Summary: You discover Peter’s secret identity after inviting him upstairs to tour your new apartment.
Content Warnings: Kissing, grinding/dry humping, mentions of a suit kink(?), use of "good girl," and implied sex.
Author's Note: Inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's song by the same name! Please let me know if you liked this and would like to see more! Comments, reblogs, or even asks are always appreciated. Hope you all enjoy <3
TASM!Peter Parker Masterlist
“Thank you for dinner, baby. I had a really great time.”
The corner of Peter’s mouth curves up into a smile, fully registering your words and gently squeezing your hand. “I’m glad. I know it was last minute, but after they closed the lab for cleaning, I figured I could seize the opportunity to see my girl.”
“Your girl?” You could see his smile widen in your periphery as you questioned his choice of words.
“My girl.” He repeats, dropping your hand and pulling you in by the waist until you are tucked into his side. “Definitely my girl.”
You lean into his side, “For a man who’s only taken me on four dates, you’re really staking your claim.”
“Well, you didn’t seem to mind being my girl after our last date,” he teases, craning his head down just enough to whisper in your ear, “My good girl, if I recall correctly.”
“Peter!” You scold, smacking his chest as the heat of memory creeps up your neck.
“It’s true!” He muses, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Plus, you call me baby. I think calling you my girl is fair game.”
A rebuttal rests on the tip of your tongue. If this were any other date with any other guy, you would’ve shot down the playful possessiveness. But this wasn’t any other date with any other guy; this was a date with Peter: your friend and the guy you’ve had a crush on since Betty introduced you to him at the Daily Bugle’s holiday party two years ago. Being his girl was a title you wanted, and if he was willingly bestowing it upon you, you saw no reason to argue against it. “I suppose it is.”
He hums in response, clearly satisfied with your answer. “I forgot to ask, have you been to the restaurant before?”
You shake your head as the two turn the corner onto your street, “I have not. I’ve been wanting to since I moved into the neighborhood, but hadn't had the chance until you suggested I choose the spot when you called.”
Peter nods and gives your waist a soft squeeze. “I’m glad we got to try it together. I also had a really great time.”
“Did you, now?”
“I’m with you, how could I not have a good time?”
“Sweet talker,” you playfully accuse, stepping forward once the red hand of the walking sign changes to the person walking.
“Sweet enough to come upstairs and see your new apartment?”
You raise your eyebrows at him, pleasantly surprised by his ask. “You helped me move in, Pete. You’ve seen my place.”
“But I haven’t seen the place since you furnished it,” he counters.
“I see…so you want the house tour?” You tease as you reach the entrance to your apartment building.
“I want whatever you’ll let me have, sweetheart.”
You brace against the brick wall, turning to face him, taking the time to admire the way he looks under the golden glow of the street lights. There was something so romantic about the way he looked standing in front of you in a half-zipped puffer jacket that exposed the white button up and tie he had on underneath, cheeks and nose a little red from the cold air nipping at his face, with his fluffy hair left unstyled in the perfectly messy way it always was. “And if all I want is for you to come inside?”
Peter grins at your question, stepping closer and resting his hands on your hips. “What are we waiting for then? Lead the way.”
—
“Take your shoes off, baby. House rules.” You tell him as you unlock the door to your apartment, step inside, and turn on the lights
Peter shuts the door behind him, kicking his shoes and neatly placing them in front of your shoe rack. He glances around the apartment, taking in the open layout of the space and shrugging off his coat. Your cozy little kitchen was the first thing you saw when you walked in. The dark brown cabinets and wooden countertops complemented the many magnets and photographs on your fridge nicely.
He hangs his coat next to yours and steps further into the apartment, eyes roaming over the pictures before landing on a photo strip of the two of you from when he was your plus one to a friend’s wedding a few months back. He glances over his shoulder at you, watching you unzip your boots, “You know, May took this from my apartment when I told her I finally asked you out to show her book club?”
“I know and I’m honored,” you half joke, putting your boots aside and joining him in the kitchen.
“You know?”
“May and I gossip, baby. She told me all about nabbing the picture and you refusing to tell her about our dates. And I gotta say she made a shaky but damning case about how she and her friends had been waiting too long for us to get together for you to hold out on them now.”
He raised his eyebrows, “Since when do you gossip with my aunt?”
“Since I called her a few months ago to ask if she wanted to come to the dinner party I threw to celebrate my promotion. It was supposed to be a quick call, but then we started talking about our days, and you and it just spiraled from there. Now we chit chat every other week.”
“So that’s why she stopped asking me about our dates,” he thinks aloud.
You shake your head and reach for his hand, tugging him out of the kitchen, past the small dining table, and into the living room. “Partly. She knows she won’t get anything out of me aside from telling her that the date went well and that you were the gentleman she and your uncle raised you to be.”
“And that’s all you say?” He asks, glancing around at the way you decorated your living room. Everything was so…you. From the sofa to the throw blanket hanging over the arm, to the pillows, to the books scattered across the coffee table, to the framed pieces of artwork mixed in with pictures. Your apartment felt so lived in, considering you moved in only a few weeks prior.
“I don’t kiss and tell, Parker."
“I know. I know you don’t,” he responds, taking a seat on the sofa. “I love what you’ve done with the place, by the way.”
“Do you?” The question rolls off your tongue with ease and affection.
He looks up at you, the smile on his face widening into a grin as you stand between his legs. “I do,” he affirms, stretching his palms out until they were firmly planted on your hips. “I really really do…definitely a view I can get used to seeing,” he continues, eyeing you up before tugging you into his lap.
Your hands press flat on his chest, pushing him back against the couch just enough for you to readjust your position and comfortably straddle him with your knees on either side of his hips. You lean back on his thighs and admire the dopey smile he was sporting. “If you’re lucky, I might even let you admire the view in the morning too.”
“Yeah?” He questions, tugging you closer and stifling a groan when your hip rolls over his. “And how lucky do I have to be to admire you in the afternoon?”
“My nights, my mornings, and now my afternoons? I’m beginning to think you have a thing for me, Parker.”
A familiar smirk graces his face at your teasing comment. “Am I that transparent?” He asks, sliding his hands down to the curve of your ass and kneading your flesh over the skirt of your dress that was riding up.
“Mhm,” you hum, craning your head down to kiss him.
The kiss, like all your kisses had been, started off slow with his lips moving gently against, letting you set the pace but allowing himself to be a little selfish in the way his hands roamed your body. He caresses your thighs, squeezing them as you start to rock against him.
Peter groans against your mouth, his hands jumping back to your hips to guide your movement, and taking the chance to try and deepen the kiss by running his tongue over your bottom lip.
“So eager,” you mumble, rocking harder against his growing bulge, grinning when he lets out a moan.
“Can you blame me?” He breathes out, hiking up the fabric of your dress a little further until it bunches at your hips. “Look extra pretty tonight.”
“So beautiful,” he whispers, kissing along the length of your neck and reveling in the low whimpers you were letting out as you grind against him. “Can’t believe I get you all to myself.”
His quiet praises never failed to make you flustered, and tonight was no exception. “Such a sweet mouth.”
“I can get a lot sweeter,” he jokes, nipping at your pulse point.
Your hands move off his chest and towards his neck, loosening his tie and then traveling back down to toy with the buttons of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”
“Who’s eager now?”
“Still you,” you quip, rolling your hips over the tent in his pants to prove your point as you start to unbutton his dress shirt.
His head rolls back with a shaky moan, “Sweetheart, cmon—“
“What the fuck!”
Peter’s head snaps up to look at you, a panicked look on his face as he tries to figure out what prompted the wide-eyed expression on your face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
You stammer over your words as you hesitantly touch his chest, “Y-your…are you…Is this real?”
He glances down at your hand tracing over the webbing of his spider suit and freezes. “Is this real? Are you Spider-Man?"
He opens his mouth to answer, but the words get caught in his throat. He knew he'd have to tell you at some point, especially if the budding romance between the two continued to bloom, and he was ready to do so at a later point when things were more official.
“Oh my god, please don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who dress as him and hustle tourists for money. Wait, is this a sex thing?”
“What?” He laughs, the question immediately making the anxiety weighing in his chest disperse.
You smack his chest, “Don’t laugh! I’m serious! I don’t mind a bit of roleplay, but a heads up would have been nice.”
“Not a sex thing,” he tries to assure, through stifled laughter. “It’s not, I promise. And I’m not one of those guys that walk around taking pictures with tourists in Times Square either.”
“So you’re the real deal? You’re actually Spider-Man?”
“I am.”
“Prove it.”
“Is the suit not enough?”
“You know how many guys probably have a spidey suit tucked away in their closet?”
He raises his eyebrow, “Do you know guys with a Spider-Man costume on hand?”
“Three excluding you.”
“Three?”
“Is it that surprising? Spider-Man has a ton of fans.”
“Yeah, but it’s mainly little kids that dress up as me. I’ve seen a few adults on Halloween and the ones in Times Square, but that’s it.”
“You still haven’t proved that you’re him. You could just be some guy in spandex.”
“I’m your guy in spandex,” he counters.
“But is my guy the real Spider-Man or just another fanboy?” You question, your fingertips gliding over the spider logo on the suit.
“So skeptical,” he teases as he unbuttons the cuff of his sleeve and reveals a wristband with a red device attached to it. “These are my webshooters. They have an optical sensor and when I move my fingers, it recognizes the gesture and shoots out the web.”
He aims his hand at your dining table, curling his middle and ring finger towards his palm until a loud thwip! echoes through your apartment, and a web shoots out and covers the wood.
“Woah!”
“They dissolve in about two hours.”
“Wow. I want to touch it,” you blurt out, starting to move off his lap, only for him to catch your waist and hold you in place.
“Don’t. It’s really sticky, and I don’t think either of us are interested in waiting two hours for you to get unstuck.”
You nod and sit back against his thighs. “I’m guessing this isn’t how you were planning on telling me.”
“Not at all. I completely forgot I had the suit under my clothes. Admittedly, I didn’t think the night would end like this. I thought I’d walk you home, maybe get a couple kisses before you send me on my way, but then we started flirting, and I made the comment about coming up, and then you said I could, having the suit on didn’t really cross my mind.”
He squeezes your waist and pinches the fabric of your dress between his fingers. “It’s really really hard to think about all of that when you’re on my lap and kissing me and grinding on me.”
“Too horny to think,” you conclude with a light laugh.
“Yeah,” he huffs out. “Is this a deal breaker for you?”
“Definitely not. I’m a little worried about your health and well being, but this doesn’t change how I feel about you. Or well it does, but not in a negative way.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your big brain and even bigger heart are two of the many reasons why I’m crazy about you, Pete. You being Spider-Man is just an enhancement of what I already knew; you’re a good man.”
He breathes out and drops his head to your shoulder, “Good. That’s good. This is good. I know you probably have a lot of other questions, and I’ll answer them.”
You hum in agreement and thread your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. “I do have a lot of questions, but I’d much rather finish the house tour before we get to that.”
“Finish?”
“Haven’t even seen the bedroom yet, baby. What kind of tour guide do you take me for?”
You could feel his lips curve into a smirk against your shoulder before he picks his head up to look at you. “I see. Wouldn’t want to leave things incomplete now, would we?”
“No, we would not.” You whisper, leaning in to give him a fleeting kiss and sliding off his lap. “If you’d follow me this way, I’d love to take you there. It’s my favorite room.”
He stands up and reaches for your hand, letting you lead him down the hallway. “Any reason why?”
“There’s a theory that it's a place where your dreams come true. You’re a man of science, do you want to test that theory?”
“What kind of scientist would I be if I said no?”
pairing: academic rival! peter parker x fem reader
word count: 12.4k
summary: an academic competition sends you into overdrive to beat your archnemises peter parker, not only for the sake of braaging rights but for the prize of a week long trip to mexico (away from him). but what happens when that prize is suddenly split into two, forcing you and him to be travel buddies?
warnings: SMUT! praise kink, pet names (bunny), oral sex, messy make-outs, dry humping, man-handling, slight hair pulling, forced proximity, jealously/ angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, reader has anxiety
The person that stared back at you in the mirror was a girl you could barely recognize.
She seemed almost empty, as if her insides had been scooped clean and scraped off the sides from the outer walls of thick flesh. It had been nearly thirty hours since you had slept. The bags under your eyes were as dark and as heavy as the night air outside your apartment.
A gentle breeze gusted through your opened window, the only thing keeping you sane as you lifted a hand to your face, as if your mind was unsure if you were real. The only two things that had kept you awake was the endless amount of caffeine, which now left a sacrine taste stuck to your teeth, and the drive to beat Peter Parker.
Wiping that smug smirk off your nemesis’s face when you beat him would make these past few months worth it, and then some. It was the chemistry department's annual “thesis” competition, something they loved to drag through the mud at NYU.
On top of the actual thesis one had to vomit out at the end of their two years of a masters, there was an additional competition the department hosted in the first year, courtesy of the schools seemingly endless funds towards the STEM students.
It wasn't a required entry, hence why only ten people in the whole program had signed up.
You being one of them.
Peter Parker being another.
It wasn't like you were only competitive and hard-working because of Peter. You would never give him that satisfaction, even if it was the case it was the truth.
No, you had always been this determined and hard working, even in simple high school chemistry labs. But the pool had certainly widened since high school, high achievers with much sharper teeth swam alongside you now.
You had to prove yourself more than ever before, but the reward of the Deans List and praise from your family and professors was worth the endless work and study-sheets.
You had actually worked hard to get to where you were now.
Unlike some people, where it came naturally. Or their parents had money, and could weasel their way into the Dean's mind like snakes, to cater to their golden child.
The mere thought of Peter Parker made your jaw clench so hard you worried teeth would crack.
No, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction, even though this was in your mind, and your mind alone- that you gave him even the slightest bit of time in your day. Or night, in this case. It was now 12:05.
Six minutes after the deadline for your secondary thesis, your countless months (years really, you always just used a near dying pen and a napkin to jot it down) of jumbled ideas, random thoughts and hypotheses spewed out onto a nice, neat document.
Organized, somehow, when your mind felt like it was moving a mile a minute, jumping from one thought to the next.
And somehow, he was in the mix. Of all the things you could think of, he was right up there with the worst of the worst.
You should be celebrating, it was done, and you were free. But all you felt was built churning in your gut, making you queasy.
Whether it was the lack of sleep, the limited and very poor diet and the endless stress and perfectionism, or if it was Parker on your mind- you didn't know. It would be funny if you told him the thought of him actually made you sick.
But that would tell him that you thought about him. And you couldn't have that.
You were winning. You had to stay winning.
You dragged yourself from the mirror, slamming the laptop shut before you let out a deep sigh. It was as if the weight had lifted, just a smidge from your shoulders, but there was still the pressure of nerves.
You had to win this. Winning this meant a free week at an all inclusive resort in Mexico, with a guest of your choosing. You needed a heavy handed pina coloita, and a beach with clear waters more than anything after this year.
