the long awaited and heavily requested part 2 to this request.
Peter knows he did something wrong, he knows he violated your trust in him, he knows how disappointed you’d be in him, how you requested he leave one thing alone and he couldn’t.
It’s not that he planned it, he didn’t actively wait until the opportunity arose to strike his attack, it just fell into his lap. You politely requested him to pick up some of your things on his way back to the frat house from class, Peter was the one that asked you to stay another night and in turn you needed clothes and schoolwork.
And he was more than happy to deliver, moving around your room quickly packing up clothes, even folding them for you. Stuffing your backpack with your laptop, charger, notebooks and the textbook you needed, he completed the task in record timing.
Peter hitched the strap over his shoulder before lowering it, muttering to himself walking back to your desk. “Notes, notes, notes, vocab notes…” He opened the catch all drawer in your desk, shuffling papers around, none of them the one you needed. It has to be on top, you were just using them, Peter grabbed a stack and quickly flipped through.
A successful grin took over his face when he found them, pulling the paper from the stack his movements faltered. Right behind was that creative writing paper, the one you refused to let him read, the one you said would make him sad and drew a hard boundary on.
It would be a total violation of your trust, but if it’s about him, and more importantly, about the two of you, doesn’t he have a right to know? It wasn’t fiction, you didn’t draw up a make believe story, you wrote about your feelings, and it kills him to know that they most likely weren’t good.
What if he just skimmed it, or is that just as bad and he’s justifying it?
He wishes he had a stronger willpower, but you make him weak.
Peter drops to sit on the edge of your bed, his eyes reading over the bright red ‘A’ and the prompt, it makes his stomach queasy.
‘Write about a time someone in the story has a lot of hard lessons to learn.’
Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, if he reads this he either has to tell you immediately or bring it to the grave. It’d be easier if he removes himself from the situation entirely and leaves, but he’s already reading the first paragraph.
It’s brutal. A blow by blow of your relationship, each moment you were broken by something he did or said that he had no idea of. Peter didn’t know he made you ache so much, how many times he’s sent you home to cry. How many times you wanted to share with him but held back, how many times you wanted to reach out and hold him but were terrified he’d push you away.
Terrified to tell him you were in love with him.
‘I think that’s been the hardest lesson to learn, it’s impossible to love someone who doesn’t allow themselves to believe in it. It’s made me curl inwards, to crave his touch, validation, care, love. To crave what he cannot and will not give.
But don’t tell him I’m sad again, it’s not what he’s made for.’
Peter feels sick, his stomach is in knots, his palms are clammy and fuck, is he crying?
A teardrop on the page tells him yes.
It is what he’s made for, he wants to know everything that makes you tick, everything that makes you sad, or the things that hurt you. He wants you to reach for him anytime you want, he wants you to share everything on your mind with him, he wants so much more than what you think he wants.
But it’s his fault you feel like that.
Peter’s broken your character, and you still fell in love. No matter what he’s done to you, you keep pushing through the bullshit. That’s why he loves you too, but fuck that’s just scary to think about, he doesn’t know how he could ever get the words out.
Wiping down his face and shaking his shoulders he puts the paper away. Sniffling as his phone rings, it’s lit up with your face, it brings a whole new wave of tears to blink back. Tilting his head to the ceiling he picks up, “hi, trouble. Missing me already?”
“I just woke back up, I thought you said you’d be back at nine.”
A sniff, “class ran late, I’m uh,” he clears his throat, moving around to grab your backpack. “Actually grabbing your stuff as we speak.”
“You’re so good to me,” a pang hits his chest, because he’s really not. “If you say so, need anything else before I leave?”
You hum over the line, you’re too kind, too patient, too forgiving. Why did he have to read the fucking prompt?
“Just you, handsome.”
Peter shuts the door behind him and feels heavy, all he wants to do is make you feel as loved as you make him feel.
“Want me to get you anything? Coffee, a redbull, or breakfast? I’ll splurge on anything you want, trouble.”
Your giggle makes him feel warm, “how about you come back for a cuddle and we can go out for lunch?”
