you couldn’t feel it twitch.

As his hips made small movements, grinding into your thigh. One of his hands wrapped around the back of your head, keeping you against him, while the other felt up your sides, resting below your tits. You let out a whiny sound as you began to kiss him back again.

Peter’s thrusts became more erratic as he drew closer and closer to the edge. He felt your thigh tense and your hips lifted off the couch, pushing into his lower abdomen. Your arms tightened around his neck.

Your kisses were still messy, you used far too much tongue and had little technique but Peter had never had a better kiss. He came abruptly when you moaned into his mouth again, hand pulling on the hair at the name of his neck. He pulled away from you and groaned, out of breath into your shoulder as he steadied himself.

“Pete,” you breathed, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be so eager.”

Peter was taken aback. He didn’t respond as he regained his composure into your warm shoulder, inhaling your scent. His cock was slowly going soft but the proximity to you made him believe that it would shoot back up with any movement you made.

“I just,” a pause, “I guess I got a little carried away.”

It baffled Peter that you thought any of what happened had been your fault. As if he didn’t invade your space and force your head into place so he could get himself off.

“It’s okay, bunny.”

You buried your head into his shoulder and there was no sign of parting for a while. Peter only pulled away when he felt his hot cum seeping through his pants in a wet puddle. His movements were quick when he grabbed a throw pillow and threw it over his lap.

“You know I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

You had spent an increasing amount of time with Harry over the last few weeks. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you’d thought he’d have grown bored of you by now. But it seemed the opposite. He texted you often, smiled at you in a way that made you feel warm and special, and he seemed genuinely interested and excited to speak to you. You hadn’t felt that way since you met Peter.

It had been the only thing on your mind for the last week. Well, that and your mess of a friendship with Peter Parker.

After the kiss shared with Peter, you had spent less time with him. On top of plans with Harry, you felt guilty for how you acted. You felt that you had taken advantage of him and his kindness. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed and in a way uncomfortable around Peter now. You knew it wasn’t his fault, it was yours. And he deserved better.

You began to ignore his calls and texts and you took different routes to and from your classes. You even stopped replying to Ned and MJ after they began questioning where you’d run off to. In a way that comment made you feel a little ridiculous. It was like they expected Peter to be dragging you around on a leash. Like you were his little pet or something of the like.

That wasn’t Peter’s fault though. You didn’t believe anything was. Peter was a saint in your eyes. Your savior of a life of solace. That’s why you felt the worst you ever had about locking your window.

The first night, you had pretended to be asleep when you heard light taps on the glass. You closed your eyes and ignored the noise, waiting for what felt like hours to move again.

Now, almost two weeks later, you had finally been confronted.

Peter looked at you in a way you had never seen and couldn’t decipher. His lips were pulled in a tight line and his forehead and eyebrows were creased, his eyes looked darker and his gaze was hard and they held a different feeling. Even the air around him felt different, it was cold and suffocating.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Hm? Oh, no, no, Pete m’not-“

“You are.”

You opened your mouth to speak but your words were caught in your throat. You were avoiding him.

“Why? Did I do something to upset you?”

“No,” you took a deep breath, “I’ve just been busy-“

“Busy? With what? Osborn? He keeps you so busy that you can’t even respond to my texts?”

You felt your lip quiver and your eyes welled up with tears at his tone and his unwavering stare. Peter had never reacted this way towards you. You didn’t even know he could speak that way.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, so you looked down at your feet and attempted to blink away your tears.

Peter looked down at you, waiting for you to say something, anything. He wanted - no, he expected an apology. He had been restless the past few weeks, waiting for you to respond to him. He had been following you around as New York’s friendly neighbor Spider-Man, so he was well aware of what you were up to. He watched as you found new routes to your home, hid away in obscure places, and, of course, he watched your giddy expression as Harry Osborn gripped your hand or your waist and walked around with you on his arm as if he owned you.

It didn’t help that Peter had seen you locking your window. Double-checking, triple checking that you had locked it, and then periodically again throughout the day. At first, Peter suspected that you had known he got off on your thigh that day, that you were creeped out or disgusted by him.

“So? What is it? Why have you been avoiding me?”

You sniffled and Peter surprised himself when he didn’t soften at the noise. He didn’t feel the usual tighten of his heart nor did his stare at you become less intense. He wanted you to feel like this. It made it feel a sort of power having you vulnerable in front of him, for him.

“Y/N, I’m speaking to you. I expect an answer. Did you lose your ability to speak to me when you started fooling around with Osborn? Neglecting me? Neglecting our friendship? Does it mean so little to you?”

Tears started falling from your eyes at the sound of your name. Peter never called you that. You were his bunny, his best friend. You covered your face with your hands in shame. You weakly shook your head.

“So you can’t speak, hm?”

Peter could think of a few ways to get you to start talking. Many scenarios to get your pretty mouth moving.

Peter had thought a lot about you recently, somehow even more than normal. His thoughts had turned alarmingly crude the more time you spent away from him. What was once an innocent daydream of kissing your lips turned into a filthy, sordid fantasy of flipping your skirt and fucking you over the table in the library where you studied with Harry.

Flashes of your mouth and body were intrusive thoughts and the feeling of them on him lingered. They left him unable to focus on patrolling, ultimately leading to him jacking off on the roof of the building across the street from your apartment. Some days, he was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of your bare legs through cracks in your sheer white curtains.

“M’sorry Peter,” you peered up at him through teary lashes, “didn’t mean to make you sad.”

He clicked his tongue, “well, you did.”

You let out a sob as you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and tucking your face into his chest. His heart rate kept its steady pace and Peter stood still for a few seconds. Would he forgive you, no, could he forgive you so easily?

He focused on your warmth around him and he felt his walls lower. He begrudgingly hugged you back, taking in the feel of your curves under his fingers. He sighed, “it’s okay, bunny. Don’t cry.”

You wanted to cry harder. Normally, Peter would be cradling your face, wiping your tears, and pulling you close, enveloping you in his warmth. It was nothing like his tight grip and cold demeanor he currently had. You hadn’t meant to upset him so much but you just felt so guilty for possibly crossing or blurring the lines of your friendship.

Peter knew he would give into you. The way you whimpered and cried into his chest made his heart feel heavy. He began to rub your back and he placed a kiss on your head. Your arms tightened around him.

“C’mon, bunny. It’s okay, we’re okay.”

You whimpered again, doing all you could to collect yourself. Peter held you tightly until you lifted your head.

Your face was red and puffy, wet with your tears and your eyeliner was smudged at the corners of your bloodshot eyes. Your lips were slightly opened as you breathed through your mouth. Your nose was runny and you sniffled, nose wiggling. Peter felt his pants tighten. You looked so wrecked and it was all for him. Because he was upset with you. He had that power over you.

“Are you okay?” concern filled his face.

“Mhm,” you said, shakily smiling. “Missed you.”

He smiled at you and you felt the warmth return, “I missed you more, bun. Should we catch up?”

You nodded frantically, grabbing his hand and pulling him in the direction of your apartment.

Things had since gotten much better. You were in Peter’s grasp once more and Harry Osborn had been moved to the backburner.

You sighed as you switched your kettle on for a cup of tea. Peter was busy and you were stuck at home alone again. You were bored beyond belief as your eyes flickered from your TV to the warming kettle. Your foot tapped on the ground and you all but ran to your phone when the familiar ping came from it.

Your eyes widened and excitement erupted in your belly. Harry had sent you a message.

hey stranger… u around?

You contemplated an answer. A part of you felt you shouldn’t respond but another was happy to hear from him.

Maybe

The response was instantaneous.

meet me at the bar

You smiled, rushing to your closet.

After making up with Peter you had begun to neglect your friendship with Harry. You were so focused on keeping Peter happy with you. This had become an increasingly difficult task that required a lot of time and attention.

Peter was easily bothered with you now. His patience would run thin and he would turn cold in the blink of an eye. You had spent nights crying, wishing you hadn’t ruined your most important friendship. But none of that stopped you from trying.

You knew Peter didn’t like Harry, that was obvious. He’d roll his eyes and stare blankly at you with an expression of disappointment you had seen so much of recently whenever you would mention him in conversation. He made sure to remind you that Harry was just like other boys who wanted to take advantage of you and hurt you but he said nothing more.

As you walked into the cafe, Harry waved his arms in the air. You smiled, a blush forming as you took a seat across from him. He looked happy to see you, and he told you that.

“I missed you, y’know,” he looked down, a pink hue on his cheeks. “Haven’t seen much of you recently.”

“Me too, um, sorry about that. I’ve been a little, um, busy.”

He looked up with a shy grin, “s’okay, I’m happy you’re here now.” You were slightly taken aback by his shyness.

He paused, licking his lips and taking a deep breath, “so, Y/N, I’ve been thinking…”

Oh no, here it goes. He’s gonna tell you that he can’t see you anymore. That he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Your heart stopped, a date? You had never been on a date before. “A date?”

He cleared his throat, looking nervous, “uh, yeah. It’s just, that I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and I missed you so much the last few weeks. So I thought I’d finally ask.”

You exhaled, trying to process his question. “Yes, I’d love to,” you said, face warm and bashful smile.

It was cold outside as you walked back to your apartment. Harry had offered to drive you home but you declined, wanting some time alone to think.

Your mind was racing as you turned into the alleyway before your apartment. You were going on a date with Harry Osborn. What would you wear? What would you talk about? What would you tell Peter?

You sighed, glancing around the dark alley. There was a spider web hanging from a pipe a few steps ahead of you. You began to walk a little faster. If Spider-Man was around there was likely some sort of criminal activity. Hopefully, it wasn’t too close to home.

As you rushed into your apartment, you didn’t bother turning on the lights. You shrugged off your jacket and kicked off your shoes, sighing deeply as you plopped down onto your bed.