If you lost that… if you lost that to Parker…
You shook your head, trying to rid the cobwebs of dread and anxiety that coated your mind. You were free, for now, at least. In a few days, you’d present your research. The next week, you’d have plane tickets to Mexico in your hand.
Tomorrow, you’d go to a cafe with your best friend Gwen, buy nine dollar iced vanilla lattes and check out a new antique store you’d been dying to explore.
It was going to be a good day.
And for now, you had to just focus on taking the days, one at a time. And not think about Peter Parker, and that charming, smug smirk.
🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧 🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧
The nerves had threatened to consume you alive a week ago.
They started to slither their way back to the surface as you tried to enjoy your much deserved break from school work.
It had been nearly seven days on the dot since you had presented your findings, Dr. Banner silently cheering you on from the back corner of the room, which was much needed, a contrast from the cool and collected looks of the committee staring at you as you presented.
You had worn black that day, knowing it would save you from the embarrassment of visible sweat stains, thank god. You had even traded your three espresso shots for a measly one and a half, knowing it would churn with the nerves in your stomach and possibly make you a jittery, vomiting mess in front of everyone.
All and all, it had gone as well as you thought it could go. Dr. Banner thought so at least. Not even the sight of Parker could break your stride as you left the little meeting room, his eyes being the first thing that met your gaze as you left.
He was the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes on.
And that pissed you off even more.
How’d it go bunny? He had asked, a twinkle in his eye as he took you in.
You refused to let yourself curl inwards as much as you wanted to, it was something you would not allow in his presence. Your eyes had rolled at the pet name he had refused to drop, despite your countless requests to drop it.
You were not a bunny. You were not his bunny.
“Excellent. Break a leg Parker.” You had snapped, brushing past him, the smell of his husky cologne choking you. He sucked the air out of every room and hallway he was in, not just because of his larger size, but because he was just that much of a cocky prick.
You almost guaranteed he had called every girl something sweet to get into their pants.
Over your dead body you’d ever be one of them, the rake.
He chuckled at your comment, knowing you meant it literally. You never filtered yourself around him.
“That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble someday bun.” he called as you walked away, turning the corner before you could let yourself react. He did not ruin the perfect, checking items off your list day.
And he wouldn't ruin it today.
In a week, you’d know if you had scored two tickets to Mexico, and the excitement mixed with anxiety made you want to stay curled up in bed, under twenty blankets. You squeezed your knees into your chest, attempting to take deep breaths, though they came out shaky.
You had to pull yourself together, rip it off like a bandaid. Tune everything else out, make everything into a list.
You pulled yourself out of your tangled position, reaching for a notebook you always kept handy at your bedside table, for exactly this reason.
All that could be heard was your shaky breaths, the loud hum of the wonky AC you begged your landlord to look at for the last month, and your pen scribbling on the page so hard you thought it would rip.
1. Put on an outfit
2. Fix my hair
3. Make my bed
4. Fill up water bottle
5. Check the stove is turned off
6. Subway
7. Find out if I did all that work for nothing (I don't care about the ‘experience’)
8. Start making my packing list with Gwen, or drink myself sick in sadness
🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧 🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧
You arrived with five minutes to spare, and you had cursed everyone in existence for your lateness.
You scrambled to try and fix your hair before stepping inside, but it was no use. The wind was picking up, despite spring being in full swing. If you had spent less time panicking, and picking your outfit, you honestly could've used the walk.
Maybe then you would've avoided the subway delay, and the hundreds of people that lacked spacial awareness to move out of the way, rather than standing around in congested herds.
Shaking the past from your mind, there was no use in dwelling on the what-ifs now, you carried yourself forward, headstrong and confident through the doors.
You would win this.
If you told yourself that enough times, maybe it would come true.
You blinked to adjust to the flickering buzz of the fluorescent lights as you stepped inside the older building, making your way up the stairs to the same conference room you had entered a week earlier. You followed the low mumbling voices, surprised there were only a handful of people hanging around the doorway.
Had the other students already gone inside? Or had they been eliminated already?
You rubbed your hands subtly on your skirt before fidgeting again with the rings on your fingers, before an older woman directed her attention to you. Her face lit up.
“Ah Miss. Y/L/N. Right on time. Come on in and we’ll get started.”
You swallowed, trying to plaster a smile on your face despite it most likely looking something like a grimace as you stepped past some people to make your way inside.
All that waited for you was empty chairs- almost, all empty.
Peter sat at the desk that faced the dozens of other chairs,his long legs brushing the chair you assumed was yours. You avoided his gaze as you sat, smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt before folding them neatly in your lap.
“Not even a hello? I’m hurt, bunny.”
“Not now Parker.” you bit out, not sparing him a glance as everyone sat in their seats.
“You’re late, you know. I was beginning to get worried.”
That was the straw that broke the camel's back.
“I was not late, and you are so self absorbed and lack the human decency to worry for anyone but yourself. I could be skinned alive in front of a live audience, and you would be at the concession stand.” you snarled, earning a chuckle out of him.
The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
“Are we set to begin Miss. Y/L/N?”
You felt heat rise across your body as you quickly averted your eyes, trying to fix a smile on your face. “Yes ma’am. I apologize."
“Good. So to begin, we all want to thank you both for your hard work, time and dedication with your work. Both of you should be proud of your hard work.”
You nodded, trying to seem engaged as she droned on about academic honours and such. You needed her to get on with it. Your attention started to wane, zoning in as soon as she grabbed her score sheets from last week.
“It was extremely tough to decide who to give this award to. Your scores were identical. Both of you are tied for first.”
You closed your eyes, clenching your fists and started to pray for a genie to come in, and give you three wishes.
This could not be happening.
“You both scored a 97. That is something you should each be extremely proud of. Therefore, you both are winners.”
Yes, yes she had said that already! Jesus fucking Christ woman…
“Does that mean we rock paper scissors to see who wins?” you asked, eyebrow raised as you shifted your gaze to look at Peter.
“I always throw a rock, but I’m sure I could mix it up this time with paper.”
“Well don't give away your tricks now.” he muttered under his breath.
He was calm and collected, as he always was.
Why the hell wasn't he concerned about this?
“As fun as that would be, we collectively agree it is not fair to give someone the pair of tickets, rather than the other. So, for the first time in the history of this competition, you will each be receiving one ticket.”
Your eyes widened. Oh. Fuck.
“Oh?” you sputtered, feeling Peters stare on the side of your face as you collected yourself.
Everyone was smiling. You felt like smacking your head off the table in front of you repeatedly, until you were unconscious and blood coated the walls.
“Congratulations you two! Start planning matching outfits. We will send all the details to your emails within the next few days.” Someone said, who you couldn't focus on, as your head was buzzing so loud it was as if mosquitoes had swarmed your ears.
You felt dizzy.
All this work, the effort and countless nights you had put into this project.
And you were to share the celebration with Peter fucking Parker.
Your arch nemesis.
The universe had played some sick, cruel, twisted joke on you, pointing down from above and laughing so hard the earth had begun to shake. Chair legs began to push against the tile, squeaking as a steady buzz of chatter hummed in the room, and yet you felt frozen in your seat.
“Matching outfits eh? What do you think, pineapple, or Hawaiian button- ups?” Peter's teasing voice broke you from your spell, making the room come back into focus, and then some.
It was too loud, too hot, too much.
And he made everything worse. He always made everything worse.
“I cannot believe this. I cannot believe you.” You pointed, shooting up from your seat- your eyes sharp enough to stab daggers into his chest. Steam might as well have been spewing from your ears.
He was hazed over in a paintbrush stroke of red, anger clouding your vision. He swallowed every single frame of vision you had, whenever he was in a room.
This time, it was no different. He threw his hands up in mock defense.
“Congrats to you too bunny. We’ll be in touch soon, I’m sure.” was all he said, and you couldve sworn a sliver of hurt was etched across his features, before it had adjusted itself back into the cool, calm and collected nature he displayed so well: with that taunting smile, those stupid fucking dimples appearing as he brushed past you, too close to be anything friendly.
You heard his name called by someone, another voice calling yours to talk more about where you had landed marks, and where the three had been taken off.
You didn't care anymore.
You just needed to call Gwen, and tell her about the nightmare that had just taken place, in real time.
🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧 🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧
It had been two weeks and you still could not get the last conversation with Peter out of your head.
You had gotten everything out of your system, when you were out at the bar with your friends, when you had started packing your bag while on the phone with your mom, and now in the car as Gwen drove you to your terminal.
“I wanted to go with you so bad Gweny.” you sighed, looking longingly out the window as the rain pattered down. There was no point lingering on the past now, you knew that. You had psychoanalyzed the whole situation to a tee, including Peter's reaction.
You don't know why that little flash of emotion had stuck with you so much.
Was it the fact you were the one who had cracked his facade? Or was it just suppressed joy that your harsh words had landed their blow as intended?
You hadn't seen him since that moment in the room, and it wasn't exactly like you wanted to seek him out. What were you going to do, apologise? You had meant what you said, and he needed to hear it.
You had to stand your ground, and you were going to continue to show him, and others- for that matter that you weren't one to be walked all over.
“I know babe, but its okay! WIth all the juicy drama deets I’ll get, it will make me feel like I’m right there with you.” she laughed as you rolled your eyes. “There won't be any updates because as soon as we land I am getting as far away from Parker as I can get.”
She sighed, watching the wipers move back and forth, the traffic pretty well at a standstill. “I’m sure it will be a fantaboluis love story for the ages. The one bed trope, enemies to lovers and all.”
“If that's the case I’m drowning myself in the ocean.” you snorted, popping a gummy-bear in your mouth.
Traveling made you nervous, which made you snacky, and somehow, hangry at the same time.
“You know, my dad has been thinking about another vacy soon. Would you want to come back to Mexico together?” she asked, reaching over to squeeze your hand, noticing you had begun to fidget.
Gwen's parents were quite wealthy, and something like a week long Mexico trip was pocket change to them. Still, it didn't make her offer any less meaningful.
“That would be awesome Gweny. I’d love to. I’m sorry again about this all not working out..” you sighed, admiring her freshly manicured fingernails.
They were sparkly and long, compared to yours, which were torn up and chewed from anxiety. You cursed yourself for not stopping your nervous tics, the skin around your nails all bloody and scratched. You picked at your skin, your nails, your lips.
And it was ten times worse this week, for obvious reasons.
Still, you had at least tried, painting them a bright, summery colour. You tried to stray from anything dull and flat for this trip, focusing more on bright colours and fun patterns. You had a whole compartment in your suitcase just for whimsical jewellery and hair pieces you couldn't wait to play around with.
You tried to hold onto that as Gwen found a spot to briefly park, close to the automatic doors that allowed the chill and crisp breeze inside.
“Dont you dare apologize! It’s going to be great. I promise. Pinky.”
She stuck out her pinky, and you couldn't help but let yours entangle in that security of oath.
“If you say so.” You sighed, sad to leave her side, as you stepped out of the car, pulling up your hood before you started to grab your bags from the trunk.
The warm smell of florals clouded your senses as she wrapped you in a warm embrace, not caring the rain was spilling down into her seat, her door slightly ajar.
“Be safe. And remember this is a vacation. It's supposed to be fun. Let yourself have that, babe.”
“I love you.” was all you could whisper, trying not to cry.
It was only a week. A week, seven days, you kept telling yourself.
You blamed it on the nerves, and the fact you hadn't traveled alone before. And the fact you got homesick. And because you were going to be on a four hour flight crammed next to Peter Parker.
“I love you too. Next time.” she smiled, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Send me pictures! Love youuu!!” she blew kisses as she got back into the driver's seat, speeding off into the rainfall, as you waved- knowing she’d spot you in her rearview.
You collected yourself, hastily scrambling to get inside before your shoes soaked from the inside out, when you bumped into something hard and solid.
A flannel you knew all too well was what you grabbed onto to steady yourself, looking up to see your walking nightmare staring back at you.
You quickly regained your composure, shrugging him off as you took off your coat, praying you didn't look like a drowned rat when he looked like… well, that.
The backwards baseball cap and watch that adorned his veiny arms really was doing something wonderful for him. You hated it.
“Well that was a very sappy, romantic goodbye. I almost shed a tear.”
“You had nothing better to do than to watch me say goodbye, like a pervert? Do you always just watch women do mundane things and make snarky comments about it?”
“Sometimes.” He shrugged, and you fought the urge to run his feet over with your suitcase wheels.
“You couldn't have been useful and I don't know, maybe checked in?”
“I wanted to wait for you.”
“Oh so this is a bonding exercise.”
“Would you like it to be? I can get really personal if you want me to, bunny.”
You turned away, heading towards the check in desk. Wanting to get this over and done with, because the nerves had started to claw their way back up, not hindering due to Peter's stupid banter.
“I can be anything you want me to be.”
“I want you to be quiet and check in your bag.” You snapped, turning and almost causing another crash between the two of you again.
He was getting under your skin already. You needed to calm down, and get a grip.
“Noted.” he nodded, grabbing your bag, rolling it over to get your luggage tags. There was nothing but silence between the two of you as you each scanned your passports, letting the machine whirl and print out passes, before silently putting them on your bags. He grabbed your suitcase before you could protest, heading off to the desk.
You huffed in annoyance, hating when others did things for you without asking. Did he not think you were capable of weighing your goddamn luggage?
A loud laugh echoed from his direction, the airline worker beaming from ear to ear at a joke he must have made. She looked love-whipped, and you pitied her. So many girls looked at him in the same way, like a newly fostered puppy.
What effect did he have on people, and why did it not work on you?
You shook the thought from your head, because if anything you should be thankful his charms didn't work on you. The last thing you needed was to be a fly in his spiderweb entrapment. He would eat you alive, if you let him get close enough.
After what felt like forever, he finally made his way back to you, a look of achievement on his face as the lady at the desk watched his every move, whispering to her coworker beside her.
“All good. Security?”
“Oh, you didn't want to eat her face off first?”
He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. You tried not to look at his biceps.
And failed.
“What makes you think that?”
“Maybe because she looks like she wants to eat yours?”
He laughed.
“What?” you said, annoyed beyond belief. This trip was going to be a lot more difficult than you thought it would be. And you hadn't even gone through security yet.
Oh brother.
“Are you… jealous?”
Your eyes widened, heart skipping a beat. Did you sound jealous? Oh god. This was bad.
“No! Of course not. I’m pissed off you took your sweet time.”
“Our flight isn't for another two hours. Are you seriously worried about being late to sit in chairs and people watch?”
“Yes.” you grumbled, adjusting your carry on bag on your shoulder, fidgeting with the strap anxiously. He didn't know of your travel anxiety, or more so your overall general anxiety, not that you expected him to or planned to inform him of such info.
