warning: dubious consent, creampie, raw sex, oral female receiving, rougher sex
summary: your boyfriend comes home from the department of damage control but you don't recognize his eyes.
"Peter..." You stare as his eyes turn into a thick black cloud. The emptiness behind them made you shake with anticipation. He's still in his suit, fresh from the department of damage control as he steps into his apartment.
"I said get on the bed."
You quickly move from where you are standing to get into his queen sized bed. Peter takes no time to start stalking over to the bed. He reaches one side of it before he turns around to walk along to the side side, eyes never leaving your cowering frame.
"Peter your eyes." You dare to speak.
"What you don't like them?" He says leaning into you so you can see them better. As you stare at them you can see your glossy reflection. He starts to lean more forward so his lips ghost against your ear. "Are you going to be a good girl for me and let me touch you?" His husky voice sends shivers down your spine.
You nod your head eagerly, pathetically. Peter laughs as he sees how excited you are.
"Mhm," he raises his finger to trace your jawline and starts to snake his hand down your shirt. He reaches the top of your shorts. He starts to fiddle with the drawstring, before his hand ghosts your tummy. You bite your lip at the light touch. "Fidgety little thing." He comments.
He moves down back the shorts, to your panties. The top of it has a lace trim which he then also plays with dangerously slow. "So pretty, but of course you only wear the prettiest panties."
"Peter." Is all you can gasp.
Peter keeps moving downward until he reaches your wet hole. He starts by ghosting the pool of wetness with his gloved finger. "Fuck and I thought my senses were heightened. The smallest touch has you dripping." He then starts to move his fingers around the wetness, so close to going inside but not yet.
"Peter, baby please do something." His eyes move from his hand to your begging face.
"Awe baby don't pout. Spiderman's gonna help you feel real good." He kisses your temple. Even with this wave of darkness, he is still your sweet Peter. He finally dips two fingers instead of you, your tightness stretching at the initial contact. You can't help but moan out and grab onto his brown curls, the contact makes him whimper. Something you didn't expect.
After his initial stretch he starts to move the fingers in and out of you at a quick but efficient pace. Eventually Peter moves his body so his face is in front of your dripping cunt, his fingers never once leaving you.
Peter then stuffs his face into your cunt, removing his fingers, so he can get full access to whatever he wants. He starts with your hole before moving to your clit. Peter's tongue is electrified with the taste of you and he is addicted. His tongue is lapping wildly as he moves between your clit and shoving his tongue inside of you.
His movements are making the bucket in your stomach fill rapidly and you are about to overflow. Somewhere in between these movements you grab his hair tightly and hold him in place at your clit, which he is giving generous licks to.
"Peter, I am going to come." You say. His dark eyes flick up at you while his tongue is licking your bud. That sends you over the edge and you are coming on his tongue. Peter gets in a few more licks before he pulls back.
"Take off your clothes." He says standing up, taking off his suit. Fuck did his abs get bigger? You awkwardly start taking off your clothes as you are still in his bed but Peter's dark eyes never leave you. He's watching your every movement, deciding when the best move is to make.
"Get on your stomach." There is no option and you flip over. You are about to get into the perfect position for him before he roughly grabs your waist and puts you in it for himself. You are know ass up, back arched for your favorite superhero.
Once Peter decides your position is perfect, he starts to line up his dick at your entrance.
"You going to let me fuck you raw?" The question catches you by surprise. Not because you're against it, because protection was the last thing you were thinking of in this moment.
"Yes. You can do whatever you want." If Peter's eyes weren't dark enough, they were now pitch black.
With no time wasted Peter shoved his thick cock into you. He grabs your waist to stabilize himself before he starts pounding into you and the sensation hits instantly and you grab the covers below you.
"Fuck, Peter." His movements don't stop he just keeps continuing his greedy pace and you hear multiple grunts from him.
Peter decides he's not holding up to your gracious offer. Whatever he wants. He grabs your hair to pull your back to your chest to the best of his ability. The new angle makes you whimper.
He moves his face forward so he lips are near your ear again.
"Gonna come in you, I deserve it honestly. After saving the city how many times." His cockiness sends shivers down your spin. "You going to let me come in you?" You nod eagerly, unable to form words.
"Good because there wasn't an option." Peter's senses are also overloading right now although he doesn't want to show you that. But he is so close to spilling inside you.
"Fuck going to destroy this cunt for anyone else. It's mine now." He says before a few more thrusts he's coming inside you. His load shoots deeply into you, while he continues to thrust. As Peter thrusts his load is coating your insides longer than he expected.
"Fuck Peter you're making such a mess." You whine as you feel his come dripping out of your and onto everything. The sheets, your thighs, around your cunt. This drives Peter insane, causing him to not cease in his brutal pace.
The minute his load is finally done Peter falls back on his bed, passing out cold.
"Fuck Peter?" You say shaking his body back and forth. You grab the glass of water that is next to your bed and throw it in his face. He jolts awake the second the cold water reaches his face.
"Shit, what the hell was that for?" He says, you notice his eyes are back to normal.
"I thought I gave you a heart attack." You laugh. Peter looks around to see the mess around him. Your clothes and his suit on the ground. A sticky substance all around the bed.
"Fuck. I'm sorry if I lost control."
"No, it was good. You were good. I wanted it." Peter nods before kissing you on the lips.
cw: jesus christ. dead dove, do not eat tbh. smut !!MDNI!! dubcon, cnc, stalking behavior, somno, degrading dirty talk, coming inside, bondage, gags, dacryphilia. no pronouns or physical descriptors for reader used!
masterlist
🕸️ arachnid!peter whose only tell is the way the black of his pupils consume the white, a visual signal that pure instinct has taken over. that, and his uncanny silence.
🕸️ arachnid!peter who stalks you in the dead of night, often watching you sleep after he gets done with patrol. who sits in the corner of your bedroom, nestled in the dark crook of the goddamn ceiling, lying in wait.
🕸️ arachnid!peter whose every sense is focused solely on you. the way the scent of your shampoo and fabric softener intoxicates him, or how your voice would make his bones vibrate. the way he could hear the blood rushing under your fucking skin.
🕸️ arachnid!peter who often shows up unannounced and with zero hesitation to interrupt whatever you were doing before. who doesn't say a word as he bends you over the nearest surface, literally tearing the bottoms clean off your body.
🕸️ arachnid!peter who loves to leave marks on you, a physical reminder that he had claimed you. that you were his.
🕸️ arachnid!peter who fucks you hard despite your cries and pleas for him to stop, who goes harder with the insatiable need to be inside of you. he can't stop once he starts, instinct consuming his every action as he feels the way your warm walls tremor around his painfully swollen cock.
🕸️ arachnid!peter who finally speaks, and it's even more of a shock than the unsettling silence he met you with before. who growls in your ear, telling you of what a fucking slut you are, jesus. praising you for how well you take him, because fuck you're s'perfect, baby. made for me to fuck whenever i want. nothing but a fucking toy for me to take my frustration out on.
🕸️ arachnid!peter who loves to come inside of you over and over and over again, leaving you fucked out on the bed as he steps back to relish in the sight of you oozing his release. he loves watch as your quivering muscles push him out, proud to have claimed you inside and out with his fucking webbing.
🕸️ arachnid!peter who uses his organic webbing to his advantage, pinning your limbs down and gagging you. who traps your arms above your head until you've lost all feeling and your fingers have turned white. who fucking loves to use his webs as a plug to keep his come inside of you, especially after he's fucked you in the dead of night while you were asleep. who gets a kick out of knowing you'll wake up and have to feel what he did to you. what he left behind for you.
🕸️ arachnid!peter who loves to see you cry, even if the sight of your tears pulls a bit more of peter parker to the front. whose blackened eyes retract a bit, showing a glimpse of white - a flash of remorse - as he holds you and fucks you harder.
