ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇɴɪs ᴘᴀʀᴋᴇʀ ᴇғғᴇᴄᴛ
In which you accidentally send Peter Parker a photo that was definitely not meant for him, and things get a lot more complicated between two people who swear they can’t stand each other.
Warnings: !MDNI! bully!reader, meangirl! reader, sexual themes, cheating but not on eachother, suggestive content, accidental intimate photo, enemies-to-lovers, sexual tension, set in highschool, jealousy, explicit language, poor decisions, and 18+ scenes, really pathetic begging…jst how mama likes it.
5.6k wrds!
Remind yourself: never fall asleep on your balcony while it's raining. Ever again. Even if it's aesthetic and you feel like Bella Swan.
You groan as the sun slips through your window, hitting your face. You roll over, burying your face into your pillow.
You felt like shit. Complete and utter shit.
After attempting to get the perfect Instagram story of the thunderstorm a couple of days ago, you'd fallen ill rather quickly. Turns out, standing out on your balcony in the pouring rain for the sake of an aesthetic Instagram story probably wasn't the smartest idea.
It was indeed a hit though, 93 swipe ups, 489 likes, and 968 views. Totally worth it.
You'd already been gone from school for two days.
The first day was the worst. Between the throwing up, shivering, sweating, and feeling like you were actively dying, it was pretty much a personal reminder of hell.
You couldn't even watch one episode of your comfort show without your friends' group chat blowing up. It was a combination of someone talking shit, your friends bugging you about where you were, or some new piece of gossip you absolutely did not have the energy for.
You had hoped your sickness would just really take you out when you got the text.
“Omfg, Your sick ass is gone for one day and you get roped into Penis Parker’s project group. DEADD.”
When you saw it, you let out what might've been the world's whiniest groan, immediately reaching for the nearest Jellycat and choking it in your arms like it had personally betrayed you.
Peter Parker. Peter fucking Parker.
Your relationship with Parker left much to be desired. Actually, it wasn't even a relationship at all. It was more of a very personal, one-sided vendetta that seemed to piss you off more than anything.
If anyone else asked why you disliked the nerd so much, you'd say it was because he always had to be the smartest person in the room, because he couldn't hold a conversation to save his life, or because he was a creep who stared at you way too much.
Anything, really, to make you feel justified in your efforts to piss him off.
The truth, however, was that you hated Peter simply because he refused to hate you.
It had started innocently enough. You were both in third grade, and you'd immediately been smitten with the brunette boy who refused to step on ants and was somehow one of the only kids in class with genuinely impressive coloring skills.
He was also excessively kind to you. Not like the other boys, who would pull your ear or snap your pencils under the guise of "well, that just means he likes you."
No, Peter was kind.
Peter complimented your flower drawings and quietly reminded you to write your name at the top of your quizzes so you wouldn't get reprimanded.
It had younger you slowly making your way to lunch just to walk beside him, and sitting next to him during recess so you could listen to him ramble about his favorite book.
However, you'd always been a rather spoiled child. So when you realized that Peter wasn't just a sweet boy to you, he was a sweet boy to everyone, the feeling in your stomach began to squirm.
The blushes quickly turned into "accidentally" cutting him in line at the water fountain and joining the other boys when they teased him.
The worst part about it was that Peter never changed.
He never stopped reminding you to write your name, even if he said it a little less confidently each time. He never stopped complimenting your flowers, even when you'd sneer at him while the boys behind him snickered.
It only made you angrier.
Because Peter could still compliment Sarah B's hearts and play hopscotch with Emily F. He could still be kind to everyone else, so why couldn't he just take the hint and leave you alone?
Even in middle school, when you started growing into your features and your weekly crushes turned into loosely defined relationships, Peter was still just... Peter.
He had, however, stopped interacting with you so much. Apparently, he'd figured out that being anywhere near you earned him relentless teasing from the other kids.
Instead, he became quieter, sticking mostly to one kid you knew as Ned. He focused on himself, smiling at his friend in the hallways as they spoke in hushed conversations, while you were surrounded by a group of people you knew didn't really like you.
