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spider-stark · 27 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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scorpiomother · 1 year

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APOCALYPSE (pt. three)

･ﾟ★ . remember that you are dust and to dust, you shall return

summary: there’s no way you can put a label on what you and peter are. friends with benefits aren’t even the proper term. he pisses you off but reels you back in every time...

word count: 10.1k (holy hell)

warnings: explicit content. minors dni (+18) seggsy times w/ dom! peter on x games mode, but nothing too crazy i think ;p

playlist 𓆩♡𓆪 mood board 𓆩♡𓆪 read on ao3 𓆩♡𓆪 series mlist 𓆩♡𓆪 masterlist 𓆩♡𓆪 kofi

← chapter two

ACQUAINTED

You were self-destructive. That’s what you had decided the second time you let Peter into your apartment. The third and fourth times, you decided that this was so very feminist and empowering of you. You were the modern woman! Casual sex was so easy.

It’s been two weeks since your first date with Peter and the nights eventually blended together and you lost count of the times he came over. You couldn’t help it when your social life amounted to nothing, and Peter was not one to deny sex.

You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was ruining everything for you. So technically, you were self-destructive and feminist all at the same time. (Also, very modern woman of you).

The ghost of him lingered. There were bags of coffee in your pantry for him to drink after fucking you. (You assumed it was so that he would have enough energy to make his way back to Queens and avoid sleeping over at all costs). His records started to mix in with your own collection. (His forgetful dumb ass never remembering to take them with him). Your own bed sheets were stained with the smell of him. (A mix of his evergreen shampoo and your own body wash that he would use). It’s like he was deliberately making you addicted to him. He simply ruined the comfort of your own home.

Not to mention, it was nearly impossible for you to focus on work anymore. Harry often found you with a blank stare and you had a hard time keeping up with the endless amount of emails and paperwork. You were either daydreaming about having sensual sex with him or if he liked you the way that you liked him (which you easily doubted).

You have never been so mentally absent in your life. It was like Peter took that sane part of you with him. That bastard.

Today was no different. The work day went by slowly and for a long while, Peter’s veined hands on your hips were the topic of interest in your mind. It was an early symptom of your impeding love sick disease. Not that you were in love with Peter or anything.

It always began like that. A superficial, sometimes aroused, thought. And then it would snowball into something more skin-deep.

You were filing paperwork, something you would normally push to the side, but with your wandering mind, you needed to do something that required less amount of thinking so that you could think about more important things. Like self-reflection and relationships. Like how the fuck did you let this happen. This being your somewhat of a relationship with Peter.

After that rainy afternoon to evening sex, you thought you would never see Peter again, and eventually, at two in the morning, you convinced yourself that you liked it that way before falling asleep. Two perfect orgasms in one night by handsome and mysterious Peter Parker? Who cared if you didn’t click? You definitely clicked in your apartment. And that’s a big win!

Peter Parker was nothing and you were going to move about your weekend like he wasn’t life-altering or anything! It was a one-night stand and people had one-night stands all of the time.

What was crazy and possibly unfortunate, was that Peter was at your front door the next morning. It was too early for you to be awake, your Sunday’s normally not starting until the afternoon. You hadn’t expected anyone at your door, let alone Peter. If you knew it was Peter, you would’ve fixed your hair a bit better.

When you opened the door, your breath immediately hitched at the sight of your unannounced guest.

Peter was donned in casual wear with the same backpack from the day before hanging on his shoulder, now dry. While you were adoring him in his gray sweatpants, you could feel his gaze on your body. Your pajamas, short and sheer, revealed to Peter all of the marks he made on you. You bit your lip before acknowledging his presence.

Your cheeks buzzed with a combination of shyness and eagerness. “Peter? Did you forget something?”

His eyes clung to your breasts for another second before granting you his full attention.

“I got you… um, something, and I didn’t have your number,” he shrugged. You looked at his hand and saw the plastic Walgreens bag in his grasp.

“I know the sex was really good-”

“Really, really good,” he corrected.

His quick interjection made a laugh bubble in your chest. “Right. But, my hand in marriage, Peter?”

“I know, I’m such a romantic,” he shrugged..

“I have such a shit memory…How’d you remember where I live?”

“Put a tracker on you. You know, nothing crazy,” Peter said, putting the bag in your possession, the crinkles making your ears tingle.

“Smart,” you said taking the plastic in your hands. When you opened up the bag there was a small purple box causing you to let out a snicker. “Wow. Hand delivered Plan B? What a gentleman…”

Peter rubbed the back of his head, clearly embarrassed.

“I just felt really bad about not offering to use a condom or anything. And I’m clean, no doubt about it. So you don’t have to worry about it,” he said.

“Oh, thank you! I mean according to my period tracker I shouldn’t be ovulating, but I’ll take this anyways,” you found yourself oversharing, accommodating for his own discomfort.

“Yeah, can’t have mini me’s running around,” he smirked.

Your grin turned into a full-fledged, teeth and all smile. “Definitely not.”

Although the awkwardness of the situation made you cringe, it didn’t stop you from noticing how Peter looked so cute and sleepy-eyed. His messy tussles of hair were begging you to just hold on. It was sickening how terribly gravitated you were by him.

Your mouth was doing that thing again. Speaking without permission. “Don’t you think we should get your money’s worth?”

Peter tilted his head and soon after grinned, quick to unscramble your riddle. “Ah you don’t mean…”

“I do mean...” You pressed your thighs together at the thought of having him in you again. He had to have spent about fifty dollars on the small pill. Living in New York wasn’t cheap and neither was being a full-time student for Peter! It was in both of your best interests to make this count.

“I have class in an hour.” His words held no meaning when his eyes wandered to your thighs. It was just words and actions meant more. His feet were planted, unyielding, not ready to leave your apartment. You took a mental note that Peter noticed everything. And you were going to use it to your advantage

It wasn’t in your nature to be so bold, but every part of your body begged to please Peter. Let me your good girl, your neurons snapped and fired and pleaded.

“We don’t have to take an hour,” you said licking your lips.

Peter shook his head with a sinful grin before he took a step into your apartment, his backpack already flung to the floor to be forgotten for the next fifteen minutes.“You and your bright ideas…”

That was the third time Peter Parker came inside of you. Out of God who knows many times! The only difference was that you were now on birth control, an easy pick-up with your covered insurance. Thank you OSCORP!

When you reflect back, all you can do is blame it all on Peter. Though, you often noticed how you were always the one to initiate the sex. But it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for him and his eyes that made you feel like you were drunk all the time.

It was easier to be the victim than to purge all contact from Peter. Because that was what you would have to do if you weren’t the victim.

Finally, you had finished filing the large stack of paper on your desk. At least you could go home today and say that you completed something successfully. It was a Friday and you were antsy to go home. Not because of anything particular, but you were barely sleeping whether it was up from late nights with Peter or nights alone and thinking of Peter, both equally leaving you with a lack of restful nights.

As you sat back comfortably in your chair, you let out a sigh as if you were working yourself to the bone.

“You’ve been really tired recently, huh?”

When you look up, your eyes fixated on Harry in a well-fitted, navy suit.

“Blue suits you,” you said as he sat on your desk.

“Don’t tell me, you and Parker are having late nights,” he grinned, leaning forward on his knees. Perhaps to assert dominance. Show off the way that he knows what you have been up to.

“No, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you scoffed.

“Right. From all of your late nights with him,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Respectfully, fuck off, Mr. Osborn.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N.” Harry hopped off the desk and proceeded to crack his knuckles. You watched as he walked around the foyer.

“Did you bring lunch today?” He said.

“No, I didn’t have time to pack anything.”

“Great. Join me? My treat,” Harry flashed a smug smirk.

It was a douchebag’s peace offering. One that you weren’t going to pass up.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

The cherry pie in front of Harry taunted you as you nibbled on the leafy greens and ruby red tomatoes on your plate.

“Pie for lunch. You’re living the life.”

“I told you to order whatever you like,” Harry laughed, pointing his sugar-coated fork at you to emphasize his words.

Harry had decided on a small bistro a couple of blocks away from OSCORP. You had expected to walk to lunch, but Prince Harry had other plans that involved a black Mercedes Benz and a personal driver. Spoiled, you thought to yourself in the luxurious car.

“And I like this,” you gestured to your vibrant salad.

Harry scoffed, preceding to shake his head at your remark. “Yeah right.”

“Bite me,” you said after taking a mouthful of the arugula in your mouth, giving Harry a dorky smile with greens in between your teeth. “Careful for what you wish for.”

In a way, you were thankful that Harry continued with the snide comments and flirty remarks even though you were seeing his best friend. It was the only normalcy you had at the moment and you knew you could count on his smart mouth. Harry would burst at the seams if he knew how you looked forward to his banter.

Harry placed the fork down and rested his chin on his palm. “So what are you guys?”

You let out an aggravated sigh. “Harry, I’m not going to talk to you about this.”

“Fuck professionalism, I set you up on that date. I deserve to know what’s the deal with you two.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Harry,” you said plainly.

What was there to say to Harry? You clearly weren’t dating Peter Parker, but you wouldn’t go out of your way to say that you were friends with benefits. It was hard to find the exact terminology for what you two were to each other. You could say “fuck buddies” but that didn’t feel right either. It felt like you were sex acquaintances. Acquainted with each other through sex, that’s all. Because saying “friends with benefits” would entail that you were friends or that you know remotely anything about each other.

You didn’t know how to comprehend the situation-ship.

What was worse was that you were suppressing any feelings for him because it was easy to enjoy someone's company when they were making you cum. He touched you like he loved and worshipped you, but despite everything, he continued to be distant and mentally absent from you aside from the banter you shared. It was confusing.

It all felt like shallow banter and hollow flirting.

When it came down to it, you both didn’t know much about one another. When you don’t share a real conversation with one another, but spend a consequential amount of time together, that leaves room for observation. He didn’t have to say a thing for you to know him. You could tell when he was anxious or had a lot on his mind. It was simple observation and emotional cognition, but it felt like he didn’t have that same understanding for you. He didn’t watch and study you the way that you did.

It felt silly to search for a fleeting moment of bliss with him. You were chasing that recklessly. Somehow it was worse to be in love with Peter than be with Harry you realize. Peter was secretive and you were greedy. It didn’t mix well.

You were embarrassed to admit that you wanted more of him.

“Why don’t you ask Peter?”

“He won’t tell me a thing,” he shrugged.

Peter didn’t talk about you. It was both relieving and hurtful. But maybe it was for the best that Harry had nothing to say about it so he couldn’t tell you that this was a bad idea or that Peter was just using you. Both equally terrible news.

Harry’s eyes searched for the reason that caused you visible distress. All you could do was let out a breath that brought no real relief and give Harry a response.“I don’t know what we are, okay?”

Harry’s eyes softened. “What do you want to be?”

A snort escaped from you. It was a hilarious question, something you never let yourself truly think about. “Again, I don’t know.”

The sexual compatibility was transpicuous and it was so unbelievably clear how easy it was to fall into one another. Yet, there was always something holding Peter back. The way that he would part his lips and momentarily light up, just to throw away a semblance of spark in himself. It seemed as though he was constantly at war with himself.

You wanted to tell him to snap out of it and quit holding back.

You started to fork around the vegetables. Pushed the lettuce to the outer rim and rolled the tomatoes in circles. Poked and prodded at the cucumber. You lost your appetite.

“I’m just curious, Y/N. Need to know if I have to beat his ass or not,” Harry said with his eyes stuck on your plate. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bare to see his pity.

You gave him a hollow laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

The sunlight was what woke you up at first.

The luster of amber had seeped into your bedroom and stirred you awake. It was Saturday morning, and you didn’t catch up on any sleep. In Harry’s words, you had another late night with Peter. You threw your bedsheets over your head. You partially dozed off before an arm slung around your body, stirring your consciousness to be more present.

The sudden warmth and presence of another confused you. You propped yourself up with your elbow and looked at the mess of brown hair on the adjacent pillow.

“Peter?” You said bewildered at the sight.

Peter was sleeping on his stomach, the white comforter draped along his lower back like a gossamer robe on a Grecian. His face was away from you and all you could see was his naked back and mop of hair. It wasn’t his glorious, toned back that had your heart racing, but more so that he was there at all.

“Hmmm?” Peter’s hand softly rubbed on your hip to acknowledge you. Your instincts were to grab his hand and hold it tightly, kiss his knuckles even. His touch burned into you.

It was hard to recall how last night ended. You don’t remember specifically falling asleep with Peter. You just remember falling asleep immediately. Whether Peter stayed or not wasn’t a question you were thinking about anymore, you just knew that he was going to leave. That was the routine.

You felt your voice go meek, but you forced the words out. “You stayed over?”

“I guess I did…” He mumbled, his face still smothered in pillows and sheets. His morning voice was raspy and made your stomach churn. “I’m sorry. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just surprised.” You were talking to a head of hair, but it somehow made it easier to talk to him. His eyes weren’t coercing you or turning you into a babbling idiot.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Peter and all of his apologies. It made you want to hold him in your arms and tell him that he has nothing to be sorry about. Instead, you soaked up the view of him in the morning. Here. With you.

“It’s okay, Peter.”

“Can I stay a bit longer?”

“You’re an idiot,” you said, falling back into bed.

You snaked your arm around his back, his skin hot to the touch, and spooned him, something you had never dared to do.

His skin smelled warm. Aromatic.

Lavender and tonka bean perfumed your sheets, turning Peter into a casualty.

He smelled like your lotion.

You understood what he meant when he said he wanted to eat you. You wanted to bite into his shoulder and inhale him until there was no more room in your lungs.

You hoped your embrace was enough to convey that you wanted him to stay more than anything. For once you didn’t care what he thought and you didn’t care if you were overstepping boundaries. You only wanted to let the morning sun kiss your back as your eyelashes fluttered against Peter’s shoulder blades.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

An hour later, you properly woke up, but this time Peter wasn’t with you and the sun was no longer seeping through the blinds. A sense of relief flooded you. The idea that you didn’t have to confront him about his stay and try to make sense of everything brought you comfort, even if it would’ve been nice to wake up to him and his sleepy eyes.

The Peter-shaped dent in the mattress was proof that he had slept over. With your foolish heart and tired eyes, you were unsure if what you saw had been an apparition, a dream at best. Your eyes searched for further evidence.

