I'm “new” to Tumblr, and to be honest, I mostly created this blog to read and share some of my thoughts/imaginations about Star Wars and Hayden Christensen.
A little more about me:
I really got into Star Wars at the end of April because my best friend wanted to watch Revenge of the Sith in theaters to celebrate her birthday — and I ended up spending literally an entire Saturday watching the earlier episodes of the saga. Now I'm just a tiny bit obsessed 🙃
English is not my first language, so if I ever say something that doesn’t make much sense… I’m sorry.
I’d love to have moots! I genuinely want to meet new people and interact more around here.
I love reading books ( I love Ali Hazelwood's books 😫) and watching TV shows. My favorite sports are football (soccer) and Formula 1. And I absolutely LOVE listening to music — like, my monthly Spotify minutes kinda scare some people 😝
I write one-shots! I do struggle a bit with actually liking the things I write, but lately I’ve been feeling more comfortable sharing these little “stories”.
spiderman Just an average day being an average guy 🕸️
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leedsneeds Awesome!
spiderman Thanks Ned!
gwenstacy @.yourname it's your man
yourname GWEN
yourname @.gwenstacy YOU CAN'T SAY THAT ON A PUBLIC SERVER
yourname @.gwenstacy TAKE THIS DOWN
spiderman @.gwenstacy Haha no, I'm just me!
yourname @.gwenstacy i'm going to die
spidermanlover MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN
artdonaldsonlover *our man
spidermanlover @.artdonaldsonlover why don’t you just go back to loving art donaldson and leave me and my man ALONE
artdonaldsonlover @.spidermanlover DAMN OKAY 😭😭😭😭
warnings: fluff(?), pregnancy, slight angst(?), friends w/benefits to lovers, not proofread
notes: based on this request. honestly, pregnancy is not my favourite topic to write about, but as long as it doesn’t enter DNI territory then i am on board <3 also, this was supposed to be a fic but i didn’t like where it was going… 😬 sorry!! regardless, happy reading ;)
DARTH VADER who agreed to conceive a child with you after he noticed your profound loneliness when he would be off on missions. you weren’t exactly together, it was a connection solely based on lust and casual sex. but life under the empire was quite isolating for a young woman.
DARTH VADER who always reminds you that despite his agreement to the conception, he wants to maintain boundaries; meaning no romantic feelings.
“just know, that i am only committing to this for your sake. this connection is rooted in sexual intimacy and nothing beyond that. are we clear, madam?” vader preaches with a sternness that you’d already heard like a million times.
“i know, vader. i know.” you’ll mumble, with your hands sitting over your barely-noticeable belly.
DARTH VADER who constructed a personalised droid to monitor you and your health was the pregnancy progresses.
“what is this?” you eye the silver, protocol mechanoid with curiosity.
“i am 1D-10T, human cyborg relations.” the droid chirped the standard greeting for all protocol droids.
vader steps forward, setting his organic hand on the left shoulder plate of the droid. “he will watch over you during you, and the baby, as it grows. it comes with all the functions you’ll need— automated data logs, nutritional direction, stress mitigation, and others.”
you tilt your head and let out a scoff. “I am not a child that requires helicoptering, vader. I am a fully functional woman who can manage herself.”
“life under the empire leaves no room for accidents,” vader says sternly, the gold in his eyes unwavering. “we are actively growing a human under grim circumstances. if ensuring you are safe means taking such measures to prevent any mishaps from occurring, make it so.”
you understand that he wants the best for you, but wasn’t this a little too much? also, for a sith lord, and one as morose as him, he’s quite overbearing. makes you wonder if something from his past influenced that.
One-Dee (the droid’s nickname) was, to say the least, excruciatingly prying.
“madam, did you already take your prenatals?” he snaps you out of your focus.
“one-dee, this is the fourth time you have asked me,” you grumble with annoyance. for kriff’s sake, you just wanted to drink some tea and watch a HoloDrama and this wireback hadn’t left your side since you woke up.
“i understand, my lady. but my software has programmed me to supervise you at all times and to never leave you out of my sight, it also includes consistent inquiring to make certain you and the child are in your best shape.”
you would kill vader for this, but you would rather not have you and your unborn baby be executed by the empire for murder.
DARTH VADER will be a protective freak himself during the rare occasion he is back at the Executor, though he would not admit to it and revert back to his unfazed, callous persona right after you point it out,
his hands hover over your growing baby bump (you were five months along now), and his fingers twitch with hesitation. “there’s a child— our child, in there. like, growing in there… it is kicking, right?”
you roll your eyes, “yes, vader. the baby is kicking. seriously, i am fine.”
“are you all right?” he asks gingerly as he barely moves an inch. “you are not hurting, are you? snd the child, i just want to ensure it’s growing okay, and…”
chuckling, you cut him off by reaching out and gently placing his fingers over your belly. then it’s almost as if he instinctively did it, but his full palm rested against it, feeling the little miracle of a life in your womb. he curses something inaudible, most likely in huttese.
“sweet force, i-it’s real. our child, developing, inside of you,” the slightest hint of a smile dusted off his face. it was a state you’d never seen him in before, considering he’s the brooding dark lord after all.
“look at you, your behaviour when coming in contact with the baby,”
“what about it?”
“you don’t realise? your body language, your tone has changed greatly,” you say with a laugh. “it’s rare to see you so caring, so tame. i’m telling you, the baby is doing something to you.”
then, as if a light switch flipped, the faint smile that was just adorning his typical deadpan face was wiped off in an instant. he quickly retracts his hand (but you can still feel the imprint of his palm) and positions himself ceremoniously. he clears his throat, “i must depart for a meeting to discuss a new series of Imperal-Class Star Destroyers with Admiral Tarkin. One-Dee will watch over you.”
“vader, i thought you had another hour until the appointment?” you cross your arms and narrow your eyes.
“by arriving prematurely also equates to concluding the matters early, too. i also have other tasks to attend to, the emperor must not wait. take care of yourself, m’lady.” vader sweeps past you and throws his closk over his head to conceal his golden-brown, shaggy curls. you sigh and press your palm over where his was on your belly just a minute ago. to your dismay, that single moment might have been the closest you got to a domestic, normal family.
DARTH VADER might try excusing himself with Imperial assignments, but that couldn’t hide the subtle, growing affection that he was having for you and the baby. it was a slow process, you can’t just snap your fingers and have a sith lord go from rough to a total sweetie overnight. but it still brought a sense of hope that when the baby arrives, vader can at least step in sometimes to play a supportive parent.
“it is extraordinary, beautiful I’d call it, for a growing child to dwell in the body of a single human for nine months, and that body grows accustomed to it for nine months.” that was just one of the many expressions he’d made regarding the pregnancy, and each one always made you glow.
“the conference was a success, other than having to choke two morons as punishments for their arrogance,” he states stoically, and you always have to pretend that you are not a teensy bit terrified when imagining that. but it was always worth it to see the subtle softening of his typically hardened face when he looks down at your bump. “the little one is doing just fine, is that right?”
that evening, you could’ve sworn his eyes changed colour for half a second.
soon after, the day of delivery came. vader had taken a leave for a couple of weeks to take care of you and the newborn, earning approval from his master. he justified his temporary exit with exhaustion and promised to be recharged by the time he returned. sidious was not a fool, he knew there must have been something greater behind what his apprentice was telling him. still, he did not push it. plus it gave him thr advantage of piling up more tasks for when he comes back.
in the quiet evening of your shared quarters, you lay your daughter— a little girl named nova skywalker, to rest in her crib. the surname skywalker was taken after her father’s real name, anakin skywalker.
“there is something I must confess,”
the words, spoken by none other than vader, caught your attention. you snap your head forward to find him resting against the door frame. you step closer, just a few inches away from his torso. “do tell.”
he cleats his throat. “these past few months have taught me many things: mostly the female body and its ability to adapt itself to become a living sanctuary for a clump of cells,” that earned a chuckle out of you. then, he leans in to where your chests met and the proximity lessened.
“however, there was one more thing I learned. a concept that I was reintroduced to, feelings i thought I had suppressed for many, many years. something i never thought I had the energy to feel anymore since turning myself over to the dark side.” you tilt your head, puzzled by the direction of this conversation. “i lost something, someone, right after the formation of the empire. and since then, i have been a shell of my former self. nothing has ever been the same, until this happened.” he gestures his head over to the crib, your head following his direction. “you and the birth of our sweet girl unearthed those emotions that were buried deep in my consciousness. i thought it was impossible. but the force works in strange ways.”
turning back, your right hand reaches to hold his shoulder. “what are you saying?” you ask softly.
vader’s mechanical hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his breath mingling with yours before uttering, “i’m saying that i love you.”
tag list: @mark-renton-luvr @h4yden-skywalker @anakinssweetestgirl @lawless0rwilco @andyluu @velvetdahila @akan3aoi @lailarie | comment to join the taglist ❤︎
A/N: I just saw Brand New Day, and I was just blown away! Naturally, my brain filled with fic ideas! Here's to starting a new blog for only Spider-Man stuff! In this universe, MJ doesn't exist! Sorry lol!
Summary: Peter must save his girlfriend from a new threat and discovers a surprising connection between her and an old acquaintance.
Word Count: 2.4k
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
"Hey, Pete! It's me! Are we still-"
The door swung open, revealing a disheveled Peter whose hair stuck out every which way.
"Hey," he said as his chest heaved.
(Y/n) raised a brow and kissed his cheek before pushing past him. "What has you so out of breath? Run a marathon?"
"No, I was-I was just, uh- working out and-"
"I'm kidding," she interrupted with a smile.
Peter huffed and sank into one of the two chairs at his "dining table." Dining table, workstation, counter space... that table did it all. Everything became multipurpose in such a small apartment. He wiped a few crumbs from the table while he watched (y/n) flit around the kitchen, telling him about her day at the coffee shop.
He listened intently about the group of teenage girls who'd spent the whole morning sitting across from each other without saying a single word. She absentmindedly chopped up the vegetables she'd brought from the store.
"What's the point of even hanging out if you're just gonna stare at your phone the whole time?" (Y/n) shook her head. "I don't get it."
He couldn't help but chuckle.
"What?" she asked with a raised brow.
"Nothing."
"Yeah, yeah. Laugh at me. How about you tell me what you did today, Parker?"
What could he say? Yeah, I passed out and then woke up in a literal spiderweb? Or I'm currently fighting against arachnid DNA taking over my body?
"I just... delivered some DoorDash orders. A little dog got out, and I had to chase it down."
The expression on her face changed from faux annoyance to suspicion. “What color was it?”
“White,” he answered immediately.
“Hmm.”
Then she went back to cooking. Peter got up to join her, but then he bowed over, clutching his head with a hand on the chair for balance. (Y/n) ran over to him and helped him to the couch.
"Pete?" she sputtered, kneeling in front of him with her hands resting on his knees. "Hey, hey, hey. I'm here. What can I do?"
Her only answer was another groan as he tightened his grip on his head. Peter's headaches had started a few months prior and got progressively worse. This was the worst she'd seen.
(Y/n)'s eyes scanned the room, thinking of what she could do to help when they landed on the medicine cabinet. Advil. It wouldn't do much, but it would give him a little relief... right?
Promising she'd be right back, (y/n) sprinted to get the bottle and a glass of water. By the time she returned a few moments later, it appeared the worst of it had passed. She got him to take a few pills before sitting next to him.
She soothingly ran her fingers through his curls. Peter leaned into her touch as she whispered. "Feeling any better?"
Peter nodded slightly.
"Good... Babe, have you been to the doctor yet? They keep getting worse and-"
"I'm fine," he ground out. "I don't need to go. The meds are helping."
(Y/n) opened her mouth, but Peter beat her to it. He squinted over at her. "Dinner's burning."
"Shoot."
With a gentle kiss to his hair, she got up and sprinted to the kitchen. A sharp pain rang through his head at the loss of her touch. He didn't understand it-how he'd become so attached so quickly. One day he was content with being alone. But then the next, she was there, smiling at him from across the hall as she moved in.
And a year later, he couldn't imagine his life without her. Gone were the days of endless Little Caesars boxes littering his apartment. Instead, he had home-cooked meals most nights before patrols. (Y/n) brought back a light in his life that had long been extinguished... a warmth that had disappeared when May died.
May would like her. Peter had no doubt about that.
His heart beat a little faster, and his mind got fuzzy in her presence. He knew love was the word to describe how he felt, but saying it out loud made it more real. More dangerous.
The closer they got, the more danger she was in. Peter had battled within himself time and time again about telling her, but he could never justify putting (y/n) in more danger. So he kept her close, but just shut out, just far enough away to keep her from knowing the truth about him.
But a few days later, when the... thing that was inhabiting people found him, it shook him to his core.
"You know, your apartment is just what I expected. A sad, twenty-something man's apartment. Imagine my surprise when I read the letter on the fridge. Sweet really."
Peter's brows furrowed beneath his suit. "You're bluffing."
They had to be.
"Am I?" Then the thing jumped across the way to inhabit a man walking by. "Does (y/n) know about this side of you, Peter Parker? Does she know about the… monster inside you?"
Peter took a step closer, ignoring the forming pit in his stomach. “What do you want? V-MAX? You’re not getting it.”
The person laughed. “I can get whatever I want. I think (y/n) would love to know that her beloved boyfriend is New York’s favorite web slinger.”
“You don’t know where she is.”
“It’s a long way to the coffee shop.”
His heart sank. The letter. She’d talked about going there on their first date. And there was the picture hanging beside the letter of them. Peter was pretty sure you could see the window art behind them.
Before he could move, the thing switched to a woman twenty feet away. “Race you.”
And then he was off, frantically swinging through the city after the thing as it inhabited person after person. Peter couldn't, wouldn't let it near (y/n). If anything happened to her... no, he couldn't think about that. But then the thing inhabited the helicopter pilot, and Peter thought it was over. His heartbeat echoed in his ears as he frantically got E.V. to figure out its max jump distance.
33 feet.
Peter managed to trap the thing by webbing the helicopter to a crane, suspending it with no one inside the jump radius. He breathed a little easier as he swung to the bakery.
He checked the time on his HUD. 2:30. She'd be on her lunch break, probably eating her sandwich on the roof of the building like normal. Peter smiled at the memory of that conversation.
"Why do you go up there?"
(Y/n) shrugged, smiling over at him. "I just like feeling the sun on my face."
It was the little things that made him love her. How she cooked for him without being asked, how she never pried about his past, how she was always patient when he had to cancel. But most of all, how she grounded him. Spider-Man had started to take over Peter Parker's life.
But then she'd arrived.
Peter found her just where he thought he would, sitting in a ratty beach chair atop the building. The crust of her sandwich lay in the plastic bag on her lap. Perching on the far corner of the building, Peter found himself watching her for a few moments.
A warmth he could only describe as adoration settled inside him where worry and fear had been occupying minutes earlier. She was safe.
But if this thing could travel that fast, he had to get her out of here. But where was far enough from people to keep her safe? Then it hit him.
Who was the one person who isolated themselves from everyone and could actually defend her if need be? Frank.
He turned on the voice changer on his suit and hopped down from his perch. "Miss (y/l/n)! You need to come with me right now. You're in danger."
She whipped around so fast that she almost fell out of the chair, barely managing to catch herself before shooting up. "Spider-Man? What are you talking about?" she sputtered.
"There's no time," he said with a shake of his head. "Someone's after you, and we need to get you out of here. Right now."
"But-"
"We gotta go." Peter extended a hand to her. "Trust me."
(Y/n) narrowed her eyes for half a second as she came to a decision. After a moment, she sighed. "Okay."
In a flash, she was in his arms, clutching him for dear life as he swung them across the city. Holding her close eased some of Peter's anxiety, but he wouldn't feel completely at ease until they reached Frank's.
"Hey! Spider-Man!" She cried, tapping his shoulder. "Put me down and tell me what's going on! Now!!"
They didn't have time, but he swung them onto a nearby roof anyway. She immediately stepped back from him. He expected her to run her hands through her now-tangled hair, but instead she bent over and placed her hands on her knees. After taking a few deep breaths, she stood up and approached him with wide eyes.
"What's happening right now?"
"There's this thing... it-it can inhabit people and control them," Peter stuttered. It was even scarier saying it out loud. "And now it's coming after you. We've got to get you out of the city so it can't reach you."
Her brows drew together. "Why is it after me?"
Peter took a moment to think. 'Because you're my girlfriend' didn't seem like the best answer at the moment. "I don't know."
"You don't know? Then how do you know it's coming after me?"
"I just do, okay?!" He took a few steps toward her so they were only a couple of feet apart. His voice softened. "You're going to have to trust me."
"I don't know you."
"(Y/n), please."
The desperation in his voice appeared to convince her. "Fine. But I need to let my boyfriend know I'm okay."
Peter couldn't help but chuckle. The irony of it all. "I'll take care of it."
"How do you know my boyfriend?"
"Peter, right?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "He, uh, delivered my DoorDash the other day. Told me about his girl who loved Spider-Man. Even showed me a picture. Respectful guy."
She turned from him, pacing. "He didn't mention that," she muttered. (Y/n) stopped pacing and wrapped her arms around herself, standing on the edge of the building and staring out over the city. "I think he’s cheating on me.”
“What!? No!” Peter’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “He’s crazy about you, (y/n), I swear!"
