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LOSER

enhanced!peter parker x reader

Peter can’t control his enhanced senses and needs a distraction to fix him.

18+

Fun fact, back in the day I did write Spiderman fanficiton on Wattpad, so this feels a little like coming home. Indulge me, I need to create as much before my motivation leaves me. I don’t know if I should give a trigger warning for dubious consent on Peter’s side because he’s going berserk with his enhanced senses and stuff.

The last rays of the sun glittered through your window, half of your notes bathed in shadow. You were perched on your bed, lying on your stomach as you read over your notes. The soft buzzing of your years old laptop fills the silence, accompanied by your soft murmurs.

"What have you got on 4b?" You asked, looking over your shoulder. Peter was perched at your desk, the back of his hoodie the only thing visible. He had drawn up the hood to hide the bruises littering his cheeks. He never told you where he got them, waving it off. It was different at first. He came up with ridiculous excuses like 'I ran into a door', 'stumbled and fell on the stairway'. When he saw the look on your face after, he decided to just leave it be.

You wanted to poke, of course you did. But Peter would always get that weird look on his face, as if he was in pain, rather by your questions than the bruising coloring his skin.

"Answer C," Peter murmured distractedly. You frowned and quietly got off the bed, abandoning your mock exam. Peter didn't move as you grabbed the back of the chair and peeked over his shoulder at his screen. A flurry of numbers and visual scans of what looked essentially like a very high tech smart watch glared back at you.

"Wow, apparently I've been studying the wrong subject since my notes look very different," you said mockingly and Peter lowered the screen, turning halfway to look at you.

"It's just a private project," he cleared his throat and you arched a brow.

"Uh-huh." You rounded his chair and leaned against the desk. Peter leaned back in the chair, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. "Like that other secret project I caught you with last week?"

Peter flushed shaking his head. A few curls escaped his black hood as he glanced away. Your friend has always been a little closed off. The first day on campus you spotted him in the last row of the lecture, sitting on his own, looking like he wanted to blend in with the walls. You didn't mind, you weren’t the curious type, most of the times. But with Peter it was a little obscene. You hadn’t even seen his apartment after four years of friendship, if he didn't secretly live in a mansion. But these last weeks, Peter had been growing quieter than usual. So quiet that most of your times were spend in companionable silence.

"That was different," Peter admitted sheepishly.

"Right," you crossed your arms and eyed him with a tipped head. He still wouldn't meet your eyes but you could see the strain in his shoulders, the clench of his jaw. Was he in pain?

"Pete, what's going on?" You tried softening your tone. You nudged his foot gently and he huffed. You respected his well kept privacy but you were starting to get worried.

"Nothing...nothing. Why would there be something going on?" He looked up at you, a weird shimmer in his eyes. Like they were half cloudy, a dark shadow crawling in from the edges.

"You're behaving weirder than usual. You turn up with bad bruises." You grabbed his chin turning his face so the light lit up the lilac bruise on his cheekbone. Peter brushed your hand away impatiently. "You miss study sessions and lectures."

"I told you I had this thing," he grumbled. His shoulders were drawing higher, the air around him gaining a strange shimmer.

"What thing?" You pressed. You were growing impatient with his half-assed answers.

"With a friend."

You couldn't help but laugh, exasperated. "Peter, I'm your only friend."

His gaze snapped up to you and you flinched back. His pupils looked a little too dilated.

"You don't know that," his voice dipped down and you felt awfully cold, rubbing at your shoulders.

"Yeah? What's their name?" You prodded again and Peter was suddenly getting up, wincing.

"What—where are you going?" He started shoving his stuff into his backpack, turning his back on you. You instantly felt bad, you'd pushed him too far. Being friends with Peter always felt like a slippery slope. Once you tipped too far to one side you were free falling.

"Pete, I'm sorr—" you reached for his shoulder and he flinched so far away, he was almost at the other side of your room. You gasped in surprise, your hand still halfway raised in the air.

"I'm sorry, I have to go."

Before you could even so as blink, Peter stormed out of your apartment, no trace left behind.

🕸️

Peter didn't turn up to next days lecture. He didn't answer any of your text or calls and it wasn't like you could turn up at his apartment to check on him. At first, you tried to rationalize. Maybe he really felt bad, got sick and now was bed ridden. But when days bled into a week, you felt tempted to cross a line.

After one of Prof. Bergami's lectures you creeped to the front and asked him for another fill out form for the upcoming exam. While he was searching his bag for the paper, you peeked at the attendance list, heart pounding as you flipped through the student informations. Before Prof. Bergami could hand you the form you'd glimpsed what you needed and slipped out of the lecture hall, only one mission on your mind.

