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prettybabybaby · 2 years

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bunny | peter parker !

¡ 18+ only ! ¡ minors do not interact !

word count: 10.9k

synopsis: Peter Parker has been your best friend for years. After you develop a relationship with somebody else, you see a side of him you've never seen before.

content warnings: RAPE/NONCON, blood, dark!peter parker, plus size!reader, negative self talk, insecurities, slow burn, implied stalking, oral (f! receiving), slapping, degradation, spit, unproteced sex, creampie, lmk if i missed any

¡ marvel masterlist !

You were sixteen when you met Peter Parker.

He had shyly approached you, a blush high on his cheeks as he handed you a stack of papers. Confused, you simply stared at them, eyebrows cinched and lips slightly down-turned.

You were well aware of who Peter Parker was. He was a member of the Midtown Academic Decathlon team that you were also part of; though you never directly interacted it’s him due to your nerves. He seemed kind, he was lanky and a little geeky, making him the butt of a lot of jokes. Much like you were. For opposite reasons, of course.

You were often teased and ridiculed for your size. You were heavier and much curvier than other girls your age. You had a puffy face and a matching plump body, most people couldn’t look past that. So, to say the least, you weren’t very popular.

Peter Parker knew all about you. He had been watching you since your freshman year. He was mesmerized when first laid eyes on you. He swears he had never seen a more beautiful sight than you, taking little, shy steps like you were afraid to make your presence known. Your hair was done in the way he would grow to like best, and you wore a pretty blue plaid skirt and a white sweater. The skirt was a tad too long and he could sense your discomfort as you tugged it down even further. He remembers staring at you as you looked around with unfamiliarity and slight fear in your eyes. The innocence in your eyes was also hard to miss. You held textbooks to your chest, in an attempt to conceal your tummy. He watched as you stood alone, your cute nose making slight movements as you stood. Your nose wiggled like a little bunny. He felt the desire to protect you, keep you next to him and out of harm’s way. He regrets not approaching you that day. It would have saved you from a lonely year.

“I was told to give these to you,” he said silently, “I heard you missed a few days.”

“Oh,” you breathed, taking them from him, your chubby hands looking silly against his thin, veiny ones. Peter thought they looked perfect together. “Thank you, Peter,” you said, quickly pulling your hands away and hiding them behind your back when you saw his gaze on them.

His eyes lingered on where your hand was against his before he looked up at you and gave you a bright smile, “no problem.”

Peter walked you to your class after that, taking the empty seat beside you and discussing the subject matter with you. And to your surprise, he followed you to your next class, and the next, and the next. By the end of the day, you were quite fond of the boy. He was a lot kinder than you’d imagined, he even promised to see you the following morning for breakfast with Ned and MJ. Of course, you tried to decline but he wouldn’t let you leave without the promise of arriving on time.

This was years ago and your friendship had only gotten stronger.

Being friends with Peter was refreshing and comforting. He wasn’t like the other guys you’d met in university. He didn’t have any ulterior motives nor did he fetishize you. He did not attempt to coerce you or manipulate you into getting what he wants because you owed it to him. No, Peter would never do that.

Peter was actually the one to look after you, he made you aware of what those who sought you were really after. They want to take advantage of you, bunny, he’d said several times. They want to ruin you. He would never elaborate on what he meant when he said that and you didn’t like to pry. He just had a good judge of character is all.

Of course, Ned and MJ were your friends too and they were very nice to you as well, but you always felt that they were only acquainted with you for Peter’s sake. You never hung out with them without Peter present but you tried not to let it bother you.

Your goal for the year was to acquire your own circle of friends, and maybe even get a boyfriend after being single your entire life. Peter had a few girlfriends here and there, though nothing was ever serious. You couldn’t help but feel slightly envious of him, he had grown to be quite attractive, making it easy for him to make connections.

He had lost the baby fat on his cheeks, his jaw was now angular and his strong bone structure was one of his most prominent features on top of his big, brown eyes and muscular body. He was muscular in a lean way, a way that isn’t entirely noticeable under the sweaters he always wore.

Today Peter sat across from you, latte in hand as he basked in the morning sun. His tight black shirt highlighted his muscular arms and chest, you caught yourself staring as you sometimes did when he ditched the ill-fitting clothing. His chocolate brown curls framed his face beautifully, looking golden where they met the sun. His lips, colored like pink peonies, rested with the slightest pout.

You sipped your London fog, squinting as you looked up in search of the singing bird in the tree above your head. You caught sight of it. The creature’s delicate red feathers looked like fire in the golden sky as it flew away. Your stare fell on Peter again, “our 8 AM lecture was canceled today.”

Peter hummed, not moving from his previous state, “I know.”

You huffed, “why’re we here, then?” you set your cup down, “it’s way too early. We, no I, should be in bed.”

Peter’s lips quirked up into a smile, “I wanted to hang out.”

“At six-thirty A.M.? We could’ve hung out at a more reasonable hour, like, I don’t know, eleven,” you began ranting and you saw one of Peter’s eyes open slightly. “Or maybe twelve, we could’ve gotten breakfast or… or brunch!”

“You never eat breakfast,” he said, swinging his head forward, eyes now fully open and on you.

“I do…” you claimed, your nose scrunching, lips pouting.

Peter clicked his tongue, “not enough.”

“Well, whatever,” you opted to change the subject before he could continue further.

“We still could’ve met up later. Like I said, brunch.”

“I don’t know,” he began, sitting up all the way now, “I kinda like being out this early. It’s nice and quiet.”

“I guess so,” you murmured, leaning back to rest on your elbows.

Peter watched you, gaze moving from your Mary Jane-clad feet to your pretty hair. You wore a dress today. It was Peter’s favorite dress, not that you knew that. It was a lilac purple color and it had short, puffy sleeves. He liked the way the dress clung to your curves and complimented your skin tone. It was the shortest of all your dresses, so he especially liked the way it rode up your thighs when you sat down, making your pudgy thighs all the more visible to him. He stared at them now, noticing the way the plush fat pooled around you like a sea of soft flesh as you relaxed. He wanted to grab them, bury his face in them and drown in you.

His eyes ran up your body further, over the curve of your tummy and swell of your breasts. The necklace Peter had gifted you last Christmas sat prettily around your neck, resting on your bare chest above the heart-shaped neckline of your dress, rising and falling as you breathed. He stared at it, not noticing when you opened your eyes to look at him.

“Okay?” he heard you ask.

“Mhm,” he replied, tearing his eyes away and giving you a soft smile.

The morning had passed rather quickly and you perked up after your second tea of the day. Your last class of the day was your creative writing class. As you strode in, you took your usual seat in the front of the room, setting your things down beside you.

Your focus was on the board in front of you when you felt a gush of air on your left. You looked over, catching sight of a tall figure sitting down beside you.

“Hey,” the man exhaled, setting down his things next to yours.

You opened your mouth to respond but you ended up holding your hand up to signal a hello.

The man smiled, “I’m Harry,” he held a hand out for you to shake.

You looked at it, quietly introducing yourself as you took his pale hand. Your touch was featherlight as it took you by surprise when he gripped it tightly with a slight laugh.

Harry was effortlessly charming. He was cute and cool and he had a sharp sense of humor, you learned. But on top of that, he had a contagious smile and a gaze that made you feel like you were the most important person in the room. You often caught yourself gazing at him from the corner of your eye trying to be inconspicuous with your staring. He had shiny blonde hair that you thought resembled Peter’s. Only lighter and shorter and straighter and not really like Peter’s at all.

You weren’t sure why your mind had suddenly wandered to Peter. Maybe a part of you wondered what he would think of Harry. Or maybe you were subconsciously comparing them. You weren’t sure.

“Hey, um,” you turned towards Harry who had begun speaking. The class had ended and you were gathering your things. “We should meet up,” he grinned, “maybe at the library?”

You weren’t used to social invitations, much less from men like Harry.

“Does tomorrow at four work for you?”

You nodded, unable to find your voice. You felt blood rush to your face at the look he gave you next. It was like he was trying to figure you out, understand you with a simple glance. Like he was trying to read you like a book.