That was when you really started to hate Peter Parker.
The envy in your stomach never seemed to settle, twisting every time you watched him be genuinely happy while you quietly hated yourself.
He never glanced at you, never talked to you, and it drove you genuinely crazy.
So when he walked past you and your friends on his way to the office before the bell rang, you called out—
"Hey, Penis Parker!"
The mortified look that crossed his face as your friends burst into laughter made something inside you feel almost embarrassingly good.
Because finally, after all those years, Peter Parker had looked at you again.
The name stuck with him all the way through high school, and every time you heard someone call him that and watched his back tense, a smug little smile would grace your lips.
Because you knew you were the reason.
And, judging by the way his shoulders stiffened every time he heard it, he knew it too.
Because you really fucking hated Peter Parker, especially now.
Now that Peter Parker had grown into his stupid, lopsided smile and squeaky voice, his messy brown hair and annoyingly large brain.
Now that you'd grown into your own figure and looks, gained ten new friends and racked up twenty ex-boyfriends, all of whom you knew would throw you under the bus for a five-dollar bill.
So knowing you'd be stuck in a group with the spineless idiot made your blood boil. You already knew it'd be hours of him slowly trying to help you as if you were an idiot.
"Uh..." he'd squeak hesitantly, pushing the assignment toward you. "It says—"
"I know, Parker," you'd snap. "I can fucking read."
You could practically imagine it.
How he'd frown slightly before immediately recovering, nodding as he leaned away. You knew he'd watch you work on the project closely, silently searching for mistakes as if you couldn't feel his eyes burning into you.
And when you'd inevitably snap your head up to look at him, he'd flush, quickly look away, and mumble an apology.
The idea of it made you buzz with excitement. Maybe you'd put gum in his hair again. That had pissed his friends off real bad last time. That MJ girl had glared at you for a solid week afterward.
Your giddy planning was rudely interrupted by another buzz from your phone. You held back a sigh as you glanced down at the screen.
Babe. <3
Another message joined the collection of ten missed calls and twenty-five unread messages, all of them asking if you were okay and whether he should come over.
He really shouldn't. God, you wanted to cry at the thought of it already.
He was a basketball player who you'd honestly grown pretty bored of already, but he had a lopsided smile that made your eyes warm and a fat wallet that kept you happy.
You huffed before sending him a quick message saying you were alive, but he should stay away and let you rest. Then you turned back over, already dreaming of lopsided grins and pathetic apologies.
The second day was somehow even more torturous.
You didn't throw up again, and after your shower, you felt vaguely less stuffy, but the headache pounding behind your eyes had rendered your personality completely insufferable.
You silenced your group chats and blocked your boyfriend for the day, fully expecting to finally get some peace and quiet.
Then your phone buzzed again.
Someone had added you to a group chat.
Mr. Kavinsky Physics Project
You swore you felt tears welling in your eyes as you picked up your phone and opened the messages.
It was a group of randoms, already delegating tasks and clarifying their understanding of the assignment.
"okay so we need to figure out what everyone's doing"
"did anyone actually read the rubric because i'm confused as fuck 😭"
"I can do the research part if someone wants to do the slides"
"Guys Mr. Kavinsky said we have to present this Friday btw"
You stared at the screen in disbelief, wasting no time pressing Leave Group before tossing your phone aside and returning your attention to the TV.
Your phone buzzed again two minutes later. You cursed.
Peter_P4rk4r added you to a group chat.
Your mouth curled into a small grin at the thought of him sitting there, contemplating whether he really wanted to add you again. Knowing he probably didn't want to, but clearly deciding that dealing with you was still worth it if it meant avoiding a lower grade.
You opened the group chat, watching him type for what felt like hours with a toothy grin as you bounced your foot over your knee.
Peter_P4rk4r: Delaney, you work on the research portion, Jacob, can you do the calculations, Emily, do the slides.
You felt giddy watching him pause before typing another message, this time with your name.
Peter_P4rk4r: Could you please do the introduction and conclusion?
That asshole really gave you the introduction and conclusion. You mentally reminded yourself to ask Flash to give him a wedgie in the cafeteria next time you saw him.