It makes him feel better at being a shit human, so he agrees, and wonders if you had to hold back an ‘I love you,’ at the end of the call.
The second he gets home and opens his bedroom door you sit up from his pillow and open your arms wide, making grabby hands. “Kisses! I need kisses!” Peter carefully sets your bag down, biting back a smile, he slowly comes to your side and leans down to give you a chaste kiss.
You wrap your hands around his neck and pull him to you, “I said plural, Mr. Parker.” He gives you several pecks before telling you to scooch over with his hands and settling in next to you. You curl into him for a moment, he’s comfortable but you’re wide awake, and much rather see his face.
Sitting up, you hitch a leg over his waist and take mount, your hands resting on his chest.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
You look over his face and tilt your head, “how was class?” Peter blows a breath from his mouth, “boring and long, I kept thinking about a beautiful girl laid up in my bed.” All he can think about is how many times he’d made you frown, or cry, or hate yourself for liking him.
Your eyes narrow, a shy smile taking place, “why are you looking at me like that?”
Peter runs his hands up and down your thighs, he doesn’t know to say what he’s feeling, he doesn’t even know how he’s looking you in the eye right now.
“I just really like you,” his truth sends you curling in half, tucking against his chest. You drag out the ‘o’ in your words, “stop,” rubbing up and down your back he laughs, “it’s true. I really, really like you.”
You rub your nose into his chest, “what is up with you today? You’re acting weird.” You peek your head up and he gives you a faulty smile, “nothing, I was just thinking of you and how much I love talking to you and spending time with you.”
For whatever reason you feel an odd pull at your stomach, it wasn’t a good one. It sounds like he’s making up for something, you feel like you can’t trust him right now. You try moving backwards but he stops you, “don’t run from me, i’m doing feelings right now. You love when I do feelings.”
You shake your head, “you sound guilty for something.” Peter’s poker face stumbles, just for a second, but you see through him and know your gut feeling was right. “Oh god, what did you do? I swear to god if you fucked another girl in this-”
Peter sits up, causing you to slip down his lap. “No! Stop thinking everything with me is about sex! I like you, I spend time with you, I cuddle with you, I tell you about my day, I tell you about my problems, I’ve never once kicked you out after sex or told you that’s all I care about. I’ve given you more than I’ve ever given anyone else, I mean, I was made for this. I was made for us.”
His words, the last part, it all clicked and rang true. He was guilty, and he was making up for something, he read your story. You didn’t know what to do, or say, he read all your deepest thoughts, something that you held so close to your chest. The thing you made clear wasn’t for his eyes.
He wasn’t who you thought he was, he broke your trust, and for what? It’s not like he’s admitting anything new, he knows you love him and he’s avoiding that with a ten foot pole. The balance is uneven, he knows everything there is to know about you and you know nothing about him.
You shake your head slowly, disbelieving he’d read your secrets, especially after you told him not to. Tears pool in your eyes, blinking once and a tear falls down your cheek.
Peter’s hand reaches out, “hey, c’mon trouble, no reason to cry. I’m sorry if I didn’t… what’d you say?” You can barely get the word out, you feel like all the air has been knocked from your lungs.
“No.” It’s a whisper, it’s all you can get out, you can’t say anything else; you can’t even look at him.
“No?” Peter pulls at your waist, it’s like you’ve been brought back to life. You rip his hands away, scrambling backwards until you nearly fall off the bed. You feel sick when he has the audacity to look confused, while you’re staring at him in horror from the foot of the bed.
“Are you okay, trouble?”
You snap, “don’t!” You gasp for air, “don’t call me that.” Standing you back away from him, scared to turn your back in case he tries to block the door. Peter’s slow with his movements, raising his hands in surrender when he stands with you.
“Trouble, let me just-”
You take a step back when he takes a step forward, “don’t call me that, you don’t get to call me that anymore. You don’t get to call me anything anymore, Parker.”
Peter’s shoulders drop, “hey, c’mon, don’t be like that with me.” He takes a small step forward, your back hits the wall, you see your backpack on the ground and pick it up, holding it in front of you for a buffer if he dares come closer.
