SUMMARY You're pure, kind, mature, divine, and too good for Peter Parker.
PAIRING tasm!peter parker x gender neutral!reader
GENRE angst, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers
WORD COUNT 2.4k
WARNINGS not proofread, college!au, peter deals with his grief over gwen, leads you on as a result, makes up for it by grovelling and begging, he's pathetic in this, told through peter's pov, reader is very patient with him, gender neutral pronouns are used, no use of y/n
AUTHOR’S NOTE i've seen tasm edits to who knows by daniel caesar, but i thought, let's flip it around. i loved writing this, so i hope y'all enjoy reading it, too! xx
Grief doesn’t leave. It’s an unassuming seed that grows in a crook of dirt; it creeps up on you and blooms, wrapping itself on your being. At first, it’s comforting like an embrace until the very same roots that hold you end up suffocating you. You feel it’s grip loosen, notice that its petals eventually cascade down, remnants that wither dry to a crisp. Remnants of what once was.
Fact: Peter Parker will always love Gwen Stacy.
Fact: Peter Parker loves you now.
Fact: Peter Parker has to decide if he’ll remain in a world that is now a memory, or move forward with a future he could have.
In some painful ways, you remind him of Gwen. Not in a manner of replication, but in your subtleties. You’re kind, yet determined. You’re divine, yet humane. You’re passionate in every single thing you do, big or small.
You’re too good for Peter. He knows that. He knows you deserve someone who can love you fully, someone who doesn’t carry the weight of blaming themselves for their dead girlfriend and all the other trauma he grips tightly in his palm to the extent of self injury, cradling it right by his beating, remorseful heart.
(It should’ve been Gwen’s heart continuing to pulse.)
Peter can’t help the void that engulfs his whole being from time to time, thinking about how much patience you’ve extended towards him. Despite all your reassurances, he never wants you to feel as if he were abusing your kindness. He doesn’t deserve it, he thinks.
“What’s on your mind, Pete?” You call out softly to his pondering figure from your spot on your sofa.
He remains silent for a bit across you, eyebrows still furrowed. A deep breath then a shaky exhale follows.
“I’m sorry.”
He really can’t help but space out sometimes, deep in thought and doubt. If it’s ever bothered you, you never brought it up.
He let you pick his brain apart in the past, but not always out of fear of breaking down in front of you. However—despite his best efforts to dance around the topic—you eventually guessed the correct topic his mind often drifts off to after being in his life for a little past a year. He hasn’t had any protests against you knowing that Gwen still graces his thoughts when he isn’t thinking of anything in particular, but does and he hates himself for it when he’s got you.
You were surely more than friends, but tightroping on the fine line between that and lovers. Neither of you are ready to address it.
“What for?” You know what for, he knows you do as he screws his eyes shut to will his unshed tears back in.
His head is in his hands, elbows digging into the muscle of his thighs. Peter can almost hear you scolding him for his backache prone posture.
“For being a waste of your time, for never being a hundred percent despite giving me your everything.”
He hears you sigh. “Peter, I told you, I never expected this to be simple for you.”
“But, it’s selfish! I’m selfish! I can’t keep being unsure, but I can’t help it because I don’t know how.” He’s desperate to confidently reciprocate your gentleness, anyone with a pulse can tell.
“I don’t blame you for it.”
He can’t help it when he snaps his head up to look at you with his bloodshot and cries out, “But it’d be easier if you did!”
He immediately regrets it when he notices your breathing pattern change out of shock and ache, he deduces. You huff and stand, not out of malice, but stubbornness. Peter follows suit, meeting you in the middle because that’s the least he can do.
(Peter wants to vomit when he makes an unintentional parallel of your tenacity and Gwen’s.)
“Have you ever considered that if I wanted it easy, I would’ve been gone by the time you told me about Gwen? About Spider-Man?” His mouth opens to protest, but you beat him to it.
“Peter, I knew that loving you meant coming second. To Gwen, to your vigilante duties, to New York. It wasn’t ideal to, but here I am. All I ask of you is to let me love you at all.” You laugh in defeat, weakly throwing your hands up.
Frozen in place, he realizes this is the first time you clearly admit to loving him. He tries not to linger on the possibility of you holding the urge back up until this moment.
“You love me.”
Your eyes widen, frantic. He can hear your heartbeat thump aggressively. “Peter, I—”
Despite his brain being aware that he had to tell you no, you never come second, he lets his mouth blab freely.
“Almost every single day, I go out and help everybody in need. Before—” he swallows the pain that blockades his throat. Why was she still a sensitive topic after three years?
“Before Gwen died, seeing people eased was enough for me. Seeing that I made a change was enough. When I forced myself to go back out there after watching her speech, it wasn’t the same. It could never be. Nods and thank you’s no longer meant anything to me. Before I knew it, I was numb. To fear, anger, sadness. I let all of it control me, in a way.” He lets out a wet, humorless chuckle.
“Despite faking my bravery, I was sure I’d never find peace or love at all again.”
“But, you came in and started to make me feel loved like it’s nothing, like it’s simple. Even,” Peter takes a hefty breath to continue, “with… with Gwen, the circumstances were so different, but I could feel my mere presence affect the way her life operated. Despite her still being the girl I fell in love with, I knew I was taking a toll on her.”
“It’s not that she made me feel like I was hard to love, even if I was, but I felt the limits. Even then, I knew I wasn’t deserving of her. I was… it was a lot. Complicated, for many reasons.”
He pauses, finally noticing you watching him unravel in front of you with your usual concerned, yet amorous gaze that he can’t help but melt under every single time. It makes him ill knowing that the look is only reserved for him, despite roping you along like the coward he is.
“You…” it takes everything in him to look away from you to continue. “I was terrified to let you in because it meant the possibility of losing another person because of me. Even if May would tell me it wasn’t my fault, deep down, it’ll always feel like it is.”
You can tell this is deeper than just Gwen, that it went as far as Harry and Uncle Ben. Why was it that the people he loved, he could never save? God, he’s sick at the mere reminder.
Realization rules over his body as he takes a step forward closer towards you.
“I’m so, so, so sorry. For making you wait, for hurting you... for making you come second. You never asked for anything in return except for me to accept your love.”
Before he knows it, his legs grow weak with guilt, abruptly collapsing to his knees. You, despite your panic, try to coax him to get up, unfamiliar with his unfiltered display of vulnerability. Your efforts are in vain, Peter’s build being much more sturdy and stubborn than your own.
All you can see is the top of the brunet’s head, heaving as if he had just swung from a skyscraper to a fire escape, to and fro. Darkened droplets start to decorate your sock-cladded feet slowly, then at full force.
“Peter…”
Out of your second nature, your palm cards through his slightly outgrown hair. He’s a scrap of metal to your precise magnet touch, responding desperately as if this were the last time you’d ever gently lay a hand on him. The scratch of your nails against his scalp alleviates some heaviness from his spirit.
(You had told him how much you liked the hairstyle on him; he’s maintained it ever since.)
The head on his shoulders is weighed down, but he wills himself to look up at you with his teary, tired eyes. The pads of your thumbs dab away the tear paths on his cheeks. The tears he left start seeping into the cotton of your socks.
“I couldn’t even do the one thing you wanted from me and it’s still for my best interest.”
Despite your constant reiterations of reassurance, you’d never told him you did all of this out of the divinity of your heart because, “I love you, Peter.”
He chokes on his sob, forehead collapsing on your stomach as he embraces the backs of your thighs. You start feeling the salty tears extend to your shirt, too.
“I’m a lot.” Peter pathetically negotiates with you, hinting an out for you despite all his blubbering.
You fiercely don’t take it because of course you wouldn’t; you’ve made it this long loving him, once you both find your footing, the rest of your life is nothing.
“So am I. Yet, you’re here.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not a lot.”
The chuckle you let out is fond, but Peter can sense the underlying frustration. He wants to so badly make up for all his shortcomings, but he knew that it’d be a lifelong process to do so. He’s more than willing to change, he’ll make sure of that.
You eventually remove your hand from his hair to pry his limbs away, which he pouts at but is slightly taken aback when you sink to his level, finding your solace right across him.
“Then it’s only fair for me to say that you aren’t a lot either, no? You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle.”
There it is, one of the million reasons why he loves you. You knew how to put him in his place, but never had any malice in your words.
It wasn’t lost on you that he hadn’t said the three words back, but you knew better than to expect it right away, but—
His warm palms gently holding your face pulled you out of your trance. The words that leave his lips were so quiet that if you weren’t right in front of him, you would’ve assumed you were hallucinating.
“I love you, too. I’ve been in love with you for quite some time.”
The kiss presents itself as an invitation to imagine your shared future: quiet afternoons with sun rays and lingering fingers dancing on your skin, Peter characteristically late and out of breath to every other date but properly makes up for it throughout the day that you completely forget about it, sinful whispers and heavy sighs, a ring that shines when the sun hits the crystal.
You pull back, pleased that the look of love is reflective on both your features.
“Good.”
Peter never stopped visiting her grave, except for the week you told him you loved him. It was a necessary distance; he won’t discredit that this time.
He situates in the usual spot in front of her, demeanor drastically lighter than the previous times he had stood here.
“Hey, Gwen. Sorry I haven’t seen you in a bit. I was… dealing with some things. Unresolved things.”
“I—I’ve told you about it before. The day we met, I went to you as soon as my shift ended.”
He provides her a brief refresher: how you entered the school library with the manager, eyes bouncing around to observe the crooks of the aged bookshelves, watching you linger on him longer than expected, then the emergency exits right after; just the right amount of curiosity and on guardedness. He isn’t sure if he’s hallucinating the glow that seems to surround you.
Any room became brighter with you in it.
It was ironic that the job Peter landed was at a library. Where he handled books and pages with so much care and precision and attention, yet could not reflect that in the actions of his alter ego nor towards you. At least, initially.
He didn’t know what to do since Gwen was all he had known up until this point. The slightest sliver of interest towards someone else sent Peter into a spiral because he was so sure they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. It became true for at least one of them.
Of course he went to her out of guilt and frustration. He thought he didn’t get to move on because it wasn’t fair to Gwen, because it was his fault she never got to live the life she wanted, so why does he get to live on with his?
One can no longer assume a dead person’s words nor thoughts, but Peter knew her so well to the extent that Gwen would’ve wanted him to continue despite it all. He internalizes that now; not just for her, but for you now, too. Most especially for you.
“I have a feeling you two would get along. I’ll let you meet her once I get my shit together.” He cracks a sheepish smile, knowing her spirit will soon find a way to smack the back of his head for how long he’s been playing with your heart. God knows he deserves that at the very least.
“I love them. I…” He’s unsure if it’s appropriate to admit, but she deserves to know. She would’ve loved to hear all about you.
“I can see myself getting married to them one day.”
He finally unroots himself from the spot he was standing on to crouch by her grave to offer the bouquet of flowers he was anchoring onto.
“I’ll love you always, Gwen,” he lets his fingers graze her name engraved in stone. A gentle smile tugs on his lips. “But I’m ready to move forward.”
He’s back on his feet when a gust of wind picks his words up, lost to the city. For a second, he thinks he hears her respond.
Take care of them.
“I will.”
Dried, fallen petals aren’t meant to be clutched, for when you open your palm, dust is all you’ll return to. While you watched the breeze blow the debris away, the flora continued to flourish, not a care in the world if you noticed or not; it was a matter of time spring came once more, anyway.
Pairing: Dark! Perv! Peter x Innocent! Fem! Reader
Word Count: 9.3k
Summary: as the outgoing, spontaneous cheerleader of the school, you arent too familiar with quieter people, such as peter parker. he sure is familiar with you though. soon, the photos and obsessions give him the courage to talk to you, which leads into his darker desires coming true.
WARNING. THIS CONTAINS DARKER CONTENT, SUCH AS STALKING AND MANIUPLATION. READ WITH CAUTION.
Warnings: SMUT, stalking, public masturbation, stealing of panties, masturbation with panties, booze and drugs mentioned, swearing, maniplation/ slight gaslighting, pet names, heavy praise kink, size kink, daddy kink, overstimulation, corruption/ innocent kink, teasing/ playing with reader through panties, panties used as gag, mocking, taking pictures of reader while asleep, mentions of diff sex postitions, spanking, plugs and collars, mirror sex etc
“i'm your biggest fan, i'll follow you until you love me- papa-paparazzi
baby, there's no other superstar, you know that i'll be...
your papa-paparazzi” - paparazzi, lady gaga
One of the first words you had ever said to Peter Parker had been a lie.
A white one, something small and one that you had believed.
But not him.
He knew it was a lie that had slipped from your lips, clear as day as he snapped the photo with his Nikon. I’m not very photogenic.
Those were the words of warning you gave him as he asked for a photo of you for the yearbook, a shy smile blooming across your face as he insisted.
No one is ever un-photogenic. It's the photographer that can make it that way. he had reassured, flexing his bicep as he ran his fingers nervously through his hair.
Those weren't the words he wanted to say, but they’d have to do. What he really wanted to say, the truthful answer was probably not something your innocent, soft persona was ready to hear yet.
You are the most captivating person I’ve ever seen, and I look at your beautiful body any chance I can get without seeming like a full-on weirdo, imagining what you look like under those clothes. So yes, you are photogenic. Very, very photogenic.
That would have to wait until a much later date, when you knew him better. When you would understand how photogenic you were, because he’d make you understand.
“Peter?” you asked shyly, drawing his attention back to the present moment, breaking him from his trance about how your legs would look slung across his shoulders as he pounded into you.
You knew his name. God, wait until you were moaning it.
“Yea, yea sorry, just got distracted.” he smiled, making you giggle as he brought the camera up to face, eyes staring you down through the viewfinder as he snapped the picture of you smiling by the football field.
A cheerleader in her natural element.
“Thanks Y/N.” he nodded, turning to walk off, to stalk you from the bleachers- as he always did. But you stopped him, your gentle voice captivating him as you asked the most mindboggling question he had ever heard.
“You, you know my name?” you asked shyly, and he fought the urge to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor, to have his eyes boggle out of his head like a cartoon character.
Of course, he knew your name. Every person in Queens knew your name, the shining star.