“Where were you?”

Your eyes darted to the source of the noise. The streetlight peering in through the window illuminated him just a tad, barely enough to see his face. But it didn’t matter, you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Peter? How did you get in here?” You distinctly remember closing the window, locking it, and double-checking before walking out the door.

“You were out with Harry. I saw you.”

“Oh, um,” you sat up and pulled your dress down, “W-we were just getting a drink.”

He inhaled deeply and hummed, “just getting a drink.” He let out a dark laugh, “sure you were.”

“We,” you paused, “we were. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Peter scoffed, “and that’s why you agreed to go on a date with him, hm?”

You opened your mouth to speak but he didn’t let you.

“I thought we’d gotten past this, bunny.” Peter tapped his foot. Did you feel like you didn’t need him anymore? After all, he’d done for you? All these years by your side and you abandon him for the first man who gives you the time of day.

“Why don’t you listen to me? I only want what’s best for you. For us.”

You stayed quiet, looking down at your frilly, white socks. Peter sighed and you heard him rise from his spot on the couch. He lifted your chin with his cold fingers. His eyes looked dark again and the darkness of your room added to the eerie feel of him. He leaned down, fingers light on your chin as he drew closer to your lips. You turned your face away before he could connect your mouths.

What was he doing?

He scoffed quietly as his hold on your face tightened and forced your face to its previous position. You furrowed your brows as you tried to turn away again.

“Pete, what are you doing?”

“I’m tired of you treating me this way. I deserve better after all I’ve done for you. All these years I have been there for you. I made sure you were okay and I loved you through it all.”

He loved you? You didn’t like the sound of that. Peter was your best friend and nothing more and you dreaded the possibility that he could think of you as something more than that.

“I know that,” you whispered, “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

A tiny smile graced his lips.

You returned it, “and I love you too Peter, you’re my best friend.”

His grip on your chin turned painful.

Best friend.

He laughed darkly as he shook his head slightly, “best friend.” He smiled.

Feeling uneasy you smiled softly at him, forcing out a giggle.

His smile fell, “bunny, I love you. I want to be with you. I want you to be mine.”

You gulped, “um,” you looked down, “Peter, I don’t, I don’t feel that way about you.”

“Why? Because of Harry? Because you have ‘choices’ now, hm? I’m not good enough for you?”

You stayed quiet, trying to steady your breathing to keep yourself from crying as Peter used his free hand to move up your arm to your shoulder, holding it forcefully.

You didn’t even know Peter was remotely interested in you. The entire confession made you feel sick to your stomach. While you hadn’t known, the revelation didn’t change the fact that, to you, he was just a friend. This had nothing to do with Harry and his romantic interest in you.

“No, Peter, I just, I’m sorry. I don’t like you like that,” you looked down and spoke so softly you doubted he could hear you.

He scoffed, letting go of your chin and shoulder with a push. You steadied yourself, looking up to see him pacing around the room. You wanted to ask him to leave, but before you could he turned to you again.

“He could never treat you like I do.”

“Peter…”

“No! He couldn’t. I know deep down you know that. He wouldn’t know what to do with a pretty girl like you.”

You shifted uncomfortably.

Peter watched as you fiddled with the hem of your dress. It was the purple one again, his favorite. Harry would never be able to satisfy you the way he would. He just needs to find a way to let you know that. No, he has shown you. Everything he had done since you met should have shown you. You were just… ungrateful. He needed to let you know that you couldn’t get away from him. There was no one else that could love you as he could.

Your heartbeat sped up as Peter took long strides toward you.

“He doesn’t deserve you like I do,” he shoved his knee between your own and forced them open just enough to fit his leg between them. “And I’m gonna show you, that only I know how to treat you. I know what you deserve and I can give it to you.”

You were confused and scared, you watched him cautiously as he stood before you.

His hand reached for your hair, he touched it lightly. You let out a shaky breath. You didn’t know what he was about to do. You weren’t sure what he was capable of anymore.

His fingers caressed your face, giving your chubby cheeks a light squeeze as he moved his hand down to your neck. You let out a shaky breath as his hands ghosted over your throat.

“Peter,” you whispered, “what are you doing?”

He smiled, “I’m gonna make you mine, bunny.”

You felt your lip quiver and you hesitantly pushed his chest, trying to get him away from you. “No, Peter. I don’t want this.”

His hands tightened around your neck, “you don’t know what you want. You’re just a dumb bunny. You don’t know what is good for you. I do.”

Tears welled in your eyes as he leaned down to leave wet kisses on your cheeks and jaw, his hands on your throat.

You moved your face away, side to side, avoiding his lips. His grip cut off your airways as he gave you a shake, “stop.” He pushed you onto your back, attacking you with kisses.

Tears fell from your eyes as you tried to push him back. You should’ve been able to, even if it was just a little. But he didn’t budge. Your legs kicked his own trying to get him off. He acted like you hadn’t touched him at all. You bit down on his tongue as it forced its way into your mouth, he pulled back in surprise. You took the opportunity to wiggle out from under him, moving as fast as you could towards the door.

Peter’s temper was running thin. With quick movements, he activated the web shooter tucked under the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

You barely made it a few steps when you were pulled back. Your eyes went to Peter who was seated on your bed, a cold look on his face. The sight of your hand stuck to the table left you in shock. The sticky substance was too strong for you to pull back. You began to sob as you connected the dots.

Peter was Spider-Man.

You didn’t know how you hadn’t figured it out before. You should’ve known. The random bruises on his body, the overnight strength, and agility, the disappearances, the way he always knew where you were and what you were doing… it should’ve been obvious.

“Peter, please, let me go,” you cried, using all the strength you could muster to attempt to free your hand.

He stood from the bed and took slow steps to where you stood. “You’re my little bunny, and you’re not going anywhere until you realize that.”

As he worked to free your hand you took the other and impulsively delivered a harsh slap to his cheek. Peter didn’t react right away. He kept his eyes on your hand for a few seconds before glancing up.

“Ungrateful little bitch.”

You inhaled, trying to stare at him with the same venom that he did you. He continued to free your hand, sliding the little knife across your thumb, slicing it. You hissed in pain.

You were so confused, this man was nothing like the Peter Parker you knew and loved. This man was pure evil and you wanted to get as far away from him as you possibly could.

Peter stared at you in disbelief. Could you not see that he was only trying to give you the best? He had to make you see it even if it meant by force. He looked into your eyes filled with fear, tearing threatening to fall and your lip quivering. He wanted you so bad and he was finally going to have you.

Peter looked down, watching the slow drops build on your fingertip before falling onto the counter. Your hand was barely trembling and he softened immediately. He hadn’t meant to cut you so deep.

“I’m sorry, bunny. Are you okay?”

His change in demeanor puzzled you, he had gone from evil to the gentle Peter you knew and loved.

You nodded stupidly, “mhm, hurts just a little, Peter.”

“Aw, bunny,” he said softly, taking your sticky hand and bringing it to his lips.

His tender touch had you in his grasp again, like he hadn’t just assaulted you, screamed at you, cut you.

He placed a soft kiss on your bleeding finger, eyes looking lovingly into yours. You fed into it like you always did. A drop of your blood rested on his bottom lip, and you watched as he licked it up with a swipe of his tongue.

He closed his eyes, relishing in the taste of you on his tongue. His cock twitched and he ached to taste your pretty cunt on his tongue. He wasted no time.

Before you knew it, he was throwing you to the bed with ease, flipping your skirt up. He inhaled deeply, feeling his pants tighten further by the sight of your panties. They were just as cute as you. Just what he imagined you’d wear, yet somehow it was better. Your panties were a pale pink color, little hearts a darker shade of pink littering the fabric. He couldn’t help but stare, taking in the view of your pretty panties covering your perfect, plump ass.

Cries escaped you, pleas for him to just stop. He ignored them, instead of giving your right ass cheek a little slap. He moaned at the cry you made, the way your flesh rippled at the impact.

You had been fooled once again. The Peter Parker you once knew was long gone.

Peter looped his fingers under the delicate fabric, your skin warm, he pulled up roughly. You yelped, arching your back to relieve the pain, but it only gave Peter a better look at your puffy pussy, bulging against the fabric he had pulled.

“Oh,” he cooed, leaning down and placing a kiss on your ass.

Tears pricked at your eyes again, threatening to fall as you tried to rack your brain for ideas on how to get yourself out of the current situation. You gasped at the abrupt feeling of cold air on your cunt. The tears began to fall.

Unable to control himself, Peter placed a sloppy wet kiss on your cunt. You gasped loudly, trying to move your ass away. He held your hips tightly in place, pressing pecks along the entirety of your backside. A strangled moan fell from your lips as he kissed your clit.

Peter stared at your pussy, admiring the wet string of slick that drilled from your little hole. He felt a sense of accomplishment at the drip of slick, he was making you feel good even when you resisted. Extending his tongue from his mouth, he licked up your slit, flicking his tongue as he did so. He moaned at the taste of your sweet juices.

He finally let himself loose, allowing himself to bury his head into your puffy cunt. His hands groped your thighs, kneading them, keeping them apart so he had good access to your cunt.

You tried to hold in your body’s reactions. You held your breath, curled your toes, and turned your hands to fists. But you couldn’t stop a loud mewl as Peter swirled his tongue around your sensitive bud. You bit your lip as you contained sobs.

Your fingers grabbed onto your sheets, squeezing them tightly as you felt yourself becoming more aroused. The lewd sounds from Peter combined with the wet sounds of your pussy. Peter was essentially drooling, strings of spit and slick keeping him attached to you even when he pulled back for air. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of you.

You felt a coil form in your tummy, tightening with every passing second.

“Are you gonna cum for me, bunny?” Peter asked, his voice deep.