“Great,” he picked up your bag for you, “looking forward to it.”

Peter was laying on your bed when you arrived at your little studio apartment. He was half asleep, strong arms wrapped tightly around your stuffed bunny and surrounded by your assortment of other stuffed animals. He shot up at the sound of the door opening, “hey.”

“Do you ever go home?” you kicked off your shoes and set your bag down. “This place isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

In his mind it was. Just perfect. It kept you close.

“Why would I? You’re such good company, bunny.”

You snorted, “I’m sure that’s the reason and definitely not you trying to get away from Ned and Betty.”

You moved towards your bed, plopping down next to him, adjusting the skirt of your dress that had ridden up when you landed. Peter watched your hands as they rested on your tummy. He could see right down your dress. He could see the white bra hugging your tits, a little bow between the cups.

“What?” you asked, self-consciously moving your hand to your chin.

“Nothing. Don’t do that,” he looked at the ceiling. It bothered Peter when you did things like that. As if you weren’t the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

You simply huffed, “how did you even get in here?”

He motioned toward the open window, “you need to start locking it. One of these days a creep could just come waltzing in and you’d have no idea.”

“A creep like you,” you joked with a breathy laugh. You tore your stuffed bunny from his arms.

“Worse,” he said lazily.

Silence filled the room for a few seconds as Peter began to doze off again.

“I met this guy in class today.”

Peter was suddenly very awake. “Oh,” a pause, “who?”

“He said his name is Harry, I don’t know his last name but he was very nice.” You sounded excited, “we’re meeting up at the library tomorrow to study and get some work done.”

Get some work done. Sure, that’s what you were gonna do. Peter knew better than that. You didn’t, of course. That’s why you were so lucky to have Peter with you, by your side, protecting you from evil college guys who just wanted to get under your skirt. They wouldn’t have a clue what to do to you. How to make you feel good and have you purring sweetly in their ears…

“So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t break into my home.”

“Huh?”

You gave him an unamused look, “you weren’t listening.”

He grinned, “I’m always listening.”

You rolled your eyes, “I said, don’t come by just in case we come back here.”

Peter furrowed his brows in disgust. What business would he have coming back to your apartment if you were just going to study? Did he ask you if he could come over?

“Why would you do that?”

You shifted uncomfortably, “I don’t know…”

Peter felt sick.

“We should do something else instead. There’s a new Vietnamese place not far from here. MJ says they have really good pho.”

“Peter…” you started. He knew you were going to say no. You rarely said no to him. “How about Friday? We can get takeout and come back here and watch movies. Your pick.”

His first mistake was looking over at you. Your chubby cheeks and pretty lips pulled up into a sweet smile. Your eyes were pleading, please say yes, please say yes. His second mistake was giving in.

“Fine.”

Peter left your apartment shortly after that. You had spent the rest of the night going over the conversation trying to figure out where you went wrong. He seemed upset as he hugged you goodbye. His brown eyes didn’t hold the same warmth they always did. Maybe he thinks I’m trying to replace him. But that wouldn’t make any sense. You only just met Harry. You didn’t know anything about him besides his first name.

“Hey!” Harry called a tad too loudly for the library. He stood from his seat, waving you over.

In all honesty, you didn’t expect him to be there. It was a little before four and you had arrived with low expectations. Though this was only intended to be a study session and nothing more, Harry was a very attractive man. He was funny and charming and extroverted and you… were none of those things.

“Hi,” you mumbled as you neared the table he was seated at. It was in the far corner, furthest away from the librarian. Or any of the other stressed university students.

“I chose this table so we won’t have to whisper,” he smiled, patting the open seat beside him.

His eagerness made you blush. “Good idea,” your voice was still small.

He chuckled, “thanks,” he dramatically whispered.

You blushed further, “sorry.”

The both of you were silent as you took out your laptops.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for some time now,” he started. “I read one of your pieces when the semester started and I really enjoyed it. You’re a phenomenal writer.”

“Really?” he appeared nonchalant as he typed in his password. As if he hadn’t just given you the kindest compliment you had ever received.

“Yeah, it’s so obvious how passionate you are. I mean every time I look at you, you look so entranced by the books you read or by the professor or your work.”

He looked at you?

“Oh,” your face felt warmer, “um, thank you.”

He smiled at you, “no problem, it’s true.”

You felt butterflies in your tummy and you began to log into your laptop to avoid looking at him.

You began to work in silence, hyper-aware of every time Harry leaned in close to you, reading your story as you typed. He smelled of musk and vanilla. His head of blonde locks tickled your ear.

Eventually, you presumed he grew bored as he shut his laptop and turned to face you in his chair. You attempted to ignore him but your typing began to slow and your focus was only on the boy beside you.

You gave him a faux look of annoyance, “I thought we were here to study.”

“We are,” he propped his head up on his hand that rested on the table. “To study and get to know each other.”

Get to know each other.

That was unexpected.

You couldn’t ignore the butterflies that erupted in your tummy, “Oh, okay, yeah.”

Surprisingly, you had a decent amount in common with Harry. Of course, not overly so. Not like you and Peter. But this is a good thing. You’re making your own friends.

“Oh, he’s so lovely, Pete!” you gushed, your nose wiggling as you spoke.

“Mhm,” Peter watched you with a strange look, mouth full of boba pearls, “you’ve mentioned that.”

You gave him a smile that normally would have made him turn to mush. Only this time, it didn’t. Had you smiled at Harry like that?

“I’m excited!” you waved your hands in the air, “I’m making my own friends, Pete. I’m an independent woman now.”

He rolled his eyes as he took another sip of his tea, “good. Good for you.” He couldn’t help the bitter feeling that rested in the pit of his stomach.

Independent. You had made a single “friend” (Peter didn’t even want to think about that. He knew Harry was just using you, that’s not what friends do. You shouldn’t throw that term around like that. He was your friend. Peter was your friend.) and you already pegged yourself as independent. He could laugh in your face. You were far too pure to face the world without him by your side. Like hell you were independent.

You pouted, your eyes searching for his, “are you angry with me?”

Angry? Why would he be angry? Because you hadn’t shown at your arranged time? Because the reason you were late was that you wanted to squeeze in an extra “study date” with Harry? No, he wasn’t angry. Not at you anyway.

“Of course not, bunny. Could never be.”

It was true, he wasn’t necessarily angry, he was more so slightly bothered by what you had done. That’s how it usually was. You would do something that Peter did not agree with but he would never be angry. Just mildly annoyed. He couldn’t be angry with his sweet little bunny. You probably didn’t even know the consequences of your actions. He couldn’t blame you for that.

You smiled, leaning in to hug him. Peter was immediately enveloped in warmth, your soft body melding with his. The sweet scent of lavender and honey was all around him. Your hair tickled his neck where you buried your face. You were on your knees on the couch, allowing Peter a view of your backside covered in your loungewear.

He loved your hugs. They always succeed in lifting his spirits and making him a little dizzy. You were just so warm and soft and perfect for him.

You pulled away, still smiling as you sunk back into your spot on your tiny, tiny couch and pulled your tea to your lips.

He let himself watch as you wrapped your lovely mouth around the straw. A minuscule puddle of milk tea formed on your bottom lip, and you licked it up as you removed the straw. Your tongue was wet and a delightful shade of pink as you slid it across the expanse of your lip.

He felt a throb in his sweatpants. Shifting, he asked, “so, what else did you do today?”

You hummed, chewing the balls of boba in your mouth, “that’s all. Just hung out with Harry. We have a lot more in common than I thought,” you giggled. “We just don’t run out of things to talk about.”

He inhaled, feeling himself go soft, “that’s a lot of talking in the library.”

“Oh, we didn’t go to the library,” you shook your head.

He gave you a look, “where did you go?”

You looked hesitant, “um, we went to his flat. It was nearby and he had forgotten his books, so it was easier to stay there.”

How convenient.

“Bunny,” Peter started.

You had a guilty look on your face as you stared at him, “I know,” your voice was small, “not safe. I know… but he’s not like the other guys Pete. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“How can you be so sure, hm? You’re in no way prepared to protect yourself. What if he had done something to you? What would you have done?”