She peered at him over her shoulder, eyes shining with tears. "And how would you know that, Spider-Man?"
"Because I..." Peter trailed off.
He had to tell her.
Turning off his voice changer, Peter approached her. "Because I know how I feel about you, (y/n)."
"Peter?"
Her face morphed from sadness to confusion as she recognized his voice. She raised her hands to his shoulders, then up to his face before slowly peeling off his mask.
"Hi," he whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It's because I-I love you, and I don't want anything to happen to you because of me."
(Y/n) shook her head at him, hands resting on his face. "You could've told me. And I love you, too."
Their lips met a moment later. She threaded her fingers through his hair as they kissed. Pulling away, she smiled and turned back toward the edge.
"It's funny, you know?"
"What?" he chuckled, unable to stop a wide grin.
"That you thought she'd accept your lies."
Peter's smile dropped. No, no, no, no...
(Y/n) turned around to face him, backing her heels to the edge of the building, sending a few rocks tumbling to the street below. Her face no longer held the warmth he'd seen moments before.
"Still didn't mention the monster inside you, Peter."
He held out his hands. "Please, just leave her alone. Please."
Then she was falling, nothing but air between her and the street. Peter darted after her and managed to wrap his arms around her just before she hit the pavement. He propped her up against his chest.
"Hey, hey, hey. You're okay," breathed Peter.
(Y/n)'s chest rose and fell slowly, and he felt like he could breathe again. That was until a car pulled up and its driver got out. The inhabited man threatened them one last time before getting back in and pulling away. Peter's HUD managed to get a picture of the culprit.
It was a girl. A teenager.
He would find out her identity later. The unconscious woman in his arms was his only priority. Wrapping his arms around her, Peter took off through the streets, swinging toward Frank's.
They were almost there when (y/n) came to. She started thrashing in his hold for a moment before realizing she was a hundred feet in the air.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! How'd I get here!? Spider-Man?"
"It's okay! I'm taking you somewhere safe, alright? Just breathe."
To his surprise, she only held him tighter and didn't ask any questions. Only when they landed at the docks did she speak.
"Look, I need to tell-"
He nodded back at her. "Your boyfriend knows you're safe."
"No, that's not what I was saying," (y/n) said with a smile. "Make sure to watch where you're-"
Click.
A moment later, Peter set off a series of booby traps that ended with them rolling down into the dry dock. "You good?" he asked breathlessly.
(Y/n) nodded and rose to her feet just as a rough voice echoed through the empty warehouse. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
Peter raised a brow. "Didn't really have time to call, Frank."
"Not you, daffodil," Frank scoffed. "Sweetheart, what are you doing with web-slinger here?"
Sweetheart?
She shrugged. "I don't really know."
"Why is she here, kid?" said Frank, his attention returning to Spider-Man.
"There's this thing after her, and I need somewhere to keep her safe."
The man's face shifted to something resembling worry. Peter had never seen the expression on Frank's face before. He'd expected to have to convince him, but he only scanned the dock's entrance before smiling down at (y/n).
"Made your favorite chili."
Peter glanced between the two of them. "You two know each other."
You had been working alongside Spider-Man for several months, solving crimes throughout the city.
You didn't know his name or see his face, but you had heard his voice.
At first, he only called you when there was an alert, and then you would meet at the scene, helping people escape and ensuring everyone's safety.
But something changed between you two one day.
The day the Scorpion kidnapped you, Peter woke up feeling strange.
His spider-sense told him something was wrong, and instinctively, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and saw that no alerts had been triggered.
He frowned in puzzlement and quickly got out of bed to connect to his computers, where he typed several commands simultaneously before pausing momentarily.
"E.V., locate the last known location of Precinct Y/N," the dark-haired man requested.
Peter watched as the AI moved across the map of Queens until it reached a point where something red was marked on the ground.
"Last known location of Precinct Y/N, found," E.V. finished.
Peter noticed the red marks on the sidewalk, quickly donned his suit, and swung between the buildings to reach the location he had seen on his computer.
"I don't know what game you're playing, Scorpion," he said bluntly, "but if you want to play, at least show your face first so we can talk."
A metallic sound was heard behind him.
And Peter turned around quickly, noticing Scorpion's presence.
"Spiderman, I wasn't expecting you so soon," he smiled. "Did you get my message?"
"The blood here"—he pointed to the exact spot on the ground—"Is it hers?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"Spidey, you disappoint me," the other complained. "What happened to 'Good morning, how are you?' 'Fine, and you?' or 'Thanks, Spiderman, I'm fine too'?"
"I don't have time for this, Scorpion. I told you to answer the question," he said very seriously. "Is this her blood?"
"Yes, it's her blood," he said, making Peter's gaze harden even more.
"She tried to call you, you know?" "To ask for your help," he shrugged. "I had to explain to her that it wasn't the best thing to do," he said. "I'm sure you understand."
"If you killed her, there won't be a place on Earth or any other planet where you can hide," he growled. "Tell me where she is"
"Here," said the Scorpion, extending his tail and wrapping it around your waist to pull you closer.
Peter had to take a few deep breaths when he saw the cut on your lip; that's where the blood had come from.
Your eyes locked the moment you saw each other, and you almost cried with relief when you realized he had come to rescue you.
"Are you alright?" "What's wrong?" he asked, and you nodded slightly. "Yeah, it's okay, everything's fine," you murmured.
"Let her go," he murmured. "Whatever the problem is, we can solve it between us. She has nothing to do with it."
"Oh, but the problem is that she DOES have something to do with it, Spiderman," he said. "You see, SHE'S your closest confidante, the person you tell everything, or almost everything, about your life, right?" “—he questioned, running his fingers under your chin—she has information many would kill to hear.”
“I’m not going to tell you anything, you bastard,” you blurted out, making him laugh.
“I see why he likes you, it’s not hard to see, you two are perfect for each other,” the Scorpion commented, laughing.
“I’m not going to ask you again, Scorpion,” he said. “Let her go or I’ll show you no mercy.”
“Wow, that sounds pretty serious even for you, Spidey,” he muttered. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No, but I’ll hurt you so badly you’ll wish you were.”
The Scorpion then threw you aside to focus entirely on Peter, whom he attacked with all his might.
The man was strong, but Spiderman was far smarter.
After several jumps and dodges, he placed the inhibitor at the base of his spine, ceasing all neuronal activity, which prevented him from moving completely.
Your fellow police officers took him away, while Peter called an ambulance to help take you to the hospital.
When you woke up, the first thing you saw was a huge balloon that said "Get well soon!"
And then you saw him.
He was sitting in the hospital chair, seemingly asleep.
He was wearing the mask, so you couldn't tell for sure.
"Hey," you murmured; he stirred as soon as he heard your voice.
"Hi," he whispered, his eyes shining when he looked at you. "How are you?" "Like I'd been run over by an eighty-ton truck," you whispered. "I'll be fine," you smiled weakly. "Thanks for taking care of me, Spiderman."
"There's nothing to thank me for," he said. "Besides, you always take care of me too," he murmured. "We're even."
"We're even," you repeated.
You remained silent for a few moments, until you spoke again.
"What are you like?" you asked. "Underneath the mask?"
"Why do you want to know?" he whispered softly.
"To get a mental image of you," you confessed.
He remained silent for a few seconds before continuing.
"I'm dark-haired," he said. "I have wavy hair and light brown eyes," he murmured. "There's not much more to say."
"I'd give anything to look into your eyes, even just once," you whispered.
"I've thought about that many times," he confessed. "If I take off my mask, you might not like what you see."
"I highly doubt it," you replied. "And even if I did, that wouldn't change the fact that you're the person who has saved my life countless times."
"Revealing my identity to you would be very dangerous, Y/N," he murmured. "All my enemies could use you to get to me, like what happened today, and I…" He took a deep breath. "I can't bear to see you get hurt because of me," he confessed. "That will never happen again."
"I understand, but nothing will happen to me," you smiled slowly. "I have the best superhero in the city to protect me, don't I?" A nervous laugh escaped from beneath the mask.
"Yes, I suppose I am the best," he conceded, before turning serious again. "You have to promise me that if I do it, you won't tell anyone who I am. No one else can know."
"I swear on my badge," you murmured. He nodded firmly.
You held your breath as he reached behind his head to remove the mask.
The first thing you noticed was his hair.
Soft, chocolate-brown waves framed a youthful face with gentle, kind features.
"Hello," you greeted, offering a shy smile.
"Hello," he replied in kind.
"So this is you?"
"Yes," he whispered, tilting his head to the side. "It probably wasn't what you expected, but…"
"You're exactly how I imagined you'd be," you interrupted, making his eyes widen in surprise.
"Really?" "He asked, and you nodded.
"Really," you affirmed. "Let's start over," you whispered, extending your hand. "I'm Y/N," you said.
He looked at your hand for a few moments, and without hesitating, he shook it warmly, saying:
"Nice to meet you, Y/N," he smiled. "I'm Peter, Peter Parker."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Peter Parker," you replied. "Have you been rescuing many kittens trapped in trees lately? That's also a job for your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, right?"
"You're something else" he said, laughing, as you joined in, laughing heartily even though you shouldn't have been, with a couple of broken ribs.
The Feeling | Peter Parker x Psychometric!Fem!Reader
SUMMARY: After you move in across the hall from Peter Parker, the boy you loved before you lost your memories, Peter decides he can’t take it anymore. He wants you to remember. Late night at a college party, a guy accidentally bumps into you, spilling his drink all over you. Under any normal circumstance, you would’ve brushed it off…but your powers are triggered a suddenly you remember that this isn’t just any guy. He isn’t just your neighbor. He is, or rather was, your boyfriend.
WARNINGS: Reader has psychometric abilities (she can touch certain objects or people and see into the past), some angst, Peter yearning big time, happy ending!
A/N: Don’t worry, there are absolutely no spoilers for BND, I’m going to see it Friday! So, here’s one last post before I go off the grid for BND :)
WC: 5.3K
Main Masterlist!
Peter Parker’s soul had been fractured some time ago and he craved a feeling that he believed to be the remedy.
What that feeling was, his mind wasn’t so sure, but his heart and soul knew.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter Parker’s quaint little apartment was awfully loud for someone who lived alone.
The window was wide open, the hustle and bustle of New York infiltrating his home. The crap dryer was in the middle of shrinking his jeans as it hummed loudly, sounding as if a few screws were loose.
Which, come to think of it, probably were.
His speaker played music softly as he was hunched over the small desk near the window. He was in the middle of patching up his suit after an intense fight with The Hand.
Crash!
Peter jolted up, on high alert for any other sounds. His spider senses weren’t going off, but he was still worried about what caused the sound outside of his apartment.
He quickly grabbed his phone, pausing the music to hear better.
He was met with a dead silence until-
“Shit!”
Peter let out a sigh of relief, hearing a muffled voice from behind his door in the hallway.
The person must’ve dropped something.
Peter rose up from his seat and cracked open the door, only for his breath to quite literally catch in his throat.
You were standing there, three boxes stacked on top of one another, a fourth box on the floor with shattered glass surrounding it.
You set the three boxes down and huffed, scratching the back of your neck and looking at the mess you made in the hallway. You glanced up at the boy staring at you as if he had seen a ghost.
“I’m sorry,” you said sheepishly. “I just- well I thought I could carry all these boxes to my apartment, but clearly not.”
Peter swallowed hard and blinked, snapping out of the trance he was in. “You- wha- Sorry,” he laughed awkwardly, making you quirk a brow. “You’re moving in?” he asked, glancing at the apartment door right across the hall from him.
You nodded with a small smile, dangling your keys up. “Yup. Right across from you apparently.”
Peter’s eyes widened.
He hadn’t seen you or heard from you in years. Not since Dr. Strange casted that spell and made everyone forget who he was. For years he wondered where you were, if you were okay, and more importantly, if you found someone new because truth be told, he hadn’t.
He wasn’t even looking.
At university, girls would flirt with him every now and then, falling for that shy and dorky personality with something more mature growing around the edges. Peter Parker was an attractive guy and he was so sweet, so kind, to everyone he met.
The boy could’ve honestly had a new girlfriend by now.
But he didn’t because it had always been you.
You were the only girl he ever wanted.
You rocked back on your heels, staring at Peter with narrowed eyes. You couldn't quite place it, but he seemed familiar, like maybe you had seen him somewhere before, but then again, he looked like your average young adult in New York. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
Peter blinked. “Me?”
You looked around the empty hallway with a small giggle, already finding your new neighbor rather entertaining. “Who else?”
“Oh. Duh,” Peter lectured himself from under his breath with closed eyes and a pitiful headshake. He cleared his throat and straightened up, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, no, you don’t.”
He hated lying, especially to you.
You tilted your head slightly. “Are you sure? You seem…I don’t know. You seem familiar. What’s your name?”
“P-Peter,” he stuttered. “Peter Parker.”
You hummed, the name not entirely ringing a bell. “Peter Parker,” you repeated, as if it would jog your memory. “Sounds familiar, but then again, you have the most generic name.”
Before Peter could respond, you stuck your hand out and introduced yourself.
Peter stared down at your hand, then pulled his lips into a tight line. He knew that if he touched you he risked you immediately being overloaded with the knowledge of who he was and the history you both shared.
The day Dr. Strange casted that spell, he promised you that he would remind you of who he was.
That was the first time Peter Parker ever lied to you.
He went down to the pastry coffee shop he knew you and Ned would hangout at just to bother MJ, because there was once a time Peter was in the picture too. When he saw you sitting beside Ned, a small warm peppermint hot chocolate in your hands, his heart fluttered, excitement coursing through his veins as he made his way over to introduce himself, just like he had rehearsed a million times.
“Hi, I’m Peter Parker, and you don’t know me, but we used to be friends, more than friends actually.”
Was what he was supposed to say.
But when he got close enough for you to look up at him, a glint of confusion in the very eyes he had fallen in love with, his own eyes that you had no recollection of caught sight of the healing gash that caused a slit in your eyebrow and the bandage a few inches away from it on your forehead.
A painful reminder of what it meant to get too close to someone like him.
It was his fault that you had gotten hurt and nearly died.
He didn’t ever want to put you in a situation like that again, and after Aunt May…he figured it would be best if you were no longer associated with him.
He froze up completely and ended up telling you his name like some kind of dork and asking you if the peppermint hot chocolate was worth the five dollars.
So now, in the present moment, his heart was slowly breaking because you hadn’t fully remembered him from that day, which was fine because why would you have?
He was just a weirdo who approached you awkwardly and asked how the peppermint hot chocolate was, which…was strange because it wasn’t inherently obvious to anyone that wasn’t MJ or Ned that that was what you were drinking.
But Peter knew because it was your favorite.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I would shake your hand, but my hands are dirty. I was just uh…cleaning.”
“Oh,” you muttered quietly, pulling your hand away awkwardly, glancing away from him feeling slightly embarrassed.
The hallway was silent as you stood there for a second, Peter thinking of something, anything to say to you because he didn’t want the moment to end.
“Do you want me to help you carry your stuff in?” Peter offered.
Your brows pressed together. “I thought your hands were dirty. I don’t want you touching my stuff,” you half joked.
“Right…” Peter replied. “I’ll sweep up the glass.”
You smiled softly and nodded, unlocking your door and dragging a box inside, thinking that your new neighbor was a little weird, but meant well.
Peter smiled and as soon as you disappeared into your empty apartment, his smile fell instantly. He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a list of profanities under his breath as he returned back into his apartment to retrieve a broom and dustpan.
He swept up the glass and you thanked him before going back into your apartment.
For the next couple of days, you wouldn’t see Peter often. You’d sometimes cross paths heading downstairs to retrieve your mail, earning a small wave from him or see him on your way out to work.
Regardless, that little to no interaction was driving him up the wall.
You were right there.
Right across the hall.
Right within arms touch, and one touch…just the one, had the potential to ignite an old flame again.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter lied on his couch, staring at the ceiling while tossing a pen into the air and catching it mindlessly. He was supposed to be figuring out what to eat for dinner, but alas, you were on his mind.
He had missed you before, but ever since you moved in he felt like he was losing his mind.
You consumed each and every one of his thoughts, every fiber in his being. If there was one thing Peter Parker wanted, it was you.
He jolted up, hearing the sound of someone knocking on his door. He practically bounced off of the wall, his spider senses going haywire, sensing that it was you. He swung the door open and saw you standing in the hallway wearing a casual outfit that you still looked cute in. Cute top, sweatpants, and pair of slippers that he bought you for Christmas one year that made him smile from ear to ear.
“Hey,” he said casually, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps flexing, which he was doing on purpose.
He watched as your eyes darted down quickly and back up. He noticed the way you swallowed, blinking quickly as if to get your mind back on track, which only made him smirk.
He was glad to know you still liked that.
“Hi,” you chirped. “So…” you trailed off, rocking back on your heels. “I made dinner and I accidentally made too much, I doubled the recipe,” you explained, rolling your eyes at your own stupidity. “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to come over and have dinner with me?”
Peter blinked, caught off guard. “I uh…yeah, I’ll have dinner. I’ll be over in a few.”
Your smile widened. “Perfect. See you in a few.”