One train trip, an angry run in with a pedestrian, and a dog trying to attack you, later you reached the apartment. It was the usual red brick stone walls that greeted you before you slipped in after a pretty blonde woman. Following her into the elevator you eyed the black sweatpants she had on, her bottom glittering in rhinestones, spelling the word juicy.

The blonde gave you a quick smile you reciprocated before you pushed the right button, the doors clinking shut. It felt weird, invading Peter’s privacy like this but maybe something did happen. What if he slipped in the shower, cracked his head open, and was bleeding away on his bathroom tiles? Or maybe he’d choked on his food, no help in sight and was lying dead in his apartment?

All right. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. He was probably sick, hence the chicken soup you stopped for at the deli on your way there.

The elevator beeped and you got out, walking down a narrow and rather dingy looking hallway. The plain door was glaring back at you as you stopped, eyeing the red dot in the corner of the wall. Before you could turn around— and not risk ruining your friendship—you pressed the doorbell. You heard the familiar buzzing of the bell echoing inside the apartment and waited. For what you didn’t know.

Some footsteps, a rushed but nasal ‘coming’. But nothing happened. You frowned before pushing the button again. Longer this time. The hallway and the apartment remained silent.

Your heart rate spiked as you lifted your fist, knocking against the wood. “Peter?”

Silence.

“Peter, are you home?” You pushed the button again. “If this is because of what I said at my place last time, I’m sorry.”

You doubted that was the reason for his disappearance. Peter might be closed off but he wasn’t petty. “Pete, open the door.”

You tried the handle, turning it in desperate hope but the door was locked. Fuck. You leaned your forehead against the door. “Peter, I’m really worried. I…I know I shouldn’t have pressed about it. Let’s just forget it, okay?”

Silence.

“I have chicken noodle soup. Please, open the door.”

For a moment you thought you heard some shuffling but it seemed to be a stretch of your imagination. With a quick glance at the red dot you sighed and turned back around. Slowly, you walked along the hallway, counting your steps until you reached about halfway. The camera couldn’t see you from that point.

And there. A soft shuffling. You couldn’t help but scoff. This time you took the elevator down with fire in your veins. The front door of the apartment complex slammed shut behind you before you rounded the corner and stopped. The rusty fire stairs came into view and you walked toward them determinately.

Was it a little unhinged? Maybe. Would the potential of falling ten floors down stop you from seeing him? Absolutely not.

So you climbed. Ten floors of fire escape stairs until you stopped in front of a grimy window. The paint on the frame was cracked on slowly peeling off. If you weren’t so set in your determination you’d chosen this second to wander in what kind of dingy place Peter decided to live. There were enough shared dormitories near campus that looked better than this. And were probably cheaper than this.

You gripped the iron railing with sweaty hands, the wind ice cold against your cheeks. You didn’t dare look down as you raised your first and knocked against the window like a maniac. A cloud of grime flew around you.

A slow screech sounded before the window opened. Peter’s head appeared, a shocked look on his face. “Are you crazy?”

A moment later his hands somehow had wound around your waist and you were pulled into the safe warmth of his apartment.

“Did you seriously climb ten floors?” Peter was still gripping your waist as he glared at you.

“Wrong question. Are you dead?” You snapped. Peter blinked, confused for a moment.

“What? No. No I’m not dead.”

“Good. That means I can kill you.” You swatted him over the head and despite his usual good reflexes he wasn’t fast enough.

“Ow. What was that for?” He ducked before you could hit him again.

“Oh…let me think…maybe the fact that you disappeared for a week and didn’t call or text and won’t let me into your apartment,” you snapped angrily. To be fair some of your anger had receded at the look of him. You were glad he wasn’t actually bleeding out on his bathroom tiles. Frankly he still looked like shit.

His hair was wet, you didn’t know if it was from sweat or water, lilac bags covered his under eyes and his eyes were bloodshot.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?” You tried to tamp down your anger.

“I—yeah. Felt like I’ve been coming down with something for days,” he mumbled.

“Then why haven’t you called? I would’ve nursed you back to health by now. I’ve got soup, medicine and those ginger shots you like.” You zipped open your backpack.

“You have to leave.”

You looked up surprised at him. “What?” Your shoulders sunk slightly.

“Listen, I don’t wanna infect you with whatever I have—“

“Oh my god is that your worry?” You huffed. “Who cares, Peter. Just let me take care of you.”

Peter’s eyes closed for a moment and he held his head.