Everything tended to make you a little anxious, but crowds, airports and overall travelling made you super anxious. It was the last place anyone wanted to be at, of course- and the nervous energy that hung in the air like a thick cloud made you feel queasy.
What if something happened, where you were late to the flight? What if you had troubles at security and they thought you had a bomb and pulled you aside for a five hour long interrogation? What if the flight was delayed? What if you were sick…
“Hey? Helloooo bunny?” Peter waved a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your dazed trance.
”I was just kidding bunny. I’m sorry I took longer than expected. She had a lot of... personal questions.”
“Of course she did. Lets just get this over with.” you mumbled, trying to ignore the fact he had actually apoglized to you. That had to be a first, possibly ever, for him to do to anyone.
Once the hard part was over (no secret bombs on you, as expected), you followed your airport routine checklist to keep you grounded as you waited for the flight.
1. Find your gate
2. Grab a much needed caffeinated beverage (why was the flight so god damn early?!)
3. Grab snacks for plane
4. Fill up your water and use the bathroom as many times as needed once it was scouted out
5. Wait at your gate
As the minutes grew closer to boarding time, you began to get more anxious, and it had gotten to the point Peter had for sure noticed it. Your very visible leg bouncing and constant surveillance of the gate was noticeable to anyone who had eyes, really.
“You okay?” he finally asked, breaking the silence between you two. You nodded, barely registering what he said. You just wanted this over with. To be in sweet and sunny Mexico, away from the large crowds, the loud noise, the constant movement and rush.
“You sure? Because you look like you're two seconds away from becoming Twitchy the squirrel. Was that second coffee needed?”
“I’m going to punch you.”
“Oh so she speaks. Finally.”
You sighed. “I just… really hate airports okay? Sorry.”
You turned to meet his gaze, and you could've sworn something like sympathy was reflected back at you.
“What about them do you not like, if you don't mind me asking?”
“Everything.”
He nodded. “Makes sense.”
And that was that.
When it was finally time for you to board, you practically leapt out of your seat, headphones nearly sliding off your head from the force. You felt yourself shut down again as you both made your way onto the jet bridge, but you knew it was the exhaustion heavy in your bones from the constant stress.
You prayed you would be able to get a wink of sleep on the plane, but that would be unlikely. It was only once you were both seated, the plane starting to make its way down the runway you felt yourself trying to speak again.
Your tongue felt thick, your mouth filled with invisible, weighted sand. You needed a distraction during this takeoff, or else you would have an anxiety attack in the bathroom, no matter how many flight attendants yelled at you to take your seat.
You needed Peter Parker to say something.
Anything. And thats how you knew you were completely and utterly fucked.
“I think we may be lucky this time if the plane crashes.” he muttered, making you tense up even more.
Okay, maybe you didnt need him to speak anymore.
“What on earth could you possibly mean?” you gritted out between clenched teeth, your hands wrung in your lap.
“I mean we definitely have a doctor on board. I think I also saw a guy from the military. And I know the girl we passed two aisles ahead is a therapist.”
“How on gods green earth do you know that?” Your legs began to bounce as you felt yourself starting to leave the ground, tilted up on an angle.
“I saw her reading some fancy book. And she has the glasses they all wear.”
“And we’re talking about this because…?”
“Its good to be prepared. Or its just a game you can play.”
You sighed, your hand instinctively reaching for Peters as you started to soar, pinching your eyes shut.
His hand was warm and soft, enveloping yours with a gentle squeeze on reassurance.
“Do you think the therapist could help me with you?” you asked, not fully grasping the situation at play. The fact you were holding onto Peter's hand for dear life, and the fact he was letting you squeeze his hands so hard his bones were sure to ache afterwards.
“I think you’ll be needing my assistance if we end up stranded on an island.”
“To attract bait?”
“Exactly.” he smiled, looking down to where your hands were intertwined.
You quickly adjusted yourself, flustered as you settled back into your seat, in hands and arms in your own arm rests.
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. Just shrugged.
“I’ll keep my hands to myself now.” you quickly looked away, smoothing the wrinkles in your sweatpants as you stumbled over a one sided conversation.
This was weird. You were making this weird.
“You don't have to.” he murmured, before slipping on his headphones and shutting his eyes as he leaned back in his seat.
Conversation done. Ended.
So why in the hell were you slightly upset at that, when all you wanted for him was to shut up?
It was nerves. It was just nerves, and this flying day was making you antsy.
Of course you wanted the distraction to continue. But instead of making another scene, you tried to do the same- by shutting your eyes and trying to make yourself comfortable (never going to happen).
You gave up and started making a list of things for when you landed.
1. Grab carry on
2. Unboard the plane
3. Grab luggage from correct area
4. Find your driver
5. Triple check th-
“Wake me when they come by with snacks please n thank you bunny.” a featherlight whisper tickled the hairs on your neck as he adjusted himself back in his seat, hands folded in his lap as he drifted off.
Leaving you alone with endless depths of worry that pooled in your mind.
🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧 🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧
You couldn't fully let the tension out of your shoulders until you were within the safe confines of your room at the resort, your bags dropped and your shoes kicked off.
The tile was cool against them, the air conditioning humming steadily in the background.
It was a beautiful resort.
Nothing within your tax bracket, to say the least. Though everything seemed to be as a broke university student.
Everything had been smooth from exiting the plane, your bags were a) boarded on the correct plane, and b) were not lost or damaged (though it always too forever for them to emerge from the plane, which made you think the worst of the worst happened).
Peter had continued his endless jests on the drive over, and they refused to cease until you had practically shut the door in his face. Not even the warm towel and complementary drink when you arrived shut him up (though why were there warm towels in Mexico)?
But now you were here, you were alive in one piece.
You had survived the travel day, and once your suitcase was unpacked, because of course- you couldn't possibly think of resting until that was done and you had changed out of your dirty outside clothes, you could plop down on that comfy looking bed and doze… wait.
An anomaly broke you from your peaceful moment, as you observed a door.
A door that led directly to Peter's room.
Oh fuck.
You quickly ran over to it, locking it firmly. Not that you thought he would barge in unannounced, but Jesus you felt better with it secured.
Of course it was like this, because why would it not be? You were a shared party, so it made sense there would be a shared door. Still…
You sighed, closing your eyes as you leaned against the wood, trying to ground yourself. You were just overly tired and emotional from the long day, you couldn't let these little, insignificant things get to you.
Plus, it could be a benefit if there was an intruder. You could just lead them right to his room instead.
For now, you had to focus on what you could control, aka oragnizing.
You got to work, letting your mind carry you away before you heard three quick raps on your door. Your other, door.
You frowned, quickly unlocking your shared door, wondering why the hell he was choosing to abuse this method of annoying you.
It was truly cruel. You werent even this low.
“What?!”
“Dinner time.” was all he said, inviting himself in.
“Uhm,come on in?”
He beamed from ear to ear, that little dimple appearing like an old friend, always showing when he knew he truly got under your skin.
“Damn you’ve unpacked?”
“You havent?”
He shrugged, spinning around to get a glimpse of your room. “The same as yours, I imagine.” you grumbled, stomping off to the bathroom, for no reason other to get rid of him.
“No one really unpacks on vacation bunny. Anyone who told you that was a liar.”
“I like my things the way I like my things.” was all you said as you grabbed your makeup bag, trying to fix your mascara.
“You sure do like your things…” he muttered, making you scoff.
Now it was two in the mirrors reflection, and you wanted to turn around and stab him with the wand. “Why are you here Peter? I’m busy.”
“Telling you it’s dinner time and we should go.” he said, leaning against the doorframe like some kind of book boyfriend. All tall and broading, swallowing the frame as he crossed his arms, biceps bulging against his crisp white button down.
He needed to get a grip.
“Okay first off there is no universally set dinner time. I know people who eat at 9 o’clock, thank you very much.”
He just raised an eyebrow. “And secondly, why do you not get the hint?”
“Am I not allowed to watch you do a simple task?”
“No.”
He scoffed. “You wound me.”
“Good. I’ll stab this mascara wand in your eye.”
“That is surprisingly very arousing.” he commented, making you whip around in disbelief.
“I suppose anything you do is though. Even when violent.”
“Peter.”
“Fiesty.”
“Get. Out. Please.” you gritted between clenched teeth. You had to fix your hair and get dressed before you could make an appearance at dinner, and if he argued about staying for that, they’d find a body and a note.
He thew his hands up in mock surrender as he moved away from the doorframe, disappearing from your view. It was only when you heard a door open and shut you could feel your chest sag, the air whooshing out of your lungs.
You fixed yourself, slipping on a dress Gwen picked out for you. Gwen.
You quickly shot her another text, telling her every last detail that occurred over the last five minutes. Tossing your phone on your bed, you gathered your wits about you before you opened the door- your door, to yet again be met with Peter's broad chest, which you almost ran directly into.
“Shall we go?” was all he asked. You couldn't even get a response out, shocked at the mere audacity. To be fair, his headstrong attitude was quite attractive, even if it was just to piss you off.
But you tried to not mix the words “Peter Parker” and “attractive” together, even though you repeatedly failed. It was like Pavlov's dog with the bell. How could you not slightly salivate when he looked like that?
But it was his damn attitude.
And you hated him, you reminded yourself as you trailed slightly in front of him, letting your hips dramatically sway as you made your way to the main buffet.
“I got us a reservation at one of the nicer sports here.” he said, his words guiding you in the opposite direction of the original plan.
“What if I said no, I’m not going to dinner with you?”
“Well you did say that. And now here we are. I can be persuasive.”
“You can be a real pain in the ass.” you snapped, falling back to meet his long strides, as he was now the one in charge.
Clearly.
He gave you no more details, so you had no choice but to follow him. It was nice honestly to not have to plan for once. But it still made you uneasy.
“I think you like me, sometimes.” he shrugged, a smirk growing on his face at your clear annoyance and disbelief at his audacity.
“I can tolerate you.”
“I can handle tolerate.” He guided you with a warm, calloused palm on the lower of your back, into a dimly lit restaurant, tables flickering with candles, illuminating the dozens of roses scattered among the premises.
It was beautiful. Far out of your wallets reach.
A glass of wine was poured into your glass as you sat down, curtsy of the house. Whatever that meant.
You basked in the silence, the murmured chatter of the tables around you, filled with couples. You felt like a sore thumb. But the way Peter was currently looking at you, made you feel as if you fit right in.
He looked at you like you were his.
And you liked it. You hated that you liked it.
“Why so fancy?”
He shrugged. “It was the best I could give you.”
An eyebrow perched to your forehead at his statement. “You do not like me.”
“I never once said, or implied that bunny.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes-”
“Are we seriously going to bicker back and forth like children on vacation?” he asked, amused with a tinge of annoyance laced in.
“Yes.”
“Jesus I need a drink.” he laughed, raising his glass to yours.
A truce. “Amen to that.”
⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･
Peter was a sensible man.
At least he thought he was.
He tried to be smart, but with you, he seemed to turn stupid.
You made him excited and eager to engage in whatever it was you two were playing. He yearned to figure you out, you were a puzzle stuck in his mind, one he wanted to unwind like a rubrics cube.
How he could find someone so attractive was beyond him.
He hadn't met anyone before, who had made him this stupid.
This need for attention, only from one person. And now, that need to figure you out had changed course to figure out how to get you back to your room without you vomiting everywhere.
Dinner had been fun. He never figured that would be possible with your instant bickering, but the two of you had settled on something of a truce.
He had suggested dropping any hard feelings, just for the week. Friends, or something of the sort. Not that he had any hard feelings to begin with, and not that he wanted to be friends. The word almost pained him to say.
But it was better than the annoyed glances you spared him, mixed with hints of attraction.
He had to embrace those longing gazes you gave him when you thought he didn't notice, because confronting that without a hint of sarcasm in his voice would likely scare you away.
“Am I scaring you?” you had asked, somehow concerned with his well being as you stumbled back to your room, gripping his arm like it was a teetering life-ring thrown at sea.
He smiled gently, unable to control it around you. “You could never scare me, bunny.”
He didn't know why the nickname had stuck, but it had. You claimed to hate it. But those concerns weren't vocalized now, and hadn't been in a while.
Peter remembered the exact moment he had assigned it to you, the first day you walked into lab, dressed in frilly pinks and whites. Your nose had scrunched at something your friend had said as you two sat down, and it had reminded him of a little baby bunny.
It was adorable. He wasn't sure if you had picked up on the habit, but he refused to spoil it, for fear you'd stop. That, and the constant nail strumming across any hard surface, before you wrung them in your lap, fidgeting with whatever clothing hugged your pretty curves that day.
The way you gripped his arm this time, a painful, nails clawing into skin in warning grip broke him from his trance as he led you closer to the rooms, eager for you to lean on him instead of the walls for support.
“Did we overdo it bunny?”
“No, no I just feel dizzy. And I really, really fucking want Goldfish.” you admitted, fumbling for the room key in your little bag.
He always wondered why women's clothing never had decent, or any pockets, for that matter. It drove him mad, at the mere thought of such inconvenience.
As mentioned, he was a sensible, practical man. You were the smartest person he knew. Maybe you knew the answer.
“Because designers hate women and the whole world hates women.”
“I don't hate women”. he shrugged as you finally pushed your door open, with much more body force then required, stumbling into your air conditioned room, yet the chill did nothing to soothe the pink tinge in his cheeks when he was around you for too long.
“I know you don't. You try to get into their pants and get more benefits on flight packages.” you mumbled into the sheets as you face planted into the bed, causing him to bark out a laugh.
“You’re cute.”
You mumbled something else, too muffled by the sheats to be heard by him. He wanted to help you get comfortable, knowing that it would especially help with any anxiety you'd have, whether it be about organizing, getting an alarm scheduled, even though you were on vacation he was sure that aspect didn't matter…
“Are you going to be okay, bunny?” he asked softly, coming over to the bed to rest a hand on your back.
Your skin was soft and smooth, smelling of vanilla and citrus.
He wanted to bask in it.
“Yes, yes promise. Pinky.” You weakly held up your hand, extending a pinky in offering. He quickly accepted it, wanting nothing more than to touch you, even if it was brief contact.
The promise hummed true in his chest, warming his insides as he slipped from your room, unable to stop looking over his shoulder as he made his way back to the hallway- determined and on a mission.
You were mumbling more nonsense, the sound drowning out in the background as he made his way quickly down the hall, in order to find the nearest convenience store, or something of that establishment within the resort.
He needed to grab you Goldfish, and a nice little drink, like a Gatorade . That always made him feel just a wee bit better when he had thrown back too many beers back in his day (when he actually used to be a serious partier, now he just smoked weed and drank wine with beautiful women aka you).
Even if it was just a placebo effect, he hoped it’d do the same to you when you’d find yourself batting in and out of consciousness, blindly grabbing the nightstand and willing to drink plant water you'd be so parched.
After a few more minutes of looking, he managed to navigate his way around to pick you up everything you needed. He was almost positive you had packed your entire apartment, you were so organized and prepared and he admired that about you.