“He wouldn’t…” you looked down, “he wouldn’t do anything.” You bit your lip as you nervously whispered, “I think he likes me.”

Peter could hardly hear you. He was sure he hadn’t heard correctly because of how softly you spoke. “Speak up, bunny. I can’t hear you.”

“I said I think he likes me,” you said a little louder. He could see the embarrassment on your face. Like you couldn’t believe you had said that out loud.

Peter swallowed, “oh.”

There was a pause, “what makes you think that?”

“Well,” your nose fluttered, “he said he’s never met anyone like me. And he,” you glanced up at him before returning your gaze to your lap, “he tried to kiss me.”

Oh.

Peter didn’t know how to react. He stared at your pretty eyes with his brows cinched and an analyzing gaze. The first thought to pop into his was: did you kiss him? Then: did you want to kiss him?

“Oh,” he managed to say, “did you?”

You inhaled, “um, no…” you trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. “I couldn’t.”

Good. He doesn’t deserve to feel your lips. He doesn’t deserve your first kiss.

“I don’t know how,” you looked up at him. Your eyes looked glassy and you had a look of embarrassment on your face.

It should have been obvious. Peter did keep any potential love interest as far from you as you could manage, yet he was still flustered.

He hummed, feeling blood rush to his groin, “you don’t?”

You shook your head, “no… never learned how.”

Your lips looked so pretty as you pouted, shame present on your face. Peter wanted to reach over, pull you in close, and kiss you softly. He wanted to run his hands through your hair and up your soft curves. To hear your lovely noises as you gave into him.

He grimaced as the image of Harry’s dirty lips inching closer to yours. Your pure, innocent mouth being tainted by his filthy one. He could have that. What else would he make you do?

He could only imagine your gasp of surprise, your inexperienced movements, your sugary taste. But you were sitting right in front of him, weren’t you? You had enough confidence in him that you would even confess such a thing. He was obligated to help you, wasn’t he? You’re essentially asking for help, right?

“I could,” he paused, unsure, “I could teach you.”

“Really?” You straightened your back a tad, eyes widening at the offer.

You trusted him so much. After all these years that you’d known him, Peter had never once misled you in any way shape, or form. He was the person you trusted most because you knew he had your best interest in mind. He was your best friend. He was there to keep you safe.

“Mhm,” he moved a little closer, “if you’d want that, I can.”

You nodded eagerly, “yes, Peter, please.”

Yes, Peter, please…

You sat still as Peter invaded your space.

He licked his lips, you reluctantly placed one hand on your thigh, and the other reaching up to cup your chubby face. The warmth of your being was seeping into him so deep he felt warmer than he ever had.

You looked at him expectantly, your glassy gaze flickering from his honey brown eyes to his lips.

“Are you ready?” He whispered, mouth mere inches from yours.

You inhaled, “yes, Peter. I wanna be good for Harry.”

He ignored the pang in his chest, “well, you have to be good for me first, bunny.”

You nodded, fluttering your eyes shut. He watched you for a second. Your nose wiggled faintly as you breathed and you sat patiently waiting with your pouty lips puckered up slightly.

He was able to see it all this close to you. All of your imperfections that he never had the privilege of noticing before. It only made him long for you more.

Peter ignored the thought in his head that said if he knew you’d give in to him so easily under the pretense of teaching you, he would’ve offered his services much earlier.

He leaned in, hovering just before your lips, eyeing how your eyebrows furrowed and your lips extended further. But not a single complaint about Peter’s excruciatingly slow pace because he knows best, and he knew you knew that.

He could feel your shaky exhales on his skin as he finally connected your lips. He felt himself twitch, once, twice, at the sheer feeling of your lips pressed against his. It was harder to refrain from going further - maybe a hand up your thigh, up to your belly and to your tits, maybe wrap them around your neck…

He felt your face contort as he began to finally move his mouth against yours, your kisses were as sloppy as he’d imagined them to be. And he was correct, your inexperience made him painfully hard. He reluctantly removed his hand from your thigh and placed it on his bulge. He just couldn’t resist. You let out a high shaky breath as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, tasting you.

Peter could taste the remnants of your milk tea on your tongue. You attempted to mirror his movements and he felt another throb at your feeble efforts.

He rubbed his hand onto his hard cock to resist the urge to do something completely inappropriate like take your hand to place it on his thigh to get him even closer to his release. He didn’t believe it would take much at all for him to cum. Your mouth moving against his was more than enough.

You began to get the hang of it and it somehow made Peter’s erection even more painful. His hips involuntarily jerked as you wrapped your arms up around his neck, tugging him close. Your thigh brushed against his cock, and he sighed. You gasped, your tongue halting its sloppy movements.

He could feel you pulling back and he chased your lips, pushing into you and not permitting you to disconnect your mouths. You leaned back against the arm of the small couch in your attempt to pull away from your best friend’s lips. Peter followed you, body against yours. His cock sat on your thigh and he hoped you couldn’t feel it twitch.

As his hips made small movements, grinding into your thigh. One of his hands wrapped around the back of your head, keeping you against him, while the other felt up your sides, resting below your tits. You let out a whiny sound as you began to kiss him back again.

Peter’s thrusts became more erratic as he drew closer and closer to the edge. He felt your thigh tense and your hips lifted off the couch, pushing into his lower abdomen. Your arms tightened around his neck.

Your kisses were still messy, you used far too much tongue and had little technique but Peter had never had a better kiss. He came abruptly when you moaned into his mouth again, hand pulling on the hair at the name of his neck. He pulled away from you and groaned, out of breath into your shoulder as he steadied himself.

“Pete,” you breathed, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be so eager.”

Peter was taken aback. He didn’t respond as he regained his composure into your warm shoulder, inhaling your scent. His cock was slowly going soft but the proximity to you made him believe that it would shoot back up with any movement you made.

“I just,” a pause, “I guess I got a little carried away.”

It baffled Peter that you thought any of what happened had been your fault. As if he didn’t invade your space and force your head into place so he could get himself off.

“It’s okay, bunny.”

You buried your head into his shoulder and there was no sign of parting for a while. Peter only pulled away when he felt his hot cum seeping through his pants in a wet puddle. His movements were quick when he grabbed a throw pillow and threw it over his lap.

“You know I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

You had spent an increasing amount of time with Harry over the last few weeks. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you’d thought he’d have grown bored of you by now. But it seemed the opposite. He texted you often, smiled at you in a way that made you feel warm and special, and he seemed genuinely interested and excited to speak to you. You hadn’t felt that way since you met Peter.

It had been the only thing on your mind for the last week. Well, that and your mess of a friendship with Peter Parker.

After the kiss shared with Peter, you had spent less time with him. On top of plans with Harry, you felt guilty for how you acted. You felt that you had taken advantage of him and his kindness. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed and in a way uncomfortable around Peter now. You knew it wasn’t his fault, it was yours. And he deserved better.

You began to ignore his calls and texts and you took different routes to and from your classes. You even stopped replying to Ned and MJ after they began questioning where you’d run off to. In a way that comment made you feel a little ridiculous. It was like they expected Peter to be dragging you around on a leash. Like you were his little pet or something of the like.

That wasn’t Peter’s fault though. You didn’t believe anything was. Peter was a saint in your eyes. Your savior of a life of solace. That’s why you felt the worst you ever had about locking your window.

The first night, you had pretended to be asleep when you heard light taps on the glass. You closed your eyes and ignored the noise, waiting for what felt like hours to move again.

Now, almost two weeks later, you had finally been confronted.

Peter looked at you in a way you had never seen and couldn’t decipher. His lips were pulled in a tight line and his forehead and eyebrows were creased, his eyes looked darker and his gaze was hard and they held a different feeling. Even the air around him felt different, it was cold and suffocating.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Hm? Oh, no, no, Pete m’not-“

“You are.”

You opened your mouth to speak but your words were caught in your throat. You were avoiding him.

“Why? Did I do something to upset you?”

“No,” you took a deep breath, “I’ve just been busy-“

“Busy? With what? Osborn? He keeps you so busy that you can’t even respond to my texts?”