🕸️ arachnid!peter who hears your cries, and whose dirty talk devolves from a rasped god, such a pretty fucking crier. so desperate for my cock, you're fucking crying for it, to soft apologies, incessant pleas of i'm sorry, i'm s'sorry baby, don't cry. i'm sorry, i can't stop. you know i can't stop. it'll be over soon, you're doing s'good.
🕸️ arachnid!peter who follows you through the city as you walk home from work or the library at night, swinging through the streets and tracking your every movement. who hunts you down and strategically times his stride to pull you down a dark alleyway where he webs your mouth shut to keep you quiet and has his way with you.
🕸️ arachnid!peter who sometimes likes to leave the mask on. just the mask.
🕸️ arachnid!peter whose same primal need to fuck you is matched with the innate drive to take care of you after he's violated you. who takes his time cleaning you up and redressing you, making sure you properly rehydrate and don't push yourself the rest of the day.
🕸️ arachnid!peter who is sexy as hell??? dare i say???
╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ Your husband Peter may be behind bars, but that won't stop him from keeping you exactly where he wants you.
The fluorescent lights sting your eyes the moment you step into the hallway. You’re running on about three hours of sleep. Your 1 year old son, Jack is slightly heavy on your hip. His tiny fingers curled in the collar of your shirt like a lifeline.
Pepper tried to talk you down.
Happy tried to take your keys.
Tony tried to block the elevator.
As you drove away, Tony had screamed after you, "He's in a goddamn high level maximum security prison Y/n! I will not have my daughter and grandbaby go-"
None of them succeeded in stopping you.
The guard at the final checkpoint swallows hard when he sees your badge.
“Miss, are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” you manage to say without trembling too much, “My husband is waiting for me.”
He glances at the steel door and nods. "Go right ahead."
The visitation room is cold and much too quiet. A wall of reinforced glass splits the room in half. On the other side sits Peter Parker, hands cuffed, posture perfect, expression calm in that infuriatingly elegant way he has. He looks like he is waiting for a reservation, not sitting in a concrete holding cell.
His eyes light up the second he sees you.
“There she is,” he says, voice warm and smooth. “How’s my pretty girl?”
You glare at him. “Peter.” You hold a stoic expression, silently telling yourself not to cry.
He grins, leaning back like he has all the time in the world. “Sweetheart, you look gorgeous. Tired, but more gorgeous than ever.” He smirks as he appraises you selfishly. “Did your breasts get even bigger?”
Before you can react, Jack babbles at the sound of his voice, reaching toward the glass. Peter’s expression softens instantly, like someone flipped a switch inside him.
“Hey, my little man,” he murmurs, pressing his palm to the barrier.
Jack slaps his tiny hand against the same spot, giggling.
“Babe, I’m just so glad you’re here,” Peter murmured, smiling too naturally. “I just wish I could hold you two.”
"Pete-"
“He’s gotten so big, Y/n,” Peter breathed, eyes locked on Jack’s sweet little face. “I can’t believe we made the cutest kid on this planet. ”
"Peter," you tried again, beginning to lose your patience.
“Y/n…” Peter mocked softly, leaning back in the chair as far as the restraints allowed. His hands were bound together, but that didn’t stop him from stretching, rolling his shoulders like he wasn’t in a jail interview room. “I could really go for one of your famous back rubs right now. My muscles are killing me.” He arched again, those gorgeous back muscles flexing under the jumpsuit like he was showing off on purpose.
You take a breath, steadying yourself. “Peter, we really need to talk.”
He hums, eyes still on Jack. “About how much you missed me?”
“About why you’re in jail?”
He finally looked at you, smirking. “Oh. That.”
“Yes! That!” you whined.
“Don’t worry about me,” he says, waving it off like it’s nothing. “I was just teaming up with Frank.”
You blink. “Frank?” you take a deep breath, “As in Frank Castle?”
“Yeah.”
“The Punisher?"
“Yeah.”
“The man who carries grenades in his coat pockets?”
Peter shrugs, smiling like he’s discussing a regular golf buddy. “He’s not that bad once you get to know him.”
“Peter, he got you arrested! ”
“No,” Peter corrects gently, “I got me arrested. Frank just… assisted.”
You stare at him. “So you think this is funny?”
“I think you’re cute when you’re mad, pretty girl.”
You want to scream.
You want to kiss him.
You want to throw a chair at the glass.
“Peter, you cannot keep doing this! You have a child! You have a pissed off wife! You can’t just run around with murderers and get locked up like it’s some kind of hobby!”
He leans forward, eyes warm and annoyingly sincere. “Sweetheart, I’m fine. I promise.”
“You’re in jail.”
“Temporarily!”
“You’re handcuffed!”
“Fashion statement, come on Y/n, you’re always prancing around in those little sundresses. Why don’t you cut me some slack? He hums thoughtfully, pressing his palm to the glass and tracing where your hair falls. “After all..” he wiggles the wedding ring on his left finger in front of the glass, “Last time I checked, you’re still bound to me, baby.” he smirked.
You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again.
Then the words slip out before you can stop them.
“Peter… I feel like I should divorce you.”
The room goes silent.
Peter blinks once.
Then he laughs.
Not mocking.
Not cruel.
Just amused.
Like you told him the sky is green.
“Baby,” he says, shaking his head, “No way.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re adorable when you’re trying to rile me.”
“I’m not trying to rile you! Pete-”
“Babe, babe, come on. Just a few more weeks and I'll be out of this place!”
Before you can respond, the door on his side bursts open. Two guards step in, tense and hurried.
“Parker. Let’s go.”
Peter sighs dramatically. “Gentlemen. I’m in the middle of a conversation with my wife.”
“Now,” one of them says.
Peter stands, slow and elegant, like he’s humoring them. He gives you one last lingering look. The smile just barely met his worn out eyes.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he says. “You’re stuck with me.” He wiggles the wedding band yet again.
“Peter—”
He winks. “I’ll be home soon.”
The guards grab his arms and start pulling him toward the door. Jack starts crying, reaching for him, tiny hands shaking.
“Dada!” he wails.
Peter twists just enough to look back at you both.
“I love you,” he says.
Then he’s gone.
Dragged out of the room.
The door slams shut.
Jack sobs into your shoulder.
Your heart feels like it’s splitting open.
And all you can think about is how the man wasn’t even scared, not for a damn second.
Peter Parker is planning something.
And whatever it is…
he’s making sure you stay exactly where he wants you.
a/n: so I haven't written for peter since 2022 i guess but depressed peter is making me feel things again :) definitely inspired by if i can't have you by deathsdoll on AO3
[warnings] dark!stalker!peter x reader, both reader and peter are college students, non con, blackmail, oral sex female recieving, masks, coercion, alcohol abuse, sad girl vibes, barely edited
In which Peter takes a dark interest in you, a depressed party girl who forgets to lock her window at night.
word count: 3.3k
peter parker masterlist
Peter had been following you to these frat parties for so long that he’d memorized a specific look in your eyes. When the smile on your face remained wide, but your eyes went glassy, and your dark eyes turned black. Your group of shitty friends was always so wasted that they could barely pay attention.
When that empty, doll-like gaze replaced the light in your eyes, Peter knew you were going to black out. And you blacked out more often than not, especially when it hit day four of getting drunk. Thursday through Sunday, like a self-harming ritual.
Somehow, you always made it home. It was impressive, given how your body would sway on the long walk home. You were never dumb enough to go out on your own, at least. The days you couldn’t convince one of your friends to go out with you were the nights you rotted in bed. While your roommates made popcorn and watched a loud movie in the common room, you lay still in your bed, headphones in, and didn’t move for hours.
They never worried about you. You must’ve always been like this. You were almost a Senior in college, and yet this is the only version of yourself that they’d known.
Peter would wonder what you were like in high school. Your social media didn’t go back that far. Or maybe it was the summer after high school that changed you forever. Your parents could’ve fucked you up a long time ago, he guessed, but he did fantasize about making your life better.