You turned on your heel and went across the hallway to your own apartment. Peter went back into his and scrambled across the living room into his bedroom where he yanked off his tank top and sweatpants. He threw clothes out of his closet and tried on about five different outfits before deciding on a t-shirt and pair of jeans. He nearly tripped over the clothes that were now all over his floor as he raced towards his cologne, deciding on the one he knew you loved.
He grabbed his shoes and-
Wait…
Does he need shoes to take two steps across the hallway to your apartment?
He decided to slip on his slippers like you had. He grabbed a bottle of wine that he was saving for his Daily Bugle office party, figuring that this was more important.
Did you drink?
He wasn’t sure.
He’d bring it anyway.
He raced over to the door, hand halting over the handle.
Hold on…
Jeans? Really? You were in sweatpants!
He groaned and ran back into the kitchen, setting the wine bottle down and running back into his room, yanking a drawer open and grabbing a pair of sweatpants. He kicked the slippers off, hobbled on one foot, nearly falling over as he took his jeans off and replaced them with the sweats.
Peter went back to grab his slippers when a new thought filled his mind.
What if you had changed into jeans?
“No,” Peter lectured himself. “You look fine. You look great,” he reassured himself, though his heart was racing, which could’ve been because he just ran around his entire apartment in less than five minutes.
He made his way out of his apartment, standing in front of your door and taking a deep breath.
Knock knock.
Within two seconds you were at the door, opening it all the way.
He let out a sigh of relief to see that you were still in your sweatpants.
The scent of his cologne immediately filled your nose and you felt an odd tingling sensation in your finger tips, as if your powers were so desperately trying to remind you of something.
You raised a brow, knowing you didn't smelled cologne when you initially went to his place, meaning he put it on before coming to yours.
“Brought some wine!” Peter chirped, holding up the bottle. “I actually don’t know if you drink, but if not I have uh…” he trailed off, thinking. “Well, I don’t have anything except for water…out of the sink, but I’m saving up for a filter!”
You raised your brows as he rambled, and his face quickly went red in embarrassment. “I uh…” he laughed. “I’m joking,” he breathed out. “Well…not really, but…”
You giggled, stepping aside. “I don’t drink, but I’ll gladly try with you. Come on in.”
Peter made his way inside and looked around as you shut the door. Your apartment reminded him so much of your bedroom back at the Avenger’s Tower, it just looked as if you had grown up.
Because you both had.
Peter Parker was still the nerdy, awkward, and awfully cute boy you met back in high school that you unfortunately didn’t have the pleasure of remembering. But something about him had changed. He was more mature. Slightly less awkward but still rather awkward to a fault.
“Your apartment is nice,” he complimented, following you into the kitchen.
“Thanks,” you beamed. You reached into the cabinet and pulled out two regular glass cups. “I don’t have wine glasses,” you said sheepishly. “This should work, right?”
Peter smiled. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”
“Now would probably be a good time to tell you that I don’t have a bottle opener either.”
Peter shrugged, taking the foil off of the bottle. “It’s alright. I got it.” Peter’s muscles flexed ever so slightly as he quite literally flicked off the top. “Tada!”
Your eyes widened. “What the hell? How’d you do that?”
Peter smirked. “Well, I work out a lot,” he said smoothly, leaning against the counter.
You raised a brow. “Do you now?”
Peter nodded. “Yeah. Like, a lot.”
“Mhm.”
“I’m at the gym all the time.”
“Right.”
Peter smirked, watching as you tried to conceal your smile, which you were doing a very poor job at. “You’re smiling.”
Now you broke, smiling like a dork. “Because you’re funny.”
“But I didn’t say anything funny.”
“You did,” you said matter of factly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to impress me, Parker.”
“Are you impressed?”
You rolled your eyes and snagged the glasses off of the counter. “Come on. The food is getting cold.”
Peter smiled triumphantly to himself. Back when you two first met, you were both incredibly shy, but you managed to take charge, flirting with Peter constantly, making him a nervous mess.
But now time had changed you both.
Now Peter was the one with the confidence to flirt with you and make you all nervous.
He followed you to the small table in the kitchen where two bowls of pasta were sitting. You both sat down, Peter pouring both your glass a little less than halfway.
“So,” he said, trying to spark up a conversation, aka, trying to figure out how you had been the past few years since he had missed out. “How’d you manage to afford to live in the most expensive place in all of New York?”
You laughed because you and him definitely did not live in the most expensive place in all of New York. It was actually the cheapest and you considered it to be a literal shit box.
“I’m making, like, fifty cents above minimum wage working at a bookstore a few blocks down,” you said as he slid your glass of wine over to you. You grabbed the glass from him, your fingers just centimeters away from ghosting his…just centimeters away from knowing the truth. “It’s not bad though, I like it. What about you?”
Peter filled his glass the same amount as yours. “I work at the Daily Bugle. I get all the pictures of Spider-Man and stuff like that.”
Your eyes widened as he set the bottle down, meeting your gaze. “You know Spider-Man?”
Peter shook his head, averting his gaze. “No. I- I mean, I just get the pictures,” he said sheepishly, bringing the glass up to his lips.
You gave Peter a confused look. “Come on,” you said. “You must know him. I mean, how else do you get literal selfies of him on top of the Empire State Building? Unless…you are Spider-Man,” you joked.
Peter spit his drink out back into the cup, becoming a coughing mess. “Wha- What?! N- No-!” he managed out between coughs.
Your face contorted into one of pure bewilderment at his reaction, something you weren’t at all expecting. “Jeez, okay…”
Peter put his glass down, shaking his head adamantly. “I’m not Spider-Man,” he said sharply.
“Okay.”
“That wouldn’t even be possible.”
“I believe you.”
“I just…we’re close enough that he gives me those pictures.”
“Right.”
“I am not Spider-Man.”
“Exactly.”
It was silent for a beat as you stared at each other. By your expression and tone, Peter could tell that you were catching onto something, but he wasn’t quite sure what. It could’ve been the fact that he was Spider-Man, it could’ve been that you were slowly starting to realize you knew him before, he wasn’t sure.
One thing he knew for sure was that if you kept staring at him, you would probably start to put two and two together somehow, because you always did.
“Are you gonna try that?” he asked, motioning to the glass on the table.
You glanced down at it and grabbed it, bringing it to your nose.
“Oh, shit,” you grimaced, the scent burning.
Peter smiled. “It’s not all that bad.”
You brought the glass to your lips and immediately spat it back out into the glass. “What the hell!” you exclaimed. “How does anyone drink this shit?!”
Peter laughed. “This is supposed to be the good stuff.”
You gagged. “Gross.”
“So uhm,” he began, changing the subject, grabbing his fork and picking up some pasta with it, you repeating the action. “You got any family close by?”
Now, he was just checking to see if you still had your family of Avengers.
To his knowledge, and based upon where things were the last time you two were actually together, you had already lost Nat, Tony, and Steve, so you were really left with the only two people you were close to.
Sam and Bucky.
You had been complaining to Peter your whole field trip across Europe about how you hated living with Bucky because he was insanely over protective and the only reason you were on that trip was because of Sam.
But then again, Sam was also over protective, just slightly less.
Your fork clattered against the plate, making Peter’s brows raise slightly.
“Sorry,” you laughed awkwardly, picking it back up. “I uh…I don’t,” you said, figuring it would be best to not tell a stranger that you were a superhero and after you moved out, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson had a falling out, which meant they went their separate ways and suddenly you didn’t seem to exist to either of them anymore.
Bucky was a new Avenger and Sam was rounding up his own team and you were left behind.
“No?” Peter asked, not wanting to pry but so desperately curious to know that the past few years you’d been okay.
You couldn’t look at Peter as you shook your head. “No,” you said quietly.
Peter’s heart broke because that told him everything.
You had been just as alone as he had, with the exception of MJ and Ned of course.
You had no family and neither did he.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter shut the door behind him, back pressing into it as he slowly sank to the floor, letting out a deep sigh.
God, he still loved you more than anything.
Of course he did.
Peter was completely lost.
He wanted you to know that just a few years ago you were both so desperately in love with one another, and you were just one touch away from knowing it.
You clearly were interested in him, already starting to fall back in love with him all over again.
He could just fall back in love with you and act like there was no history, but what was the point?
He didn’t want you to know who he was anyway to keep you safe.
But his soul craved to be with you again.
He bit his lower lip in thought, deciding what to do.
He had to tell you.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Your nose was filled with the putrid smell of alcohol and marijuana as you leaned against the wall that was vibrating against your back due to the music.
You sipped on the red solo cup in your hand, the plastic filled a quarter of the way full with soda, which was probably meant to be used as a chaser, but you didn’t drink.
Your eyes scanned the party, watching college students do the most heinous things while under the influence.
“And then…there’s Miles. This random high school kid from Brooklyn who might be Spider-Man, but my friends said we probably shouldn’t be stalking a fifteen year old.”
Your friend, Ned, was rambling to someone about how you, MJ, and himself were on the brink of discovering who Spider-Man was, though you were all more than likely far off in your guesses.
MJ was beside you, arms crossed over her chest as she pointed out people for you to look at. First it was some frat guy standing on top of a table while chugging a bottle of beer, then it was some girl making out with her boyfriend, and now it was some loser who allegedly kept staring at you.
“That guy,” MJ said, nodding her head across the room. “He keeps looking over here every ten and a half seconds.”
You didn’t know who she was talking about due to the sheer amount of people in the room, and you didn’t necessarily care. “Glad to know you’re keeping tabs on potential threats,” you teased lightly heartedly.
“Hey,” MJ, shrugged. “Maybe once Spider-Man stops taking all your villains, you can get back at it. I feel like you don’t pay attention to anything anymore.”
Ever since the Avengers had gone their separate ways following Thanos, you hadn’t really done much as a masked hero.
You vaguely remember fighting alongside Spider-Man to defeat Mysterio and then there was something that felt like a blur with three Spider-Men, Dr. Strange, and villains from differing universes.
On numerous occasions, the ‘New Avengers’ had reached out about you joining their team, but you objected each time, partially because you hated the idea of your family of heroes being replaced, partially because of the politics surrounding it with Sam fighting for copyright, and partially because you enjoyed being a normal person for once.
Your entire teenage years were dedicated to fighting and for once in your life, you wanted to just live.
“I pay attention,” you said, finishing your drink.
MJ, pursed her lips, giving you an uncertain expression. “You know, a few years ago you would’ve thought that weird guy over there was out to get you because he’s been staring at you since you got here,” she said matter of factly. “Oh, not to mention he keeps scanning the room as if something bad is going to happen.”
You smirked. “Imagine he’s Spider-Man.”
MJ raised her brows. “That loser?”
You giggled. “I honestly don’t even know who you’re talking about.” Before MJ could respond, you flashed her your cup. “I’m going to get some more soda. Want anything?”
“Soda is good.”
You nodded with a smile and began to push your way through the crowd.
MJ’s eyes followed you briefly before glancing to the side. The ‘loser’ that she said was staring at you was following you, pushing his way through the crowd.
“What a dork,” she mumbled to herself, assuming that he was some socially awkward dweeb who had a crush on you.
In the kitchen, you had already filled up MJ’s cup and now you were filling up your own. You weren’t paying any attention and didn’t seem to notice the guy whose hands were shaking as he moved to stand beside you, refilling his cup that was already full.
It was Peter Parker, your neighbor, and you couldn’t seem to notice him in a crowded room. A few years ago, you would’ve thought he was the only person in the room, your eyes locking with his naturally.
It was like he didn’t even exist in your world all over again, and it was then he realized he couldn’t take it anymore.
You had to know.
You screwed the cap back onto the soda and grabbed the cups. The boy opened his mouth to say something, but you were already walking away.
As you began to push through the crowd again, you glanced down at the soda you had poured for MJ.
It was Sprite and he hated light soda, she preferred dark, something like Coke because ‘Light soda isn’t on the same wavelength as my soul,’ or whatever nonsense she said back in high school.
“Damn it,” you muttered to yourself, turning abruptly onto your heel.
Little did you know, that ‘loser’ MJ mentioned just moments ago was hot on your tail, following you.
You both accidentally collided into one another, your chest hitting his, sending your drinks, and his splashing, and very conveniently only hitting your clothes.
“Oh no!” he exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Are you alright?!”
Peter scrambled to figure out how to help, worried that he had completely ruined your night.
Then he looked at you and panic set in.
He recognized your reaction all too well.
Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at the half empty cups in your hands. You looked like you had seen a ghost.
As soon as you touched him, you saw everything.
The boy in high school you had fallen in love with.
The first time you’d met, Tony Stark introducing him as ‘The Spider-Ling’, to which Peter embarrassingly looked away from you when you laughed.
All those late nights staying up together over a video call, ranting about whatever books you were reading, a science project he was working on, or rambling on about your days, which you’d already spent together.
The first time he swung you all around New York when you couldn’t sleep, your arms wrapped tightly around him as your stomach dropped each time his webs redacted from a building.
Your first kiss at the top of the Empire State Building, slow, desperate, and messy.
The entire team of Avengers finding out about you two being together and embarrassing you both endlessly.
The two of you growing and maturing together right before college applications.
And that was the last you could remember of it because your memories had been taken from you.
It was like the room had fallen silent, the music fading out, and suddenly only you and the boy you spent your entire teenage years loving were the only people in the room, two hearts beginning to beat in the same rhythm again.
Your eyes slowly glanced up to meet his gaze, tears threatening to spill from them. Your mouth had gone dry, not even knowing what to say.
Peter’s face immediately washed over with realization.
You knew.
You touched him and your powers went off, telling you exactly everything that happened.
Before he could say anything, you turned around quickly, pushing as fast as you could through the crowd.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You managed to get away from the party, and found an empty fire escape on the side of the building where you sat crisscrossed, staring at the busy city despite it being so late at night.
You heard someone grunt softly and the sound of metal clanging. You turned and saw familiar brown hair and brown eyes.
Peter.
He gave you a soft smile, but you looked away, out into the skyline.
Peter’s smile faded, heart aching as he moved to sit beside you.
It was painfully quiet as he played with his fingers, not knowing what to say just yet.
Thankfully for him, you spoke up first.
“You promised me,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You promised you’d remind me of you. Of…of us.”
Peter glanced over to you, though your gaze remained on the skyline. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he apologized sincerely.
You finally turned to him, tears in your eyes. “Why?”
Peter swallowed, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I just…I thought that everyone was finally okay because I wasn’t there. You all got to finally go to college because you didn’t know me. You all got to be happy and live a life away from all that stuff. You guys didn’t need me.”
“I needed you, Peter,” you said. “I needed you more than anything.”
Peter’s heart absolutely shattered at your words and the pure hurt in your tone.
You grabbed Peter’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “I’d go back and do everything all over again if it means being with you. I’d go back and not get accepted into MIT. I’d go back and nearly die. I’d do it all over again, Peter.”
Peter’s expression softened. “I just wish it wasn’t like this. I want you safe and I want you to get everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“But that’s just the cards we’ve been dealt,” you said softly, his hand still in yours. “If we hadn't been dealt them, who’s to say we would’ve ever been together?”
Peter sighed, staring out into the city. “It’s not fair to you. You deserve better and it was selfish of me to even think about getting back with you.”
You stayed silent, staring at Peter before looking away again.
“You know,” he began, letting out another sigh. “I had this whole plan to tell you tonight about everything. I assumed you wouldn’t believe me so then I was going to get you to use your powers and-” he cut himself off, shutting his eyes. “It was stupid. So stupid.”
You shifted your body, turning sideways to face him fully. “Peter,” you said softly.
He slowly glanced up to meet your gaze. “Yeah?”
“It wasn’t stupid.”
Peter’s brows pressed together. “But it was-”
“Not, it wasn’t,” you interrupted him.
Peter then began to ramble a mile a minute, and it started to remind you of him in high school.
“Okay, but like, I just keep you in danger, and I know you always have been in danger because you have powers, but I feel like you’re in additional danger and-”
“Peter-”
“I just want you to be safe and I think maybe we should go back to not knowing each other-”
“Peter-”
“Not that I don’t want to know you, because I love you, and I-”
Peter cut himself off, face a bright shade of pink. He looked at you with wide eyes, your lips parted slightly.
Your lips slowly curved upward into a teasing smile as he began to panic again.
“No! I didn’t mean that!” Peter exclaimed. “Wait! I mean, I do love you but- but- like, you know- actually-”
Peter’s words weren’t cut off because you interrupted him verbally again.
No.
You kissed him.
Soft and gentle just like you had that night on the Empire State building.
Peter didn’t freeze up like he did that night.
He immediately melted into it, kissing you back.
Your powers gave you the ability to recall history or memories of the past. Peter’s did not, but something about that kiss made him remember the feeling he had been missing for years. The feeling he craved to experience again.
And that feeling was you.
The missing piece of his soul was you and it always had been.
You pulled apart, forehead resting on his. “I love you too,” you said softly, glancing up at him, cupping his cheek.
Peter swallowed. Hard. “You- You do?”
“I do.”
Peter’s lips curved into a smile. “I love you too.”
“Good,” you said, thumb brushing his cheek. “So, do you wish I could lose my memory of you again?”
“No,” Peter chuckled, leaning into your touch. He reached for your hand that held his cheek and kissed it softly. “Never.”
summary- you get into a fight with your parents over relationships, and luckily your secret boyfriend is there to help
warnings- little angst (fight with parents)
request status / open
hayden christensen masterlist
“sam! stop! my parents are gonna smell that!” you groaned, rushing over to open your window letting in the cool night air.