You felt your lip quiver and your eyes welled up with tears at his tone and his unwavering stare. Peter had never reacted this way towards you. You didn’t even know he could speak that way.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, so you looked down at your feet and attempted to blink away your tears.

Peter looked down at you, waiting for you to say something, anything. He wanted - no, he expected an apology. He had been restless the past few weeks, waiting for you to respond to him. He had been following you around as New York’s friendly neighbor Spider-Man, so he was well aware of what you were up to. He watched as you found new routes to your home, hid away in obscure places, and, of course, he watched your giddy expression as Harry Osborn gripped your hand or your waist and walked around with you on his arm as if he owned you.

It didn’t help that Peter had seen you locking your window. Double-checking, triple checking that you had locked it, and then periodically again throughout the day. At first, Peter suspected that you had known he got off on your thigh that day, that you were creeped out or disgusted by him.

“So? What is it? Why have you been avoiding me?”

You sniffled and Peter surprised himself when he didn’t soften at the noise. He didn’t feel the usual tighten of his heart nor did his stare at you become less intense. He wanted you to feel like this. It made it feel a sort of power having you vulnerable in front of him, for him.

“Y/N, I’m speaking to you. I expect an answer. Did you lose your ability to speak to me when you started fooling around with Osborn? Neglecting me? Neglecting our friendship? Does it mean so little to you?”

Tears started falling from your eyes at the sound of your name. Peter never called you that. You were his bunny, his best friend. You covered your face with your hands in shame. You weakly shook your head.

“So you can’t speak, hm?”

Peter could think of a few ways to get you to start talking. Many scenarios to get your pretty mouth moving.

Peter had thought a lot about you recently, somehow even more than normal. His thoughts had turned alarmingly crude the more time you spent away from him. What was once an innocent daydream of kissing your lips turned into a filthy, sordid fantasy of flipping your skirt and fucking you over the table in the library where you studied with Harry.

Flashes of your mouth and body were intrusive thoughts and the feeling of them on him lingered. They left him unable to focus on patrolling, ultimately leading to him jacking off on the roof of the building across the street from your apartment. Some days, he was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of your bare legs through cracks in your sheer white curtains.

“M’sorry Peter,” you peered up at him through teary lashes, “didn’t mean to make you sad.”

He clicked his tongue, “well, you did.”

You let out a sob as you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and tucking your face into his chest. His heart rate kept its steady pace and Peter stood still for a few seconds. Would he forgive you, no, could he forgive you so easily?

He focused on your warmth around him and he felt his walls lower. He begrudgingly hugged you back, taking in the feel of your curves under his fingers. He sighed, “it’s okay, bunny. Don’t cry.”

You wanted to cry harder. Normally, Peter would be cradling your face, wiping your tears, and pulling you close, enveloping you in his warmth. It was nothing like his tight grip and cold demeanor he currently had. You hadn’t meant to upset him so much but you just felt so guilty for possibly crossing or blurring the lines of your friendship.

Peter knew he would give into you. The way you whimpered and cried into his chest made his heart feel heavy. He began to rub your back and he placed a kiss on your head. Your arms tightened around him.

“C’mon, bunny. It’s okay, we’re okay.”

You whimpered again, doing all you could to collect yourself. Peter held you tightly until you lifted your head.

Your face was red and puffy, wet with your tears and your eyeliner was smudged at the corners of your bloodshot eyes. Your lips were slightly opened as you breathed through your mouth. Your nose was runny and you sniffled, nose wiggling. Peter felt his pants tighten. You looked so wrecked and it was all for him. Because he was upset with you. He had that power over you.

“Are you okay?” concern filled his face.

“Mhm,” you said, shakily smiling. “Missed you.”

He smiled at you and you felt the warmth return, “I missed you more, bun. Should we catch up?”

You nodded frantically, grabbing his hand and pulling him in the direction of your apartment.

Things had since gotten much better. You were in Peter’s grasp once more and Harry Osborn had been moved to the backburner.

You sighed as you switched your kettle on for a cup of tea. Peter was busy and you were stuck at home alone again. You were bored beyond belief as your eyes flickered from your TV to the warming kettle. Your foot tapped on the ground and you all but ran to your phone when the familiar ping came from it.

Your eyes widened and excitement erupted in your belly. Harry had sent you a message.

hey stranger… u around?

You contemplated an answer. A part of you felt you shouldn’t respond but another was happy to hear from him.

Maybe

The response was instantaneous.

meet me at the bar

You smiled, rushing to your closet.

After making up with Peter you had begun to neglect your friendship with Harry. You were so focused on keeping Peter happy with you. This had become an increasingly difficult task that required a lot of time and attention.

Peter was easily bothered with you now. His patience would run thin and he would turn cold in the blink of an eye. You had spent nights crying, wishing you hadn’t ruined your most important friendship. But none of that stopped you from trying.

You knew Peter didn’t like Harry, that was obvious. He’d roll his eyes and stare blankly at you with an expression of disappointment you had seen so much of recently whenever you would mention him in conversation. He made sure to remind you that Harry was just like other boys who wanted to take advantage of you and hurt you but he said nothing more.

As you walked into the cafe, Harry waved his arms in the air. You smiled, a blush forming as you took a seat across from him. He looked happy to see you, and he told you that.

“I missed you, y’know,” he looked down, a pink hue on his cheeks. “Haven’t seen much of you recently.”

“Me too, um, sorry about that. I’ve been a little, um, busy.”

He looked up with a shy grin, “s’okay, I’m happy you’re here now.” You were slightly taken aback by his shyness.

He paused, licking his lips and taking a deep breath, “so, Y/N, I’ve been thinking…”

Oh no, here it goes. He’s gonna tell you that he can’t see you anymore. That he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Your heart stopped, a date? You had never been on a date before. “A date?”

He cleared his throat, looking nervous, “uh, yeah. It’s just, that I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and I missed you so much the last few weeks. So I thought I’d finally ask.”

You exhaled, trying to process his question. “Yes, I’d love to,” you said, face warm and bashful smile.

It was cold outside as you walked back to your apartment. Harry had offered to drive you home but you declined, wanting some time alone to think.

Your mind was racing as you turned into the alleyway before your apartment. You were going on a date with Harry Osborn. What would you wear? What would you talk about? What would you tell Peter?

You sighed, glancing around the dark alley. There was a spider web hanging from a pipe a few steps ahead of you. You began to walk a little faster. If Spider-Man was around there was likely some sort of criminal activity. Hopefully, it wasn’t too close to home.

As you rushed into your apartment, you didn’t bother turning on the lights. You shrugged off your jacket and kicked off your shoes, sighing deeply as you plopped down onto your bed.

“Where were you?”

Your eyes darted to the source of the noise. The streetlight peering in through the window illuminated him just a tad, barely enough to see his face. But it didn’t matter, you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Peter? How did you get in here?” You distinctly remember closing the window, locking it, and double-checking before walking out the door.

“You were out with Harry. I saw you.”

“Oh, um,” you sat up and pulled your dress down, “W-we were just getting a drink.”

He inhaled deeply and hummed, “just getting a drink.” He let out a dark laugh, “sure you were.”

“We,” you paused, “we were. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Peter scoffed, “and that’s why you agreed to go on a date with him, hm?”

You opened your mouth to speak but he didn’t let you.

“I thought we’d gotten past this, bunny.” Peter tapped his foot. Did you feel like you didn’t need him anymore? After all, he’d done for you? All these years by your side and you abandon him for the first man who gives you the time of day.

“Why don’t you listen to me? I only want what’s best for you. For us.”

You stayed quiet, looking down at your frilly, white socks. Peter sighed and you heard him rise from his spot on the couch. He lifted your chin with his cold fingers. His eyes looked dark again and the darkness of your room added to the eerie feel of him. He leaned down, fingers light on your chin as he drew closer to your lips. You turned your face away before he could connect your mouths.

What was he doing?

He scoffed quietly as his hold on your face tightened and forced your face to its previous position. You furrowed your brows as you tried to turn away again.

“Pete, what are you doing?”

“I’m tired of you treating me this way. I deserve better after all I’ve done for you. All these years I have been there for you. I made sure you were okay and I loved you through it all.”