“Course.” he shrugged, watching as you fidgeted with the hem of your short little cheer skirt, the one he imagined flipping up so many times as he’d pound into you from behind in the changeroom, holding your head up by your hair so you could see how beautiful you looked drunk on his cock in the mirror.
“Oh! Hey, you're in my chemistry arent you? Mr. Johnson's class?”
He died. He had died, and gone to heaven.
“Y-yeah. I sit-”
“At the back of the class. Back right corner.” you smiled, head whipping back as you heard your friends from the squad call your name, waving you over to the center field. You laughed at his reaction, the pure look of amazement in his eyes as he stared at you, his face in shock.
“I’ll see you around, ‘k Parker? Let me know if you need more pictures.” you waved, your hair flipping behind your shoulder as you trotted off to their beck and calls.
He somehow urged his legs to move, although he wanted nothing more than to remain frozen to the spot, the sweet smell of your perfume and shampoo lingering in the air from your close proximity making him hazy and irrational.
Let me know if you need more photos.
He bit his lip, knawing on it with his teeth as he made his way back over behind the bleachers, a spot he often occupied. It was perfect for a photographer, a spot where he could see everything and anyone, but no one could see him.
You were a sweetheart to offer that up to him, but there was one thing you didn't fully know.
He already took advantage of that offer, much before you said anything about it.
Peter had photos of you everywhere.
And by everywhere, he meant everywhere.
Photos of you pinned up on the walls in his room. Photos of you he taped in his physics notebook, his math binders, even a photo of you in his wallet.
They were all candids of course, as he’d often spend his time taking pictures of you when you were clueless. Those were always the best ones though, where you'd look so innocent and carefree in those little skirts and knee-high socks, a soft smile always on your face.
You were a sweet, innocent little ray of sunshine. One he wanted to corrupt.
And he knew, deep down it was wrong, oh so very wrong. But how could he not think of you that way? It was impossible to keep those thoughts at bay, thoughts of all the ways he would ruin you, making you beg on your knees for him.
For any part of him, for him to do anything to you. You would be so easy that way, so moldable in his hands.
Obedient.
The sound of your gentle laughter sent his gaze towards your body once more, a lion stalking a lamb as he took in your legs hungrily, currently spread into the splits as you stretched.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, the way he would ruin you. You’d look so pretty with his cum dripping put your quivering cunt, his fingers smearing it across your thighs. He’d cum on your stomach and feed it to you, or he’d finish across your face- and you’d take it like a good girl.
He groaned softly, palming himself through his jeans, the fabric suddenly tight and uncomfortable as he watched you.
Pictures weren't enough today. Pictures weren't nearly enough, with the way your skin gleaned in the afternoon sun, your pink little cotton panties peaking at him as you bent down to finish your stretching, still talking to one of your friends about helping out at the animal shelter later this week.
God, you were so perfect. So sweet, and gentle.. and well, his.
At least in Peter's mind.
Before he could fully comprehend what he was doing, need took over as he quickly unzipped his jeans, pulling out his hardened cock, throbbing and gleaming with precum. He moaned as he pumped himself tp the sight of you, imagining all the places he would take you- whether you liked it or not.
In his bed. Over the counters. On his desk. In the chemistry labs. Hell, even here, under the bleachers where he stood, currently jerking himself off like you were a live playboy magazine.
Head thrown back in pleasure, he bit his lip down hard enough to taste the coppery, sweet tang of blood. It was only when he heard the whistle and the sound of the coach's voice he realized exactly what he was doing.
This was wrong. This was very wrong. Fuck Parker, you’re acting like a fucking virgin. Can't even keep it in your pants until you get home?
Not with you, he couldn't. But he really had no option, knowing so many people would be with you. Didn’t mean he couldn't snap a few more pictures though.
One or two wouldn't hurt, right?
After zipping his jeans back up, he quickly grabbed his camera, positioning it so he could see you perfectly. Your hair shimmered in the sun, a little halo placed around your frame as you looked to your friend.
He didn’t know if he wanted to braid it for you after a long, hot shower, or if he wanted to tug on it so hard you cried. After a few pictures, many including your thighs in that short little skirt he adored, he hurried out from his hiding spot, back onto the gravel path.
He was in a rush not because he was worried he’d run into you again.
Oh, that’d be the dream.
He was rushing because there was an entire corkboard that waited for him in his room, filled to the brim with pictures of you. And it was either he came in his pants to the sound of your voice, or too many, many photos of you.
Your mellow voice rang out, clear as windchimes on a breezy summer's day- snapping him up from his thoughts. Of you, again.
He looked up from his notes, ones that he hadn't really been reading, but ones he had been mindlessly glancing at so Mr. Johnson wouldn't demand to know why he’d be staring off into space.
He couldn't really say “Sorry Mr. Johnson, I was just daydreaming about using a vibrator on Y/N until she started crying, begging and drooling because I made her into an incoherent mess!”
That would not slide with him. The bell was about to ring, and he wasn't expecting you to show up as a pre-class gift. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn't happy about it.
Very, very happy.
“Y/N hey! What's up?”
He wanted to smack himself in the face. What's up?! You really just said what's up?!
“Nothing much... Um- I was just wondering something.”
Your fingers were wrapped around your arm, rubbing it up and down as you fidgeted in lace with your feet. You were nervous.
“What were you wondering?” he murmured, and he’d be damned if he said he didnt find your shyness towards him adorable. Everything you did was adorable.
“You can totally say no if you want, I don't want you to feel like you have to or anything-”
“Hey. Breathe. Just tell me.” he smiled softly, urging you to take a deep breath, and start from the beginning. The heat rising to your cheeks was making you fidget even more, feeling as if he could sense it from miles away.
But you had to spit it out. If you didnt, you’d never hear the end of it from your nagging thoughts that liked to plague you wherever you went.
“I overheard Mr. Johnson telling Mrs. Marly that we’re doing a lab later this week. He’ll probably go over it today, I just wanted to ask.. would you be my partner? You’re really, really smart. And I wanted to get to know you better.” you gushed, words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them.
Peter wanted to pinch himself. He wanted to slap himself silly, because there is no way in hell you just asked him that.
Was he dreaming? He was definitely dreaming.
“Peter?” His shock kept him from saying exactly what he wanted to say right away. “Like I said, you don't have too, I can ask someon-”
“Yes. Of course I’ll be your partner.” he nodded, cheeks turning pink as the skirt you had on today, the soft, pastel pink just aching for his fingers to run across the seams, to flip it up to expose yourself to him.
You rubbed your lips together, lipgloss shimmering as the morning sun shown through the windows, the bell ringing profusely like an alarm for the sun to break from the clouds.
It was strawberry lipgloss. He watched you put it on at your locker this morning, and he wanted nothing more than to taste it.
“Oh, thank you so much! If you brainstorm anything in class today, slip it in my gym locker. I have cheer practice after school, but all the girls are normally out of the change room by 2:45. If no one sees you go in there, you should be fine.” you giggled, watching as students began to sit down in their seats, Mr. Johnson finalizing his notes for the class as he started to write out the date at the top of the whiteboard.
“May I?” you asked, pointing at his pen that was scattered with his papers across his desk. Peter nodded, and you picked up the pen, leaning over towards him as you scribbled your locker number and combination across the blank sheet of paper he had pulled out before you had showed up.
He tried so hard not to look, he really did. But when you were leaned over, your shirt exposing the tops of your breasts so close to him- it was impossible not to peek. They looked so pretty and perky, your little gold necklace swinging in front of him, tempting him.
He wanted nothing more than to mark them up, to suck on your nipples until you were so flustered you couldn't do anything but moan his name, and tug at his hair.
The honeyed smell of your perfume was gripping him by the throat, clouding his senses and making his head go fuzzy.
He wanted you so bad it hurt.
“ See ya round.” you whispered, setting his pen down as you gave him a little wink, scurrying back to your seat on the other side of the room.
Oh, he’d be seeing you alright. He’d be seeing you a whole lot.
Mr. Johnson's voice was tuned out as his brain turned the sound off like a radio dial, as he was only focused on you. Peter looked down at the little heart you had left next to your elegant scribbles of writing, the numbers slightly tilted on an angle, loopy numbers filling the left hand corner of his page.
He had never seen anyone write like that, and he adored it. What he adored even more though, was that you had left an extra set of numbers for him.
Your phone number.
He couldn't help but glance over at you, head down in your notes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, listening to the teacher as if he were a preacher in a cult.
You were so pretty when you were focused.
Peter knew he probably shouldn't be on his phone, especially because he knew Mr. Johnson was about to start talking about the labs you had overheard earlier that day, but he didn't care. He already spent all his classes daydreaming about you, especially this class- so what would it hurt?
His thumbs flew across the keyboard under the desk, hitting send before he could re-think his decision.
Unknown Number: So… you come here often?
You looked down at your phone, fidgeting with the pink, sparkly case with a smile. It was Peter. Your heart pounded in your chest at the text, the sheer dorkiness of it making you want to giggle.
He was charming, a little shy and quiet. But that's what made you gravitate towards him, his mellow aura inviting, yet mysterious.
You liked it. You liked it a whole lot.
You: Sadly… yes. You?
Peter: I tend to show up when the girl I want to show up does. I have nothing to look at when she's not.
You smiled, cheeks heating (as they typically did) when he was involved. You had a school girl crush on him, and he’d be blind as a bat if he didnt see it from miles away. Kilometers. Especially with those glasses he always wore, which he always adjusted on his pretty nose.
You: What's this mystery girls name?
Peter:....
Peter: Bunny. And Bunny is now going to be good and pay attention to the lecture, cause she has a thesis she needs to think about.
Bunny.
You tugged on your lower, glossy lip with your teeth, the slight pain a delicious distraction from what was happening between your leg as you clenched them together tightly.
The sound of your foot lightly tapping the tile was nearly as fast as the professor's words as he spewed them out at lightning speed, causing your notes to be frantic and rushed.
The last thing you wanted was to not have any material to give back to Peter during this project. You had your fair share of partners who did nothing in group assignments, and it made your blood boil.
The fact Peter was nice enough to even let you work with him was beyond kind already- the last thing you wanted to be was unprepared. Before you knew it, the bell had rang, its shrill noise breaking the silence and tension so thick in the air you could cut it with a knife.
It made you jump, heartbeat racing as you quickly packed up your things, his rambling no longer making sense in your mind as he yelled out the homework for this weekend to the kids already scurrying down the hall.
“Have fun at cheer tonight bunny.” the soft voice called, words tickling the shell of your ear as Peter's hand touched your lower back, his skin brushing yours as he scooted by you to head towards the door.
“Thanks.” was all you could squeak out, watching as he sent a little smile and wave your way, long stride carrying him down the halls as he propped his earbuds in to tune out the rest of the world.
Something you think you wanted to do with him sometime.
Peter felt like a pervert. An absolute, full-on pervert.
There is a system set in place for perverted things, one that he had created in his head. Level one was taking pictures of you, level two being jerking off to those said pictures. Level three was jerking off to you, in person- without your awareness.
But this, this broke the scale. At least in his books.
This was something typical movie perverts would do, something the audience would watch, perhaps maybe cover their children's eyes while they gawked. He stood at the entrance to the girls change room, the only sound preoccupying the space the humming of the janitor out of view down the hall, and the buzz of the fluorescences.
No one lingered among the lockers, he had made sure of that. It was 2:50pm, and he was still chicken shit.
Peter Parker was scared.
Not scared of you walking in, or anyone else really for that matter. You had granted him permission after all, and it's not like anyone was stripping down currently.
He was scared of himself. Of his own urges.
Finally, he’d be in your personal space. Your personal, personal space. He knew it was wrong to rummage through your stuff, but the thought of your undergarments being so close to him, and quite literally his for the taking made him horny.
Hornier than he had been all damn day, which was saying a lot.
Horny enough to have yet again, irrational decisions cloud his judgement, making him storm into the locker room like a man on a mission. Skimming over the numbers, he finally found yours, lighting up like he had won the jackpot.
Memorizing the combination you had written down for him, he unlocked your locker, the metal creaking slightly as he pried it open.
It was so… you. So, so very you.
Innocent and soft, little pictures of you and your friends put up with pink washi tape, your cheer schedule scribbled with dates and hearts. He smiled at the Hello Kitty stickers you placed near the back as he slid the papers in your bag, making a mental note to bring that up in a conversation later.
It was when the papers were fully tucked away did he realize what he was touching.
Lace.
His mouth went dry, palms beginning to sweat as his fingers wrapped around the flimsy fabric, tugging it out into view.
Bingo.
The scrap of the pink lace thong was enough to have him keening, and he brought his nose to it, inhaling deeply. It smelt sweet, the wet patch you had left still staining the undergarment.
The fact you had worn this all day, when you had talked to him in class, when you had rubbed your thighs together eagerly…
“Fuck.” he murmured gently, bringing the pink fabric down to the very prominent bulge in his jeans, rubbing it against his oner with a sigh. His party was soon crashed though, the sound of voices growing louder as they entered the changeroom.
Shutting the locker as quickly (and as quietly) as he possibly could, he darted out of sight behind another row, praying to every god in the universe no one would come this way.
“Yea, Y/N told me she was going to Daryl's party tomorrow night. She’s supposed to help me pick out what to wear.” a light, cheery voice called from in front of him, the sound of the locker opening make his heart drop as another set of footsteps followed behind the mystery person.
Daryl? As in Daryl Whites? This was a very, very bad idea for you.
Peter had noticed the way Daryl had been eyeing you up lately, like you were a piece of fresh meat at the butcher's. He’d be dammed if he let you anywhere near that scumbag.
“What do think she’ll wear though?” another voice replied, the sound of a water bottle being squeezed filling the air as the locker clanged shut again.
“Hopefully something slutty. I can't be the only whore at this party! I swear sometimes-” The voices muddled out as they exited the changeroom, the door swinging shut behind them as the coach's whistle blew.
Peter let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the soft whoosh of air a sigh of relief. Slipping the panties in his back pocket, he made his way out of the changeroom, to go mentally prepare himself.
It now appeared he had a party to go to tomorrow night.
“Oh goddd-” he gritted out between clenched teeth, the lacey thong rubbing across his hardened cock making it harder and harder to keep a grip of sanity in the present moment.
