11 years later, we got an amazing reunion with Aunt May & Peter Parker. Andrew Garfield presents Sally Field with the Lifetime Achievement Award at The 29th Annual Screen Actors Guild Awards SAG | February 26, 2023
My headcanon for frat peter is that he joined one after gwen dies to distract himself and as a bandaid fucks everything that movies and gains a reputation oc / reader is his best friend very similar to dancing on my own ik but anyway she tries supporting him but peter is really unhealthy and she leaves for a while how do you think peter would feel about the hole she leaves behind cause she used to basically do all his emotional heavy lifting on hard days
He acts like he's fine. He's learned not to show his emotions especially around the guys. They were never big fans of her, anyway. It takes him about two weeks to finally notice that she's gone. It happens the day he's set to touch up his blonde roots. Usually he heads on over to her dorm, sneaking into the women's bathroom, while she does his hair for him. During those times are when he typically feels more free to speak his mind. They shared a lot of heart to hearts over those moments of the two of them, giggling alone in the bathroom, while he enjoys the feeling of her fussing over his hair. He feels the weight of the world leaving his shoulders for a short time whenever she's around.
This time, though, she doesn't come when he calls.
All his texts go unanswered. At first, he's worried she's hurt. He immediately thinks the worst. It's in his nature to assume that the people he loves will end up dead. Taken too early. It's not until he sees her walking around campus he's able to feel a sense of relief.
He jogs up to her, big, cocky grin on his face, and falls in step next to her. He expects her to open up like usual. Expects her to play along with his teasing. When he only receives a cold shoulder and the silent treatment, he reacts with anger.
Peter's been so angry lately. He's been struggling to feel many emotions but anger is one that always seems to make it through his closed off walls. They say that anger is a massive part of the grieving process but it's one he hasn't been able to shake.
They get into a huge, blow out fight in middle of campus over how he treats her now vs before and how he let's his friends treat her like shit. She's sick of his behavior and only using her whenever he needs something. It's never the other way around. Peter no longer shows up for her like she does for him. She can't take their one sided friendship anymore. This isn't the Peter she grew up loving.
It draws a crowd. People are watching them like they're today's entertainment. It ends with her crying, running back to her dorm, and Peter cursing out the crowds and stalking back to his frat house.
He mourns her loss in his life like he mourned for Gwen.
Denial.
It was her fault. She was being stupid. He had done nothing wrong. So what if his frat brothers teased her from to time. It was her fault she couldn't take a joke. He turned a blind eye to their behavior. He let them get inside his head. He didn't need her. He had lines of women waiting to throw themselves at his feet. What was the loss of one, stupid, annoying girl he knew as a kid? According to his brothers, she refused to put out, anyway. It was no loss to him. He didn't need her.
He buried his hurt by sleeping around more often than usual. A new woman every night. Sometimes two in the same day. He even slept with her best girl friend just to extra piss her off and get back at her.
He wanted her to hurt as much as him.
Anger
He was already the king of anger. He felt its power invade his every pore. It lived deep in his bones and consumed his every waking thought. He was getting into multiple fist fights every week. Not even as Spider-Man, just as Peter Parker.
He fought his frat brothers, he fought guys at the bar, he fought dudes on the street, he even fought his own reflection in the mirror. That one left him covered in blood and surrounded by shattered glass. He needed stitches to close up the wound. He couldn't stand the sight of his own face. He despised the man who stared back at him.
He didn't know this person. He didn't know Peter anymore.
Maybe she was right. Maybe had lost himself.
Bargaining
If he could just see her again...
If he could just see her one time. Hear her voice. That's all he wanted. He could watch her anytime he felt like it. He could overhear her talking to friends whenever he spied on her. He was Spider-Man. He was the master of stealth and shadows. But that wasn't enough. He wanted her voice to be directed at him. He didn't care what she said to him as long as she was talking. All he wanted was a fraction of her attention.
He would trade it all to get her back in his life. Just one conversation. That's he wanted. One, little talk just like old times.
She refused.
He couldn't blame her. He was a destroyer of lives. Anyone he touched crumbled around him. Whether they were killed in a plane crash, shot in the street, fell from a building, or were shoved away...they all left him in the end.
It was his fault. It was always his fault.
Depression
When he lost everything, he used to turn to sex. Now the thought of touching a woman who wasn't her only made him sick to his stomach. Alcohol was too risky. It fucked too much with his emotions. Made him reckless.
Pot was the cure.
It calmed him. Made him forget for a while. Allowed him to just relax and zone out.
He stopped going to his classes. Stopping talking to his brothers. Stopped answering his texts. It was just him, a strong joint, and the quiet of cave of his bedroom. In here, he could wallow in peace.
Peter Parker was not someone who could be trusted in the real world. He deserved to be locked up like an animal. No one needed him. He was better off alone.
This was where he would stay. In the dark. Where he belonged.
Acceptance
The state of his hair told him how much time had passed. It was back to brown. Greasy and unkempt. Shaggier than he typically liked it but he didn't care enough to get it fixed. The only person he ever wanted to touch his hair again was her.
And she deserved an apology.
He had been reading about grief online. There were five stages, so the internet says. There is no specific time period for each and they can jump between the stages whenever they feel like. He liked to hang out in the anger stage more often than the others. It was where he felt most at home. At least he understood anger. Anger made sense to him. Smoking helped quell the raging beast. That was a vice he didn't want to give up. Not yet. He wasn't ready for that step.