He loved you? You didn’t like the sound of that. Peter was your best friend and nothing more and you dreaded the possibility that he could think of you as something more than that.

“I know that,” you whispered, “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

A tiny smile graced his lips.

You returned it, “and I love you too Peter, you’re my best friend.”

His grip on your chin turned painful.

Best friend.

He laughed darkly as he shook his head slightly, “best friend.” He smiled.

Feeling uneasy you smiled softly at him, forcing out a giggle.

His smile fell, “bunny, I love you. I want to be with you. I want you to be mine.”

You gulped, “um,” you looked down, “Peter, I don’t, I don’t feel that way about you.”

“Why? Because of Harry? Because you have ‘choices’ now, hm? I’m not good enough for you?”

You stayed quiet, trying to steady your breathing to keep yourself from crying as Peter used his free hand to move up your arm to your shoulder, holding it forcefully.

You didn’t even know Peter was remotely interested in you. The entire confession made you feel sick to your stomach. While you hadn’t known, the revelation didn’t change the fact that, to you, he was just a friend. This had nothing to do with Harry and his romantic interest in you.

“No, Peter, I just, I’m sorry. I don’t like you like that,” you looked down and spoke so softly you doubted he could hear you.

He scoffed, letting go of your chin and shoulder with a push. You steadied yourself, looking up to see him pacing around the room. You wanted to ask him to leave, but before you could he turned to you again.

“He could never treat you like I do.”

“Peter…”

“No! He couldn’t. I know deep down you know that. He wouldn’t know what to do with a pretty girl like you.”

You shifted uncomfortably.

Peter watched as you fiddled with the hem of your dress. It was the purple one again, his favorite. Harry would never be able to satisfy you the way he would. He just needs to find a way to let you know that. No, he has shown you. Everything he had done since you met should have shown you. You were just… ungrateful. He needed to let you know that you couldn’t get away from him. There was no one else that could love you as he could.

Your heartbeat sped up as Peter took long strides toward you.

“He doesn’t deserve you like I do,” he shoved his knee between your own and forced them open just enough to fit his leg between them. “And I’m gonna show you, that only I know how to treat you. I know what you deserve and I can give it to you.”

You were confused and scared, you watched him cautiously as he stood before you.

His hand reached for your hair, he touched it lightly. You let out a shaky breath. You didn’t know what he was about to do. You weren’t sure what he was capable of anymore.

His fingers caressed your face, giving your chubby cheeks a light squeeze as he moved his hand down to your neck. You let out a shaky breath as his hands ghosted over your throat.

“Peter,” you whispered, “what are you doing?”

He smiled, “I’m gonna make you mine, bunny.”

You felt your lip quiver and you hesitantly pushed his chest, trying to get him away from you. “No, Peter. I don’t want this.”

His hands tightened around your neck, “you don’t know what you want. You’re just a dumb bunny. You don’t know what is good for you. I do.”

Tears welled in your eyes as he leaned down to leave wet kisses on your cheeks and jaw, his hands on your throat.

You moved your face away, side to side, avoiding his lips. His grip cut off your airways as he gave you a shake, “stop.” He pushed you onto your back, attacking you with kisses.

Tears fell from your eyes as you tried to push him back. You should’ve been able to, even if it was just a little. But he didn’t budge. Your legs kicked his own trying to get him off. He acted like you hadn’t touched him at all. You bit down on his tongue as it forced its way into your mouth, he pulled back in surprise. You took the opportunity to wiggle out from under him, moving as fast as you could towards the door.

Peter’s temper was running thin. With quick movements, he activated the web shooter tucked under the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

You barely made it a few steps when you were pulled back. Your eyes went to Peter who was seated on your bed, a cold look on his face. The sight of your hand stuck to the table left you in shock. The sticky substance was too strong for you to pull back. You began to sob as you connected the dots.

Peter was Spider-Man.

You didn’t know how you hadn’t figured it out before. You should’ve known. The random bruises on his body, the overnight strength, and agility, the disappearances, the way he always knew where you were and what you were doing… it should’ve been obvious.

“Peter, please, let me go,” you cried, using all the strength you could muster to attempt to free your hand.

He stood from the bed and took slow steps to where you stood. “You’re my little bunny, and you’re not going anywhere until you realize that.”

As he worked to free your hand you took the other and impulsively delivered a harsh slap to his cheek. Peter didn’t react right away. He kept his eyes on your hand for a few seconds before glancing up.

“Ungrateful little bitch.”

You inhaled, trying to stare at him with the same venom that he did you. He continued to free your hand, sliding the little knife across your thumb, slicing it. You hissed in pain.

You were so confused, this man was nothing like the Peter Parker you knew and loved. This man was pure evil and you wanted to get as far away from him as you possibly could.

Peter stared at you in disbelief. Could you not see that he was only trying to give you the best? He had to make you see it even if it meant by force. He looked into your eyes filled with fear, tearing threatening to fall and your lip quivering. He wanted you so bad and he was finally going to have you.

Peter looked down, watching the slow drops build on your fingertip before falling onto the counter. Your hand was barely trembling and he softened immediately. He hadn’t meant to cut you so deep.

“I’m sorry, bunny. Are you okay?”

His change in demeanor puzzled you, he had gone from evil to the gentle Peter you knew and loved.

You nodded stupidly, “mhm, hurts just a little, Peter.”

“Aw, bunny,” he said softly, taking your sticky hand and bringing it to his lips.

His tender touch had you in his grasp again, like he hadn’t just assaulted you, screamed at you, cut you.

He placed a soft kiss on your bleeding finger, eyes looking lovingly into yours. You fed into it like you always did. A drop of your blood rested on his bottom lip, and you watched as he licked it up with a swipe of his tongue.

He closed his eyes, relishing in the taste of you on his tongue. His cock twitched and he ached to taste your pretty cunt on his tongue. He wasted no time.

Before you knew it, he was throwing you to the bed with ease, flipping your skirt up. He inhaled deeply, feeling his pants tighten further by the sight of your panties. They were just as cute as you. Just what he imagined you’d wear, yet somehow it was better. Your panties were a pale pink color, little hearts a darker shade of pink littering the fabric. He couldn’t help but stare, taking in the view of your pretty panties covering your perfect, plump ass.

Cries escaped you, pleas for him to just stop. He ignored them, instead of giving your right ass cheek a little slap. He moaned at the cry you made, the way your flesh rippled at the impact.

You had been fooled once again. The Peter Parker you once knew was long gone.

Peter looped his fingers under the delicate fabric, your skin warm, he pulled up roughly. You yelped, arching your back to relieve the pain, but it only gave Peter a better look at your puffy pussy, bulging against the fabric he had pulled.

“Oh,” he cooed, leaning down and placing a kiss on your ass.

Tears pricked at your eyes again, threatening to fall as you tried to rack your brain for ideas on how to get yourself out of the current situation. You gasped at the abrupt feeling of cold air on your cunt. The tears began to fall.

Unable to control himself, Peter placed a sloppy wet kiss on your cunt. You gasped loudly, trying to move your ass away. He held your hips tightly in place, pressing pecks along the entirety of your backside. A strangled moan fell from your lips as he kissed your clit.

Peter stared at your pussy, admiring the wet string of slick that drilled from your little hole. He felt a sense of accomplishment at the drip of slick, he was making you feel good even when you resisted. Extending his tongue from his mouth, he licked up your slit, flicking his tongue as he did so. He moaned at the taste of your sweet juices.

He finally let himself loose, allowing himself to bury his head into your puffy cunt. His hands groped your thighs, kneading them, keeping them apart so he had good access to your cunt.

You tried to hold in your body’s reactions. You held your breath, curled your toes, and turned your hands to fists. But you couldn’t stop a loud mewl as Peter swirled his tongue around your sensitive bud. You bit your lip as you contained sobs.

Your fingers grabbed onto your sheets, squeezing them tightly as you felt yourself becoming more aroused. The lewd sounds from Peter combined with the wet sounds of your pussy. Peter was essentially drooling, strings of spit and slick keeping him attached to you even when he pulled back for air. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of you.