Whatever had happened to you, he could help erase it. Like his own past had been erased.
A fresh start.
You initially caught Peter’s attention in class—a nine a.m. lecture on database management. You arrived five minutes late, though your leisurely walk to the single empty seat next to Peter made it clear the two of you had different concepts of time. Your oversized sweater and sweatpants didn’t really match, although, you were the kind of beautiful that meant you could wear a paper bag and still be stunning.
Your eyelids were so heavy that he was sure you hadn’t taken a second glance at him. Pen in hand, head resting against your palm, and empty notebook in front of you, Peter watched as you practically slept through the class. He hadn’t quite figured out when you made time for studying, although you never seemed to struggle through any exams or projects.
You smelled like vanilla and almonds, your signature scent. Peter had taken note of your collection of perfumes and lotions when he first looked through your room. Your sweater hung loosely against your frame, one shoulder exposed and bra strap on display. Peter wasn’t much of a writer, but he could write poems about the curve of your neck, and subsequently, novels about the architecture of your collarbones.
He didn’t get the chance to sit next to you again, as your arrival at the lecture seemed to be unpredictable. What was more predictable was where you’d be from night to night.
Peter hadn’t necessarily made many friends during his college career. He lived off campus, and he stayed in the shadows for the most part. He guarded Spider-Man’s identity more closely than ever, which meant he’d learned to become virtually undetectable. Even as Peter. Lingering in the corner of every party you attended and nursing a beer at every bar you hopped.
His intentions were innocent at the start, really, and Peter kept a healthy distance. He only slipped in from the fire escape into your window when you weren’t home. He never approached you. Only followed you home to make sure you didn’t get into any trouble.
Your friends were sloppier than you when it came to hookups. They made out with strangers at bars. Went home with a new guy every week. Peter liked that you never flirted back with the drunk fools that slobbered over you.
It was like you knew, deep down, there was someone better out there for you. Peter wasn’t naive enough to assume you were a virgin, but at least you were intentional.
Those carefully laid boundaries worked for a few months. Peter secretly lived his life alongside yours, and he was content with that. Until the first night you come home alone.
It was a perfect storm of events. The cops raided the house party you were at. You and three of your friends ran out the back door and down an alleyway. You all make it a block away before one of them takes a hard spill and sprains her ankle. Three of your friends sober up quickly and make a plan to take the injured one to the hospital. You, on the other hand, are too far gone, and everyone knows it. Your friends, thinking logically for you, sent you home in a ride share.
Peter follows you, of course, swinging between dark alleyways and traffic-lined streets.
That night, Peter is far from careful. He doesn’t even wear a mask when he lands on your fire escape.
He slips into your unlocked window carefully. The room is eerily silent except for your soft breathing. He imagined that you passed out moments after you got through the door. You managed to slip out of your boots and leather jacket, but you’re still wearing your black, sleeveless dress.
Peter’s never seen your tits from this close up. They’re practically spilling from the top of your dress. He barely recognizes that he’s already touching himself through his jeans. His heart pounds in his chest, knowing the risk he was taking, but it feels right being this close to you.
Your soft lips are parted, your chest rises and falls slowly, and Peter realizes this is the most intimacy he’s felt in years.
He doesn’t touch you, not at first, but just the sight of you is enough. With you sleeping and his hands moving purposefully beneath his briefs, not much had changed. You were still a fantasy to him. A line he wouldn’t cross.
This was just a taste, he told himself, to hold himself over. He imagined those lips around him, his hands tangled in your hair, how you’d take all of him. How your eyes would widen as he came down your throat.
The idea was so intense, so overwhelming, that it sent Peter over the edge. He held his breath as he came, hard, his eyes squeezing shut tightly due to the force of it. When he opened his eyes, he expected to have an immediate sense of regret.
He was a good person. Good people didn’t do things like this. He had no plan for the very possible chance that you’d open your eyes. But you continued to sleep. White, sticky, liquid coated your chest, and you didn’t even stir.
Peter wished it felt wrong, but you looked perfect. He tucked his manhood back into his briefs and realized that the only thing he would regret about that night would be not taking a picture. So he did.
Anxiously, you paced in your bathroom. You stared down at your phone as you tried to steady your breathing. It wasn’t the first time you’d sent the message, but it wasn’t any less panic-inducing.
Y/N: Hey so what happened last night?
You left out the part about waking up covered in … the idea made your stomach churn.
Priya: Rach twisted her ankle. U don’t remember?
You did. Vaguely.
Y/N: Yeah that part I remember. Who did I go home with?
Priya: No one. We got you an Uber. I peeked in your room this morning and saw you sleeping. Assumed everything was fine. What’s wrong?
Y/N: Nothing. I was just so drunk and I think maybe I had weird dream.
Priya: Did you dream about hooking up with Smoothie shop guy again?
Y/N: Lol maybe
Priya: Sleep it off baby
Priya: We’ll bring you a smoothie after class :)
You were being paranoid. You took a shower and tried to forget. You didn’t have the best habits, you knew that, but you took precautions to be safe. Last night was a fluke, but you could protect yourself if worse came to worst, couldn’t you? If something bad had happened, you would remember it. You just needed more sleep. And maybe another night where everything didn’t go completely wrong.
When you stepped back into your room, you realized your window was cracked. In your robe, you walked over, shut it tightly, and locked it.
An entire two uneventful weeks go by before that eerie feeling returns.
Usually, getting drunk made you feel better. You felt lighter and could smile a little more easily. Every once in a while, getting drunk made every single bad feeling you’d been pushing down bubble to the surface. You’d sat around the coffee table in the living room with your friends, taking shots, and trauma dumping. Suddenly, you missed the person you’d never see again, and it weighed on your heart so bad that you could feel it aching in your chest. Tears had fallen, and of course, your friends had comforted you.
“You wanna sleep in my room?”
You smiled through your tears.
No. Never.
“I’m okay. I’m so tired. I just wanna put my headphones in and fall asleep.”
Goodbyes were said, and each roommate retreated to their respective room.
You had a 9 a.m. lecture that you hadn’t made it to all week. It would be the smart and responsible thing to cry yourself to sleep rather than stay awake and overthink.
Your shoe box of a room was actually the biggest in the four-bedroom apartment. You were also blessed with a real window. You’d hung tall sheer curtains from your ceiling to block some of the light. Your walls were filled with artwork you’d found online and posters you’d thrifted over time. You opted for darker greens and muted maroon colors in the places you could make your own. You were renting, after all, but the building itself had oodles of charm. Your landlord likes to remind you that the building was once a factory in the early 1900s. That’s why the ceilings were so high, and the old pipes in the wall screamed every time a toilet flushed or a dishwasher was run. The wall your metal-framed bed rested against was exposed brick. Normally, you’d turn on one of the many lamps, but tonight, moonlight streamed in from your window. Silver light danced across the floor, across the sheets, across you.
Heavy eyelids blinking slowly, mind drifting to the sound of a sad indie ballad, you let sleep take you and prayed that you didn’t dream.
Sometime in the middle of the night and in the deepest part of your REM cycle, a heavy hand pressed down onto your mouth. A scream never left your lips, no matter how hard you tried to force it out. Your eyes snap open, and you make out dark, brown eyes staring down at you. That’s about the only thing you make out because the stranger’s face is covered in a black mask.
Honestly, the initial fear that you felt was for your roommates. You hoped they were okay even as he pressed the weight of his hips down into your pelvis. All that you could get out of your mouth was a strangled moan of discomfort, and of course, it came out muted.
Your panties are already around your ankles, and a chill runs down your spine as you realize he’d pulled them down while you were still sleeping. Your sleep shirt is pulled above your navel, and as one of his hands holds your mouth, his full weight on top of you, his other hand starts to travel down your body. He roughly grips each one of your breasts, kneading and teasing your sensitive buds. Another strangled moan.