Your body was trembling and your hips unconsciously pressed into his face. You shook your head, closing your eyes tightly as your mouth opened involuntarily, a loud cry slipping out as the coil snapped. You shook, your knees going weak as your body was overtaken by the pleasant, but unfamiliar sensation.

Peter groaned into your sopping cunt as he licked up your release. His cock was so hard it was painful, his mindless humping on your sheets wasn’t nearly enough. He held you up when your body gave in, on the verge of going limp as he continued his movements on your pussy long after you had become sensitive.

“Peter, please stop, hurts,” you managed to blubber out.

He pulled away, a string of spit connecting you. He watched as it snapped, falling onto his plaid shirt. He licked his lips, sliding his arms out from under your thighs. Your lower half hit your bed and you were unable to move. Your pussy throbbed from overstimulation as you laid dumbly. Weak little moans falling from your mouth.

Peter reached a hand up to wipe at his face, collected the excess juices, and inserted his fingers into his mouth to consume it. He savored the taste, watching as your body jolted from the aftershocks of your orgasm. The skirt of your dress was scrunched around your waist and your ass was glistening under the streetlights from where he had drooled over it. Your thighs were in the same position they were in when he dropped them. He felt himself twitch, you were too weak to move them.

Harry couldn’t have made you cum like that. He probably would even eat you out. What a waste of a sweet cunt that would be. He could live off your pussy alone he was sure of it.

Peter rested a hand on your lower back as he stood from the bed. You glanced over at him, relieved that he was going to leave you alone. Your tears had stopped and you felt them drying on your cheeks.

When Peter pulled off his plaid shirt and the gray t-shirt under it, you wanted to scream. You wanted to get up and push him out of your apartment. He had just forcefully inflicted oral sex onto you and you were terrified of where he wanted to go next.

You couldn’t help your stare at Peter’s toned body. His defined abdomen and strong arms were illuminated perfectly under the soft light. You wanted to slap yourself as you felt yourself become slightly aroused.

You managed to sit up, slowly and gently seating yourself down. You instinctively reached for your stuffed bunny. You held it to your chest as you watched Peter fiddle with his belt. “Peter,” you called quietly.

Your hair was a mess and you had faint black tracks going down your chubby face. Your lipstick was smudged. Your thick, soft arms were clinging to your bunny. The bunny he had gifted you years ago. Your dress was askew and barely covered your thighs.

“Yes, bunny?” he pulled off his belt.

“Please stop now. I’m sorry I upset you.”

He sighed and simply shook his head. “I helped you, now you need to help me.”

Helped you? You didn’t ask for his help.

“But-”

“Look at what you did, bun,” he pulled off his underwear as he tugged off his pants. His cock sprung free and slapped his stomach. It was big and long and thick, protruding veins ran up its length, leading to an angry red tip. You felt your lip wobble, you weren’t even sure if it would fit. “It hurts and only you can make it feel better. You caused this. It’s your fault that this is happening.”

You weren’t sure what to think. Was this your fault?

“Lay back for me, bunny.” he motioned to the bed. “I need gonna fuck your pretty pussy.”

You shook your head.

Peter rolled his eyes, “do what you're told, stupid bunny. Don’t act like you don’t like it. Couldn’t you feel how wet you were for me?”

You stayed in place. He clenched his jaw and grabbed your ankles, pulling you until your back hit the cushion of your mattress. You tried to kick the hold of his wrists from your feet.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he felt up your thigh, eyeing you in a way that made you feel self-conscious. You felt like prey.

“I always like this dress,” he said, tugging it up your body. Peter pulled your bunny from your arms to pull the material over your head. “It’s my favorite one. Looks so beautiful on you.”

You reached for the bunny to cover yourself but were unable to reach it. You wrapped your arms around your tummy. Peter clicked his tongue, “no.” He leaned down to press kisses over your middle and he pried your hands away for better access. You felt tears brimming.

He pulled your bra off with ease, absentmindedly as he ran his mouth over your skin. You gasped and turned away, refusing to watch. You felt his tongue find your nipple and you hated the way it aroused you. He groaned and you felt his cock against your thighs. He kneaded your breasts as he kissed up your neck. He looked you in the eye as his cock found your cunt, running up and down the slit.

“It’s gonna feel so good, bunny. You’re gonna crave my cock after. You’re gonna realize that no one is better for you than me. Fuck, you’re so warm and soft.”

His cock twitched on your pussy, causing you to inhale shakily.

Peter was so ready to be inside you. The warmth your cunt radiated made his cock ache so bad. He pushed his cock through your fold, watching as your face contorted. Your hole was pulling him in as soon as his cock head reached your entrance. It was like you were made to take him.

Your face had a pained expression painted over it and your hole contracted.

“Relax, bunny. Or it’s gonna hurt a lot more than it needs to. You were doing so well just now.”

He was too big, the further he sank into you, the more it hurt.

He couldn’t resist the involuntary thrust of his hips. You jolted up at the strength of them. As he pulled out he looked down. The sight of your loose tits, belly rolls, and puffy pussy around his cock made him feral. The red coat of blood on his pelvis made him feel a sense of accomplishment. He had you first.

He finally had you. All of you. And he deserved it all after everything he’d done.

Peter forced his way in until he bottomed out. Relishing in the way your tight pussy squeezed him. He knew it hurt from the way you had begun to cry and the way your body shook but he didn’t care. You’d adjust. Soon you’d be a stupid cockwhore. What he always wanted you to be. All for him.

“Ow,” you cried, reaching your hand up to his back, seeking comfort.

“You feel so good,” he moaned.

Peter began a slow pace, pulling out just a little before sliding back in. your nails dug into his back as your head moved side to side, whines, and cries leaving your lips. More and more slick came from your hole as he continued his abuse.

Soon enough his thrusts had gotten faster, harder and your thoughts were few and far between.

Fuck.

I don’t want this.

Feels so good.

Peter’s hands were all over you. Running up your sides, squeezing your soft skin, playing with your clit, and caressing your face as tears fell from your eyes.

You weren’t sure when you had begun to cry or whether it was due to pain or pleasure.

Peter moved his lips to rest on yours, kissing you in sync with his thrusts. You whined, moving your face away, “no, stop.”

His hand that rested on your bouncing tits delivered a quick, harsh slap to your cheek. You cried out, tears falling faster. Peter pinched your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. You opened your eyes, watching as he spit into your mouth, a string of spit lingering. You clenched around him.

Peter chuckled, “you liked that. Dirty slut.”

You had stopped fighting him, too caught up in the feeling of his cock in your cunt. Peter knew you would. He knew you loved him, too.

He fit so perfectly inside you like you were meant for him.

A string of “Hm, uh, uh's” and breathy high-pitched noises fell from your lips with every thrust Peter made. The noises harmonized with the squelching sounds of your wet pussy. It was music to Peter’s ears. The prettiest noises he had ever heard.

Soon, you felt a coil in your belly. It snapped a part of you back into reality, while the other was dumb at the feel of Peter’s cock.

“Peter, hm, Peter, uh stop, m’gonna-”

Peter shushed you, sloppily kissing your neck, “cum for me.”

You were lightheaded, the feeling was too good. Peter suckled at your soft spot and you felt yourself cum with a high whine. Your orgasm was more intense this time. Your mind was blank as tears poured from your eyes and your body tensed. Your back arched off the mattress and you scratched down Peter’s back, holding him close.

Peter felt dizzy, you were everywhere. He could feel you everywhere and he had never felt such ecstasy. He twitched inside you as your cunt clenched around his cock deliciously.

You weren’t able to contain your moans as you cried harder, salty tears saturating the sheets beneath your head as he fucked you past your orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he said, voice deep with desire. The way your pussy fluttered around him became too much.

“N-no,” you shakily moved your hands down to his pelvis, pushing with all the strength your weak body could muster. “P-peter, don’t want,” black mascara-stained tears streamed down your face, your lipstick smudged up to your nose, and you looked absolutely wrecked.

“I didn’t fucking ask,” his voice was near a growl, “m’gonna cum in this pretty, puffy pussy. Listen to it scream for me, pulling me back in, fluttering around me. You want this.”

You shook your head, pushing once again, you let out a choked sob as he thrusted particularly hard, “N-no.”

Peter moaned loudly, squeezing your plump waist as he stilled.

You could feel his hot, hot cum painting your walls. You felt a weight on your heart, he had coaxed multiple orgasms from you, stolen them and your innocence along with them. And now, he was inside of you. His cum had likely forced its way into your cervix, mingling with your most intimate of places.

A small part of you liked it. You tried your hardest to ignore that part of you that enjoyed being full. So full of Peter. He was the best for you, after all.

Peter thrusted a few more times, dreading the thought of leaving your tight, warm hole.

You were everything he had ever imagined. Your plump body, your sugary sweet taste, your beautiful noises…

He would never let you go.

Peter gave your limp body a final kiss. You were too fucked out to react. As he pulled out of you he stared at your puffy cunt. It was wet with slick and sweat. Cum slid out of the abused hole. He took his finger and pushed it back in, loving the way you jolted and tried to close your legs.

Peter Parker loved to look at you. Even more so now, with you bare in front of him. Your skin was glistening under the rays of the artificial streetlights outside your window and remnants of your innocence were on his cock.

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bowieandqueen11 · 9 months

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Tobey!Peter Parker Dating A Plus Size Reader Would Include...

Request: Hello! I know I sent requests for "random request go!" so feel free to ignore me. I was just wondering - I was reading again your Spider-Man stuff (cause it is FANTASTIC <3 ) and I saw that in your note to "Andrew!Peter x Plus Size!Reader" you said that if anybody would ever want to, you'd be willing to write Tobey!Peter x Plus Size!Reader too. I was wondering if that's still the case. Cause if yes, I'd love to see it one day! No pressure of course, you can skip it if you want! Have a great day!