The world was an angry place and he fit right in.
But he was learning where to put that anger. It didn't belong on her. That was misguided. She had done nothing wrong. All she had ever done was love him. Anger was okay as long as it was placed in the right direction. He knew that now. Spider-Man could use anger to his advantage. Bad guys deserved anger. His frat brothers deserved his wrath for how they treated others. He, himself, deserved the anger. But not her.
And he needed to make amends. Even if she didn't fully forgive him, he needed to try, because she deserved to hear it, and he deserved to say it.
All it took was one text. After months of no contact. One text and she replied.
Coffee. 9am. Just the two of them.
One, little talk...just like old times.
I LOVED THIS!
It is very Dancing On My Own coded. I think what some people don't fully grasp in that story is that Peter was severely grieving through the later half of it. Gwen died because he couldn't catch her in time. He lost the love of his life because he wasn't good enough at the ONE thing he was supposed to be good at. He fully blames himself for her death. Do people not realize how seriously fucked that would make someone?? I think that's why I like to write dark!Peter so much. Because TASM Peter would be dark after that. He would not be normal. He would not be able to go back to being friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. It would ruin him. We saw that in NWH. It's still eating him alive like a decade later. The college days of Dancing On My Own took place a year after Gwen's death. The boy is fucked up.
Grief makes you do stupid things. Anger and reckless behavior is part of grief. Obvious that doesn't mean that it's okay but to completely write someone off as a monster undeserving of love just because they're hurting doesn't sit right with me. Not that you did that, I'm just going off the comments and complaints I've gotten on the fic that always low key piss me off.
And maybe I'm just not the greatest writer so that didn't come off as well as I wanted it to in DOMO but I tried my best haha. Maybe I shouldn't have ended it where I did and allowed them to grow a bit more after but I really thought that kind of stuff would just be assumed by the reader because it made sense in my head that that's how grief and healing and forgiveness go. But no one lives in my head but me so that's my fault for not executing my intentions properly!
I lovelovelove exploring grief and the different places it can take a person. Grief/depression/anger/angst are my favorite topics. Always have been since I was young. Like how Peter in this story feels most comfortable hanging out in his anger, I feel most happy in my angst and darkness. Sad people sometimes do bad things. Hurting people sometimes hurt other people. Even people they love very much. Does that make them completely incapable of change? Does that make them forever unlovable or not worthy of forgiveness? Sometimes people think too much in black and white and forget that the world is full of all sorts of grays.
Not that this was even about DOMO and I'm completely going on a tangent I know I'm so sorry haha but it's close enough to domo because it's dealing with Peter's grief and hurting of a close friend.
Here's some of my favorite pages from my favorite children's book (Michael Rosen's Sad Book) that talks about grief and the loss of someone you loved very much that's meant to teach children how to better understand their sadness and hurt and that even if you do bad things sometimes it doesn't mean that you are a bad person who doesn't deserve love and forgiveness:
ANYWAY
I just wanted to say that I love this and I love when people come to me with headcanons. That's what fandoms are supposed to be about. We're all supposed to be pestering each other 24/7 with our ideas and creating stories together and collaborating and building shit that we all love. Always send me your ideas. No matter how unhinged you might think they are bc I'm sure I've got equally as crazy ideas to play along with you!
Peter is jaded after Gwen, it’s before the events of NWH, and he’s slowly starting to fall in love with a woman he’s (literally) ran into at the library. She’s intellectual, kind, but is also a little jaded like Peter. Slowly, he has seen hope in her chestnut eyes. He is starting to see a future.
One night, Peter is listening to the police scanners and hears the code for an armed break-in, and it’s library girl’s apartment complex’s address.
He swallows, angry chills run up his spine as he hears her apartment number called out.
What does he do, Katie? How would he react?
I'm With You || TASM Peter Parker x fem!Reader
Trigger Warnings: stalking, sexual assault of a woman (being masturbated over by a man and touched w/o consent), nudity, crass language, gun usage, armed break-ins with the intent to harm a woman living alone, being tied and gagged against her will, violence from Peter/Spider-Man with a tiny bit of gore
It’s a damn cold night.
Peter tugged his jacket close around his body as he jogged the last few remaining steps into the public library. His overdue books were hidden inside the satchel at his side. He was about a month late in returning them and the library was almost closed. He wanted to get them in before he forgot. If he waited another day, he would never remember to bring them back.
As he rounded the corner, he tripped over someone’s outstretched legs. Being a man of his talents, he quickly corrected his fall to land effortlessly back on his feet with the elegance of a ballerina making a graceful leap.
Quizzical eyes stared up at him.
The woman on the floor was leaning with her back against the bookcase with an open book in her lap. She looked more annoyed at him for tripping over her instead of apologetic for having her legs across the aisle.
“Watch where you’re going,” she grumbled.
She lifted the book up to her face, blocking him back out.
Peter let out a breathy laugh of disbelief at the audacity of this bitch.
“Excuse me?” He said, agast.
She peeked her eyes over the top of the book to stare him down, “Dude, get lost. I’m busy. Not my fault you’re clumsy.”
“You tripped me!” He read the cover of the book she was reading. The Making of the Atomic Bomb by Richard Rhodes. “Doing a bit of light reading, I see. First it’s tripping innocent strangers and next it’s world domination? Is that it?”
He caught the smallest of smiles tug at her lips hidden behind the book.