“Curiosity kills the cat.”
Your back slides against the wall until you find his door. You know, he knows, you know, at that moment. It’s all over his face, but you don’t want to hear it, you don’t want to hear him, you can’t believe you’ve got enough adrenaline to look him in the eye.
Opening the door behind your back you speak before he can try to get you to stay, your knees feel like they’re trembling.
“And this is dead. I hope it was worth it.”
The second you stepped through the doorway he called out, “trou- fuck,” then shouted your name when you stumbled down the steps, your heart raced when he followed you down, terrified he’d trap you in until you folded.
“Okay, you’re pissed, and that’s fair! But if we could just-” he pauses, pushing the front door shut from above your head, you pull at the handle but he had too much force keeping you in. “- talk about this, and, and, and, if you could see it from my side maybe-”
You can’t listen to him, you need to leave, you can’t breathe, you feel like a caged animal. He’s too close, too loud, he’s holding you hostage. You feel hot, a primal urge to scream and protect yourself running rampant.
You tug at the door so hard his hand jumps, when he pushes in further, and talks louder you lose all focus and control.
Spinning to look in his face, tears and all you scream, catching the attention of everyone on the first floor.
“You’re scaring me!”
You gasp, you can’t breathe, it feels like you’re fighting for air. Peter’s pushed away from you, you’re not sure by who yet, but they tuck you under their arm and open the door. It’s bright, and it makes you squeeze your eyes shut, but you’re able to get a gulp of air.
“C’mon, I’ll take you home. You’re okay, I got you.”
Ethan. Of course it’s Ethan. It’s comforting, you can’t take another step, you collapse in his hold and sob. No words are needed, he holds you and pets your back while you cry. When you felt like you couldn’t cry anymore you pulled away with a sniffle and apologized for ruining his shirt.
“It’s a stupid shirt, wanna go home now?”
You nod and sniffle every so often until you get to your room and send Ethan away with another hug and a promise you’d be okay.
The second you get inside you hightail it to your desk, fishing for the story to shred it. You wanted no reminder of it, you never wanted to see or read it again. You never wanted anyone else to see or read it again.
You felt numb the second it was over, the only thing on your mind was crawling into bed and never leaving again. The thought of seeing Peter on campus made you sick, maybe tomorrow you’ll look into a semester abroad.
You thought you cried it all out, but there’s a new wave and it’s more ferocious than the last.
—-------------
If your roommate set you up for this, you’ll kill her.
‘you doin anything today?’
‘nope, why?’
‘forgot to take my keys, hoping you’ll be around to open the door for meeee.’
‘i’ll be waiting.’
And you did just that, it had been three days since you last saw or spoke to Peter and it was slowly getting easier. But when you see something of his, or something he gave you it sends a spike through your heart.
The knocking on your door filled the empty air, it’s been hours of silence. You lug yourself up and open the door, not even bothering to look before spinning back for your bed and dive bombing.
“Welcome back. And, before you ask me, yes, I want to die. Glad to catch you up.” You answered every question she would have in one go, you wanted to wallow in silence. Nuzzling in deeper to the sheets, you waited for a response. She didn’t give one. She must know you need alone time, maybe she’d make herself scarce for the night.
You groan when your phone dings, “I swear to fucking god, Ally, if this is him again I will actually change my number. ‘But what if he’s super sorry!’” you mimicked her words from earlier, “don’t care! He should’ve thought about that before he…”
Who the fuck did you just let in.
Because, Ally just sent a text saying she was sleeping at her boyfriend’s.
You fly up from your sheets, a sheepish Peter Parker rubbing at the back of his neck waved at you.
“Oh, that’s sick. You are so sick, get the fuck out of my room.”
He looks like shit, his clothes are wrinkled, he’s got bags under his eyes, his hairs undone and greasy and he’s got a spreading bruise on his jawline. You have to swallow down your worry, it’s not your problem anymore.
“Trouble, can we please-”
“I told you not to call me that anymore.”