Jerking himself off with your underwear was his new favorite thing, the dozens of photos of you looking over at him a sweet touch. He couldn't stop thinking of you, when he was making dinner, when he was in the shower, when he was doing laundry.
It was always, always you.
It was only in these sweet moments, in the haven of his bedroom could act on these sinful thoughts, when everyone was asleep.
Because he was loud. But how was he supposed to stay quiet, when all he could think about was fucking you senseless?
You’d be so good for him. So eager to please. He had never heard you say no to anything or anyone a day in your life. Maybe it was wrong of him, but he wanted to use that to his advantage.
You were such a quiet, innocent thing and Peter wanted to corrupt you. He wanted to ruin you. Until all you could think about was his cock, his touch, his taste. The taste of his lips, the taste of his cum down your throat mixed with your tears and salvia as he used you like the pretty little fleshlight you were.
He’d have to train you first of course, using his fingers so slowly coax you open- get you used to him. Peter wasn't that cruel. But he couldn't wait to be cruel when you’d tease him, and he’d have to teach you a lesson. When he’d happily listen to the sound of your bell jingle from the collar he’d put on you as he’d drap you acros his knee, your body jolting with each spank.
Your cries would sound so pretty as he’d play with the tail in your ass between the spakings.
The thought of you sprawled out across his lap and crying sent him over the edge, head lolling back as he finished with a moan. His cum coated your panties, already stained from the previous night.
He knew the logical thing was to wash it and slip it back into your locker when you weren't present, but at the same time- he didn't want to.
Yes, he’d give them back, but he wanted you to wear them with the gentle reminder of him. Slipping those panties up over those beautiful legs of yours, just to have his dried cum used as a pillow for your cunt drove him insane.
So did the thought of seeing you tomorrow night, in a little party outfit. He felt like those girls in the changeroom wondering what you'd be wearing to the get-together, except he was thinking about it for a totally different reason.
How easy it’d be to get you out of it.
With a sigh, he stared out the window from his room to the city sprawled outside, at the twinkling lights and people milling on the avenue. This city never slept, and neither did he.
Daryl's house was only a few blocks down from his apartment, his family lucky enough to snag a townhouse in the bustling streets of Queens.
Peter hated parties, he was much more content to stay in his room and work on new inventions, or to smoke a blunt and read a book on the fire escape that so happened to conveniently be outside his window.
But if you were going, he needed to be there. To make sure you would be okay, or at least that's what he kept telling himself.
Not because he was borderline obsessed with you and needed to be in your presence nearly all the time because you were a drug he was addicted to, a feeling he could never shake from his bones. When you were too drunk to function, or high out of your mind he’d take you home.
Home- to his apartment, because you’d be in no condition to go back to your place, your father would throw a fit once he found out what his perfect little angel had really done.
He’d take care of you, keeping you warm and safe as you’d fight a stupid hangover.
Everything would go according to plan. He was sure of it.
You would go to the party with Macey and Jessica, have an amazing time, drink to the point you were a little drunk, and go home.
That was the plan.
You would play games like beer pong with Daryl, despite not really liking him, but you'd have to be a good guest. But instead, you were very, very sober. In someones bedroom, on the verge of crying.
You didn’t really want to come here.
You knew you would regret it the second you stepped foot in the door, but you came anyways for your friends sake.
It will be so much fun! they had insisted as they fixed up your mascara in the vanity mirror an hour prior. Yeah. So much fun my ASS.
You didn't know whose room you were in, but it surely couldn't be Daryls. It was much to clean for that, too prim and proper. A guest bedroom then. A perfect bedroom for you- his guest, to sit in and hold back tears, being too overstimulated and anxious to actually enjoy yourself.
Picking at your dress, the skin-tight baby blue fabric making you feel claustrophobic, you listened to the muffled sound of some shitty pop song, the bass loud enough to rattle the floorboards under your feet.
You thought of Peter as you peered over into the full body mirror, taking in your body as you watched the tears fall. You wondered what he was doing, if he was having a better time than you were.
God you hoped so.
Peter would be able to brighten your mood, as he often did without even realizing it. You wished he were here. But this place, this “party” wasn't a scene for the man you had taken interest in over these past few weeks. He seemed like the type to hate this environment, as much as you secretly did.
So why the hell was he standing in the doorway, his messy hair poking out at you as he creaked it open slowly?
“Peter?” was all you could let out, in a state of shock that your prayers had been answered. Wiping the stray tears away with a sniffle, you stood as he made his way in the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Are you okay?” he asked, ignoring your curiosity as he walked over to you slowly, worry etched on his face as clear as day. You swallowed, fighting the urge not to break out in a sobbing fit.
No, I’m not okay. I want to go home. So badly.
“I’m fine. Just.. needed a break from the crowds I guess.” you murmured, watching as he sat down next to you on the bed, patting the spot where you previously sat, bedsheets ruffled. “This not really your scene?” he asked, in which you only responded with a nod, your teeth seeming stuck to your lower lip as you bit down.
“Yea me either. I don't really know how it's anyone scene to be honest. It's just a lot of loud guys sloshing beer over everyone and terrible music that makes my ears bleed.”
You laughed at this, warmth blooming in yur chest as he smiled. “Like seriously. I’m not a medical professional, but something is definitely wrong with my ears after hearing that shitty ass song that's been looped like- three times already. You can probably see blood.” he joked, hand snaking over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, your gaze meeting his pitiful one as he smiled gently.
He looked so pretty tonight, in that blue shirt you always adored. It brought out the colour of his eyes, which looked so pretty with the glasses he wore.
He always looked so pretty. Pretty eyes, pretty hair, pretty muscles that seemed to strain behind the fabric. Pretty fingers and arm veins that you could see so clearly as he slid your hair out of your face, so he could see you better.
“No blood... yet. I can't promise that later on though.” you teased, fighting the urge not to fall into this man's lap and curl up like a kitten, bawling your eyes out because of how overstimulated you were from the party down below.
Peter must have sensed this, this tidal wave of anxiety that was desperately trying to be freed from the dam you had built up. Giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, he sighed.
As if he were tired of this too.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he murmured tenderly, making your heart race. You had heard those words from many guys before, drunk and trying to get in your pants. You had always politely declined, having no interest in “getting out of there”.
But with Peter, it was gentle.
He was worried for you, and wanted to make sure you were safe. Comfortable. He wanted to get you out of this place he knew you hated, to sweep in and be your prince charming.
And you gladly let him.
“Please. I’ll text my friends I’ve headed out when we can somehow find a way out of that maze of people.”
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding once you and Peter managed to find yourselves on the empty sidewalks, the music now just a dull hum under the fluorescent street lights.
It was like swimming against the tide filtering through the lingering bodies of the crowd, everyone too drunk to understand you were trying to leave the party, not stay in it.
The smell of beer and cheap booze was now gone, the air clear enough you didn't see smoke floating in it as you walked with Peter.
You didn’t really know where you were going. You just wanted out.
You couldn't go home, as you told your parents you were staying over at Mindy's house for the night. They were too lost in arguing or drinking to really bother calling her parents to make sure you stayed there.
So you mindlessly walked the streets of Queens with Peter, listening to nothing but the pounds of sirens wail and traffic speed by, and your heels clicking on the pavement below. They didn’t seem to do much next to Peter, as he continued to tower over you.
You felt like a kid next to him with how.. well- large he was. He wasn't “jacked” by any means, but he had muscles. A solid weight to him, and height too.
It was this observation that got you asking a question you had always secretly wanted to ask, the emptiness of the streets giving you the confidence to speak it.
“Why don't you play basketball Peter? You have a really nice build for it. Like.. really nice. You’d be amazing on the team.” He looked over at you, eyebrow raised in amusement. “Are you flirting with me bunny?”
You looked away, wanting nothing more than to hide in an alleyway, and spend the rest of your days there. You got so flustered around Peter.
“N-no. I mean yes! I don't know.” you stuttered, making matters worse for yourself. He seemed to think it was cute though, laughing as he nudged your arm with his own.
“You have a really nice build too bunny. Especially tonight. I was meaning to tell you earlier, but ya know- timing. You look really pretty.”
Well if that didn’t make your heart flutter like a hummingbird.
“And to answer your question, I don't play basketball because it's not interesting to me. I have other things to occupy my time with.”
“Like photography?” you asked eagerly, genuinely curious. He smiled. “Like photography. And science, I like building things in my spare time.”
And I like thinking of you. All the time. And taking pictures of you, and admiring those photos as hobby, because I am so in love with you, and you don't even realize it. But no, just photography and science. Of course.
“That's so cool! I’ve always wanted to make a robot or something interesting.” you gushed, more and more drawn to this man by the minute.
You felt his hand slip down to rest on your lower back, touch comforting as the chill night's breeze slithered through the air, coiling around the hairs on your arms like snakes.
He was warm, his body smelling like cinnamon and fresh coffee grounds. You liked it. You liked it so much you barely realized as he guided you up the steps, leading to double doors to an apartment complex, one you knew he had been in so many times before.
He punched in a keycode like it was second nature, never breaking eye contact as he watched your lips move, not really hearing the words that came out of them.
You couldn't care less where he was taking you, too entranced with Peter to pay any mind. He could be leading you down to the seventh pit of hell for all you knew, and you wouldn't give a shit.
As long as he was there, doing that little nose scrunch he did when he was concentrated, or running his fingers through his hair, just to have it fall in his face a meer seconds later, you'd stay.
You'd do anything he asked of you.
And he knew this, and he’d be damned if he didn’t pull the strings a little bit. You were so easy, a glass puppet he could use, and play with.
“My aunts gone for the weekend, so I figured you’d be okay with staying here for a bit.” he said, shutting the door behind him, watching as you surveyed the quant space.
The sound of the deadbolt clicking into place made you flinch, breaking the pattern of your steady breathing. You looked over at him, a sly grin on his face as he let the chain slide into place, flicking on more light to illuminate the space.
It was adorable here.
Little knick-knacks scattered across the bookshelves filled to the brim with old hardcovers, houseplants and vines overspilling the space. It looked like Peter and his family actually lived here.
They had made it a home, and had made it their own, unlike the other people you knew- who looked like they lived in an IKEA showroom.
You smiled as you slid off your shoes, little frilly socks a soft cushion against the old hardwood as you padded over to a framed photo of a woman no later than her late thirties with a younger, smiling Peter.
“That's my aunt.” he nodded at the frame, making his way over to the kitchen, tossing the keys up on the island, watching you intently.
“She's beautiful.” you exclaimed setting the frame back down as you followed Peter over to the couch. His arm slung around the back cushions, resting there almost as if it were an invitation. He drummed his fingers to the silent song that played through the speakers of his mind, brushing against your shoulder softly as you sat down beside him.
You made no move to shy away from him, despite your inner monologue screaming at you to run under his bed and hide like a frightened little child because you felt your brain turning to mush the closer you sat to him, the more you inhaled his comforting scent that had you seeing double.
“What.. um what should we do?” you squeaked out, his gaze cool and collected, despite the reply that ran through his head like a script.
We should fuck. And I mean fuck. Doggy, but in a mirror so I can see your pretty face when you cum, and you can see how well we go together, how well you take me despite being a tight lil thing. Maybe I can stuff your- now my panties in your mouth for good measure.
“Whatever you want to do, bunny.” he raised his eyebrows, making you strum your fingers against your lower lip in thought.
“Hmm. That's a lot of responsibility, I don't think I can handle that.” you giggled, hand coming down to adjust your dress as your legs tucked neatly underneath you. To prevent him from seeing what he really wanted to see, but little did you know he’d already seen it.
Many times.
“Too much responsibility for your lil brain hm? Need me to make decisions?” he teased, making you gulp, his words affected you more then they should have.
He was teasing, a little joke about how indecisive you were. You were extremely, and everyone knew it.
So why did you feel a wetness pool into your panties at the words that slipped out as smooth and sweet as honey, your thighs clenching as he smirked at you?
A nod was all you could muster, fueling the fire behind his eyes even more, adding wood to the embers. “Not really good at making decisions.” you confessed, shuffling in your seat.
It was hot in here. Like really, really hot. Unnessicalarly hot.
Sweat clung to you like dew drops as your breath quickened, his presence so near it made you feel sick. In the best way possible. Peter made you feel like a frightened little lamb, grazing in a little meadow filled with little wildflowers and butterflies- leading you into a slaughterhouse.
That slaughterhouse was filled with your desires, your wants and needs that you had suppressed and pushed down for so long because you were scared.
Despite what some people thought you were inexperienced.
You barely ever touched yourself, and had never let anyone else touch you like that. So yes, you were frightened. You were vulnerable, because Peter had opened up these urges again. Had sprung the cap free from the bottle, your innocence leaking free.
“Wha- what are you doing?” you whispered, voice as quiet as a mouse's footsteps as you felt his hand creep down to rush against your bare thigh, goosebumps rising in his wake.
“Making the decision for you.” he smiled softly, though his eyes were nothing but soft. They were hungry.
“What decision?” you gulped, tempted to close your thighs around his fingers that gripped your flesh, soft and delicate.
It felt good. It felt so, so good and he had barely even touched you. But this was your first time actually hanging out, and this was wrong.
This was my first time hanging out with her and I was taking advantage of her. Because she was so easy to manipulate. Because she was just so, so sweet and good.
His hand pried your legs apart ever so slightly, a little whimper escaping your lips that you prayed would get past him.
It didn’t though, of course. Nothing ever did.
A soft, gentle noise spurred him on, his knuckles running up and down the eighth of your thigh, his touch warm against your skin.
“The one you were too scared to make. The one you want, deep down, that your baby brain can't comprehend.”
Your eyes widened, hand grabbing his wrist as he adjusted his posture to suddenly tower over you, pushing you back against the cushions. Your head hit the armrest with a little oof, a moan getting caught in your throat at the contact.
“Peter-”
“Don't ‘Peter’ me.” he cooed, as if he were talking to a baby kitten, hand stroking your cheek.
“I can smell you, bunny. So sweet, bet you taste so delicious. You can't fight it, your body wants it. I know what your body needs. I know what you need.” he urged, knowing his words had you wrapped in a chokehold.
You were about to be KOed by him, body falling to the mat without you even realizing it.
“You do?” you asked, naive.
Curious.