A singular butterfly fluttered around inside his stomach at the sight. The feeling was enough to grab his attention. He quietly admired her. Legs still stretched out in front of her. Zero regard for the space she was taking up. He kind of liked it. She didn’t give a shit.
Peter turned and left her to her book, not wanting to bother her further, and headed to the front desk to deal with his late fees.
A week had passed and he was back in the library. He had no real purpose for being there today other than he liked the smell of the books. They made him feel relaxed. He liked to walk down the aisles and let his fingers graze across each bump of their spines. Every book he touched, filled with another story, another world, hundreds of lives under the tips of his fingers.
“Hey,” a feminine voice hissed from between a gap of books on the other side of the shelf.
Those eyes. He blinked back at them, peering between the shelves, trying to place where he remembered them from.
Then it hit him.
Atomic bomb girl.
“Can I borrow your height?” She whispered, keeping her voice low to be respectful to the people studying on the other side of the room. Unlike the last time he saw her, it was a Thursday afternoon and the library was full with students.
Peter slipped into the next aisle. She pointed to the book she wanted on the top shelf, just out of her reach. He plucked it down for her and turned it over in his hands. Relativity: The Special and the General Theory by Albert Einstein.
She eyed him with an intensity he wasn’t used to, like she was seeing straight through his skin and into his soul. Her eyes were captivating. He wanted to get lost in them.
“You’re the unbalanced, trippy guy, right?” She asked.
Peter smiled. Last night he stood on one foot on top of the Empire State Building spire just to admire the view. He was more balanced than she would ever know.
“You mean, am I the one you tripped? Yes.” He handed her over the book. “You’re into science, I see, atomic bomb girl?”
“I’m into learning. Whatever form that may come in.” She took the book and tucked it under her arm. “Thanks, trippy.”
“Peter,” he called after her as she spun around to walk away. “You can call me Peter!”
The library became his new home. He took every opportunity to attend in the hopes of bumping into her again. Some days were a success, other’s a failure, but he found himself wanting more. Every time she had a new book and every time he would find the same one to read after her. It wasn’t weird. He was just…trying to find quiet ways to relate to someone new.
So he told himself.
Peter had forgotten how to talk to women after Gwen. It had been so long since he even attempted to date anyone.
“Are you stalking me?” She asked one evening when she walked into the room to find him sitting on his laptop at one of the tables.
He glanced up and shrugged, “I was here first this time. Maybe you’re stalking me?”
She smiled and slid into the seat across from him, “I already have one stalker. I don’t need another. If you’re into me, you better just grow a pair, and ask me out now.”
Peter grinned, “I’m…wait…okay.” He ran a hand through his hair, sitting up straighter, completely letting the stalker comments fly over his head as he got flustered. “Would you like to go on a date with me? Right here. Right now. If you say ‘yes’ then it’s already starting.” He closed his laptop to give her his full attention.
Her eyes widened and she settled happily back into her chair, “Alright, Peter, was it? Nice to meet you. This is an interesting choice of restaurant for a first date. Not what I would have chosen for our dinner and a movie night. I didn’t see a kitchen when I walked in but I chose to trust you.”
“This is the finest establishment the borough has to offer,” he feigned a gasp. “Don’t you insult my choice of restaurant.”
He raised a finger in the air, pretending to call over an imaginary waiter, “Hello, yes, I will take your finest bottle of wine for the table to start. The more expensive, the better. And I will take a big, giant steak for myself and, perhaps, a nice, small salad for the lovely lady?” He shot her a cheeky wink as she let out a laugh.
“Fuck you,” she giggled.
Fucking him was exactly what she did.
They continued their imaginary dinner date in the library until it closed, the librarian kicking them out and shooing them out the front door. They walked into the chilly night air, stopping at a bodega at the street corner to grab a few snacks, as they made their way to her place.
He had slept with other women since Gwen passed but this time was different. There were feelings involved. Feelings that were still in their infancy. Ones that were just sparking to life. But they were there. He didn’t just want to fuck her and run. He wanted more than that. He wanted to stay. He wanted to grow and cultivate whatever path they were headed down. He wanted this to be something.
He was ready to try dating again.
She rolled over in the bed, naked and relaxed, staring up at the ceiling, “That was amazing. You really know how to use that tongue of yours for more than just being a dick. I’m impressed.”
Peter chuckled, “Oh, please, your tongue was nothing to scoff at either.”
It really had been one of the best blow jobs of his life.
He leaned on his side, propping his head up with his hand, and gazed happily down at her, “I want to take you on a real date. Saturday night. To an actual restaurant.”
She hesitated. A shadowed sadness darkened her eyes which she quickly pushed away, “Okay. I think I can do that.”
Peter frowned, “Something wrong?”
She shook her head, leaning over to kiss him as a distraction, “Nope. When you leave, can you leave through one of the side doors? Don’t walk out the front of the apartment.”
That was his cue to leave, apparently. He chewed anxiously against his bottom lip. Maybe he was misreading whatever he thought was going on between them. Maybe she wanted a quick fuck and nothing more. Come to think of it, when they entered here, she had snuck them in the back door, too, making him walk a few feet behind her like they weren’t together.
Maybe she was in a relationship and cheating on her partner with him?
“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” She offered, casually urging him to get out of the bed. “Text me. I stuck my contact in your phone earlier.”
Peter left feeling more confused and unsure than when he entered her place.
He lifted his phone as he walked through the streets, searching the contracts until he found her under ❤️Atomic Bomb Girl❤️, and he smiled down at it. A heart. Maybe he was overthinking things. Maybe her front door was just broken. He always went straight to assuming the worst.