Oh my gosh lovely of course I will thank you so much, I didn't think anyone actually read those notes aha but I'm so happy you did!! Between Across the Spiderverse (which I still haven't seen yet I'm so slow!) and the Insomniac Spiderman trailer I am being well fed :)

Warning: mentions of blood/injury!

(I do not own Spider-Man or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @fmribeiro01.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

I'm not joking even THINKING about this as a concept is making me squeal because like?? Tobey Peter?? Omg. Absolutely adores you. 24/7, non stop heart eyes motherfcker. Be ready for him to give you looks of such gut wrenching love and vulnerability that you'll just want to squish his cheeks together and kiss his forehead like the puppy he is.

You were 100% Peter's childhood crush, no question asked. You were always invited around to Peter's birthday parties, where the two of you would be thick as thieves for the whole night. Even poor exasperated Harry would find it oddly adorable when it was time to give Petey his cake, and he would bashfully pull out the chair beside him at the table for you to scoot onto. He thought he was so slick, bless his heart, when he reached over to fix your wonky party hat with his tiny shaking fingers, or shyly looked over at the rim of uneven frosting towards you when Aunt May carried out the homemade cake and told him to make a wish. You were always the last one to be picked up, despite living right next door: Ben, the sly old fox, could see how enamoured Peter was. How he had the firmest grip he had ever seen his nephew squeeze out around your arm, and how Peter stood holding the present you had given him in his other hand, not even noticing it because he was too busy fervently nodding and being strung along by every word you would say.

Ben would stall your parents at the door, blocking the way in by pretending to lean on his elbow, and spouting off about whether he was going to paint the living room a periwinkle or an egg shell blue. When your parents finally started to get impatient, you kissed Peter on the side of his cheek and left with a big wave, not really noticing the way he was standing stock-still, his fingers tentatively touching the side of his face and his mouth agape, blubbering like a blow fish. May has never seen him run so fast up the staircase, but Peter's so desperate to curl up alone under his duvet and thank whatever he can think of for making his wish come true, touching the wet imprint of your lips with a revered awe. Eventually, his giggling gets so loud during the night, that Ben has to come out and close over his door so he and May can get at least a little sleep.

A lot of your teenage years is spent with you jumping over your chain link fence in the middle of the night to meet a very anxious looking Peter, whose face quickly grows into a bright smile when he pulls the latest edition of the comic series you've been share-reading out from behind his back. Sitting on the cold tile by his garage, the night would slowly weave diamond dust through the sky, and sparkling joy through the irises of Peter's eye as the two of you stuck your heads together and poured over the pages. Every so often he would have to blink away, pretending he was fixing his glasses because you would catch the side-eye look he was giving you.

By the end of the night, you've fallen asleep, slobbering onto Peter's shoulder. He hasn't moved an inch: as still as marble, and doing his best to hold his breath so he doesn't rustle you, and so he can memorise the way your gratifying weight feels against the side of his shoulder. So he can imprint into his mind how tender your skin feels against his burning neck. It's only when Aunt May comes out to shake the two of you awake from the school bus that he runs into the kitchen all flustered. He grabs his backpack, and says goodbye, but refuses to change his jumper because he can still feel your imprint against the coarse wool.

From time to time that day, you'll peer round the door of your locker to catch him leaning into his, so giddy he's almost vibrating on the spot, which is probably why he's so distracted he bangs his head on the metal top of his own locker door oops.

Lunch that afternoon is even worse! Sitting diagonal across from Peter, you slide into the table next to an already frustrated looking Harry, whose kicking Pete's feet under the table and making incredibly unsubtle raised eyebrow points your way. He's so sick of the way his best friend will spend every minute of his time with you just staring: peering over his fruit pot, blabbering incoherently to himself with ruddy cheeks when he passes you the salt and your pinkie fingers brush, looking at your reflection in his spoon, pretending to stretch his arms and yawn just so he can 'look around the room', which also just so happens to be only the part that you're sitting in. He just wants his friend to be happy, and honestly, he's kind of dumbstruck that the two of you aren't together already, considering his eyes light up like gold-struck dawn every time he sees you.

It's only when Flash Thompson passes by and knocks Peter's elbow out from under him that he finally stops staring over at you. Mainly because his eyes are too busy slamming into his lunch tray, and breaking the bridge of his glasses down hard against his nose. The spell you wisp around his heart is finally broken when the blood starts gushing down his nose, and you have to half-carry him to the medical office. He spends 50% of the time walking there apologising to you, and the other 50% of the time is spent trying to stop his fingers from clenching into your arm. You've tucked him into your side, holding half his torso against you so he can spend most of his effort on pinching his nose, but he doesn't even care that he's swallowing blood anymore, he's so focused on how close he's pressed up against you. The feeling only grows more fervent, more needy, until he's twitching his thighs against the nurse's table to try and get himself to calm down, when you stay with him for the rest of the period to try and wipe some of the blood away. The way you're so close to his lips, the way that your gentle fingers are dabbing so close to his mouth that he can feel his rushing breath brush against your hairs is making him go cross-eyed with how much he's trying to focus on you.

'You know...', you start after a minute, biting your bottom lip nervously as you continued to dab at peter's nostril. 'I have eyes, Petey.'

'I-I know that, silly', he says, his breath coming out in a confused gasp. 'Me too!'

'I- I know you've been looking at me. Because I've been looking at you, too.'

His heart seems to be slamming into the caged cavity of his ribs, and yet everything seems to simultaneously be standing still: caught in a hazy, gliding, wavering dream as you slowly... ever so slowly drop the cloth into the sink, and break through the few inches between the two of you to press your lips against his top one.

For a moment, Peter is so shocked all he can do is widen his eyes, not even processing that the thing he's spent every moment of his waking and sleeping life wishing for ever since he was a child was happening right now. He tries really hard to stop his whole body from shaking, as his silky lashes finally falter shut against the top of your cheeks and he tries to focus his whole attention on the way your plush lip seems to press so perfectly against his own. After a few seconds though, when he hears the clattering of trays fall to the floor and the darkness he was letting himself fall willingly down into seems a little harder to blink out of, he realises the sound was him.

You're worried you've upset him, or stepped too far, or misconstrued his intentions when Peter falls backwards off you, but that's quickly replaced by frantic concern when he starts sliding to the floor. Thankfully, your reflexes are almost as good as his, and you're quick to wrap your arm around his back and cradle his head against your breastbone before he can slam his head against the floor again. He has to spend the rest of the day lying in the office's bed waiting until Uncle Ben can pick him up, but it was completely worth it. As he gazes up at the inane, plastered ceiling, suddenly everything else in life seemed so silly and pointless. All he cared about was rubbing his pointer finger over the wet patch of your saliva still dotted against his bottom lip, his eyes filled with a million bursting stars as he saw beyond the ceiling and into the skies, thanking it for making his birthday wish come true.

The two of you move into his crumby apartment after high school, and honestly? It's the happiest time in Peter's life. Sure, it may be small, and the walls may be flaky and they may shake every time a train rolls past the tracks outside, but every time he comes home to them he's greeted by the memories of the two of you laying against them like when you were kids, falling asleep against each other's heads as you read into the night. Sure, Ditkovich may hound the two of you constantly for rent, and the afternoons may be drowned out by the sound of his friends playing poker a couple of doors over, but they were so easy to forget in the evenings when you turned on your slightly dented radio and made a flustered Peter dance with you across the room, not stopping until you had him held tightly in your arms and he was so embarrassed with his two left feet that he was hiding his head in the curve of your luscious neck.

And sure, you may have picked up pretty quickly that Peter was Spiderman, considering he keeps hopping out the balcony at random hours and leaves his suit sometimes crumpled at the bottom of the closet, but you love him. And he adores you more than anything any universe could throw at him. So life, for the most part, is good.

Honestly, it's so cosy living with him?? Peter literally has spider strength, so he adores it when you lie on top of him in your bed. After a while of just nattering peacefully to each other about your days, winding down by playing with each other's fingers and sneaking kisses through the brackets of your arms, he feels so at peace to feel your weight familiarly resting on top of him. This need increases tenfold after he loses Ben, I think there's something so comforting to him, to know and feel that you're still so close to him, that he can synch the anxious patter of his heart against your own. He's so sweet bless him. he gets so sleepy that his head keeps falling down on top of your own, but he's so quick to lift it up again. He blinks languidly, that honey-sweet, silvery smile shadowed only by the tempered glow of the warm moonlight drifting through the balcony as he tries desperately to keep himself awake, giving his full attention to you.

There's just something about drifting off to the sound of your voice, knowing that for once, he's safe. That he's wrapped up, looked after, comforted by the love of his life. It just feels really nice to be the one coddled from time to time.

Sometimes, you'll jolt awake in the dead of night by the sound of some strange, wistful whispering echoing from somewhere in the near empty room. It takes your brain a little whirring time to realise it's coming from the hand that's spooning your waist, and the nose that's pressed tightly against the back of your thigh. Turns out Peter spends a lot of his sleepless nights tracing over your stretch marks, nestling down your back and reverently dancing his fingers up and down the tiger stipes on your waist. Every so often, he would rub his nose against their aureate lines in a fond kiss, gingerly resting his cheek against your bare skin again as he tried not to wake you up. What really made your heart melt, though, was the way an awe-struck 'wow' would slip from his lips in such a reverential tone, that Peter became so overwhelmed and could do nothing else but leave a small kiss against the side of your leg, dotted by slick tears.