“Your head hurts?” You stepped closer, pressing your cold fingers against his temples. For a moment it seemed he was sighing in relief. “Sometimes we gotta admit we need help, even if it’s hard,” you reminded him gently. You started massaging his temples lightly and Peter groaned. His eyes remained closed as he sagged into your touch and you tried to tamp down your curiosity. Still, you took in the scattered tech on his desk. The dingy walls void of any personality, the lone bed in the corner. A broken clock on the nightstand.

The whole place looked utterly cold. Impersonal. Exactly like Peter. Or at least what Peter gave away of himself.

“Where do you hurt?” You tried speaking softly to not worsen his migraine. “Your throat? You need tea?”

His yes flicked open and you stumbled back in surprise. The abyss stared back at you in the dim light, lone and dark like a nightmare.

“W-what…?” You gasped.

Peter turned around, groaning as he bend over and held his head. “It’s too much,” he pressed out.

“Too much?” Your voice shook, counting the steps you’d have to take to get to the front door but strangely your body didn’t aim to leave. This was Peter. Your friend. He wouldn’t hurt you. Would he?

“I told you, you need to leave!”

“No. What’s wrong Peter tell me.” You inched forward but he threw his arm out knocking you back a few steps. “Are you on something? Is this your way of a cold turkey?”

“What? No!” He whirled around, his eyes still looking hellish. “Just leave me alone. Don’t you understand? You. Can’t. Be. Here. Fuck—“ he groaned again and it looked like he was battling himself. You didn’t know what he was trying to hold himself back from but you sure as hell wouldn’t let him do this on his own.

“I’m not leaving,” you swallowed down the fear as those black eyes focused on you. Peter was still wincing but suddenly his shoulders drew back. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stood up to his whole height, arms bulging obscenely with muscles. Whatever—Whomever he was fighting, it seemed like he lost the fight.

Peter tipped his head to the side as he zeroed in on you.

“Oh yeah?” He inched closer. “You wanna help?”

“Of course I do.” Your breaths were coming faster as if your body could sense the danger.

“So helpful,” he murmured, voice an octave deeper than usual. You didn’t know when he took the steps but he was suddenly in front of you, caging you in against the cold wall. He leaned forward, groaning when his forehead met your shoulder.

“You need to, run—ahh.” His voice tipped up again, the familiar Peter shining through.

You frowned at his plea.

“Peter—“

“Run.” All of a sudden he crashed against the wall opposite you, the concrete crumbling under the impact. Something in his voice felt bone chilling and despite your stubbornness you aimed for the front door.

Your hold was slippery as you turned the handle with a hammering heart. It slipped right out of your grasp and you had to try again.

“Faster,” Peter groaned in the background. You turned to look over your shoulder to see him fling himself against the next wall. Debris crumbled into his curls. This definitely wasn’t drugs.

You turned back around and finally got the door open. For a split second the hallway glanced back at you like a safe haven before the door was forced shut again. His chest connected with your back, he was heating up. You could feel it even through his shirt, traveling down your spine, igniting something unfamiliar inside you.

“Where are you going?” His deep voice taunted. “You wanted to help. Now help.”

Confused was an understatement. You were right down baffled with the way Peter was talking to you.

“Turn around for me.”

You did but only to feel less trapped beneath his body. When you looked up into his face you gasped. The black eyes were back again.

“What…” carefully you raised your hand, fingers dusting over his cheekbones. “Peter, what’s happening to you?”

You grabbed his hand in your face, trying to see your friend in his eyes but there was nothing but darkness. His chest was rising faster at your touch, his skin vibrating beneath your fingertips. Something about it felt awfully thrilling.

“You wanted to see more of me,” he said. “This is more.”

You still didn’t understand.

Peter groaned again one hand coming up to hold his head.

“This is what’s giving you the migraine? How do we fix it?”

For a moment the black flickers at your words. “You…You’re not scared?”

“Of course I’m scared,” you huffed. “I’m scared for your life!”

“I can’t—ahh,” another wave of pain hit him. “It’s just too much…fuck. It’s too loud—”

“Try to focus on one thing. Focus on my voice,” you urged him.

“I can’t! My head feels like it’s splitting in two.” He inched away from you, your hands dropping to your sides. You didn’t know how to help him. Calling 911 didn’t feel appropriate. Whatever was happening to him wasn’t normal.

“Let me—“

“NO.” Peter surged forward. His hands wrapped around your wrists, slamming your back against the wall. Pain shot through your spine and your eyes fell shut for a moment.