Because of course Peter knew more than you, of course he understood what was going on with you. He understood these funny feelings that seemed to bubble in your stomach, consuming you whole.
“Of course I do, bunny. You have to trust me, trust is key in a relationship. In any relationship. I would never hurt you, don't you know that?”
Except he wasn't hurting you. He was hurting your innocence. Not that you were fully aware of that, of course.
“But, we’ve never hung out before this and I just.. I don't want you to think I’m taking advantage of you.” you murmured softy, breath quickening as his thumb neared your lips, tugging on the lower one with his thumb.
He wanted to laugh. Oh gosh, you were really like a little fawn.
“You’d never take advantage of me bunny, not ever. I would just be such a bad person if I didn’t help with those funny feelings I know you have right now.” he tilted his head, mock sympathy etched on his face like a carved marble statue.
“I don't know what they really are, I’ve never really-”
“You don't have to know. You shouldn't know, anything right now. Let me know, for you.” he insisted, dragging his thumb to smear your lipgloss, the sparkles stained on him like a brand.
His eyes never lingered from yours as he smeared the gloss across his lower lip, his tongue darting out to taste. “Mmm strawberry.” he grinned wickedly, making you giggle softly.
But he knew that already.
“It’s my favorite.” you whispered as his hand hiked up your dress, chest rising and falling quickly as he unwrapped you like a present on Christmas morning. Your head lolled to the side, leather caressing your cheek as Peter traced a slightly calloused finger down your abdomen, teasing you.
“Aren't you precious?” he murmured to himself, as if you were a test subject, and he was recording notes on how each touch, each taste affected you. He wanted to capture a picture of you in this moment, frame it and hang it perfectly center in his room.
This one, this one would take the prize.
The way you looked right now, so eager, yet confused spurred him on more than he thought was possible- doe eyes wide and mouth slightly parted as little gasps escaped you.
“Feels funny-” you moaned, the feeling of electrical shocks coursing through your limbs the closer he inches to your clothed cunt.
“Shh, shh I know. I know, but you gotta trust me bunny. Trust me. Trust daddy- yea?” he shushed, hand cupping your mound, making your hips buck up with a start.
“Oh godd-” you cried, Peter's fingers gently tapping the wet spot that had overtaken your panties, your slick smearing on his skin as he grinned.
“Such a messy girl aren’t you? Virgins always are. So easy to get wet.”
You didn't know how he knew you were a virgin, and quite frankly- you didn't care. Mr. Bear would disagree with Peter, your slick across his fur the odd time a key indicator of that.
But going against your stuffed teddy didnt nearly feel as good as this.
Nothing did.
His fingers began to rub little circles across your clit, the feeling of pleasure so startling and overwhelming that your hand snaked down to grab his wrist with such urgency you feared you had hurt him. Eyes wide, you whimpered.
“I can't- we can't-”
“Yes, we can. I know it feels funny but you gotta stay still and take it. Be a good girl.” he growled, voice husky and consumed with lust as he continued to play you like an instrument, fingers reading each cord your body demanded from the staff.
“See, there we go bunny! Just sit there and take it like my pretty lil dolly.” he praised you softly as your hips attempted to still, your legs starting to shake from the overstimulation.
It was too much. Too, too much.
Before you even realized what you were doing, you felt your thumb slip into your mouth- a coping mechanism you had used when your brain was turning fuzzy and cloudy, like a mirror fogging up during a shower.
Vulnerability. He was teasing you into submission, into regression.
“Awh poor baby. Feels so good, doesn't it bunny? You look so pathetic for me.” he cooed, a mock pout etched on his face as he pinched your inner thigh, making you squeal as you felt the elastic in your stomach snap, gushing all over his hand.
It was pure bliss, the way you sounded, your moans and little breathless gasps of pleasure driving him up the wall. The way you were absentmindedly grinding into his hand, the cushions of his palm bumping into your clit as he brought you down from your high had the seams of your innocent breaking, your body taking the pleasure it needed.
The pleasure it deserved.
“There we go, good girl. Such a good, good girl.”
You had made a mess- everywhere.
God, you were embarrassed.
“M’so sorry.” you gasped, in shock you had came that hard from his touch alone. “Don't apologize bunny, your body needed that. You've been denying her of it for so, so long and you need to learn your lesson.” he tsked, fingers tickling you as they wrapped around the flimsy waistband, tugging the lace down past your thighs.
It was as if you wanted to get fucked. As if you wanted to be used. And he’d be damned if he didn’t indulge you.
“What lesson?” you questioned, a flutter of anxiousness laced in your voice as the cool air hit your exposed cunt, your clit throbbing from the stimulation it had just received.
Your poor cunt was all swollen and puffy. Oh well.
“You need to give your pretty little body what it wants, what it needs. Stop denying me. But don't worry-” he smiled cruelly, the sound of his belt jangling made you shiver with anticipation, a ball of arousal mixed with flurries of anxious butterflies churning in your stomach.
“Daddy's here now, to help you. Say ah” You obeyed, feeling as if you had no choice but to part your lips wide. The image above you was pure sin, Peter's eyes as black as the night sky as he stuffed the panties in your mouth, making you choke on a gasp.
You sputtered as the sweet, salty taste hit your tongue, a muffled cry threatening to burst from your lips as is thoughts raced. This was all he had ever wanted, and now that he was finally getting it?
He felt on fire.
He felt as he would simply perish from the insides, flame charring the blood that roared in his ears as he overshadowed you. The desire that coursed through him was inhumane- animalistic as he stroked away a stray tear with his thumb, the hint of fear blending with the desire in your eyes giving all the information he needed to know.
You were scared. You didn’t know what you wanted. He had to teach you. To train you.
“We’d be so perfect together- ya know.” he hushed, cutting off your plea of a jumble between ‘please and his name. The dress bunched up slipped off you with ease as he guided it over your head, pinning your arms up helplessly.
“You’d be my little doll. Mine to- Hey, hey eyes up here.” he warned, making your eyes flicker back up to meet his as he spread your legs even further.
You whined. He just smiled.
“Mine to dress up and play with, cause you're such a good girl bunny.” he hummed, head thrown back in pleasure as he entered you, your nails scratching his skin as you wailed making him even harder.
You were just what he dreamed of. So tight, and wet and warm-
Your eyes rolled back at his words, his mindless, endless rambling distracting you from the burn in your belly as he sank into you deeper. He wasn't even all the way in yet.
Oh, you were fucked.
“G-god dammit bunny your little cunts grippin me. Can’t- can't think when you're this pretty for me.” he moaned, his cock brushing against your walls as he slowly stretched you, despite his body telling him to ram into you so hard you passed out.
He wasn't that cruel. Yet.
It was hard to breathe with the gag stuffed in your mouth, your vocal cords scratching as you moaned into the soaking fabric that was now also covered in your spit.
You were lightheaded from the stimulation, pleasure blurring from pain as you clung onto the sound of his sweet voice.
“Shh, shh sweet girl I know, I know it's so much isn't it? But you're handling it so well. Look at me all up in your guts hmm?” You looked down, the outline of his cock in your abdomen making you hiccup as he pressed on it gently.
All you could do was sit and squirm as he used you, slowly rocking into you with each whisper of praise that left his lips, making you feel dirty.
This was filthy. This was dirty, and wrong. But you loved it. You loved the way he was making you feel, the way he knew what was best for you. If Peter said your body needed this, then it did.
No room for further discussion.
“Mghm” was all you could murmur, body shaking as you came around him, vision white with bliss. You were floating among the cosmos, feeling as if you had taken a hit from Daryl's weed at the party earlier.
It was euphoric, the way this man had made you feel without even trying. Without making you do anything.
No, you let him take the reins. You had seen things in the movies before, where the girls tended to give and give to make the man happy. This wasn't with Peter.
He was the giver.
He gave you pleasure, but the pleasure he gave you was so good he had to take some from himself as well. He couldn't explain to you how good he felt in words, so he showed you.
Pounded into you, slow and deep. Made you feel each thrust, each kiss, each lick of his tongue against your cheeks as he cleaned the salty tears.
“God baby bunny you made such a mess over me hm? Creamed my cock dry. Guess it's only fair I finish inside you, stuff you nice n deep for your first time…”
A rub of your clit and the sound of his whine was the last thing you heard before the lights went out.
He felt as if he was walking on air, a ghost as he floated around the apartment.
This was real. This was very, very real.
Any one of his hundreds of fantasies, any images that scattered across in his mind like camera flashes couldn't compare to how exquisite you were.
How good you felt.
He knew the second you had looked at him with those wide doe eyes, with such innocence he was done for. He couldn't contain himself anymore.
Peter had given you every last drop of his cum, stuffing it in your sensitive cunt with his fingers. He couldn't let a single drop go to waste. He had been dreaming about it for too long.
The rise and fall of your chest brought him back down to some form of reality, realizing what exactly had happened. He had ruined you. Taken your innocence.
It was his now. His possession. Just like how you soon be.
Hands running through his hair, he smiled at your passed out figure, taking the panties out of your mouth.
He’d be keeping these, as well as your other ones. A collection, he decided.
A new hobby.
Peter made his way over to the bathroom, warming up a soft washcloth with warm water. He wasn't sure what kind of lotion you liked, although he often smelt vanilla on you. It was one of his favorite scents.
He’d be sure to pick some up tomorrow, but for now- his lotion would have to do. A gentle whistle sounded from his lips as he nudged his bedroom door open, a picture of your smiling figure greeting him as he switched on the bedside light.
The fact he didn’t even need any pictures tonight made him smile. He had you. Right where he wanted you.
There was a pep in his step as he snagged you a sweater, a soft blanket (that smelled of him, he obviously made sure of this, he wasn't stupid) and a glass of water from the kitchen before making his way back to you.
You were still passed out among the cushions, goosebumps rising on your skin as he neared. “Sleepy lil kitty.” he sang softly, flicking your nose gently. He was met with a soft snore, making him shake his head in amusement.
He really did fuck you dumb, and then into sleep didn’t he?
You were so beautiful. That's all he could think of, peering down at you. He had always thought you were beautiful, through the lens of his camera.
But up close and personal, where he could see each little dimple, each mark and ridge, he thought you were breathtaking.
I’m not very photogenic. Those words were utter bullshit.
Before he knew what he was doing, he had made his way back down the hall- stumbling back into his room. Grabbing his polaroid camera after half jumping into some boxers and pj pants- he gravitated down the darkened hall back to you.
His angel. His bunny.
The flash reflected across your body as he snapped the photo, the whirling of the camera not making you move an inch as you remained in slumber.
Peter would make you feel photogenic. He would make you feel beautiful, make you feel like the most stunning model in the entire universe every day- if you let him.
But let's be honest here, you really wouldn't have much of a choice, now would you?
“standing on your tippy toes, frustrated you can't reach your lover's lips”
Tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader (no use of y/n)
Word count- 592
Warnings- established relationship, fluff, slight bickering but playfully
Notes- Requested by @darylas for my 4k follower celebration! Thanks so much for the request! I took inspo from the og Spiderman movies for this one so I hope you liked it!
Taglists are closed. To stay up to date on when I post, follow my update blog and turn on post notifs @flightlessangelwings-updates
~
“Come on Peter, that's not fair!” you pouted as you looked up at him.
“You almost got it, honey,” he teased back as he hung from his web upside down, just out of your reach, “Come one, just a little bit further.”
You huffed as you rolled your eyes, “You can be a real pain sometimes, you know that?” you crossed your arms as you stayed still.
“Ok, ok,” Peter laughed softly as he lowered himself slightly, “There, now you should reach me.”
You stared at him for several moments, waiting for him to jerk himself back up at the last second. Your body remained tense as you looked into his eyes and the silence consumed you both. But, as you looked at Peter, you couldn’t help but melt. He had a way about him that you could never resist, and you were sure he knew it.
“Alright,” you sighed as you uncrossed your arms and reached up for him where he hung above you. His features softened as a soft smile lit up his face and it made your heart flutter. You reached for him and parted your lips, ready to kiss him.
Peter’s scent engulfed you as you closed the gap between your faces, and your eyes fluttered close as the romance of the moment took over. You placed your hands on either side of his face as your lips hovered over his. But, just as you were about to kiss him, Peter pulled himself up so that he was just out of your way again.
“Pete!” you sighed in exasperation, “You jerk!”
He couldn’t help but burst out into laughter as you huffed at him, “I’m sorry sweetheart… I can’t help it!,” Peter shickered, “You look so cute when you’re like this!” He laughed so hard that he lost his grip on his webbing.
In a flash, Peter suddenly came crashing down onto the ground, “Ow,” he huffed as his shoulder hit the pavement.
All the anger melted away as you dropped to your knees next to him, “Peter!” you exclaimed, “You ok?” you rested your hands on him as checked him over as he grumbled in pain as slowly sat up.
“Yeah…” Peter groaned, “M’ fine.”
“Good,” your voice turned more stern as you slapped his chest.
“Hey! Ow!”
“That’s what you get for teasing me like that!” you scolded him.
Peter’s eyes softened as he looked at you from a new angle. He loved looking at you from every angle; at every angle you were beautiful. And while sometimes he got in a playful mood and liked to tease you, Peter loved nothing more than having you by his side. He reached out and cupped your face tenderly.
“Forgive me?” He gave you his best puppy dog pout.
You looked at him sternly for several moments before you too melted. You couldn’t ever stay mad at him for long, and you knew you would get what you wanted eventually, “I guess,” you teased him back.
“Heyyy,” he sighed before he closed the gap between your faces and took your lips with his.
Both of you melted into the kiss as you lost yourselves in each other. All the games, the banter, the teasing faded away and all that mattered was each other. You immediately parted your lips for him- a sign of forgiveness. And Peter instantly took the invitation.
“You know I love you, right,” Peter murmured against your lips as he peppered soft kisses along your face.
a/n: i’ve just become aware of how much my characters argue. i’ve no excuse except for arguings fun.
*
"it's okay, peter." you smile at him, feeling something inside your chest yearning to escape. "really."
he raises a brow at you, questioning your sanity. "you think that's going to change my mind? 'it's okay?'"
you frown. "i'll be fine."