You felt a coil form in your tummy, tightening with every passing second.

“Are you gonna cum for me, bunny?” Peter asked, his voice deep.

Your body was trembling and your hips unconsciously pressed into his face. You shook your head, closing your eyes tightly as your mouth opened involuntarily, a loud cry slipping out as the coil snapped. You shook, your knees going weak as your body was overtaken by the pleasant, but unfamiliar sensation.

Peter groaned into your sopping cunt as he licked up your release. His cock was so hard it was painful, his mindless humping on your sheets wasn’t nearly enough. He held you up when your body gave in, on the verge of going limp as he continued his movements on your pussy long after you had become sensitive.

“Peter, please stop, hurts,” you managed to blubber out.

He pulled away, a string of spit connecting you. He watched as it snapped, falling onto his plaid shirt. He licked his lips, sliding his arms out from under your thighs. Your lower half hit your bed and you were unable to move. Your pussy throbbed from overstimulation as you laid dumbly. Weak little moans falling from your mouth.

Peter reached a hand up to wipe at his face, collected the excess juices, and inserted his fingers into his mouth to consume it. He savored the taste, watching as your body jolted from the aftershocks of your orgasm. The skirt of your dress was scrunched around your waist and your ass was glistening under the streetlights from where he had drooled over it. Your thighs were in the same position they were in when he dropped them. He felt himself twitch, you were too weak to move them.

Harry couldn’t have made you cum like that. He probably would even eat you out. What a waste of a sweet cunt that would be. He could live off your pussy alone he was sure of it.

Peter rested a hand on your lower back as he stood from the bed. You glanced over at him, relieved that he was going to leave you alone. Your tears had stopped and you felt them drying on your cheeks.

When Peter pulled off his plaid shirt and the gray t-shirt under it, you wanted to scream. You wanted to get up and push him out of your apartment. He had just forcefully inflicted oral sex onto you and you were terrified of where he wanted to go next.

You couldn’t help your stare at Peter’s toned body. His defined abdomen and strong arms were illuminated perfectly under the soft light. You wanted to slap yourself as you felt yourself become slightly aroused.

You managed to sit up, slowly and gently seating yourself down. You instinctively reached for your stuffed bunny. You held it to your chest as you watched Peter fiddle with his belt. “Peter,” you called quietly.

Your hair was a mess and you had faint black tracks going down your chubby face. Your lipstick was smudged. Your thick, soft arms were clinging to your bunny. The bunny he had gifted you years ago. Your dress was askew and barely covered your thighs.

“Yes, bunny?” he pulled off his belt.

“Please stop now. I’m sorry I upset you.”

He sighed and simply shook his head. “I helped you, now you need to help me.”

Helped you? You didn’t ask for his help.

“But-”

“Look at what you did, bun,” he pulled off his underwear as he tugged off his pants. His cock sprung free and slapped his stomach. It was big and long and thick, protruding veins ran up its length, leading to an angry red tip. You felt your lip wobble, you weren’t even sure if it would fit. “It hurts and only you can make it feel better. You caused this. It’s your fault that this is happening.”

You weren’t sure what to think. Was this your fault?

“Lay back for me, bunny.” he motioned to the bed. “I need gonna fuck your pretty pussy.”

You shook your head.

Peter rolled his eyes, “do what you're told, stupid bunny. Don’t act like you don’t like it. Couldn’t you feel how wet you were for me?”

You stayed in place. He clenched his jaw and grabbed your ankles, pulling you until your back hit the cushion of your mattress. You tried to kick the hold of his wrists from your feet.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he felt up your thigh, eyeing you in a way that made you feel self-conscious. You felt like prey.

“I always like this dress,” he said, tugging it up your body. Peter pulled your bunny from your arms to pull the material over your head. “It’s my favorite one. Looks so beautiful on you.”

You reached for the bunny to cover yourself but were unable to reach it. You wrapped your arms around your tummy. Peter clicked his tongue, “no.” He leaned down to press kisses over your middle and he pried your hands away for better access. You felt tears brimming.

He pulled your bra off with ease, absentmindedly as he ran his mouth over your skin. You gasped and turned away, refusing to watch. You felt his tongue find your nipple and you hated the way it aroused you. He groaned and you felt his cock against your thighs. He kneaded your breasts as he kissed up your neck. He looked you in the eye as his cock found your cunt, running up and down the slit.

“It’s gonna feel so good, bunny. You’re gonna crave my cock after. You’re gonna realize that no one is better for you than me. Fuck, you’re so warm and soft.”

His cock twitched on your pussy, causing you to inhale shakily.

Peter was so ready to be inside you. The warmth your cunt radiated made his cock ache so bad. He pushed his cock through your fold, watching as your face contorted. Your hole was pulling him in as soon as his cock head reached your entrance. It was like you were made to take him.

Your face had a pained expression painted over it and your hole contracted.

“Relax, bunny. Or it’s gonna hurt a lot more than it needs to. You were doing so well just now.”

He was too big, the further he sank into you, the more it hurt.

He couldn’t resist the involuntary thrust of his hips. You jolted up at the strength of them. As he pulled out he looked down. The sight of your loose tits, belly rolls, and puffy pussy around his cock made him feral. The red coat of blood on his pelvis made him feel a sense of accomplishment. He had you first.

He finally had you. All of you. And he deserved it all after everything he’d done.

Peter forced his way in until he bottomed out. Relishing in the way your tight pussy squeezed him. He knew it hurt from the way you had begun to cry and the way your body shook but he didn’t care. You’d adjust. Soon you’d be a stupid cockwhore. What he always wanted you to be. All for him.

“Ow,” you cried, reaching your hand up to his back, seeking comfort.

“You feel so good,” he moaned.

Peter began a slow pace, pulling out just a little before sliding back in. your nails dug into his back as your head moved side to side, whines, and cries leaving your lips. More and more slick came from your hole as he continued his abuse.

Soon enough his thrusts had gotten faster, harder and your thoughts were few and far between.

Fuck.

I don’t want this.

Feels so good.

Peter’s hands were all over you. Running up your sides, squeezing your soft skin, playing with your clit, and caressing your face as tears fell from your eyes.

You weren’t sure when you had begun to cry or whether it was due to pain or pleasure.

Peter moved his lips to rest on yours, kissing you in sync with his thrusts. You whined, moving your face away, “no, stop.”

His hand that rested on your bouncing tits delivered a quick, harsh slap to your cheek. You cried out, tears falling faster. Peter pinched your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. You opened your eyes, watching as he spit into your mouth, a string of spit lingering. You clenched around him.

Peter chuckled, “you liked that. Dirty slut.”

You had stopped fighting him, too caught up in the feeling of his cock in your cunt. Peter knew you would. He knew you loved him, too.

He fit so perfectly inside you like you were meant for him.

A string of “Hm, uh, uh's” and breathy high-pitched noises fell from your lips with every thrust Peter made. The noises harmonized with the squelching sounds of your wet pussy. It was music to Peter’s ears. The prettiest noises he had ever heard.

Soon, you felt a coil in your belly. It snapped a part of you back into reality, while the other was dumb at the feel of Peter’s cock.

“Peter, hm, Peter, uh stop, m’gonna-”

Peter shushed you, sloppily kissing your neck, “cum for me.”

You were lightheaded, the feeling was too good. Peter suckled at your soft spot and you felt yourself cum with a high whine. Your orgasm was more intense this time. Your mind was blank as tears poured from your eyes and your body tensed. Your back arched off the mattress and you scratched down Peter’s back, holding him close.

Peter felt dizzy, you were everywhere. He could feel you everywhere and he had never felt such ecstasy. He twitched inside you as your cunt clenched around his cock deliciously.

You weren’t able to contain your moans as you cried harder, salty tears saturating the sheets beneath your head as he fucked you past your orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he said, voice deep with desire. The way your pussy fluttered around him became too much.

“N-no,” you shakily moved your hands down to his pelvis, pushing with all the strength your weak body could muster. “P-peter, don’t want,” black mascara-stained tears streamed down your face, your lipstick smudged up to your nose, and you looked absolutely wrecked.