Someone slammed into his shoulder, jostling him out of his thoughts, and he glanced behind him. A large, buff man glared back at him. He looked to be in his late fifties and was balding. His massive arms bulged under his tight fitting, worn down leather jacket. He reached out to clamp a hand down around Peter’s upper arm.
Peter frowned and tried to jerk away, “Dude, it was an accident, chill.”
“Did you fuck that girl up there?” That man asked, nodding his head back to her apartment building. There was a crazed desperation in his voice. “I saw you following her home. Did she spread her legs for you and whore herself out? Did you get a good look at that tight, little pussy? Tell me, what did it look like? You take any pictures? I’ll pay you for them.”
Peter jerked his arm out of the man’s grasp, scowling in disgust, “What the fuck? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I wasn’t following anyone. I was meeting a friend who lives there. Fuck off.”
The man leaned forward and inhaled his scent causing Peter to jump back.
“I can smell her on you,” he growled as his eyes rolled back into his head. “That’s her perfume. I know because I bought it for her. You were fucking her.”
That was enough.
Peter shoved the older man off of him and jogged around the corner, waiting until he was out of sight before throwing himself up onto her building roof, peering over the edge to keep an eye on him.
He was just pacing back and forth outside the apartment door, mumbling to himself and fidgeting with something in his pocket.
“Freak,” Peter muttered under his breath.
He pulled up her contact and sent her a text: Some crazy old dude just ambushed me outside your place. Asked about you. Maybe don’t go outside tonight. I think he’s not right in the head.
He saw three bubbles appear as she started to text back but then they disappeared again, leaving him hanging.
Peter shrugged it off. He stayed and kept watch until the man finally wandered off down the street.
The night before he was supposed to take her out on a date, Peter was laid over his bed in his Spider suit sans mask. His police scanner let out more static of nothing as he waited for something, anything, to happen. He was bored but it was too cold to hang around on a rooftop somewhere. He would stay in the warmth of his bedroom unless something exciting came his way. They had been texting back and forth nonstop for the last few days and calling each other every night to talk for hours. He liked it when she sent him pictures of things she was doing around her house during the day. She was adorable and he looked forward to whenever his phone would buzz.
As if on cue, it vibrated across the mattress next to him.
He lifted it up in a gloved hand to read the text. A frown settled over his face as he read it.
Atomic Bomb Girl: ha ha ha i win u lose dontever touch wat is mine again
Right as he was attempting to decipher what she was talking about, taking note of how drastic of a change of text from her usual ones it was, the police scanner lit to life.
“All available units to Linden Boulevard, Oak Ridge Apartments, floor three. Multiple calls of gunshots heard and one reported casualty of a security guard. Suspect is wearing dark clothes, caucasian older male, considered armed and dangerous. Approach with caution.”
His senses exploded in a panicked wave of tingles. That was her place. Her floor. The image of that strange man assaulting him on the street after he left came back to hit him like a ton of bricks. Peter looked back at his phone as the pieces fell into place.
Oh, fuck.
Quiet, controlled anger replaced the panic. His heart rate steadied as a calm chill fell over him. His jaw locked in determination. He reached for his mask, tugging it over his stone cold, deadly expression, and he leaped out of his open window.
Peter Parker no longer fucked around when it came to protecting the one’s he cared about. This was personal.
He arrived at the scene in record speed, landing directly on top of a black S.W.A.T truck as it pulled up. He rapped a fist down on the hood to get their attention.
“Feel free to sit this one out, boys!” He called down to them. “Spidey’s got you covered! I’ll be in and out in minutes. No need to worry. Focus on crowd control. I’ve got a date with a balding fucker. If all goes well, it’ll end up with a quickie in the back of a cop car, as I ride his ass straight to prison.”
Peter threw himself up onto her building, scaling to the third floor and around to find her window. He knew exactly where he would find his perp. His masked face popped up in her bedroom window. It was empty and quiet. He slammed his fist through the glass, slipping his hand inside to find the lock, and shoved it open wide enough for him to shimmy through.
From inside, he could hear muffled cries. Whimpers. They were different from the whimpers he had been able to elicit out of her the other night but he knew them all the same.
Silent as a shadow, Peter crept around the corner. With her hands tied behind her back, her shirt ripped open so her bare chest was on display, and thrown against the couch was his girl. The gun man stood above her. A pistol was aimed directly at her forehead. From this angle, he couldn’t quite make out what was going on, but it looked as if the man was masturbating over her. Trails of mascara ran down her cheeks and she let out muffled cries against the heavy amounts of duct tape blocking her mouth as she struggled to break free.
His anger flared but he tried to push it down to manable levels. He had learned over the years that getting too angry made him sloppy. He needed to control it. Work with it. Tame it into something he could use as a weapon instead of making it a weakness.
Peter crawled up her wall and onto her ceiling, prowling towards the man. Up here, he had a clear view. His dick was out and he was frantically jerking it as fast as he could at her breasts. Her eyes widened in fear but then flashed with hope when caught sight of Spider-Man crawling across her ceiling.
He hadn’t even done anything yet and he already felt pride. She felt a sense of safety around him…even if she didn’t know it was him behind the mask. It made him cocky. Made him want to show off.
When he was directly behind him, he silently lowered himself upside on a web until his face was hung directly behind the assailant.