“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice low and slightly too unsure for someone who clearly had planned this.
He continues to knead each breast, then pinches your nipples. Warmth stirs in your core, and you get a sick feeling. You start to writhe beneath him, your body betrays you, and he takes full advantage of how responsive you are. He learns your body quickly, what strokes make your back arch, and the level of pressure that makes your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head.
“You’re so pretty.”
He grunts against the fabric of his mask.
“Fuck.”
When your body is properly teased, his fingers wander between your legs, where you’re now hot, wet, and needy. You blink tears away as he parts your lips, middle finger stretching across your warm center, discovering you.
It’s at that moment that you think about how strong his body feels. You can’t be that much shorter than him, but he feels massive against you. Your attempts to push him away are pointless, as you’re forced to accept the pleasure he was providing you. The circles he draws with his fingers are precise, and it only takes a few minutes before you’re a complete mess. Shaking, gasping into his hand, and you become grateful that he was saving you from the embarrassment of your roommates hearing you.
“I’m making you feel so good. Aren’t I, baby? Look at you.”
You cum easily, and you feel it from head to toe.
He stays pressed against you as the reality of the moment sinks in. You let a stranger who’d broken into your apartment let you feel this way. You’d let him make you …
“You’re okay, pretty girl.” Realizing you’re too mortified to call for help, he removes his hand from your mouth. He lifts the lower part of his mask, and now you’re staring at his pink lips. For a moment, you thought you might recognize him just by his lower face, but no.
“Please –” You choked out.
“You did so well.” He grabs your face, and you stare back with wide, frightened eyes. You were scared, although, for some reason, you didn’t think he’d hurt you. “That’s all for tonight, I promise.”
“Who-who are you?”
His lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line, “We shouldn’t rush things, okay? I’ll be back. I’ll explain more.”
“Please, don’t. I won’t tell anyone, just please–”
“I know you won’t tell, Y/N. You’re a good girl.”
You took in a sharp breath in response, and he slowly lifted his weight off of you. You took in his silhouette, how his dark jacket squeezed his muscular physique, and you prayed to see something that would help identify him. You couldn’t take not knowing who he was. Thinking he could be every stranger you passed on the street. Even as he walked over to your window and climbed onto the fire escape, you felt him on top of you.
You turned your sore neck towards your nightstand, tapping the screen of your charging phone. The time read 2:34 a.m. You turned your gaze to the ceiling next.
You never fell back to sleep, of course, and your 8 a.m. alarm snaps you from your fog. When you check your phone, you find several unread messages.
Unknown number: I can’t stop thinking about you
Unknown number: Seeing your face while you orgasmed changed my life, I think
You cover your mouth as you scroll through several pictures he’d sent you. Several were from last night while you were sleeping. Your panties around your ankles, your vagina on full display, and his hands groping your chest. Then your heart stops when you see the photos from a few weeks ago. Your black dress. His cum on your chest.
Unknown number: I’m sorry I interrupted your sleep, but you can’t be late to class today
Y/N: I’m calling the police, you fucking crazy person
Unknown number: Harsh baby
Unknown number: I really don’t want to have to post these photos anywhere. let’s keep them between us
Unknown number: You enjoyed it
Unknown number: Just think about how much you’ll love it when I finally fuck you
You can’t type anymore; your fingers are shaking too badly. You throw your phone across the bed before you start to hyperventilate. How did he know about your class? Was he in it? You think you might die of humiliation right then.
Your roommates are expecting you to ride to campus with them, and you don’t intend to let them know anything is wrong. You act like this morning never happened, and it works for a few hours. You already operate your life with a thin layer of anxiety. What’s one more thing to worry about?
It was a simple problem to work out. Figure out who did this to you and how to keep it from happening again. You were a smart girl. You could do that.
Poor thing, Peter thought as he watched you tap your leg underneath the table. You were late to class and got stuck with a seat at the very front. You’d opted for dark leggings and a black hoodie that swallowed your frame.
Still beautiful.
He wished he could’ve stayed longer this morning and provided you with the aftercare you deserved. It might’ve made the texts he sent a little bit easier to bear. It was wrong to manipulate you, he knew that, but it felt like the only way. Your feelings were so closed off, even towards your friends; what chance did he have trying to date you the normal way?
He couldn’t risk you rejecting him. He would have you in the dark of the night if he couldn’t have you any other way.
He knew he was hurting you, but maybe you’d start to turn to him for comfort instead of the bottle.
Much to his dismay, even after everything, you went out with your friends that night.
Peter knew the last thing he needed to be with you was predictable. Of course, you expected him to come back that night. Conveniently, you fell asleep in your roommate's room. And then the living room the next day. The night after you locked yourself in your bathroom.
Peter could see the lack of sleep in your eyes the next week in class. Eventually, you slept in your bed again for a few nights. When you finally thought he’d forgotten about you, Peter returned.
On a night when your very intention was to black out. From afar, Peter saw you take at least eight shots. It was far from smart. Especially now that a masked vigilante had completely taken advantage of you in such a state. But you couldn’t help yourself, could you?
“Poor baby, look at you,” Peter thought out loud this time as he caressed your cheek. Your eyes were dark with mascara, lipstick smudged across your cheek, but you were still perfect. His very own doll. He kissed your lips and started to warm your cold body with his. Almost like muscle memory, your lips moved back against his, slow and drowsy. You tasted sweet like cranberry-flavored liquor. “You need someone to take care of you, don’t you? To love you. I can love you. I’ll love you so good.”
He had to taste you. All of you.
You're far too drunk to fight him. Your arms are practically limp at your sides, and Peter pries your thighs open easily.
He sank into the bed, arms wrapping around the back of your thighs as he pulled your pussy to his lips. He kissed the fabric of your panties, nose pressing against your clit as he smelled deeply.
“Please,” Peter perked up at the sound of your voice. Fuck, you were begging him. The deepest part of your conscience wanted him.
“Please, Peter,” He corrected you, dangerously, and to his satisfaction, you listened.
“Oh, please, Peter.”
Peter pulled your panties to the side and ate your pussy for a full hour that night. It felt magical. You’d come to now and then to have an orgasm, fall back asleep, and wake again to find yourself cumming again. Meanwhile, Peter just savored the taste of you. Peter took a video, of course, of your soft whimpering as he licked you over and over. You wouldn’t remember tonight, but he’d remind you in the morning.
reblogs with your thoughts are much appreciated :)
Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER/violence/kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @whimsicalrogers
➥ series masterlist
summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.
~
You fidgeted with your fingers under his familiar blue stare, thinking to yourself how much you hated both this silence and being in this position. You hadn't known what to expect when Peter got you dressed and brought you down to the same den you’d only stood in twice. You shuddered to think of the last time you were in here, recalling the way Bucky had reached for you and what he might have accomplished if it weren’t for Peter.
Sometimes you still had nightmares about that night, surrounded and terrified and feeling so alone.
Well…almost alone.
It saddened you to think of how much more terrified you would’ve been without Peter’s presence, and you guessed that could be said about your time in this house in general. Without Peter, you would feel so much more alone and afraid, and you were reminded once again how much you really needed him.
It made you sick.
“Peter thinks that I owe you an apology…”
You blinked at Steve’s words, the blond finally acknowledging you after talking with Peter for some time like you weren’t even there.
“...and I’m…reluctant to agree.”
He said this with a sigh, and you didn’t miss the look Peter gave him.
“She chose to support Nat’s selfish decision and it could’ve cost Nat her life,” Steve said to Peter, that familiar edge in his voice, revealing his lingering anger about the situation. “What she did—or didn’t do—was serious.”
They stared at each other for a few moments as Steve reminded Peter of this, and the brunette gently rubbed your arm.
“...but I let my anger regarding the situation cloud my thinking. Bucky too,” Steve looked at you, now. “We should’ve made sure you weren’t in a delicate condition.”