"well, i won't."
and he grabs your hand--without asking because this is normal now--pulling you with him as he begins to walk. he could be leading you anywhere. taking you down any path--foreign and unknown and completely fine as long as you're with peter.
as long as he takes you with him, you're willing to go. as long as he keeps holding your hand.
and even though you already know, you don't ask anyway. it doesn't much matter.
"it's a ten-minute walk."
you scrap your feet against the pavement, effectively getting him to stop even though he pulls at your arm.
there are remnants of pleading in his eyes; a yearning of your heart to just let him lead you along.
but you refuse to listen to your inhibitions.
"ten minutes for anything to happen."
"nothing's going to happen," you give an inkling of a smile, hoping to persuade him.
peter does the same because he's not stupid. "it's ten more minutes that i get to spend with you."
you snatch your hand away from him as if burned by his sickly sweet tone.
you snort. "you get to walk home alone."
"i'm not gonna walk."
"peter, i'm trying to get you to bed on time."
"sweetheart, i'm trying not to go crazy worrying about you."
you raise a brow. cross your arms, making sure that he can't reach. "this is purely self-serving," you complain.
"yup."
and if you were to look at him, really--which you're not because you refuse to lose this game again--you might see the unspoken words in his eyes. you might just catch the tenderness.
the push and pull of his lips, the falling apart, and daring to breathe.
you might just catch his smile.
"c'mon," peter says, taking a step forward and leaning his head down towards you. "it's getting late."
"it's going to be later if you walk me home."
he wraps an arm around your shoulder, effectively spinning you around so that he can begin pulling you along. dragging you across the pavement like you're a child.
which, in hindsight, isn't too far off.
"peter," you whine.
"the more you argue the later it's going to be," peter chides softly, right in your ear.
because he knows how to break you down.
he's done it enough times, convinced you to follow him blindly with only a couple of pleas, kissed your skin until sensibility was a meek thing--not as potent as the way peter whispers in your ear.
you shiver, trying to shake him off.
and you can feel his breath when he laughs.
still, there are the smallest parts of you that need him to let you go. that need a moment to remember what it's like to be normal, and thoughtful.
and not broken at the idea of holding his hand.
"i'm going to hit you in the spleen."
resorting to violence is the only option.
peter laughs louder, voice echoing in the air. "you don't even know where my spleen is."
"only one way to find out."
so peter removes his arm from around you, hand reaching out to grab your face and pull you towards him.
your feet seem to go without an ounce of restraint; your eyes don't, because you look at the ground, wondering about germs.
about how close you have to be to someone to melt into them.
"hey," he says, softly, smiling--you can hear it. "look at me."
you do, but only because you want to see him.
you want to see the honeysuckle, the tight little lines on his skin that tell you more than just one story.
"just let me walk you home," peter whispers to you, fingertips brushing over your ears and down your neck. "it'll make me feel better."
"i just don't get why i can't--"
"do you know how many people i see each night, walking by themselves?"
you swallow, eyes meeting eyes. skin far too close to yours.
"it's not worth it, baby," he says, a quirk of his lip. "even though i know you just want to argue with me."
your brows furrow. "i don't argue."
"yeah," peter laughs. "you do."
"only when you're being stupid."
you can feel his breath against your skin. his hands haven't left, and his eyes are permanently stuck on you, apparently.
"peter," you say when he doesn't.
"it's only ten minutes," he says, as an argument to himself. "please?"
and it might just be the way he's looking at you--magic in his eyes, lighting up your face far more than any streetlight could--soft and smooth and so lovely.
it might be his pleading smile. it might be because he knows you so well, knows just where to push and pull you.
but eventually, when staring at more than just his eyes, you nod.
peter chuckles, against your face. "good."
you frown.
"if you'd said no i was gonna have to follow you home."
"objection."
peter still hasn't moved.
you still refuse to breathe.
still got that annoying pulling of your chest. the want to be alone just so you can exhale.
but peter is there because you're not going to tell him to leave. because you don't think you can.
you smile at him, finally. maybe it's because he's smiling back.
"let's go," he whispers to you. "it's getting late."
but not before he kisses you, soft and relentless.
Pairings/Characters: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader (Andrew Garfield’s Peter)
Warnings: Swearing, graphic depictions of violence, end fluff
A/N: COMMENTS/REBLOGS APPRECIATED/ENCOURAGED: Because, honestly, I don’t know if anyone likes it otherwise so I can continue or not.
Summary: Yet another prequel to my Hard Enough one-shot, and the third installation of my Crumble!Verse work:
You just couldn’t get enough of Peter Parker. Once wasn’t enough, and now you were determined to see him once again. Unfortunately, it seems like someone else might get in the way of that.
This is definitely post-college, adult Spider-Man
“Well, if it isn’t Peter Parker.”
Peter’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline. He did not expect to hear that voice again, especially not so soon after hearing it for the first time in-person. He slowly stood up straight, no longer leaning over and into the shelves in the supermarket to get the last tub of cream cheese. He spun around and spotted you standing there with a little smirk on your face as you studied him.
Peter smiled a little nervously, “Ms. Stark! It’s nice to see you again.”
“Please, it’s just Y/N.” You smiled and glanced down to see the cream cheese clutched tightly in his hands before looking back up at his adorable face. “I saw those pictures in the newspaper, Parker. Very nice.”
“Well, you did say to make sure I gave them a good picture. Lucky for me, I had a very photogenic subject. They were all great.”
Your cheeks burned as you saw Peter blush a little upon realizing he was, in fact, actually flirting and seemed to not have blown it so far. You nodded your head and took a step closer to Peter, watching as he stepped backwards, his backpack pressing against the display and brushing into a few containers of butter and knocking over a few. You chuckled at him.
Peter gazed at you, “How did you know where I was?”
“I’m very, very good at getting information, Parker,” you told him. “And I actually was looking for you.”
“What? For me? Why?” Peter balked. “I—I—uh, sorry. I’m just confused here.”
You smiled brightly, “I wanted to see you again.”
“I’m still confused as to why.”
“You’re cute,” you told Peter who turned red and seemed to be absolutely giddy and vibrating with delight. “I’m going to a premiere tonight. Small indie movie, but an old friend of mine wrote it so I want to go support her, get a little tipsy, listen to all these artsy, bullshit snobs act like anything they say matters. Are you interested?”
Peter cringed instantly. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel like going. He absolutely was keen on spending another night in your presence. After all, you were witty, a little dark, but you oozed charm, and he was a complete sucker for it. Unfortunately for him, and perhaps you, he had plans that night. See, the 3rd Avenue Boys were planning a robbery. He’d been staking them out for some time and learned that they were going to hit one of the jewelry stores near the Roxy. As much as he craved more attention from you, he couldn’t put innocent people at risk.
“Ah, that face told me all I needed,” you laughed a little nervously, embarrassed to have gotten such a reaction from him. Before you could turn around and just quietly make your escape, Peter reached out and gently grabbed your wrist, prompting you to stop turning to leave and face him.
“I’m sorry,” he began. “I would love to, truly, but I have work to do tonight. The lab I’m working at is close to a breakthrough, so…”
It was the way that his heart skipped a beat ever so slightly that made you feel like he was lying. You believed him, too. You believed Peter up until he said that they were close to a breakthrough. That was when his heart skipped a beat, and that’s when you could feel that he was lying.
You offered him a tight smile as you pulled your wrist away and shoved your hands into your pockets, “My bad, Parker. I think I misinterpreted some things. Have fun at work.”
You spun on your heel and away from him as fast as you could and ignored the stares from Peter, and two men who had been secretly watching you both from the ice cream section, listening in intently on your conversation without you or Peter ever realizing it. The two men shared a look and nodded before one took out their cell phone as the other grabbed their stuff and started to leave.
Meanwhile, Peter groaned and let his head fall back to hit the top of the shelves, “Stupid, stupid Peter,” he mumbled to himself. “How did I mess that up? Oh, right, because I’m an idiot who forgets she can feel vibrations. Damn it. Way to go, Parker.”
~*~
At your friend’s film premiere, you were giving yourself some time to be pathetic. You really thought you had a spark with Peter. You didn’t think the man was going to lie about his whereabouts and what he was doing just to not have to go out with you. Fuck, I mean, why couldn’t he just say something to you along the lines of him not being interested? A flat-out ‘no’ would’ve been better than the lie that he came up with.
Ugh, men. They were a plague.
You downed the shot and pushed the glass across the bar in a silent indication that you wanted another. Tony offered to go with you to make the event a little more ‘fun’ but you did not want to hang out with your dad that night. You didn’t want a girl’s night with Natasha and Wanda, and you certainly didn’t want two overbearing super soldiers and lovely ol’ Sam to join you and act overprotective of your feelings the entire night.
You really just wanted to disappear into the alcohol and the movie.
Which, at the rate you were drinking, you hoped you were going to be able to remember it. The movie had been delayed an hour so far because one of the ‘stars’ wasn’t there for the Q&A. Your friend was panicking and running around every which way possible. You attempted to offer your services in any way you could, but she wanted to handle it herself.
So, here you were, all dressed up and alone and not even a movie to get lost in.
Meanwhile….
Peter was dressed up in a suit of his own. Of course, his was red and blue and somehow more formfitting than your clinging outfit choice for the night. He swung and landed off the side of a building, his eyes darting down to watch the van he had been tailing for some time now.
“Why are they all the way up here on Sixth Avenue?” Peter muttered to himself as he watched them drive for a bit before leaping off and swinging once again. “This wasn’t the plan.”
It wasn’t! They had gone past every single jewelry store in the area and hadn’t stopped. What were they doing, looking for a good parking spot? There were a few alleyways they could have ducked into. This was so strange.
And, ugh, you were right there. Peter could see the glowing lights of the Roxy. He could see the setup for photographs outside, the small red carpet, the foot traffic in the area for the small premiere that night. You were so close to him, and yet so far away, because he could do absolutely nothing in the moment to get rid of that disappointed look that was burned into his mind when he rejected your offer to go out tonight.
In fact, Peter was so lost thinking about you, he momentarily lost sight of the gang. He floundered for a moment as he was web-swinging around to find their vehicle. Eventually, he did find it. It was parked in an alleyway, as he predicted it should be, right by the back entrance to the Roxy Cinema—oh, oh no…
They must have somehow learned about the premiere and the type of people that were going to be there and decided that live targets were going to be more fruitful than hitting up a jewelry store that probably locked everything away as a precaution anyway.
Peter landed on the roof of the building softly and looked around for the best entrance. He needed to get in quickly, quietly, and without alerting anyone that he was there. The last thing he wanted was for them to take hostages, or, worse, start shooting in fear and risk you being hurt before he could even step into the fight.
Although, you were a pretty god-like Avenger. You should be fine, right?
~*~
You were so not fine. Well, at least not fine enough to be trusted to use your powers without accidentally collapsing a building. You slammed your hand into the container of popcorn, shoved a few kernels in your mouth, and chased it with a cocktail before excusing yourself from the less-than-riveting conversation you were dragged into by a few people who recognized you.
You made your way to the restroom to freshen up and take care of yourself. Looking in the mirror afterwards, you shook your head and sighed. Men. You dumped one at a party, thought you met a new, nice one that very night, only to be lied to in a supermarket. Honestly, what the hell? This was utterly disappointing. Why the hell would your father go through so many women back to back — oh, right, he was a black hole of emotion for awhile.
Well, there’s that.
You left the restroom and could faintly hear shouting and orders being given. Finally, the star must have arrived and the night was going to proceed as promised, right?
However, when you left the hall and entered the main room, you could see several men with guns out. One was walking around with a collection bag, and you could see another one was separating some of the wealthier attendees away from the rest, likely trying to extort them for more money.
But then you saw the zip ties come out for that group, and you knew that this was going to go downhill incredibly fast.
Then there was you, drunk as a skunk standing there wide-eyed and knowing you were in no condition to be fighting. It wasn’t like you had the element of surprise, either. Your heel slammed into the ground when you skidded to a stop and made the most obnoxiously loud clicking noise. You were the new center of attention as everyone turned to you.
“Hey, Checkers was right, Y/N Stark is here,” one of them leered as he aimed a gun at you and started to walk towards you.
“Hey,” you swallowed back the urge to belch loudly. “I’m an Avenger! You don’t want to do this, man.”
“Actually, I think we do,” he placed his finger over the trigger and aimed at you. “Take off that nice jewelry, Ms. Stark, and get over there with the rest of ‘em.”
“I’ve got a better plan,” you hiccuped and clasped your hands together. “Why don’t we let everyone go, and I don’t snap your spine in half.”
He fired a warning shot at you. Your hand flew up to stop the bullet in its path, but in your inebriated state, you were just too slow. The bullet skimmed your shoulder causing you to hiss in pain. The shot, plus your current state, kept you at a disadvantage. Rather than stopping the bullet, you accidentally blew back one of the other victims into a column and knocked them out cold. You cringed at what you accidentally did while the gang roared with laughter.
“God, this really is like taking candy from a baby,” he laughed and switched how he was holding the gun as he marched towards you. He swung it into his hand so he was holding it like a bat. You stepped backwards to make some space and try to figure out just how coordinated you were at the moment and the best way for you to fight back.
Just as he got closer and wound back to take a swing, something jumped in front of you. You jumped backwards in alarm. Your hands were already up to try to catch the gun, but it never came to that. You stumbled backwards as your eyes stared into a back clad in red and blue. Glancing up a little more, you saw the back of Spider-Man’s head as his hand grabbed the gun and squeezed, the gun snapping in two in his hand.
“Well, that’s just no way to treat a lady, right?”
“Sp-sp-Spider-Man’s here!” He shouted.
“I know who I am, no need to yell!” Spider-Man quickly pulled him forward and tossed him far to the left and webbed him to a wall. He looked around at the rest of the gang. “So, do you guys feel like dancing or…? How do we want to do this, fellas?”
They all opened fire immediately. Without even turning, one arm reached back and pulled you into him just before leaping into the air and avoiding the gunfire. He shot a web and used it to pull the two of towards a spiral staircase. When you two landed, he stayed low and kept you law as well as he ran until you were able to hide behind the railing.
“Why don’t you stay here and get your bearings, Ms. Stark. I’ve got this.”
Within a second he was up and jumping over the railing. You listened to gunfire and people screaming. Slowly, with Tony’s inability to listen to anyone pulsing strong within you, you ignored Spider-Man’s suggestion and peaked over the barrier to see what was going on.