You waited a few seconds before hearting his message, then waited a few more before turning it into a thumbs down and silencing the group chat.
Peter Parker's grade could burn for all you cared.
That was the entirety of your second sick day. Ice cream, ignored group messages, and plotting exactly how you were going to make Peter Parker cry the next time you saw him.
So now, on your third day, you finally felt much better.
You unblocked your boyfriend, unsilenced your friends, and even peeked at the physics group chat. You'd even gotten up to do some yoga before settling back into bed, feeling almost human again.
The rest of the day passed in a lazy blur of half-watched episodes, scrolling through TikTok, and occasionally checking the physics group chat just to see if anyone had the audacity to message you.
Your boyfriend, unfortunately, had apparently decided that your brief recovery meant you were now available for his attention. Every few minutes, another text appeared.
miss u.
are you feeling better?
you still mad at me?
can i come see you now?
You left every single one unanswered.
It was almost impressive how quickly his concern managed to ruin your day. You knew he meant well, but the constant messages were starting to feel like someone poking a bruise just to make sure it still hurt.
By the time he sent another "I miss your face :(", you tossed your phone onto the bed with an aggravated huff.
You shoved a pillow over your face and screamed into it, muffling your frustration as another few buzzes rattled against the mattress.
The first message you checked was, once again, from your boyfriend.
hey, baby... could you send me 🍒? jst miss you sm.
You rolled your eyes at the desperation before letting your eyes trail down to the next contact below.
It was Peter.
Peter_P4rk4r: Hey, look, I don't want to be annoying, but could you please just do your slides?
That one made a small giggle escape your mouth.
You stared at his message for a few seconds, your lips twitching as you imagined the expression on his face while typing it. Probably hunched over his desk, eyebrows drawn together, debating whether he should bother you again or simply accept that you were going to tank his grade along with your own.
He was so painfully predictable.
And now that you were feeling better? Well, you suddenly had all the energy in the world to be a little annoying.
You already knew how the next hour was going to go.
You were going to spend it bullying Peter through text until he inevitably gave up trying to reason with you, while your boyfriend continued blowing up your phone until you finally shut him up.
You quickly sent Peter a simple No just to rile him up, settling back into bed as you got comfortable.
You shifted into a pose you knew would look effortlessly tempting, angling yourself just right as you adjusted your hair and let your gaze linger on the camera. You dragged your shirt down, revealing the fact you were wearing no bra. After one last glance at the screen, you settled into the pose, lips curling into a knowing little smile before your finger pressed down.
Click.
You didn't even bother checking it, sending it off to your boyfriend without a second thought as you opened Peter's thread to see if he had responded.
The only message waiting for you was from your boyfriend.
what do you mean no? wtf
Your heart sank immediately as you scrambled back to Peter's message thread, only to realize you'd somehow sent him the picture instead.
Your fingers shook as you frantically tried to delete it, but the little Read appeared beneath the message.
Holding your breath, you stared at the screen, praying that maybe, just maybe, he hadn't actually processed it.
You knew he had.
Peter_P4rk4r:
oh
Peter_P4rk4r:
uh
Peter_P4rk4r:
I'm guessing that wasn't for me
Peter_P4rk4r:
which is unfortunate
Peter_P4rk4r:
I mean—
Peter_P4rk4r:
not unfortunate that you sent it to the wrong person
Peter_P4rk4r:
just unfortunate that I'm the wrong person
Peter_P4rk4r:
that sounded better in my head
Peter_P4rk4r:
you look really good though
Peter_P4rk4r:
not that I was looking
Peter_P4rk4r:
I mean obviously I looked because you sent it to me
Peter_P4rk4r:
okay I'm going to stop talking now
You shut your phone off, hissing as you pressed it against your forehead. This was so fucking humiliating.
Your stomach twisted as you imagined Peter showing the picture to Ned, then Ned showing someone else, and suddenly the entire school knowing.
Peter would have every right to hold it against you, considering all the shit you'd put him through over the years.
You didn't even get the chance to properly spiral before your phone buzzed again.