You swallowed when Peter’s other hand landed on your stomach.
“It was a reckless oversight to not consider that, especially when we all know you and Peter have been trying.”
You couldn’t stop yourself from looking away at that, hating his wording. He made it seem like it was a mutual decision you and Peter had come to instead of the truth. You fought back tears, desperately hating the idea of crying in front of Steve. You swore it was like your tears triggered some deep rooted anger in him, the sight of them disgusting him.
“I’m sorry.”
Hearing those words from Steve of all people did absolutely nothing for you. An apology from him meant absolutely nothing to you, and your heart sank as you thought about who you’d rather hear an apology from, but you knew it would never come.
Peter would apologize about a million things, but he would never apologize about doing this to you.
“Apology accepted,” you reluctantly murmured when Peter squeezed your arm, clearing your throat. “...and I’m sorry too.”
There was a beat of silence.
“I…acted selfishly. I wasn’t thinking about the house or family,” you slowly said, repeating the words Peter said to you only hours ago. “Nat could’ve gotten really hurt or worse…and I would’ve had some blame in that.”
The words felt wrong on your tongue, but your next ones were true.
“I would’ve never forgiven myself if anything happened to her.”
You met Steve’s gaze.
“I love her.”
…and that was true.
Nat was so strong and courageous and ten times the woman you were, and when Peter wasn’t around, it was the redhead you wanted to gravitate to. You thought about the look on her face when she knew the truth about what happened to your friends, and you’d long suspected that had something to do with her escape attempt.
Nat made you wish you could be stronger, less weak.
At your words, Peter’s hand drifted to the back of your neck.
“...and I’m glad you do,” Steve said to you. “She’s your family now—we all are—but the family as a whole will always come first. What's good for the house and the family will always take priority over anyone’s individual wants.”
You looked down at that, stomach twisting.
“I am the way I am because that’s something that everyone will need to accept. I prioritize this family over feelings, over any one individual and as of late, that has been you.”
You bit the inside of your cheek as Steve continued.
“What you want does not come before anything, and you’re free to hate me for it—that’s fine—but you accepting your place in this house and by Peter’ side is my only goal when it comes to you.”
“Steve…”
Peter’s voice was quiet, but hard as he addressed the other man, and you hated how soothing it felt as Peter brushed his thumb along the skin of your neck.
“I want us to understand each other, Peter,” the blond told him. “I don’t want there to be any confusion because while it’s not entirely personal, it is at the same time because her not grasping this is how and why she just let Nat waltz right out the door.”
You blinked back tears, not looking up once as he said any of this, just wanting to be anywhere but here.
“Do we understand each other?”
You struggled to swallow, giving him a nod.
“Yes.”
You didn’t look at him again when Peter finally helped you stand.
The silence between you and Peter when you were alone was deafening these days.
You mostly stayed in your room, still fighting to get back your strength and gain back the substantial amount of weight to be considered healthy for this baby. He talked to you—pretending like the slap and fight never happened—but you never said anything back.
Sometimes he ignored your silence—continuing on as if you’d answered him—and sometimes it really bothered him.
It was always in the dead of night when both of you should’ve been asleep, but you would be staring at the wall and Peter would be staring at you. You could always feel his gaze on you in the darkness, boring holes into the back of your head as he willed you to speak to him, look at him instead of through him—simply react.
It got under his skin unlike any other—especially with the condition you were in—and you would be a liar if you said it didn’t bring you some pleasure. Peter had hurt you so much, and made you feel good inside to hurt him and make him squirm like he always did with you. You took great satisfaction in it, but the part of you that loved him hated it.
Love.
It amazed you how that word was just part of your vocabulary now in reference to Peter, but you did love him. It felt silly and immature and disingenuous and all of the things above to deny that now. Who did you have to impress? Your friends were long dead and their memory was equally as long tainted by the lack of dignity you’d shown every day since.
…and your mom…
You thought about her less and less these days, slowly detaching yourself from the memory of her as it hurt to think of what she was doing now and the heartache she’d endured at your disappearance. It was mind numbing to think of how many lives Peter had ruined all because he’d selfishly wanted you.
Including the life growing inside of you.
Day to day you tried to ignore that there was a baby growing inside of you, positive that lingering on it too much would drive you insane. Even more insane. No matter the gender, the outcome was horrific, and you didn’t understand how Peter had reconciled with the fact that his child was going to carry this on one way or another. Either from his side…or yours.
Logically you knew how he’d come to terms with this—it was normal for him—but sometimes you wondered if he’d ever even just for a brief moment imagined better? Didn’t Peter ever want more than this? This house, this life, this family? Obviously the answer was no, but you didn’t understand why not.
Why didn’t he want more for himself?
You were pulled from your thoughts by the feeling of Peter’s hand trailing along your stomach. You weren’t showing technically, but there was a firmness to your belly that was noticeable—even without the required weight to be healthy.
“You need to rest,” Peter murmured in the darkness, and you started to wonder how he knew you were awake before thinking better of it.
Peter always knew.
“You’re not getting enough,” he quietly said, hand trailing to your shoulder and then your hair. “...and I know you know how important this baby is to me, but you’re more important.”
You blinked at that, hating the way your heart skipped beat.
“There’s no baby without you.”
Your gaze traveled to the window, no moon tonight.
“I want you to be healthy…and happy,” he finally added, tracing patterns into the skin of your neck.
When you didn’t respond, he merely sighed.
“Thor thinks we should save the wedding until after the baby comes,” he said, changing the topic at your silence. “Something about fully enjoying our honeymoon.”
Peter lightly chuckled at that.
“...but I don’t know…” he wistfully commented. “I think you’ll be radiant when you start showing.”
He gently grazed your arm.
“...and I can’t imagine you looking more beautiful in our wedding pictures than when you’re round with my child and glowing.”
The words came out before you could stop them.
“If the baby even makes it that long.”
You were snatched up in the darkness before the last word even left your lips, Peter’s hands tight on your arms as he forced you to sit up and face him. He shook you, and you didn’t need the lamp or moonlight to know he was looking at you as if you’d punched him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he breathed. “Don’t you ever say that.”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” you sneered. “I mean…Dr. Banner didn’t say as much to me but it’s pretty obvious that I’m lucky to even still be pregnant.”
Peter’s fingers dug into your skin, and you winced.
“You really know how to pick em, don’t you?” you pressed. “Not right in the head and not right in the womb.”
You hissed when Peter’s hold tightened, tears kissing your eyes when he pulled you closer.
“Do not talk about yourself like that–.”
“Why not?” you interrupted. “I’m sure Steve does.”
Peter huffed, and you continued.
“I’m sure it’s not lost on him that things would be much easier—much smoother—if you’d chosen better. It’s definitely not lost on me,” you whispered to yourself. “I think about it all the time…but then I think about how some other poor girl would be in my place, and I don’t know.”
You pulled your lip between your teeth.
“I just don’t think I’m that selfish. Especially at this point…”
“I don’t care what Steve thinks,” Peter whispered to you. “I wanted you and I got you.”
“...and was it worth it?”
You spat the question at him, tears in your eyes even though you were positive he couldn’t see them.
He could hear them in your voice though, you were sure.
“Was it worth traumatizing me? Was it worth scrambling my brain so much that I don’t know what’s right or wrong?” you tearfully asked him. “Was it worth everything you’ve done to me, everything you’ve made me endure?”
A few tears spilled over.
“Was having me worth hurting me for?”
“Yes,” Peter answered without hesitation, and you didn’t know what answer you expected.
His answer stumped you, and you could only look down as he continued.
“I don’t care how hurt you’ve felt by whatever I've said and done,” he said to you. “All that matters is that I have you.”
You struggled to swallow at his confession.
“I have you…and I love you…and you love me, and everything it took to get us here was worth it.”
More tears had escaped by now, but Peter wiped your face before you could, blood rushing back into your arms. He leaned in, pressing his lips to your wet cheek.