“calm down sweetheart, they won’t even notice.” sam still put out the weed he was smoking, despite his words.
sam was laying flat on his back on your bed, the pink blankets and pillows clashing against sam’s green band t-shirt and black jeans. he crawled into your window an hour ago and all he had done was flop back on your bed, complaining about his teachers.
it would be weird to people, the prissy popular cheerleader captain having a stoner ‘freak’ in her room. maybe that’s why you and sam kept it a secret, or maybe it was because your parents would never approve of him.
you joined sam on the bed, instead choosing to curl into his arms, which he opened for you. your skirt had slightly ridden up and your blouse already had a couple buttons popped open, due to sam’s earlier greeting towards you. sam’s hand trailed up your skirt, resting comfortably on the curve of your ass that your underwear didn’t cover.
you played with the little hole in his shirt, “you think we’ll ever tell anyone about us?”
sam’s silence at first gave away the fact he was taken aback by the question, “that depends princess, you want your parents banning you from seeing me?”
you rolled your eyes at the nickname sam used, the same one he first called you that winter day when you two first met. it was fall now, and he still insisted on calling you that, even with you two being together. “no, obviously i don’t. maybe they’ll like you.”
sam snorted at your hopefulness, turning to face you on his side now. “right, like that’ll happen.”
you also turned on your side, meeting his eyes. you pulled his face towards yours, connecting your lips instead of replying. you two sat slowly, never breaking the kiss. you crawled into his lap, letting his hands grab more at your ass now.
sam made his way down to your neck, kissing and sucking on sensitive areas. you quickly rid your blouse, letting the cool air hit your bra covered chest. right as sam’s hands traveled to the back of your bra, reaching for the clasp, a loud knock on your door sounded.
you practically jumped off sam, while your moms voice rang through the other side of the door, “honey, can you open up?”
“um, yeah mom, just give me a sec.” your voice was shaky as you looked towards sam, whose face had a resting smirk on it at your panic.
“asshole! this isn’t funny!” you whispered towards him before your eyes landed on the closet. you quickly grabbed sam’s arm, shoving him in the closet and shutting the door.
you yanked your bedroom door open, facing your mom. “oh honey, you could’ve put on a shirt, i didn’t know you were changing.”
you froze, completely forgetting about the fact you didn’t have a shirt on and that hickeys were actively forming on your neck. you reached for a hoodie, pulling it on.
your mom wandered into your room, sitting on the bed. she turned towards you, but then stopped, “whose hoodie is that?”
you looked down at the hoodie that you just put on and mentally cursed yourself for not checking what it was before throwing it on, the hoodie was a metallica hoodie, smelling exactly like sam, which was weed and a cologne he wore that always drove you nuts. “nobody’s mom, it’s, uh, it’s mine.”
your moms confusion grew, “why would you own that? you don’t even listen to that-”
you cut your mom off, “so what did you need mom?”
“right, your dad wants to know if you would like to join him on sunday night when he goes to the timbers?”
you groaned at the last name, jase timber. an asshole in your grade that your parents won’t stop bothering you about. “no mom, i don’t want to go. i already told you im not interested in jase.”
your moms face grew stern, “honey, you need to start taking jase seriously. he’s a star quarterback and straight A student.”
you let out a scoff, “there’s nothing to take seriously mom. we aren’t in a relationship and we aren’t going to be.”
your mom let out her own scoff now, “i don’t see why you two shouldn’t be. you twos lives fit perfectly. are you ever going to start taking dating seriously?”
you sighed at her question, you wished you could shout at her that you already had a boyfriend and he was better than jase could ever be. at the thought of sam you groaned, realizing he was hearing all this from the closet. “it’s a little hard to take dating seriously when you and dad would only approve of a straight A, football star, asshole.”
“language young lady!” your mom stood from your bed now, “me and your dad are trying to look out for you. give you what’s best.”
your frustration grew, “well maybe i don’t want someone like that mom! maybe i want someone who will see me for me and not just as a prissy head cheerleader, and someone who has a real personality and interests, someone who enjoys music and actually spending time with me, not someone who shows me off like an object.” tears were practically spilling out of your eyes by the time you finished, your frustration bubbling out.
your mom shook her head, “you’re going on sunday.”
with that she left and shut the door behind her with an extra amount of force needed. you sat on your bed, burying your head in your hands, completely forgetting about your boyfriend in the same room as you.
tears finally spilled out of you, leading to ugly hard sobs. you felt a dip in the bed before feeling arms wrap around you, and you getting pulled into sam’s lap. you looked up at him, tears coating your face. “i’m sorry, i don’t want to go on sunday, they’ll make me.”
you rarely saw soft sides of sam, but his expression completely changed into one of softness when looking at all your tears. “it’s okay princess, don’t worry about it, okay?” he wiped your tears that were still falling down your face. “if it makes you feel better, you look really pretty when crying.”
you let out a wet laugh at his stupid attempt to flirt right now, “you’re so dumb.” his fingers were still wiping softly at your face when you looked to meet his eyes, “i love you sam, really like i am completely fully in love with you.”
he kissed your head ever so softly, “i love you too princess.”
este speaks / i don’t care i loveeee cheerleader reader and sam
a/n: not my proudest work ngl. originally posted on my ao3. happy reading!! <3
Your hips twitched and squirmed beneath the bedsheets. You couldn’t sleep, you actually had a difficult time sleeping these past few months without the feeling of Clayton inside you, taking you in ever so slowly.
It’s been six months since his heart transplant surgery, and he has been concentrating on full recovery since. Of course, at the expense of your guys’ nightly routine. Being deprived of sexual contact did no justice to your own body’s desires as seen with your struggle to keep yourself under control.
You eyed your husband, who laid next to you soundly asleep. Again, it’s been six months. If you had to go any longer without any form of sexual activity, you might end up killing yourself.
With a deep inhale, you shimmy in your bed, tugging your pyjama shorts down with your feet, them coming off in a jiffy and you gently kicking them away. Not hard enough for them to make contact with the floor but plenty enough for it to lay on the edge of the mattress. Next came your panties, which were tighter and required more force to remove them so you resorted to your hands. Gently kicking them away, your hands slowly made their way to your aching core which was already wetting. Taking two fingers, you danced over your cunt and began inserting yourself, pleasure washing over you but it didn’t fully hit until the tip of your finger meets your clit.
“Oh, that’s the spot,” you muttered and then took your palm to your hand to stick your moans. You arch your back into your touch, your hands were a sticky mess already. Brushing your fingers against your clit, you nearly let out a guttural cry but the hand over your mouth prevented it from freeing itself from your lips. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes as you slipped in and out of your cunt.
“Good lord,” you whined. “Clayton,”
“Do you really miss me that much?”
You froze with your fingers still encased in your folds. Clayton rolls over on his side to be fully facing you and a smirk teases the corner of his lips, revelling in your palpable embarrassment. You didn’t need a mirror to know you were a blushing mess right now.
“You didn’t hear all of that, right?”
Clayton chuckles. “Probably most of it, I’d say a good ninety nine point nine percent,”
“So you heard all of it,” you narrow your eyes.
“Probably.”
You whimper and bury your face in your pillow, humiliation washing over you. You could hear Clayton laugh, seemingly enjoying your discomfort. You feel his hand run through your hair.
“Clayton, you’re killing me,” you say, voice muffled thanks to the plush of the pillow. “You can’t leave me hanging this long and not expect me to fulfill my dirty thoughts.”
Clayton hums, fingers massaging your scalp. You continue your rambling.
“And I know you’re healing, baby. I know. But it’s unfair that I be put through such sexual shortage, don’t you think?”
Clayton’s amusement only shines when he lets out a hearty laugh. “You’re dramatic,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “All though, if you’re that desperate…” his voice lowers and your head rises.
“I’m listening.” You propped.
With that familiar smirk that always made your stomach fill up with butterflies, he shifts himself to lay on his back and he spreads his legs. Hand motioning for you, you slowly climb up and settle on his lap. Your hands rest on both of his shoulders to stabilise yourself, and he entwines his fingers with yours while his right hand rests on the softness that is your thigh.
Once you were well adjusted, he began to bend his knee upward, angling it until it made firm contact with your core. You bite your lip to try and restrain a moan but it’s no match.
“Go on, princess,” he purrs, immediately sending a shock wave down to your cunt. God, you missed this— missed his seductive whispers, his gentle way of words to assure you before diving in. “I know you’ve been dying for this.”
His hand, the one encased in yours, moves to grip your other thigh, holding you steady. The intensity of his gaze naturally drew you in and left you with no other choice but to abide.
That’s when you dipped yourself between his knee and a ragged gasp drew from your lips.
The sensation was definitely unlike other experiences, but not terrible. Before the surgery, you’d never tried out thigh riding with Clayton before. He would only comply with oral (either one of you receiving, but he mostly preferred to grant you his tongue), doggy style, or his favourite: piv. In a nutshell, Clayton preferred to take the steering wheel. In fact, you wouldn’t mind doing this all night till dawn with him.
Your core is fueled with desire and your pace quickly turns from slow and concentrated to speedy and smooth. Clayton’s smirk shifts to a cheeky grin, basking in your desperation. Perhaps if he’d already recovered in his entirety he’d be taking you under and thrusting his cock inside you. Then again, you were definitely not complaining about this, even under such limits. You became too lost and worked up in the unruly bliss that’s flooding your senses.
His knee is probably drenched right now.
That thought brought some embarrassment to you, obvious by the way your cheeks flushed pink. Clayton titters at that.
“Hmm, you’re embarrassed, are you now?” He inquires in that warm and gentle tone that he knows damn well heightens your sexual attraction to him. “So wet for me, what a needy girl.”
The pet name dragged out a torn groan from deep in your chest and you eventually lost it and started going even faster. You couldn’t fathom how he wasn’t beginning to lose himself in a wave of pleasure. He seemed to be entranced in the harmony of your movements like it was seeing a Renaissance painting for the first time in person.
“Don’t you worry baby, you can make a mess,” he mutters whilst dragging his fingers along the skin of your leg. “I’ll clean myself up when you’ve finished.”
“Clayton,” your voice quivers and you release a strained, “I’m gonna cum.”
“I’m ready for you whenever you are, my princess.”
Swallowing hard, you pick up the pace even more and you’re going fast as your lower half possibly could. Your strangled noises dragged on and your grip on his shoulders tightened. Hopefully you left no bruises.
Your back arches in sync with a strained cry, your hips rocking against his thigh. His fingers on your thighs tightened to ensure you didn’t fall over from the climax that was creeping up on you. One of your hands makes its way to his hair and you tug on it in rashness. If it weren’t for his and your own grasp you’d have most likely toppled over by now. He kept whispering what was a mix of sweet nothings and enticing encouragement.
Your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as you reached your peak, dissolving into the pleasure. An edged gasp and a shockwave seize your body, and you collapse onto his chest, his arms immediately enclosing you and pressing your form against his torso.
For a moment, you two just lay there. Silence. Nothing but that and your frantic breaths, which hindered with every passing second. Slowly, Clayton’s right hand shifted to sit on the small of your back, right above the curve of your ass. His left hand took the time to stroke your back and fiddle with the ends of your hair. After unwinding from your climax, you propped your chin up on his chest to look him in the eye with nothing but pure adoration. He exchanged your gaze, making your heart flutter. You close your eyes, press a gentle kiss to his collarbone, and rest your cheek against his chest.
“I love you.” You declared, and you couldn’t see it, but you knew he returned your words with a smile.
“I love you more,” He said and gently planted a kiss on the top of your head. You’d retort with a ‘no, I love you more!’ but to be honest, you were too worn out for an I love you war.
“Let’s hope the maids didn’t hear you.”
You bit back a giggle that still made its way through your lips, and so did he.
tag list: @mark-renton-luvr @h4yden-skywalker @lawless0rwilco @andyluu @velvetdahila | comment to join the taglist ❤︎
Music blared from the stereo that sat atop Sam’s dresser, his stepdad had already been at his door twice shouting at him to turn ‘ that trash down, ’ but Sam didn’t care nor did he listen, instead he turned the volume up louder. He hadn’t seen you in almost a month and now he was trying desperately to make up for lost time.
You sat in his lap, your hands resting on Sam’s shoulder as his lips pressed against yours. Slowly Sam’s hands began to travel lower as he tested the waters, when there was no protest to his actions his hands moved under the hem of your skirt. Just as his fingers brushed against the waist band of your panties his door flew open.
With a startled yelp you jumped off Sam. His stepfather stood in the doorway, completely mortified by what he just saw.
“ If you don’t turn down the goddamn music and keep your hands off your girlfriend she leaves. ”
“ You can’t tell me what to do in my room. ”
With a huff Sam climbed off his bed slamming the door in his step fathers face before twisting the lock.
“ God he’s such a fucking cockblock sometimes. ”
Sam dropped back down onto his mattress, his fingers coming up to twist and tug on his labret. Beside Sam you sat watching him quietly, your mind filled with unspoken thoughts.
“ Maybe I should go home.. ”
Sam’s brow furrowed as his gaze moved to land on you. You looked uncomfortable so unsure of yourself.
“ You’re not going just because he’s being a dick. ”
Sam’s lanky arms stretched over to the bedside table before he pressed play on the stereo again drowning the room in loud music once more.
“ I just don’t want to get you in trouble. ”
“ You won’t, this is my shit, not yours, I can handle it. ”
Quickly Sam leaned in pressing a few distracting kisses to your cheek. After a moment you climbed back into his lap, your fingers disappearing into his dark curls. Immediately Sam pulled you flush against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you. His thumbs traced lazy circles on your back through the thin fabric of your shirt. The music blared behind you as you both got lost in the feeling of you on his lap, both of you finally relaxed for the first time all night.
Slowly Sam’s lips found yours, pressing against yours gently before pulling back. His forehead rested against yours as you shared small kisses back and forth.
“ You’re sure I can stay the night? ”
“ It’s my room, and I want you here, fuck Peter. ”
small town family ice cream shop rivals- scott barringer x reader
warnings: pure fluff, some vulgar banter and innuendos, mentions of sex, allusions to finding the other person sexually attractive
edit: accidentally put pwp on warnings, sorry if u saw that. it is not. it was me thinking thats what would happen and didn't end up writing it that way LMAO
"mint chocolate chip with sprinkles on a cone!" you hold your arm to hand out the final cone of the day to a tween with peculiar taste for her age, you thought. but working at your family ice cream shop has taught you people have strange preferences when it comes to flavors, no matter what the age.
like rum raisin.
it was no secret that your family had the best ice cream in your small town, even in the winter months, people would line up in jackets and parkas to get pints to take home to eat in the comfort of the heat or fireplace. you had fifty flavors consistently, and seasonal flavors that would rotate, which you especially liked the fall ones. pumpkin marshmallow had become a favorite for you and you made your father bring it back every year.
you worked there when you came home from college or when you arrived back for holidays, always eager to try the new creations your parents had whipped up in the back. this summer, they had a rotation of apricot watermelon sorbet, berry shortcake, and mango coconut.
throughout these years, there really had been no competition with your shop, sure a baskin robbins, or some chain would come in, but it never compared to the creativity and quality your family put out.
until the barringer family moved in and built theirs. your father wasn't concerned at first, said it would just be another try and fail. but as time went on, the conversations as you came home seemed a little more tense when it came to business. you heard it when you were working the stand last year, during a fall holiday, as you handed out a banana cream pie in a cup to a regular.
"you know, it seems like folks are really taking a liking to that barringer shop." you felt your eyes widen. he continued poking around his ice cream, paying no mind to you. "i don't think it's all that, they don't do fun flavors like y'all. i think it's just the appeal of the soft serve."
and that was that. your father was never a fan of putting a soft serve machine in the shop, you asked him why, specifically after that.
"they can't think we're stooping to their level, to try and compete. what we had always worked. i'm not investing more. soft serve will eventually lose it's touch." he said firmly, his eyes never leaving his newspaper that morning, dismissing you- or the conversation. you weren't sure which, but most likely both.
this summer, you were getting fed up. it's not as if you didn't have customers, but you could see the change in business. so what if you went there yourself, saw what all this shit was about? a hot saturday, soft serve didn't sound that bad, so you threw on a tank top and shorts, and biked down to their store.
your eyes scanned the building. it was cute, you had to give them that. pastels, cute calligraphy that spelled out "barringer ice cream", basic but your family wasn't more creative either. you threw your bike into a rack, walking to the sliding window.
a blonde boy leans his head out, to start to ask you, what you assume is what you wanted, before narrowing his eyes.
"aren't you the girl from the other shop?"
you fold your arms over your chest. "well, what a hello. i hope you don't greet all your customers like this, or i'd be real confused why you have such positive reviews."
"i can assume you would piece two and two together and figure out that's not the case, since we took half your customer base."
you bite your tongue, because this wasn't what you came here for. you can feel your cheeks getting red with irritation, he was truly spiking your blood levels.
"god forbid i wanted some soft serve on my day off. can you accomplish that before a line starts forming behind me and they need to be rerouted to my store? wouldn't want you to lose precious business."
he glares at you. "what flavor. chocolate, vanilla, or swirl?" he points to the machine, to what you can assume is the flavors.