“I’m actually surprised you can even get it up,” he quipped, keeping his voice light, despite the rage eating at his stomach. “I didn’t know something that small could get hard.”
The man whipped around, his dick flopping against his leg, as he sputtered in shock. His pistol went off, firing aimless at the wall behind Peter’s head.
Peter held up his hands in mock surrender as he jumped to his feet, “Whoa, there, tinycock! Don’t go blowing your load so soon! You’ll miss out on all the fun.”
There was no doubt this was the same man he had met outside the other day. His eyes were crazed with an unhinged, desperation that reeked of a man off his meds. Peter made sure to keep the man’s eyes on himself, holding his attention, instead of on her.
“What’s a sad sap like you doing out of the psych ward? Were you a good boy and managed to snag yourself a day pass?” Peter clasped his hands together like he was excited for him, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And you used it to visit your daughter? Aww, that’s so sweet. Wait a minute.” He pretended to just now notice the man’s cock hanging out of his pants. It had gone soft and shrunken up like a scared little mouse. “Is she…not your daughter? But you’re so old. And she’s so young. I guess I don’t see any resemblance. She’s really pretty and you’ve got-” He motioned a hand around the man’s face. “-all that. Something tells me that there’s more going on here. Wanna tell your pal Spidey all about it?”
The man was silent, blinking in a shocked awe at the masked hero, before finally snapping out of it. Spider-Man always excelled at talking his bad guys into circles with his stream of conscious babbling. The gun raised towards his head but, quicker than the man could even process, Peter had latched his hand around the barrel and crushed it in his grasp with the same ease as one might squish a can of soda after they finished drinking.
“Whoopies,” he joked. “Looks like your gun broke! I wouldn’t pull that trigger if I were you. It’ll explode right back into your face there. On second thought, maybe give it a go! It might improve what you’re working with!”
The man faltered, looking confused and baffled down at his crushed gun. He clearly wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. That was okay. Peter didn’t need him to be intelligent. He just needed him to be unarmed.
Which he now was.
Peter grabbed him by the scruff of the collar and turned him around to face her, “Do you see that girl there?” The man’s eyes glazed over as he stared down at her exposed breasts. Peter quickly threw a hand over the man’s eyes to block them, manhandling him around like he wasn’t twice his size. “I take that back. Don’t see that girl there. Use your imagination. Remember her face. You know that girl? Yeah, that girl. The one you tied up and assaulted? The one sitting in front of us, scared out of her mind and traumatized. I want you to remember her. Because if you ever, and I mean ever, even think about her again, if she ever crosses your pathetically shriveled up mind, if you ever say her fucking name, speak about her, think about, look in her direction, or ever come near her again…”
Peter dragged him over to the living room window where the slew of police were barricaded outside. He could hear the S.W.A.T crew moving up the stairwell now towards them and knew they only had a few more precious minutes of alone time. He shoved the man up to the window, raising his arm to force him to wave limply at all the cops down below.
His voice lowered to a dangerous growl. Any playful, sarcastic essence it once held in the presence of his girl disappeared so only the man could hear him.
“If you ever fucking touch her again,” he breathed. “I will toss you off of the Empire State Building and laugh through your entire fall down to your grizzly end.”
With his hand still clutching the man’s collar, he jerked him back and smashed his face directly through the glass window. He heard her muffled scream of shock behind him but he knew she would be alright.
A shard of glass stuck out of the man’s forehead, blood dripping down over his half closed eye, and Peter flicked it off down onto the street below.
“That was for trying to taunt me over text,” he whispered in the dazed man’s ear. “I don’t play nice with men like you. Want to see what it would feel like falling to your death? Here’s a little preview so you’ll be sure to know exactly what you’ll be in for if you ever even think about my woman again.”
Peter reeled back and tossed the man straight out of her window, head first, sending him down to the cops below. If he let his anger win, he would have never set a web straight after him, but she was watching and he didn’t want to be that person. She had gone through enough without having to see her Saturday night date murder a man in front of her.
The web latched onto his back at the final moments to break his fall. His legs may have crumpled against the ground…just a little bit…but he was alive. It was more than he deserved but the cops could deal with him now.
Peter spun around to look back at her. She was quietly sobbing, muffled by her gag, but held a look of relief on her face. She brought her teary eyes up to meet his, or where she thought they would under the mask, and gave him a short nod of thanks.
The S.W.A.T team was nearing her door. He could jump out the window and allow them to help her get free or…
She clung onto him, her head buried in his shoulder, as he soared them down the street and away from the commotion below. She cried softly. He wasn’t sure if it was from fear or the trauma or that fact that New York’s very own Spider-Man had just stolen her from her home but he kept a firm hold on her and kept whispering reassuring words in her ear.
Eventually, he landed them on top of his own apartment building, setting her down gently onto her bottom.
She gasped for breath, reaching up a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, “I always…wondered…what it would be like…to fly…” Her chest was heaving between each gasping word. “Turns out, it’s terrifying. Still, thank you, Peter. For saving me.”
He shrugged, “It’s no problem. I was just doing my- hey, wait!”
She gave him a sneaky smile, still shivering and teary, but proud of herself for figuring it out.
“What?” She asked, innocently. “You think I wouldn’t know your voice? I’ve been listening to it for hours every night over the phone for the past few days.”
Peter reluctantly reached a hand up to pull off his mask, “You’re good.”
Despite having already guessed his secret identity, she still looked surprised to actually see him without the mask on. He squatted down in front of her to seem less intimidating.