“It was all worth it.”
You leaned against the window as you stared down into the yard, watching Margaret with her daughter, absentmindedly wondering how she did it. How could the other woman appear so happy and content all the while knowing what was in store for her own daughter? Surely she couldn’t actually be okay with it, it seemed impossible.
…and yet…
The other woman had been here for years, enduring God knows what from Steve, and sometimes it really terrified you to look at her because it felt like looking into your future. You were resisting her fate with every fibre of your being, but you couldn’t allow your mind to ignore how happy she looked.
Even when she was with Steve and the blond was sporting the rare smile—something you only ever saw from him around Margaret and Sarah. She seemed genuinely at peace with her life and her lack of choice and it was somehow both frightening and appealing.
It could be so easy, and you knew that.
It took more energy resisting every single day, and you absentmindedly touched your stomach. Giving in would probably do wonders for not only your health but the baby’s health too, but you hadn’t been just petty and malicious the other night when you said what you said. The thought that this baby might not make it was something you did worry about.
In truth, you should want that.
A huge part of you did actually. It deserved better than this life Peter was determined to give it, but you wondered how it would actually affect you if you did end up losing it. Was that why you were so detached most of the time? Why you preferred to ignore your pregnancy most days? To make it easier should something tragic occur?
It was true that if you lost the baby, right now, you’d barely even blink.
Peter, on the other hand, would be devastated.
He loved it so much already, and you felt nothing. He liked to touch your stomach and talk to it and lay his head on it, and the whole time you couldn’t care less. You couldn’t allow yourself to care because no matter the outcome, caring would just mean heartbreak.
…but that seemed cruel to you somehow.
However, you thought it was far more cruel to love a child and raise them and then turn around and allow them to be molded into an abusive rapist or offer them up to one themselves. Even still, the thought of this child only experiencing the kind of love Peter could give made you sad and desperate.
In this house, you were the best thing this baby would ever know, and you looked down.
Should this baby make it, were you really going to deny them that? Both choices seemed cruel and unfair to you, and in truth, you knew that the best thing you could do for this baby was kill it before it even had a chance to take it’s first breath.
The passing thought was horrific, but it was one rooted in truth. It was the kindest thing you could do for the child growing in your stomach, and you briefly wondered if Peter would still love you. Some small part of you wanted to test him, wanted to see just how far that so-called love went, but it didn’t last long.
If anything happened to this baby, it would devastate Peter, and you hated how much you hated the thought of that. Hurting his feelings and pissing him off was one thing, but your frown deepened and your stomach churned at the thought of Peter absolutely heartbroken and shattered.
It was unfair really because that was all he’d ever done to you.
In fact, he’d told you that it was worth it.
“Try to eat a little more…”
You swallowed down a sigh at Peter’s suggestion before doing as he said, picking at your dinner a little more. You could tell that Laura had cooked the green beans, knowing how crispy she preferred them, and you tried to ignore the way Peter watched you as you ate.
“You’ve gained a little bit more weight,” he murmured. “...but definitely not where you need to be.”
You didn’t respond to that.
“Have you thrown up today?”
“Just a few times,” you finally answered, debating on whether or not to ignore him.
Peter touched your face as you ate some more, and you wondered if he could tell that you were in no mood to speak to him. You suspected that he didn’t exactly enjoy what you had to say the other night, in no rush to force you to talk to him any time soon.
That was perfectly fine with you.
You were sure that some day in the near future you’d break once again—because you were weak—but as of now, you really didn’t have the energy to speak to Peter. You certainly had words for him, but they would do no good. They would just consist of the usual questions and accusations of which he couldn’t care less about.
Peter didn’t care that he’d hurt you—irreparably damaged you—and he certainly didn’t care about being a bad person. The problem was that Peter was perfectly content to be a bad person so long as it got him you. In his own words, hurting you and traumatizing you and mentally destroying you was worth it.
There was no going back and forth with someone like that.
You could tell that your retreat into yourself bothered Peter at best, infuriated him at worst. You weren’t in the basement anymore, but seeing as silence filled the space between you most of the time, you wondered if it felt any different for him.
It certainly didn’t feel all that different for you. Your days blurred together up here just like they did down there, and the monotonous stretch was only broken up by Peter telling you to eat more or the rare suffocating seconds when you remembered all over again that you were pregnant.
You knew a day would come where you could no longer ignore it. One day you were going to be significantly showing, and you wouldn’t be able to move an inch without being confronted with your new reality. This was on your mind hours later as you dried off, brushing your fingers over your stomach.
You could only stare at it for a few seconds before slipping into your nightgown, hearing Peter’s approach.
You barely spared him a glance as you brushed past him into the bedroom, feeling his gaze on you as you crawled into bed. You knew he was still staring at you even with your back to him, and Peter sighed to himself before finally speaking.
“Are you feeling okay?”
You only hummed at him, and Peter responded almost immediately.
“Can I get a yes or no?”
It was rare to hear an edge in his voice, and you licked you lips, debating if you cared about his apparent anger or not.
“Yes,” you finally answered.
“Dr. Banner is coming by again tomorrow with some supplements that’ll help with your health,” the bed dipped from his weight as he said this. “I know you’re eating as much as you can, but right now it’s just not enough.”
You felt the tip of his fingers graze your back, and without thinking you leaned away from him.
You could feel the air in the room shift almost immediately, but you didn’t care to look at him. You found yourself frozen by some unseen force, a sixth sense alerting you to danger, and you stared at the wall as the silence stretched. When Peter attempted to touch you again, he got the same result.
There was silence still…and then he scoffed.
“Do you have any idea how lucky you are?” he quietly asked you.
His words made you frown, and you felt your heart skip a beat.
“Do you?”
He continued when you didn’t answer.
“Do you even understand how lucky you are that you got me? That I chose you?”
At that, you finally moved, looking over your shoulder at him with a deep furrow between your brows. There was one on Peter’s own face, and you could count the number of times on one hand that Peter seemed to be genuinely upset with you. It always terrified you—such a contrast to how he normally interacted with you—and tonight was no different.
One of his knees was pressed into the bed as he loomed over you, and you swallowed.
“Do you?” he sneered. “Do you know what Tony would do if Pepper treated him how you’re treating me?”
You didn’t answer, only blinking at him.
“Do you think Bucky would stand for Nat ignoring him and treating him like some homeless beggar on the street instead of her husband?”
“I–.”
“Do you think Steve would tolerate a fraction of your behavior from Peggy? That he would even entertain her silent treatment, her snide remarks, her refusal to touch him?”
Peter’s voice grew colder and colder the more he went on, and you were disappointed to feel tears kiss your eyes. When he simply stared at you, you realized that he expected an answer, and you sniffed.
“No,” you whispered. “...but you’re not like Steve.”
Peter stared at you for a few moments before his face softened only a little.
“No,” he agreed, taking your face into his hands. “I’m not…but I can only be pushed so far.”
You felt your heart sink at that.
“...and what does that mean?”
Peter took a deep breath, staring you down.
“It means that I was going crazy without you up here, and now you’re up here and sometimes I think that you might as well still be down in that basement.”
You blinked a few times, a few tears escaping, and Peter brushed them away with his thumb.
“The entire time you were down there, all I could think about was being near you and holding you and touching you…and I still can’t even do that.”
You opened and closed your mouth a few times before blinking back tears.
“...but I don’t want to…right now.”
Peter looked…cold—cruel—as he tilted his head at you, dark hair brushing his forehead.
“...and when will you want to? Months from now? A year?”
You struggled to swallow.
“...and I’m genuinely expected to just…wait you out?”
He said it like the thought was comical, and you took a shuddering breath.
“You won’t even let me touch you, and I blame myself for letting you think that’s okay.”
“Peter…”
“...and it’s not okay.”