The attendees were all running and rushing out the building while Spider-Man was fighting. He was webbing their guns up so they couldn’t fight anymore, and he was taking them out so easily. A punch here, a dropkick there. It was like watching an interpretive dance as he had the entire gang webbed up and incapacitated.
“Didn’t even break a sweat. You guys are getting slow,” he chuckled as he dusted his hands off and quickly glanced up. He could see you peaking over the railing before you had a chance to duck. When you did duck, he smiled to himself and leapt into the air.
By the time you had turned around, back pressed against the railing, Spider-Man was standing in front of you. You looked ahead to see a gloved hand reach down to you. Carefully, you took his hand and let him pull you up to your feet. You exhaled slowly as you backed against the barrier again and slowly examined him.
For as many years as Spider-Man has been around, you two had never actually crossed paths. The types of things you both did for your superhero antics was just too different. He stayed close to the streets, his ear to the ground as he saved the everyday citizens of the city. You, however, did things that were a little more global or had a taste of aliens sneaking around. Your worlds just never really collided until now.
Standing before him, looking up at his mask as he tilted his head to the side and studied you, you could see how scary he was. The deafening silence of Spider-Man just staring at you would send a chill down your spine. He was clearly very strong, and fast, and when he wasn’t running his mouth with little jokes, he was incredibly intimidating.
And yet, this hero seemed to be soft as well as he reached out and carefully grasped your chin. He seemed to do a quick once-over of you for any other injuries before letting go and letting his hand drop to his side. Spider-Man cleared his throat, “Why don’t I take you home, Ms. Stark, so you can get that shoulder cleaned up?”
You exhaled slowly. The sudden jumping around wasn’t sitting well with you, and you couldn’t lie, your shoulder definitely stung, “You know who I am.”
“How could anyone not?” He replied. “The ethereal Y/N Stark, you’re kind of legendary. Can’t say I’ve ever seen you drunk in public, though, I thought that was a Tony Stark thing.”
“Bad day, Spider-Man,” you huffed, not noticing how his shoulders sunk. “I should go —“
“Let me —“
“It’s fine —“
“You want to go out where all those people are waiting to see the drunken avenger who accidentally knocked someone out?” he questioned. “Come on, let me spare you. I think the shoulder’s enough for tonight, isn’t it?”
You thought about it for a moment before nodding reluctantly, “Do you even know where to go?”
“I figured the giant tower that used to have your last name on it was a start.”
“Okay. Fair point,” you mumbled in agreement.
He snuck the two of you outside onto a fire escape. He turned around and glanced at your shoulder first. He webbed the injury to keep anything from getting into it, then he turned around and crouched down as he offered you his back. Before you could even climb on, he suddenly spun around and was scratching the back of his head as he faced you.
“Actually, given your gunshot wound I think you should put less strain on your arm for now.”
“Uh, okay — “
“So, here,” he cleared his throat and put an arm around your waist. He put your undamaged arm around his shoulder. He exhaled deeply, for reasons you were unsure of, before he continued, “you can, um, put your legs around my waist if you want, you know, more support. But you don’t have to, I’ve got you, but, you know, optional. Heights are, uh, big.”
The poor man was screaming at himself internally for sounding like such an absolute moron with you once again.
“I feel that, maybe, I shouldn’t be drunk and risk accidentally flashing someone my vagina while we’re swinging around,” you explained. “I can see the headlines now, bare starkussy on spider-waist.”
He had no idea if this was a sober or a drunk thought, but he thought he could die with the imagery.
“Also, I just didn’t wear underwear with this dress. That’s TMI, sorry, but, yeah, probably unsanitary. Who knows where you’ve been.”
Okay. He was going ot have a heart attack.
“Good to know,” his voice cracked and he mumbled for you to hang on as he jumped off the fire escape and began to swing from Lower Manhattan back up to Midtown to take you home.
You shut your eyes tightly when you were nearly at the tower. He ran across the top of one building and jumped off the side of it. You were free-falling together before he shot a web near the top of the tower and as he was falling, he started to swing and propelled the two of you up to the landing. You didn’t move until he whispered that you were home, his hands resting on your waist to keep you steady as you slowly adjusted to being on solid ground once again.
You opened your eyes and looked up to his masked face. You stared up at him for an uncomfortably long time before shaking out of your daze.
“Sorry,” you apologized, your hand sliding from around his shoulders and neck down to his chest. It was hard as a rock, and when you once again realized you were being kind of weird with him, you quickly retracted your hand and uttered another apology. “Thanks for the save, Spider-Man.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Stark,” he murmured “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
“I hope so,” you replied.
The two of you turned for different reasons. You could feel vibrations rushing towards the deck, and he could hear frantic voices. You both could just start to see Tony and Steve talking, or shouting, at each other as they approached.
“Goodnight, Ms. Stark,” he bowed his head and walked backwards until spinning around and diving off the side of the building.
“Oh, thank god I don’t have to hold this in anymore,” you rushed out quickly before keeling over and vomiting everything you ingested at the party.
By the time you were done vomiting, you were standing upright and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand just as Tony and Steve surrounded you.
“Now, I am so proud of you for pulling a, well, a me,” Tony explained. “But Cap’s a little worried. I’m not, not at all. Is that a gunshot wound?”
“Right. You weren’t worried at all,” Steve rolled his eyes. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. Someone should try to get a way to contact Spider-Man, say thanks —“
“Seems like spawn wants to give her thanks,” Tony remarked under his breath.”
“Shut up, dad,” you groaned. “I need water. And a bed. And a bucket. Also, maybe some food.”
“Ah, that’s my girl,” Tony squeezed your shoulder and kept his arm around you as the three of you got inside.
At least the night went by successfully. You had successfully pushed your troubles behind you. Peter Parker who? Spider-Man was just so much more enticing right now.
The End of the Line (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 😘 🤕 😥 ✍
Set in the world of Marvel’s What If…. Zombies, you and Bucky Barnes are having a heart-to-heart on a train when you are suddenly interrupted…… (Spoilers for Marvel’s What If…. Zombies)
Nightmares (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 😘 😥 ✍
Every night you have the same nightmare with Bucky there to comfort you
Time to Wake Up (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 😥 ✍ (Sequel to Nightmares)
After 5 years of nightmares, it’s time for you to finally move on. But when an old friend from the past shows up, is there hope?
The Colonel and the Sergeant Masterlist (Rick Flag x Reader, Past Bucky Barnes x Reader) 😘 🤕 😥 ✍
When you and your boyfriend Rick Flag bump into your ex, Bucky Barnes, at a bar one night, things get a bit awkward. But how will revelations about your past relationship affect your current one?
You Are My Greatest Accomplishment (Bucky Barnes & Third Person Reader) 🤕 😥 ✍ ✉️
After Bucky survives falling from the train (minus one arm), he is taken prisoner by HYDRA whose lead scientist has big plans for him….
Who Do You Trust? (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 😘 🤕 😥 ✍
After Bucky saves you from HYDRA’s captivity, you think he is the only person you can trust. But can you really trust him?
Christmas Lights (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 😘 ✍
When your plans to celebrate Christmas fall through, Bucky tries to find an alternate way to still make it special for you.
Pep Talk (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 😥 ✍
When you have a moment of self-doubt, Bucky tries to comfort you.
Hold On (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 🤕 😥 ✍
As you and Bucky are trying to reach your extraction point on a mission, a grim reveal might change those plans.
Drabbles:
“Why won’t you let me braid your hair?”
“You’re welcome to try.” = Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
“Is that my present?” = Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
“I would kill for dinner right now.” and “Are you trying to make me angry?” = Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
Fics:
A Second Chance (NWH Amazing Spider-Man x Reader) 😘 ✍
When you are sucked into an alternate dimension with an alternate Peter Parker, you have to try and find your way back to your Peter. But he might be closer than you realized….
Along Came a Spider (NWH Amazing Spider-Man x Reader) 😘 😥 ✍
Peter finds himself in another dimension and soon comes across a girl with a familiar face. But baggage from each of their worlds makes for a very rough introduction. Can they overcome their issues and learn to work together?
My Hero (The Amazing Spider-Man x Reader) 😘 😥 ✍ ✉️
Peter Parker has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. But lately, he is pulling away from you. Will the intervention of the local web-slinging superhero help or hurt things?
I Never Had a Choice (The Amazing Spider-Man x Reader) 😘 🤕 😥 ✍ ✉️
When things go bad, there is only one person you can turn to. But is Peter willing to help you after everything that happened between you two?
When One Door Closes (The Amazing Spider-Man x gn!Reader) 😘 ✍ ✉️
After you try asking Gwen Stacy out and she rejects you, you decide to hang out with your best friend instead. But what would happen if you and Peter were more than friends?
No Matter What I Have to Do (The Amazing Spider-Man x Reader) 😘 😥 ✍ ✉️
To gain an upper hand on Spider-Man, a local gang kidnaps you. But what they didn’t realize is that after he lost Gwen, Peter is willing to do whatever it takes to save his girlfriend.
Blood (The Amazing Spider-Man x Reader) 🤕 😥 ✍
When you wake up and see an unconscious Peter lying in a pool of blood, you fear the worst. However, this soon becomes a "good news, bad news" situation.
Drabbles:
“You’re welcome to try.”
“The wonderful world of high school drama.”
“The future is a mystery.” and “I can’t believe you’re still alive!”
“Did you just tell the person I was gonna go out with that we’re dating?” = tasm!Peter Parker x Female!Reader
“Hard cash is a girl’s best friend.” and “I like that about you.” = tasm!Peter Parker x Female!Reader (Smoke)
“Honey, I’m home.” = tasm!Peter Parker x Female!Reader (Smoke)
Blood
Fics:
It Was a Long Time Ago…. Masterlist (Matt Murdock x Reader) 😘 😥 ✍ ✉️
After seven years in prison for an unfair charge, you are finally released. But when your old love, Matt Murdock, is there to meet you, what does it mean for the future?
When the Devil Calls…. (Matt Murdock x Reader) 😘 🤕 ✍
When you get a late-night call from the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen asking you for help, you rush to your friend’s aid.
Fics:
Not My World (Frank Castle x Reader) 😘 🤕 😥 ✍
Your ex-Frank shows up at your apartment late at night, shot and bleeding. As you try to patch him up, old feelings resurface.
In Love Masterlist (Frank Castle x Reader) 😘 😥 ✍
Being in a relationship with Frank Castle isn’t easy. Not only do you have to worry about him leaving every night to go out as The Punisher, but deep down you know he is still not over the loss of his family. What will this mean for your relationship long term?
Drabbles:
“Don’t go on that date.” “Why?” “You know why.” “Say it.” = Frank Castle x Female!Reader
Don’t Go On That Date (Alternate POV) = Frank Castle x Female!Reader
Fics:
That Was a Blast (Avengers & Reader) 🤕 😥 ✍
The mission goes from bad to worse as you, Tony, Steve, and Sam infiltrate an old HYDRA base.
Trust Me (Loki & Reader) 😥 ✍
When a mission goes wrong, your only choice is to trust Loki.
summary: your friend group consisted of five— you, peter parker, mary jane watson, harry osborn, and gwen stacy. if you asked each of them who the traitor in the group was… well, they’d all have different answers
warnings: f!reader, complicated friend group drama, a whole lot of plot, lots of events & time skips (might be confusing im sorry), loosely based on the tasm!interpretation of harry osborn and gwen stacy, some tasm! elements but overall different timeline, accelerated aspects of tasm plot, part 1/3
masterlist! , part two
note: for the sake of the plot, harry’s the same age as everyone else
Birthdays.
Sacred days that were to be celebrated in the most elaborate fashion— that is if you were a part of ESU’s hottest and richest clique (Harry’s words, not yours). Though the only person in said clique with any type of financial stability was Harry Osborn himself; the rest of you—consisting of Peter Parker, Mary Jane Watson, Gwen Stacy and yourself—were all broke college students living on cup noodles and peanut butter.
“Tonight, we’re all getting wasted,” a suave voice announced the minute he saw all of you waiting for him by the dining hall. Meet Harry:
Overall, Harry Osborn was a fucking wild time. Constantly planning parties, constantly inviting you to do the craziest things (one time he asked you if you wanted to skydive simply because he felt like it… you said yes), constantly making you laugh…
Peter Parker was the one to bring Harry Osborn into your life, introducing him as his childhood friend that had recently moved back to the city for “family business.”
That was the last time you ever asked about Harry’s family business, learning the hard way there wasn’t anything the boy despised more than talking about his father. Thankfully, he got over it a few days later, realizing he’d made a premature judgement based on your innocent curiosity. He’d later become one of your closest friends—obviously.
“Still can’t believe you didn’t let us plan your party,” you chortled, tossing him a granola bar. It was around mid-afternoon, a few hours before his birthday bash would be in full swing.
He caught it swiftly, ripping the wrapper with his teeth. “It’s my party—”
“—that you’re going to be late for if we don’t leave now.”
Ah, meet Gwen Stacy.
High School Valedictorian and the bubbliest person you knew. Somehow, she also managed to be one of the sternest people you knew.
Your friendship with Gwen Stacy happened instantaneously, the two of you meeting in sixth grade and quickly hitting it off. It was one of the only friendships that survived the trials and tribulations of grade school, growing stronger as it crossed over to college. Now, you both shared an apartment so it couldn’t really get any closer than that.
Now put the two together and you get the world’s most iconic couple (in your opinion). Gwen and Harry met through Peter, who met Gwen through you.
Gwen grabbed Harry’s hand hastily, barely giving him any time to process what was going on before she was dragging him off campus.
“Thanks for the bar, bitch!” He managed to yell, waving his half-eaten snack in the air.
They were turning the corner, but you could still hear their bickering.
“Harry!” Gwen exclaimed quietly, slapping his shoulder softly.
“What?”
You laughed, admiring their strange dynamic.
“Hey, I’m gonna swing by the library and finish my essay before the party,” Peter spoke from behind you, causing you to snap out of your thoughts and whip around to face him and Mary Jane.
“Sure,” Mary Jane smiled, waving his fingers.
Peter then looked over at you expectantly.
“Okay, text me so we can ride to Harry’s place together,” you said, earning a nod.