Peter_P4rk4r: But yea, yea, I'll do your slides lol. No biggie.
You reread the message twice before a breathy laugh escaped you.
This idiot really thought you'd been asking for a cop-out. Not only that, but he'd handed it to you without a second thought.
You scrolled back through his other messages, rereading his painfully awkward attempts at flirting. The warmth that settled in your stomach was small, but unmistakable.
You found yourself imagining him at his desk, cheeks flushed as he bounced between his laptop and his phone, trying desperately to focus on the project while your photo sat there on his screen.
The thought made your smile return.
Or was he touching himself instead? Thinking about the girl who made his life a living hell sending him an unwarranted nude.
You pressed the call button and held your phone up to your ear, a small, mischievous smile tugging at your lips as you waited for him to answer.
The call connected after two rings.
"Hello?" Peter's voice came through, cautious and slightly breathless.
You smiled. "Hi, Parker."
There was a beat of silence. You've never called Peter before, ever.
"...Hi."
"You sound nervous." You giggle. You shuffle your blanket off of you with your feet.
"I just—" He cleared his throat. "I wasn't expecting you to call."
"After what I sent you?"
Another painfully long silence. It was as if Peter had already decided he wouldn't mention it ever again. Like you spoke it back into existence.
"Yeah," he finally squeaked.
You bit back a laugh. "Aw. Did I make you nervous?"
You could practically hear him hiding his face through the phone.
"Can we please just talk about the project?" You heard a small ruffle behind the screen. "I'll do your part but you still need to know how you're presenting it."
You grinned. "Sure, Peter."
"Thank you." He sighed, relieved.
You let a bit of silence pass as you listened to him click off on his laptop. You wondered if he had the furrowed brow he always had when he stared at something he never understood. Most of the time, that was you.
"After you tell me how many times you looked at the picture."
He went completely silent, the clicking halting with him. You burst out in giggles, huffing in between breaths as you mumbled under your breath about how much of an idiot he was.
Another moment of silence passed, this one lasting even longer.
After your laughter finally died down, Peter still didn't reply. His clacking resumed instead, only this time it was much faster, more frantic, like he was suddenly very determined to finish the project as quickly as possible.
You let out a fake whine. "Don't ignore me, Peter."
He still didn't respond, letting the silence sit between you until it started to genuinely piss you off.
"Peter," you said again, this time more annoyed.
He let out a low noise on the other end, followed by a few more clicks. "Why'd you call me?"
You opened your mouth, but he interrupted before you could think of an answer.
"I already said I'd do your work," he said, his voice pathetically dejected, like he still couldn't believe he'd actually agreed to it.
The sound did something to you. Anything remotely sad coming from Peter always seemed to. You shifted beneath your blanket, squeezing your thighs together as you suddenly found yourself at a loss for words.
For once, you didn't dare reply.
Seemingly growing more annoyed by your silence, Peter spoke again.
"I mean..." He chuckled breathlessly. "I already told you you looked good."
You blinked, your lips twitching.
"You know you looked good," he continued, sounding almost exasperated. "I don't understand why you chose to call."
Growing a little defensive, you bit back a smile. "Well, you fucking answered."
Peter sighed on the other end, the sound dragging through the phone. "I don't know why I'm doing this."
You smiled, sinking further into your pillows. "Doing what?"
"This." He clicked his tongue, sounding tired. "Talking to you. Doing your work. Letting you make fun of me."
You giggled. "Nobody asked you to."
"I know."
"You are," you yawned, stretching your legs beneath the blanket. "You are pathetic."
He went quiet. Then, barely above a mumble, "Maybe."
That made you laugh. "You're not even denying it."
"I'm tired," he said miserably. "I've been dealing with you since third grade. I think I'm allowed to be tired."
You grinned at the ceiling. "And yet you're still here."
Another sigh. "Yeah," Peter muttered. "I know."
This was the first time either of you had really acknowledged the strange dynamic between you.
All the teasing, the years of pushing and pulling, it suddenly felt a little different now that you both knew exactly what was happening.