When you looked at the nightstand on his side, you saw a Polaroid and a single picture. Stretching out your arm, you took the photo between your fingers and examined it. Oddly enough, it was a picture of you.

The morning light illuminated the room with a halo-like essence around you, the yellow sheen bouncing off from your shoulder blades. There was the slightest visual of your lips past all of the hair, your bottom lip protruding- a pretty pout for Peter. It was almost angelic.

For a long time, you lay in bed with your hand in the air, the picture staring back at you. You have never had such a pretty photograph of yourself before and you wanted to memorize each detail.

Did this mean anything?

Normally, you held up the dam of your feelings with ease, but for some reason, your hold was slipping. The water was making its way past the cracks, the barrier useless against all of the thoughts flooding your mind. It was overwhelming. You were losing your control over a picture. Peter sleeping over didn’t even make you this dizzy.

In your mind, the sleepover was merely an accident, but implementing the two-thirds composition rule and pressing the shutter button wasn’t an accident. How could that be an accident?

You held it in your hand as you left your bedroom, unable to part with such an offering. Walking to the kitchen with the photo in one hand, you began to hear some noises and realized that Peter had never left. This sudden realization made you grasp tighter onto the photo as if Peter was going to snatch it out of your hand.

Peter finally came into view— a tummy-turning view at that. Shirtless and focused, he moved fluidly around your kitchen as if it was his kitchen. He was rummaging through cabinets, pouring liquid, and playing with mugs, all the while his back flexing with each movement. The marks you left from last night were still red on his skin.

“Oh, I thought you left,” you said.

“You always think I’m leaving or something,” he chuckled without looking back at you.

Because you always leave, your mind hissed back. You swatted the intrusive and petty thoughts away, pushing them behind all of your unpacked feelings about Peter.

You sat at the dining table and tried your best to remain calm as if this was another ordinary morning with Peter. Another ordinary morning with Peter who took pretty photos of you while you slept.

Didn’t he know? Candids were for people you cared about.

You took the photo and put it behind your thigh. The slick film was cool to the touch. A reminder that you were something so beautiful that Peter stopped to take a picture. It was a stretch, but furthermore, you didn't know how to talk about it yet. It was better to hide it beneath you than talk to Peter about his actions.

“Am I overstaying my welcome?” he asked, continuing his task at hand.

“Not at all.”

You were lying. If he knew you any better, he would’ve known the way that you wiggled your nose. A small bluff that even Harry knows.

Of course, you were lying! He changed the routine. He’s getting your hopes up.

“Good, 'cause I was about to pour your tea down the drain if that was the case.”

Your heart fluttered. Peter at the very least cared about you! Who makes tea for someone you don’t care about? Psychos?

“You made me tea?”

He turned around, his front side now a view to you, with the two mugs in his hands and a grin on his face. “Figured you didn’t want any coffee,” he said before setting your mug on the table.

“You figured right,” you murmured, taking a deep inhale of the cup.

Rather than sit at the table with you, Peter leaned on the counter and took a sip of his drink.

Peter Parker in the morning was strangely generous, or at least more generous than normal. This pit of feelings was getting deeper and deeper within the hour. Your imminent descent was going to be fatal, you thought as you blew on the mug.

Peter’s brown tufts of hair were out of place and he wore a lazy, yet satisfied grin. He was the poster child for the sexy morning look. You wanted to avert your eyes and save yourself from all the drool, but who knew when was the next time you would see Peter like this?

This interaction was all too casual for you. All too domestic.

Shuffling around your kitchen as if it was his. Making you tea with his own free will as if he knew you like the back of his hand. Photographing small moments that he wanted as a keepsake as if you were his and someone he would want to treasure.

And it would’ve been so easy for you to give everything up to him.

For fuck’s sake, he made you tea, and now, you’re willing to do anything for him?

No, you weren’t that weak and you weren’t that hypnotized. Peter was a man, who only comes to you for one thing and one thing only.

Your eyes fell from the rim of his glasses to his toned abs and the faint bulge in his shorts, convincing yourself that you wanted him for one thing and one thing only. You definitely did not want to stare into his eyes and exchange intimate secrets with Peter. Only partake in physical activities with him.

A certain quietness sat still between you two. The only sound in the kitchen was alternating sounds of Peter taking sips and you blowing your tea. Not even the normal New York white noise was apparent to you. You were completely absorbed with this small pod of yours that just so happened to have Peter Parker.

Were you supposed to be acting like everything was okay? When in fact you weren’t okay?

The herbal steam mixed in with your breath, the air around you warm. Normally that warmth would be relaxing, but you felt sticky. You were oddly hyper-aware of the polaroid beneath your thighs, the film adhering to your skin. You peeled it off and held it in your lap, still hidden from Peter. The border felt grainy between your fingers. What did this mean? You felt dull compared to the girl who was golden and sun-soaked in the picture.

You had this certain itch that urged you to let the questions spill right out, but that would be so fully you. Your impulsive mouth was what got you here.

You watched Peter take a sip from his mug, his eyes on the wood floor. If you don’t say anything, Peter will stay quiet and stare at the ground until he realizes it’s his time to leave.

Maybe your mouth was a good thing.

“Is this me?” You asked, finally holding the picture up.

When his eyes reached the photo in your hands, he took another sip. Peter was unfazed. There was no change in his posture, your findings deeming no surprise to him. He was still enjoying his coffee like someone does when they have no secrets to hide.

For some reason, that didn’t sit well with you. A part of you yearned for a reaction out of him, something that told you more about him. A smile that said, you found it. Or rosy cheeks that wished he hid it properly.

“Oh, right. I hope you don’t mind,” he said cooly. “It’s for a class of mine.”

For a class. Not recreational enjoyment or holding any sentiment.

You couldn’t help but frown at him. “Kind of creepy, Peter.”

He tilted his head in confusion. “Shit, really?”

You wanted to turn this around and make him feel silly. What are you doing taking pictures of unconscious girls? Make him feel like the asshole. ‘Cause he was an asshole. An asshole for making you feel crazy.

Instead, you relinquished the photo to the table. “I’m just joking with you. It’s a nice photo.”

“Thank you.”

You swirled the mug in your hands, the liquid nearly spilling. Disappointment sat in your chest and you yearned for reassurance. You wished he was different.

One would assume that after spending a couple of weeks together, your connection with Peter would have grown, even minutely. But it feels like the first day of your meeting with him. Physically near, yet so far away.

"You know, it felt like you didn’t like me at the coffee shop.” You find yourself admitting.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm, weird.”

“Right,” you squinted your eyes at him, searching for his thoughts. “Weird.”

You expected him to say kind, heartfelt words. Words that fit around your syllabus. Of course, I liked you on our first date. Or I like you now, don’t I? But he was never one to omit that type of stuff. He couldn't even lie about it. Instead, he says, weird.

The sleepover. The photo. It was all changing your perception and expectations of this relationship. It was criminal.

“I like you on top of me.”

God, did this guy know how to read a room. You didn’t know what to feel with his sudden proclamation. You reluctantly took a sip of your tea, your body unsure what to do with itself. The tea hit the back of your throat, cold and bitter. The warmth had disappeared leaving you disappointed. The warmth in the tea and in Peter.

“I’m sure you like any girl on top of you,” you said unamused while you tried to get over the bitterness in your mouth.

He shrugged, clearly unaware of your feelings. “I will take anything I get.”

Asshole.

You hated moments like this. Uninterested Peter. Peter, who gives you nothing to work with. You couldn’t even make excuses for him.

“Ya’ know... I especially like you under me.”

When you looked up, Peter was taking a long sip from his mug. Past the steam, his eyes were glued on you. He was like a lion watching his prey. Ready to devour you.

And these moments were worse. Peter Parker, who resorts to sex. And you, who lets him use you.

Whether he liked you or not on the first date (or even, right now) didn’t matter. It was the answer that he withheld from you. It was the way he never let you in, not even for a moment. You deserved the truth, didn’t you?

You felt irritated. Irritated that he couldn’t be honest and couldn’t go further than having sex with you, as if sex isn’t far enough. Normally, you would push away his indifference or welcome the new sexual tension. But, today wasn’t like all the other days where you accept the role as Peter’s lap dog.

“Why would I like that?” You scoffed at your mug. Brave enough to challenge him and yet you couldn’t bring your eyes to him. It was a pathetic attempt at gaining control, but being confrontational wasn’t your thing. Being Peter’s good girl was your thing.

“Like what?” He said.

You dragged your tongue across your teeth, the lack of amusement clear on your face. “Being under you,” you said, rolling your eyes.

Your defiance caused a wicked laugh to come out of him.

“You’re serious right now?" His voice was deep and intense making your stomach quick to stir.

You could hear Peter walk closer, making the space between you lessen until his feet were in your eyesight.

"Why wouldn't I be?" You said softly. You meant to be more confident and use your anger as fuel, but your irritation was replaced with anticipation.

"You're funny." His tone continued to be stern and heavy on your chest. Heavy in your abdomen.

His hand skimmed your cheek, a barely-there touch before his lips pressed against your forehead like a blessing. Like smudging ash in the shape of a cross on your forehead.

You felt like dust, crumbling into nothing.

“Can I show you?” He whispered.

You opened your mouth to say no, but Peter didn’t give you the chance to answer. He wasn’t asking you, he was warning you. He hoisted you up onto him in one swift motion from the chair to his chest. A whimper had escaped you and so did your aggravation. It was a quick exchange, a flustered feeling now warming your cheeks with this sensation of not knowing what to do with yourself and all of your thoughts.

With a tight grip, he suspended you in the air at the waist. The act said it is so easy to make you mine. You were in his whole possession.

Peter turned you into an atomic bomb compressed into a woman who has no choice but to stay calm as if you were anything but an overwhelmed and confused woman. All you could do was let him pepper kisses along your jaw, hoping that it would burn the turmoil away.

You could never think straight when it came to Peter. You were putty in his hands, and all you could do was dig your nails into his back. You so desperately wanted to be strong, but the way that he held you up by your waist so easily made you aroused.

“Peter...” You moaned.

“Want me to stop?” His lips moved gently against your soft flesh, the kiss of air prickling at the spots Peter sucked on. The way that he dragged his tongue along your neck made your hips buck.

“I’ll stop if you ask me to.” He assured you again. It was meaningless words that you didn’t know if you could trust. His roaming hands said he had no intention of stopping. He just wanted to parade his power in front of you. Like a new, shiny toy on Christmas Day. Look at this. Look at the way I make you needy. He was just waiting patiently for your surrender.

Peter continued to make you lightheaded with his hands and his lips and his tongue. After weeks of late-night hookups, he knew what made you weak. He was taking advantage of your sensitivity knowing that you would never dare to ask him to stop.

He kneaded your ass, his middle finger dragging near your slit in the process. It was clear how wet you were for him when he traced the hem of your moist panties.

He shifted the thin layer of fabric to the side, your pussy now exposed and vulnerable to him. When his ring finger brushed against your needy hole, he could feel your chest expand with all the air in the room.

“Didn’t think so,” he mumbled against your neck. “If you wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be this wet.”

His lips trailed along your shoulder, leaving sloppy kisses, coaxing out sighs from you. It was like each time he pressed a kiss to you, he was putting oxygen into you and the only thing you could do was exhale it out with a moan before you became overfilled with him.

He was right, you didn’t want him to stop. You just wanted to know if he liked you. That’s all. So you took it out on him with bitter remarks, attempting to shoot bullets in his chest, and instead, he turned the gun around on you.

Peter’s middle finger found it’s way to your entrance, your voice getting caught in your throat. It easily slipped in, your treacherous pussy sucking it in. To your dismay, he wasn’t gentle at all, vigorously inserting it in and out of you. As your nails dug into his back and his finger pumped into you, your whimpers echoed.

“So sensitive,” he chuckled. Peter’s lips feathered against your ear, a chill tingling at your spine.

“It’s not funny,” you pouted with your lips pressed against his neck.

He pulled his finger out of you, abandoning your pussy. The emptiness made you whimper. “I mean, it’s pretty funny to me.”

Peter kept one hand around your ass, holding your weight up while he took his middle finger into his mouth and tasted you. He looked at you with glazed eyes causing a release of butterflies in your stomach. “Be a good girl for me, will you?”

“Maybe, I’ll let you taste yourself on my cock,” he said before spanking your ass. You yelped at the impact, your arms helplessly clenching his chest as if he wasn’t the one who spanked you. God, he was going to make you eat your words.

“You’re not being very nice,” you mewled, the spot where he slapped beginning to burn.

“Good girls get good things,” he whispered before setting you down on the countertop.

The wood was a cold shock to you, your pussy now flush to the table. You were suddenly aware of how naked and raw you were right now, the air around you so / sharp.

He took a step back and examined you like you were his morning meal. His eyes had turned from a hazelnut brown to obsidian black. There was a glint in his eyes that scared you. Gave you fear that pulsed in your empty slit.

He pulled you into him by your hips and your dripping cunt immediately found his hard length. Though you were sitting on the table now, Peter towered over you. He had all the power. He always has. So, you let him do everything. You were too weak to do anything but ball his waistband into your fist. He wanted to put you in your place, and you let him. You were his to kiss and ruin.

He grabbed your hair and ushered you to his lips. His tongue lapped into your mouth and his hands wandered. You could taste the bitter coffee and it transported you back to the first day you met him.

He has always been disinterested and detached Peter. You never knew what to make out of him back then and you still don’t.

Kissing him for the first time was unexpected. Unforeseen. But it still felt that way when you were with him, even with him inching closer to you. Your mind constantly thinking, oh, he’s kissing me again as if it was a goddam miracle for him to still want you.

God, were you lost in his touch. Dissolving into his mouth, each kiss to your skin an attempt to get to the center of you like a damn tootsie pop. He kissed you once on the nape of your neck. Twice on your jaw. And the third time, he took you by your lips.

It was like he was trying to find the answer to the age-old question: how many licks to the center of a tootsie pop? Except it was how many kisses till you fall apart?

For you it wasn’t about how many kisses, but which kiss? Because you fell apart a long time ago. Probably the day he kissed you in the rain. The day he washed your back and pressed a delicate kiss right behind your ear, a place meant for secrets, not kisses. But maybe he was telling you something in another language. Sharing a vulnerability with you that you didn’t know.

Your head was dizzy with the thought. The feeling that Peter had broken you apart was enough to make you shudder. He was peeling back your skin till you were nothing but a skeleton and taking it upon himself to carve his name into the bone. He was always taking. Taking your mind. Your attention. Your orgasms… It wasn’t fair.