"oh gee, can i get a taste of the chocolate?" you feel a smirk creeping on to your face.
"you know what fucking chocolate tastes like."
"but it's soft serve..." you trail off, realizing you don't know his name yet. "mr. barringer? i just realized i don't have your formal name. boy, how rude. i never introduced myself either." you offer a hand, throwing your name, watching as he clearly debated his options.
"scott." he snips at you.
"oh good. well, scott, i've never had chocolate soft serve. i would love to try." a lie. you had. plenty of times. you cast a look behind you, only a few people were lingering, so you weren't too concerned.
he huffs a breath, before handing you a wooden spoon with a dab of chocolate ice cream. you place it into your mouth, wrapping your lips fully around the spoon, making a big show of sucking every last drop of it off.
"wow, that's incredible. let me get a taste of the vanilla scotty." you grin.
"don't call me that. i'm not giving you a sample of the vanilla."
"well shit, why not? i have to make sure it's better than the chocolate."
he reluctantly hands you a new spoon, as you lean over the counter, repeating the same motions as before. "wow, that's truly amazing. i can't imagine what that would be like... swirled." you hold back a laugh, seeing his face twist into an even deeper glare than you thought was humanly possible.
"get out of here before i call the cops."
"someone doesn't like having fun. i'll be sure to recommend you to my favorite customers. see you soon scotty!" you throw a spoon into the window at him, hopping onto your bike back home.
at the end of june, your father happily announced the stand was asked to have a setup at the towns fourth of july fair that year, thrilled about how much business it would bring. he was busy taking inventory and your mother began making a list of the most popular flavors the week before, to figure out what to bring while you worked the shop. you looked down, putting cash into the drawer, when you heard a strangely familiar voice.
"gee, i would love to try a seasonal flavor. what do you recommend?" your head snaps up, meeting the blue eyes of scott barringer. you cock your head at him.
"is that what truly brings you here? let me know if you're allergic to coconut. i definitely won't give you the mango coconut."
"partly. also wanted to spread the joy that both our families are working this fourth of july fair, and just how excited i am." it was his turn to give you that devilish grin.
"and what, you're gonna bring that huge ass soft serve machine?" you lean over the window, staring down at him.
"we just might. now, i'm not allergic to coconut, so get me two scoops of that on a cone. waffle."
you roll your eyes, moving towards the tin to scoop him the flavor. this was going to be a long fucking summer.
especially when you got a text the day before the fair, one you immediately identified as scott based on the tone of the text.
"hope you're ready to get your ass ate tomorrow."
you made a face, because he definitely could've worded that better. or added something to make it not sound the way it did. it was actually so bad, you couldn't even move past it to banter back.
"can you rephrase that please? i'm not into ass eating."
"and i might be."
you scrunch your nose, because of course he doesn't rephrase it, just makes a dirty comment. and of course it makes you think of him actually eating your ass, which has you shaking your head to get the thought out as soon as possible.
your parents are an organized mess the next morning, checking and double checking things that have already been confirmed to be there, because they're so stressed about this imaginary competition they've set up in their heads against the barringer family. you can't really imagine that scotts' family cares that much, but your father built his reputation on this store, so you shrug it off.
the heat is intense as you help them set up, sweat trickling down your forehead, soaking your white tank top, making your shorts stick to your legs. your parents mutter something to you about going to get more dry ice from the store, and to make sure everything in the stand sets up okay. you sigh, fixing the cart the ice cream is situated in. you dig around in the bag to find a spoon, before digging into double chocolate brownie and taking a scoop for yourself.
"can't even wait 'till business starts?"
scott appears in front of you, eyeing you eating the ice cream. he's wearing a light t shirt, one that has similarly been soaked from sweat, and athletic shorts. you don't miss how his eyes scan you, lingering on your breasts, making you aware your bra is visible.
"i'm hungry. it's probably not a good look that a barringer keeps showing up to the opposing business, gonna make everyone think you don't like your own product."
"don't think they would assume that if i walk away with nothing."
you inhale deeply, regulating your next string of words. "what do you want scott."
"oh nothing. just walking the setups, happened to see you. wanted to see how it was going. i'll be working today if you want to come by. you know, see how much better we're doing."
"you gonna give me samples this time, or you gonna be a dipshit about it?" you bite back, crossing your arms. his eyes flicker back down to your breasts, puffed up due to your posture. you open your mouth to acknowledge it, but shut it. you hated how much you actually liked seeing him look at you, a different kind of heat flushed your cheeks. you thanked the heat for already reddening your face so he couldn't tell.
"i might give you samples. if you're being good." he meets your eyes, you resisting the urge to ask him what that means, even though you know it's an innuendo.
"looks like you can forget it then." you look back down to your setup, avoiding his eyes.
"your loss ice princess."
as the day went on, you should have predicted that when it was this hot, people would try their luck and get ice cream twice in one day. once at your stand, another at scotts. or vice versa, since some would show up with soft serve, still running down their fingers, only some realizing what they were doing, and trying to finish it before you saw them. you begged your parents to be done by the time the fireworks were about to start, your back was sore, the sweat from the day had dried and soaked into every piece of clothing, every crevice. you felt disgusting.
you leaned back against a tall tree, staring at the sky, waiting for the first launch.
"you've had better days."
you don't even have to turn around. "scott, take your shit somewhere else. otherwise, i'll throw my sweat soaked shirt on you."
"and leave you in a bra? i'd take it. i can see it now," he holds his hands in an arc in front of his eyes. "rivals have heated, passionate sex despite how obnoxious he thinks she is." he smirks at you as you roll your eyes. "wow what a headline. i should work for the news instead, don't you think?"
"stop flirting with me." you grumble.
"why? too irresistible for you? please, tell me. mango coconut ice cream or me."
"you have an ego that doesn't match your looks."
"not what i've been told."
you push up from under the tree, to stand and face scott. you hardly meet his height. he peers down at you, his blue eyes glinting with the fair lights in the distance, his behavior making you feel like you just rode one of those poorly put together rides your mayor insists on having every year.
you don't know if you should speak, or let him, really. you're both awkwardly staring at each other, the irritation fading out of your features as he simply blinks at you, long and slow. his blonde hair is messy from the long day, his t shirt he'd had on earlier was still damp, pressed to his chest.
"i better get going." your voice comes out raw, strangled, like it was forced to leave your mouth, as if you didn't truly mean it. maybe you didn't, you hadn't seen the fireworks yet. but you felt weird, this felt weird. he doesn't stop watching you.
"guess so."
since the fourth of july fair, your run ins with scott had been limited. a passing at the grocery store, one time at the docks. it was approaching the end of july, your return to college nearing in august. it wasn't like you felt yourself dying to see him, but he did leave an agitating hole in your mind, one that screamed 'irritating moron' but something else along with it you didn't really want to name. you refused to put yourself in his line of fire though, to put yourself out there and make yourself seem what one could call, needy. so instead, you chose to recluse yourself in work or home.
"sprinkles please. the chocolate ones." an elderly woman squints at you as you mindlessly scoop her butter pecan ice cream, silently thinking about how disgusting that sounds, but you add the sprinkles nonetheless. you hand it to her, waving her off, and go back to drawing on a napkin with pen.
"you think the peanut butter fudge ice cream is good?"
you raise your head, meeting the blue eyes of scott barringer.
a soft smile graces your features, despite the confusion and lingering irritation he brings along with it. "i'd say it's one of my favorites."
"oh well in that case, two scoops for me. cup please." you oblige, scooping it into a cup and handing it to him. he nods at the benches outside your shop. "wanna join me? i think it would be time for your lunch break right about now, hm? our store needs some more business right now anyways."
running a tongue along your teeth, you hold back a remark and nod, flipping around a closed sign on the window, and heading out the side door. sitting across from him, you stare at him, waiting for him to say what he came here for. you had a feeling it wasn't to try a new flavor from your parents business.
"i've been thinking." he says, bringing a spoonful to his mouth, running his tongue along the sides. you watch, aware of what he's doing, but you can't help yourself. "this whole, rival thing, truly exhausting, isn't it?"
"i didn't know this was a formal rival relationship."
"oh, c'mon." he waves, "you act like we're the jets and the sharks."
you make a face. "you know west side story?"
he ignores you. "we could be romeo and juliet."
you roll your eyes. "this is cheesy."
"let me take you on a date." he folds his arms across the table, cocking his head at you.
"if i say no?"
"then you're stupid."
you grit your teeth. asshole. "fine."
he claps his hands loudly, making you jump. scott leans in closer, to the point where you could smell his cologne, his breath that now smelled like peanut butter. "y'gonna let me kiss you?"
"i'm getting back to work."
he stands, matching your movements. "i'll take it as a yes. wear a sundress." he winks at you, the suggestion making you blush. "have a good rest of your day... sweetheart."
Synopsis: Peter runs into his ex at a Fourth of July party and realizes letting her go might’ve been the biggest mistake he’s ever made.
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The first thing Peter noticed when he walked into Ned’s backyard was Y/N.
Which was annoying, because he’d spent the whole walk there telling himself he was going to be normal about this.
He was going to say hi, catch up with Ned, grab a drink, and somehow act like seeing his ex-girlfriend in a red bathing suit wasn’t enough to make his brain completely shut down.
Then he walked through the gate and saw her standing by the pool.
She was talking to MJ and Betty with her sunglasses pushed up into her hair, a white cover-up hanging open over her bathing suit. Her hair was still a little damp, and she was laughing at something Betty said with that bright, pretty smile Peter had spent the last three weeks trying not to think about.
He immediately forgot how to walk.
Ned stepped up beside him with a plate of chips and followed Peter’s line of sight. “You’re staring,” he said, the corner of his mouth pulling into a grin.
“I’m not staring,” Peter muttered, though he didn’t look away fast enough for it to be convincing.
“You walked into the gate.”
Peter glanced behind him. The wooden gate was still swinging slightly from where he’d bumped into it.
“I barely hit it.”
“You made a sound,” MJ called from a lawn chair nearby. She didn’t even glance up from her phone. “Like a sad little bird.”
Peter frowned at all of them. “Why are you guys watching me?”
“Because you’re being obvious,” Ned said, popping another chip into his mouth.
“I’m not being obvious.”
Flash walked past them in sunglasses that were way too small for his face and a tank top with an American flag stretched across the front. He slowed down when he noticed Peter’s expression.
“You’re doing the face.”
Peter turned toward him. “What face?”
“The face you made when you found out Y/N was coming.”
“I didn’t make a face.”
Flash looked him over for another second, clearly enjoying himself. “Okay, maybe it was less of a face and more of a full-body reaction.”
Ned snorted into his chips while Peter shot Flash a look.
“Why are you even here?” Peter asked.
“Because Ned invited me.”
“I regret that,” Ned said immediately.
Flash placed a hand over his chest like he’d been personally wounded. “That’s cruel, Leeds. I’ve been nothing but a wonderful guest.”
“You ate six hot dogs before anyone else got here,” Ned reminded him.
“I came hungry.”
“You came forty minutes early,” MJ added flatly.
Peter tried not to look at Y/N again after that. Too bad he failed after maybe five seconds.
This time, she caught him.
Their eyes met across the yard, and Peter’s stomach dropped. For a second, she just looked at him, her expression impossible to read from that far away. Then she turned back to Betty and said something that made both of them laugh.
Peter’s shoulders sank before he could stop them.
MJ finally looked up from her phone. “You okay?”
He hesitated, rubbing his thumb against the side of his cup before glancing over at her. “Do you think she’s still mad at me?”
MJ’s expression softened a little, but she didn’t sugarcoat it. “She doesn’t hate you.”
Peter let out a quiet breath.
“She is mad at you, though.”
His shoulders dropped again.
“Peter,” MJ continued, lowering her voice slightly, “you broke up with her outside her apartment and then avoided every group plan she was at for two weeks.”
“I didn’t avoid her.”
“You skipped game night.”
“I had stuff to do.”
“You told Ned you were reorganizing your sock drawer.”
Peter turned slowly toward his friend. Ned shrugged, looking a little apologetic. “You did say that.”
Peter looked back at MJ, his expression tightening. “Okay, but do you think she’s, like, really mad?”
MJ stared at him for a moment, then her face softened in a way that made his stomach sink before she even answered.
“She cried, Peter.”
His face fell. “I know,” he said quietly, his eyes dropping to the grass.
“Then yes,” MJ said. “She’s probably really mad.”
Peter looked back at Y/N, his chest tightening.
The truth was, he hadn’t meant for the breakup to hurt her that much. He knew that sounded awful, because obviously it hurt. He had broken up with her. He had stood outside her apartment and told her that things had gotten complicated, that she deserved someone who could actually be there for her, and that maybe they both needed space.
He thought she’d understand. But instead, she cried.
Not loudly. She hadn’t yelled at him or begged him to stay. Her face had just fallen when he said it, and she’d looked away like she didn’t want him to see her cry.
Then she’d wiped at her eyes and said, “Okay, Peter. If that’s what you want.”
He had wanted to take it back right then and there.
He’d wanted to tell her that he was scared. That he didn’t know how to keep her safe when he barely knew how to keep anyone safe. That losing her scared him more than anything.
Instead, he let her go inside.
Before Peter could get too lost in his own head, someone walked over to Y/N holding two cups of lemonade.
The guy was tall, wearing a navy blue tank top, and smiling at her in a way Peter immediately decided he didn’t like.
“Oh no,” Ned said quietly beside him.
Peter looked over. “What?”
“You’re doing the jealous thing.”
“I’m not jealous.”
MJ glanced at him. “Peter, you look like you’re about to web that guy to the fence.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Not helping,” Ned said, trying not to laugh.
The guy handed Y/N one of the drinks. She smiled politely and took it, and Peter’s stomach twisted.
“Who is that?” he asked, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
“Betty’s cousin,” Ned said. “Ethan, I think.”
Peter nodded as though that information didn’t bother him at all. “Cool.”
MJ looked down at his hand. “You’re crushing that.”
Peter followed her gaze and realized the plastic cup had folded in on itself and quickly set it on the table beside him.
Across the yard, Ethan said something that made Y/N laugh.
Peter knew he didn’t get to be bothered by it. He was the one who had ended things, convinced that pushing her away was better than letting her choose whether she wanted to stay. Still, watching Ethan make her laugh made something in his chest ache.
Still, watching someone else flirt with her made him feel sick.
A few minutes later, Y/N glanced toward the kitchen, said something to Betty, and slipped inside the house.
Peter waited for about ten seconds before following her.
“Subtle,” MJ called after him.
“I’m getting a drink,” Peter said over his shoulder.
“You don’t like lemonade,” Ned reminded him.
“I could start.”
The kitchen was quieter than the backyard. Y/N stood at the counter with a knife in one hand and a giant watermelon in front of her, trying to cut through the rind.
Peter leaned against the doorway, watching her struggle with it for a second before he spoke.
“You’re cutting that by yourself?”
Y/N looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow lifting. “I think I can handle a watermelon, Peter.”
“I know. I just meant it’s kind of big.”
She stared at him for a second, waiting for him to realize what he’d said. “That sounded better in your head, didn’t it?”
Peter rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “A little.”
Her mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile.
“Flash said he was hungry,” she explained as she turned back to the watermelon. “Apparently six hot dogs didn’t fill him up.”
“Nothing fills Flash up.”
“Maybe we should throw the watermelon at him.”
“That seems wasteful.”
She glanced at him again, this time with a small smile. “You’re right. He’d probably eat it off the ground.”
Peter laughed before he could stop himself.
For a second, it felt like before. Like he was standing in her kitchen at midnight while she made snacks and complained about him stealing fruit off the cutting board. Like everything between them was easy.
Then the knife slipped. Y/N sucked in a quick breath and pulled her hand back.
Peter was beside her immediately. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern taking over before he could think about whether he was hovering too much.
“It’s fine,” she said, looking down at her finger.
A thin cut ran along the side of it, blood beginning to gather near her knuckle.
“Y/N,” Peter said gently, reaching for her hand before stopping himself. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s a tiny cut. I’m not dying.”
“I know,” he said, softer now. “Can I see?”
She hesitated before holding her hand out.
The pause was small, but Peter noticed it. Before, she would’ve let him take her hand without thinking.
He took it carefully and held it beneath the faucet. She flinched a little when the cold water hit the cut.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“You keep saying that.”
Peter looked up at her. She didn’t sound mean, just tired.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
She let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “You just did it again.”
“I know.”
Peter reached under the sink and found the first-aid kit. He opened it carefully, trying not to think too hard about how much he missed holding her hand.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, watching him pull out a bandage.
“I know.”
“You’re hovering.”
“I’m helping.”
“You’re hovering helpfully.”
Peter looked up at her. “Is that better?”
“A little.”
He placed the bandage over her cut and smoothed the edges down. His thumb brushed lightly against the side of her hand, and neither of them spoke for a second.
Music drifted in through the open screen door, mixing with Flash yelling at someone outside about the grill.
Y/N glanced toward the backyard. “I’m surprised Ned hasn’t kicked him out yet.”
“He probably would if Flash didn’t keep bringing food,” Peter said.
She looked back at him. “That’s honestly the most useful thing he’s done all day.”
Peter laughed quietly.
Then the quiet settled again.
Peter leaned back against the counter, giving her space. “Can I say something?”
Y/N looked at him carefully, already looking like she knew where this was going. “You’re going to anyway.”