“So that was your stalker, I take it?” He asked.
She nodded, giving a sad sigh, “The one and only. He’s a joy, isn’t he?”
He plopped onto his ass and crossed his legs, giving her a shrug, “I don’t think he’ll be bothering you again. I may have had some, ahem, choice words to encourage him to find new hobbies.”
She smiled again, blinking back her tears, “Thank you, Peter. Or, should I be calling you Spidey from now on?”
He laughed, rolling his eyes, “Look, this is a big deal! You better not go running your mouth or else I’ll have to have some choice words with you, too.”
He liked hearing the sound of her laugh, especially after everything she just went though, and he knew she would be okay.
“I have a date with Spider-Man tomorrow,” she giggled. “How exciting.”
Peter chuckled, “The excitement wears off quickly, trust me.”
She scooted closer to bring her mascara streaked face inches from his, “Somehow I doubt that.”
peter parker x f!reader
word count; 3,357
warnings; nothing really, just good ol' fashioned hurt & comfort
summary; peter knew he'd messed up. he'd grown accustomed to being a screw-up throughout the years but just once, just this once, he wished he hadn't been. he can't stop himself from going to your apartment, however, and he certainly didn't expect the surprise of seeing your window already open...
No calls.
No texts.
Peter stared down at his blank lock screen, as if if he looked long enough, he could will a message or a call or something to appear. The streets of Queens bustled with life below his dangling legs, cars honking and people shouting into the night. The air was thick and smelled like rain, big, daunting gray clouds illuminated by the city hovering in the sky. Peter felt like they were there solely to taunt him, their promise of downpour his punishment for having screwed things up so royally.
Although he knew rain was on its way, Peter couldn’t bring himself to tear away from the ledge he sat on. He couldn’t look away from his phone, couldn’t stop thinking of what he could say even if she did call, what he should say, what he should’ve said before. If rain fell now, he knew he’d deserve to be drenched, deserved to swing home in an uncomfortably wet spandex suit.
Peter knew he was a fuck-up. He’d known it all his life. He knew he was bound to mess up everything in his life but just once, just this once, he hoped he wouldn’t screw this thing, this beautiful, amazing thing up.
Of course he should’ve known that it was all wishful thinking.
Of course he fucked up again. Why did he expect this to be different?
Peter thought back to the last time they’d talked only the night prior, he could still see the furrow of her eyebrows, the frown he’d created on her lips, the tears that rimmed her sockets that he knew he was the cause of. He still recalled the way she sounded, her raised voice thick with her tears. He still remembered the quiver of her lip whenever he said words he didn’t mean, the way her chest heaved with her irregular breathing, the way she ran her hands over her face when she tried to calm herself down, holding her palms over her ears when he raised his voice.
All of it haunted him, it was all he could see when he closed his eyes, when he breathed, when he blinked. He wished he could turn back time, could take back every belittling thing he said, wish he could go back and wrap his arms around her instead of leaving her to do it herself.
He still remembered the way her gaze cowered to the floor when she pushed him out the door, the sound of it slamming closed behind him piercing his ears like a gunshot. Peter didn’t know why he said all of those awful things when he truly didn’t even mean them, too wrapped up in his own emotions to even care whether or not his words held any weight on her or not.
And now it was all coming back to haunt him.
A droplet of rain fell from the heavens and fell in a wet plop against his cheek, foreboding more rain to come. Peter sighed as he glanced back down at his phone, using his hand to shield the rain away from the screen. It wouldn’t matter, of course— there were still no calls, no texts, nothing.
Peter blinked down at his empty phone screen as rain began to fall harder, weighing heavy on his lashes. It was close to eleven now— maybe she was asleep. He hoped so, anyway.
With a sigh, he locked his phone and stared ahead towards the city before him, facing the direction he knew her apartment was. He pondered the possibility that she was awake. If he could just see her, even for just a moment…
Would she turn him away? Yell at him, throw things at him, break up with him, get rid of him for good? Peter knew at this point to expect the worst, but the overall urge to swing to her window for just even the smallest chance that her curtains wouldn’t be drawn closed and he could just see her was too strong for him to resist.
So, he tucked his phone away, pulled down his mask, and despite the rain beginning to pour, swung his way towards her building. He couldn’t stop thinking about how dumb this must be, how pathetic it was for him to show up at her window out of the blue in the middle of the night. He knew he should leave her alone, wait for her to come to him whenever she was ready, give her the space she’d pleaded for just the night before.
But it was impossible for Peter to even live with himself knowing he was just sitting back on his heels, waiting to be broken up with. He’d fucked up, yes, and he’d screwed up countless amounts of times before in his life. But he’d also never tried to make up for the things he had done, never fought for something like he was realizing he wanted to fight for her. He wouldn’t let this go, this beautiful, amazing thing he had taken for granted.
He didn’t care what it would take. Peter would at least try to fix the castle he’d crumbled.
He hissed through his teeth when he stuck a particularly hard landing against the side of her building, fingers and toes stuck like glue to the wet brick as he crawled his way to her window. Peter narrowed his eyes behind his mask to get a better look past the rain, because he swore that he could see the wind blowing her curtains out of the window, as if she’d left it open.
Goosebumps littered Peter’s skin beneath his suit– it was freezing, how could she have left her window open in this weather? It would be a miracle if she didn’t catch a cold.