You were just so smart. It drove him wild.
Jesus Parker okay keep it in your pants until you're back in your room.
With quick haste, he managed to sneak back into your room, through the shared door that was unexpected, but welcomed.
You looked like you had fallen asleep, by the steady sound of your even breaths, and the way your lashes had fluttered against your cheeks. But as he neared, it started to stir.
As if you were excited to see him. Or maybe you just hated him that much.
But if she hated you so much, why does she look at you like that sometimes? Why is she letting you comfort her, when she cannot stand to be aided?
The thought made him smile to himself, and he placed a gentle, soothing touch to your lower back again, just to make himself known.
“I’m not sure if you're awake or not my love.” he murmured softly, knowing damn well you were. “But I brought you some treats, including some Goldfish.”
He placed down your snacks, drink and various over the counter meds that helped him when he was under the weather. Additionally, he placed a chilled washcloth down, one he had brought from his room.
He felt guilty going around your room when you weren't fully awake and alert. It didn't feel right to him, even if it meant only grabbing a mere washcloth.
“I hope you feel better and we can continue this truce tomorrow.” he smiled, placing a kiss to his fingertips before letting them brush the exposed skin of your back, your dress cut and tailored perfectly to reveal your beautiful skin, teasing him for a taste.
Before he could let his mind wander any longer, he wished you goodnight, shutting the door behind him. Letting his hand linger on the knob, he sighed.
Cursed himself.
And after he had stripped naked, pumping himself dry in the shower to the thought of you- the way you laughed when you thought he wasn't around, the little smile you did when you thought he wasn't looking, the way your heartbeat fluttered around him when he was close enough… the little sounds he was sure you’d make, the way you’d look under him…
And he had finished the night by cranking the handle to ice cold, forcing himself to sit in misery until his mind could settle enough for some semblance of sleep.
⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･
My love.
He had called you my love. His love.
It had made your heart kick into overdrive.
It was a silly reaction to something so simple but fuck.
You were fucked.
You were not as drunk, and or hungover as you thought you would be. Your heart nearly melted when you broke from your spell of unconsciousness, noting all the little things he had left you. Including goldfish.
The little bugger was sneaking his way into your heart more than your logical mind could combat it. Maybe it was the lack of academic drive that had you place your guard down, to make this little truce with him.
Maybe it was because you felt you were on equal ground, in the here and now. Maybe it was because you secretly wanted to be truce-like with him, and there were feelings that were hidden that were now being shifted and thrown around like a tsunami when you had somehow managed the storm thus far.
It was terrifying, the way you had let yourself cave in so easily.
Was he that bad?
Yes, yes inner monologue, he was.
And even though a truce had been put in place, thankfully before you had finished that first glass of wine, you still had to be at least semi-cautious.
It was vacation afterall, so you figured it couldn't be the end of the world if things went to shit. You could just leave it all here, and never speak of it again.
But what if it was more? What if you wanted more?
You quickly snatched your phone, texting Gwen a much needed update before you managed to drag yourself out from under the sheets you did not remember putting yourself in, barrelling towards the washroom for a much needed shower, to wash away the icky wine feeling that gave a slight weight in your temples.
The hallway was quiet when you emerged from your room, nothing but the chirp of birds and the breeze swaying the palm tree leaves.
It was beautiful.
The realization that you had made it, you were really here hit you as you made your way down to breakfast, watching the sun rise fully, the sky tinged slightly with pinks and oranges before it gave away to a light blue.
You had made it, and you were free from work.
This was a reward, and a relief.
You had to appreciate the little things, and let yourself indulge just a bit this week. You finally had time to read all the fun fantasy books you had been stockpiling for school to be briefly over, which you could read by the pool and bathe in the sun.
There was nothing you had to do today. And that slightly scared you, but the feeling of relief was that much stronger.
1. Eat breakfast
2. Change into my bathing suit
3. See if Peter wants to hang out
4. Read my book by the pool
5. Possibly ingest a fruity cocktail…
Peter didn't join you for breakfast, the dining hall was rather empty as it was rather early considering everyone was here on vacation. But you enjoyed your food anyways, happy for the peaceful quiet, to get your thoughts in order as you nibbled on some fresh cut fruit.
And yet as you continued to eat, you wondered if it would have been nicer to have some company from someone.
Maybe even Peter himself.
🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧 🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧
A day or so later, you made the bold decision to knock on Peter's door, and invite him for breakfast. Part of you wished you hadn't, because whenever you were around him, your body seemed to betray you.
You were in tune with it now.
You refused to ignore it any longer, as much as the deceptive part of your brain tried to tell you otherwise. Your breathing quickened, your heart rate sped up, your skin grew hot, not just from the warming sun. It was vulnerable, and you didn't like it one bit.
You prayed he didn't notice your longing glances when he wasn't looking, conversing with another, or merely distracted.
You wanted to study him, his mannerisms, the outlines of his muscles, the defining ridges of his cheekbones…
“Bunny? Your move.” his gentle voice broke you from your trance,leaving you blinking at him stupidly.
Fool. You were a damn fool of a Took.
Over the last two hours, he had tried to teach you the rules of chess. It wasn't something you always wanted to learn, and now that you had all the time in the world (and a master of chess to teach you), why not learn?
Because you can't even focus on the fucking rules, you just focus on his face which makes you look like a love stricken idiot.
You cleared your throat, fingers hovering over your side of the board as you tried to remember what each piece did.
“This is hopeless.” you sighed, placing your head in your hands. His laughter made your heart sing, a steady melody against the ocean lapping at the sand of the private beach.
He had managed to score you two a cabana, and how- you didn't know. All you knew was it was a perfect place to learn chess. And you were failing, miserably.
“It's okay bunny, it takes time. I didn't understand this for days.”
“It's been days!”
“It's been two hours.”
You sighed. “I should've stuck with my books. They're much nicer than this.”
“You can get back to your fictional boyfriends soon, I promise. I’ll even buy you an iced latte if you win.” his eyes sparkled with amusement, knowing that was one of your weaknesses.
“With-”
“With vanilla and oat milk. Promise.”
“Pinky? That's law.”
“Pinky.” he wove his pinky with yours, letting his hand fall and caressing your bare thigh gently.
“Remeber the knight is in a L-shape.” he noted, pointing to the piece you were caught hovering over. It was at least another hour of this, wanting to make a move, then pandering the million moves you could do, and what he’d do, and what moves even existed for each piece.
He had let you win, smiling as you cheered, hands thrown up in the air in celebration, a cheer loud enough to have the neighbouring cabana peer their head out in alarm.
He hadn't left your side as you read your book (minus grabbing your iced beverage), asking questions about the plot, the characters, what books you liked and wanted to read.
And on top of that, it seemed like he was genuinely interested.
It was becoming harder and harder to hate him. And you hated yourself for it. But it was near impossible to do so when his woodsy cologne engulfed your senses, his touch so soft and gentle, yet filled with teasing and determination as he’d draw shapes with his fingers on your thighs.
His presence was comforting, when once it made you annoyed. But you had never truly given him a chance, and all you had to blame was yourself, and your anxious, closed off tendencies.
🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧 🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧
You had no idea why you had waited here, now, unlike so many other nights.
You believed yourself that you couldn't stand the thought of him, and yet- he had consumed every thought you had this vacation.
You couldn't deny yourself any longer.
The lingering glances you felt on your skin, that caressed your skin like a gentle breeze, despite one being present. The way the air seemed to suck out of your lungs when he passed by you, a gentle hand on your back as he passed by, even if it was to talk to another woman.
Christ you couldn't even think about that.
You had avoided the shared door between your room and his because you feared of hearing another woman in his room would make what you had been trying to hide from yourself come to light.
That you did get jealous. You were jealous at the airport, when the worker had eyed him up like fresh meat. When countless number of girls sunbathing had slipped their sunglasses down to catch a better look, or those who attempted to make small talk with him at the swim up bar, which he happily engaged in.
You didn't want to know if he had found women to warm his bed, even though you had zero claim over him.
And you hated that. You hated the fact you cared. You also hated the fact you had no claim over him.
You let the shoes that dangled in your hand clatter to the floor as you ran a hand over your face, letting yourself feel.
For once in your life, you were going to feel this, to let it swallow you whole and spit you out in its tidal wave. You were not going to shame yourself for how he made you feel, even though you hid it with annoyance and snarky comments
He could see right through you.
You knew he could.
He made you feel cared for and heard, even if you tried to change the topic or shut him down. He made you feel funny, and beautiful, and smart…
He made you feel wanted.
And that was why you wanted him.
Not only because you had two glasses of wine at dinner, and that he was extremely attractive. It was because you had buried this for so long, it had gone through all five stages of grief within the span of this trip.
You didn't want it to end without you and him knowing how you truly felt.
Maybe it was the gentle breeze that pushed you forward through the opened windows, or the hum of excitement in your chest that made you want to surge yourself on, you didn't know. You just knew you needed to see him, now.
You wanted to take up on his offer, no matter how much teasing had been in his tone when he suggested you come over through the door to visit whenever you wanted.
And you were going to let yourself have this.
You were tired of fighting it any longer, and you didn't know if you were thinking rationally. If you wanted it to stay in Mexico, it could.
But you didn't think you wanted it to.
Which is what drove you to rapt your knuckles three times on the wood, the sharp inhale you took so quick it made stars appear in your vision.
A muffled, “come in” allowed you to slowly turn the handle, easing yourself through the crack to peer into his room. It mirrored yours, but his sheets were ruffled, his body now turned towards you- but you saw the book tossed half hazrdly on the bed.
His glasses slid down his nose slightly, he adjusted them, a small smile on his face as he took you in, still in your little dress from dinner.
“I’m sorry, were you reading?”
He nodded. “Come in bunny. I told you to come whenever, did I not?”
“Even when its reading time before bed, grandpa?” you giggled, making him roll his eyes, the veins in his arms gleaming in the soft bedside light as he crossed his arms.
You felt your breath hitch, your heartbeat start to kick up and hum like a war horse whenever you allowed yourself to enjoy him for too long. When you started to really feel the effect he had on you, individually- rather than just that overarching effect of fuzziness.
“You wound me.”
You slipped inside, shutting the door behind you as you plopped beside him in bed, falling back into the sheets with a huff.
”You look beautiful, bunny.”
You felt your skin heat, tingles erupting over you as your nipples tightened, thighs clamming together as his molten hot gaze swept over you, taking his sweet time.
He feasted with his eyes, voice low and throaty as if he had just woken from a dream. As if he were truly admiring you.
You realized then how crazy you looked, hair messy, makeup old and probably slightly smudged, your dress hugging you tightly, but probably revealing more skin then intended from the angle he was at as he looked down on you.
You bit your cheeks, eyes quickly moving away from his, before it became too much.
“Thank you. I figured you’d be out longer, with everyone else around the fires.”
He shrugged. “I like my down time. I could say the same about you.”
“Same here.” you said quietly, realizing you knew less about him then you thought.
For the amount of time you spent around him, you had made a lot of unfair assumptions. Like he would have different women in his bed every other night, or would be drinking until 4am everynight, as a frat boy would.
“Do you feel weird about that, sometimes?” he asked, reaching over, as if he were going to brush your cheek. He hesitated, hovering over your soft skin, eyes meeting yours to ask a silent question.
You nodded, and his finger came down to softly stroke your skin, twirling around a strand of your hair that had fallen out of place. “So many questions.” you teased, making him blush.
You liked making him blush. You liked it a lot.
But you also enjoyed how many questions he asked, because it meant he was genuinely interested in what you had to say.
“Sometimes I do, because I know we’re in school and the whole thing is that we should be ‘living it up’” you scoffed.
“But I’m at peace with myself and knowing what I like and what regulates me into the same as other people my age. I don't care about fitting in, I just… I guess I just like what I like.”
He nodded. “You’re being kind to yourself. That's good. For a minute I worried you laclked any kind bone in your body.” he teased, and you smacked him playfully.
“I’m trying to be.”
“Thats all you can do.”
You adjusted yourself, turning so you faced him on your side, as he adjusted himself to do the same. As if you were at a sleepover, trying to keep quiet so your mom wouldnt wake up and shush you both to sleep.
“That was a good answer, by the way. I’m the same way.”
“I am glad to hear that. I am also glad we share the same passion for Dorian Gray.” you smiled, taking note of the frayed, and very loved book that sat close to your head.
“But you didn't come here to discuss Dorans cruelty, did you?” he asked, tugging on the strand gently, before dropping it.
You wanted his touch back. You reached for his arm, your nail trailing his bicep as you drew little patterns, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“No.” you sighed. His eyebrow raised, expecting you to elaborate.
“Well?”
“You did say I was welcome in here at any time.”
“This is true. But why are you taking up on my offer now?” he murmured, capturing your hand with his, bringing your knuckles to his lips, his kiss feather light as you felt your breath catch.
“Am I not allowed to actually take you up on offers you give out?” you asked playfully, knowing he would extract the information out of you eventually.
You sighed. “I came to confess.”
“Your undying love for me?”
“Something like that.”
Your answer stopped him short. He wasnt expecting that.
“I like you Parker. Like, I like-like you.”
“You like-like me? What are we, in middle school?” he laughed, in a way you knew he wasn't teasing you, but was just surpised.
“I just-”
“I like-like you too, bunny. But I have to say, I’m surpised to hear it’s mutual, with all the snappy remrks that have been stabed into my chest.”
“I’m sorry.” you looked down, feeling bad for how your cruel remarks must have gotten under his skin over the years.
Yet, he still managed to look at you as a work of art, and take up the challenge of going head to head with your banters. “I have never once taken it personally. I know it's just your way of…expressing your feelings.”
“My feelings?!”
“You tease and taunt because you wish for nothing more than for me to put you in your place. Is that not it?” he asked, his fingers slipping back to cradle your chin, thumb teasing your lower lip.
If it weren't for the truth in that statement, you’d shame him for being so outrageously cocky.
“Bold of you to assume that.”
He smirked. “I know. But you’ve seen the way I’ve looked at you. I have to be bold with you, bunny. I’d lose all my senses if I told you how I’ve felt.”
He paused. “What do you see when I look at you?”
“Desire. Admiration.” you confessed.
It was how you wished he would look at you. You had projected that onto your shared moments of silence longing looks. He tilted his head, studying you as he always did in those moments.
“So you see, I have to be bold- to get you to see those moments. How I feel, how I’ve always felt. You are so beautiful, Y/N. So beautiful it hurts to not have you. To share those secret moments together, all the time, because if I am not bold, I do not get to continue our little exchanges. To hear your laugh, or those smart comments. Because I do not want to scare you away.” he confessed, and you felt your eyes start to well with salty tears.
You refused to cry, blinking your lashes rapidly, but his words were so tender it hurt.
“So yes, I want to put you in your place. I want you to do the same. I want the push and pull, and I only want it with you.”