“I didn’t fucking ask,” his voice was near a growl, “m’gonna cum in this pretty, puffy pussy. Listen to it scream for me, pulling me back in, fluttering around me. You want this.”

You shook your head, pushing once again, you let out a choked sob as he thrusted particularly hard, “N-no.”

Peter moaned loudly, squeezing your plump waist as he stilled.

You could feel his hot, hot cum painting your walls. You felt a weight on your heart, he had coaxed multiple orgasms from you, stolen them and your innocence along with them. And now, he was inside of you. His cum had likely forced its way into your cervix, mingling with your most intimate of places.

A small part of you liked it. You tried your hardest to ignore that part of you that enjoyed being full. So full of Peter. He was the best for you, after all.

Peter thrusted a few more times, dreading the thought of leaving your tight, warm hole.

You were everything he had ever imagined. Your plump body, your sugary sweet taste, your beautiful noises…

He would never let you go.

Peter gave your limp body a final kiss. You were too fucked out to react. As he pulled out of you he stared at your puffy cunt. It was wet with slick and sweat. Cum slid out of the abused hole. He took his finger and pushed it back in, loving the way you jolted and tried to close your legs.

Peter Parker loved to look at you. Even more so now, with you bare in front of him. Your skin was glistening under the rays of the artificial streetlights outside your window and remnants of your innocence were on his cock.

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fairyparker · 2 years

Text

Late Bloomer

This fic contains DUB CON & NON CON/R@PE. DO NOT READ IF THIS UPSETS YOU. YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY.

Summary: When your best friend Peter finds out that you have no sexual experience whatsoever, he decides to help you out and show you what you're missing - whether you want him to or not.

The (dub/non con!) smut is a handjob, oral (reader receiving) and penetration. very naive and innocent and inexperienced reader who doesn’t want to have sex (both generally and in this moment) / asexual reader? Also includes manipulation, gaslighting, victim blaming and bad/wrong ideas about society + sex, drinking, Peter doesn’t redeem himself/no happy end, childhood best friends to…this?, mention of drugs, please let me know if I forgot anything!

words: 5k

- - -

It took Peter a lot of convincing to make you go to this party with him.

It’s not your thing; you don’t drink, you’re not interested in flirting with someone you’ll never see again and you’re too shy to dance and let loose.

But Peter managed to persuade you by telling you how you’re missing out. He always tells you how great the parties he’s been to are and you know that you should be spending your twenties partying and having fun.

This party though, just like you thought, is not fun.

The people are playing a round of spin the bottle, and the person it lands on gets a lap dance from the person spinning the bottle. You were able to walk away before it started, but Peter is still sitting with everyone, seemingly even enjoying this stupid game while you’re watching from the side.

A girl spins the bottle, everyone waiting to see who it lands on.

It slows down and eventually points right at Peter. Your heart starts beating faster on his behalf. You hope he knows he doesn’t have to do this if he’s not comfortable. But, to your surprise, Peter starts smiling. It’s not an awkward smile either; he’s genuinely excited for it.

You cringe as the girl shrugs and walks Peter to the couch where he sits down. Your eyes meet Peter’s for a split second and in them there’s a look you’ve never seen before.

Peter is horny, his demeanor cocky. He focuses back on the girl in front of him.

Does she know she doesn’t have to do it? She’s giggling in embarrassment and holding her hands in front of her face as she bends her knees and starts dancing for Peter.

He slides down the seat so he’s closer to her, manspreading so she can stand between his legs. You ignore the jealousy bubbling up inside you, it’s easy to do though, because you don’t want to dance for Peter like that; but it’s not great to see him enjoying another woman like that either.

He puts his hands behind his head like some fuckboy, eyes not leaving the girl’s ass that’s nearly grinding on his lap. He’s looking at her with so much sexual admiration that you feel sick, you never wanted to see your best friend’s sex face.

Yes, you like him romantically, but not like that.

God, what are you even doing here?

Embarrassed for your best friend you walk away to find the kitchen, wondering how Peter is okay with everyone seeing him in such a primitive state of lust.

You look for a drink and check the time - you want to go home but you’ve barely been here fifteen minutes, and Peter drove you.

He finds you a few minutes later, flushed, and you don’t even really want to look at him.

“Hey. I was wondering where you went,” he says, not acknowledging how this isn’t a normal party or a normal situation.

I just didn’t feel like watching you and this woman have… sex,” you mumble, the word not feeling right coming from you, “in front of everyone.”

He huffs a laugh, “It was just a lap dance. Not even a proper one. ‘S just a game.”

You’re turned away from him, filling juice into your cup when you hear the metal of his belt clinking and you spin around. He’s adjusting the big bulge in his pants that steals your breath for a moment, “Peter! What are you doing?”

“Sorry, just quickly had to adjust myself. Look I’m done already.”

“I didn’t know you like that girl,” you turn around again, not wanting to look at this disgusting man you call your best friend, “I didn’t even know you knew her.”

“I never said I liked her.”

“Yeah but you..” you vaguely nod towards his jeans.

He shrugs, leaning on a kitchen counter, “A cute woman gave me a lapdance, only a guy who doesn’t like women wouldn’t get hard from that.”

You don’t say anything more, staring into the opened fridge as a distraction from your sudden changed perception of Peter. Still, you’re kind of glad he doesn’t like her. You still like him, even if he’s more debauched than you ever thought.

“Can you pass me a beer?”

“I was actually wondering if we could go soon? I don’t really like it here,” you look at him again, hoping to convince him with your sad look.

“Aw but the party’s just getting started.”

You both stare at each for a few seconds, it’s his enjoyment versus your discomfort.

“How about we leave in an hour? And I’ll stop drinking in thirty minutes so I’ll be sober by the time we leave.”

It’s a fair deal considering he was probably planning to stay much longer. His consideration for you puts a smile on your face momentarily, “Okay, that’s fine.”

You pass him his beer and he gets close to you when he takes it from you, making your face scrunch up, “Ew, get off me with those dirty hands,” you hurry to the opposite side of the counter.

He chuckles, “Don’t worry, I showered before we left. My dick is clean.”

You tsk, looking away, “I don’t want to hear about your… penis.”

You leave the kitchen, hoping to find someone else who understands how ridiculous these ‘party games’ are. But the only thing you find is two people making out in a bedroom or people taking drugs, so you end up alone on the porch, waiting for Peter and watching TikToks in the meantime.

You’re having a much better time being on your phone, and you remember why you usually prefer to stay in.

By now, Peter should be ready to leave in half an hour or so, and you still have enough mobile data for that time.

You flinch when the door behind you opens suddenly and Peter calls your name, “There you are. I was looking for you everywhere, I got worried.” You’re flattered at his protectiveness over you. You know exactly why you like him despite his flaws that you recently discovered.

“Sorry. I just didn’t wanna be in there anymore.”

“That bad? Okay listen, I’ll say bye to the guys and we’ll go home okay?”

“No, but you’ve been drinking.” From what he’s told you, he needs at least half an hour to sober up even with his enhanced physique.

“Not that much. I promise I wouldn’t offer to drive if I didn’t feel safe doing so,” he smiles down at you. He looks so pretty in the dim light.

“Okay. And you really don’t mind?”

He gives you a soft smile as he reaches out to help you up, “I’d rather never go to a party again than have you sitting on this dirty porch alone.”

You beam and tell him to say bye to everyone. He kisses your cheek, accidentally kissing you closer to your lips than he meant to and your cheeks heat up - but he’s unaffected.

It’s moments like this that make you question whether Peter likes you back or not. It would be a lie to say that you’re not attracted to him.

He’s cute. He’s caring. He’s smart. He treats you like a princess.

And you like when he takes care of you. You could easily get a driver’s licence but you don’t mind having Peter drive you everywhere, and he’s told you that he likes being your chauffeur too. He likes spending time with you and that includes driving you around places that you need to go to.

He’s the perfect boyfriend really. You’ve known him for years and trust him more than anyone.

But then you think back to earlier at the party. How he enjoyed being grinded on. In front of all people, too. And you can’t get his perverted smile out of your head. That’s why you could never be with him. You’re sure of it, especially after today. But that doesn’t stop you from wanting to be with him.