You mustered up all the strength in you to gain control.

“Peter, you can’t...” You mewled in a weak attempt.

He nipped at your shoulder, a mean bite to your flesh.

A desperate ahhh came from your throat when his canines pressed into you, sending a thick jolt up your chest. The sudden pain created an embarrassing stimulation to your slit. You buckled you hips, your pussy begging for Peter’s lips to reattach to it.

“When did you become such a brat?” His groan vibrated against your collarbone, his voice traveling to your core.

Humiliation spread across your face. But for all the wrong reasons. He made you feel so small. Terribly submissive. And you liked it. You attempted to squeeze your thighs together, but Peter felt your slight shift and immediately brought it to a halt, clutching at your leg.

He lowered his head in a way that his lips lightly brush against your ear. “I’ll take good care of you if you’ll let me.

The heat from his mouth made your nipples harden all the while, the butterflies in your stomach were traveling to your wet cunt.

Once again, Peter slid your panties to the side and started tending to your clit. His fingers were electricity, your body just a host for all the pleasure Peter granted you. The tempo was slow and reeling like the fire in his eyes. He had an appetite for you. You could tell by the darkened look in his eyes and the way he licked his lips.

“Take off your shirt,” he demanded. His fingers circled around your pussy, an agonizing repetition from rubbing over your empty hole to your swelling bud. Your index finger twitched, ready to be compliant, but the little demon in the back of your head quickly terminated the movement.

“Or what,” you said shaky, occasionally shuddering when his fingers reached your clit. You were high off of disobedience, the act of challenging him bringing you butterflies. You were desperate to see what he’ll do to you.

“Or else,” he murmured.

“That’s not a real answer,” you said further provoking him.

You could see his jaw clench, the light flicker in his eyes. Your pussy was throbbing at the sight. He blinked his eyes once, before working your shorts and panties off of you. He made up his mind. He figured out your punishment within seconds.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he deadpanned. Peter threw the clothing to the floor, leaving you in your flimsy tank. Peter stared at your cunt for a long time, licking his lips. Your instincts told you to cover your pussy, but decided against it and left your legs open for him. It was too late to be shy. And what was there to be shy about when he looked at you like something worth looking at? Wasn’t that what you wanted?

When he finally brought his eyes to your face, he bent down and kneeled at your feet. It happened so fast, yet so slow. Like your brain couldn’t register what was happening.

Your cheeks turned crimson seeing that he was close enough to smell your cunt. Preemptively, you dug your fingernails into the table and bit your lip. “Peter… What are you doing?”

He answered, but not the way that you expected him to. You gasped as he took your bud into his mouth, experimentally scraping the bundle of nerves with his teeth. “Peter!”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He said, eyes overcome with lust. He stared you down while his lips pressed a wet kiss to your heat. He never failed to make you feel so small, even though he was the one kneeling down before you.

He hummed with satisfaction as he dipped his tongue into you, soaking your folds with his saliva.

You hoisted yourself up by your palm, watching him work with awe. He introduced two fingers into you, stretching you wider, as he used every part of his mouth to please you. You couldn’t identify Peter’s saliva and your juices separately. They mixed like red and blue turning it into an unrecognizable, purple mess that you created together.

Before you know it, the pleasure turned into something that moved you. You were rocking into him, trying to catch the gratification. His position was perfect and any second longer, you were going to see stars. His arms anchored around your hips, a thumb lazily dragging across your clit while your legs hung on his shoulders. You kept rocking, bucking your hips up and down, using his face and fingers like a toy. How could he have all the power when you were violating him like this?

“Am I doing a good job?” His raggedy voice vibrated against your skin.

What do you think, you laughed to yourself. You were riding his face, hips shifting and pussy quivering. You were immobilized in his hands, enjoying every lick he gave you. You wished you could take a picture of the sight. Peter kneeling for you with his mouth enveloping your cunt, a thick tent in between his legs.

“Admit it. You like how I touch you,” he pressed a kiss to your cunt, a temporary break from the unrelenting friction. He gave you begging words with a candied peck, but you knew it wasn’t free. It’s intentions were to make you submit, create a more vulnerable you so he can take you in his powerful hold and torment you. Your words were a binding contract, your statement forever on the record. You couldn’t bare to incriminate yourself.

But then his fingers were knuckles deep in you, rapidly moving in a blinding pace. In the meantime, his kisses turned you into a bite of the fist. He started to move his face left and right, his tongue putting more and more pressure on you.

You wanted to cry. Cry out in pleasure and let the tears fall from the overwhelming pressure of everything. Your true feelings for Peter were thumping at your chest and you wanted to ignore them. You wanted to tell him that he made you feel so good. That animalistic inclination to please Peter was eating at you from the inside.

“You like the way I kiss you.” He started to slow his rhythm down, the vigorous pumps of his fingers dying down and his tongue gently sweeping your clit. “The way I eat you out.”

You hummed with desire, a lazy and vague response to the cruel Peter. You were used to his cruelty, but this was a different type of cruel. Deliberate and mocking.

“I need to hear you say it,” he said, his unmoving fingers now soaking in you. Your hips grinded against them, needy to be pumped full.

“I can’t,” you managed to get out past the broken breaths.

“Must be doing a bad job, then, huh?”

“Should stop since I’m so shit,” he said, pulling his fingers out and using them to trail along your opening. You could feel your pussy clenching, searching for something to pulsate around.

You whined desperately for him, your heart plummeting down your ribcage like a falling from a flight of stairs, each ribcage a rigged step.

He released you from his hold, your body suddenly so empty without his touch.

“I’m sorry, did you want me to keep going?” He feigned innocence.

He was an annoying and persistent salesman at the door, ringing the bell and knocking violently, and you hide in your room with your hands over your ear. No one’s home! Go away! I don’t want to buy your terribly manufactured product!

Go away, Peter. I don’t know how to talk to you.

Admitting you wanted him was dangerous for your headspace even if it was just a sex thing. It was like once you started talking, you weren’t going to stop. A small admission of the sexual pleasure he gave you would snowball into how much you wanted him to like you. Or worse, the act of saying it out loud turned it into something that you couldn't take back. Your feelings coming to fruition. But at the moment, denying yourself of an orgasm felt worse.

“Peter, don’t,” you uttered, your voice broken up and small. This awarded you with the insertion of a finger, the slow thrust pushing a satisfied moan out of you.

“Peter, don’t what,” he rasped, his voice like sandpaper against your skin making you curl into him. You tried to catch your breath, find your voice, come to your senses. But it was hard when Peter’s eyes bore into you, patiently waiting for your answer. He put pressure on you with this already there burden in your gut.

“Don’t stop,” you blushed. “Want you to make me cum…”

“Where?” He looked at you with a newfound softness, a face that said please tell me more.

“Need to cum on your face,” you sighed with eyes hazy as you could feel Peter draw closer to you. His presence was like static, his lips emitting this energy that you can feel inches away.

His lips finally reached you again. That energy surged through you like you were an outlet and him, the plug, your collision creating glints of light.

Peter flicked his tongue up and down eagerly, taking your confession to heart. Immediately, the familiar sensation of arousal bubbled up from your slit to your chest. The pleasure was pumping into you, building up to something that you couldn’t handle, turning you squeamish. You jolted and tried to adjust your hips, your body unconsciously fighting Peter.

He was so cruel. Holding you down like you were the canvas during an earthquake and he, the determined painter, continues to stroke till his work is complete.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he said between licks.

You’re purple all over, the matrimonial union of red and blue occurring over and over. Your shared secretions intertwine with each other. The sweat and saliva. The glossiness of your cunt. All of it. If thoughts could transcend through bodily fluids, then Peter would already know all of your secrets. All of the things you want to tell him. All of the things you can’t say.

Peter’s tongue had found a hurried tempo that makes your hips buckle. It was getting harder and harder to hold yourself up. You put so much pressure onto your hands, trying to grip the rigid wood, the shock of each lick to your bottom half aiming no mercy to your arms.

You swear there’s a fire in your bloodstream and all you do is scream Peter’s name, him being the one who committed the arson. The flames traveled from up your legs to your face, an outpour of pleasure coursing through your body.

“I’m coming!” You cried, your grasp full of his thick hair.

“Come for me, baby,” he cooed, letting you convulse on his face.

The arsonist in him has a smug smile watching you tremble and your pussy twitch, your whole body up in flames. You arched your back, gratification advancing through the channels in your spine.

Your chest was heavy as you attempted to balance your numb legs on his shoulders. Catching your breath was nearly impossible with your throbbing heart and the tremors rolling through your cunt. Peter’s hands held onto your hips, keeping you steady and from falling.

When you finally reeled back to your senses, you brushed Peter’s hair back to get a good look at his face. “Peter…” You purred.

“How do you want it?”

“What?”

“You don’t think we’re done, do you?”

The blood from your swollen pussy rushed up to your face, the unbearable heat blooming in your cheeks. “Peter, I really don’t thi-”

“Fine, I’ll choose for you,” he declared calmly.

Peter’s hands were faster than your declines. He pulled you off the table and turned your around so that your ass was flush with his cock. His hand nudged your weak body into the table and started to spread your legs.

Your whole body was tingling with anticipation. He has never fucked you with such dominance and it made you feel exhilarated. Your logic was fighting against him, unsure if you could take any more.

“Peter,” you croaked out. “M’ so weak.”

“I told you, I’ll take care of you, didn’t I?” The cloy tone he bared to you made your stomach turn as his hands snaked to your hips, his grip gnawing into your flesh.

He uses his cock to tap on your entrance like knocks at a door.

You dug your nails into the table again, bracing yourself for his length. You expect him to shove it in, hard and unforgiving, but instead, he nudged his leaking tip into you, swirling the head in your wetness.

And then he fucks you agonizingly slow.

He winded his cock all the way out, just to inch it back in, coating every part of your walls with his precum. Peter’s calculated thrusts rendered him balls deep into you, nearly hitting your cervix with his length.

You were enamored by the sedated cadence and the sensations of Peter. You could hear his labored breaths and feel the moisture on his palms. The occasional grunts in your ears. Somehow, it wasn’t enough.

“More,” you muttered under your breath.

A part of you hoped he didn’t hear it, and the sick and twisted part of you does.

There was a soft chuckle coming from Peter. When his voice comes out, it sounds candy coated to you.

“You think you can take it?”

“No,” you told him. He didn’t understand you most of the time, but he understood you now. You wanted to feel the pleasure and the hurt that came with his cock. You wanted as much of Peter as you could get. You wanted it all.

The snap of his hips was like a whip made out of lightning, a thunderstorm collecting in your apartment. The electricity of his touch and the claps of his thrusts had echoed. The overstimulation had created you into a babbling mouth of nonsense.

“Gonna fuck the brat out of you,” he groaned, the words coming across like a warning.

You were someone else at that moment, pleading and begging with tears in your eyes. Please, please, please was drooling from your mouth, a recitation as if it was the only word you knew and couldn’t bare to lose it. You knew you were someone else because your hand reached out for his. You were already intertwined in his body, but it wasn’t enough. You needed to feel his grip, interlock his fingers with yours.

Before the hand of uncertainty reaches you, you place your palm over his knuckles. His thrusts were violent and your legs were already ready to give out from you. It’s for stability, not yearning, you convince yourself.

To your surprise, he pulled his hand from under yours and seized it in one fast motion, his large hands clenching onto you like you wanted.

Your heart stirred. Not from the previous orgasm and not from being railed, but from holding hands with him, the most intimate act you have experienced with him. “Peter…” You whispered.

“Say it again,” he groaned into your ear.

You repeat his name with each thrust. It was an exorcism of him, a ritual to fuck the thoughts of him right out. So you give in, desperately needing it to work. To appease the choir and rid yourself of the spirit. His name was guiding you to your catharsis.

You were entirely enraptured by his dick, your walls starting to clench again.

“Feel you getting tighter,” he pressed wet kisses against the curve of your shoulder. “Gonna come, aren’t you?”

“Maybe...” Your voice came out strained and tiny, like a butterfly with a broken wing unsteady in flight.

“Maybe?” He growled and proceeded to massage your cunt with an intensity that made you almost fall over. “Such a brat. You want me to stop?”

“No!” You cried out immediately.

“Prove it.” His thrust came to a halt and his mean voice commanded you.

You shoved his cock into you, straight to the hilt, and started to push against his cock to your wits ends. It felt like all of the oxygen in your brain had left so that it can make a new home in your core. You moved against him like each pump would grant you a small supply of oxygen.

“Fuck. Look at you making a mess on my cock,” he hissed.

It’s like he put you in a trance. Your body was fatigued and you could barely stand without your legs shaking. Yet you did as you were told and fucked his cock.

His hands were heaven against you. His thumb trailed along your knuckles while you pushed back against him. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

That was the second time he called you baby. The first time, you were too absorbed in your orgasm to register it. And now, you were more coherent than you were and holding his hand. Hearing baby felt taunting and mean, but you held it close to your chest anyways.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised you with that same endearment. “You’re gonna make me cum like that.”

You could feel his cock pulsate and throb at your walls. It felt like you were set ablaze, the fire sizzling at your skin. The name-calling. The hand holding. The thick, pulsating member. The accumulation of it all had collected into your core, your orgasm blossoming at the sensation overload.

“Can you get any tighter?” He groaned.

“Peter…” You tried to warn him, but it was lodged in your throat.

His hand was clutching onto yours as if you threatened to take it away from him. His grip was strong, too strong. He was hurting you, but you didn’t care when it felt so good. You dug your nails into your palm as Peter coaxed your orgasm out.

You came to the summit again with sweat beading at your pores and shaky legs. Fragmented curses were drawn out from you as you reached the peak of your high.

“Fuck, I’m cumming!” You gasped, frantically moving on Peter’s cock for the sole purpose of your satisfaction.

“Oh, baby…” he moaned. “Fucking milk me.”

You turned your head back to watch Peter, to look at him use you. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes mesmerized by your greedy pussy eating him whole. Your mouth was agape as he thrust into you, soft moans vibrating in your throat. God, he was so pretty.

When he caught you aimlessly staring, his eyebrows knit together in agony. “Don’t give me those eyes, baby.”

“Gonna make me cum just from your pretty eyes,” he rasped.