This man picks you up on his scooter after your shift at work, mainly because 1) you are a much better driver than him, and it actually gets home in one piece rather than being tangled under a car wheel somewhere, and 2) when he's super stressed he finds it so comforting to wrap his arms around your side and press his forehead tightly into your back, letting the whole world melt away until nothing but whirling air and the scent of you is left. He always arrives outside your office building ten minutes early, making your secretary laugh when she spots him straightening his best flowery tie in the reflection of the waste bin by the bench outside. He has his best suit on, freshly pressed, and is nervously stepping from foot to foot with a crumpled bouquet of roses in his hand, like a teenager waiting to ask his crush to prom.

Every. Single. Day. You honestly just wait for the secretary to buzz you so you can grab your coat and run outside; you know far too well that Peter either dumps his Spidey suit through the window, or just wears his proper suit underneath so he isn't late. Doesn't matter if he has to catch five buses from the Daily Bugle, or has to 'borrow' his moped from 'Joe's Pizza' to get there on time, he's always there. And he always wants to look his best for you, even though he's still so surprised that someone as ethereal as you would even bother to look his way that he has to shuffle a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and dab at the sweat beading on his forehead.

It's either that, or Peter scaring the bejesus out of you by picking you up with his webs. You'll just be minding your own business, walking down the sidewalk on your way back from your lunch break, only to be hoisted, screaming into the air and past an equally petrified looking pigeon. Peter does feel bad the first time he did this, since you were screaming the whole time he swung you, but you've settled into a better routine now. You've found it easier to watch the scattered tiles of churches and the blurred crests of building whiz by while you're holding on tightly to his waist, and your feet are firmly pressed on top of his own so he can keep you steady against him. I mean, you might still bury your head into his shoulder blade in absolute terror, but he makes it up to you by landing you down gracefully on top of your office a couple of minutes before you go back in.

The adrenaline from swinging about New York makes the kisses far more heated, and it's always helpful to have a little privacy when you pull the edge of his latex mask harshly up past the bridge of his nose and nearly knock him flying over the cornerstones with how fervidly you smash your lips against him. His arms instinctively come to wrap around you, and even he's grown a little more emboldened by the knowledge that you actually do love him and this isn't some cruel villain trick or high school prank, to open his mouth and press his tongue lovingly against yours. He never wants to let you go, so before he lets you go back to your job he gives you a tight hug, and presses a million warm little kisses in a treasure trail down the pulse point in your neck.

This man literally has like... two outfits, so he's constantly wearing your clothes! Surprise! You come home to find him sitting criss-cross on the bed, face bruised and tired worn from his latest clash with Doc Ock, but your sweatshirt tucked over him and lifted up against his cheeks like a little hidden koala bear. Surprise! You plan a surprise birthday party for him with Aunt May, only for him to turn up after work wearing one of your jumpers! It's just so snug, and homey, and it reminds Peter of when he was ten years old; when you came round to sleepover, and the two of you would crash on his mat after spending so long pouring through and excitedly talking about the new quantum theories in the science magazines he used to buy with his pocket money, Peter would shuffle up beside you. With a sharp breath, he would tentatively turn on his side and pray he wouldn't wake you up, curling into the foetal position. With a smile like dawn breaking through the soft tufts of a cloud, he would press his nose into your shoulder and just breathe you in, hoping he would never forget it as long as he lived.

This man loves to take you out dancing, mainly so he can grin wildly and show you off to every other customer in the restaurant. Every time he passes the waiter, or the Maitre d', he points wildly at your back and mouths ecstatically 'that's my Y/n!'. He legitimately pools all the money he's made from the photography, and from the pizza delivery together so he can take you to a fancy restaurant uptown. He feels so nervous when he gets up with that breathless smile and offers you his hand, but all his troubles just immediately melt away once he feels your hand brush over the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. He falls against you, easily caught just like he was all those years ago. Your fingers feel so soft, so perfect as they slot between his own, although his left hand never stops rubbing over the supple skin of your waist as he sways the two of you back and forth in time to the dream-like lullaby of the string quartet.

#spiderman #spiderman imagine #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker headcanons #peter parker x plus size reader #tobey!peter #tobey!spidey #tobey!peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman headcanons #plus size reader #spiderman x plus size reader #tobey!peter parker imagine #tobey!spiderman #tobey!spidey imagine #tobey!spiderman imagine

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keerysfreckles · 1 year

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comfort - peter parker

tom!peter x reader (or could be any peter)

warnings: kissing, mention of how peter got hurt, use of y/n, she/her pronouns

a/n: hi! this is my first peter parker blurb so it might not be the best, but pls if you have any recs you can submit them in the questions part of my account<3

y/n knew dating peter parker had it's pros and cons. some pros being that he remembers a lot of little details about her, and how he's able to make her day ten times better by just entering the room she's in. however the biggest con she has to deal with is knowing he's out fighting crime, risking his life and getting hurt almost every night.

y/n hates seeing peter hurt, physically and emotionally. seeing him cry during movies even makes her heart sad for the boy.

tonight was no different than every saturday night for the girl. she was working on fixing one of peter's masks that had gotten a hole in it.

patters of rain could be heard from outside, hitting y/n's window. this didn't help the fact that she couldn't hear peter tapping on her window, waiting for her to unlock it.

looking up, y/n noticed peter's presence and finally opened her window. she smiles, happy to see her boyfriend.

"hi pete," she says softly, watching as he enters her dimly lit room.

peter mutters back a small hello, the action makes y/n look down to his hand covering a part of his torso.

y/n gasps lightly, "oh my gosh, are you alright?" she carefully moves his hand away from his body, causing him to let out a small hiss, "baby what happened?"

"i was coming back from patrolling and there was a mugger guy, i guess, by the deli and i must have not answered him the way he wanted me to," he badly explains as y/n leads him to her queen size bed.

"did the police show up? or did anyone see? she questions, concern filling her body as she walks to her bathroom, getting the first aid kit.

peter shook his head no, watching y/n get supplies.

y/n sat down on her bed by peter, already getting flustered by the question she's about to ask. "can you," she pauses, "can you take," she pauses again, getting quiter the second time.

this causes peter to sit up slightly, ignoring the stinging feeling in his abdomen. "having trouble y/n?"

y/n blushes, then looks down at the first aid kit in her lap. peter chuckles at y/n's flustered state. "you've seen me without a shirt on before you know," he replies, as he takes off the top part of his spider-man suit, leaving him in just the spandex pants.

y/n turns to face her boyfriend better, and to also get a better look at the giant cut in his side. "god pete, this is a bad one."

y/n starts cleaning and wiping around the wound, causing peter to take in a sharp breath and looking anywhere but the cut. y/n keeps mumbling out "sorry's as she's taking care of the gash, feeling bad for making peter feel more pain.

"are you almost done?" peter asks, gripping tightly on y/n's bed sheets, the pain becoming more intense. y/n nods, before placing a gauze strip over the wound.

she leans over and kisses peter's cheek, then gets up to put the medical supplies away. peter lays down on her bed, not noticing his girlfriend came back into the room.

y/n can't help but stare at peter. even in his injured state, she still finds him irresistibly beautiful. his brown hair falling so perfectly onto his forehead. his hand under his head, his arm almost begging to be laid on by y/n.

"y/n," peter whines, "can you come lay with me?"

y/n immediately answers his question as she turns off the lights in her room and lays doen next to peter. he turns to face his favorite girl, and places his face into her neck, kissing her skin softly. "missed you today," he incoherently mumbles.

y/n giggles slightly, while running her fingers through his hair, "i missed you too babe, spider-man loves stealing my boyfriend all day."

peter looks up at y/n. "what?" she asks, confuded by peter's loving stare.

"you are so beautiful," he breathes out, causing y/n to blush again. she kisses his forehead gently, as he curls up against her, wrapping his hands around her waist.

the two would lay like this frequently after peter finished a day of patrolling. it brought a sense of comfort to the boy, having his love in his arms while she holds onto him. he could lay with y/n all day if he could.

"y/n," he says into the dark room. "yes?" dhe answers, not opening her eyes as she's beginning to fall asleep.

peter picks his head up again off of y/n, having his face right in front of hers. being oblivious to the boy, y/n still has her eyes closed.

even though the pair have been dating for a while, peter still gets nervous when it comes to kissing y/n.

quickly, peter places his lips onto hers. instantly y/n'd eyes widen slightly, before closing at the comfort of her boyfriend.

the kiss intensifies slowly when y/n's hande move to peter's neck, while his hands stay firmly at her hips, his nails almost creating marks into the girls skin.

all that could be heard was the heavy breathing and fast heartbeats of the two teens in the room.

y/n suddenly feels something she hasn't felt before in the relationship with peter. she continues kissing him, before things can get too heated she pulls away so the two can take a breath.

"peter, i love you," y/n shakily states.

shock overcomes peter's face, instantly making y/n regret her words.

out of embarrassment y/n gets up off her bed to go into the living room, but is stopped when she feels a sticky web-like substance grip onto her wrist.

she turns, seeing peter sitting up a little on her bed.

"i love you too, y/n," peter responds, causing the two to have smiles break out on their faces.

peter pulls at the web slightly, making y/n come back to her bed, being stood in front of peter who's now sitting on the edge of her bed. she's placed in between his thighs, looking down at him.

she leans down and kisses him again, feeling his hand reach up to touch her jaw.

they both wished this is how their weeknds always went, just under different circumstances.

#peter parker #tom holland peter parker #tom holland #marvel #the amazing spider man #andrew garfield #tobey maguire #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #spiderman #spider man

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spider-stark · 1 month

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INFINITELY YOU

part one // back at the beginning

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 5.4k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //

The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.

It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.

“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”

God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.

Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”

Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.

With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.

She was dead—Aunt May was dead.

And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.

“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”

You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.

But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.

You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…

Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.

“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”

He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this…

Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.

“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.

“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?

But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”

You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…

You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.