With that, the boy sped off and disappeared down the hall.
Excited at the thought of a party later, you grinned at Mary Jane, grabbing her hand and dragging her in the direction of your dorm which was thankfully a block away from campus. “Tonight’s gonna be crazy!” You cheered. Mary Jane mirrored your expression, giving your hand an enthusiastic squeeze.
If you only you knew… it would be one of the last normal nights of your life.
Your friendship with Mary Jane Watson was little hard to explain. In all honesty, she joined your friend group by association, but that didn’t mean you didn’t like her… It just meant that your friendship hadn’t been built on the same foundation as the others had.
That being said, sometimes you found yourself in awkward situations with Mary Jane, not quite sure how to accurately read her emotions like you did with the rest of the group. Regardless, you always made a point to hang out with her from time to time, attempting to form a bond with the girl who you were pretty sure was about to become a permanent addition into your life…
Because if your observations were correct, Peter Parker had a massive crush on Mary Jane.
How does that click with her possible permanency in your life?
Well, Peter Parker was your best friend, through and through. While your friendship with Gwen was almost ten years strong and going, your relationship with Peter exceeded even that.
You’d known him since elementary school, meeting during a joint recess in the first grade. Every day, your six-year-old self would eagerly run to the playground, hoping Peter’s teacher had released his students early so you could play in the sandbox with him…
Then, second grade brought a pleasant surprise—you and little Peter Parker from the sandbox were placed in the same class. Needless to say, you hadn’t gone a day after that without seeing or hearing from Peter at least once, the two of you forming a close bond that, to some people, seemed strangely affectionate.
But it was just the result of all the years you’d both put into your friendship—no one holding a candle to the comfort you felt with the boy.
You were practically each other’s first everything—first crush, first kiss, first school dance… you get the idea.
There were only a few lines you hadn’t crossed with each other but that was because most of your firsts had resulted from a childish third grade crush that lasted a few weeks. Honestly, looking back at it, it was probably all because the other students would constantly tease your friendship, claiming you two were dating every single time they spotted the two of you even breathing in each other’s direction.
…Anyway, now things were clearly different. While you were still as thick as thieves, you had clearly matured, finding comfort in each other because your friendship was the realest thing in both your lives… It survived the test of time, through family drama and rocky roads, and came out even stronger.
Friendship. That’s all it was.
So, if Peter liked Mary Jane (and clearly Mary Jane liked him back), you wanted to get along with the girl.
“How does this look?” Mary Jane stepped out of the bathroom, a green dress hugging her figure beautifully.
You nodded in approval. “Definitely the one.”
Mary Jane seemed to agree, staring in the mirror with a gleeful expression on her face. “Thanks for letting me borrow this. I really need to go shopping soon.”
“If you’re going to be hanging around Harry for the long run, a shopping spree is definitely advised,” you told her, thinking back to all the parties he’s hosted since you’ve met him. You lost count after attending the eighth one years ago.
“Do you think Peter will like it?”
The question caught you by surprise, her tone timid and a lot quieter than before. It was the first time she’d ever verbally expressed interest in your best friend.
You cleared your throat. “The important thing is that you like it. You shouldn’t dress for someone else’s approval, Mary Jane…”
The girl watched you through the mirror, nodding defeatedly.
“… But he does like green.”
You watched as her eyes lit up, staring at the dress with more interest and flattening her hands along the fabric.
Perturbed, you crossed over to your closet, digging through your wardrobe as you tried to distract yourself from the dreadful feeling in your chest.
Why’d you lie? Peter hated green.
You tried to ignore your pettiness, grabbing a little black dress perfect for the occasion and setting it aside for the party.
By the time you arrived at Harry’s house, the party was in full swing. The blaring music resonated through your chest as you squeezed your way through the crowd, dragging Peter behind you by the hand.
Peter needed a chaperone during these kinds of events— he was pretty much hopeless in this type of environment, but it was Harry’s birthday and he wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Eager to get the fun started, you finally made it to the kitchen, grabbing a sealed bottle and popping it open. Shots poured, you passed one to Peter (who you made sure wanted to drink in the first place, to which he nodded enthusiastically) and counted to three.
“1…2...3!”
Both of you tipped your glasses back, the alcohol instantly burning your throat as you chugged it down.
“Woooo!” Peter jumped in place a bit, shaking off the unpleasant sensation. Exhilarated, you went to respond but the words died on your tongue as a rowdy voice joined the kitchen.
“Look at who it is!” Harry exclaimed. “My two party animals!”
“Ha ha,” Peter deadpanned.
But you seemed to appreciate his comment, laughing as he threw an arm around your shoulder. Compared to your best friend, you definitely had a more carefree approach to life.
“Harry!” You beamed. “The party’s insane, man.”
“This is why I plan all of them,” he said matter-of-factly, sending you both a teasing smile.
The rest of the group entered the kitchen.
Mary Jane was wearing the green dress from earlier, hair styled to perfection. You quickly adverted your eyes, feeling that guilty pang in your stomach again.
Beside her, Gwen was wearing a dress similar to your own. But her black dress had a different neckline— a halter one decorated with a golden necklace.
Like magnets, Harry and Gwen gravitated toward each other, freeing your shoulder as he stepped away.
A familiar face suddenly caught your attention and you excused yourself, weaving your way through the crowd until you reached Dominic, your chemistry lab partner.
“Dom!” You strained over the music, tapping his shoulder.
The boy turned around, towering over you as he smiled at your sudden appearance. “Y/N! Funny seeing you here.”
“Yeah well I barely know the host,” you joked. “Just party crashing.”
Dominic laughed, still dancing to the beat of the music. He had seen you and Harry together countless of times throughout the hallways of ESU.
Across the room, Peter watched you two closely…
He’s only looking out for you… yeah… that’s the only reason he was watching Dominic’s hands like a hawk.
Bitterly, Peter took another sip from his drink, clenching his fingers around the cup as he watched Dominic trail his hands down your hips.
Mary Jane followed Peter’s gaze, almost rolling her eyes when she saw you and Dominic Anderson dancing in the crowd. “Are you two dating or something?”
“What?” Peter remembered he wasn’t alone. “No, no, we’re not.”
“It’s just that everyone teases you two and I don’t know you as well as the other guys so…”
“No, we’re just friends. Not dating,” Peter said firmly, turning to face the girl.
She was smiling in a charming way, but Peter was oblivious. He didn’t notice the ulterior motive behind her grin. “Do you want to dance then?”
“Um—” he wasn’t much of a dancer, that is unless you forced him on the dance floor with you. But one last glance at you and Dominic Anderson made him more agreeable. “Sure.”
Mary Jane grasped his hand, interlocking their fingers as she dragged him far from where you were challenging Dominic to a dance battle.
When they stopped, she slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him in close and swaying their bodies to the rhythm of the music.
Clueless to Mary Jane’s advances, you busted your best moves, neck deep in an intense battle with Dom. Dropping to the ground, you attempted a disco pose, one you’d seen in Saturday Night Fever.
You bounced back up to your feet. “Suck on that, Dom!”
Dominic rolled his eyes, ignoring the little crowd that had formed around you. “You win,” he said begrudgingly.
Bowing dramatically, you thanked the crowd for their applause. “That’ll be the last time you doubt my skills.”
“That’s for sure,” he said.
You suddenly remembered where you were, eyes darting over the sea of people before finding Gwen and Harry. They were standing on the staircase, already staring over at you with amused expressions. It seemed they were lucky enough to witness your victory.
Wiggling your eyebrows, you gave them an enthusiastic thumbs up. They threw one right back.
Where’s Pete? You wondered, straining to see past the colored strobe lights. Eventually, your eyes landed on your best friend, evidently not alone from the pair of arms you saw wrapped around his neck. Bringing your gaze down, you saw Mary Jane leading him in a dance.
As if he felt your stare, Peter caught your eye.
Even with the LED lights, you noticed his cheeks were flushed from being pressed against a bunch of bodies.
‘You okay?’ You mouthed, not even glancing over at his partner.
He barely caught the question, people getting in the way as you struggled to keep eye contact with him. ‘I’m good. You?’ He mouthed back.
Thankfully, you were both good at reading lips. You realized you were rather tired, out of breath from the battle. So, you shrugged at him and then turned toward Dominic to excuse yourself.
The boy was already dancing with some random person in the crowd, barely acknowledging your goodbye before you were squeezing past grinding bodies, making a beeline to the kitchen.
An electronic keypad protected the entrance to Harry’s enormous pantry, but you knew the passcode, punching it in quickly.
Inside the soundproof closet, you grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge he kept in there. You slid to the ground, wiping the little beads of sweat from your forehead as you gulped the water greedily.
The door opened again but you kept your gaze on the floor; there was only four people who knew the passcode to Harry’s security.
Not bothering to turn on the light, Peter shut the door behind him, sliding on the floor across from you and grabbing some water as well.
“Saw you with Mary Jane,” you said after a few moments of comfortable silence. You didn’t like that the question had come out in an accusatory tone but there was no going back now.
Peter hummed absentmindedly. “She asked me to dance and I said yes.”
“That’s a first,” you grinned.
“Yeah well I was feeling pretty adventurous tonight.”
“Wow,” you wiped an imaginary tear. “My boy’s leaving the nest.”
Peter laughed. “I can do things without holding your hand, Y/N.”
“Then you’re growing up, darling,” you teased, nudging his foot with yours.
He scoffed but otherwise fell silent.
“So… did you like it?”
“What?” Peter asked.
You shrugged, clicking your heels together. “Dancing with MJ.”
Peter didn’t think much of it. “It was fine. She’s a good friend.”
You watched his expression carefully, unsure of why you were searching for any doubt. Oddly satisfied, you hummed in response, drinking from your bottle.
“Did you like dancing with Anderson?” His tone held an edge, almost as if he were clenching his teeth.
“He’s a good friend,” you repeated Peter’s words.
You had no idea why you were both confirming your love lives (or rather your lack-of). You avoided Peter’s eye, searching for a distraction so you didn’t have to think too hard about what his question meant.
Clearing your throat, you tossed your empty bottle into the small recycle bin in the corner. Desperate to escape the odd tension that’d suddenly formed, you stood from your spot.
“Say, have you outgrown dancing with me?”
Peter sighed. “Gotta remember my humble beginnings.”
You shoved his shoulder with a laugh, letting him lead you to the dance floor.
… That’s how you spent the rest of the night—dancing with Peter, gossiping with Harry and laughing with Gwen. You didn’t notice the looks Mary Jane had been giving you the entire night, burning holes into the back of your skull every time you dragged Peter to dance…
“Turn the music down,” Harry announced loudly from the top of the staircase, holding a glass of champagne.
The DJ complied immediately, the room going silent. Everyone’s attention was captured.
Harry scanned the crowd like a king regarding his people. “Thank you all for coming out to celebrate my birthday. Even though most of you probably just came for the free booze.”
A wave of laughter filled the room.
“Here’s to 20! May this be the greatest year,” Harry raised his glass and looked over at his friends. “With the greatest friends I could ever ask for.”
Cheers filled the room, the music resuming at an ear-piercing volume. The crowd went wild once again, jumping to the beat of the song.
A warm feeling filled your chest as you watched Harry’s gaze linger on Gwen sweetly. Their love was one you longed to experience at least once in your life.
Feeling the sudden urge to take another shot, you turned and caught Peter giving you a similar look. It froze you in your tracks. But then it was as if the moment had never happened, eyes looking away as soon as they met yours.
You blinked. You must’ve imagined it. Yes, you imagined it.
But the look lingered in the back of your brain for the rest of the night.
“Harry’s acting weird,” Gwen threw herself on your bed, disrupting your nap without a hint of sympathy. It had been two weeks since the party, life seemingly resuming to normal as spring break rolled around.
Resisting the urge to kick her in the chest, you groaned and turned away. “Get the fuck off, dude.”
“Listen, I’m serious!”
The grave tone in her voice made you sit up with a huff. You gave her a vacant look. “What do you mean?”
“You haven’t noticed?”
“Well, I’m not a part of your relationship so—”
“That’s not what I mean,” Gwen insisted. “He’s been… distant.”
Your irritation melted away when the girl’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to hide it, turn away, but you were faster, pulling her into a hug that made her walls break.
“Oh Gwen, I’m sorry.”
Guilt swirled in your belly as you held the crying girl. It was true— Harry was becoming noticeably distant since the night of his party but when you asked him about it, he simply blamed it on his exams…
You felt horrible for failing to notice just how much his behavior was affecting Gwen.
You stroked her hair, letting her cling to you. “I thought you guys were okay?”
“We haven’t been ever since his party,” she sniffed, pulling away from you slowly.
You grabbed her hand comfortingly. “Have you talked to him about it?”
She nodded. “I’ve tried but all he does is shut me out.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?” You could’ve sworn Gwen had left the apartment last night for a date with Harry.
“Yesterday… two hours after we agreed to meet… and he was drunk out of his mind.”
You furrowed your eyebrows, knowing Harry was as much of a party animal as you were but not enough to day-drink. “I’m worried for him. I’ve known about the drinking for some time, but he won’t let me in. Just keeps telling me that he’s having family problems and you know how he gets when anyone tries to talk to him about his father.”
“Maybe give him a little more time. He might be working through something,” you offered, rubbing her knuckles as you tried to ease her pain.
“A little more time is the only thing I can offer him at this point,” she said sadly. “Because I don’t think I can take much more of this.”
A little more time ended up being just one day—Gwen texting you and Mary Jane to come to her room in a series of messy texts.
Given the fact that you lived under the same roof, you got to your friend fast, heart cracking in two as you held her sobbing body.
Through hiccups, she tried to explain her breakup as soon as Mary Jane arrived, so that she didn’t have to relive the pain twice by repeating herself.
She told you of her confrontation outside Harry’s house—how he had suddenly lost his temper and gotten aggressive, shaking Gwen as if to knock some sense into her. How he had practically spat her, raining down insults as if he never once cared for her.
It left you and Mary Jane in a state of shock to say the least, the behavior sounding the complete opposite from the boy you all knew and loved.
Gwen seemed to agree, though she refused to be treated like dirt and ended the relationship as soon as she could get a word in.