As he approached, he realized that he was right– her window was in fact open and her curtains were in fact not drawn, the rain falling straight onto her window seat, soaking the blankets and pillows she kept there. Her pink curtains were drenched as well and whipping in the wind, the material slapping Peter in the face as he approached and he grumbled, using one hand to slap them away while the other held onto the brick.
The curtain kept whipping back in his face and he groaned, clutching a fistful of the fabric to hold it in place. Finally, he had a better view of her bedroom, the soft marmalade glow from her bedside lamp the only light illuminating her room. When Peter crawled closer to catch a better look, he could see her figure only halfway beneath the covers of her bed, turned to her side, her arm bent beneath her pillow to support her head. Her lids were closed, her eyelashes softly twitching against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted as she breathed.
Warmth flared in Peter’s heart at the sight and his gaze scanned over her figure again when he realized how cold she must be, wearing only a short sleeve shirt and shorts with an entire leg sticking out of the comforter. He cursed beneath his breath as he crawled as quietly as he could inside her bedroom, warily landing on her window seat, wincing as he glanced back at her, hoping he hadn’t woken her. Once he had confirmed she was still asleep, he lowered himself onto the ground, aware of the wet footprints he was leaving behind as he tip-toed his way over to her bed.
Peter knelt towards the ground when he had reached the side of her bed, his fingers itching to touch her face as he stared at her. She looked so peaceful now, a stark difference to her demeanor the last time he’d seen her. He wondered if she was dreaming now, and what she could be dreaming about. Somewhere deep inside his chest, a selfish thought bloomed that he couldn’t help but ponder. He wondered if she was dreaming about him, if she’d even been thinking about him before falling asleep.
For a moment, Peter let his fingers, covered in soaked spandex, reach for her face, his forefinger a mere whisper away from her cheek. He sighed, deciding against touching her as he looked off to the side at the comforter partly covering her body. He couldn’t risk waking her– not now.
Peter reached over for the comforter, adjusting it on her body so that she was fully covered, hoping the goosebumps that had littered across her skin could finally be put at ease now. Peter rose from where he knelt beside her once he was sure that she was covered, taking one last long look at her. Part of him wished she was awake, not only so he could beg for forgiveness, but so he could see her, could look into those beautiful, wonderful eyes he’d grown to love so much. He hated the image of them that haunted him now, the hurt and anger they held when they looked at him last time he saw her.
Peter’s shoulders heaved with his sigh as he turned, making his way back over to the open window to leave her alone again. That was, until he heard stirring from the bed behind him, his breath hitching at the base of his throat when he heard a soft, tired moan.
“Peter?”
A knot of anxiety formed in his chest at the realization that she was awake and everything Peter had planned to do to apologize to her was completely thrown out the window. When he turned around to see her knuckles being dug into her drooping eyes, he panicked, his breath stolen from his lungs until he was rendered speechless. This was not how this was supposed to go, he certainly wasn’t planning on being caught standing in her bedroom in the middle of the night uninvited like a creep.
“Um…” Peter stammered out as he backed away towards the window, hitting his heel a little too hard against the bottom of her window seat, squeezing his eyelids closed behind his mask in a wince. He fell onto the window seat and crossed his legs, elbows against his calf as he held his head in his hands, trying to breathe through the pain.
“Are you okay?” He heard her ask from behind his hands and Peter nodded, lifting up a thumb towards the air in reply. His heart was thudding in his chest, partly due to the embarrassment of not only being caught but also freaking out over hitting his heel, and also due to the fact that he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to face her now, to tell her that he was sorry, that he wanted to fight for her.
“Peter?” She called his name again, her voice thick with sleep. He could hear the rustling of bed sheets again and when he lifted his head, he saw that she had swung her legs over the side of the mattress so that she now sat up, facing him. “Peter, let me see you.”
Peter’s heart lurched in his throat at the words she’d often say to him– he had a habit of keeping his mask on when he was in his suit, even when he was alone. He usually didn’t have a problem with removing it but now– he was scared. Like he didn’t want to expose himself to her now, like he was scared his emotions would be written all over his face. It was because he was certain they were, and he was scared of being so vulnerable to her when he knew he had no right to be.
He was the one who messed things up, he was the one who had hurt her. He had no right to be so upset, to be so damn pathetic.
“Peter?”
Peter’s shoulders drooped with his sigh when he glanced up at her again, her brows furrowed but yet, not in the way she had done the night before. She wasn’t mad now, only curious. In a way, it made him feel relieved. And so, with his twitching fingers, he reached for the hem of his mask, tugging it away from his face, his hair damp and flat against his head once he had finally removed it all the way.
Now exposed, he couldn’t quite dare meet her gaze, but he could feel it. He could feel her eyes scanning over him, trying to read him the way she knew to do so well. He usually wouldn’t be so terrified beneath her gaze but now he shied away, ashamed that she was seeing him like this.
“I was waiting for you, you know,” she said after a prolonged silence and Peter dared a glance up at her. She had her knees tucked up to her chest and although she wouldn’t admit it, he could tell she was cold solely by the way her shoulders trembled and her bottom lip quivered. Rather awkwardly, Peter staggered to his feet and turned, pulling her window down, the wind and the rain pounding their fists against the glass when they’d finally be shut away. “Left the window open for you and everything.”
Peter furrowed his eyebrows as he turned back around to face her, eyeing her quizzically. “Why?” He asked at last. She tilted her head, and he continued. “I mean, why not call? Text? I’m not worth freezing to death over.”