And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her.

She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.

“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”

It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.

They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.

And it still made you angry.

“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.

“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”

He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.

She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”

Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.

“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”

Understand.

If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.

Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.

You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.

At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”

“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”

“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”

Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.

You weren’t used to this.

Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.

“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”

It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.

Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.

You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.

Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.

The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.

It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.

You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…

This was different, somehow.

It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.

It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.

Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.

But Peter wasn’t like other people.

Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.

His eyes couldn't lie, though.

Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.

They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.

“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.

Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.

His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.

“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”

You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”

You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.

Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?

It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.

It wouldn’t bring May back to life.

“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”

Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”

You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.

“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”

You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.

Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.

Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.

But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.

“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”

You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”

He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.

“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”

“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.

Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.

“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”

You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”

“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”

A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”

He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”

His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.

You knew better than to think he meant it.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.

Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.

But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.

You were good at expressing anger, though.

You were very good at expressing anger.

After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.

And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.

By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.

But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.

There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.

Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.

The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.

Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.

It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.

“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.

The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.

Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”

“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”

You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.

“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”

Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.

“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.

His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”

His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.

You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.

The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.

Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.

And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”

For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.

“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”

Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.

Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.

And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.

“I will,” you promised.

Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.

The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.

“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”

He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”

The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”

He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”

“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”

“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.

“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”

“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.

You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”

The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.

“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”

The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.

“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”

Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.

You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.

“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”

“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”

Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.

“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.

Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”

The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.

“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.

Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”

He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.

“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”

Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.

A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.

Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.

“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”

You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”

Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.

“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”

He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.

“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.

You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.

He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”

You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.

“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.

There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.

But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.

Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”

This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.

series masterlist

a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.

if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!

part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st

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angelyuji · 11 months

Text

peeping peter

yandere!peter parker x reader

peter decides that he's had enough waiting :)

tw // kidnapping, non-consensual picture taking, stalking, shitty friend activties, peter is a perv!

dark content ahead! 18+

“peter! hey!” you rush over, pushing past the many fast-paced new yorkers.

“(y/n)!” peter perks up, holding two coffees and a camera slung around his shoulder. the weather was frosty, people were preparing for an awful winter storm over the weekend, and you had promised to meet peter for coffee after work.

“ahh, oh my gosh, thank you so much.” you almost moan as the coffee warms you up.

“you took your time getting here,” he laughs, he takes his camera out to take pictures of bystanders before turning it to you. “pose, please.” you freeze, coffee cup against your mouth. “perfect.” he looks at it for a couple seconds before turning it to you.

you smile, “peter parker, you are the only one capable of taking good pictures of me.” he shrugs, but you see the embarrassment creep up his face. you walk together, catching each other up. both of you end up walking through a park. aside from the quiet clicking of peter’s camera and the chirps of the birds, there was a comfortable silence between the two of you. soon you’re both in front of your apartment.

“thanks for coming, (y/n).” he smiles.

“it was nice catching up with you, pete.” you hug peter and he blushes again. “we should do this again sometime, once work settles down.” you smile.

“i’ll-i’ll send you the pictures later.” he turns away, putting his camera in his bag. you bite your cheek, stopping your laugh. the both of you part and the rest of your day progresses as normal.

at night, you’re awoken by a sound. something like clicking.

“it’s probably just some dumb kids.” you assure yourself, rolling over. your eyes close, but you sit up after hearing the clicks once more. you sit up, annoyed. you look towards your window, contemplating yelling at whoever’s on the roof, but see someone standing there. your eyes go wide, your breathing stops. their hands press against the glass of the window. the room turns cold and you can’t move. their hands start to, carefully slide open the window. right then, your body turns back on and you jump out of bed, sprinting to the door. you hear the window slam open and you start screaming. you get to the front door and unlock the deadbolts, but before you could open it. a hand slams against the door, cornering you. you face the door, shaking, too afraid to face the trespasser. their arms cage you against the door.

“(y/n).” the hairs on your neck stands as you hear the voice. “do you know who i am?” his voice was dark, almost teasing. you turn, careful not to brush against the arms trapping you.

“spiderman?” you recognize the masked man. you let out a breath, slumping against the door. “spiderman, oh my gosh, i thought you were some pervert.” you laugh nervously, ignoring the fact that the hero broke into your home after watching you from your window. he doesn’t respond, only using a hand to stroke your cheek. you frown, weirded out. “spiderman?”

“i love you.” your blood runs cold. you swallow.

“what- what are you talking about?’ spiderman chuckles. your body feels numb.

“i’ve loved you for so long, but i was going to keep it inside you know?” you try to move his arms, but he wouldn’t budge. “but, i don’t think i can hold back anymore.” you feel your throat close up, as your situation sets in. “the pictures aren’t enough for me anymore.” he shakes his head.

“p-pictures?” you respond, meekly. he wraps a hand around your throat and slams you against your door, you feel the wind get knocked out of you. you start screaming, praying someone will hear, scratching and kicking wherever you can. spiderman doesn’t seem fazed by your panic.

he shushes you, “don’t worry, (y/n), you’ll be okay. just give in.” his hand around your throat tightens. your vision goes dark as you start losing air. you’re fighting your body as it tries to give up. his grip tightens once more and you pass out.

when you wake up, your hands strapped to a bed. you try to look down and see that you’re wearing the same t-shirt and shorts you had slept in. sunlight streams in and you recognize the posters and clothing.

“peter?” you rasp, your throat sore. you start to remember everything that had happened before you lost consciousness. you close your eyes as tears start to well up.

“you’re awake!” you open your eyes and peter’s bright smile enters your view. “i didn’t know when you’d wake up… i was worried i had…” he looks away. “but everything’s fine.” he smiles and crouches down next to you. he places a glass of water on the nightstand next to you.

“peter… you’re spiderman?” you choke out. he jumps up and helps you sit up, loosening the straps a little. he places the glass to your lips and you, gladly drink, spilling water on your t-shirt. he pulls the glass away once you had finished. you clear your throat. “why did you fucking KID-” peter claps a hand over your mouth.

“i’m not hurting you, (y/n), i love you!” peter pleads, but you only feel disgust. you most show it on your face, because peter stands, hurt. “i’ll show you. i’ll show you how much i love you.” peter goes to the desk at the corner of the room and digs through his dresser. he pulls out a thick binder. he drops it onto your lap and signals you to move. you’re forced to shimmy to the side and he sits beside you, pressing himself to your side. he opens the binder and your eyes go wide. all of the pictures were of you. “i’ve known you were the one since the moment we met. i saved every picture i’ve taken of you.” he smiles, laughing slightly. you look over at him, horrified. “look, these are the ones i took of you the day we met.” you look and realize that these are ones he’s taken of you at the park, but farther down were pictures of you in your home. he flips through and you see glimpses of pictures of you sleeping, getting dressed, taking a shower. you feel bile rise up your throat.

“how could you, peter?” tears are running down your face, “we were friends, how could you DO THIS TO ME.” you scream and peter slams the binder closed. you start screaming again, hoping his neighbors would hear, but peter stares at you. he gets up, shaking his head.

unimpressed, he rolls his eyes, “no one will hear you, (y/n), stop your tantrum.” you sob and peter sighs. he grabs his binder and puts it back on his nightstand. “i’ll be back later to give you something to eat.” he opens the door, but pauses, “by the way, you don’t have to worry about working anymore.” he smiles and shuts the door. you scream, sobbing. you can feel yourself get nauseous once more and you turn to the edge. you throw up, sobbing. you fall back, struggling against the binds. you give up once everything starts to hurt and cry yourself to sleep.

you’re woken up by peter picking you up. “silly girl, crying so hard you throw up.” he quietly chuckles. you keep your eyes closed, making a plan that once the door is open, you could startle him and escape. you smell the vomit on your shirt.

when peter opens the door, he whispers to you, “i know you’re awake, baby, don’t try anything stupid.” you open your eyes, and he laughs. “i’m spiderman, (y/n). i know how your heartbeat sounds when you’re sleeping.” you look away, scanning the home, you see the front door right next to the kitchen. he takes you into the bathroom. he puts you down onto your feet. “feel free to leave your clothes at the door, i won’t come in when you’re showering. i’ll replace the old clothes with some new ones.” he closes the door behind him, leaving you alone. you wait a couple of minutes before peeking outside, you see peter in the kitchen. he looks up and waves to you, smiling. you slam the door closed, panicking.

‘spiderman…peter is…spiderman.’ you feel the waves of nausea come back. “i’m fucked.” you mutter to yourself. you can’t talk, breathe, or fucking piss without peter knowing. you want to throw up, scream, and sob all at the same time. you splash yourself with water from the sink and slap your cheeks with your hands. ‘get it together, (y/n). you gotta get out.’ you shake your head and strip down. you carefully open the door to toss your clothes out the door. you quickly close the door again and lock it. you shower quickly, not wanting to be naked and vulnerable for long. but as you were finishing up, you recognized the hair and skin products lined up on the sink. you feel your knees buckle and hold yourself steady on the counter. peter had been watching you for a long time, every single product in the bathroom were the exact products you used. every time you start to dissociate from your situation, you’re brought back to reality. you close your eyes tight, fighting back your tears. ‘i have to get out. there’s no point in crying.’ peter knocks on the door, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“your new clothes are out here, okay, (y/n)?” peter doesn’t say anything more as he walks away. you peek your head out and snatch up the clothes before he turns to look at you. he gave you a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

“what the hell?” you wipe your eyes, confused. you open the door and call out for him. “peter? w-where’s the rest?”

“rest? rest of what? i gave you my shorts and one of my t-shirts.” he tilts his head, similar to a puppy. you bite back your disdain.

“like a bra, or some underwear, i don’t know.” you press your lips together.