Peter reached out to your neck, his hands covering it completely, pulling you closer to him so that your back was against his chest.

You arched your back, giving Peter a better angle to ram his cock into you. He used your clenching pussy to find his release and slammed against your walls repeatedly. You desperately bit your lip to smother the sobs that were on the precipice of forming.

“Fuck! Gonna cum in you!” He was panting, his breath hot against your skin.

Encouraging words were spilling from your mouth like God, yes, and fucking cum in me and Peter, just like that.

Peter felt like hot wax on your body, the molten liquid trickling all over you until you were a mold of a version of yourself that you didn’t like. The candle wax sculpture of you encapsulates thoughts of only Peter. He was all-consuming, marking every part of your body as his.

He rocked into you slowly as he pumped his spill into you. You could feel Peter’s cum fill you up, the liquid practically leaking from your hole.

When the thrusts became nothing but cock warming, a thank you escaped from your lips before you could retract it. Though it felt impossible, your cheeks reddened further from your intrusive gratitude. Thank you for making me cum, Peter. How dorky of you.

“You’re so weird,” Peter laughed with his face resting on your shoulder.

“I guess you really did fuck the brat out of me,” you huffed out.

He pressed a delicate kiss on the arch of your lower back before undoing himself from you.

After cleaning you up, Peter guided you to the couch, letting you use his chest as a pillow.

It was a quiet afternoon that seemed to stand still like this. You didn’t expect Peter to still be here. A part of you was waiting for him to get up and leave.

While Peter had buried his face into your hair and continuously traced the outline of your body, you were drawing invincible constellations on his sinewy chest and listening to his heart attempt to regulate itself. You tried to focus on the rhythm to avoid the thoughts that were at the forefront of your mind.

You and Peter didn’t need a label, not when the sex was that amazing. Peter wasn’t complaining and you weren’t going to start. Who needed mental stability anyways?

You could feel a certain type of drowsiness slowly sinking into your body with your eyelids becoming heavy. You let out a sluggish yawn.

“Tired?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Can I be honest with you before you go to sleep?”

You shook your head in approval, too worn out to use your words.

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m addicted to you,” Peter said quitely.

There was an immediate reanimation of your heart, the words shocking it awake like Frankenstein’s monster.

You craned your neck back to look at him, trying to see if he was playing a prank on you. If he was sleep talking.

He looked almost disappointed with his head back and his lips slack in disinterest. You watched as he kept his eyes closed and adam's apple dramatically bob as if he took a big gulp. Somehow, despite the visible discomfort and forlornness, his words were euphonious. You could already feel your future self berate you. Stupid girl.

A hum of acknowledgment floated in the air. Your thoughts were in an indecipherable frenzy while in conjunction, any response you had was trapped in your throat. You were short-circuiting. Failing to comprehend anything at all.

It was throwing vodka back. A burn from your throat, slowly trickling down to the pit of your stomach. The liquid courage coursing through you. Your body overflowing with heat and comfort. But somewhere in your brain were saying this was a bad idea.

It felt good to be with Peter, but that didn’t mean that it was good to be with him.

And yet you were replaying his words over and over again.

I’m addicted to you.

You were going to desperately hang onto that, a reminder for any future regret. It made regret feel like a smaller, less important feeling to Peter Parker’s personal addiction. Even if he never made it feel that way.

Peter’s confession was branded on you, tattooed and etched all over your eyelids, and you had no words to brand onto him.

You didn’t fight the heavy lids and the lead in your blood. You let sleep take you before you could tell him that you had it worse than him.

a/n: please forgive me, children. a lot of internal conflict for y/n in this one since petey baby is just so difficult. i was trying so hard to push this out that halfway through i started to listen to mario kart music.

this was so agonizing to write for the longest time and then it wasn’t! after two months, i finally found a rhythm and wrote away… please enjoy and let me know your thoughts! it’s the flame to a candle for me (the support and motivation the flame and me the candle… lolz) fire it up boizzz xoxo

reblog to be put on the taglist

@http.teddy00 @mojesticworlds @blackbirdds

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 year

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i firmly believe if peter parker sat me up on his bathroom counter, slowly dabbed at my wounds with a clean cloth, and asked “who did this to you?”, all my problems would be fixed. even better if we’ve had a kinda hatred for eachother in the past.

#peter parker #tasm andrew garfield #tasm smut #peter parker spiderman #peter parker fanfic #peter parker smut #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fan #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tasm peter parker #tasm fanfiction #tasm peter smut #tasm peter imagines #tasm peter #andrew garfield #andrew!peter parker #andrew spiderman

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beautifulbuckys · 2 years

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Midnight Phone Call (Peter Parker x GN!Reader)

Summary: You’re harboring feelings for close friend and classmate Peter Parker. But a few night time texts could possibly ruin the friendship.

Warnings: Some swearing, anxieties about unreciprocated feelings

A/N: Hi! This was a small blurb I wrote inspired by Can I Call You Tonight? by Dayglow! I watched NWH today and was in my Peter feels, so enjoy!

High school would be a drag if it wasn’t for Peter.

If Peter Parker weren’t sitting next to me in history, I’d forget to write my name on all my papers. He’s the one that saves me from hour-long chemistry homework. Peter Parker gives me charred brownies May made the night before because he thinks I needed them. He’d walk me to my classes even if he didn’t share the class with me.

But high school caused me to like Peter. High school causes me to have this overwhelming, full-blown crush on Peter. High school keeps Peter Parker around me almost all day 5 days a week. High school forces me to suffer because of my feelings.

It was exhausting.

For a while, I shoved the crush down. I wouldn’t let any of my happy, flirty thoughts reach my brain no matter how much I tried. I resisted reading into situations. Lately? If I don’t think of Peter at least once a minute I’d be worried my brain shut down. There have been so many different situations in the past week that have been too close for comfort. By that, I mean, too coincidental for the said situation to happen between friends.

Last week for instance.

During lunch period, the cafe was loud and rowdy. This was nothing new for Midtown. Except for the craziness this week was caused by the new cupcakes the lunch ladies were serving. Almost everyone in the school had purchased one. Who could blame them? The chocolate goodness frosted with rich cream cheese ice cream was too good to turn up. Both Peter and I got one. We’d heard good things from the previous lunch block!

Peter finished his cupcake almost instantly. He’d basically swallowed the whole cupcake in one bite. I, however, was a slower eater. I’d barely finished my regular lunch by the bell. Midtown has a strict rule, however, that you can’t eat outside of class. Although I paid 50 cents for the cupcake, I’d be damned if I was going to waste it. I shoved the rich, chocolatey goodness in my mouth and chewed it on my way to class with Peter.

However, once we got to calculus, Peter glanced over at me. A boyish grin spread across his face.

“Hey,” He nudged me with his elbow. The soft cotton of his long sleeve rubbed my bicep causing me to jump a little.

I looked at him, the bell ringing. “What?”

His smile never left his face. “You got a lil’ something,” Peter pointed to the right side of my face. His pointing was vague so I placed my hand on my cheek. “No. Not there. Here, I’ve got it.” Peter his hand to the corner of my lip and wiped off a smudge of bright pink frosting I had sitting on my face with his thumb. He then brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked the small bit of frosting off of it. Once he was satisfied, he removed the appendage from his mouth with a small pop.

“Oh…thanks,” The heat I felt on my face was unbearable. I couldn’t look at Peter for the rest of the class. Riddle me flustered.

Now, I lay staring at my calcium-stained ceiling at 12:30 in the morning with nothing other than my thoughts. That was too much to bear. It was a Friday night. Everyone with a social life from Midtown was out partying at Flash’s house. I was sure of it. It was almost a weekly routine at this point. Nobody talks to each other in class but once schools out…major parties happen and then the cops are called.

Not Peter though.

He’s always awake at this time. Not partying, that’s not really his scene. His reason was unexplained. Whenever I asked, he’d say he was studying for a quiz or test coming up. I knew he was lying though. We share most classes, so when there was a quiz I’d know. At this point, I’ve chalked it up to being something personal for him. I’m not going to force it out of him. Especially if he’s this adamant about not telling me.

12:37l Hey…you up?

A typing bubble on Peter’s behalf popped up immediately. He was a fast responder. If I ever needed anything, big or small, I could text him and count on him replying fast.

PI 12:37I Yeah. What’s up?

Well. Shit. I didn’t really think this through. I had no plan. I needed a plan for something like this. It’s sad that I do. Before I realized I had these feelings for Peter, I could talk to him about anything at any time. But now? I can’t get two sentences in without stuttering. He’ll reply to things I say and I’ll always, without fail, find a way to read into his response. Finding a hidden meaning. It’s a blessing and a curse.

12:39I Can I call you?

I throw my phone down and rapidly stand up once I press send. This shouldn’t be so stressful. Should it? I’ve never had a serious crush before. Let alone on a close friend. What if this ruins the entire friendship? What if May doesn’t like me? Well, she’s already met me. She seems to like me. Unless she secretly despises me. Does she secretly despise me? Is she using her kindness as a ruse? I’m pacing around my room, hands on my hips. My pajama shorts were falling down due to all the movement, despite them being tied. Was it kind of annoying? Yeah. But the butterflies in my stomach were trumping that slight annoyance.

Focus.

The calm facade of sirens and car honks in New York City was disturbed by the happy chirping of my phone. I froze in place from my pacing. I felt like a deer in headlights. Do I let it ring through? No. I shouldn’t. I’m the one that asked Peter to call. You did this to yourself. Follow through.

It took me a moment to find my phone. Due to me launching up from my bed, it was tangled in the jungle that was my comforter. I was only able to find it due to my phone screen turning on with each ring.

Don’t be a pussy.

I swipe the green ‘answer’ button on my cracked screen. “Hello?”

“Hi!” Peter’s voice boomed through the speakers. He was far too cheery and energetic for it being 12:40 in the morning. Or maybe I’m being far too critical and gloomy. Yet, I can’t be mad at his happy tone. Hearing his voice, even if we were just on a phone call, made me feel far less alone “Did you see the moon tonight? Look out your window. It’s gorgeous tonight.”

I obliged to Peter’s request. He was right. The large, white figure truly illuminated New York City’s skyline. The glow of the moon reflected off of the small stream by my house. It was a picture-perfect moment.

“Yeah, it is.”

Peter cleared his throat. “So, what’s got you up late? Something has gotta be on your mind if you asked to call.” Peter whispered. Besides his initial greeting, Peter kept quiet on our rare phone calls. May doesn’t like him up too late. She isn’t super strict about it. However, her room was right next to his and their walls were nearly paper thin. She valued her sleep and didn’t want it interrupted by Peter’s lousy conversation skills.

I took a deep breath. “Honestly, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Well, you’ve got me on the phone. I can read you a story if you’re struggling to sleep? I know you never finished the Harry Potter series. I could read you the books that you left off on?” Peter offered. Lord, if only Peter Parker knew how fluttery that offer made you feel. “Or maybe I can read you one of those freaky Edgar Allen Poe poems MJ loaned me. I’ve been too scared to get through them alone. You’re the person I need to push myself to read them.” “I love you.” I blurted.

And then hung up. Smart thinking! Go me!

Peter instantly tried to call me back. My phone screen turned on once more, showing the picture of Peter and I at NY Comic Con from last fall. His dorky smile paired with his lame Luke Skywalker cosplay was enough to have me immortalize the picture as my lock screen. I huffed. Was that a good idea? Probably not. Definitely not. Yet, I did it. With no thought about the consequences. Christ, school on Monday was going to be awkward. I waited around a minute, allowing the call to ring through. I didn’t touch my phone for another 5. I was mortified. Frozen in place, still standing where I was when I accepted Peter’s first call. I was staring at the wall, waiting for something crazy to happen. Maybe this was a dream? I’d wake up in 5…4…3…2..,1…I look down at my arms and see them still holding my phone. Shit. This is reality.

Maybe Doctor Strange can magic me out of this?

My phone buzzes once more. It’s not a phone call this time, though. It’s a text. Nobody else is awake, besides the Midtown partiers who I don’t talk to. I’m not making enough noise for it to be either one of my parents texting me to quiet down. That meant it must be Peter. Amazing! Being let down over text would be a nice memory to tell my 50 cats when I’m 90 and rotting away.

PI12:49I Don’t go and leave me so easy :(

My phone buzzed again.

PI12:50I You didn’t even let me reply dickhead.

I have to deal with the consequences. I open the texts, seeing the previous messages from the day we’ve shared. After a deep breath, I pressed the call button on the top right of the screen. The call rang once before Peter answered.

“I love you too, idiot.”

I smiled. “I’m glad I called you tonight.”

I heard a slight chuckle on the other end. “Me too,”

#peter parker #spiderman #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #reader #reader x peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #andrew garfield #tobey maguire #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fan fic

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silverwolfdesign · 9 months

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🡒 ✨ 𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐬 & 𝐊𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐥 • 𝘉𝘦𝘯 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴 & 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘎𝘢𝘳𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥.

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asoulsreverie · 2 years

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Secrets

Tasm!Peter Parker × super!fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.2 k

Summary: based on prompt- "what are we going to do about this?" you're caught, red-handed, and peter's next move could destroy your life forever. unless... you can convince him otherwise

Genre: Angst

Warnings: kidnapping, side character deaths mentioned, tears and fears, slight panic attack, betrayal.

Image credit here

Reblogs appreciated

This story is for @liz-allyn 's most recent angst challenge and 900 Celebration! Congratulations!! I had fun writing something with a deadline for a change, turns out I can *not* procrastinate if I try hard enough.

Although I am not sure this is what you envisioned when you came up with this prompt....

Please do not copy my work or translate them to any other languages. Please do not repost on any platforms.

Masterlist Peter Parker Masterlist

You follow the tiny red dot on your screen, coming to a stop on the rooftop of a bakery. You look around but the one you seek is nowhere in sight.

Suddenly, something collides with you with enough force to knock you into the wall behind you. Your wrist was webbed to the bricks against your back. Panic rises as you know you have been discovered.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

You have no idea how Spider-Man has been able to hide his life behind the mask all these years. When he first started helping you out with your powers six months ago, you had asked him why he kept his identity a secret. For you, it was the need to protect the people close to you and he had told you it was the same for him.

So you both took proper measures to keep your identities hidden, even from each other. You were sure not to let anyone follow you.