You two stared at each other for a bit before he leaned in, and his lips met your cheek when you turned your head away. His fingers briefly pressed into your skin before his hands drifted down to your arms, holding you in place as he kissed you again.
Peter’s lips found yours this time.
“Peter, stop–.”
“You don't get to tell me that,” he quietly interrupted, pulling away to meet your shaky gaze. “Do you understand?”
You looked between his dark eyes for a hint of something—anything—that would show a hint of give but there was nothing there. Peter’s jaw was taut as he waited for your response, and as he held you, you knew that neither response would matter. Whether you understood it or not did not matter, and a few tears skipped down your cheeks.
He’d allowed you your moment to wallow and allowed you your space from him, but your time was up. Peter wasn’t going to entertain it any longer, and his hold on your arms felt like cuffs against your skin, biting into the flesh and restricting you.
You blinked, and a few more tears escaped.
“I understand,” you slowly breathed.
Peter’s frown smoothed out, and he ran his eyes over your face.
The kiss was salty from your tears, but Peter didn’t mind it. He hummed against your lips, and you made a noise in the back of your throat as he wrapped his arms around you. You shuddered when he forced you against him, hands shaking when your back met the bed.
Your fingers only ghosted over Peter, but it seemed enough to drive him crazy, moving his mouth against yours like he’d forgotten what you tasted like. He was gentle in how he touched you, but his movements were deliberate and held purpose. A swift brush of his hand under your leg, the smooth way in which he rid you of your nightgown, a hand quickly finding a home between your thighs.
Peter was content to undress himself, only focused on immediately finding a place between your legs and meeting your lips again in another kiss. His kisses were gentle, his hands gentler, and when the tip of his cock poked at you, you couldn’t stop the shiver that crawled up your spine.
You didn’t want this, Peter knew you didn’t want this, and yet your body responded to him like it had a hundred times before. You hated it—you hated even more that part of you missed it—and when Peter easily sheathed himself inside of you, your eyes fell closed at the familiar feeling.
He pressed open mouthed kisses against your throat as he made love to you, his hips moving slow against yours and savoring the feeling of his cock in your warmth. Sometimes you were successful in swallowing down any noise that threatened to escape your lips, but other times you were not.
Your face was pressed into the crook of his neck as you gasped into his skin, thighs trembling and toes curling from his ministrations.
“I wanted to do this from the moment I found out you were pregnant,” he panted. “You know that?”
You didn’t respond, and he pressed kisses into your skin.
“You’re going to be so big and so beautiful,” he breathed. “Just thinking about it makes me hard.”
Your hands were gently pressed against his lower back, and Peter lifted his head to look into your eyes. You struggled to keep them open, blinking up at him as he pushed his cock into you, and Peter touched his nose to yours.
“You’re going to be a great mom,” he whispered to you, assuring you of something he didn’t even know you worried about. “Don’t ever doubt that.”
His hand drifted to your stomach, resting there as he kissed you over and over, and it never strayed as he relaxed on top of you again.
i can't get creepy ex boyf peter out of my head so this is a continuation to my other small fic nothing sweet about it. 🫣 as always lmk if you enjoy!! comments and reblogs are super appreciated <3
dark! peter parker x reader
cw: ex-boyfriend peter is feeling guilty but not as much as he's feeling lonely, reader still doesn't remember who he is...or do they?, hints of arachnid!peter, manipulative behavior, mentions of violence, peter making horridly unethical choices, this whole dynamic is dubcon tbh, brief smut. content is obviously 18+ MINORS DNI.
it’s undignified to say the least, that a single 'one night stand' has affected you the way it has. specially considering how weird and slightly terrifying the whole ordeal was.
but try as you may, you cannot shake the thought of peter parker from your head.
his face has been showing up in your dreams, painfully realistic ones, the kind that woke you up with a thrumming in your chest and sizzling feelings that took hours to fade.
his face, of all people. the aloof cute neighbor who lives a few doors down from you.
now that you've slept with him, he haunts you like a curse, the memory of his soft lips on yours, the reverence with which he touched you and said your name. like you were something precious to him.
it fuels your movements, the image of his hair falling damply on his forehead, the inhuman power of his thrusts inside you, the intensity of his dark brown eyes as they focused on your face.
it slips past your lips before you realize its happening, when your digits are serving as a poor remedy to the maddening itch he’s left behind “peter, fuck, please-”
the name sits so right on your lips it almost scares you, like you’re reciting a prayer you had forgotten you learned, it rings in your ears and it sets aflame your whole body until you’re gasping at the ceiling in shock at the power it holds over you.
before you know it you’re chanting it in the coldness of your room, his name along with the recollection of the weight of him on top of you are enough to make you arch obscenely from the sheets of your bed.
but then- theres an urgent knock on your door.
the next time you're saying his name, theres both humiliation and resentment behind it.
“p-peter? whats going on?” you ask, you practically feel yourself go red at the face knowing what you were doing moments before in the privacy of your room.
peter parker, your neighbor, the man who's been plaguing your mind consistently for days now, is standing at your apartment door. wearing only a dark hoodie and jeans.
“im sorry, i uh- it's late” he states, with an awkward punch into the palm of his hand. as if the fact wasn’t obvious.
"yeah"
"yeah" he exhales with a nervous laugh.
“you disappeared” you call him out, before you think twice about it, a sadness tainting your tone. "you ignored my texts" it was something that had been eating at you for days now.
that he had the nerve to ghost you for the better half of two weeks.
you shouldn't even care. why do you care so much?
“no yeah- i know. i'm sorry. i meant to text you back, but i just-"
"okay" you answer. then theres a beat of silence as peter struggles to string his next sentence together. his mouth hanging agape as he stares at you. "is that all? goodnight, peter"
"no please-" peter raises a hand to stop your door from shutting in his face. his voice breaks when he speaks. even though its supposed to be an affirmation he says it in the form of a question "i just- don't want to be alone right now?”
he's audacious, you'll give him that.
"i can't be alone right now" peter corrects himself, a nervous quality to his voice, his eyes seemingly pleading all on their own with the way they twinkle at you. like he's a puppy that was left at your doorstep. "can i come in? just a for a little while i promise"
a part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, thinking its mighty daring of him to even ask for your company now.
but theres also the other half of you- the one that falters under his saddened gaze and stupidly pretty face. suddenly, there's an uncontrollable urge to comfort him that takes your body hostage faster than you anticipate.
suddenly, the mere thought of sending him away makes you think it will hurt you just as much as it will hurt him
“fine” you sigh, giving him access into your apartment once more. like the naive idiot you are.
⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎
peter attempted to keep his distance. he really did.
the guilt of what he had done, fucking his ex-girlfriend that had no memory of who he was, it was enough to make him lock himself up in his apartment, zero contact with the outside world unless it was him going out as the masked hero spider man.
but theres was no one else he could turn to, no one else in his life to lean on after the night he's just had.
after he almost killed someone.
it was always you, back when things were good between you both. way before your memories of him had been erased. you're the person peter had always confided on in things like this. the person he could count on to make him feel better about himself, to remind him the person behind the mask was just as good.
the thing is, now, when peter is leaning in to press a wet kiss down your neck, your presence is only providing the opposite desired effect.
its confirming what he already knows after the events from tonight, that there is a darkness bubbling just beneath the surface of his goodness. an instinct he's being trying so hard to suppress now fighting for dominance inside him.
its mortifying the same way it is validating. that the way he's acting with you substantiates his theories about himself.
it's hard evidence of his selfish and evil nature, how quickly he descends back into his old ways with you. and you, who doesn't even realize they're old ways to begin with.
“we’re not doing this right now peter, not after-” you gasp, but peter can hear the resolve shattering in your voice.
“please, baby-” peter pleads, before moving in that much closer to you on your living room couch, suffocating you with warmness of his body and the enticing comfort of his smell.
he takes notice of the way your pulse rises so much harder at the term of endearment, he smiles against your neck in recognition of the shaky sigh you let out in response.
peter can’t help but bask in it, the knowledge that he's crawled his way into your mind and soul as easy as he did all those years ago.