You were stunned into silence. Yet another thing you underestimated, his way with words.
He gave you a second to catch yourself from free falling down the cliff of emotions, all of them churning in your stomach and making you warm.
Sensitive.
A heat settled between your thighs, pooling like honey.
His eyes searched for something in yours, a confirmation and a blessing. You nodded before your mouth could catch up to you, clearly your throat- words becoming stuck.
“Do you want the same?”
“Yes.” you said, so gently it came out as a throaty whisper.
There was no turning back now. But it wasn't the feeling of shame that coated you so thoroughly- it was want.
It was need.
His thumb captured your bottom lip again, the smell of his cologne intoxicating as he inched closer, eyes searching yours for permission.
You nodded, feverishly. “Please.”
A low groan left his throat at the word, his lips capturing yours delicately at first, then something rougher, passion driving you to lean into his body until it was flush with yours, rolling on top of his much larger frame to cage him.
“You never have to beg with me. Never.” he growled, sending jolts of energy as his hands began to wander, slipping from your hips to cup ass, drawing you flush against his hardened cock that fought against his shorts.
You moaned, his mouth swallowing the sound as his tongue begged for entrance, which you happily granted. You shifted down, needing the friction as his hand guided you, letting you take and give as you pleased.
It became hot and messy, teeth clashing as he bit down on your lower lip, hand coming up to grip your hair, tilting your head the way he wanted to taste you, truly.
Nothing but breathy moans and pants could be heard as you grinded against him,letting his lips wander down your neck, where he bit down on the skin, the sharpness of his bite making you jump.
“I think I’ve found the sensitive spot.” he murmured against your skin, licking the little mark left to soothe the skin.
“Don't tease.”
“Oh I wouldn't dare.” he smiled, planting kisses across your skin until you squirmed against him.
You needed more.
“You are my favourite form of torture.” he whispered as you bucked your hips, his hands sliding down your hips to slip under your sundress, fingers tickling the lace scrap that separated you from his delicate fingers.
“Torture?” you questioned, kissing him gently again.
“It has been torturous to not have you all this time, bunny. Like this. To have seen you in this dress…”
“But I’m here now.” you promised, kissing down his neck as he did to yours, with equal amounts of precision and care, not wanting to leave a single inch of skin untouched.
He groaned, his head sliding back to give you easier access, his adams apple bobbing as you left little marks across the skin.
This was the push and pull you both craved. The little moments of control to then be dominated by the other.
“And I thank every god in the universe for that.” he panted, fingers slipping across the folds of your underwear, slowly parting it to the side as he let a finger drag across your folds, collecting the wetness.
“Is this all for me?” he smiled as you moaned, hips bucking to lean more into his touch.
There goes the control.
“Yeah bunny? You’re such a greedy girl.” he tsked, slowly moving so you were underneath him, a yelp escaping you as he removed his fingers, pulling you like a rag doll so your hips were slightly off the bed.
Before you could wrap your head around what was happening he had tugged your panties off, his fingers resuming their motions as they glided along your slit, before two dipped in, curling that sweet spot that had you seeing stars.
His hands were so much bigger than yours, he fit so nicely and stretched you just right…
“Please don't stop..” you panted, pushing up on your shoulders to watch as his thumb came up to rub little circles on your clit, making your lower half shake.
“What did I say about begging bunny? You never have to beg for me. You want my mouth?”
You nodded. “I wanna hear you say it sweetheart.”
“Yes.”
He smiled, pushing his glasses farther up his nose as he bent down, admiring you as if you were a five star meal. Pulling his fingers out, he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a mischievous glint in his eye, your lips parted in shock.
It was so dirty and crass it should've disgusted you but all it did was turn you on even more.
“You taste so fuckin sweet.” He came down, tasting you as if he were a man starved, lapping at you with no mercy, his tongue swirling and sucking on your nub.
Hard.
“F-fuck Peter r-right there-”
“So- fuckin-sweet” he panted with each flick of his tongue, his hand slipping up around your thigh to hold you in place as your hips wiggled, the pressure building so tightly in your core it felt like you were uncurling a hot wire.
“I can’t tell how long I’ve waited for this. How many nights I’ve thought about you like this, tasting how sweet you are.” he whispered, his words driving you over the edge.
You came with a cry, his name echoing on your lips as he held you in place, his tongue never stopping as he lapped at your juices, coaxing you through your orgasm.
“There we go, atta girl. Such a good girl for me bunny.”
You shivered, legs starting to shake as he emerged from his kneeling position, towering over you again. You wasted no time to sit yourself up, palming the bulge that was unhideable within his shorts.
He hissed through clenched teeth, head thrown back in pleasure as you touched him. The ridges of his abs were hard against your soft hands, fingernails scraping the happy trail that had tempted you for the last few days.
He was beautiful. So, so beautiful, and for the time being, he was yours.
“If you keep doing that I’m not gonna last bunny.”
“Good.”
He moaned, hand coming up to grab your hair again, tugging on it gently, your neck now angled up to loom into his hungry gaze.
“Do you want this? Truly? Because I don't think- I don't think with you I can control myself if you let me. I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”
His voice was as rough as granite, Adams apple bobbing with each swallow.
Trying to contain himself. That wouldn't do.
“I want you, Peter. I want you, however you’ll have me.”
That was the snap. His mouth captured yours again, and you tugged his undergarments off as quickly as one could manage with a handsome man on their lips, dominating them.
You found yourself with your back against the sheets, his arm caging you in as the other guided his cock to your entrance, your legs parted and mouth watering in anticipation.
“Can you take this off for me bunny? Show me everything?”
You nodded, letting him aid you in prying the dress over your head, tossed down somewhere on the tile floor. The way he looked you over sent your heart fluttering into overdrive, like prey knowing it was caught by the predator.
He looked at you with such a visceral hunger you knew deep in your soul there was nothing else, no one else he wanted.
“You are so fucking beautiful, my love.” he murmered, sliding the head of his cock between your folds, gathering the wetness that dripped for him.
My love.
“I’m yours.” you blurted out before your brain could let you think it over, before he slowly eased himself in, sending your eyes to roll to the back of your head.
“And you're mine.” he whispered, caging you in completely, planting kisses and nips down the column of your throat, down to your breasts, his tongue swirling and sucking your nipple before moving to the next, giving them equal attention as he eased into you, before you were filled to the hilt.
The stretch was delicious, he consumed you in every way as he was fully seated inside you.
“Is this okay?” he asked gently, and you nodded.
“Words, bunny. Use them.”
“I’m- I’m good Peter.” you confirmed, the air whooshing out of your lungs as he slowly dragged himself half way out before slamming you full again, a loud cry of pleasure leaving your lips.
“I wanna see your pretty little face when you cum, bunny. Wanna hear those beautiful sounds again, they sound just how I thought they would. So, so damn pretty.” he purred, adjusting your legs around him as he found a steady rhythm, the sound of your cries and skin slapping echoing around the room.
His sweet coos and condensation drove you wild as you felt yourself reaching that finish point, before he removed himself fully, slamming into you again.
It drove you fucking wild.
You clenched around him in warning, his noises spurring you on as much as yours did to him.
It was bliss.
“We’ll have endless time for fun my bunny, all the ways I’m gonna have you. You make me so greedy.”
You moaned, gripping his biceps so hard your nails dug into his flesh, threatening to break skin.
“But right now I just wanna have you cum for me. Can you do that for me, my love? I’m right here with you.” he cooed, kissing you softly as you nodded frantically, not able to hold off your organism any longer.
“Peter I’m-”
“There we go my love, that's a good girl. Thats a good- fucking-girl.” he moaned as he spilled inside you, leaving you feeling all warm and fuzzy.
And as he cleaned you up, held you close to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, to trace each curve with a gentle touch and a kiss to follow, you realized you were past the point of saving yourself from Peter Parker.
“PETER!” you exclaimed, and he dropped inside of your bedroom window. You lay on your shared bed where you once waited for him to arrive. He yanked off his mask and crawled between your legs, quickly placing his hand along your waist and head buried in your chest. “What’s wrong?”
“I can never go outside again,” he muffled, turning his face to the side as he remained on your chest.
“What are you talking about?”
He dug around in his pocket before grabbing his phone and scrolling to find a picture of himself. Lying down, his sight refused to meet yours as his head remained turned to the side, and he raised his phone to your face. “Read the text.”
The photo was quite…shameful. In the photo, the phone was angled downwards towards the bottom half of his thin, sweaty suit. Peter was unbelievably hard and gripping his erection above the material. The upper half of the photo showed Peter’s teeth gripping his mask, drippings of sweat falling down his face. Underneath it was a text that read, “Baby, I miss you <3”
“I didn’t get this text-”
“Look up,” he murmured, and you moved your eyes to see that he sent it to Harry. You couldn’t help but laugh, Peter then groaned into your body and placed his hands on his face.
“Is business rough these days? I didn’t realize Spiderman offered this kind of service.” You laughed, slamming his phone down on the bed.
“Please.” he began, “He hasn’t responded 'cause it's late but I know he will never let this die.”
“I don’t know if I will either!”
“I missed, you!” He exclaimed. “It was getting boring and hot in that suit.”
“If it helps,” you whispered, running your fingers through his unkempt hair. “You looked good.”
“Really good?” He murmured, moving his eyes up to your face before placing kisses on the top of your breasts.
“Mmm hmm,” you hummed, nodding as Peter moved to hover above your body, placing you beneath him as he kissed you deeply. “Really good.”
18+ minors do not interact or click the links! Each link contains porn. All links are from twitter. You must be logged into Twitter for the links to open!
Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!
⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡
— Tobey!Peter
blindfolding you to keep his identity secret
Peter filling your pussy up after you’ve begged for it all day
cozy evening fucking
jerking off bigdick!Peter
riding his face
⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡
— Andrew!Peter
showing Peter your tongue trick
Peter loves his alt girlfriend
first time trying anal together
making sure he breeds your little pussy
him cumming all over your body
⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡
— Tom!Peter
playing with your sensitive pussy
movie night at Peter’s place
getting pounded in the bathroom
sucking him off while he games
Peter using your pussy to let out some pent up anger
hiiii i love your writing so much. idk if you take requests or not but i wanted to request something with tasm! Peter and maybe the reader is stuck in a fire and she doesn't know he's spider-man and finds out while he rescues her. And she gets hurt really badly and peter is just losing it. Idk something really angsty with fire haha! Completely alright if you don't wanna write it
nearly lost you | p.parker
note : I am so sorry if this request has been sitting in my askbox for forever! I had a Marauders streak and focused on them a bit but lately I've been missing Peter so I will finally be doing this req! I kind of modified it into her finding out after the rescue. Thank you so very much for trusting me with this, I hope you enjoy!
also there was just a fire in my apartment like a few days ago and I thought I was a goner, so might as well cope by writing this now.
warnings : fire, reader in danger, peter panicking about it, a small argument abt his identity reveal, real heavy angst, themes of death, angst with comfort, so much curse words sorry
You should have seen this coming, probably. Or maybe not exactly this, but Peter has expressed concerns about your 'deathtrap apartment' building many times. Probably also not the best time to be recalling this but—
You argued it was temporary, that it was just so you could finally live independently away from your parents at the cheapest opportunity. It’s close to your job, and a good distance away from Peter’s place. Win win?
It was the most convenient place available, and the arrangements were truly supposed to be temporary but so much happened in between that you didn't have the time to look for a new place.
Between College, your side job, and your relationship—-yeah no chance. A majority of your weekdays were spent slaving for good credits, and a good chunk of your nights were used for work. Somehow in between that, Peter time.
So it all boils down to this.
You had been taking a nap when you heard the first sets of screams down the hallway. The nap was very much unplanned, you’ve been elbows deep in another textbook, reading in advance for the upcoming week of lessons so you can focus a bit more on your job.
You worked as a waitress in some retro-style diner a few blocks away. They’re open 24 hours so you were able to take the graveyard shift while juggling classes.
Peter was very much worried for your lack of proper sleep but you always made up for it on your rest day. He also knew how stubborn you are, so there was no use arguing over your schedule. As unhealthy as it is.
Busy schedule aside, you managed well. You were just studying, but you must’ve dozed off because you woke up disoriented, and there was so much smoke. It was all you could see, smell and taste when you pushed yourself off the couch.
Smoke clouded your vision, you could barely see your apartment through the thick veil of it. You coughed after getting a good chunk into your lungs from the gasp you let out, you instantly try covering your nose and push get up.
You reach the kitchen in a set of rushed steps, almost tripping over your coffee table.
Looking around your kitchen, you grab a dish rag and turn your faucet on (thank god there’s water running this time) to wet it. You squeeze out the excess water and replaceyour hand with the wet dish rag, you allow yourself to breathe through it as you look around for anything worth grabbing before you went.
It was as if a switch had turned in your brain. Fire. There’s a literal fire in your apartment! What the actual fuck!? Honestly, you’ve ran over this situation many times in your head. It’s one of those things you hear about in the news and imagine yourself in the scenario.
But the imaginations pale in comparison to the real thing. Being here, trying to find your way through your smoke-covered apartment.
Because at least then you can turn off the scenarios in your head and you’ll be back to your very safe reality. In here, this is very much real and the danger could very well be right outside your door.
Fuck.
So much for studying, you are so gonna hold this over yourself next time you decide sitting down and studying in advance was a good way to spend your only rest day. You should have just gone to Peter’s.
Also why now? Couldn’t this have happened while you were away at least? You would totally mourn your belongings, but at least there won’t be the need to fight your way out of the apartment.
Oh shit, you lived on the 7th floor.
Where’s the fire? No clue. There’s no use trying to find out anyway, you grabbed your phone. The only thing worth carrying at this point, and headed to your fire escape. You hurriedly climbed on only to look down in absolute shock.
The entire floor below is almost covered in fire, smoke escaping through the windows.
The flames are also big enough to reach the fire exit, your route is blocked. You also did not think trying to run through it would work, must the stairs give up on you on the way down.
You turn to your left and saw the next set of fire escape stairs remain unscathed. Okay, if you hurry now you can break your way into the apartment a few doors down and use their fire escape before the flame swallows it too.
It’s the only option you’ve got left. The stairs and the elevator down are out of commission.
You hardened your resolve and rushed out of your apartment. Your legs are shaking from the panic but you powered through it, this is not the time to trip and fall on your face like an unfortunate horror movie character.
Your door knob felt hot to the touch. It was enough that you recoiled with a hiss at the contact, but you twisted it open anyway, rushing out and feeling the heat on your skin now. You look down the hall in horror to see how close the fire is to your own apartment—it was inches away from your face. You had to step back before you get burnt. You were that close.
If you hadn’t woken up, you’d probably be waking up in heaven next. No time to dwell on that, you turn to the other side of the hall ready to proceed with your plan but stumbled on your way as if the floor had suddenly turned to jelly.