But when a rag covers your mouth during your morning run, muffling your screams and making your vision go black, you realise you have messed up somewhere. You vaguely feel your hands and legs being restrained before you pass out and that's how you find yourself tied up to a metal chair in a dark room. The only light comes from under the door, illuminating the room enough for you to see a table in the corner.

You struggle against the ropes as they cut into your skin. With your super strength, it shouldn't be hard to break free, but it doesn't seem to work. Your head feels heavy, vision still blurred. Suddenly you hear your full name being called out, the sound coming from just beyond the door to your right. You try harder to get out of your restraints, panicking at the fact that they knew you.

"Don't bother, Shadow" a voice says, and you know you messed up. "The drugs will wear out in a while, keeping in mind your enhanced metabolism. Besides, we are just looking for a…negotiation" the voice said, you could almost see the sneer smile he must've had on his face. "A simple trade. And we'll let you go"

You scoff, "Hard to believe someone who won't even show himself. Do whatever you want to me, I'm not doing anything for you"

"Oh we know you would put the well being of others before yours, so I don't think you have much of a choice… seeing that I have names of all the people who are close to you. Let's start the list off with your boyfriend…Peter Parker."

You feel your heart speed up in fear, your throat constricting at the thought of the sweet love of your life being involved in something he has no part in."Leave him out of this" you say with as much confidence you can muster, but it's hard to miss the wavering of your voice. You hated the fact that you messed up somewhere and now they know your secret.

"We plan to leave everyone out of this, darling. As soon as you get us what we want" the voice says and you feel disgusted at the sound of the usually endearing term. "All we need you to do is tell us who Spider-Man is. Surely you know that much"

You let out a humourless laugh. "You think Spider-Man is dumb enough to share his identy with someone he's known for a few months? And how long have you been trying to find out who he is? I bet it's been years''. You slowly feel your strength coming back, and start working the ropes.

"Right, of course", the voice said, unusually calm as before,"but you have his trust. And as I said before, you don't have much of a choice. We will give you till the end of next month, at midnight. Find out who he is. Otherwise you know what happens to the people on the list in my hand.

There is a phone on the table. Take it. We will take updates every three days at a different location every time. Don't miss a call or text. And of course don't tell anything to Spider-Man or the NYPD cause you know what happens after that"

All sounds stop after that, and eventually you're able to break the ropes. You walk over to the table and find your phone beside an old phone, the one they want you to use.

You contemplate taking it. You can't let them blackmail Spider too, but you definitely can't risk Peter getting hurt. You couldn't let anything happen to Peter, not after what you went through when…. No. You pocket the phone despite what the logical part of your brain says. Peter comes first.

You check your phone. You have three missed calls- two from Peter and one from your friend, who you were supposed to meet up with for a project. You have a few messages from Peter asking why you weren't in class and why you aren't answering his calls.

You hate lying to Peter, especially since you already have to keep your nightly patrols with Spidey a secret. But you shoot him a text that you had a headache and wanted to rest. The locked door isn't a problem as your strength is back up, and you easily rip it off its hinges. Turns out you were in an abandoned apartment building. The one near yours and Peter's college.

It's nearly 12 noon now. You have approximately thirty-seven and a half days until the end of the coming month. That's 900 hours. 900 hours to break Spider-Man's trust and find out who's behind that mask.

Back home you pretend that you indeed do have a headache, because Peter, bless his pure soul, sent you a text immediately saying he'll come over at four with some meds and your favourite snacks.

The doorbell rings and you open the door to the most beautiful pair of eyes in the world, crinkled around the corners in a smile. Peter's hands are full of paper bags that hold the huge amount of snacks he has bought. You take a few bags from him and set them on the table. He then faces you and pulls you into a hug.

"You alright bug? Was a little scared when you didn't answer my calls" he asks.

"Yeah just my head y'know? I'm better now" you say. You feel the phone vibrate in your pocket when you tell Peter you'd like to watch a movie with him. As he moves to the TV, you whip out the phone they gave you, seeing a message.

You'll miss these moments with him if you fail to deliver

A shiver runs down your spine as you quickly move to draw all the curtains close around your house.

"Everything ok?" Peter asks from the couch as you frantically go from one window to the other.

"Uhhh- yeah, yes just making the perfect-atmosphere to enjoy the movie, yeah?" you smile as you take a place beside him.

Peter heads home after dinner, and you immediately turn your house upside down, looking for cameras or microphones that may be hidden around. You end up finding nothing, which reduces your fear only slightly. You check the time and realise you need to go for your nightly patrol.

You change into your suit and put in a wireless earphone in your left ear, tuned into the police radio. You meet up with Spider-Man on the rooftop you both first met on. He greets you with what you think is a smile hidden behind his mask.

"Hey Shadow, nice to see you" he says in a friendly tone.

"Hey Spidey, great to see you too" you say, hoping he doesn't catch the worry in your voice, but of course he does. "You alright?" he asks, but before you can answer, the radio mentions a robbery a few blocks away and Spider-Man swings the both of you to the scene.

The five people are armed with guns and are giving the police a hard time. You and Spider sneak behind them and manage to take down two of them before the others notice. The two guys immediately start firing at Spider-Man while a woman aims her gun at you. You quickly kick the gun out of her hand, tackling her and now hold her arm behind her back. What you don't expect is to hear her laugh under her breath.

"Don't forget to keep your end of the deal, Peter's life depends on it" she says with a smirk. You falter for a second, and she manages to break free, immediately reaching for her gun. But she falls down on her face as webs tie her ankles together. You stand completely paralysed, your thoughts running haywire. Of course they have many people working for them, but hearing a criminal use Peter's name makes you feel sick. You feel as if your chest is being held in a tight grip. You continue to stare at the ground where the woman had fallen down even after she is handcuffed and escorted by the policemen.

You are brought out of your thoughts as you feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, why don't you call it a night? I'll be able to handle it." Spider-Man says softly, knowing something was definitely troubling you. He hadn't seen the woman speak to you, just that she was out of your grip even with your super-strength, meaning you had faltered for some reason. He didn't want his best friend and crime-fighting partner getting hurt.

You turn your face to look at him. While his expression is hidden behind his mask, beyond him the woman who is being seated at the back of the police car has a smirk on her face, her eyes cold as she mouths your boyfriend's name, holding eye contact with you. Thankfully your mask hides the trembling of your lips and you give a nod to Spider-Man before your tears start wetting your mask.

It's almost midnight when you reach home. That's 12 hours of 900 gone. You immediately collapse on your bed, knowing that you must find out who Spider-Man is. This is so hard for you. He is so nice to you, even if you are just friends who don't know each other's name.

But the memories come back to you. The blood. The screams. The pain. The tears. The dead weight of his body in your arms. All because you were not able to be there on time. All because you couldn't save him.

Now you think about Peter. You can not let anyone hurt your love. Not again. If betrayal is the only way you can protect Peter, so be it.

Two days later you get your first location. The abandoned warehouse near the harbour. You have to miss a friend's birthday party to be here. Worst of all, Peter is going to be there and wonder why you didn't show up. But this was more important than a birthday party. Who knows what they would do to Peter if you missed the meeting?

You show up a few minutes early in your suit.

"What do you know?" you hear someone say, but it's not the voice from that night. You see a man sitting on the edge of a slightly rusted cargo container.

"As of now, nothing. He covers up his path well. But I'm working on it." you answer back. To be honest, you weren't actually trying your hardest… Spider-Man is your friend after all.

"Work faster" he says, "Boss isn't happy and he might do something that'll make you regret your slow pace"

"We have a deal" you say, a slight note of panic in your voice "I still have time"

"But Boss doesn't have patience. If I were you, I'd hurry up" he says and you sense a sincerity in his words as he leaves you be.

You have been acting distant lately. Peter had called you only to be greeted by the voicemail, texted you to be replied by silence. All the times you both have met up you seem far away, only talking to him when he asks you something. Your eyes are sunken, hair slightly dishevelled. It's been a few weeks since you have been acting this way. Even his spider-senses go off when he's around you sometimes– though he hasn't been able to figure that out yet.

It's like those moments when you fear something wrong is going to happen, but you can't do anything but wait. So that's what Peter has been doing. After you initially told him you're alright and just want some space, he hasn't confronted you about it, waiting for you to come to him instead. A part of him is scared. Maybe it's him? Maybe you don't want to be with him anymore? But then you have been acting oddly with everyone, but more so when you're with him. So he just waits.

But as the days go by and you don't show any signs of getting better, or coming to him with whatever is troubling you, he realises maybe you have talked to someone about this. And unlike all the times the both of you had shared a problem with the other, with a promise that you both will always be there for each other, maybe… Maybe you don't want that from him anymore.

That's why when you come up to hug him from behind after your classes end for the day, you are surprised to feel tears on his cheeks. You move to face him, and his eyes plead you to talk, and you know whatever it is, it's troubling him a lot.

You both silently walk to his place and as soon as the door closes behind you, tears stream down his face. When you walk up to hold him, he stops you.

"Do you not…. Do you still want to be together?" he asks, his voice brittle as glass, as he awaits your answer. "It's just that you-we haven't had a proper talk in a while and I feel like you are avoid me... Just I- I wanted you to know you don't have to... " When he first told you how people he loved were slowly taken away from him, you promised to be there for him.

Your heart broke when you heard that question. But you understood where he was coming from. You had been a little preoccupied with thoughts of keeping him safe, you even tried to distance yourself from him only so that he would not be followed by those who kidnapped you.

Worst of all, Spider-Man was giving you a hard time. You were never able to follow him to his place. He made sure to not slip any detail from his life. But then it had been like that for all the months you had known him.

But you didn't realise what Peter must've been going through the time you were off planning how to find Spider-Man's secret. As he cries, the tears take you back to the first time you fought in a relationship. The time you never got a chance to apologise. Because he was taken away from you. Because you could not save him. And you have to live with that weight every day.

Your eyes sting as you call his name gently, reaching your hand towards his. He subconsciously grips onto it, as he slowly lifts his eyes to meet yours.

"I love you Peter. I know this is the first time in a situation like this, and I know I haven't been the best at communicating recently. But I love you. From the bottom of my heart" you reach your free hand to cup his face,"I promised I will always be with you. And I will never break that promise Peter. I need you to know that”. You move to hold him,”Peter I… I have been having a hard time recently. And- I promise I’ll talk to you about it. Just not yet… But I’m sorry I made you feel this way baby”

He sniffles, as he tries not to cry more. He hugs you tight, latching onto you hoping to never let go.

It’s now been 34 days since you made the unwilling deal. You have finally worked out how you will be able to keep Peter safe. It required a lot of research, since technology was not exactly your forte. When you meet up with the random guy in an old warehouse, you tell him what to do.

“All you have to do is tell your Boss to send out a few people, and one of them has to put this tracker on him”. You can’t believe what you are doing right now. How can you let something like this happen to the person who helped you? You remember when all those years ago the freak accident had given you your powers. Spiderman, who had then shown up not too long ago, had pulled you out of the wreckage. You owed your life to him. This was one of the reasons why you had decided to use your powers to help people, even if you had not made proper use of them for the first few years.

You realise fear is what is forcing you to do this. Love is also a reason, but mostly you're scared. Scared of going through the same pain you went through when you couldn't save him. Maybe this was selfish of you, but as long as Peter was safe, the rest didn't matter.

The next night, everything went well. Half a dozen guys attacked you and Spider-Man, the tracker activated. Just before midnight, the both of you parted, just as usual. Now was the part you didn’t look forward to.

Five minutes after Spiderman left, you pulled out your back-up phone to locate him. He had stopped moving 10 blocks away, and you quickly made your way to the rooftop of a bakery. According to the tracker, he was supposed to be here. You were confused as to where he went. Suddenly something collides with you with enough force to knock you into the wall behind you. Your wrist was webbed to the brick wall behind your back. Panic rises as you know you have been discovered. As you tug on the web, more take its place, as Spider-Man successfully makes a cocoon to trap you.

"So all this was a sick plan, huh? Have to say, it was pretty elaborate. Almost seven months of gaining my trust just to find out who I am. If it weren't for you acting a little suspicious the last couple of weeks, and of course my spidey-senses, I would never have found out." he says, and even though he puts up a tough act you know he's hurt.

“Spider-Man I can explain this, just-”

“The only people you need to explain this to is the judicial system. All I need to do is ask them to prepare a special cell for you. Till then, enjoy sticking around” he says as he salutes you with two fingers and turns around, ignoring your attempts at justification. "You know Shadow, I actually trusted you. I honestly thought you meant good for the city like I did. But now…” he shakes his head.

You can’t let him leave like this. You need to tell him why you did it… You can’t Peter think you’re the bad guy when the police tell him about you. He would be destroyed. Peter was the reason you could move on after him. Peter was the reason you found the courage to help the city. You didn’t even care if there was anyone tailing you. You were going to tell Spider-man the truth.

So as he is about to jump, he hears you scream out.

“They found out!” you sobbed, “They found out who I am- they’re making me do this! I didn’t want to do this- I had no choice”

Peter stood there, deciding whether he should believe what you said. The pain in your voice sounded genuine, but he didn’t understand why you hadn't come to him for help.

“Th-they were going to target m-my boyfriend. Spidey I can’t let anything happen to him- I can’t- Can’t lose him. I can’t lose the love of my life again ” you cried, tugging at the webs uselessly. That sentence made Peter stop completely.

To be honest, Shadow had never shown any signs of being against Spiderman. You had never pushed him for any information and he hadn’t pushed you. That was an unsaid agreement between the two of you. You had only started making his Spider senses go off about five weeks ago. He looked at your face, your mask looking blotchy as tears started to wet the fabric.

He didn’t want to admit it but it would have been a hard place for him to be for him as well. He couldn’t let anything happen to his girlfriend. He believed you to some extent.

“Please Spidey, you need to believe me… Please I’ll even tell you who I am! I’ll tell you because I trust you and I know I was about to break yours in me, but I need you to trust me too. please” he could hear you gasping for air, choking on your own tears.

Spider-Man carefully moves closer to you, removing the webs from one of your hands. You immediately remove the mask from your face. As your tear stained face comes into his vision, Peter’s world turns upside down.

His girlfriend was the one who had been fighting beside him for the last seven months. You were the one who had been injured so many times, all because you wanted to protect the city. He did everything to keep you away from his life as Spider-Man, making sure he was never followed. But he never knew you were right there beside him for such a long part of it. And yes, you were about to do something wrong, but it was to protect him.