"you're all i've been thinking about, its crazy" he says.
"funny way of showing it"
"sorry. have you been thinking of me though?"
"no" you lie.
"okay"
peter doesn’t even have the heart to tell you he had heard your soft cries of his name. that they alone caused his composure to falter when he was already feeling severely weak-willed as he was passing by your apartment.
where before there was racking guilt, today theres is only a bottomless pit inside him. a lustful craving so horrid he can already feel it blackening his eyes.
“peter, i-" you whine, feeling yourself growing powerless against his lips. by the mind bending affection that oozes from him. something that makes no rational sense in your mind given the fact that you technically dont even know him that well. “god you’re so fucking weird”
peter laughs at that, having heard that insult coming from your mouth a thousand times before.
“yeah, yeah” he agrees, his corners of his eyes crinkling with endearment, nodding at you like its cute that you’re insulting him.
he thinks its cute too, when he traces his thumb down your chin and your mouth instinctively parts, like an implicit memory just waiting to be triggered by him and only him.
peter leans in to kiss you, he sighs high and shaky at the relief of getting to do it like this, much less frenzied, slow enough that he can recall all the parts he missed about making out with you.
when he slides his tongue in to meet with your own, he realizes your body remembers exactly what to do inside his mouth and he nearly sobs at how good it feels.
“i know you were thinking of me” he says, muffled into you mouth, more to himself. he says it to save himself some righteousness within the awful reality of what he's doing with no shred of remorse this time around.
he had held out for so so long, its only fitting that this is his reward isn't it? he had been good, he must deserve to give in to the temptation of whats dangling right in front of his face. of having you for himself again.
he smiles into the kiss when he hears the way you gasp out in shock but also in need of him. he whimpers when your hand flies to his hair and it tangles in the strands to pull him in until his whole body is squishing you into the pillowy cushions of your loveseat.
⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎
you wake up with an aching soreness between your legs, a pleasant twinge that shoots through your thighs and up your back.
peter parker had been holding back since the last time you two fucked, if that was even possible.
because this time, you're pretty sure you were sobbing his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. you're pretty sure peter's obscene wet cries against your skin left no doubt as to what exactly was going on in your apartment.
this time, his blackened eyes where nowhere to be seen simply because his face was smushed against your back, his damp and sweaty hair graced your skin with every possessive and ruthless thrust. peter was holding you down with two strong arms, pressing you into the mattress, fucking into you from behind with reckless abandon as he kept whining out "you take it so so good baby. you doing it just for me? yeah, i know you are- never sounded so fucking pretty. god i missed this- missed you so much"
you stir in bed and feel the remains of him sliding out from your center an pooling below you. something that makes you blush just as much as it makes you feel incredibly used.
there's a sinking feeling in your stomach when you look around and you realize peter is no where to be seen. you rise from your bed and go to the bathroom, your living room, the kitchen. no trace of him anywhere.
when you come back to your room you find theres a few text messages waiting for you on your phone.
peter: had to go, sorry
peter: it was urgent i promise
peter: can i see you tonight?
you scoff at the screen. it echoes in the sad emptiness of your room. you laugh at yourself for even daring to think you were going to get to know peter parker better the morning after. that you were foolish enough to imagine waking up tangled in his arms and getting to kiss him all over his pretty face.
you sigh. not in resentment, just disappointment. in him, in yourself.
and then-
a flare of deja vu so intense it makes you stumble on your own two feet.
its the smell of his hoodie that you're wearing, the scent that is so distinctly his traveling up your nose and engulfing you completely. its the feeling of his sticky spent trailing down your legs. its the way you're holding your phone with a clenched hand. and most of all- it's the familiarity in the disillusionment you feel right now.
it hits you like a wave distant dreams you had forgotten you had. flashes of of what peter parker is capable of now that he has you eating from the palm of his hand.
"peter" you say his name to yourself again, just to see how it sounds. but this time- it tastes different on your tongue. it carries with it a weight of sorrow but also mind bending infatuation.
you're powerless against it, specially when you text back a single word. like you're falling back into a bad habit you never even realized you developed in the first place.
Peter wasn’t quite sure why you opened the door. Not initially. Not at first. He knew you knew it was him, and objectively speaking, your last interaction had been a complete and total disaster. He was probably the last person you wanted to see, and he couldn’t say he blamed you for that.
Still, he had to try.
As soon as the door opened, he quickly realized that you were in dire need of comfort. You may not have wanted to see him as badly as he wanted to see you, but you wanted to see someone, and Peter just so happened to be there. For now, that was enough—so long as you were willing to look at him and talk to him, he was happy.
Your forlorn appearance came as a surprise. His chest hurt at the sight of you. You were absolutely deflated, with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. It was clear that for whatever reason, you were plunged into the depths of despair.
That just wouldn’t do. He had to fix it. He had to.
Your voice cracked as you cried. A quiet, shaky, hollow sound.
“Why can’t you just go away?”
Peter’s eyes widened. It took him a second to register who you were saying. Go away? Go away?
“Why can’t you just leave me alone? Why can’t you just…I…Peter, I can’t breathe. Oh my god. I can’t breathe.” You curled over and began to wheeze.
Oh no.
Peter suddenly felt ill. He could feel tears begin to form in his eyes. He swallowed them down, trying his best to focus on you. He pulled you in for a hug, wrapping his arms around you tightly. He rested his hand on the back of your head, pushing your chin into the crook of his neck and shushing you as you sobbed.
He couldn’t have made you feel like this. He couldn’t have. He was Spiderman, for god’s sake. Spiderman didn’t hurt people. He didn’t scare people. He was one of the good guys.
“You’re okay. It’s okay,” he said. “Just take deep breaths, okay? Just breathe with me. You’re gonna be okay.”
It was almost as if he was trying to convince himself.
“I left you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I told you to go away. I told you to leave me alone. I moved to get away from you.”
Peter sighed. He pulled away and held your face in his hands, hunching over so you were eye to eye. “I know you don’t mean any of it.”
“Yes, I do!”
“No, you don’t!” he snapped. His grip on your face tightened, making you flinch. He grimaced, trying his best not to become too aggressive with you. But he had to get it through your head. If you truly meant what you were saying, he would never forgive himself for scaring you. “Don’t even start with that. You don’t get to do this to me. You don’t get to do this to us.”
Peter was quiet for a few moments. He was suddenly conscious of how tight his grip had become, of the pained expression on your face. He slowly loosened his fingers and placed his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them gently. He ushered you towards the couch, sitting down comfortably just a few feet away from you. Everything in him wanted to move closer, but he didn’t want to scare you or upset you further. You kept sobbing and repeating the same thing over and over—that you didn’t know what to do anymore, that you were at your wit’s end. Finally, after about an hour and a half of this, he had enough.
“Come here,” he sighed. He draped a blanket around himself and pulled you into his arms, wrapping himself around you. He laid down on his side, making you lie down with him, your back pressed up against his chest. He perched his chin on top of your head, pulling you in close. He laid there with you, listening to the sound of your breathing. The sobs began to slowly die down, giving way to long, deep breaths. “Just calm down, okay? You’re okay. I promise.”
As sleep overtook you, Peter kissed the top of your head. He couldn’t believe what had just unfolded. He thought of Aunt May, of what she might say at a time like this. She would be so ashamed of him, afraid of him, even. And why wouldn’t she be? He had caused irreparable harm.
He had worn you down to nothing.
He had gotten what he wanted.
A little voice in his head couldn’t help but protest.
No. You keep her safe. You only ever keep everyone safe. You protect people. It’s what you do. It’s what makes you who you are.
“My girl. My beautiful girl. I’m so sorry.”
Only when he was confident that you were asleep did he begin to cry.
