all too well
[tasm!peter parker x reader]
| word count: 4.5k
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.