He nodded. “Probably.”
That almost made her smile again.
“I know I hurt you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I know I made you feel like I didn’t want you, and that was never true.”
She looked down at her bandaged finger.
“Then why did you break up with me?” she asked.
Peter’s chest tightened.
“Because I was scared,” he admitted. “Things were getting worse, and I kept thinking that if I was with you, something could happen to you because of me. I thought pushing you away would protect you.”
She stayed quiet, but her fingers curled slightly against her palm.
“But I didn’t ask you what you wanted,” he continued. “I just decided for you, and that wasn’t fair. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was really just shutting you out because I didn’t know what else to do.”
Her eyes looked shiny, and Peter hated himself for being the reason.
“You made me cry for days,” she said softly.
Peter looked down. “I know.”
“You don’t get to keep saying sorry and think it fixes everything.”
“I know.”
“You made me feel like I was too much for you.”
“You were never too much,” Peter said immediately. He looked up at her, his expression open and serious. “You were the best part of my life.”
Her expression softened, but the hurt was still there. “Then why did you leave?”
Peter looked down at the floor. “Because I was stupid.”
That got a small laugh out of her.
“Yeah,” she said. “You were.”
“I know.”
“You really messed up.”
“I know.”
“You can’t just get scared and decide I don’t get a say in my own relationship.”
“I won’t do that again,” Peter said. “I know I can’t just promise it and expect you to trust me. I know I have to earn that back. But I will. I’ll tell you the truth, even when it’s hard. I’ll stop acting like I have to handle everything by myself.”
Before she could answer, the kitchen door opened.
Ned stepped inside, stopped when he saw Peter standing close to Y/N with her hand still in his, and immediately looked like he had walked in on something private.
“Oh,” he said, slowly backing toward the door again. “Sorry. Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Y/N and Peter said at the same time.
Ned raised his eyebrows.
“Definitely not,” Peter added quickly.
“Right,” Ned said, clearly not believing either of them. “Well, Flash is trying to eat the watermelon before it’s cut, so I came to check on the situation.”
From outside, Flash yelled, “I CAN HEAR YOU, NED.”
“You’re supposed to!” Ned yelled back.
Y/N laughed, and Peter couldn’t help but smile at the sound.
Ned looked between the two of them. “Are you guys okay?”
Y/N pulled her hand gently from Peter’s.
“We’re fine,” she said.
Peter nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”
Ned gave both of them a look.
“Super believable,” he said before walking back outside.
A few minutes later, the watermelon was cut, Flash had been banned from going near the grill, and everyone had gathered around the pool as the sun started to go down.
Ethan wandered back over to Y/N with another drink, all while Peter told himself he wasn’t going to react this time.
Then Ethan smiled and asked, “So, are you seeing anyone?”
Peter took a sip of soda at exactly the wrong moment and started coughing.
MJ patted his back once. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Peter managed, though his eyes watered as he tried to recover.
Y/N glanced at him briefly before looking back at Ethan. “No,” she said. “Not right now.”
Peter’s heart dropped and lifted at the same time.
Ethan smiled. “That’s good to know.”
She shook her head gently. “I’m not really looking, though.”
Ethan’s smile turned a little embarrassed. “Yeah, of course. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Y/N told him kindly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He nodded, taking the hint, and headed back toward Betty, all while Peter tried not to look relieved.
MJ leaned toward him. “You’re pathetic.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You looked like you were about to propose when she said she wasn’t looking,” she whispered.
Peter stared at her. “I did not.”
“You absolutely did,” Ned said, dropping down into the chair beside them.
By the time the fireworks started, everyone had moved to the far end of the yard with lawn chairs and blankets.
Peter ended up sitting beside Y/N on the grass. He told himself it was because there was an open spot next to her, but he knew that wasn’t the whole truth.
Their knees brushed when she shifted, and Peter went still.
She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “You can relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You look like you’re holding your breath.”
Peter let out a breath, which only made her smile wider.
The first firework burst in red and gold over the trees. Everyone cheered, and Flash yelled loud enough that Ned told him to calm down.
Peter looked at Y/N instead.
The light from the fireworks reflected in her eyes, and he felt the same certainty he’d felt every day he was with her.
He still loved her.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he told her quietly.
She didn’t look at him. “About being stupid?”
Peter smiled. “Yeah. That too.”
She let out a soft laugh.
“I miss you,” he said.
Her smile faded a little. “I miss you too,” she admitted after a moment.
Peter’s heart started beating too fast, but she kept talking before he could say anything.
“That doesn’t mean everything is fixed,” she said, her voice gentle but serious. “You hurt me, Peter.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to come back just because some guy flirted with me at a party.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “That’s not why.”
She finally looked at him.
“I want to come back because I miss being your boyfriend,” he said. “I miss being the person you call. I miss your playlists. I miss you stealing my fries even when you say you’re not hungry. I miss you falling asleep during movies and then somehow still knowing what happened.”
Her eyes softened.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me tonight,” Peter continued. “I don’t even expect you to take me back tonight. I just want you to know that I’m here, and I’m not going to disappear on you again.”
Y/N looked down at her bandaged finger.
“You put this on crooked,” she said.
Peter blinked. “I did?”
“It’s kind of ugly.”
“I can fix it.”
She curled her fingers around the bandage and shook her head. “No. It’s okay.”
Peter smiled softly.
After a second, Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder. He went completely still.
“Don’t make it a big deal,” she murmured.
“I’m not.”
“You’re not breathing.”
“I am breathing.”
“You’re doing a bad job.”
Peter laughed quietly, then rested his head gently against hers.
For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. The fireworks kept lighting up the sky above them, and everyone around them was talking and laughing, but Peter only noticed the warmth of her beside him.
Y/N lifted her head and looked at him.
“Don’t make me regret giving you another chance,” she said.
Peter’s eyes widened. “You mean—”
“I mean you have to work for it,” she interrupted, though a smile was starting to pull at her mouth. “You don’t get to show up looking sad and expect me to fold.”
Peter nodded quickly. “I will. I promise.”
“Good.”
He smiled at her, hopeful enough that she had to look away for a second.
Then, before she could overthink it, Y/N leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
Peter froze.
When she pulled back, he lifted a hand to the spot like he couldn’t believe it had happened.
“You’re blushing,” she whispered.
“It’s the fireworks,” he said weakly.
Y/N laughed and leaned back against his shoulder.
Peter looked down at the blanket between them, waiting.
A few seconds later, she turned her hand over, palm facing up.
He slipped his fingers between hers carefully, like he was still learning how to hold on.
y/n y/l/n has an annoyingly good looking neighbor that also goes to the same university as her, yet as many times as she tried to talk to him, he blocks her away. but she doesn't give up to make him smile.
but now even himself, he is confused why he was starting to smile more around her.
part one: neighbor
After the coffee, something shifted. Not all at once. Not dramatically. It happened in small, almost invisible ways. Peter wasn’t the type to text first, ask someone to hang out, or suddenly become outgoing. That version of him had disappeared years ago. His days belonged to Spider-Man now, patrolling rooftops until sunrise, attending lectures half-asleep, squeezing in homework whenever he could. Peter Parker had become whatever time remained after everyone else had gotten their share.
There wasn’t much left. Yet somehow, without meaning to, he found himself saving a little of it for Y/N.
It started with the stairwell.
He’d run into her on his way towards his apartment, usually carrying groceries or balancing three psychology textbooks against her hip. What began as a quick “Hey,” somehow turned into ten-minute conversations.
Then twenty.
Eventually, they stopped standing altogether. Instead, they’d climb onto the fire escape outside her apartment, legs dangling over the metal platform while the city buzzed beneath them. Sometimes Y/N would bring out a bowl of pasta she’d cooked, insisting there was always too much for one person. Peter always argued. “I already ate.”
“You had instant ramen.”
“…I already ate.”
She’d shove the container into his hands anyway. “That’s not food, Peter.”
“It literally is.”
“It literally shouldn’t count.”
He’d sigh in defeat and take a bite. “…Needs salt.”
She’d gasp dramatically. “You’re unbelievable.”
“It’s underseasoned.”
“It’s rustic.”
“It’s bland.”
“It’s Italian.”
“I don’t think Italy would claim this.”
She’d throw a napkin at him. Other evenings, she’d brew tea instead. Peter still refused coffee with an almost suspicious level of commitment. “I don’t trust people who willingly drink something that tastes burnt.”
Y/N stared at him. “…You lack of sleep.”
“Correct.”
“But coffee is where you draw the line? For getting a BIT of energy”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“I know.”
The conversations usually revolved around university. Professor Banner’s impossible assignments. The latest campus gossip. Someone who accidentally set off the chemistry lab’s fire alarm.
Y/N always had stories. Peter preferred listening. It was easier that way.
Listening didn’t require him to reveal the parts of himself he kept stitched together. It didn’t force him to answer questions about where he’d been the night before, why he looked exhausted, or why his hands were always covered in tiny cuts that somehow appeared overnight.
Talking meant opening doors. Listening allowed him to keep them closed.
Y/N never seemed to mind.
She filled every silence naturally, hopping from one topic to another without expecting him to match her energy. She’d tell him about the old woman on the third floor who insisted pigeons were government spies. About the neighbor who sold homemade honey from tiny glass jars. About a philosophy student who spent twenty minutes arguing that cereal technically qualified as soup.
Peter rarely contributed more than a sentence. Sometimes just a word. Yet she never stopped talking.
And strangely he liked that.
There were days when she’d knock on his apartment door carrying an empty bowl. “Do you have flour?”
“…Yes.”
“Can I borrow some?” He’d hand her the bag.
The next morning she’d return it. Completely full.
“…You bought a new bag.”
“I panicked.”
“…Why?”
“I used your flour.”
“That’s… why I gave it to you.”
“…yea.”
There were other excuses. “Does your bathroom still have hot water?” Y/N asked.
“Yes.”
“Mine doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“…I know.”
“…Do you still want to come in?”
She smiled sheepishly. “…Maybe.”
Peter stepped aside. “Five minutes.” It was never five minutes. Sometimes she’d wander around his apartment while talking about a documentary she’d watched, opening the fridge without asking. “…Peter.”
“What?”
“You have ketchup.”
“Yeah.”
“And…”
“Yeah.”
“…That’s your entire fridge.”
He looked over from the textbook he was pretending to read. “…There’s baking soda.”
She blinked. “…You’re impossible.”
Little white lies. Little excuses. Neither of them ever acknowledged them. Peter knew she wasn’t actually out of flour half the time. Y/N knew his water wasn’t magically different from everyone else’s. Still, they played along. It became their language.
Even then, there was always something just out of reach. Peter laughed more now. Not often. But enough that Y/N noticed. His sarcasm came easier. His replies grew a little longer than a single word. Sometimes she’d even catch him smiling before he realized he was doing it.
And then just as quickly the walls would return. It changed like day and night of how often he turned to be cold and not there.
She’d ask him what his favorite color was.
“…Blue.”
“What kind of blue?”
“…Blue.”
She’d laugh. “Okay… what’s your favorite movie?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never watched a movie?”
“I have.”
“So?”
“…I don’t know.”
“What made you choose biophysics?”
“It made sense.”
“What do you do when you’re not studying?”
He’d hesitate. “…Walk.”
That answer never felt true. Y/N could always feel it. There was a distance in him that had nothing to do with shyness. It was deliberate. Like every answer was carefully measured before he spoke, giving away only enough to keep a conversation alive, but never enough for someone to truly know him. Sometimes she’d catch him staring out across the rooftops while she talked, his attention drifting somewhere she couldn’t follow.
As if part of him was always listening for something else. Always ready to leave. She wanted to know him. Not the quiet boy who drank tea instead of coffee and survived almost entirely on ramen.
The real Peter.
She wanted to know why he always looked exhausted. Why his knuckles were constantly scraped. Why he smiled like it was something he’d forgotten how to do. Most of all, she wanted to know what had happened to him that made someone so young carry himself like he’d already lived an entire lifetime.
Peter wanted to tell her.
Sometimes, he almost did.
There were moments, usually when they sat on the fire escape with the city glowing beneath them and Y/N was halfway through another story— that he felt an ache in his chest. An almost desperate need to let someone in. To admit that he was tired. That some mornings getting out of bed felt harder than fighting whatever villain happened to be waiting for him.
To have someone catch him before he fell.
But almost was as close as he ever allowed himself to get because almost couldn’t get anyone hurt.
Lately, something about it had started to feel unfair. Y/N was always the one carrying the conversation. She offered pieces of herself so effortlessly— stories from childhood, embarrassing moments in class, opinions about movies, books she loved, songs she couldn’t stop replaying on her iPod.
She made herself known.
Peter listened. He answered when spoken to. Occasionally he’d throw in a sarcastic remark that earned a laugh from her, but the conversation always drifted back toward Y/N because she was the only one willing to let someone look beneath the surface.
She had warned him from the very beginning. “I can talk for two people.”
Back then, he’d been grateful for it. Now he wondered if she’d gotten tired. Talking for two people sounded easy in theory.
In reality, it was exhausting.
Conversation wasn’t meant to be carried by one person forever.
Sometimes, he’d catch the brief disappointment that crossed her face after another one-word answer. She always recovered quickly, changing the subject before the silence became awkward, pretending she hadn’t expected more in the first place.
But Peter noticed. He noticed everything. He just never knew how to fix it.
One evening, Y/N left the university library long after sunset. Exam season had swallowed nearly everyone on campus whole. Her backpack was stuffed so full it barely zipped shut, while two thick psychology textbooks of Erikson or Piaget rested precariously in her arms, forcing her to tilt her chin slightly just to see where she was walking.
She’d practically been living in the library for the past week.
Coffee cups littered every surface of her apartment. Highlighters had started appearing in places they shouldn’t. She’d even begun wearing her glasses more often— not only because they genuinely helped after staring at textbooks for hours, but because they made her feel like she had her life together.
She absolutely did not. The subway had been suspended because of a signal failure, leaving hundreds of annoyed New Yorkers spilling onto the sidewalks. So… she walked. From block to block.
An old iPod rested in her jacket pocket, headphones tucked beneath her hair as music filled her ears. Y/N adored physical media. Records. CDs. Books with folded pages. An iPod packed with albums she’d spent years collecting.
She liked owning things.
Liked the comforting weight of something real in her hands instead of watching it disappear onto a cloud somewhere. Tonight’s soundtrack drowned out most of the city.
Car horns. Sirens. Footsteps.
She barely noticed any of it. Which meant she didn’t notice the man who had been walking behind her for nearly two blocks. At first, he simply matched her pace. Then he started walking faster. Y/N turned the corner toward her apartment building, hugging the books closer against her chest. The footsteps behind her sped up. Before she had time to register what was happening a hand landed against the small of her back.
Warm.
Uninvited. “Hey there, beautiful,” the stranger said with an easy, self-satisfied grin. “Why’re you walking so fast?”
Y/N flinched violently. She lurched away from his touch so quickly that one of the books nearly slipped from her arms. “What the—” She tightened her grip on the stack, her heartbeat instantly spiking. “…Why are you so touchy?” she asked, forcing sarcasm into her voice despite the panic already creeping into it.
The man laughed. “C’mon, I’m just being friendly.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
He stepped closer anyway. “You don’t gotta be so cold.”
Y/N instinctively took another step back. There it was. That familiar feeling. The one every woman knew far too well. The quick calculation running through her mind. How many people are around? Is anyone actually paying attention? How far is my apartment? If I start running, will he follow? Her fingers tightened around the books until they hurt. She tried to smile politely. The smile women learned to wear when they wanted a situation to end without making it worse.
“I’ve… got somewhere to be.”
“So do I,” he replied with another grin.
“But I can walk you.”
“No, thanks.”
“I insist.”
“I don’t.”
The man didn’t take the hint. He took another step. Then another. Y/N matched each one with a step backward, clutching her books so tightly the edges dug into her forearms. “I said I’m fine,” she repeated, forcing her voice to stay steady.
“You don’t gotta act scared.”
“I’m not acting.”
His grin widened. “See? You’ve got jokes.”
“I don’t know you.”
“You could.”
“I don’t want to.” For a brief second, silence settled between them. Y/N thought maybe he’d finally gotten the message. Instead, his hand reached toward her again. This time, for her wrist.
Instinct took over. She jerked away, the movement throwing one of her textbooks onto the sidewalk with a heavy thud. Pages fanned open across the concrete.
“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “Why are you making this difficult?”
“I said don’t touch me.”
A few people passed by on the opposite side of the street. No one slowed down. No one looked over. New York had mastered the art of pretending not to see. The stranger sighed dramatically, as if she was inconveniencing him. “I was just trying to be nice.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’ve got an attitude.”
“And you’ve got five seconds to leave me alone.”
He laughed. “Or what?” He reached for her again.
A sharp thwip echoed through the street. White webbing wrapped itself around his wrist before he could touch her. “What the—”
The web yanked backward with enough force to spin him around. Another strand shot out, sticking him cleanly against the brick wall beside the alley. “What is—HEY!” His feet kicked uselessly against the pavement. “You can’t do this!”
A familiar red-and-blue figure dropped soundlessly from the rooftop above. Spider-Man landed between them in a low crouch before standing to his full height. His mask turned toward Y/N first.
“You okay?”
She blinked. Her breathing was uneven. “…Spider-Man?”