Both of you know about the other’s past. You both lost the someone special you had in your lives. And now Peter realises he wasn’t the only one who blamed himself for not being able to save his love. You too were not able to save them.

“Spider-Man, please I know I did wrong but I was _scared_ Spidey. I couldn’t save my love last time, but had a say in it this time, I need you to understand-”

Your rambling is cut short when you hear Spiderman say your name gently. The way he says it startles you. The vulnerability. The softness in his voice. You immediately know who he is. But you don’t react.

“Spiderman they may still be around. Please, just understand where this is coming from” you say, calmer than before. He nods, removing the rest of the webs from you.

“I believe you”

When you meet Peter the next day at his home, you throw yourself into his arms. “I’m so sorry Peter” you whisper to him,”I was really scared… I can’t lose you too.... What are we going to do?"

“It’s ok bug” he coos, rubbing circles on your back. “We will figure this out”

The next few hours are spent plotting and discussing both of your pasts. You learn how Peter blamed himself for Gwen’s death, telling him it was not his fault and also realising you had done the same.

Thankfully most of the people who came for the information exchange referred to you as Shadow and not your real name, so you were sure that your identity was the knowledge of only a few.

You two still don’t know if the group who blackmailed you saw anything that happened yesterday. Assuming they didn’t already know otherwise, your plan was to pretend to continue to work for them. Because of your plan they had demanded to meet you tonight. This time Peter and you were going to be in contact.

You met with the guy they had sent, telling them that you knew who Spider-Man was. He seemed to believe you, so you knew you could keep the act up. He tells you that their Boss was getting impatient, and it would be best for you to end this quickly; to tell him who Spider-Man was and that he would let their boss know. However, you ask him to tell their boss to meet you tomorrow at midnight, at the deadline they had given you. He seems irritated but eventually agrees.

Of course, you realise that there was a huge chance they never kept their side of the deal anyway, and now that you knew Peter would be able to defend himself if the need arises, you both could work towards taking down the whole organisation at once.

After all, with the both of you fighting side by side, there was nothing you and Peter couldn’t do.

[not to mention I was not able to come up with a proper title]

#Lizzy's Fic prompts #Lizzy's 900 #tasm!peter x reader #Tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #Fan fiction #asoulsreverie #×reader #Andrew garfield #Andrew garfield peter parker #Angst #Peter parker angst

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quackoyesyes · 1 year

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As a current teen during this time, one of my wishes is to be me back in the 2010. Same looks, same personality and same mind. Why? Purely because I know all of my current interests were very much thriving and alive on Tumblr and other social medias but now they’re kinda dying in a way and whenever I speak about them to friends or classmates I feel like a nerd. For example The Social Network. I found out this due to the Andrew Garfield Renaissance (which omg thank lord that happened) and holy shit I fell in deep. Like, I love the film, but not just film bro level, jewnicorn level (Jewnicorn is the pairing Andrew Garfield and Jesse Eisenberg btw). Looking at past Tumblr messages it looks so nice and fun but now the tag is dead, even tsn tag has been dying since the Andrew Garfield renaissance started ending, it’s just sad. Also fandoms like Sherlock were thriving during that time too (which I’m part of). I just wish something happened to bring the old tsn community back again, I wish I could contribute but I’m not really much use. Hopefully Andrew and Jesse working on a film together again, that my current dream rn.

#jesse eisenberg #andrew garfield #the social network #ranting #sorry for the rant #andrew and jesse working together would set me alight #I wanna tag jewnicorn but it’s so dead it would be awkward #I’m surviving on past posts and the ao3 fics #even the chinese ones #tumblr back then seemed so chaotic and nice #anyways if any jewnicorn fans read this I love carry in my heart #thanks for listening to my ted talk #sos if this sounds really bad it’s 2 am rn

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cosmetologynerd · 2 years

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Hi so I fully dropped off the face of the earth for a good long while there but I actually want to write again and have motivation to and I was thinking of redoing one of my previous series- would you guys rather read something new or something retold with much greater detail and context and a fully fleshed out plot?

Tagging some of my mutuals & favs to start spreading the word that I’m back (two years is a long enough hiatus don’t we think?)

@hollandroos @holland-ish @grussell63 @peterparkerdeservesbetter @peteprker @rileywrites-parker @thekillingquill @afterglowparker

#dark peter parker #peter parker love #Peter Parker #marvel #tom holland #tom holland fan fic #angst #peter parker #wandavision #life #I’m back bitches #for real #peter parker x reader #andrew garfield #angst queen #angst is fun

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fivelakesinwriting · 1 year

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can i get make up sex with andrew? plsss

Author's Notes: Thank you for the request, and your patience. I'm sorry it took me so long to get this out - and I hope this is something similar to what you had imagined. Please let me know what you think if you have a moment - messages, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! Thank you! xoxo

Warnings: Swearing, Established relationship, Mentions of drinking, Mentions/ threats of violence - no acts of violence, Sexual references - sexual innuendos, Smut * (angry Andrew is v. dom I believe this wholeheartedly, spanking) MINORS DNI

Requested? Yes. Requests are closed for the time being.

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. And you do not have permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

It wasn't often that Andrew got angry with her. In fact, he considered himself to be more of the cool, calm and collected type. He was able to let things roll off his shoulders and move on with with his life, never sweating the small stuff.

But today, she was being a downright pain in his ass. A brat, and she was pushing every single button he had. His shoulders were tense, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up while his top lip curled in anger. He balled his fists at his sides as he made a beeline over to her across the bar, his chest puffed up to assert his dominance.

"Let's go. Home time, yeah?" Andrew grumbled close to her ear as she leaned over the bar talking to some cretin just to make him mad. She tossed her hips from side to side as she held herself up on her elbows on the bar, her shirt low and showing off her breasts.

"I'm not ready. I'm talking to - what was your name again?" She slurred as she sipped her cocktail and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"Doesn't matter, man. She's with me. Think you made your point, lovey." Andrew glared at the man trying to pick up his girlfriend then turned his gaze to his woman.

"If the lady doesn't want to leave-" The guy to Andrew's right spoke up, and that was all he could take. Andrew slammed his fists on the bar as he turned to the stranger and glared.

"She's my fucking girlfriend and she only talking to you to piss me off. And it fucking worked. Now, back the fuck off before I put you in the ground." Andrew snarled through his teeth.

The lady? The lady? Fuck this guy. She was his woman. And Andrew was ready to fight for her. She was just pouty with him because he didn't want to dance with her, so she stomped away and pulled in some poor sap to tease. Andrew watched from afar, letting her play her game, but eventually it got out of hand and he had to intercept. Said poor sap didn't even know he was a pawn in their game.

Andrew looked the guy over menacingly once more before he placed a hand on the back of his girlfriend's neck and pulled her away from the bar, her whine audible.

"How far were you going to let that go? That motherfucker was about to put his hands on you." Andrew growled as he led her to their car, unlocking it. He pinned her to the side of the car, and looked her over. Her drunk body was weak as she reached for his shirt and twisted it in her hands to show off his abs.

"I knew you were watching me. And I wouldn't have let him touch me. I wasn't upset like that. I just wanted your attention." She cooed, standing on her toes to kiss his mouth.

"Well, I'm upset with you. You're too friendly when you're drunk. And you're being a brat today. It makes me - "

"What?" She whispered against his lips as she staggered her nose over his. She loved to egg him on when she got into moods like this, sending sparks of electricity through his body.

"It makes me want to tie you up, make you scream my name and beg to let you cum. Spank your ass until it's red and you're a fucking mess for me, telling me how sorry you are. Because I'm in fucking charge. I'm your man." Andrew growled as he took hold of her chin to gently, but with intention guide her to look at him.

"I'll let you take me home and do whatever you want to me, baby." She breathed out with a smile as she reached for his belt buckle.

"Get your ass in the car. Now." Andrew murmured as he released her chin and walked over to the other side of the car.

Andrew drove them home in a tense silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He walked inside their house without a word to her, his hands running over his face while he pursed his lips.

"Baby, are you - "

"M'not your baby right now. Understand me? Do as I ask and I'll let you touch, let you finish." Andrew growled as he grabbed her hair and pulled, forcing her to look up at him. She was so pretty, so fucking needy still and he hated how his body just ignited for her.

"Okay." She whispered as she curled her body into his.

"Get your ass in bed, pants off and ass in the air. Go." Andrew snapped with a tug of her hair before he released her from his grip. He watched her scurry to their bedroom, his body unbearably hot as he looked at her hips sway for him.

Andrew took a moment, rolled his neck and pulled his shoulders back before he slowly, but with purpose, walked to their bedroom. He exhaled heavily when he saw her on the bed exactly as he had requested - bottomless, ass in the air and reaching for their headboard.

"So, you can listen to me. You just choose what to hear." Andrew growled as he removed his ball-cap and shrugged out of his button up. He stood at the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on her backside.

"You're so hot for me right now, don't lie." She cooed as she lazily tossed her hips from side to side, enticing him to touch her.

"Never said I wasn't. Fucking brat." Andrew snarled as he pulled his wrist back and snapped it forward, smacking her left ass cheek making her gasp out loud. He ran his palm over her stinging flesh, then moved his hand to the other side to spank her again.

"Hold the headboard. Wrist over wrist. C'mon, let's go." Andrew grunted as he knelt behind her on the bed and covered her body with his to guide her hands above her head.

"Andrew.."

"I meant what I said in the lot, lovey. Use your lights if you need. But you are mine and I'm going to make sure you know it." Andrew breathed out as he took hold of her pretty face to turn her gaze towards him.

"Green light." She whispered as she arched her back, her backside rubbing into his lap while he kept his body over hers.

"The only man you should toss these hips around for is me. Do you understand?" Andrew growled as he pulled his body upright and spanked her again, hard.

"Yes." She shivered, hands gripping the headboard tightly.

"You don't tease other men to get a rise out of me. You're mine. You're fucking mine. Do you understand me?" Andrew spat as he spanked her one more time then pulled his body away from hers to slowly undress himself.

"No, come back ! M'sorry, baby. Please let me go. Let me see your face." She sobbed out as she curled into him, trying to make their bodies one, her hips pushing back to find him again.

"That didn't take long. Thought you had more fight in you than that, lovey." Andrew murmured as he reached up to tap her wrists, let her know she could bring them back down. He let out a soft gasp as she turned over in his arms and knocked him to his back, her affection abundant.

"I don't want to play like that anymore. I don't like when you're mad at me, and won't let me touch. M'sorry I was a pain, baby. I love you."She whispered as she kissed his neck, her body curling into his desperate for his attention.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you, lovey. But I felt so territorial watching you with that guy. I fucking hated it. Don't do that to me again. Even for my attention. You have all of my attention. I promise you." Andrew breathed out as he grabbed her hips to cease her tantalizing movement and flipped her onto her back again. He laid between her legs and kissed her neck lovingly, softly, as she whined for him.

"M'sorry, baby." She repeated as she twisted her fingers into his hair, her legs wrapped around his waist to keep him close.

"I know, lovey. I am, too." Andrew mumbled into the crease of her neck as his hips pinned hers to the mattress. He kissed his way back to her lips, smiling as she kissed him back with force and locked her feet beneath his backside.

He hadn't wanted to dance with her at the bar because he knew if he got close to her, let her push back against him, he would feel just as needy as her. He knew that he would feel feral in an almost unbearable way, and he didn't want to feel like that out in public. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy feeling like that for her, but he wanted to be in a space that allowed them immediate intimacy.

He was inside of her instantly. The push and pull of the two of them was unbearable for the evening and was erased in that moment. He held his weight on his forearms as he rested his forehead against hers, their bodies moving as one.

He loved her, and he would always fight for her. She was his, and he was hers.

**I have stopped doing a tag list for the time being as well as taking requests, just while I get my "ducks" in a row after coming back.Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much xoxo

#andrew garfield fan fic #andrew garfield x reader smut #andrew garfield one shot #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield x female reader #andrew garfield x you #andrew garfield fic #andrew garfield #andrew garfield blurb #andrew garfield imagine #andrew garfield smut

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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.

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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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blainesebastian · 1 year

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golden

words: 3,355 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) “Reader who ends up seated next to Austin/his table and he’s a fan of hers she’s kinda A-List” visit here to read more about this prompt! notes: requests are back open! leave anything if you wish :) warnings: none - for anyone worried/curious, this is an alternate golden globes, so LMP is not referenced in this fic. tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylesmendeshearted, @rairaielv,

This is honestly the last place you expected to be.

You suppose your journey into stardom is as typical as anyone else’s in the industry—small starts, B side films, extras, constantly trying, consistent auditions, until someone saw you. Until you started sliding into places where you never thought you’d ever be given the chance.

You’ve had two breakout films, invited to plenty of award shows, events, red-carpets, but never the Golden Globes. That’s…that’s reserved for people who have really made it, and apparently that’s you now. Your first film was with your ex-boyfriend as a co-star, so really, any notoriety mostly went to him. He was the bigger name and didn’t share the spotlight very well. At the time it didn’t really matter to you, you were just happy to be living out your dream in being on a set.

It wasn’t until your second film that you did with your agent’s help that you realized how important it was to be recognized—how much hard work you accomplished that you deserved to be seen for. You suppose that’s the whole point of tonight, right?

It’s still surreal, no matter how many times you tell yourself that you’re actually attending the Globes. You get all dressed up in designer names, a flowing black dress that have tiny suns and moons with thin straps, sparkly but not over the top. Golden heels to match your gold accent earrings and makeup, a maroon lipstick. You’re really not trying to make any impressions on photographers or blogs, headlines—you like showing out for yourself and tonight, you just want to go and have a good time.

Maybe even win something, though you’ll be happy if you’re walking on the carpet and don’t end up tripping.

That’s another thing that you can’t seem to swallow—not only is your film being recognized, but you’re being nominated for lead actress. Just doesn’t make any sense, to be listed amongst people who have had more experiences and fruitful careers than you have. You know that everyone has a breakout year, and this is most definitely yours, but that doesn’t mean you’re not struggling heavily with imposter syndrome.

You bring a lifelong friend as a date because that makes the most sense, they’ve been by your side and a constant wall of support since the 8th grade. And besides, Sam is sturdy, he’ll make sure you’re not going to embarrass the fuck out of yourself on the red-carpet.