You must’ve inhaled more smoke than you thought before waking up, because your head is feeling light. You hold out your hand to steady yourself, probably flat against the wall. Focus. By pure sheer will to live, you commanded your legs to keep going.
There’s no time to collapse now. You can worry about the state of your lungs later, you just need to get out. So with much effort, you forced yourself to keep going, and you were so close to victory when barely audible, barely there—you heard a baby.
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck indeed, because instead of just proceeding on your merry way to safety, you abruptly stopped and turned to the sound of the cry. It was that instinct again, the one your Mother told you would kill you one day.
She always told you, you should keep your head straight and eyes cast down low. New York streets were dangerous, and the people ruthless at times. She told you to mind your business, to keep to yourself and maybe this city and its people won’t eat you alive.
But you’ve never been one to listen to your Mother.
You didn’t keep to yourself. You saw a boy getting bullied and threw your whole backpack at Flash Thompson. That was how your fates intertwined with one Peter Parker. You didn’t mind your business like you should have.
And your Mother might be right, like she usually is about everything. Because instead of proceeding with your plan, you allowed your sharp ear to pick up where the cry was coming from, walking down the hall to where the sound appears loudest. It was the apartment right across yours.
Who the fuck left their baby alone?
You ran the fastest you’ve ever ran your whole life and slammed your whole weight onto the door. It opened and you ran to the sound where the baby’s crying was coming from. Barely able to see through the cover of smoke and running on pure adrenaline, you picked it up the baby. You thought to cover its face with the wet dish rag but it wouldn’t be enough.
You rushed to the kitchen, tripping on the many toys scattered on the floor on your way. You hurriedly unwrapped the baby’s blanket and grabbed a pitcher of water from the fridge. You took the lid off and dunked the whole blanket inside, making sure it absorbed enough water.
You have no fucking clue what you’re doing, your brain is mostly shut off and you’re running on pure instincts. But you wrapped the baby in the now wet blanket anyway.
You can hear the crackling of the fire and just how warm it’s getting. It’s like being inside an oven, and the heat is rising and rising and rising. You have to get out now..
You grabbed the crying baby and rushed out that apartment only when you did, the flames have reached farther down your hallway that the flames managed to get a lick of your skin. It happened so fast, you barely had time to react and dodge out of the flames’ way. You scream out in pain, your skin sizzling at the contact.
It’s probably small, you hope. But it’s somewhere in your right arm, the pain travelling all the way to your back. You grit your teeth, looking down to find the baby is still crying but otherwise unharmed.
That is gonna be one sexy scar for sure.
You then do your best to rush back to the apartment you were aiming for before getting distracted, only to find that it’s locked. You grit your teeth and try your best to channel your remaining strength and consciousness, before full-on body slamming the door.
It didn’t give the first two tries and the baby’s crying continues to ring in your ears. The fire appears closer and closer but finally, with the third try, you push it open. But you must’ve been too disoriented by all the smoke now, that you lost your footing and landed on the floor.
Like a scene in slow motion, you fell to the floor with all the noise overwhelming your senses and the warmth from the fire wrapping you in a very uncomfortable blanket.
Your body moved on instinct to shield the baby from the fall so you just ended up injuring yourself more, probably applied pressure to your singed skin and just gave yourself a giant bruise as well. You definitely hit your head during it too, feeling like a headache will be paid in full tomorrow if you survive this. Hissing out a curse, you push yourself up and adjusted the baby in your arm.
This is officially the worst day ever.
With a light head and an aching body, you head for the fire exit.
You felt like your soul had escaped your body when it was finally a good feet away, a blue of red and blue swooped int through it. You scream at the shock and jostled the baby in your arms. Holy fucking shit, Spider-Man appeared out of nowhere!
You can feel your tensed muscles relax a bit, but it’s still nto enough. You’re still in the building.
“_____!” Spider-Man called out.
You frown. “Spider-Man?” How did he know your name?
You had no time to ask when he looked down and found a baby in your arms, you blink down at the baby all of a sudden having grown tired of crying, and managed to blurt out a quick: “It’s not mine!”
Why would Spider-Man even care to know that? You cringe at yourself and turn back to Spider-Man. He looks very tensed and ready to jump, which is honestly normal, given the situation. You’re only grateful he’s finally here now.
That doubles your chances of survival for sure. You don’t even remember what he said, or what happened next when your body having recognized your saviour finally decided to shut down.
Last thing you remember was your vision fading as Spider-Man rushed to grab you, or at least you hoped that’s what he planned. Oh, you sincerely hope you did not just drop the baby you were holding as you passed out.
When you came to, you were in a sterile hospital room. What greeted you first and foremost was the blank white ceiling. You had mistaken it to be heaven at first, until you trailed your eyes down and found yourself lying on a hospital bed.
Okay, hospital is better than heaven. You tell yourself with a sigh of relief.
Oh god, how is Peter going to react? You’re not even sure you managed to take your phone successfully, you could have dropped it from all the running you did. And that baby—he better grow up to cure cancer or something. Or something equally amazing. Or just… healthy, that’s good too.
How fucked up would it be if the baby you saved grow up to be some big bad villain for Spider-Man to have one mega battle with?
Your brain is running laps again, it’s something you did to cope with intense emotions and situations. You groan and try to shift in your position only to find your back hurts, like a shit ton. You don’t even wanna know how much of your skin was actually burnt and how badly.
You were halfway into fiddling with your hospital bed’s controls to hopefully raise your backrest higher when the door opened, in came Peter who looks like he had been losing a full week of sleep.
His eyes widened at the sight of you awake and moving about. You managed to plaster on a giant grin, greeting your boyfriend like normal, like you weren’t currently bedridden. Peter rushed to your bedside in an instant, crossing the distance in a hurry.
“_____,” he called out and you felt yourself melt, he must have worried so much when he heard about Spider-Man saving you from a burning building.
“Hey,” you greet him and take in the bags under his eyes. “How long was I out?”
Peter heaves a tired sigh, his hand reaching for your face. Caressing your cheek lightly, as if to prove to himself that you were real and you’re very much here, alive.
“2 days, you inhaled too much smoke and you got third degree burns on your back.”
You cringe at that answer, the extent of your injuries just now dawning on you. Well, a burn scar is a small price to pay for having survived with your life. And of course—
“The baby—”
He cut you off, “Safe. The Mother was very grateful, she was just down to get her laundry, she didn’t think the short time she was away that a fire would break out.”
Still shouldn’t have left her baby alone, you thought bitterly but you’re just glad the baby is safe in the end.
There was a short moment of silence. The reality of it probably settling in, for both of you. You just survived a fire, not without injuries, and he probably worried so much he lost 2 whole days worth of sleep over your well-being.
You grab his hand on your face and bring it down to settle on your lap, yout thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand. Peter has been your boyfriend since high school. You’ve been together for almost three years now, and you can always tell when he has something eating away at him.
He looks almost the way he did when his uncle died.
“Peter,” you called out, testing the waters, “what’s wrong?”
He hesitated, inhaling sharply. Then retracted his hand. “It’s my fault.”
Your eyebrows stitch into a frown, scoffing at his words. “Unless you’re about to confess your arsonist tendencies, then I doubt it was your fault.”
That was one of his flaws, he always took on so much. So much work, so much blame. He didn’t even know! How could any of you know that a fire would just start one random afternoon? Hell, even if you had predicted it, it still would not be his fault.
He was at work, taking pictures of Spider-Man or whatever it is Jameson has him doing this time. He was nowhere near the apartment, and even if he was, it’s not like he can swoop in and save the day.
You actually preferred that he was away. That is was just you. You don’t think you would have reacted as well as you did if Peter was there, because you would worry too much over him and most likely panic and just endanger yourselves more.
You said those words as half jokes but he seemed very much affected either way, you try and reach for his hand again but he avoided your touch. Okay…
“What’s going on?” You ask, wondering what on earth could he be thinking. Just how could he spin this to be his fault?
“I should’ve gotten there faster,” Peter mumbles, barely enough for you to hear. But he said it with that defeated expression of his, like he carried the sky and it was up to him to keep upright must it all come crashing down on you all.
You cannot fathom it. “And then what? Just put us both in danger?” Because realistically, what could he have done? He’s no firefighter, and there was no way he can rush to the seventh-floor and save you.
“No, it’s—” Peter abruptly stopped, letting otu a sharp exhale of frustration. Your frown only deepened, what’s going on? Why is he so angry? “I should have been there. But there was this robbery nearby that I had to stop first and—”
You stop listening after that, did he just say he stopped a robbery? You know your Peter. He’s someone who kept his head down… mostly, he knows how New York and its people worked. But he always lectured you on safety, especially at night.
So what is he saying about stopping robberies now? None of it is makign sense. Perhaps you truly inhaled too much smoke.
“---I almost lost it when I saw you still inside the building.”
You try pushing yourself up again, sitting upright now to face him with a conflicted look on your face. You take in his words, although confusing and how defeated he looks. You carefully choose your words before speaking again.
“Peter, I know it was scary. You almost lost me, I would be terrified too, if the roles were reversed but… you couldn’t have helped. I was only lucky Spider-Man showed up last minute. But I’m okay, I’m here.”
Peter was not at all comforted by your words. “But that’s exactly it! I showed up at the last minute—”
It was like a chord was snapped. You blinked once and everything came rushing to you. Oh my fucking god. There was no way but—the timing lined up too well, all the missed dates makes so much sense now, and the mysterious bruises. He had used the Spider-Man excuse, saying he had to be onsite to snap pictures.
It was for his job, but that was only half-true.
Oh my god, your boyfriend is Spider-Man.
Well, maybe there had been signs all over. But it’s not like you wanted to dive head first into believing that yes, your boyfriend, your sweet, adorable Peter, is the vigilante in red and blue spandex swinging around the city saving civilians.
What kind of crazy person would you be if you just assumed that?
In hindsight though, it makes too much sense now. Only Peter would have the heart big enough to put on that mask and go out every night to look after the people of New York. Only Peter would have the conviction strong enough to be a… a superhero.
“Holy shit,” you breathed out in exaspheration, “holy fucking shit, Peter.”
Peter’s entire body froze as he took in your expression. Shell shocked, your eyes blown wide open as you slowly lift your head to look at him. As if you were finally seeing him for who he is, for all he is.
He’s not just Peter anymore. He’s also Spider-Man, and he was too late.
He came way too late. You had gotten hurt and he almost didn’t make it in time.
“Shit…” you are probably cursing too much, but that’s the least of your worries when your whole world had just turned upside down. “Oh god…”
Peter is not sure whether that reaction is positive or not. He cannot get a read when you’re raining curses while looking like you are going crazy, he moved on instinct to put both hands on either sides of your shoulders.
“____, breathe,” he tells you inn a soft voice, trying to calm you down must you trigger a panic attack from his unprompted identity reveal. “It’s just me.”
Oh but it’s really not. It’s also Spider-Man now. And you’re gonna have to take some time to sit down and process that your Peter is the very same hero swinging around fighting villains and stopping crimes.
Is that what he’s been doing all this time? Of course it is, and you were oblivious to all of it. You didn’t know—why now?
“Were you ever planning to tell me?” You ask, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer.
“I wanted to keep you safe, away from all this. From Spider-Man and all the danger.”
You nod slowly. You know Peter too much, much more than he probably knows himself, so it was safe to assume that—”But you just learned that danger will come anyway, whether I know, or I don’t.”
Peter’s silence was the confirmation you needed.
Peter fell forward, grabbing your face in his hands and levelling his gaze with yours. You look into his doe brown eyes, unable to get angry. Were you even supposed to? You’re not entirely sure.
You’re entitled to being pissed that he hid an entire other identity from you, for three whole years, or probably more— Spider-Man has been around for four years. But you can’t get angry, because you hold too big of an understanding for everything involving Peter.
You will always choose to understand him, no matter what. Because you love him. That’s right, you… “I love you,” you tell Peter. A reminder to him and yourself, and his hands on your face trembled at the declaration.
He was afraid he wouldn’t get to hear it again. First, when he almost lost you to the fire. And second, when he revealed the truth that he had been lying to you all this time.
“I love you,” he repeated.
And you know he means it.
the end. masterlist
end notes: funnily enough, I actually ended up saving my neighbour's kids. My wife and I knocked on their door and the parents were away, leaving the grandma with the two kids and one infant. The grandma carried the baby, whilst my wife and I carried one kid each out of the building. I am still very much shaken by it, sometimes I'd be sitting around and smell that same burnt rubber smell again and go into panic mode. Otherwise, we're fine and unharmed. Also sorry if I'm rusty, been a while since I properly wrote an x reader. Please be merciful.
A mini fic (idk wtf they’re called 😭) idea that I thought of. You can imagine any Spider-Man you want. (90s, Tobey, Comic, Spectacular, Insomniac, etc.)
I HIGHLY SUGGEST putting on some dark-ish maybe slowed, music with an obsessive vibe. It makes this so much better, trust me bro~
Warnings: Kidnapping, swearing, yelling (but its so sexy tho-), implied violence, Symbiote Spider-Man (he IS a warning~)
-
(Tobey gif cuz he’s so damn underrated on Tumblr, we gotta do better, people 👏)
“MINE.” He growled with an animalistic rasp, one you've never heard before, while walking up to you in the most terrifying and menacing way that was humanly possible. Only... the thing that was currently taking over your friend's mind was not human at all.
You’d had a bit of a quarrel that led up to this, so you hadn't really registered the singular word he spat as he approached you, the white eyes of his mask shining in the moonlight, piercing your soul, making the black suit look like a haunting shadow. He towered over you as you stumbled back nervously, folding down like a cornered animal.
You had found him in an alleyway beating a harmless thief to the brink of death a week ago and nervously yelled at him, telling him that you needed a break from him and his new aggressive behavior. You told him that he was acting scary and unsettling.
Guess that didn't sit well with him because he had managed to follow you around all week and finally track you down one night as you were innocently walking back to your apartment. He confronted you, rambling desperately back and forth with you, yelling about problems with his life, his enemies, his friends turned to enemies, growing more aggressive, claiming that in his hardest moments, you were ditching him when he needed your company the most.
The way he had worded it all had made it seem as if the two of you were dating… which you weren’t.
“Peter… you need to stop.” You said in a low voice, backing away slowly. You weren't scared. It was Peter. You felt no true danger coming from him, and yet, it was still extremely unsettling to see your once funny, shy, cute friend now so aggressive, unstable, and menacing. Something was off with his new suit...
But then he got too close... and you ran. Your body just did it. Like an instinct.
Why the fuck am I running? You wondered. You weren’t scared, but your body decided to run.
But it was a useless thing to do. He was SPIDER-MAN for crying out loud. And no one outran Spider-Man... Ever.
He yanked your wrist harshly and forced you to turn around to face him. “Don’t run away from me… DON’T FUCKIN’ RUN AWAY FROM ME!” He yelled fiercely, voice raspy with emotion. Against your will and to your own surprise, your stomach did a giddy backflip at the touch and scream. Surely from fear... right?