He gave a small nod. Then he looked at the man glued to the wall. “So…” Spider-Man said conversationally, tilting his head. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here.”
The man struggled against the webbing. “This is a misunderstanding!”
Spider-Man ignored him. “I’m pretty sure…” he continued, “…when someone says ‘don’t touch me’…” He paused dramatically. “…the correct response is…” Another pause. “…not touching them.”
The man rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, I wasn’t doing anything.”
Spider-Man looked at him for a long second. Then back at Y/N. Then back again. “…Interesting defense.”
“I was talking to her.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I was being friendly.”
Spider-Man nodded slowly. “Right.” Another beat. “Quick question.”
“What?”
“Did she look like she wanted to talk to you?”
The man opened his mouth. Closed it. “…No.”
“There it is.” Spider-Man clapped his hands together once. “We’re making progress.”
Y/N couldn’t help it. Despite the adrenaline still rushing through her body…a tiny laugh escaped her.
He crouched to pick up the scattered books, carefully stacking them back together before brushing dirt from the covers.
“You carry all these every day?”
“I have three exams next week.”
“…That somehow sounds scarier than my job.”
She smiled—a small, tired smile this time. “Thank you.”
He handed the books back to her. Their fingers almost touched. Almost. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do.”
“You really don’t.”
“I really do.”
For a second, neither of them spoke. The city noise seemed farther away. Spider-Man shifted awkwardly. “You should let me walk you home.”
Y/N looked up at him. “Is it okay for you?”
“I was… heading that direction anyway.” It was a terrible lie.
She smiled faintly. “Okay.”
He stayed half a step behind her as they walked the remaining blocks in silence, keeping an eye on the street rather than on her. Y/N stole a glance at him every now and then.
Something about him felt familiar. Not his voice—it was lower than she expected. Not his height. Just the way he walked. The slight slump in his shoulders. The habit of flexing his scraped knuckles every few minutes, as if they were sore. It tugged at something in the back of her mind. Obviously he got her limes before when she wanted to reach for Peter, but she could barely remember anything, she remembers the conversations though.
Before she could place it, they reached her apartment building.
“There you are,” Spider-Man said, stopping at the entrance.
Y/N adjusted the books in her arms. “So…”
“So.”
“Thanks again.”
He gave a small nod. “Get inside.”
She smiled. “You sound exactly like my—” She stopped herself.
Spider-Man’s head tilted. “…Like your what?”
Y/N blinked. “…Nothing.”
For the briefest moment, Peter’s heart skipped. Then she smiled again, waved, and disappeared through the apartment door. Only after the light in the hallway flickered on did Spider-Man finally allow himself to breathe.
He walked towards his apartment in silence. Every step felt heavier than the last. The image refused to leave his mind. That man's hand against the small of Y/N's back.mThe way she'd instinctively flinched. The fear hidden behind the sarcasm in her voice.
The smile she'd forced because she didn't know whether saying no would make the situation worse.
His jaw tightened beneath the mask. No one should ever make her feel like that. No one. The thought came so instinctively that it startled him.
No one gets to hurt her.
His grip around the wooden railing tightened and there it was again. The same dangerous line he'd crossed before. The same instinct that had cost him everyone he'd ever loved. The more people mattered the more they became targets.
It had happened to Aunt May.
To MJ.
To Ned.
To everyone who had ever gotten too close to Peter Parker. He couldn't let it happen again. Not with Y/N.
She was too kind. Too bright. Too unapologetically alive. The world had already taken enough from people like her. It didn't deserve another chance and neither did he.
It only took him a few minutes to his apartment. The suit landed in the laundry basket with a dull thud. His mask followed. A hoodie. Sweatpants.
For the first time all evening, he finally looked like Peter Parker again. He rubbed both hands over his face, exhaustion settling into every muscle. Sleep. That was probably what he needed. Instead, he crossed the apartment and pushed open the window. Cool evening air drifted inside. The city stretched endlessly before him, lights glowing against the darkness like scattered stars.
He rested his forearms against the windowsill. His eyes drifted downward. Y/N sat alone on the fire escape one floor above his, knees tucked close to her chest, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug. Her headphones weren't in. No music played.
She was simply sitting, looking out over New York. Yet quietly.
Peter had never seen her quiet before.
It looked wrong like watching the sun forget how to shine. He stayed where he was for a long moment. He could almost imagine what she was thinking. Replaying the stranger's face. Wondering what would've happened if Spider-Man hadn't shown up or what would happen to her. Peter swallowed. Before he could think himself out of it, he climbed onto the fire escape.
One careful step. Then another. He descended to her level until he stopped beside the railing. The metal creaked softly beneath his weight. Y/N turned her head. She flinched only for a heartbeat. Her fingers tightened around the mug before she recognized him. The tension melted from her shoulders. A tired smile appeared instead. "Hello, neighbor.“ Her voice was quieter than usual. "I haven't seen you in a while."
Peter looked at her. Something twisted painfully in his chest. "I've been... kind of busy."
She nodded, taking a slow sip from her tea. "I hope it had something to do with university."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "...Something like that."
The wind drifted between the buildings, lifting loose strands of her hair. She shifted a little, patting the empty space beside her. “Wanna join me?“ She lifted her mug slightly. "It's kind of the perfect night for tea."
Peter looked at the empty spot. His mind immediately split into two voices. Don’t and Leave. This is how it starts. You're getting attached.
His feet didn't move because there was another voice now. One he hadn't heard in years. Stay.
He realized that was why he'd come out here in the first place. Not only to check on her. Not entirely. He just hadn't wanted her to sit alone tonight. "...Sure," he said quietly. Then, almost as an afterthought— "As long as it isn't coffee."
That earned him the smallest laugh. "There it is," Y/N smiled. "I was wondering how long it'd take you to bring coffee into the conversation."
"You have a habit of making everything about coffee."
"I am a psychology student during exam season.“ She looked at him as if that explained everything. "It would actually be concerning if I wasn't talking about coffee."
Peter lowered himself beside her, leaving just enough space between them that their shoulders wouldn't touch. The fire escape groaned beneath their combined weight. He glanced at the mug in her hands.
"So..."
She held it out toward him. "It's chamomile."
He looked suspicious. "Are you sure?"
Y/N laughed. "Peter."
"What?"
"You think I'm secretly trying to convert you."
"I wouldn't put it past you."
She gasped dramatically. "I would never betray tea like that."
A small chuckle escaped him.
Y/N looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "There it is again."
He frowned. "What?"
"The laugh."
"I didn't laugh."
"You absolutely did."
"I exhaled."
"That was not an exhale."
"It was."
"It had joy in it.“ Peter looked away toward the skyline, unsuccessfully hiding the smile threatening to appear. "I think you're hearing things."
"I'm not."
She leaned back against the railing with a satisfied grin. "I knew you had one."
"...One what?"
"A sense of humor."
Peter shook his head. "I think you're confusing sarcasm with personality."
Y/N smiled into her tea. „Maybe." She glanced at him again. "...I still like it."
<3 hi there spiders! todays my birthday so my gift for you is this little chapter <3
Smut requests! Don't mind if I do. Okay. Sooo Peter is reader's best friend, step brother... relationship dynamic of choice. The reader borrow his laptop and the idiot forgot to close all the tabs because being Spider-Man means he can't even jerk off in peace. Turn out that Peter follows an embarrassing number of pornstars that kinda sorta look like the reader. Cue..."sooo you want to try that scene out?" Lol
honey we made it (and don't you breathe for me)
Summary: You and Peter have been friends forever. After a fight with your boyfriend, you find out something that'll change everything forever.
A/n: Not gonna lie frens,,,,i struggled with this one and i dont know why. i couldn't even figure out a decent title. i had to use a title generator lmao. hopefully, it still tastes good! (also sorry if the cheating thing bothers you anon....it just came up halfway through writing and once it rip into the story, i couldn't write it out...)
You and your boyfriend had gotten into another argument. Another stupid argument that had no real resolution.
“You spend so much time with him, he may as well be your boyfriend.”
“What’s the point of keeping me around if you’re gonna go off with some other guy?”
“Look, I just don’t like how close you are. It’s not fair.”
All of which would be completely valid points. You are too close to Peter. Really and truly. You are closer than skin. It’d always been that way, though. Since middle school, when he showed up the first day of sixth grade with braces and busy eyebrows and thick Coke bottle glasses. And you, who hadn’t lost your baby fat yet. Who hadn’t gotten the memo that all the girls were shaving their legs.
You’d both had gym first period. He’d taken a dodgeball to the face so you wouldn’t have to. You’d spend most of your lives continuing on in that way, protecting each other.
It wasn’t fair for some stranger to come along and try to encroach on a territory they didn’t understand. Sure, he was your boyfriend. You liked this guy.
But he wasn’t Peter. He’d never be Peter. And that was okay. But for him to form an opinion on Peter was something else entirely. For that opinion to be negative was unacceptable.
The resolution was to cut Peter off. To go no contact.
You said you’d think about it.
Instead, you left your dorm. You were already walking there when you called Peter, “I need to use your dorm to study. He’s being a dick again.”
You know he’ll say yes before he does. You know he’ll be on patrol, but you have an extra copy of his room key. The RA knows your face and name.
You can be without a boyfriend. You can’t be without Peter.
-
Holy fuck. That’s you.
Well, maybe not exactly. The girl on Peter’s laptop screen is contorting her body in a way you don’t think you’re bendy enough to achieve.
But fuck, does she look like you.
Her hair texture, color, and style. The same skin tone, the same freckles and moles in the same places. She’s staring back at the camera with sultry, come-hither eyes the same shade as yours.
You feel a little strange sitting alone in his room now. You needed to borrow his laptop for a last-minute assignment. Really, you hadn’t meant to snoop. But what kinda pervert just leaves his porno tabs open?
Your best friend, Peter. Apparently.
There’s more tabs open with the same actress. One where she’s riding a dildo in her bathroom with a hitachi wand pressed to her clit. Another where she’s sucking off the cameraman, complementing his cock in a voice that definitely could’ve been yours, with plenty of eye contact towards the camera. Here’s another where Camera Guy fingers her until she squirts all over his hand, his face never in the frame.
There’s probably no ulterior motive for that.
A new tab reveals a different video. This time, no faces are shown at all. The girl is getting fucked from behind, her face pressed into the pillow beneath her. She moans and writhes, playing it up. Her voice was muffled, muted around the fabric pressing against her face. Her pink, glistening pussy and puckered asshole the center of attention while the guy rams into her. Her back is in a deep arch, ass in the air.
The man reaches over, grabs a fistful of her hair to rear her head back. And oh, would you look at that? You must’ve gone to the same salon or something because once again, her hair is exactly like yours.
This could mean nothing.
The next 3 videos you watch could also mean nothing. Girls that look like they could be your twin getting railed by men who obscure everything from the neck up or use masks to hide their faces. To make it easier for the viewer to project themselves onto.
The search results for porn actresses with your skin tone and body type could be a coincidence, too. You’re conveniently attractive, sure! Some of your attributes could translate into spank bank material!
The videos are not concrete proof your friend of almost eight years wants to sleep with you, though! You’re crazy. Yep. You’re being a pervert and you are crazy and-
I stole her panties out of her laundry basket while she was in the shower. It was either that or try to shower with her-
And this was Peter’s…Peter’s blog.
Must be. His name isn’t on it but he’s logged in still. You weren’t in danger of stumbling across it since you didn’t have an account on the site. You didn’t realize people even used Tumblr anymore.
But you were wrong. Silly you.
We share everything together, but I can’t tell her. I can’t lose her, too.
You wet your lips, your stomach flips. You should look away, you should just finish your homework, and forget you ever saw it.
But you keep scrolling.
He tells the whole 10 people who follow him all about what he would do to you if he had the chance. Every time his skin brushed against yours, every time you’d spend the night in his bed. Clothed, chaste, and curled up tight against the wall. Away from him.
How he wanted to touch and taste but he resisted. How he wanted to kiss you in places that no one else had ever seen, let alone touched.
There are gifs. Of course there are gifs. What would a tumblr blog be without gifs? Black and white scenes tastefully done. Men with no faces, girls with facial features that looked like yours.
He imagines that you are these girls because he can’t have you.
I wonder what she looks like when she cums.
Christ.
You really shouldn’t be getting turned on by this. This is a violation of Peter’s privacy. This is a violation of your privacy. Two more posts down, he tells the small bubble of people who follow him that he pressed your underwear to his nose while he fisted his cock.
I couldn’t finish. I got so lost in it, in the way she smelled. I got so close, but when I realized she wasn’t really there, I went soft. God. I can’t even masturbate anymore. It isn’t a want.I need her at this point.
Your hand moves between your legs, subconsciously. You cup your sex over your leggings. Peter would lose his mind if he saw you like this: aroused, alone, and in his bed no less. Another post says he can smell your arousal on your skin when you think no one notices. Maybe he’d smell it on his sheets.
Your hand moves under your leggings, under your panties. You want to leave the scent of your cunt behind. Give him just a little more to obsess over.
You fall into his fantasy. Your thoughts mirror his. What would he taste like? How would his body feel against yours? What does his cock look like?
It’s not like you haven’t thought about it before while you touched yourself. But this unfiltered look into Peter’s mind made your entire body flush, gave the thoughts new life. Your clit throbs in time with your heartbeat.
You run a finger through your folds, teasing yourself while you scroll his dirty thoughts about you. You slide a lone finger inside, curling it inward.
He likes doggy style the best. He talks about your ass, how nice it looks in your skin tight jeans. How he wants to tear your pants and underwear off at any given opportunity and-
“Shit, sorry!”
Peter freezes, stuck halfway in and out of his dorm room window. His mask falls to the floor, his suit shadowed by the street lamps outside.
You slam the laptop shut, jerk your hand out of your pants, “Pete-“
“I-“
“I shouldn’t-“
“It’s-“
You bite your tongue. He just looks at you, unable to complete a full sentence.
“You should,” You swallow thickly, “You should come inside before someone sees you.”
You wince at your choice of words. He nods, stunned, before swinging his body the rest of the way inside. He shuts his window.
He doesn’t look back at you.
“Petey…” You coax, “It’s okay.”
“You saw…all of it?”
“Yeah, I said it’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed…”
“It’s not okay. I violated your trust, I crossed boundaries, I-“
“You’ve been really pent up, haven’t you?”
Your tone takes some of the tension out of his shoulders. You see him swallow, but he still doesn’t face you.
“Do you remember when you told me about Spider Man? How I told you I was upset you didn’t tell me sooner?”
You sigh, sliding your hand back home under your leggings. He stays silent. He can hear the noise of your finger moving in and out, your thumb grazing your clit. You watch his jaw twitch.
“No more secrets. That’s what we promised each other.”
He groans out your name.
“You’ve been keeping another secret from me this entire time. Thinking I’d be upset.”
“You,” He breathes out through his nose, “You have someone else.”
“Only because I don’t have you.”
Both of you let your statement linger in the air. You touch yourself still, watching Peter’s shoulders and back muscles move under his suit. You sigh, spreading your legs further apart. Another finger joins the first, and you moan decadently at the stretch.
He’s so fidgety when he’s nervous. It’s adorable. He wants so badly to look at you. He can smell your arousal, your sweat, your perfume in the claustrophobic air of his single dorm.
It’ll linger. Even if he rejects you, tosses you out on your ass. The scent of you will haunt his bed. It’ll stay embedded in his mind forever. He won’t be able to separate the scent, this memory, from you.
He can’t look at you the same way. He may never look at you again.
He already tarnished your friendship. You were setting it on fire.
“Do you think if you had told me, I would be with him?”
He’s taking his gloves off. Pulling each finger off, buying himself time.
“Answer me,” You sigh, “After all this time, after all we’ve been through, you think that I’d choose anyone over you, Peter?”
“You wouldn’t,” He bites out, “That’s why I didn’t give you the option.”
“He hasn’t touched me.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want him to touch what belongs to you.”
You’re getting close, heat unfurling fast in your stomach and through your limbs. Your body arches into your hand. You’re gonna cum. You’re gonna cum in Peter’s bed and destroy the closest relationship you have.
And you don’t care.
Not when Peter finally turns to look at you, watches your face.
You cry out for him. Your muscles tense, your cunt tightens around your fingers, and then you're gone. Eyes squeezed shut, head tilted back.
Now he knows.
You’re still coming when he crawls on top of you. Still coming when he licks the seam of your mouth, not even bothering with the preamble of a kiss. He needs so badly to be inside you in some way; it’s cruel to deny him.
His tongue touches yours, and suddenly you’re on fire. Your hands are hungry. Your flesh is starved for his. Your skin turns to gooseflesh.
You’d been dating your boyfriend for how long? His touch didn’t feel like this. His kisses didn’t light up your body. Peter’s hands move through your hair, pulling your face closer.
Your hands move under the top part of his suit. His skin is molten, warm with sweat and night air. He lets you pull his shirt up and off his body. He’s quick to pull you back into his arms, press his mouth back to yours.
“Baby,” He rumbles, his hands moving to cup your ass.
You shudder. He grabs your wrist gently and brings your hand to his mouth. He kisses each of your fingertips before sliding one of your fingers into his mouth. He moans at the taste of your cunt.
Heat burns in your belly.
Your head is rushing. Your face is on fire at the feeling of his desperate tongue against your flesh.