“ah,” he pouts, “i’m sorry, (y/n), i didn’t think to grab your underwear. i have a couple around here, but they have to be washed.” he smiles. ‘oh my god, he’s fucking crazy.’ your eyebrows raise, but you don’t say anything. you close the door and pull on peter’s clothing. you still feel vulnerable with the clothes on, you can smell peter on you. you brush your hair with your fingers, thinking about what to do next. ‘he won’t let me leave now, but if i go along with everything, with his insane delusions. he’ll trust me. with his trust, i’ll be more able to escape.’ you hum, realizing what you’ll have to do. you open the door, uncomfortable in your new clothes. peter brightens when he sees you. “you look beautiful!” he looks at you with adoration, but your skin prickles at his leering. you don’t say anything, only sitting down at the table near his kitchen. he places a plate down and fills it up with food. “i made this for you. it took me a couple tries to get the recipe right, but i think it’s perfect now.” he pushes a fork towards you. you pick it up and start eating, much to your dismay, it tasted good.

you swallow and clear your throat, “it’s- it’s good.” you force a smile on your face. he sighs, seeming relieved.

“good, good. i’ll make this more often for you.” he sits down across from you, stretching his legs out to knock against yours. you force yourself to not move. after a few minutes of silence, peter decides to talk, “are you feeling better?”

you pause, “yeah-yes, i’m feeling a lot better. i’m-i’m thinking more clearly too.” you look up at him, peter’s mouth twists into a smile. you put your fork down. “i-um. i’ve thought a lot about your confession.” he straightens, hearing your tone. peter stays silent, waiting for you to continue. “can you… can you show me the pictures again?” peter presses his lips together, fighting back a grin. he immediately jumps up and runs to the bedroom. you look to the front door, maybe 30 feet away from you. you hold back, knowing better than running from spiderman so soon. you resolve to wait until he trusts you enough to leave you alone in the apartment. peter comes back, “here.” he places it down. you watch peter as you open the binder. you barely register the pictures, focused on keeping a neutral face.

“it’s… nice.” you spit out. peter smiles, softly, oblivious to your blatant lies.

“you like the pictures now?” he shines.

“ye-yeah! i’m very…flattered. i’ve never had someone be so… devoted to me.” you force another smile. “i’m just s-so happy that you’ve finally told me.”

“i’m so glad you’ve come around, (y/n).” he gets up and gets you up. your eyes go wide.

“peter, wait-” peter picks you by the waist and plops you down on the table. you wince as your butt hits the table. “peter, w-what are you doing?” he cups your face in his hands.

“you love me? you really, truly mean it?” peter comes up close to you, your noses almost touching.

“i didn’t-” you stop, seeing his face drop, and he moves away. ‘fuck. i need to do something.’ quickly thinking, you grab him by the face and pull him back. “i love you, peter. every picture, every dirty thought you’ve ever had of me,” you lean in close to his ear to whisper, “turns me on.” you pull away, feeling disgusted with yourself. you feel tears streaming down you face, but peter seems to pay no mind. he swallows, one of his arms drop from your waist to your thighs. fear itches your skin as goosebumps rise all over your skin. you fight the urge to push peter away as his hand trail to your inner thigh.

“i love you, my angel.” he rests his head in the crook of your neck, leaving small kisses along your shoulder. “i’ll keep you safe, sweetheart. i-i’ve had a lot of regrets, things i wish i could’ve changed. but with you, things will change. i will keep you safe.”

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maple-the-awesome · 1 year

Text

It's Over? ||

Pairing: (any) Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 3,728

Overview: (Loosely based on this) After overhearing your conversation on the phone, Peter begins to worry about the status of your relationship and a miscommunication over text only makes matters worse.

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Peter Parker's such a terrible boyfriend.

...Okay, so maybe you've never said that to his face, but he's convinced it's true and he's also certain you agree. He's been a massive idiot lately which is a realization that makes him sick with worry and rotten with guilt.

Peter feels no hesitation with his feelings towards you and has always put effort into proving it: he gets you hand picked flowers collected during his patrols, writes loving messages for you with webs outside your window, and even texts you pictures of sunsets from the best views in New York, wishing you could be there in person with him because he absolutely treasures you, counting himself lucky every single day solely because of the fact that he can call himself your boyfriend.

Unfortunately, he fears that the title might change here soon because no matter how boundless his love is for you, he's done a real shitty job of showing it - at least in the ways that really count the most.

Originally, Peter didn't notice the flaws to your relationship and even when he did, he foolishly brushed them off. Once your smile began to fade little by little each time he returned home wounded, he reminded you that you don't need to stay up waiting for him every night and can go to sleep earlier if you're just going to be tired and annoyed with him when he gets home. He didn't mean to word it so harshly. He was worn out himself and didn't take the time to consider that you wait all night because you're worried about him.

Your complaints about him returning from work without getting any groceries would simply be met with new promises to do so after patrol. If there was no food in the fridge for dinner, then he suggested ordering take out. As a man who could easily survive months on Top Ramen alone, he didn't think you'd mind Chinese food two days in a row.

Even when you'd beg him to stay home for a date night because you haven't had one in weeks, he'd push you away, insisting he needs to protect New York without once stopping to wonder how his priorities might translate in your mind: 'I need to protect a city of strangers as I do every single night, so no, I can't spare a few hours for my girlfriend'.

Throughout every sigh to part your lips, Peter turned a blind eye to it all. Sure, the two of you argue, but all couples do, right? He still loves you and you love him, it's just...a little rough dating a superhero is all, however you'll both get through it together, he was so sure - and that's the key word: Peter 'was' sure, but after your fight today and the self-reflection he's done since, he's not too confident anymore.

It seemed so minuscule this morning. He was eating a bowl of cereal when he heard you huff from the other room. Upon investigating, he found you holding a red and blue shirt in hand, frustration written all over your face. It was your favorite shirt and it definitely wasn't supposed to be that color. Of course, the reason for its unplanned dye job wasn't difficult to guess.

Peter apologized while explaining he was really tired the night before and must've thrown his suit into the wash without checking the other items first; an "honest mistake" he called it with a shrug. Once again, you huffed, throwing the shirt back into the hamper in clear defeat which only made him press further about your suddenly foul mood. From there, the situation only escalated into raised voices ending in you slamming the door directly in his face when he tried to follow you into the bedroom.

Looking back on it now, Peter realizes his apology came off as halfhearted as he merely continued to stuff another spoonful of cereal in his mouth in between sentences and he probably should've stayed at that locked door to give you a proper apology, yet regrettable that's not how it played out. Instead, he purposely sighed as loudly as he could, asking why you "act so bitchy anymore" before stomping off...Not the greatest way to resolve an argument.

Unfortunately, Peter can't say that was the first fight he's merely walked away from with you. You would think Spiderman would know better, but alas, he's an idiot. In his own immature mind, he didn't see anything wrong or unhealthy with this strategy of simply dropping 'unfavorable conversations', after all, it seemed he had a fifty-fifty chance of you either getting angrier or never bringing the topic up again, the latter of which has been occurring more frequently lately. It wasn't until this morning that he realized just because you don't bring it up again, doesn't mean it isn't still hurting you.

When Peter went back up to the bedroom door, prepared to tell you he'd be leaving for work soon, he heart shattered upon hearing your silent sobs from inside. You were crying because of him. Your tears have always been his weakness, but it was in that moment that he learned there's something else that can deal even more damage to his sorrow and that's the broken words you sniffled to presumably MJ on the phone:

"I-I just can't do this anymore! It doesn't matter what I do! I've tried to not be clingy. I've tried to give him space and let him do his thing, but he never comes back to me! I don't even remember the last time we've gone on a date. It's always New York this, Daily Bugle that. Hell, he volunteered to work a few extra hours the other day yet can't be bothered to stay home just to eat dinner at the table with me! It's like I'm last to everything else in his life even when I put him first in mine!"

The thought of your relationship ending turns Peter's nerves to mush. How could he be so stupid? So ignorant? Such an asshole when he has the perfect girlfriend who has kept putting up with his bullshit for all this time? You don't ask for much in return; you never have. You ask him to help with small chores in your shared apartment. You request that he texts you regularly throughout the night not because you need attention, but because you need to know he's safe. You want date nights every once in a blue moon because he's your boyfriend, goddammit! What's the point of saying you're dating if he feels more like a lazy roommate than an equal lover?

You're slipping right through his fingers and he has no one to blame except himself. He knows that now and he's been spending the entire day thinking about it along with some way to apologize properly.

Part of him wishes he would've just pulled himself together and done something right then, bursting into the room with the promise that he can change - that he will change. Hell, he'd burn his suit in front of you if it means you'll give him another chance - if you'll believe for a second that the relationship is worth saving...But alas, he couldn't bring himself to interrupted your call, feeling it would only betray your trust if you knew he had been listening to a private conversation.

Instead, Peter sat like a statue on the couch, waiting not so patiently for you to leave the room on your own accord. When you did, he leaped up only for you to walk directly past him while sternly reminding him you have work. Of course you had work and, no matter how far he followed you through the apartment, begging you to listen to him for even just a minute, you wouldn't so much as glance his way...The karma he deserves.

While you may not have given him any time to explain himself this morning, hope is not completely lost. Shortly after your departure, Peter came to the realization that his nerves will last all day if he doesn't do something about your earlier argument, thus he decided to text you:

Your final text hadn't come until ten minutes after his, but at least he has a chance to plead his case which he doesn't plan on letting go to waste. He's practiced his apology about a hundred times each hour, engraving the thought-out speech in the deepest corners of his mind despite none of it sounding quite right. Of course none of it sounds right! You sounded so convinced on your phone call - like your mind is already made up on ending the relationship. What if you can't be swayed? What if you don't love him anymore? It did take you ten minutes to text those words back. Maybe you weren't even wanting to say them to spare you both the extra pain at noon.