The whole event is as overwhelming, exciting and chaotic as you thought it would be. The carpet takes the longest, lots of questions, trivia, games to play as you stop and pose for photos, introduce Sam, and run into handfuls of celebrities that you’ve admired for years.

“My face has to be red,” You eventually say as you enter the venue, walking with your arm around his as you go to find your table, “Like—you’d tell me right? My makeup is completely worthless at this point?”

He chuckles as he gives you a onceover, “Oh yeah, you look terrible now.” He says wryly, big grin on his face. He squeezes your arm, “Stop worrying, you look beautiful. How are you gonna handle winning your award if you can’t even talk to Andrew Garfield on the red-carpet?”

You groan, tipping your head back a little. Definitely were not prepared for that—and he was as sweet and as handsome in person as you always thought he would be. You’re just lucky you remembered your name and were able to form decent coherent sentences…you can’t recall at all what you discussed but it was good while it was happening, so, you suppose that’s all that matters.

Also, “Stop jinxing me. Do you see the names I’m up against? I’m lucky I was even nominated.”

Sam rolls his eyes but not because he thinks you’re being ridiculous or because he doesn’t respect the other names. You know him—he just wants you to realize how far you’ve come and that you rank just like anyone else. It’s a nice sentiment. But right now, all you realize is that you’re far too sober to deal with the anxiety that comes with this event.

Squeezing his arm, you find your table, scooting around to the nametag that has yours on it. Sam pulls away to get some drinks and you take a deep breath, smoothing your hands down your dress, smiling at a few other people lingering around at other tables. You turn to get a good look at the stage and…actually consider what it’d be like to win, how you’d even walk there and the steps look daunting—

And of course you bump right into someone.

“God, I’m sorry.” You say at the same time he replies, “Shit, my bad.”

Looking up, your mouth goes dry and your eyes go kinda wide as you realize it’s Austin Butler. And of course you’re a fan because how could you not be? For one, he’s incredibly dreamy, especially in person. All tall, long lines, sharp frame, rings on his slender hands, bright blueness of his eyes, the fullness of his lips and the wide blonde curls of his hair. If that’s not distracting enough, you know how talented he is. Even before Elvis, all the shows and films he’s been a part of, it’s what makes this build-up so special for him tonight.

He's earned this place.

“Hi,” Austin smiles, before you can even get any other words out, “I didn’t think I’d be runnin’ into you tonight, literally,” He chuckles, “I’m a big fan.”

You blink at him because what? You are ninety percent sure you’re having some sort of aneurysm and hallucinating this whole conversation. He’s a fan of yours? “Uhm,” You laugh, “You’re one to talk, I mean Elvis was incredible. I don’t even have the proper words to describe how I felt watching it.”

He nods, dipping his head a little in a way that you can tell he’s humbled. You’ve admittedly watched him in interviews before, especially with everything that has had to do with Baz’s film. He’s somehow this mix of confidence and nerves that’s so enjoyable to watch. He’s the same person who trained his voice and studied Elvis for two to three years and then he’s somehow…surprised? When he receives compliments.

Amazing.

“Thank you,” He smiles, something more genuine, “I’ve really enjoyed your films too you know.”

You want to roll your eyes even though you’re smiling—you don’t, you swallow down the emotion, but at this point you figure if anyone brings up your movies right after receiving praise they’re just doing their civic duty in being polite.

Austin seems to sense your hesitation however, because he adds, “I’m serious—your last film especially was raw, your portrayal stuck with me for days after I saw it.”

And despite being absolutely nervous about this whole thing, that observation actually means a lot to you. Especially coming from someone like him, “Thank you.” You open your mouth to say something else when Sam comes back round the table with some glasses of wine.

Austin smiles a little and excuses himself, going to talk to Baz as he spots him coming closer to his table. Letting out a frazzled sigh, you take the wine from Sam who’s giving you that look that you don’t even need to unpack.

“Don’t,” You warn, shaking your head as you take a sip.

Sam shrugs, smiling as he sits down at the table, “Wasn’t gonna say anything…” And there’s a brief pause, until, “Other than he’s single.”

You laugh, your cheeks flushing pink at the very thought. “Stop, he’s just being polite anyways. That’s what you do at these sort of things, you small talk with people, give compliments, that sort of thing.” Besides, who knows if you would have even had a conversation if you hadn’t crashed into one another.

“Just seems like he might have been into you, that’s all.”

How…could Sam even know that from one observation? “He’s a Leo,” You mumble, “He’s into everybody.”

Your friend laughs and that makes an amused smile decorate your face as well as you shake your head and take a seat. It’s going to be a long, interesting night.

The tables are sat pretty close together and the way people are seated, if you turn in your seat to watch the stage, you’re a few inches away from where Austin is. His back would be to you if he also wasn’t situated sideways so he can watch people accept awards too. It’s kind of difficult to concentrate on anything else, your eyes meet up every so often, and Austin has become accustomed to tilting his head in your direction and whispering about something happening around the room.

It's intoxicating, the attention, the fact that you can smell his cologne, nearly feel the heat of his body from his proximity. Unfair, really. It’s nice though at the same time, because Austin clearly has that personality in which he makes anyone around him comfortable, talks to them as if you’ve known one another for a long time.

There are small breaks throughout the ceremony and the closer it gets to announcing lead actor and actress, you can tell Austin’s thoughts are beginning to drift. Taking a soft breath, you reach to pick up your wine and take a sip,

“This is your first time, right?” You ask, meaning the Golden Globes.

Tilting his head to look at you, a small smile spreads on his handsome face. “What gave it away?”

You smirk, your gaze slipping to where his hands are resting on his lap. He’s doing this thing every so often where he twists the gold ring on one of his fingers, “Because you look how I feel?”

Austin laughs lightly, moving his one hand to thread through his hair, “Fair enough.” He looks towards your table, his eyes landing on Sam, “So you uh, brought your boyfriend?”

You blink, “What? Oh, no.” Laughing softly you add, “No he’s my best friend. You brought your sister, right?”

There’s this look of understanding on Austin’s face as he nods about Sam, something deeper in the color of his eyes that you can’t quite figure out. It’s gone before you have a chance to, “Yeah, she’s a big fan of yours by the way.”

You shake your head, picking up your wine to take another sip, cheeks kissing the softest of pinks. “Stop.”

“I’m not just sayin’ that to impress you,” He smiles.

You hum in amusement, standing from your chair and smoothing your hands over your dress. “You’re trying to impress me?” And you realize the edge in your voice, the flirtation there that maybe…wasn’t there before. But you’re pretty sure you’re picking up on a particular vibe and why not run with it right?

“Maybe.” Austin smirks, his eyes looking up at you through his eyelashes and that…has to be one of the most ridiculously handsome things you’ve seen.

Definitely need this shot you’re about to offer up, “I’m gonna settle my nerves, get a shot of something. You wanna come with?” You extend both of your hands, encouraging him to take both to tug him up off the chair. Not that he needs the help, but it’s all in solidarity.

Austin raises his eyebrows, “A shot? You think that’s a good idea?”

You crinkle your nose before laughing, “It’s just one, it’s not gonna hurt anything. Probably all psychosomatic anyways.”

“Not gonna hurt anythin’?” He repeats, amused…and yet he puts both his hands in yours, standing up from his table, “Famous last words.”

So it turns out, Austin might be onto something because he has one shot with you and you end up doing two other ones without him. It’s in a span of a conversation, so it doesn’t feel completely off the rails? But you realize that with the combination of the wine, you’re definitely beginning to see everything under rose-colored glasses.

You suppose that was your intention though, wasn’t it?

It’s not like anyone else around you isn’t having a good time, that’s the entire point of tonight. You’re not gonna have to worry about walking up on stage anyways to accept an award, so you’re made in the shade. Between commercial breaks, you mingle with a few other people around your table, especially Austin’s sister who is so lovely and sweet (apparently runs in the family) and you even talk with Baz about your own films and aspirations and it’s…definitely a surreal moment.

Once you’re settled back into your seat, Sam leans over and whispers in your ear, “He’s been makin’ eyes at you all night.”

A shiver courses down your spine because you don’t need to ask your friend who he’s talking about. You try to ignore your stomach flip-flopping as you look over your shoulder and Austin’s gaze is definitely on you. Heat slipping right between your legs. He offers you a small smile before turning his attention back to who’s in front of him, continuing his conversation.

“He’s probably just making sure I don’t fall out of my chair…the man watched me take a third shot.”

Sam snorts, moving your glass of water a bit closer to your hand in solidarity. “Right.”

Whatever, right? You’re trying to unburden some of your nerves and if you and Austin want to spend the awards night kinda flirting with one another? You’re not about to put the brakes on that.

When the awards start up again, you find yourself holding your breath…and then Austin wins. You let out a sharp laugh and clap, cheering for him as he goes up on stage. You definitely turn a few heads but you don’t care, the room is spinning in a pleasant way and you meant everything you’ve thought about or said to Austin’s face about how he deserves this. His performance was nothing short of incredible.

And his speech follows in the same fashion—humble, thankful, smooth and touching.

Once he’s off the stage, he disappears for a little while, getting photos with the award and doing a small stretch of interviews. Once he’s back, he sets the award on his table and hugs Baz again, his sister, and finds his seat next to you.

“Congratulations.” You grin, curling your hair around your ear, “Practically a professional at accepting awards.”

Austin laughs, shaking his head, “Room definitely spins when you’re up there,” There’s a slight deeper twang to his voice compared to before, probably from nerves, but you couldn’t even tell when he was on stage. The picture of excitement and calm somehow all at once.

“Good thing I’m staying in this chair.”

Austin smiles a little before chewing on his lower lip, “You sure about that?”

Humming lightly at his teasing, you pick up your water to take a slow sip. You’re barely even paying attention to the lead actress roll-call…until your name is said.

You blink, staring at the stage as everyone turns around and looks at you. And there’s clapping. Oh my god. Sam reaches forward and laughs, shaking your shoulder, “Go girl! Get up there.”

You stand, almost in a daze but you’re smiling, running your hands down along your dress to smooth the fabric. Your heartbeat is definitely drumming in your ears, palms kinda clammy and okay, you can…you can do this. You run over what you want to say in your head once you’re on stage but you’ve got to get there first.

Then out of the corner of your eye, Austin quickly stands and offers his arm and you’ve never felt more grateful for that. He smiles, resting his other hand on yours as you grab onto him and he walks you to stage, making sure you can get up the steps without tripping over your dress. God, you so owe him. He doesn’t go back to his table either, he’s lingering, waiting for you to accept your award and walk back.

How is this man single? You ask yourself a few times, making sure that doesn’t accidently come out of your mouth as you accept the award and stand in front of the mic. There are tradeoffs as you stand on stage, looking out into the crowd, you manage to remember everyone you want to thank but your hands are definitely shaking.

Once the clapping starts, you take a step off stage to head in the direction of where everyone goes after they say their speeches to get a handful photos and respond to a few questions about receiving your award. You miscalculate one of the steps though, your heart pounding in your ears and throat and clutching tightly onto the Golden Globe and the room is spinning in that rose-colored way it does when you’ve had a little too much to drink.

Definitely would have bit the floor if Austin hadn’t been there. He’s quick, grabs your arm casually and walks with you towards your destination. You’re ninety percent sure most people who saw you have no idea you almost face-planted with a fancy award in your hands.

Stepping to the side once you’re out of the public eye, you look down at the globe in your hands and it just…you feel like you’re in some sort of dream sequence, no matter how long you’re staring at the weighted statue along your fingers, envelope-card with your name on it to confirm.

Will any amount of time make this feel real?

A soft laugh leaves your lips as you look up at Austin who moves to stand in front of you, sticking his hands into his pockets. “Please tell me that my speech at least made sense.”

He smiles a little, “You spoke in complete sentences, if that helps.”

God, you don’t even remember the words that came out of your mouth…and Austin seems too nice of a person to give it to you straight on whether you made a little bit of a fool of yourself or not.

Letting out a slow breath, you look down at the award before your eyes find his again. That calm sort of blue. You ignore the camera shutters, knowing that they’re capturing this interaction between you two but what else is new? Never a private moment.

“Thank you for everything,” You smile, “I definitely owe you one a few times over.” For the shot, for being so sweet and easy to talk to, for walking you to the stage, preventing an embarrassing tumble, the works.

“I’m sure you can make it up to me,” Austin replies, shrugging his one shoulder, “If you let me give you my number.”

A soft laugh slips from your lips before you nod, you’re still ninety percent sure that none of this is happening. “That was really smooth.” But you’re taking your phone out of the pocket in your dress and handing it over for him to type his number in.

Austin smirks, “Well if you think this is impressive, just wait.”

“Oh there’s more?” You tease, taking your phone back once he’s done. “Building up a lot of expectations.”

Expectations that you already know he’s going to pass with flying colors. When it’s time to get your professional shots with your award, Austin promises to meet you back at the tables, excusing himself to allow you to have your moment. You glance down at the globe and shake your head—can’t believe so much has happened at once, a complete whirlwind. You can’t wait to tell Sam about this.

Taking your phone out once your photos and questions are done, you take a selfie with your award to send to your parents and to Austin.

Y/N: you can set this as my contact photo

A few moments later your phone pings back, the same kinda selfie from Austin, posing with his globe as well.

Austin: same

You laugh, chewing on your lower lip as your cheeks kiss pink. You do just that, your stomach flip-flopping, butterflies in your chest as you think about your matching contact photos.

Definitely a golden night.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things

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scorpiomother · 1 year

Text

APOCALYPSE (pt. two)

･ﾟ★ . Evergreen, he controls me. Was there something wrong with my body? Am I not what you wanted, babe?

summary: round two on the first date!? things are getting more and more steamy between you and peter parker, but is sex enough to keep him around?

word count: 3.1k

warnings: explicit content. minors dni (+18) unprotected shower sex.

playlist 𓆩♡𓆪 mood board 𓆩♡𓆪 taglist 𓆩♡𓆪 series list

← chapter one

evergreen

Lathering your scalp with shampoo, you thought about how Peter’s thick hair smelled. It was fresh and piney. He smelled like a man that you could get completely lost in.

Immediately after getting completely railed by a stranger, you went to shower. Was it to rid yourself of any remnants of Peter or to clear your mind? You didn’t know. It was the best sex you have ever experienced and yet, it was with someone you would have never imagined having intercourse with.