”Peter, do you see the way you're acting-" You started, Peter was shaking his head vigorously, grumbling, still holding your wrist. "Don't run away from me, Y/N. I fucking need you." He said, more low and deep, but not any less unsettling and disturbing. It sounded more like a threat. To your surprise, another flip of the stomach attacked you, not that you were paying much attention to it.
"Peter, let me go-!!!" You said in a raised voice, trying to yank your wrist away harshly. Peter held on tighter. And it hurt. You thrashed around, yelling at him to let you go.
"PETER, what the actual hell are you doing?! Look at you! You’re not acting like yourself, YOU'RE ACTING LIKE A FUCKING MONSTER-” You yelled and you could’ve sworn you heard a monstrous roar emitting from his suit, blending in perfectly with the growl he let out as he grasped your shoulders roughly and threw you back, pinning you against the cold brick alleyway wall. You must’ve hit a nerve.
“You’re not going anywhere.” He whispered near your ear after a few seconds of staring, in a frighteningly calm tone. It was an unsettling shift. No less intimidating, if anything, this was more intimidating than the yelling. You squirmed against his grasp, face turning hot against your will. This proximity had your body acting... off, to say the least.
“Lemme go-“ You whined in a low voice while your squirming turned into aggressive thrashing. But his large arms only flexed as he kept a tighter grip on your shoulders. You couldn’t see his expression through the mask. He didn't say a word. He just titled his head slowly at you as if analyzing, thinking... plotting.
Then after that, he suddenly webbed your wrists together like handcuffs. Then he proceeded to grab you by the waist with one of his large arms, throwing you across his shoulder as he started swinging away. Your stomach involuntarily fluttered madly with butterflies.
“Stop-“ You whimpered in a pathetic attempt to argue back as you clung tightly to his black-suited muscular back as best as you could, trying not to slip off. He was aggressively blowing through the night sky, swinging with such quick yet animalistic precision that it almost looked like he was flying through the silky night sky. He didn’t say anything. Didn't respond to your pleas.
After what seemed to be forever yet simultaneously one minute, he made it to his all too familiar apartment room, where he jumped through the open window and threw you down to sit on his bed somewhat harshly, webbing your ankles up together too so you wouldn’t attempt to run away.
He stood there and stared at you for a second, he seemed... satisfied with himself as he cocked his head to the left. You didn't say anything back. It would probably do nothing. Not a chance against Spider-Man. You didn't know what he was trying to do. To make it all worse, your body kept confusing you with its newfound flustered reactions.
After what felt like an eternity, he leaned down right next to your face, painfully slowly, almost teasingly, white eyes piercing you like a sharp blade.
“You’re staying with me.” He whispered with a rasp into your ear.
summary: staying away from you was easier for peter when you hated him.
warnings: angst, violence, cursing, weapons, injuries, unrealistic events but it's fanfic so idgaf, peter being a literal stalker, peter being extremely stupid, very sad feels, f!reader, implied that reader has medium-long hair, unedited!
notes: i wrote the first half of this like almost three years ago tbh and decided to finish it all in one go tonight. so it's a little bit of a mess. oh well. this was also supposed to be like 10k+ words, which is why there's more world/storybuilding than usual. oops.
You still remembered the moment Peter broke your heart as if it were yesterday.
It was the only time in your relationship that he’d ever made you feel the way you did that day, worthless and manipulated.
“I don’t love you anymore.” Peter had said. “I don’t think I ever did.”
A straight up fucking lie. At least the part about not loving you at all. You knew that was a lie— it had to be a lie. Otherwise, Peter fucking Parker was an amazing actor.
But that was two months ago, the healing process difficult and still ongoing. It was hard to move on from a relationship that had been built on nearly half a decade of friendship. Peter was one of your closest friends in middle and high school until he decided he suddenly didn’t want to talk to you anymore.
“Have you talked to Peter lately?”
The question immediately threw you off, ripping your attention away from your homework like a bandaid. “What? Why would I do that?”
Your friends Mary Jane Watson and Gwen Stacy sat in front of you, books of their own laid in front of their spots.
“I don’t know,” MJ shrugged, sharing a glance with Gwen. “I heard him talking about you the other day in Bio.”
“Talking about me?” You rose your eyebrows. “I thought he was still pretending I didn’t exist.”
“He is,” Gwen said assertively, giving MJ a side eye.
You nodded as if the news pleased you, and in an odd way, it did. It made it easier for you to just hate him. “Good.”
Gwen gave you a sympathetic look, one you didn’t catch because you’d already ducked your head into your book. Truth is, Gwen Stacy knew you like the back of her hand. Having known you since kindergarten, your friendship was stronger than most. Rivaled only by the friendship that you used to have with Peter. Keywords: used to.
“So you’re still going to the open mic fundraiser tonight, right?” MJ changed the subject. Her tone was enthusiastic, bursting with excitement.
Right. The open mic fundraiser being hosted by the Midtown’s theatre department. It was at a small coffee shop a few blocks from the school, one you’d visited a few times when you desperately needed caffeine to wake you up before a long day of classes.
“Yeah,” you sighed, tapping your pencil against your temple lightly. You kept your gaze on your book, knowing that MJ’s face was likely decorated with a smile. “I’ll go, MJ.”
“Thank you! Thank you!” She squealed, clapping her hands together and looking at Gwen expectantly.
“Oh— I can’t. I have decathlon practice.”
“Boo-hoo,” MJ pouted before gathering her things and skipping away from the table. “I’ll see you tonight!”
You gave her a wave, even as she was halfway across the library at that point. Mary Jane was an impressively speedy person.
You looked back at Gwen. “What’s her deal?”
“It’s hard for her to be in the middle I guess,” Gwen shrugged.
You didn’t mind that MJ was still friends with Peter. In fact, you hoped your messy breakup wouldn’t destroy your friend group but Gwen had adamantly stayed by your side, going as far as to stop talking to Peter.
You didn’t like it, feeling bad that Peter lost one of his best friends because of you but it wasn’t like you broke up with him. It was the other way around and he had made you feel really shitty in the process.
Being the loyal friend she was, Gwen chose you without a second thought.
“I want nothing to do with him,” you sighed. “I just want her to understand that.”
“I’m sure she will… eventually.”
“It’s been two months, Gwen.”
Gwen gave you another sympathetic look. “I know.”
Determined to finish the last of your assignment, you looked back down at your book. Your mind quickly strayed from schoolwork, inevitably thinking about the events of your breakup.
“Peter,” you were pleasantly surprised as you greeted him at your front door. “I didn’t know you were coming over today. I thought you had a—”
“—the photography meeting. Yeah it got cancelled.”
“Oh,” you frowned, his tone throwing you off immediately. The visit was unexpected but being around Peter was like a drug. You couldn’t get enough of him so you welcomed him in without a second thought. Except he stayed planted at your front doorstep, hands shoved in his pockets and a heavy look on his face.
You hated that look— it made your heart sink immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“Can we talk?” He asked, his eyes difficult to read. Something you’d never struggled with before.
“Of course.” You stepped outside, shutting the door behind you softly and following Peter to your outdoor loveseat.
“Uh— I don’t know how to say this,” Peter started, avoiding your gaze completely. His hands were shaking slightly and his posture was tense.
Your anxiety kept you rooted to the spot, concerned over his strange behavior. You were usually so open with each other so this was weird to say the least.
You kept silent, giving him the time he needed to formulate the words. His longer hair fell over his eyes, his head hanging in what looked like shame. “I can’t do this anymore.”
The words were mumbled, but you caught it.
“Um, okay… do what?” You asked hesitantly.
There wasn’t a lot of meanings behind that statement. You knew that well, but the notion seemed impossible. You and Peter worked so well together, heck you wouldn’t be surprised if your hearts danced to the same rhythm. You were so in tune with each other, the possibility that something wasn’t working out just seemed… unthinkable.
“I can’t be with you, Y/N.”
Heartbreak hit you like a fucking train. “What do you mean?” You cleared your throat.
“I’m breaking up with you,” Peter confirmed, refusing to meet your eye. His stony expression was cold, a look he had never directed toward you.
It took a minute but you finally found the words to respond. “I—I thought we were okay?”
Peter’s hard exterior almost broke apart just from seeing your expression. “We aren’t.”
“Why?” You shot back.
Peter shook his head at you incredulously. “We haven’t spoken in weeks. I thought that would’ve given you a hint.”
It indeed had been two weeks since you and Peter had had a solid conversation, at least outside of school discussions and occasional texts. You were just in denial about the whole thing, acting like everything was okay in front of your friends when clearly it was not. You thought if you ignored the distance, adamantly lied about its existence, that you would end up believing it.
“I’m just confused,” you put your head in your hands, rubbing your eyes as if the action would give you some clarity. “Did I do something?”
As far as you could remember, you had done absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to piss him off. Nothing to irritate him. What changed?
“We need to stay away from each other,” he ignored your question.
“Peter,” you snapped. “Can you please just tell me what’s going on? Because last time, I checked we were in a communicative, loving relationship—”
“You’re wrong.”
“What?”
Rain had started falling gently, a calm background noise to the chaos that was unfolding.
“I don’t love you anymore,” Peter said emotionlessly. “I don’t think I ever did.”
Shocked, you repeated his words over and over again in your brain so that they could make a sliver of sense. But they didn’t. This was incredibly out of character for your best friend— was he playing a joke on you? A sick, cruel joke but a joke nonetheless?
In the time it took you to process his words, Peter had gotten up, fully intending on leaving you on your own doorstep but you finally jumped into action.
“No,” you fumed. “Peter Parker, you can’t say that and just walk away. What the fuck is your problem?”
“Right now, my problem is you,” Peter spun around, tone equally aggressive. “The fact that you can’t just accept I don’t want you anymore. The fact that you’re making this harder than it has to be and the fact that you won’t just let me leave. It’s ridiculous.”
You hated how pathetic he was making you feel right now. But Peter was, above all else, your closest friend. There wasn’t anyone that completed your soul quite like he did. “So this just comes out of the blue? You realize that you never loved me and you suddenly want to destroy a friendship we’ve had for six years?”
“Sounds right,” Peter agreed.
Enraged, your jaw dropped. “Then I’m—I’m not stopping you.” Your anger blinded you to reason.
Peter stood under the pouring rain, water soaking his clothes as he stared back at you. It was tense, the air reeked of betrayal and fury. Agony was the only word you could find to describe the hole this was ripping in your heart.
It didn’t make any fucking sense. I mean— you’d talked to Aunt May a few days ago, funnily enough considering your own boyfriend was ignoring you and also happened to be conveniently out whenever you passed by the Parker residence. But May seemed fine, giving you her usual bright smile and enthusiastically asking about school and your family. Nothing to alert you that Peter was going through any trouble.
And you’d tried to get a direct answer from him for the past fourteen days, sending him texts whenever you failed at getting anything substantial from your conversations in class. But your calls were sent to voicemail and your texts left delivered.
“I’m sorry, Y/N.”
You could only flare your nostrils in fury, tightening your grip on the doorknob behind you as you stared at Peter’s retreating figure.
A slight movement from Gwen snapped you out of the memory, a distraction you welcomed gladly.
The room was getting a bit too stuffy, despite the vast space between each table. “I’m gonna go,” you swiftly packed up your things, ignoring Gwen’s look of concern. “Your dad is still picking you up right?”
“Yeah…” Gwen said. “Are you okay?"
"Fine," you said stiffly, checking the time on your phone. You had just enough time to catch the train home, get ready, and then get back here in time for the fundraiser. You almost sighed at the thought. You didn't want to go-- not in the slightest.
The streets were as busy as usual, but you made your way to the station on time. You stood with your back pressed against the wall as you always did, your eyes scanning the crowd subtly. The entire time you stood on the train you felt the heavy weight of someone’s gaze, but kept your eyes planted forward. It was the New Yorker in you.
You hastily made your way home and made your way upstairs, ignoring the bitter silence throughout the brownstone. Your father had left a while ago, something about a business trip. It wasn’t unusual for you to be left alone, the last few months had proven to be full of unexpected changes. What had once been a semi-lively home, was now empty save for the occasional visit from someone your father hired to tidy up the house once a week.
After a long debate in front of the mirror, you opted for a tank top and jeans with a leather jacket thrown on top. You figured you should put your best foot forward for MJ’s event. You couldn’t mope forever.
The trip back to Midtown was fine, uneventful, and you made it just in time. What you had expected would be an evening full of disassociating ended up leaving you feeling lighter than you had in months. Thankfully, MJ had dropped the Peter subject completely and instead focused on getting everyone to hit the stage.
Hence your stellar duet rendition of ‘Start of Something New’ which brought the fucking house down in your honest opinion (there was more giggling than singing).
“Thank you, thank you, thank you for coming!” MJ squealed as you finally made your exit, squeezing you in her surprisingly strong grip. You smiled into the hug, glad that you came.
Finally.
Finally, you’d had one night that hadn’t been tainted by the hole your ex-boyfriend had left in your chest.
MJ gave you one more serious look, grasping your arms. “Are you sure you’ll be fine getting back—?”
“Yes,” you repeated with a teasing eye roll. “I’ll be fine. Dad sent a car.”
You’d gotten good at lying over these past few months too.
MJ accepted it with a smile and bounded off toward the stage again where the rest of the attendees were chatting and laughing. You lingered for a moment, eyeing the community between them.
With a sigh, you spun around and left the coffee shop, the air instantly clouding around your breaths. It was cold and oddly quiet, the streets more empty than usual.
Especially with the absence of the car you’d claimed would be waiting for you.
You shook your head as you began your walk back home. The train made it faster to get there, but you weren’t keen on lingering in subway stations alone at night.
Besides, the walk gave you time to silently seethe over the lie you’d just told MJ. Your dad couldn’t give less shits about you. Apparently, his business trips were much more important.
The topic of irresponsible workaholics made your thoughts stray to your friend Harry Osborn for a moment. You should text him, invite him over to bond over their shitty parents who think throwing money in their children’s faces made up for their poor parenting.
The route home was so familiar that you were walking on auto-pilot, your mind more distracted than usual.
A bright sign caught your eye.
Joe’s Pizza.
You scowled at the reminder of Peter, almost seeing the ghost of him standing just outside his favorite spot all smiles and laughter.
In a foolish effort to keep him as far away from your mind as possible, you pivoted down the nearest road to avoid passing by. He clearly wasn’t there (only a few tourists stood by waiting for their orders), but your annoying heart still clenched at the slightest reminder of him.
The road was darker and seemingly colder, but you hustled on, dragging your jacket closer to your body. Your gaze was sharper now and you scanned every dark corner and shadow.
Suddenly, a movement made your feet hesitate. Instinctively, you nearly stopped in the middle of the road, but instead you continued at a slower pace, trying to figure out what you’d seen.