“So much sweeter than I thought…” He mumbles against your hand.
“What else have you thought about?” You whimper.
“You saw…” He kisses the pulse point on your wrist.
“You have to have a favorite…”
He laughs, gives you control of your hand back. He urges your shirt off.
“I wanna be sweet to you,” He runs his hand up your belly, stopping at your bra. Your cunt throbs against him. He chuckles. It’s a dark noise that settles in your ribs.
You had control just a few short minutes ago. Where had it gone?
“My thoughts aren’t sweet,” He leans into you, his lips tracing your collarbones, “You’re beautiful…”
“Show me.”
His eyes glaze over, his pupils dilating. He kisses your lips again. Small sweet pecks that turn to niping. He lays you back, disentangles his legs from yours.
“There’s one video I really like…” He slowly rolls your leggings down your legs, “Where the guy goes down on her. He keeps going, even after she cums. He didn’t stop until she passed out.”
He kisses all over your thighs, moving toward the seam where your thigh meets your pussy. Your breath stutters. Your skin tingles where he leaves his kisses.
“Yeah?” You manage to gasp out.
Peter moves your soaked panties to the side, “Yeah. But there’s so much I wanna do to you. I don’t want you to pass out.”
His tongue reaches out and toys with your clit. You gasp, trying to close your legs. He grabs your legs to keep them open. He starts lapping at your cunt slow and greedy, moaning again at the taste of you. Like he’s starving and you’re the only thing to cure it.
Bzzt…Bzzt…Bzzt
Your eyes shut. The phone keeps going off, but you ignore it. Your hips lift up a little as you lean into Peter’s tongue. But he stops, lifts his head away.
“N…no, Pete-“
“Should answer that,” He grins.
“No, come on!”
He moves to sit beside you, takes the laptop from the foot of the bed. He gestures to the nightstand.
“Go on.”
You sigh, grabbing your phone. Your boyfriend’s name is on screen. You look at Peter. He opens his laptop, casually opening up the porn tabs again like you weren’t there. Like he hadn’t just tasted you.
You answer, eyes still on Peter. What was he doing?
“Hey baby…I’m sorry for how I handled that.”
Peter leisurely palms at his cock through the bottom of his suit. You swallow. It’s big. A firm, long, thick outline that favored his right. A small precum stain started growing. Your cunt throbbed. He lets out a quiet moan as he watches another of your clones bounce on an anonymous dick.
“‘t fine,” You want it inside you. Now. But he isn’t looking at you. His eyes are locked onto the screen. He pulls his cock out.
Jesus fuck.
“We should talk about this in person…when are you coming back?”
A silky bead of precum drips from his tip. He gathers it with his thumb, wraps his hand around his cock. He brings himself off at a tortuous pace. You almost want to cry.
“Dunno,” It’s breathy, thick with tears.
‘Please,’ You mouth.
Peter smiles and carefully sets the laptop on the floor. He motions to his lap.
“Seriously. You don’t have to cry, baby. It’s just…are you in love with him?”
You move toward his silent command. He moves over to the center of the bed, your knees on either side of his legs. He rubs his tip through the slick lips of your pussy, barely teasing your hole.
“I..ah…”
Peter pulls your top up, stares at your bra. He licks a long stripe up from your belly button up to the fabric.
‘Are you?’ He mouths back, before letting your shirt drop, grabbing your hips, and pulling you down onto his cock.
“Oh fuck!” You cry out. Your body quivers at the sudden intrusion.
“Are you okay!?”
“Yes!” You bite out, “I’m great…I’m so good.”
You feel stretched to breaking. You pulse, his cock buried so deep you think it’s forming you from the inside. Your free hand flutters to his shoulder. His hands never leave your hips. He lifts you up like you weigh nothing. Just far enough off his cock to miss you, before dropping you back down. You bite down on your lower lip to suppress your whimper, but it comes out anyway.
“What’s going on?!”
Peter flips your position till you're underneath him. Your breath stutters in your throat, your phone falling from your hand onto the bed.
Peter grabs it and puts it on speaker phone.
“Hey bud,” He says, “Our friend’s busy right now. Can I take a message?”
He shoves his cock back into you, focusing on landing each thrust as hard and fast as possible. Your flesh smacks together, you can’t hold back your noises, your whines. Your eyes roll back into your head.
You don’t hear your now ex cussing Peter out, just hearing Peter’s voice.
“She feels so fucking good, by the way. Tightens up so fucking much when you hit her sweet spot. Only, you’re never gonna feel it…”
“Shit!” You hiss out.
“You wanna tell him, baby, how much you love me?”
“I love you, Peter! I love you! Fuck!”
Peter strokes your clit with his thumb in tight circles, watching you with the softest look on his face, “I love you too, baby.”
You’re too sensitive to last, your body arches into his, your cunt tighten around him. You cum with your eyes screwed shut, stars bursting behind your eyelids, your breath coming out in short pants.
Your phone winds up back on the nightstand. Peter lays over, holds your face, and kisses you gently.
“So good for me,” He rumbles against your mouth, “I love you so much, my pretty girl…”
He slows down, starts grinding his hips into yours.
“What’re you doing?”
“Taking my time. You made me wait for so long, honey. We’ve got quite a catalog to go through…”
hi angel! thanks for opening up the shop 💕✨ can i please get an americano with vanilla syrup and cookies?
୨୧ ──── fucking ceo!anakin in his office
mdni ⫶⫶ rough sex ⫶⫶ hair pulling ⫶⫶ cheating (anakin with reader) ⫶⫶ office sex ⫶⫶ ceo au ⫶⫶ dom!anakin ⫶⫶ oral (f receiving) ⫶⫶ f!reader ⫶⫶ unprotected piv ⫶⫶ 0.7k
note: your honor, my client pleads horny
1k celly | masterlist
you knocked softly on anakin’s office door, waiting with bated breath for him to let you in. your mind flashed to the first time you met him when he became ceo of the company you work for. he was ridiculously handsome, and you were attracted to him right away. you went out of your way to impress him, started dressing a little more provocatively around the office, and “accidentally” bumping into him on occasion. it wasn’t until he invited you into his office to hand you some documents to deliver that you realized he was married.
there were pictures of him and his wife on their wedding day, surrounded by their friends and family, on his desk, as well as candid photos of her. you felt a lump in your throat and a huge sense of embarrassment at your futile efforts to gain his attention. what you didn’t know was that you had gained it, and it took everything in him not to act on the thoughts going through his head.
until he did.
your thoughts dissipate once you hear anakin’s voice through the door. you turn the knob and enter, your heart beating rapidly in your chest as he comes into view. he sits at his desk, hands spread on either side as he smirks wickedly at you.
“lock the door behind you.”
you do as he says, standing in front of the doorway to await his next instruction. he stands slowly, eyeing you up and down like a predator stalking his prey. you don’t dare take your eyes away from him, not wanting to upset him if you did.
he stands before you, looking down at you with a soft groan. “as beautiful as you look, all i want to do is rip that dress off right now.”
your lips part slightly, letting a breathy gasp escape you. “so do it,” you whisper, gazing at him. “you can always buy me another one.”
anakin pushes you up against the door, wrapping his large fingers around your throat enough to cut off your airflow. “did i say you could talk?” he queries. “hm?”
“n-no,” you choke, squeezing your legs together to dull your aching cunt. “y-you… didn’t.”
“that’s right,” he says. anakin grabs you by your hair and tosses you against his desk, pinning you there by his hips. he rips your dress down the back, revealing the lacy pink lingerie you have on underneath. “mm, at least you can do one thing right,” he muses, rubbing his hand over the swell of your ass. “you know how much i love these on you.”
your dress falls down to your feet and you kick the ruined fabric off to the side. you spread your legs for him, moaning softly as he teases your pussy with his fingers.
anakin circles with your clothed clit a while longer before moving your thong to the side and getting on his knees. he presses soft kisses along your lips and inner thighs, keeping his hand on you as a warning to be still. he finally runs his tongue over your clit, flicking it lightly.
your eyes roll back at the feel of his tongue on your cunt, the sensation causing chills to erupt along your skin. he continues to work your pussy until you cum hard, licking you through the aftershocks. he gets up from his knees, picking you up and placing you on his desk. he quickly undoes his pants, pulling his cock from its confines.
“leave the heels on,” he demands softly, shaking his head as he watches you trying to kick them off. “can you do that?”
“yes,” you nod, breath hitching as he rubs the tip of his cock along your glistening folds. he enters you with a loud groan, eyes fluttering at the feel of your tight walls pulsing around his cock.
he opens his eyes, looking down to see the photo of him and his wife on the night of their honeymoon staring back at him.
he reaches over and turns the frames face-down in one smooth motion while your eyes are squeezed shut from the stretch of him inside you. “good girl,” he says, voice low and rough as he starts to move. “you’re my good girl.”
Summary → During a diner date, you silently envy Peter's unfairly perfect looks.
The diner’s fluorescent lighting is usually unforgiving, casting harsh, clinical shadows over laminated menus and vinyl booths, but tonight, it seems to make an exception. Or maybe it isn’t the lighting at all. Maybe it’s just the person sitting across from you.
Peter is carefully dissecting a piece of cherry pie, his attention entirely focused on the perfect ratio of crust to filling. He’s completely unaware of the absolute laser beam of attention fixed directly on him.
You aren’t just looking at him. You are staring. It is the kind of heavy, unblinking, borderline-aggressive gaze usually reserved for an apex predator tracking prey, or an art thief calculating how to break a museum’s laser security grid. Your chin is propped in your hand, your brow is slightly furrowed, and your jaw is set. To an outside observer, and to Peter, whenever he finally looks up, it looks like you are actively plotting a heinous crime.
In reality? Your brain is just spiraling down a massive, overwhelming rabbit hole of sheer, unadulterated jealousy.
You and Peter are in that specific, agonizingly thrilling limbo. The "in-between" stage. You aren't officially boyfriend and girlfriend yet, but the unspoken rules are there. You go on dates. You hold hands. You share kisses that linger a little too long on your porch before you say goodbye for the night. Everything is fresh, slightly awkward, and hyper-charged with new relationship energy. But while Peter is operating on a frequency of sweet, nervous romance, you are currently trapped in your own head, running a highly detailed, six-point mental audit of his face. And it is driving you insane.
1. Why is he so handsome?
It feels entirely illegal. You watch the subtle shift of his jaw as he chews, the sharp, clean line of his profile against the dark window pane behind him. It doesn’t make sense how someone can just exist without an awkward angle. If someone took a candid photo of you right now, you’d probably have a double chin and a vacant expression. Peter, on the other hand, looks like a carefully rendered cinematic masterpiece, even while wiping a stray crumb of pie crust from his thumb. It’s infuriating.
2. Why does he have long lashes?
As he looks down at his plate, his eyelashes cast actual, literal shadows onto his cheekbones. They are dark, thick, and naturally curled. You find yourself mentally tallying the amount of money, time, and cosmetic products people spend just to achieve a fraction of that lift, and here he is, blessed by the genetic lottery, probably washing his face with a 3-in-1 body wash and zero appreciation for the luxury on his eyelids. Every time he blinks, it feels like a personal insult to your own.
3. Why is he prettier?
This is the core of the issue, the root of the intense, murderous glare you’re giving him. It’s an unspoken rule of dating that you want to feel cute, maybe even a little bit ethereal, around the person you like. But sitting across from Peter, you feel like a cave troll that somehow stumbled into a fairytale. He possesses a delicate, effortless sort of beauty that completely eclipses the room. He is, without a doubt, the pretty one in this relationship, and the realization makes you want to shake him by his perfectly structured shoulders.
4. Why are his lips so pink?
They have a natural, flush color to them that defies logic, looking naturally bitten or enhanced by some high-end tint. Right now, a tiny bit of gloss from the pie filling is making them look even softer, and your mind briefly flashes to the kiss you shared in his car twenty minutes ago. It had been gentle, a little hesitant, and altogether sweet. Remembering it doesn't make you soften, though; it just makes your glare deepen. How dare he has better lip color than me?
5. Why is his hair so soft and bouncy?
A slight breeze from the diner’s overhead AC vent catches a few strands of his hair, and they move with the kind of airy, volumized grace found only in shampoo commercials. It looks incredibly soft, the kind of hair that practically begs you to run your fingers through it, yet it magically bounces right back into a perfect, effortlessly messy style. Your own hair is currently a testament to gravity and humidity, making his perfect locks feel like a direct, personal attack.
6. Why are his eyes so doe-like?
Finally, Peter finishes his bite and looks up. And there they are. Big, wide, incredibly dark, and framed by those ridiculous lashes. His eyes carry a natural, soft vulnerability that makes him look completely innocent, like a deer caught in a peaceful clearing. They are deep, expressive, and utterly devoid of the calculated malice currently swirling in your own eyes.
Peter finally catches your gaze. For a second, he tries to offer a sweet, soft smile—the kind reserved for the new person you’re falling for. But as the seconds tick by and your expression doesn't soften—as you continue to glare at him like a gargoyle guarding a cathedral—his smile falters. The warmth leaves his doe eyes, replaced instantly by a spike of pure panic.
He freezes, a piece of pie hovering halfway between his plate and his mouth. He blinks, those long lashes fluttering, which only serves to make you scowl harder.
"Um," Peter starts, his voice dropping an octave, tinged with genuine nervousness. He lowers his fork slowly, as if making any sudden movements might cause you to pounce across the booth. "Are... are you okay?"
You don't answer right away. You just slowly lean back in the booth, crossing your arms over your chest, keeping your eyes locked onto his.
Peter swallows hard. He reaches up with a trembling hand, nervously rubbing a napkin against his cheek, then his chin, then his nose. "Is there something on my face? Did I get pie sauce everywhere? Is it a smear? Oh god, is it on my nose?"
"No," you say, your voice flat, completely serious.
He stops rubbing his face, looking even more terrified now. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his soft, bouncy hair shifting perfectly with the movement. "Then... why are you looking at me like that? You look like you're trying to figure out the best place to hide my body."
"I'm observing," you state coldly.
"You're terrorizing me!" Peter corrects, a nervous laugh escaping his pink lips, though his wide eyes stay wide. He leans forward, lowering his voice so the waitress at the counter won't hear his impending demise. "Seriously, did I do something wrong? Did I say something weird earlier? If I did, I swear I didn't mean it. You've been staring at me for five minutes like I personally offended your entire bloodline."
You let out a heavy, dramatic sigh, finally breaking the intense stare to look down at your own hands, before shooting one last envious glance back up at him. "It's just not fair, Peter."
He blinks, completely derailed by the sudden shift in your tone. "What's not fair? The pie? Did you want some of the pie? You can have the rest of the pie!" He eagerly pushes the plate toward you as a peace offering.
"I don't want the pie, Peter. I want your genetics," you mutter, leaning your chin back into your hand, though the murderous edge in your eyes finally begins to melt into a pout.
Peter blinks once. Twice. His brain is visibly trying to process the data, completely failing to bridge the gap between 'I am about to be assassinated in a diner' and whatever you just said. "My... what ?"
"You're too pretty," you complain, finally letting the truth spill out, your voice a mix of genuine frustration and reluctant adoration. "It’s actually exhausting. I sit here, trying to look normal and cute because we're in that stage where I still care if you think I'm attractive, and I look across the table and you're just... sitting there. Looking like a Renaissance painting. Why are your eyelashes that long? Who allowed that?! "
Peter’s entire posture goes slack. The tense, rigid fear leaves his shoulders, and a faint, bewildered crimson blush begins to creep up his neck, coloring his cheeks. "Wait. You... you think I'm..."
"Don't play dumb, it makes it worse," you groans, gesturing vaguely toward his face. "Your hair has natural volume. Your lips are perfectly pink. Your eyes look like a cartoon forest animal. I am sitting here experiencing a crisis of confidence because my date is prettier than me, and my automatic defense mechanism is to stare at you until you catch fire."
The realization hits him fully, and the sheer contrast between his previous terror and his current embarrassment is almost comical. Peter buries his face in his hands, his fingers threading through that soft hair, trying to hide the massive, goofy smile that is currently taking over his face.
"Oh my god," he mumbles into his palms, his voice muffled. "You totally freaked me out. I thought you were genuinely reconsidering everything, or that I had like, a massive piece of spinach stuck in my teeth from lunch."
"I wish you did," you grumble. "It would humanize you."
He drops his hands, his doe eyes practically shining now, completely bright and rid of any fear. He reaches across the table, his fingers tentatively brushing against yours before he finds the courage to properly hold your hand, squeezing it gently.
"For the record," Peter says softly, his pink lips curving into a genuine, soft smile that makes your chest tighten. "I spend the entire time we're together worrying that I'm being too awkward, or that I'm going to mess this up because you're... well, you're you. I don't see any of the stuff you're talking about. I just see someone I really, really like sitting across from me. Even if you look like you want to murder me."
You look down at your joined hands, feeling your own face finally heat up, the lingering jealousy officially defeated by his sheer sweetness. You look back up, letting out a small, defeated laugh.
"Fine," you relent, giving his hand a squeeze back. "But if you don't start using a terrible shampoo or something to ruin that hair, the staring will continue."
Peter chuckles, the sound light and relieved, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I think I can live with that. Just... maybe make it a little less intense next time? For my heart's sake."