After coming down from the high, you sat on Peter’s lap with his cock still in you and your head resting on his shoulder. You had ran a couple of blocks from the coffee shop to your apartment due to the un-forecasted rain and then proceeded to have vigorous sex for quite some time. All of your remaining energy went to riding dick and orgasms.

Peter hadn’t said anything as you rested in his lap. He proceeded to mimic you and use you for comfort. He rested his head on you as you both caught your breath. His hands stayed glued to your hips, his thumb occasionally wandering to soothe you with soft rubs.

It was when you realized you didn’t want to leave Peter’s lap, you decided to shower. Staying there, with him, was dangerous. You were haunted by his insouciant demeanor at the coffee shop. You didn’t want to overstay this intimate position with him. Developing a connection with Peter didn’t seem like the best thing for you to do. Not to mention, you didn’t want yourself to get any more dick-matized than you already were becoming.

“I should shower,” you said to break the silence. You heard a hum come from Peter, a soft recognition of your words.

You could feel his chest moving up and down, his heart rate still high. Yours was too. You wish you could focus on anything else, but the rain had subsided and your thoughts were foggy with previous moments of sex.

“Is it okay if I send in an assignment to my photography class while you do that?” Peter said, his breath fanning across the back of your neck.

You shook your head up and down, because it was easier than saying anything. He made you feel shy. You were unsure if he would approve of you any longer, now that he came.

You wondered if he would still be in your apartment after your shower. You didn’t know what you preferred.

You let the continuous stream of water and steam consume you. The water ran so hot, fog ate up your body, and with closed eyes, you waited till the burning turned into nothing. You could see his warm, lust-filled eyes oozing all over your bare skin. He made you feel exhilarated like a hormonal teenage girl. Electricity ran up from your pussy to your chest.

Embarrassed by your thoughts of Peter, you couldn’t help but hide your face in your hands. You haven’t had sex in some time, but that didn’t make you a sex-crazed woman with no boundaries. You have never been one to fuck on the first date, and after leaving the coffee shop, you were sure that was the end of knowing Peter Parker.

So what was it about him? Was it the kiss in the rain that turned you into putty or the way he sparingly gave you his smile? Or was it how intrigued you were by the mysterious Peter?

For some reason, you wanted him to bare himself raw to you. As if he hadn’t already fucked you raw. You wanted more.

“Fuck,” you sighed.

As you started to acclimate to the heat, you heard the door creak and a voice interrupt you.

“Hey,” Peter said. Through the see-through shower door, despite having sex with you, he stayed on the other side of the bathroom door. His respect of your privacy made your face turn red.

“Oh. Are you heading on out?” You asked.

“Not yet,” he chuckled.

“Oh?”

“I was actually wondering if I can join you,” he said. “Unless, you would rather me go.”

You waited for a moment. For what? You were unsure. Perhaps the correct answer would reveal itself to you in the form of writing on the foggy plexiglass.

“I can go. That’s fine, really,” he assured you, breaking the stream of silence.

“You can come in,” you said softly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“You can help me wash my back,” you offered.

With a squeak of the door hinges, Peter walked into the bathroom. Past the fog, you could see his Herculean build. The feeling of his solid body in your hands was seared into your mind, You could feel the blood rush to your already swollen pussy.

When Peter stepped in, you handed him a washcloth. He gave you a tender look that made you avert your eyes. He controlled you and he didn’t even know it. One moment he was coaxing a horny nymph out of you and the next he was turning you into a timid little girl.

You turned your back to him, the water grazing on your cheek. He started to sud up your back, scrubbing gently. He began at your shoulder blades, gradually making his way down to your arch. He was scrubbing in small circles that brought you surprising comfort. With the heat of the water and the residual lust in between your thighs, you let out a faint moan, soft enough that you weren’t sure that Peter could hear.

Whether Peter heard the pleasure escape from your mouth or not, Peter’s hands wandered to your chest and sudded up your breast with the washcloth. His thumb skimmed across your sensitive nipples. The warm water wasn’t enough to shield you from the shivers he brought you.

“Peter,” you sighed, feeling light-headed already.

“Is this okay?” His lips nibbled your earlobe before bringing your back flush to his chest, his hard dick right between your ass. You couldn’t tell whether it was the shower or his precum on your lower back. You let your head hang back, the pleasure making you weak. Your flushed cheek felt the coldness of his hard chest, the steamy atmosphere new to his body.

“So… Did you finish your assignment?” You said with your jaw relaxed, mouth slightly open. It’s like the steam that engulfed you two turned into a malicious, lust-inducing drug.

“Yeah, I sent it in,” he groaned as he grinded his cock against your ass.

“Cool,” you breathed out. He placed one hand around your neck, guiding you to his lips, and the other snaked down to your swollen bud.

His thumb played with your clit while his middle finger dipped into your hole. Your clit twitched at his touch. “Peter, I’m so sensitive.”

“Good,” he snarled, taking your lips to his. He fingered you gingerly, his ring finger slipping in. His two fingers entered your smooth walls repeatedly, a mix of shower water and your pussy juices glazing his digits. Peter slid his fingers out of you and you watched him put his fingers in his mouth, tasting you.

“You taste perfect,” he said before sliding his fingers in your mouth. It was a mixture of his saliva and your tart cream. “You’re such a good girl.”

“I want to taste you,” you admitted shamelessly. He lowered all of your inhibitions, all of the shame.

“Fucking slut,” he smirked. “Taste me, then.”

It was like a dance the two of you rehearsed. Fluid and quick movements. An ease to it all. You both know your roles and your place. You’re the slut and he’s the puppeteer.

You get to your knees, the porcelain tub rigid and rough against your skin. Your eyes are glistening back at him before your stare drifted down to the subtle happy trail on this abdomen. You kissed his hip bone and took a good look at his long and thick cock before you devoured his member.

You started at the base, pressing delicate kisses all over his member. Your eyes looked for his approval as you grip his cock with your hand.

His eyes darken watching you grip harder. The water dripped down his marbled body like he was a greek statue and you were the admiring nymph at his feet. The need to please him buzzed in your abdomen. The hunger to satiate your god.

You took his cock into your mouth finally, swirling your tongue around his sensitive tip. When Peter let out a groan, you decided to take him fully. His noises were like praises to you and you wanted more. You sucked and bobbed, begging him for more praises with your mouth. You held onto his hips to stabilize yourself as you choked down on his cock.

“Jesus,” he huffed out. “You’re mouth feels almost as good as your pussy.”

You felt your heat grow needy at his words, but you wanted to please him more than you wanted to be filled. Water trickled down your forehead, wetting his cock perfectly for you to suck as you please. You let the tip of his cock press against the back of your throat as you fondled his balls.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

You watched Peter’s head fall back in pleasure. You, a mere mortal, bringing this statuesque of a man to ecstasy. You were horny to see him so pleased with your mouth. You found yourself enjoying his cock way more than you intended, moaning as his cock slid in and out of your mouth. Your hums against his cock vibrated. He was turning weak from just your mouth.

“Stand up. I’m cumming in you,” he demanded. Like the loyal slut you were, you did as you were told. You released his cock with pop. Peter groaned at your release.

Peter turned you around, pressing your body and face against the tile wall. Your sensitive nerves burned with the feeling of cold tile. You could feel the hot water glide off of your back. You were so overstimulated with different feelings. Cold. Hot. Horny. Deprived.

“Do you want it?” Peter whispered in your ear.

“Desperately,” you answered.

“My own personal slut,” he laughed before rewarding you with his saliva-soaked cock. It slid in with ease. Your pussy had already been stretched by his cock earlier and was slick from sucking him off. As he drilled his cock into you, you felt grateful to him. Grateful for the way his cock rubbed against your walls and the way he marked your collarbone in a plum hue.

“Please don’t stop!” You begged.

Past the sound of water hitting your bodies and the shower floor, reckless moans filled the small room. Fuck the neighbors, you think. You let your control go and moaned with rapture as you fused together. Your orgasm sprouted in your abdomen, the heat growing bigger and bigger. Your thighs started to shake at the feeling of Peter’s cock guiding you to climax.

“Cum for daddy,” he cooed. His hands massaged your breasts, pestering the electricity to grow. You legs were growing weaker.

“I’m so close, Peter,” you moaned back.

He sucked at your neck and placed his hand on your belly, putting pressure on your womb. You felt yourself melt completely. Your pussy twitched and your abdomen became warm with your climax. Your pussy’s sporadic clenching made Peter see stars. He was matching your pace about to cum himself. He pounded his hips into your ass, his balls pressed against your ass.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” he said, clenching onto your hips.

“Please, Peter!”

He rocked into you, using your pussy as his own personal hole. Peter’s dick pulsed against your walls, his orgasm mixing with yours.

Despite climaxing already, he continued to roll himself into you. A slow and steady pace. One that said he didn’t want this to end. He was soaking his cock into your pussy, letting his milk saturate your walls. Ensuring to make his mark on your body and in your thoughts. Making sure your thoughts were lewd of him. It felt as though he was sedating you with his cock. He guided you to two orgasms and now you felt yourself heavy eyed and weak.

Peter pressed his lips to your temple. It was a thank you and a good job. The praise you so desperately needed from him. When he finally pulled out his cock, you could feel his semen drip down your legs and the emptiness between your legs.

He held onto you, turning your body to face him. His eyes bore into you, studying the way he made such a mess out of you.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Now in your room, you wrapped the plush robe around your fatigued body. You had excused yourself to your room while Peter finished up in the shower, desperate for some time to process your thoughts.

The atmosphere was gloomy with the evening rolling in, a sliver of sky illuminating your room to something close to viewable. You looked at the mirror atop the oak dresser and were presented with your red and purple-dusted reflection. You were more colorful than you were in the morning, your face flushed and your breasts blemished with hickeys. You examined the bruises that Peter had left. It looked like your breasts were stained with wine, and no matter how hard you rubbed, it remained.

A gentle knock at the door disrupted you. When you opened the door, you’re pleasantly surprised with half-naked Peter, his lower half wrapped around in a towel. Your eyes wandered to the barely secure towel and his chiseled v-cut. You tried your best to not ogle him right in front of his face with no luck.

“My eyes are up here,” he laughed.

“Can you blame me?”

“Hmm no, but god… you smell good,” Peter inhaled.

“Lavender and Tonka,” you said holding your lotioned hand out for him. He took another whiff, his nose grazing against your hand.

“What the fuck is Tonka?” He questioned.

“Why would I know that?” You couldn’t help but laugh.

You’re met with his eyes, something terribly dangerous for your weak heart. A buzz emitted from you, his intoxicating whisky eyes turning you addicted. He looked like he was enjoying his view as much as you were.

“What?” You asked him, your lips tugging at your cheeks.

“Nothing… But I get why cannibals exist.”

“What!?” You guffawed at his ridiculous response.

“I want to eat your hand. Give it to me,” he reached out for your hand and pulled you into him in one easy motion, your body now against his. He playfully bit your ring finger, luring a giggle from you.

Your cheeks started to burn, elation running through you.

Maybe he wasn’t as emotionally unavailable as you thought! He was capable of forming a connection with you and conversing like a normal human being! At first, you tried to convince yourself he was just nervous at the coffee shop, but now it felt like it was the truth.

“You’re funny,” you admitted easily.

“Cannibalism isn’t funny, Y/N,” he smiled.

You liked when he joked around with you. It seemed natural when he was like this. Goofing around and teasing. It made all of your instincts to run away dissipate.

You were in Peter’s arms, your heart only a couple of inches from his. You wanted to rest on his chest and listen, count his heartbeats, and memorize the pace. See if his heart was in tandem with yours.

Before you could give in, his words break you into shameful pieces.

“I think I should head out,” he said.

“You’re going?”

You can feel your heart stuck in your throat. Of course, you didn’t expect him to sleep over, but you had no idea how any of this was going to go. You were interested in him and not only because of his magical cock. You couldn’t wrap him around your head. First, he threatens you with cannibalistic propositions and soon after decides to leave?

“Yeah, the weather cleared out a while ago.”

“I mean your clothes must be soaked still.”

“Ah, it’s fine,” he said with such nonchalance that it annoyed you.

“What I’m saying is you can stay. It’s getting late,” you laughed, hoping it would release the tension in the air.

“Thank you, but…” Peter trailed off before landing on his final answer. “I have homework and Queens isn’t too far.”

You tried to pull his gaze back to you, but his averted eyes were stubborn. He could no longer bring himself to look at you for some reason. “Alright.” Your voice echoed to your feet.

You felt your eyes bug out of your skull as you watched him pick up his wet clothes from the ground and clothed himself. It was pitiful to watch and even more, it was pitiful to feel this unwanted.

You couldn’t help but to blame all of this on Harry, even though you were the one who invited Peter into your home.

Was this Harry’s way of punishing you? You rejected his many date propositions so he offered you a date with a fuck boy? Did Harry want you to run, crying to him about being used?

Rather than walking him to the door, you plopped yourself on your reading chair in the corner. Now fully clothed, Peter waved to you with one hand, the other gripping the soggy backpack on his shoulder.

“Well, get home safely, Peter.” You said dryly.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You watched him leave your apartment in drenched clothes, a sign that told you he would have rather be uncomfortable and cold than stay with you.

Your high was coming down. For a brief moment, you were in heaven. Now, it almost felt like you were sulking in hell. It was disillusioning to believe that Peter was suddenly going to find you interesting. He showed you who he is at the coffee shop and you still invited him into your home. You felt like a fool.

You realized it was him getting one last fuck in before he left. A two-for-one deal.

Was he just a fuckboy? The average man who treats women like objects to be used? And when he is satiated, all of his cum pumped into you, he will throw you away?

You weren’t going to let yourself be gaslit into thinking that you were overreacting and overthinking. But it still felt like this was all your fault anyways.

The smell of sex and his evergreen musk still lingered in the room. A reminder that he fucked you and quickly after, left. Beneath your feet were the wet spots from Peter’s clothes on the floorboard. There were indents on the couch from your bodies grinding up against each other. This was your apartment and yet it was now shared with remnants of Peter. It was bad enough that your thoughts were plagued with him.

You could tell this was going to be a concoction of everything that felt good and everything that was bad.

→ chapter three

a/n: i mostly rushed this! you could basically say that i was too excited to keep this momentum going and push it out. sorry if that’s evident in my writing but i’d rather not let writers block stop me from writing this lmfao. ENJOY THE SMUT! love me some asshole peter parker,, yess give me mixed signals baby xoxo scorpio mommy

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