It may seem hopeless, as Peter worries, however he refuses to give up. Too tense at home, he took to swinging around New York while sometimes reciting his speech aloud. He's tried his best to predict any possible response you may have so that a counter argument can be prepared. He wants to show you that he means this - that he's confident in his ability to fix your crumbling relationship. He's even picked up a nice bouquet of flowers at the corner store, ignoring the weird looks the florists gave as Spiderman dropped from the sky just to nervously request the best flowers to avoid a break up.

Needless to say, Peter's heart nearly jumps out of his chest when his phone alarm finally rings at noon. By this time, he's already sitting on the rooftop of your workplace, waiting nervously for your call while reviewing everything he's prepared in the meantime.

Bad boyfriend or not, Peter still knows you. He knows you find the break room too crowded, so you prefer to grab your lunch and take it back to your desk to eat. That's when you'll likely call him. The plan is then for him to pour his heart out into his speech before hanging upside down outside your office window with the flowers. Sappy, yes, but it's the best a desperate wreck like Peter Parker can think of!

His focus is glued to his phone screen while waiting, only shattered by the sound of sirens nearby. Lifting his head, Peter's heart drops at the sight of several cop cars racing down the street to a location he's learned all too well throughout his time as Spiderman: the damn bank. Of course, someone has to rob the bank now! Crime has been quiet all day, but the one time Peter needs it to be so, it decides to be blaring loud instead!

He curses under his breath when standing only for his ringer to be the new sound in his ears. You're calling now! You're calling and there's a bank robbery a few blocks down! Why does the universe hate Peter like this?

"Hello -"

"- Hey, (Y/n)...Sweetheart - Listen, I'm, um," he bites his lip, watching a few more cop cars zoom by in the company of a firetruck," I am so sorry, but I'm gonna have to call you back, okay? There's a robbery at the bank and I -...I promise I'm going to call you back before your break is over. I promise."

You don't respond too quickly much to Peter's concern - as if you already know to start weighing the worth of his promises. When you finally sigh, you sound just as tired as this morning, "...Sure, alright. Just...be safe, Peter, okay?"

"I know, I will be! I promise I'm going to call you right back so just hold tight!" Swinging into the air, Peter holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder, soon removing it with his hand but pausing to say before hanging up: "Have a good lunch, I love you!"

"...I love you, too..." Another delayed response, one Peter barely hears before pressing the little red button on the bottom of his screen.

He's dealt with lots of bank robberies before. He can make this quick. Swing in, keep the sass to a minimum, web up the badies, save the hostages, and return your call with plenty of time remaining for your break. It'll definitely work out that way, no sweat!

It didn't work out that way...No, of course it didn't, this is the life of Peter Parker; a man the universe just seems to hate most of the time. Forty two minutes; that's how long it took to deal with the whole fiasco at the bank. The robbers were armed with homemade weapons each packing a punch which are already annoying to deal with on their own, but sided with the worry of hostages and his already stressful day, the fight wasn't as easy as Spiderman had planned.

Nevertheless, no matter what the universe decides to throw his way, he has gotten good at recovering. Yet again, the bad guys were defeated and left webbed up for the police, however Spiderman had no time to deliver a clever pun before his exit. Instead, he disappears the second the threat is gone, his phone already in hand as he prepares to face another:

"Shit, shit, shit!" Peter curses, pacing across the rooftop he lands on while frantically texting you back:

Swinging a bit further, Peter begins his way towards your work with his phone balanced against his ear. He mumbles desperate pleas under his breath as he listens to the seemingly endless ringing before, to his relief, your voice finally picks up on the other side:

"Yeah?"

"Oh thank god! I didn't mean it's over as in 'I'm over with you and our relationship', but over as in 'I got the robbers'. I'd never break up with you especially over text, I swear - Listen, I really need to talk to you, but in person. Are you still at work?"

"Whatever it is, can't you just tell me now? I have that meeting in like ten minutes."

"No, I need to tell you in person. I need - I have to make sure that we're okay...I want us to be okay..." He's nearly in tears which is obvious to you by the sound of his voice.

"What are you talking about?"

"I really don't want you to break up with me. I know I've been a terrible boyfriend lately and I know I've made you feel like shit so I probably deserve to be dumped, but I swear I never meant to and I want to fix everything - I will fix everything, I swear! You're the most important person in my life - okay, maybe second to May because she's my aunt, but compared to everyone else! I love you more than Spiderman or the Daily Bugle or - or even those super good sandwiches at the corner deli!"

"Peter -"

"- My point is I can do so much better! I'll start doing all the chores, I'll take more days off from the Daily Bugle and I'll even stop being Spiderman if it means you'll be happy with me, I promise! Just please give me one more chance -!"

"- Peter, hold on!" He instantly shuts his mouth under the strictness in your voice. You hesitate on the other end before a sigh can be heard, "...How quickly can you be here?"

"Give me two minutes tops!"

"...Alright. Meet me on the rooftop - and don't be late. My manager's already an asshole as it is, so I can't be late to this meeting."

The sound of Peter landing on the roof causes you to turn around, yet you have no time to say anything before he's running towards you with his mask already crinkled in his hand as well as a few measly roses with broken stems in the other, "(Y/n), I’m sorry. I promise I’m sorry.”

“Peter, your face…” Perhaps it’s just instincts and routine at this point, but the first thing you notice is the nasty bruise already forming under his eye, not that he’s the slightest bit concerned about that, in fact he doesn’t even acknowledge your comment.

“Please give me another chance. I’ll fix everything!” When Peter officially reaches your side, he moves to hug you - desperately wanting to do so, however he stops himself with his hands on your arms, having no more confidence to push his luck. You could shove him away at any moment, after all, “Like I said, I’ll do the chores, I’ll go on as many dates as you want, and I’ll stop being Spiderman even -”

“- You wouldn’t stop being Spiderman. You’d never stop being Spiderman,” contrary to his expectations, rather than being angry, you run a hand through his hair, your voice a soft whisper, “You love being Spiderman too much, Peter.”

He bites his lip and bows his head in shame. You’re right. He doesn’t want to stop being Spiderman, but…

“...But I love you more…”

“...Peter,” your heart swoons. Brushing his bangs away from his face, you tilt your head to get a good look at him, “I know you love me and I love you, too. That’s why I could never ask you to give up something as important to you as Spiderman.”

“I thought…” He trails off.

“You thought what?”

He glances at you quickly before directing his eyes away, “...I thought you were mad at me because of Spiderman? Because I spend too much time working - that’s why you want to break up with me, right?”

You blink in surprise, “Huh? Why would you think I want to break up with you?”

“I accidentally overheard you talking on the phone,” now it’s your turn to look away in shame, “You said you couldn’t do this anymore…That you were pretty much fed up with me which you have every right to be. I’ve been a terrible boyfriend lately -”

“- You’re not a terrible boyfriend -”

“- I am, though!” Peter cries, “It’s like you said! I leave you second to everything else - I don’t mean to, but I made you feel like you’re not as important to me when you really are. You’ve always been important to me, yet I’ve been ignoring your feelings and I pushed you to the ledge -”

“- Peter Parker,” you move your hands to his cheeks, moving him gently to look at you as you speak quietly yet sternly, “...You’re right. You haven’t been the most ‘attentive’ lately and yes, it really hurts to be tossed aside compared to everything else. I know deep down that you don’t mean it and I know you love me. I love you too - sooo much which is why I really don’t want to break up…It’s just…Something needs to change.

“That call you heard - I was only ranting if anything because honestly, I haven’t felt like I’ve had anyone to talk to lately,” you squeeze your eyes shut, blinking back the tears, “I’ve been so worn out with it all. Work’s been crazy lately with my manager constantly up my ass for reports and then when I go home wanting nothing more than to spend time with the one person who makes all that stress go away, you aren’t there. I’ve…I can’t keep that up.

“...What’s important right now is that we both realize that. I don’t want you to give up being Spiderman, but you could take a night off once in a while, right? There’s like a zillion superheroes in this city, after all. Make the Avengers handle it or - I don’t know, that devil dude. Take a break not just for my sake, but yours, too” you let your hands fall down to Peter’s, holding onto them with a sigh, “...You’re not the only one who needs to change, though. This is partly my fault, too -”

“- It isn’t your fault. Why would it be your fault?” Peter interrupts with concern, yet you shake your head.

“I should’ve communicated to you that I was upset. I should’ve made sure you actually understood how I was feeling instead of just assuming or expecting it. Clearly, you care about us as much as I do and you want to make fixes now that you’re aware of the problems. If I just would’ve said something sooner, it wouldn’t have had to get to this point. It isn’t fair for either of us to suffer without the other’s knowledge nor is it healthy. We shouldn’t have to get pushed to the ledge or worry about a break up before ever once sitting down to actually talk about our concerns like grown ups…That’s what we’re supposed to be now, right?”

“I think so, although it’s not that easy, is it?” Peter mumbles then throws his head back dramatically with a groan, “Ah, May and Ben made it look sooo easy!’

You chuckle, resting your forehead against him, “I’m sure they had moments like this…We just have to learn, is all.”

For what feels like the first time today, Peter smiles and breathes his relief, “How about this: I’ll promise to start spending more time with you and doing more chores around the apartment if you promise to start telling me when you’re upset. Even if it’s something that seems totally stupid, okay? I won’t walk away anymore. I’ll sit and listen and if I don’t, you have my permission to call May on me.”

“It’s a promise,” you press your smile against his for what you intend to be a quick peck, however his arms finally wrap around your waist, pulling you closer into a longer kiss he’s been dying for all day.

“I love you,” he whispers once pulling away.

“I love you, too,” and there’s no hesitation or delay to your response this time.

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