It should've made you feel bad. And, in some small way, it did. Mostly, though, it made you squirm with excitement.
You didn't reply, letting the silence stretch as you watched the ceiling. You almost didn't register the way your hand snuck under your waistband.
Peter spoke again. "Why are you acting so..."
He trailed off, searching for the word, before letting out a frustrated sigh.
"Unaffected? I mean, you sent me—" He cut himself off.
"Do you usually just send shit like that to random people?"
A small smile tugged at your lips. You let your hand sneak deeper, resting outside your panties.
"Do you really consider yourself someone random to me, Peter?"
The question seemed to register with him, and you heard him go breathless as he searched for an answer. The sound made you push the cloth away with a finger, letting another one softly touch your folds.
You heard him suck in a breath, clearly getting ready to reply, when your phone suddenly buzzed loudly with a string of repeated messages.
Your boyfriend. Of course.
You frowned at the screen, irritation immediately settling in. Why did he always have to interrupt whenever something good was happening?
The noise seemed to startle Peter on the other end. You heard him let out a sharp exhale, followed by the scrape of a chair against the floor as he shifted around.
"It's your boyfriend," Peter mumbled, though it sounded more like he was reminding himself than telling you.
A small pause followed. "Right," he added quietly. "Of course."
Whatever tension had been building between you immediately disappeared, and Peter launched into a rambling explanation of what you should say during the presentation and what you should avoid.
It irritated you beyond comprehension.
You could hear it in his voice. He felt it too. For once in your life, you found yourself cursing the fact that Peter Parker was such a fucking pussy.
With your body already aroused and anger tightening your chest, you decide to give in to the sensation. As Peter rambles on about the project, you press breathlessly against your clit, a soft hum escaping your lips.
Your fingers explore slowly at first, then with growing confidence, tracing delicate circles that send sparks through your body. You press a little harder against your clit, the intensity building quickly, and a sharp, breathy noise slips past your lips as the pleasure intensifies.
You heard Peter pause at the noise.
"What are you..." He trailed off hesitantly, his voice suddenly quieter.
You huffed, already annoyed by how easily he backed down. "C'mon, Peter. Don't be such a pussy."
You hear him shuffle the phone closer to his ear, his breathing growing heavier, and the sound stirs your imagination even more. The thought of him crying, begging beneath you, makes you so fucking wet, fueling your desire as you press harder, losing yourself in the moment.
"Fuck," you pant, voice low and firm. "You're no idiot. Now, help me."
His voice sounds exasperated, tinged with fear, and you can almost see the bewildered expression on the other side of the line.
"You have a boyfriend."
You let out a low moan as you slip a finger inside yourself. "A boyfriend who wouldn't hesitate to shove your head in a fucking toilet."
Peter falls silent, and in the background, you hear the faint sound of a zipper.
For a moment, it's just your breath, heavy and ragged, until you slowly hear his noises fall over. You can tell he's biting down on his lips.
"Oh, come on, Peter," you whisper, voice dripping with challenge. "Won't you even talk to me?"
You hear him let out a small whine. "And say what?" he whimpers. "Fuck, I don't even know what to say."
You slip another finger inside, moving steadily and deliberately, determined not to let any sound stay unheard. From the other end, you catch him murmuring curses under his breath.
"Tell me what you thought when you saw my picture," you say.
Peter lets out a broken noise. "Your titties?" he moans aloud for the first time, and it utterly undoes you. You move your fingers faster, a cry escaping you.
Peter falls silent for a moment, slowly registering the effect his loud whine has on you, you can almost hear him processing it. If you weren't so caught up in the moment, you might've cussed him out.
He pants heavily. "I knew you were beautiful, but seeing that..."
He moans softly. "I got so fucking hard, I felt so dirty."
You let out a low growl, moving your thumb against your clit. "You're such a pathetic freak, Peter."
He lets out a broken chuckle. You hear him spit in his hands before returning to his cock, moaning again.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm a pathetic freak," he whispers.
Hearing him say it makes your hips buckle upward as you huff out a silent fuck.