It was evident she still cared for him – I mean, you all did – but nothing excused him from treating Gwen any less than she deserved.
Gwen was practically an angel, supporting him through everything and anything…
You didn’t blame her for finally drawing the line.
… So the rest of the night was spent trying to distract her, laughing and gossiping about pointless things…
It was during this sleepover that Mary Jane fully confessed her feelings for Peter, and in which you made the startling discovery that the fact actually bothered you…
In fact, it bothered you far more than you would ever care to admit. And it wasn’t hard to guess why.
Faking a supportive smile in Mary Jane’s direction, you bit your lip to stop the anxious frown from forming on your face.
… you had feelings for your best friend.
And it wasn’t that liking Peter was a bad thing—
Peter was an absolute godsend in your eyes, his genuine kindness and his unique sense of humor rounding him to be a fucking amazing guy. Not to mention his artistic hobbies and his part-time job as the crime-fighting hero of New York.
He was simply the most beautiful and brightest soul you’d ever known… and your feelings could complicate the intricate friendship you’d built with him.
You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed the pounding in your chest whenever you were around him or the airy giggles that’d leave your lips whenever he made a mediocre joke sooner. But you blamed it on the fact that Peter’s love life had been practically nonexistent for quite some time (his last relationship ended in the ninth grade).
His attention had really never been stolen from you, which sounded self-centered and conceited but that’s just how your relationship worked. You were both equally as dependent on each other and you found comfort in each other’s presence. There was never really any reason for you to feel jealous or question your place in Peter’s life.
…Until now that is… you realized as you listened to Mary Jane’s deepest thoughts about the guy you considered your soulmate…
Fuck.
Your newfound feelings for Peter became a noticeable problem when he came swinging into your room one night.
Thankfully, he had no serious wounds, his Spider-Man suit in perfect condition despite his exhausted slump.
Groaning dramatically, Peter dragged his feet along your floor, collapsing on the end of your bed with a flourish.
Shaking your head, you giggled at your best friend’s antics, running your fingers through his hair.
Peter moaned, an absolute sucker for a head massage… or at least that’s what he’d tell anyone who caught him closing his eyes peacefully whenever you happened to play with his hair…
(He was certain you were unaware of the power your touch had over him.)
“Tough patrol today?”
“Mhm,” Peter nodded, keeping his eyes closed as he basked in your touch.
“I have some extra clothes in those drawers,” you pointed. “You can shower and stay the night if you’re too exhausted to make the trip back.”
“You’re an angel sent from heaven I swear,” he smiled, digging through the articles of his clothing you’d collected over the years. With another grateful smile, he waltzed into the bathroom and clicked the door shut.
Feeling hotter than you did before he arrived, you put a hand against your forehead, checking your temperature anxiously.
Oh God. You suddenly wished you’d never discovered these deep harbored feelings at all— knowing Peter could see through you quite easily.
As soon as he gets out the shower, you were sure he’d put the dots together.
But Peter remained clueless, acting the same as he usually did around you, hoping into bed and sticking to his side as he usually did when he spent the night (it took a few years of convincing for him to finally stop sleeping on the floor).
But this night was different— nervousness making it hard to breathe in natural rhythm as you became hyperaware of his presence. Merely two feet away from you and relaxed upon your bed.
“G’night, Pete,” you softly told him, hoping he couldn’t hear your fluttering heart.
He could.
Being the cheeky bastard he was (and unafraid of his fondness toward you), he whispered back in a sugar sweet tone, “Sweet dreams, angel.”
Smiling like a schoolboy with a crush, he listened intently for your heart to skip a beat. Which it did.
Beautiful feelings swirling around his belly, Peter drifted off, getting the best sleep in what seemed like months.
The sounds of your heartbeat and soft breathing soothed him more than any remedy he ever tried for his restless nights…
But the best part of sleeping over was waking up the next day, limbs curled around each other like puzzle pieces finally connected. Your heart against his and his lips on your forehead.
This was the usual whenever he slept over.
But this time, it held a very different meaning for the two of you… Though one knew about the other’s feelings due to his hyper-awareness, and the other was clueless that their feelings were reciprocated…
A few days later, you found yourself receiving a text that made you sit up from bed far too aggressively. Holding your head carefully, you read through the forming headache.
It was from Harry. It’d been a while since anyone heard from him.
‘hey can you come over really quick?’
Shocked, you read the message to Gwen, who stiffened at the mention of his name but listened carefully regardless. Concerned for his well-being, she encouraged you to go—
For her own sanity, she needed someone to make sure he was okay.
“I’ll text you as soon as I get there, okay?” You told her, throwing your bag over your shoulder.
Gwen nodded appreciatively. “See you later.”
A subway ride and a short walk later, you were knocking on Harry’s door, anxiously tapping your foot as you prepared yourself for what you’d find inside. When the door opened, it wasn’t Harry who greeted you— instead, it was an Oscorp employee.
That’s odd. You thought.
Giving her a tight smile, you rushed past her, heading upstairs where you knew he’d be waiting for you.
Alas, there he was, sitting at the couch hunched over something. Curious, you made your way around the furniture, immediately seeing the bottle of scotch hanging between his legs. He was staring at its contents as if perplexed by its nature.
“You came,” he said finally, not sparing you a glance.
You stood still as a rock, not sure what to do in his presence. This wasn’t the same Harry you knew.
“Of course I did,” you hesitated. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“It seems everyone has turned against me nowadays.”
“No one has turned against you, Harry. You’ve pushed us away,” you corrected.
Your words finally made him look up and the sight shocked you.
The man staring back at you surely was Harry Osborn, but it didn’t feel like it.
Everything about him was off—his appearance, usually clean and upkept, was in disarray. His bloodshot eyes captured your attention first before bringing your eyes to his messy hair and wrinkled clothes.
His formal suits were nowhere to be found.
You thought he’d say something to defend his honor but instead he reached over and grabbed a newspaper from the table in front of him. Tossing it over, he leaned back and took a swig straight from the bottle.
You looked at its cover curiously, a picture of Spider-Man printed on the page. A closer look at the page made you realize it was shot by your camera. Your name was printed finely in the corner.
“Y/N,” his croak made you look up in concern. “I’m dying.”
Certain you heard him wrong, your mouth gaped like a fish out of water.
Harry took your stunned silence as an opportunity to explain. “It’s a disease that runs in the family. My father is dying from it and now I’m starting to show the symptoms too.”
You tried to find the words to say but you were running blank, horrified at the turn of events.
“You took this,” he pointed at the newspaper in your hand.
You glanced back at the closeup of Spider-Man. It was something you and Peter did on the side: submitting photos to the Daily Bugle for some extra cash. You rarely took any however, most of the shots credited under Peter’s name.
The copy in your hand just happened to be one of the few you’d taken.
“Yeah, I did…” You didn’t know where he was going with this.
“So you know Spider-Man.”
“How does a picture automatically mean that I—”
Harry stood up and snatched the newspaper from your grasp. “I need his blood,” he cut to the chase, ignoring your confusion and grabbing his work tablet from the couch.
Everything was happening too quickly; you could barely keep up. Still, you took the tablet from his hand, watching as a video of Richard Parker and Norman Osborn played. It explained their scientific trials with the serum that eventually turned Peter into a cross-species… Of course, you knew that, but Harry didn’t.
“They never made it to trials. Fourteen years of research and nothing to show for except… maybe this.” Harry shoved the paper in your face, giving you a calculating look as if he knew all your secrets.
“Spider-Man?” You repeated timidly, feigning a look of confusion.
“He was bitten by one of those things and it worked. I don’t know how and I don’t know why but he can do everything else a spider can… including self-heal. I need to find him. I need his blood.”
This didn’t sound like Harry at all, the deranged gleam in his eye creating an uneasy feeling in your gut.
“You need his blood?” You took a seat.
Harry gave you a furious expression. “It’ll save my life.”
His anger came from a place of fear. At least that’s what you deduced as you stared at him silently.
“I need you to tell me where he is,” he continued after some deep calming breaths.
“I don’t know—”
“Stop the bullshit!” He accused, slamming the newspaper against the table. You jumped, staring at his hand in shock.
You were wrong—the man in front of you couldn’t be Harry Osborn. There was absolutely no semblance of your friend’s exuberant personality.
“Harry,” you said his name as if it would snap him out of it but to no avail. “I spend a ridiculous amount of time on Twitter everyday trying to find his whereabouts so I can take pictures. Seriously, my screen time for that app is honestly embarrassing and—”
“I don’t care how you get these pictures,” Harry snapped. “I just need to talk to him…”
The lump in your throat grew thicker, guilt nearly sending you into submission. But your heart would never allow you to betray Peter’s trust, not even for one of your closest friends.
“…please.” There was a hint of your friend in that word, a raw desperation mixed with hopelessness shining through as he softly begged.
You wondered if he had seen Peter’s pictures on the other releases of the Daily Bugle, but little did you know, it didn’t matter. Because Harry would’ve still chosen you—knowing your kind heart would never resist the distraught begs of your close friend.
It was cruel to take advantage of your endless compassion, but Harry was willing to lose everything but his life.
“I’ll—I’ll see what I can do,” you caved under the pressure, suffocated by the desolate look in Harry’s eye.
When you told Peter, his reaction was exactly what you expected.
“What?” He hissed, shutting your door gently as he followed you into your room. He tried to stay quiet, knowing Gwen had a sensitive ear.
You sat on your bed and pressed your forehead into your hands. “I know. I know. I couldn’t believe it either.”
“I can’t give him my blood,” Peter stressed, pacing the floor anxiously. “He’s dying but I can’t give him my blood. Who knows what it could do to him?”
“Exactly,” you agreed but it fell on deaf ears.
“We all saw what happened with Connors and this whole thing with my dad… I just—”
“Your dad? What happened with your dad?” You demanded.
Without wasting a single breath, Peter divulged his recent discovery with you: explaining how the spider’s venom had been made with his father’s DNA which is why all the other trials had failed. To ensure his research would never fall into the wrong hands, only the offspring of Richard Parker could successfully withstand the effects of the serum.
“Wow,” you breathed, head spinning with information. “So, the serum could either kill Harry or mutate his DNA—”
“—in a way that’s incurable,” Peter finished solemnly.
Silence filled the room, the sound of the living room TV leaking through the walls.
After a moment, you stood up. “I… I need to figure out what to tell him.”
It broke your spirit that you couldn’t help Harry in the way he wanted. There was nothing more you wanted than to see him live—he was one of your closest friends and you simply couldn’t imagine life without him… The guilt nearly sent you to your knees.
Sensing your anxiety, Peter placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I’ll go see him… as Spider-Man.”
“But—”
“—and I’ll tell him there’s nothing I can do… we’ll figure out another way, Y/N. I promise.”
You agreed hesitantly, lying in hopes that speaking it into the universe would make it a reality. “I know we will.”
Feeling horrible that you’d been placed in such a torn situation, Peter brought you into an embrace, wrapping an arm around your head and the other around your waist. Craving the affection, you melted in his arms, pressing your face into his shoulder and inhaling his familiar scent. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as his warmth soaked through the multiple layers of clothes between you.
Regardless of whatever feelings were blossoming deep inside your chest, his arms had always been your favorite place to be.
After a week had flown by, you assumed Harry had accepted Spider-Man’s refusal, no one hearing from him for days. Even Mary Jane, who’d passed by his house a few days ago, had no such luck.
But thankfully, the end of spring break was just around the corner… Harry could be unhinged but he’d never miss a class—his reputation depended on his perfect grades and untouchable persona.
His return to the living came that afternoon, his insistence to speak only to you making your behavior around Gwen questionable.
It was the guilt from keeping his ailment a secret that convinced you to meet him again.
His short message read this:
‘hey i’m sorry for being an asshole last week, i was hoping you could come over so i could apologize face to face’
He sent a second text shortly after, multiplying your guilt tenfold:
‘i understand if you don’t want to see me tho’
So that’s what had you making the journey to the Osborn residence, foolishly keeping the information disclosed from Peter and anyone else you should’ve told.
The house seemed more daunting than before, the feeling of a thousand eyes causing you to look around warily as you waited for someone to open the door.
It’s the guilt. You knew it was the guilt.
When the door finally opened, you were shocked to find Harry on the other end, granting you entrance with a rejuvenated smile. Relief flooded you— it was a smile you hadn’t seen in weeks.
Inside, he offered you tea, a stark contrast to the hard beverages you’d seen him binging on during your last visit.
Accepting gratefully, you made some small talk with Harry, trying to pry as much information from him as you could but his answers were unsurprisingly vague. Slowly, you started to find your rhythm with him again, cracking joke after joke until you were both holding your stomach in uncontrollable laughter.
“Oh, it’s good to reminisce on the old times,” sighed Harry, wiping a joyful tear from his eye as he straightened back up. The kettle rang and he crossed over to serve you a cup. Elated that your best friend was slowly breaking out of his shell again, you failed to take notice of his suspicious actions, blowing on the hot liquid and taking a sip.
Harry chose not to join you, rather watching you drink your cup as he sat empty-handed.
“I wanted to thank you,” he started with an intense look. “For contacting Spider-Man.”
Your eyes widened despite your best efforts to appear nonchalant. “Uh—what’d he say?” You asked casually, downing your tea to avoid meeting his eye.
Harry smiled like he knew something you didn’t. He poured himself a glass of scotch, watching as the disappointment settled in your gaze.
“Well, you should know, Y/N.” He tipped the alcohol down his throat in one shot.
… Your heart sank, suddenly seeing through Harry’s façade rather violently… He played his old persona well, initially fooling you into believing his intentions were purely from the goodness of his heart.
Still, you didn’t know what to expect, setting your empty cup down robotically. “What—what do you mean?”
But then black dots started filling the corners of your vision. All while you desperately tried to focus on Harry’s fading figure. A panic gripped at your throat, choking you though you couldn’t make a single sound… suddenly you couldn’t do anything but watch as Harry stood in front of your weakened body. “Such a pity you’re so trusting.” He spat the word like a disease, giving you a maniacal smile that shocked you down to the core.
Your brain desperately tried to catch up with your body, but nothing was making sense anymore, barely feeling the impact of the ground as you slipped from your chair…
The world spun for a few moments before going pitch black…
Harry’s empty laughter was the last thing you heard.