You couldn’t see anyone and whatever shadow you’d seen had disappeared, but your heart still raced slightly. Suddenly, you were regretting this detour.
Your path strayed closer to the middle of the road to avoid feeling cornered and you quickened your pace, seeing the corner you intended to turn, your chest beginning to feel lighter from the familiarity of the intersection—
“Move and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”
Your heart froze as cold metal pressed against the crown of your head, tangling in your locks. Your feet skidded to a stop.
A million thoughts ran through your brain, but fear paralyzed you, your lungs frozen in mid-inhale. Your gut had been screaming at you, trying to fight its way over the reckless noise in your head—
“Good, that’s good. Now turn around,” the deep voice demanded and your panicked body hesitated to move. The gun dug deeper into your scalp. “Slowly.”
It felt like you were out of your own body, doing as he asked and turning to see a face obscured by a shitty ski mask. Was he planning on robbing you? You catalogued the items on you quickly, trying to remember if you were carrying enough cash to placate the guy.
Before you could make your plea, a calloused hand came up to your chin and grasped it roughly. A shocked gasp escaped your lips and you tried to hide your terror as the man dug his fingers in your skin. He tilted your face back and forth as if inspecting it.
Your mind was spiraling to the worst case scenario and you were trying to figure out whether you should speak— or if you even could. You always froze in a panic.
An amused chuckle slipped through the guy’s nose and he squeezed your chin mercilessly. Tears sprung to your eyes.
“Really easy to catch you, girl. You’d think our little superhero would be watching over his precious plaything better.”
You realized with a sickening lurch that this had nothing to do with a random robbery and all to do with your best friend— well, ex—
“You’re gonna tell me who’s behind the mask,” he traced the gun from the back of your head all the way to your left temple and dug it into the skin enough that you winced. “And then you’re gonna come with me, nice and easy.”
Your resolve suddenly steeled.
Because as much as you thought you now hated Peter Parker, he would always be the love of your life. Your best friend.
You’d rather die than reveal his secret.
“So tell me, who’s behind the mask, girl?” The man snarled. His nails bit into your skin.
Finally, you found enough courage to speak. It felt loud in this deserted alleyway. “You found me yet you don’t know who’s behind the mask—“
Your slightly mocking tone earned you an unforgiving whack across the temple, courtesy of the hard-as-fuck gun in his hand. Your vision blurred for a moment and you would’ve stumbled if his grip hadn’t tightened on your chin.
Despite your stupid bait, you did find yourself pondering your own words carefully. If they found you (whoever they were), they’d have to been tracking you for some time. How had they made the connection between you and Spider-Man without making the connection between you and Peter Parker?
Well, you and Peter hadn’t been spotted together in months so—
“Got a fucking smart mouth, huh?” He snarled. “You’re gonna tell me who Spider-Man is. Either way, you’re coming with me and he’ll reveal himself soon enough. The boss is eager to meet him.”
The boss?
“You’re wasting your time. He’s not gonna come,” you said between gritted teeth, anger and fear mixing in the pit of your stomach as the gravity of the situation gripped you.
He’s not gonna come. Peter Parker left you behind long ago. You’re going to die.
“Last chance, tell me.” His threat came with a menacing grip around your throat and you almost fought back before remembering the very serious threat of a bullet in your head.
His tactic was obviously meant to scare you into submission and you tried to relax in his hold with this in mind, but his fingers kept tightening and your airways were closing and —
Your hands instinctively came up to claw at his, throat burning and your vision blurring—
A quick movement caught your eye and you barely registered the gun flying away at least 50 feet in the air before the man’s other hand was gripped by a glob of web you barely saw as your eyes rolled back before his grip was ripped away forcefully and his body went flying away from you.
The loss of his grip sent you crashing down, weakened by the lack of oxygen and damn near completely unconscious. Black dots clouded your vision and just before your head could hit the cold cement, gentle but frantic hands enveloped you firmly.
Your name was uttered frantically, the hands clutching you into a warm solid chest and you slowly tried to blink the dots out of your vision. Disoriented and barely hanging on to consciousness, you tried to resurface.
“—Y/N? Baby, baby, look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes, come on—“
The voice sent a chill down your spine and your vision was clearing up slightly, your mouth moving before your mind could catch up.
“Peter?” You whispered doubtfully, head throbbing from the ruthless hit that guy had landed on you.
The vivid red and blue colors of his suit were dancing in your vision and your dazed eyes focused on his face as one of his hands came up to rip the mask off his head.
The sight flooded your chest with relief, heartbreak, and joy all at once. You felt the familiar euphoria you always did whenever you locked eyes with him.
All that love— everything you thought you’d banished away— turns out it was only tucked deep down and it resurfaced in a violent tidal wave of emotion.
But for now, in your disoriented and likely concussed state, all you could manage was a slight upturn on your lips.
A shaky chuckle left his lips, cradling you in his arms as his knees dug into the pavement below. “Hey, baby…” one of his hands came up to cradle your face, his watery eyes scanning your body with such desperation that it concerned you.
All at once, the present slammed into you and the confusion hit.
“W-what? How? Where—?” The questions spilled out of you, barely strung together or making sense.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—“ Peter was saying, running his thumbs lightly over your chin where it still stung and up to your throbbing temple that felt strangely wet. His touch was everywhere all at once and not helping with the aching confusion.
“The guy— he was— they’re after you—“
You tried to sit up to look for him— suddenly terrified that he would be pointing the gun at Peter or you— despite the lack of strength and Peter’s firm grip keeping you locked in place.
“Hey, I took care of him. He’s down. He’s down, I promise,” Peter was reassuring quietly as he soothed your hair back, words tumbling from his lips in a nervous ramble. His hands were shaking and his face was wet, hair in complete disarray.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry—“ his hands suddenly gripped you a little tighter when your eyes slipped shut for a moment too long. You felt exhausted, the adrenaline seeping out of you and leaving you in the aftermath of a strangled throat and a painful concussion. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to stay safe. Staying away meant you’d be safe.”
His words were barely audible, a devastating mumble of self-loathing and blame, tumbling out one after the other.
“What are you talking about?” You forced out, your voice raw and barely above a whisper.
Peter’s eyes suddenly locked with yours, filled with agony as if seeing you in pain caused him pain too. Before you could make sense of it all, Peter sprung to his feet and cradled you in one arm before a rush of air forced your eyes shut. You barely felt the journey home, floating between a state of consciousness and unconsciousness until those arms rested you on the familiar surface of your bed and your eyes slowly opened to find Peter hovering above you.
His hands cradled the back of your neck, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours, breathing in shakily as his eyes slipped shut and a single tear made a path down his cheek.
Despite the amount of shitty you currently felt, the overwhelming need to make sure he was always okay took over. Your hand went up to wipe his tear away, coaxing his eyes open as you traced his jaw softly.
“Hey, I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re both okay, Peter,” you whispered.
“I need to take you to a hospital,” he said as his eyes traced the bump on your temple and the traces of blood that remained. It was physically painful for him to gaze upon your bruised throat, littered in hues of purple and pink.
It was all his fault and the guilt stabbed him in the stomach repeatedly. He should’ve been the one with those bruises. His blood should’ve been spilled, not yours. Never yours.
“I’m okay,” you insisted weakly, tracing your eyes all over his worried face. All that “hatred” you’d felt before you had melted away into nothingness. Because nothing felt as right or complete as it did when you were with him.
“No, I’m taking you to the hospital now,” he said insistently, slipping out of the suit and reaching into your drawer to take his own clothes out and change. If you weren’t so rattled from the night’s events, you would’ve blushed at the fact that he somehow knew his clothes were still untouched from the months you’d spent apart.
You couldn’t find it in yourself to argue against it anymore, and after a brief hospital visit and some scans later, you’d felt lucid enough to have a conversation with your ex.
And after he’d explained the threats Spider-Man had been receiving months ago, he also explained his desperate attempt to keep you safe by ensuring he no longer had any part in your life.
He’d lied. He’d said horrible things to get you to let go of him. Things that pained him so badly he barely felt like a person in the months after he’d broken up with you.
To know you’d both been in misery… to know that his words, his cruel cruel words, were lies fabricated to keep you safe…
It infuriated you and weakened you all at once. And because you understood his love and deeply loved him just as much, you found it in yourself to forgive him.
Only after some groveling on his part. And heavy scolding on yours.
“If you ever try to gaslight me again, evil villains threatening us or not, I swear I’ll break up with you for real, Parker,” you threatened very seriously one lazy afternoon, your thighs slung on either side of his hips.
His bright brown eyes stared up at you as if he held his entire world within his arms. “You got it, ma’am,” he breathed, leaning up to capture your lips with his.
Your hands gripped his shoulders and traveled to the back of his neck, tangling with his chestnut curls. He kissed you like you were the air he needed in his lungs, as if you’d disappear from his grasp if he ever let you go.
Your teeth captured his bottom lip lightly as you pulled away, his eyes darker as they slowly opened to look into yours. And he gave you one small moment before flipping you over so that your back hit the couch and he hovered over you suddenly. The movement so quick that you couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping your lips, muffled by his own smiling mouth as he came down to meet you over and over again.
Summary: it’s easy to get caught up in life sometimes. The small stuff feels big and overwhelming. Sometimes we just need to take a moment and get some perspective.
Word Count: 1.1k+
Warnings: just a little existential crisis shit
A/N: I have definitely not had a very thoughtful and philosophical 24 hours 😂 I wrote this in hopes that it helps at least one person out there who may be struggling at the moment. Society can suck some times, but it’s not the world. As Hannah Montana once said ‘life’s what you make it, so let’s make it rock!’
“Uh ma’am. Hey ma’am? Are you okay?” His voice came from behind you as you stood at the edge of the rooftop looking down at the street below. It still wasn’t high enough, you thought to yourself.
“You’re not going to jump are you? You know if you do I’m obligated to save your life and catch-“
“Would you just shut up a minute,” you turned your head and snapped at him. “I’m trying to think,” you said turning back to look down at the street, then up and out to the surrounding buildings. “I need to be higher,” you muttered to yourself.
“Trust me ma’am, if you are trying to do damage, this is plenty high enough.”
“I don’t want to jump, idiot. By the way Peter,” you said turning back to him, “you can take the mask off we both know it’s you.”
“Uhhh, what?” he said, clearing his throat, trying to make his voice deeper and hide his anonymity. “Peter? Who’s Peter? Nope, no Peter here.”
“Shut up,” you said finally abandoning your ledge and walking back to him. “I need to be higher,” you muttered again.
You came to a stop directly in front of him, looking up at him expectantly until he finally pulled the mask off his head.
“How did you know it was me?” He asked.
“Peter, I have been in the same class as since we were in kindergarten. You think I don’t know what your voice sounds like or recognise how your body looks in skin tight Lycra.”
“It’s not Lycra,” he protested.
“I don’t care. Look I need a higher building, you gonna help me or not?”
“Tell me why first?” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
“I need-“ You hesitated as you thought through the best way to explain what you needed. You pursed your lips, twitching them to one side. You sighed deeply. “I need a better perspective... Look, I’m in crisis okay! That I’ll admit- but I don’t want to jump. I just want perspective. A better look at the world- from a distance,” you stated. “I need to remember there’s more to life than… just this. I’m too close. Everything is too close. I see the same people everyday. I ride the subway with strangers who ignore each other. I can go days stuck behind a desk in a cubical with four sides and not see the sun. Not seeing friends or family. I just need to remember how small and insignificant we all are. That it’s okay to live a life that is small and insignificant. That even the people who make it get forgotten eventually because the world is so big and that today, right here and right now it’s okay to just be nothing. That existing can be enough.”
He looked at you stunned, his brain working overtime to process everything you just said.
Eventually he put his mask back on and held out his hand to you. “Come with me.”
The next thing you knew, he’d swept you up into his arms and was swinging you through the city. You watched as cars rolled on down the street. People walked on the sidewalks. Sirens blared, engines rumbled. People chatted or shouted. There was even one guy singing. Then he was taking you up.
He landed on top of the Empire State Building like a cat jumping off a tall fence to the ground, with a silent yet powerful thud. It was like someone had turned off the world. Well almost. There was still the faint hub bub of the city below, but it was muffled and quiet beneath the breeze.
“Wow,” you said, as you took in the view. “You know I’ve lived here my whole life and never once have I been up here.”
“It’s pretty spectacular,” he agreed. “You know sometimes I like to just come up here and think. To take a break. Pretend that the world is a peaceful place. That there weren’t any criminals or dirtbags and I could have a normal life.”
“I mean, you still could,” you said to him.
“No I couldn’t,” he replied. “When you have these powers, like I have, you have to do something with them. You have to do something good. You can’t just work in an office day in and day out and pretend they don’t exist.”
He pulled his mask off and took a perch on the metal walkway and you did the same. At this height, the buildings didn’t look that big at all. You could see how far the water stretched around the city. Cars looked like tiny ants on roads that looked no bigger than the gaps between the tiles in your bathroom. It made you laugh.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Nothing,” you said between giggles, “it’s just- we’re all so tiny. How do we do anything when we are that tiny? And yet look at all these buildings. Look at all these bridges. People made those. People- humans who lived and died before we were born built those. There are trees in the park who are even older than some of the buildings.”
“And one day the ice caps will melt so much the Hudson will flood the streets and bury it all and send it back to nothing.” Peter mused.
You looked at him with a furrowed brow.
“What? I’m a man of science. It’s just a fact. The earth moves and changes. You know, once upon a time everything was connected as one big land mass and now look at it.”
Slowly you smiled. “Change is inevitable,” you summarised, looking back out at the view.
“Change is the only constant,” he agreed.
“I need a change,” you said, turning your gaze back to him.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you sighed.
“What you gonna do?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe travel? Try out some different things in different places.”
“That sounds like fun,” he stated.
“Yeah,” you once again sighed and agreed.
“I remember when we were kids you used to always talk about Paris. We watched that film with the talking rat in class you became obsessed.”
“Ratatouille,” you said fondly.
“Yeah, that’s the one. Maybe you could go to Paris. Be a waitress. Learn the language. See the sights.”
“Then what after that?” You asked.
“London,” he stated with a nod of his head like it was a solid plan and a matter of fact.
“And what would I do there?”
He was quiet for a moment as he thought. He caught the glimpse of a yellow taxi crossing the Brooklyn bridge in the distance and laughed. “Drive one of those black cabs,” he said proudly.
You laughed too. “I think you have to pass a test for that.”
“Fine, work in one of those souvenir shops with the tiny red phone boxes and bobble heads of the queen.”
You both continued to laugh at that.
When the laughter finally petered out, you turned your head towards him again, your hand reaching out for his. “Thank you for this. I really needed it.”
“No problem,” he replied, his gloved fingers giving yours a small squeeze. “We all need a little perspective from time to time.”