Peter's moans grow louder, matching yours. "You like that?" He asks and it leads to you biting down on your hand to keep quiet.
Peter seems to sense it, letting out a soft cry. "No," he begs. "Please, let me hear you. Please."
You stay silent again, and Peter curses, voice trembling.
"Please, I'll do anything, just please," he begs, desperation thick in his tone.
"I'm being so good already, doing your work, touching myself, taking all your shit and whining like a damn idiot."
He breaks down, voice trembling with tears. "If my friends knew, they'd be so disappointed."
You hear a shaky sob pressed against the phone. "If your friends knew, they'd kill me."
A soft whimper follows, his breath hitching as he fights to hold it together.
You can't help it, the spit gathered on your hand loosens your jaw, and your moans spill out.
"Fuck." He croaks, voice rough. "That's it. Let me hear how much you like this."
Peter's voice cracks as he moans your name hesitantly, desperation bleeding through. "Can you tell me what you're doing, please?"
His breath hitches, a shaky whimper escaping before he falls silent, waiting for your answer.
You hesitate, debating whether to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he has you. But you're flushed against the bed, two fingers slick with your juices, and you realize the damage is already done.
"I'm—" you choke, slamming your fingers against yourself again. "Fingering myself, Peter."
"Mm, yeah?" he eggs you on.
"Yes," you croak. "Two fingers."
"Add another," he commands, voice suddenly sharp and confident, a stark contrast to his earlier begging. It makes you want to refuse.
He spits out your name, and you hear him pound his cock harder. "Lose the bitchy attitude. Add another fucking finger."
You immediately comply, sliding a third finger inside and hissing at the sharp sting. Peter lets out a bitter laugh.
"That hurt?" He clicks his tongue. "Your boyfriend must not be very big."
You don't respond, instead moaning softly at his words. This was a different Peter, one you'd been trying to coax out for years. And here he was, effortlessly undoing you in a way no one ever had.
His moans grow more desperate, trembling with need.
"If I was there..." His voice slows, thick with desire. "In you, fuck, you'd probably be crying all over my dick."
The thought makes you mewl softly, heart pounding, and Peter's whisper cuts through the silence, "Fuck, I knew you've been fucking thinking about it."
You snarl, trying to mask the ache, "Fuck off, Peter."
But then, his voice drops low, commanding, "Moan my name."
A sharp laugh bursts from you, a mix of defiance and longing. "Fuck no."
Then, almost cruelly, he hangs up.
Your head falls back, a soft whine escaping as frustration and humiliation wash over you. You wanted to be strong, to resist, but you weren't.
The shame stings through every nerve.
Unable to hold back, you call him again. He picks up on the first ring, silence hanging heavy between you, until you break it with a trembling, desperate moan of his name.
"Fuck, Peter."
Tears prick your eyes as you whisper, "You win, you win."
He lets out a whiny moan, thick with relief and longing, trembling with a mix of frustration and desire that seeps from every breath.
"I'd fuck into you so good," he whimpers, his voice trembling with a painful mix of longing and regret. "You'd probably scratch me all up, slap me, anything to make me cry."
A shiver runs through him, and he whispers, barely able to hold back the ache, "I know you like it. I'd give you that all the time if you just..."
His voice cracks as he growls out a low, sorrowful moan, filled with desperate need and sadness. "If you fucking asked."
His words make you let out a small gasp and a soft whimper, your fingers slowing as the weight of his confession leaves you breathless and undone.
You don't want to admit that his words stirred something deep inside you, reaching back to years ago when you longed to be the only one Peter ever looked at.
So instead, you let out a mocking sound. "I'll never fucking ask."
He lets out a small sigh, mingled with a silent moan, as if he had expected your answer all along. "It's okay," he says softly. "I'll give it to you anyway."
You let out a frustrated sound, three fingers just weren't enough anymore. Fuck pride, fuck it all.
"I need you. I need your cock, Peter."
He lets out a startled noise, as if he can hardly believe what he's hearing. "Really?"
You moan in response. "When you're talking to me like that, fingers just aren't enough."