“Fuck,” you winced, eyes fluttering open. Peter was looming above you, his head tilted away. You could see that he was fighting and a sudden thought entered you.

“Peter,” you said. “Kiss me.”

His dark eyes set on your face easily. His grip on your wrists tightened and you hissed.

“It’s okay,” you said through clenched teeth. “Kiss me.” If this wasn’t going to work, you would feel real stupid after.

He eyed you for a heart stopping moment, a predator eyeing his prey. Your lips parted gently, breaths hitting his lips tauntingly. Before another wave of pain could infiltrate his mind, Peter leaned forward and closed his lips over yours, hot and urgent.

You weren’t blind. You knew Peter was a good looking guy from the moment he sat down in your lecture hall in first semester. In the four years you’ve known him, Peter hadn’t dated anyone or expressed any interest in dating. As far as you knew.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t see how handsome he was. And not to forget utterly ripped. And apparently a great fucking kisser.

You shivered as he parted your lips, tongue tasting you greedily. His hold on your wrists loosened enough to slip out of it as he groaned into your mouth. His body pressed against you, every inch against yours.

Your hands wandered into his curls, tugging gently and eliciting a beautiful sound from him. Kissing Peter felt like doing drugs. Addictive. Exhilarating. You could feel his heart pounding beneath his heavy chest, his hips pressing, searching for friction.

His lips trailed along your jaw, sucking forcefully as you both stumbled over to his bed.

“Fuck,” Peter groaned as your hands slipped beneath his shirt as you took place in his lap. Your fingertips trailed over the hard pecks of his abdomen, skin as hot as the sun.

Your lips met again hungrily, tasting each other in a heated frenzy. Your hips started to rock gently, feeling his hard cock through his joggers. Fuck.

Your eyes flickered open for a moment in shock at the feel of him. “That’s not…what I expected,” you whispered shakily but before you could say something again, Peter pulled you in.

How funny it was. To know someone and to know them not. To know how Peter’s moans sounded when you rocked your hips harder. How his hold on you tightened almost painfully when your tongue dragged over his pulse point. But to not know him.

What you once planned to be a distracting kiss turned into dangerous territory. Your hands pushed the thick band of his joggers slightly downward. You both watched your hands with held breath.

“You need to help me,” you whispered and met his black eyes. “I don’t know if you actually want this—“

Before you could finish, Peter’s hand slipped into his joggers pulling them down enough for his cock to slip out. It slapped up against his stomach, painfully hard, the tip slick with pre cum.

“Oh fuck,” you cursed. Peter gave a low hum at your words and watched you intently as he wrapped his fist around his cock. You swallowed, thighs squeezing as a low ache set in your core. Peter’s abyss eyes never left your face as he started to give slow pumps up to his tip, spreading the pre cum along his length.

A soft moan fell of his lips as you watched him entranced, cheeks burning heavily. Peter’s breaths turned faster, his pumping more hasty. You reached forward, your fingers wrapping around his and Peter gave a soft whimper.

You looked up surprised, just as his eyes fell shut, head tipping back. “Keep going,” he ordered. He let you join him for a few times until you got the right rhythm he wanted and his hand slipped away. Fuck he was wet.

Your hand glided up easily and back down, soft wet sounds echoing und mingling with Peter’s groans. You twisted your hand lightly when going up to the tip and his hips bucked upward.

“Oh, fuck—fuck,” Peter groaned.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, leaning forward to kiss his throat. “You’re gonna feel better, I promise.” You jerked him off a little faster and his hips couldn’t stop bucking upward.

“Nhh—“ Peter whined as his fingers dug into your hips painfully.

“You gonna cum?” You murmured against his ear, the steady Schlick, Schlick, Schlick almost overpowering your voice. Peter made a noncommittal sound, his lips pressing into your shoulder. You could feel it when his hips surged up a last time and he started to shoot white ropes over your hand.

“Fuck,” you moaned as his teeth buried into the shoulder of your skin, muffling his moan as he came. You stopped pumping but he was still cumming, thick white cum spilling over your hand. It was obscene.

After what felt like minutes, his teeth let go of your skin, leaving a burning sting. He hid his face in your neck before soft tremors shook his shoulders. You wrapped your clean arm around him, hand stroking his curls. “It’s okay. You did good. No one got hurt, Peter.”

He shivered at your words and you knew that this was his big concern. Had to be. That was why he stayed away. He was scared he was gonna hurt you in whatever frenzy he was pulled into.

“I’m not gonna leave,” you whispered again. “I got you.”

Peter started to relax in your hold, his body growing heavy until you let him sink back against his pillows. He fell asleep.

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