She shrugged where she sat, pushing her back up against the mattress and tugging her comforter up closer to her legs. “Too tired to call you,” she replied. “Guess I knew you’d come anyways. I know you, you know.”
Peter shifted his feet awkwardly beneath his weight where he stood, fondling with his mask between his fingers. He couldn’t quite meet her stare so instead he chose to eye the floor as if they held the words he needed to say, the sorrys he knew he owed her. His mouth opened and closed, almost words on the tip of his tongue but dying before they could ever be spoken. He sighed in frustration, turning and scratching his damp head of hair as he stared at the window sill. She said nothing, only watched, waiting.
“I don’t… I don’t…” Peter drew his hands in to his chest and pushed them back out, as if trying to force the words from his throat. He shook his head, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. “...I don’t know what to say.”
She blinked as her gaze softened, staring at the boy her heart beat and her chest burned for. She could hear it in his silence, feel it in the way he was visibly trying to speak but failing that he was sorry, that he still loved her despite everything he had said before. She knew that he didn’t mean a single thing he had said and that he was sorry for that too. She knew that he wished to take it all back, to erase it all and somehow make it up to her.
He didn’t need to say a single thing. She could hear it in the silence.
“Peter…” she called his name again and he turned towards her abruptly, sighing as he released his bottom lip from between his teeth.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, wincing and visibly cringing at his tone, at his abruptness. With the hand his mask was clutched in, he held his hip, the opposite reaching up to scratch at his forehead, shaking his head at himself. His mouth moved as silent curses tumbled past his lips and he turned away from her again, contemplating jumping out the window altogether.
She could feel the corners of her lips twitch upwards as she pushed herself out of her bed, her footsteps unnoticed by Peter as she approached. He tensed when her fingers grazed the wet spandex of his suit over his hips, circling around his body until their gazes could meet. Deep, inviting pools of brown surged into her stare, so dark that his irises almost melted into his pupils. His brow was furrowed, his gaze so soft, so vulnerable, so apologetic that her heart leapt in her chest.
Her fingers reached for his and Peter, through a shaky breath, watched as she removed either of his wet gloves until his hand was bare. His breath hitched when her skin met his, so warm that her flesh seemed to melt into his. She squeezed his fingers and drew in closer, their eyes locking once more when he glanced up at her.
“I know you are,” she said in hardly a whisper, still holding onto his fingers with one hand but using the other to swipe loose strands of his damp, dark locks away from his face. Peter’s lips quivered when she touched his forehead, her fingertips tracing a half moon down his cheekbone before dropping down to his chest, right over where his heart was. “You’re shivering,” she noted. “Why don’t you go change and come to bed?”
Peter’s heart swelled when he remembered the clothes he’d always somehow left in her bathroom, which had since been folded neatly upon the top of her sink when he wandered inside. He glanced up towards the mirror, watching through the reflection as she settled herself back into bed, head on her pillow as she turned to face his.
Peter’s lips parted at the realization that she still wanted him, that she still loved him. He was quick to peel off his damp suit after that, tossing it over the shower rod before stepping into the pair of boxers and his t-shirt he had left. He shut the bathroom light off behind him as he shuffled his feet back into her room, making his way over to the side of her bed that had since been assigned to him, slipping beneath the sheets beside her.
Warmth enveloped him and once he had finally settled, he glanced up to where she laid, her eyes already upon him. Her arm was tucked beneath her face to support her head and he matched her position, letting himself relax into the plush of the mattress and his pillow.
For a moment, they simply stared at one another and at some point, her fingers had wandered to the side of his face, toying with the still-wet ringlets there. He closed his eyes and relished the warmth of her touch, desperate to hold on to his moment of solace to make it last forever. But still, a question lingered in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite repress the urge to ask.
“Why?” He asked quietly, her eyelids fluttering open to meet her stare. Her brows furrowed, “why what?”
Peter’s tongue darted between his lips to wet them, his eyes dropping to hers for a brief moment. “Wait for me? Leave your window open for me? Why do you even still want me when I was so awful to you?” He asked, wincing at himself. She’d already seemingly forgiven him, so why was he insisting on making her reconsider her choices?
She blinked, her lips curving into a soft smile. Peter’s lips parted and his breath hitched at the sight before him, the woman laying beside him so beautiful, so wonderful, so his that he couldn’t even quite believe that she was real, that she wasn’t just a dream.
“We all say things we don’t mean,” she replied. “I said a lot of things I didn’t mean last night too. A relationship is pointless if we can’t trust one another enough to work past it.”
The pad of her thumb soothed over the expanse of Peter’s cheek, leaving warmth in her touch’s wake as she drew herself in closer to his chest and he wrapped his arms around her with the intent of never letting go. Never had Peter felt more comfortable, more at home than when she was laying in his arms.
“Besides,” she began, the crescent shape of her smile evident on his chest even through his shirt. “I had a feeling that you’d come in with the rain.”
a/n; this is yet another fic that i've had waiting around in my drafts unfinished for MONTHS now and only just got around to finishing it... but had to make a fic for one of my fave taylor songs ever <3 hope you're able to enjoy this one!
Magnificent horse, he was. His pasture at Claiborne was right next to Secretariat’s, and the 2 greats would sometimes playfully race each other along their shared fence. What a lively sight that would be ❤️🌟🌈
Mary Ann Rathfon “Horse racing fans who watched the super horse win the Triple Crown at Belmont and exercise riders and jockeys who rode him or were beaten by him have contributed to the legend’s stature.”
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