You hear him spit onto his cock, the wet squelch clear through the phone. "Fuck, my cock needs you too. You're such a good girl," he says breathlessly.
Your breath hitches at his words.
"It's okay, baby, I know you're a good girl. I see it," he murmurs, moaning deeper. "Keep moving your hand with me. Let me cum, my sweet girl."
Tears start to well up, and you don't know why you're crying, whether it's from his sweet praise you feel you don't deserve, his quiet devotion to helping you come, or the overwhelming rush of pleasure.
You feel your orgasm building, moaning loudly as you grip the phone tighter. "Cum, Peter."
Even though you know he's only asking out of principle, it makes your heart race all the same, the thought of him asking politely for release while he's the one who has you sobbing.
You come, tears flooding your cheeks as your hand moves with you, your sobs mingling with the rush.
Peter cums shortly after, his voice choked with desperation. "So good... thank you, thank you... so good."
You both pant against the screens, a charged silence simmering between you as you sniffle softly once more.
You hear Peter shuffle immediately, the faint rustle of his movement betraying his nervousness as he says your name softly, like he's afraid to scare you off.
"Hey, hey," he murmurs gently, his voice trembling with concern. "You okay?"
You don't answer, biting your lip hard enough to taste the sting as another sob escapes you, shaking your body.
"No, you're okay," he insists firmly, voice soft but unwavering, as if trying to hold you steady from miles away.
You can almost see the crease of his frown deepening with worry. "You're okay."
"Did I make you cry?" His voice cracks, filled with raw fear and guilt.
You bark out a wet laugh, the sound broken but genuine, shaking your head. "You're such an idiot."
Peter exhales sharply, the quiet huff of frustration or helplessness filling the silence between you. He waits patiently as you sniffle, your breaths uneven as you try to compose yourself.
"Don't cry," he sighs deeply, his voice a soothing balm, full of unspoken promises. "Everything's okay."
You frown, vulnerability softening your features as you finally speak, voice barely above a whisper.
“You won't tell anyone?"
You hear Peter go still for a moment, the weight of your question hanging in the air.
"No, of course not," he answers with quiet certainty, the steadiness in his tone wrapping around you like a warm embrace.
You fall silent, heart pounding, and Peter lets out a deeper sigh, his breath heavy with affection and something tenderly fierce.
"You're so sweet and adorable, fuck."
You honestly think he might be crazy, just days ago, you were throwing slushies at him and calling him limp dick Peter.
He must read your mind, because a small, amused laugh escapes him, light and genuine. "I see through you so easily."
A soft yawn follows, his voice thick with exhaustion and contentment. "I'm just so happy to give you what you want."
You let the silence fully settle between you two, giving yourself time to digest not only his words, but what you'd done, and who you'd done it with.
You still hated Peter to your core. That hadn't changed. But the quiet aftermath, the steady sound of his breathing on the other end of the line, seemed to calm something inside you. The knot twisting in your stomach slowly began to loosen as you stayed there with him, listening to the silence.
Just Peter on the line, with you, and only you.
Maybe you should've, just like he said, done this earlier, asked to see him cry, to hear him cum, to be less nice to others than he was to you. The whole phone call had you convinced he'd comply with anything you asked.
You're about to open your mouth to say something you can't take back when a sudden alarm shatters the quiet.
It's a crime alert from the city, some tentacle guy wreaking havoc and blowing things up.
You hear it crackling through the other side of the line, and Peter stirs in the static, drawing in a sharp breath.
"I should go," he says hesitantly, almost regretfully, and the weight of it settles deep in your stomach.
You want to let out an ironic laugh. Peter Parker was the type to cum and run, you really didn't see that coming.
"Right," you say, the laugh hollow and devoid of any real humor.
Peter senses it instantly, his voice quick to defend.
"Fuck off, Penis Parker." You snap, then hang up without another word.
a/n: hi! I’ve had this one in my drafts for months so it’s been edited to hell for practice, I’d figure I’d debut it here, even tho it’s one of my less favorites. srry if anything looks weird im like rlly trying to figure out how to use tumbler…im an og ao3 writer. let me know any tips. tysm for reading lel