Peter sighs, he rubs at his eyes and looks tired. Clearing his throat, he starts again with your name, “can we please talk, please?” You shake your head and cross your arms, “no, I can’t trust you anymore. Everything you say could be a lie.”
“Stop. I did a shitty thing, I invaded your privacy and I fucked up. I know I did, I can eat that. I took every bit of trust you had in me, in us, and violated it. I know what I did and I knew how heartbroken you would be, and I own that. But you can’t act like this is who I am, or who I’ve always been.”
“Maybe not, or maybe it’s the person you are now.”
Peter shakes his head, “it’s not, you know it’s not. But, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” He shifted his weight against your dresser, “when you said I scared you.. I.. fuck, I don’t know. It killed me, like, drained me to nothing. I never, ever wanted to scare you.”
It makes you a little happy to know you made him feel just as bad, but that’s only because of his actions.
“You hurt your own feelings, Peter. I’m not sorry for shit, you terrified me and broke me in one go. You finally accomplished what you were scared of, you fucked this up.”
He feels hopeless, “so there’s nothing I can do to fix it, or save us?”
You shrug, “not really. You created a power imbalance, you know all my feelings about you, including the massive one you’re pretending doesn’t exist-”
Peter looks up, “what, that you love me? I’m not avoiding that, trouble, that’s all I’ve been thinking about, that’s why it’s so important I fix this.” He’d tell you he loves you too but he doesn’t want you to think it’s his easy way out, when he tells you, he wants you to believe it.
He shouldn’t have done it, and not that it matters, but you’ve been craving to know.
“Why did you read it?”
Peter sucks in a breath, “I didn’t plan on it, I came across it when I was looking for your vocab notes. And I knew I should’ve put it down but I read the prompt and remembered you told me I’d be hurt by it, and I couldn’t stop myself.”
You nod absentmindedly, “I’m not trying to excuse it, but recently it felt like you pulled away from me. And I wondered if it was something I was doing, and yeah, it was.”
Does he not understand anything? You pull at your blanket, “and you didn’t ask me? I would’ve been honest, not about the love part, but about feeling like you don’t want me around sometimes.”
“I know what I should’ve done, but it’s not what I did. And I have to own up to that.”
He hurt you. He hurt you and broke you in more ways than one and you don’t know how you can go back.
“It’s unfair, you know too much and I don’t know enough. It doesn’t work.”
Peter’s quick, “anything you want, I mean it. I’ll answer anything or do anything to keep you, keep us.”
There’s only one thing you can think of that could balance the scale, and he’d never go for it.
“I wanna meet your aunt.”
Peter shakes his head like he couldn’t hear you, “huh?” You nod your head, confident in your decision. If he wants it to go back to how it was, that’s what you needed in return. You needed him to take you home, meet his aunt and have you sleep in his childhood bedroom. He needed to make it clear, to the number one person in his life, how much you meant to him.
“I want to meet your aunt,” you paused between each word, making sure he knew exactly what you wanted, loud and clear. He chewed on his bottom lip, you tell he’s bouncing it around in his head.
“If you want to fix things, if you want everything to go back to normal, that’s what I want. I want you to take me home for a weekend to meet your aunt.”
Peter coughed, “a weekend, not a dinner or brunch?”
You grin, “we can do both of those things during a weekend visit.” Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded, “when do you want to do this?”
You play nonchalant, “oh, whenever. I’m free on the weekends, you have a frat to run and oh, I’m sure you have to tell May who I am first.”
“May knows who you are.”
Peter pushed away from your dresser and took a harsh inhale, “if you’re serious about this, we can go next weekend, I’ll call her and set it up.”
Too easy, you don’t trust it.
“Really, that easy, you’re agreeing just like that?”
“You set your price, and I’m paying. Unless there’s something cheaper.”
He has a whole lot to make up for, and that’s just the start. But that would speak a whole lot, it’s a giant step forward, one he couldn’t take back no matter what. If he lets you meet his aunt that means he might love you too.
You kiss your teeth, “I think a few days made you find out just how priceless I am.”