But that’s the main problem: sex.

Sex has never been appealing to you. You feel gross even thinking about it. Watching that girl grind her ass on Peter was an image you never needed to see so doing something like that yourself sounds horrifying.

But if even Peter wants to have sex, then you guess every other guy on earth does too, so you’d still be best off with Peter.

It leaves a sour taste in your mouth that apparently you’ll have to have sex with him if you do ever get together though.

He doesn’t leave you waiting for long, saying goodbye quickly and walking you to his car, a hand on your lower back. Your skin tingles where he’s touching it and you can’t hide your smile.

He opens the passenger door for you like the gentleman he is and you wait with putting on your seatbelt. You turn your whole body towards him once he sits down in the other side, shutting his door.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Always,” he replies.

“When did you..” you trail off as you think of a way to phrase your question without having to say that three letter word. You sigh when you realize it’s easiest if you say it.

“When did you go from being grossed out by sex..” you make a face when you say it - it’s the second time today that you’re using the word. Who are you turning into? “When did you go from being grossed out by it to liking it?”

He raises his eyebrows as if the question is laughable but he answers anyway, “When we hit puberty, I guess.”

“I remember we used to be so disgusted when there was a .. scene like that in a film. And I went through puberty too, my body and hormones changed, but I never got any interest for.. you know.”

He smiles sympathetically, “Don’t worry. Maybe you’re just a late bloomer.”

He’s said this to you plenty of times though, and you wonder how late late is. If you don’t have the desire to have sex by now then why would it suddenly change?

You give him a small smile, feeling like there’s something wrong with you.

He starts driving and lets you choose the music. It’s a welcome distraction.

“Nearly there,” he tells you and you realize you fell asleep for most of the drive. You try to wake yourself up again and look around in the car as you stretch.

Your movement stops when your eyes fall on the bulge in Peter’s trousers.

Is it still there or is it back again?

And is he that big or is it just the angle?

You want to tear your gaze away, but this is new for you. It looks so vulgar that you just can’t look away, your voice caught in your throat.

You can’t tell if he notices you staring or not.

You’re finally snapped out of it when he turns off the engine, parked in front of his apartment building. You’re too shocked by what you just saw - what you’re seeing for the second time today - to ask why he didn’t drive you to your place.

Undoing the seatbelt, you reach for the car door but Peter locks it. You giggle, thinking he’s messing with you as a joke, but when your eyes meet, his are serious.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

You gulp, already knowing what topic you’re going to have to talk about again now.

“Have you had sex?” He asks.

You shake your head, feeling heat on your face. You can’t look at him, “You know that. I would have told you if I had.”

“I don’t know, you went on a few dates here and there.”

“Yeah and I always told you how bad they were,” you meet his gaze this time, wondering if he thought you lied to him.

“I assumed they couldn’t keep their hands off a pretty girl like you and you were too prim and proper to admit that you did something. The innocent seeming ones are always the freakiest.”

You can’t argue with that at first. Peter seemed innocent to you for the first ten or so years you’ve known him, and you just found out today that he apparently likes dry humping in public - that’s essentially what that lapdance earlier looked like.

“Not me,” you say weakly.

He pauses, looking like he’s about to accept the truth, “Never?”

“Never,” you confirm.

“Do you wonder what it’s like?”

“I do wonder, sure. But I don’t wonder enough to actually want to do it.”

Peter smirks, crossing his arms, “I think that’s a lie.”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t know, just a feeling.”

He leans back in his seat as you tap your foot against the floor, waiting for him to end this conversation and unlock the car. You count every one of his breaths, growing more impatient with every one of them, your palms starting to get sweaty. This is Peter, you remind yourself, you don’t know why you’re starting to get scared. Maybe it’s just the uncomfortable topic.

“You wanna try now?”

“Try what?” You splutter.

“I don’t know. We can start small. So you’ve never even touched a dick?”

A shiver runs down your spine. “Stop using that word.”

“What, you want me to stay cock?”

You cringe, inching closer to the door, “Don’t say it at all.”

“So do you wanna?”

You take a deep breath, hoping to calm down the sick feeling in your stomach. You shake your head.

“I think you’ll like it.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“It’s normal that you’re a little grossed out at first. Girls always think they don’t want it when they really do.”

Your jaw drops slightly, “Girls have said that to you?

“No, not to me specifically but it’s just a known fact.”

“Well I’m not like that..”

“Come on.” It’s the first thing he says that doesn’t have at least a bit of humor in his voice. You don’t want him to be mad at you. Not generally, but especially not while he’s got you alone in his car at night.

“I’m so hard, you can’t just leave me hanging like this. I drive you everywhere, leave a nice party early for you. And I’m not even doing it for me, I think you’ll like it. So just try it, okay? It’s just your hand. And if you don’t like it you can stop.”

Your chest tightens but you fear that he might be right. You don’t want to make such a big thing out of nothing. If the woman from earlier can twerk on a stranger in front of a whole party crowd, you can’t touch the… dick of your best friend for a few seconds.

You know it’s stupid, but you’ve always been insecure about how inexperienced you are, and at this age you should probably doing stuff like this regularly.

You don’t say anything, simply leaning over to him a little as you try to swallow the lump forming in your throat.

“There we go,” he smirks.

Somehow you find the courage to look into his eyes. They look different, like he’s taken drugs or something, but they’re still the same eyes that you’ve looked into a million times before.

You trust Peter.

You’ve trusted him for the better part of a decade and you’re not suddenly going to stop. He only wants what’s best for you, and sometimes you have to do something out of your comfort zone to gain experience.

You take a deep breath as he undoes his belt and unzips his jeans, pulling out his hard dick. Your heart beating in your chest is the only thing you can hear for a bit.

It’s so vulgar. But somehow you imagined it to look uglier – which doesn’t mean that you like how it looks though.

Peter takes your hand and pulls you toward it. The skin is soft, but his erection feels harder than you would have imagined.

He squeezes his hand around yours and guides you up and down himself a few times. You’re tensing more with each second and you have to force yourself to stop clenching your teeth.

He releases your hand after a few moments and you let out the biggest breath of relief. That wasn’t so bad after all.

You watch Peter as he takes your hand again and brings it to his mouth, spitting into your palm. You mouth falls open and you pull your eyebrows together; you’re speechless as he brings your and his hand down to his cock again.

The sound is wet and loud as you involuntarily stroke up and down his dick. You’re pulling your hand away but you forgot how strong he is. You have no chance against him, even as you try to yank your arm away with your free hand.

He’s moving your hand faster and harder now, ignoring you completely as his eyes fall shut in pleasure.

You finally feel the lump in your throat release for a second, “Peter–” you start, voice weak and you clear your throat, “You said I could stop if–”

“Just a bit longer,” he grunts, nothing but pure strength guiding you along his dick that is covered in his spit. You knew he was strong, but you never thought he could make you do something against your will like this; you’re powerless, especially in his cramped car.

Peter throws his head back with a moan and hot, white liquid spills all over your hand and the front of his jeans. Your face scrunches up as he grips your hand ever harder, his mouth wide open with a groan, and you feel more drops of his cum on your hand.

Tears finally prick at your eyes and he lets go of you after a few seconds. You wipe your hand on your jeans as quickly as possible, scrambling for the tissues he keeps in his glove department, and you clean off your hand for what feels like hours.

He grabs a tissue too, carelessly throwing it to the back of his car, zipping up his trousers.

Once his dick is out of sight, he feels like the old Peter again. His gaze is like it is any other day, and despite your racing heartbeat you suddenly feel like you’re overreacting, embarrassment creeping in.

“So?” He asks, tone calm, “What did you think?”

“What?” You nearly shout.

“What did you think?” He asks again as if you’re stupid.

“Well I..,” you’re at a loss of words for a bit, “What do you think? You think I was trying to pull my arm away because I was enjoying it? Why did you make me do that?”

“You didn’t even say anything - how am I supposed to know what you want?” He scrunches his eyebrows together, and you feel a pang of guilt in your chest. You don’t want to upset Peter, especially not now that you really know how strong he is.

“I did..,” you mumble, “I said–”

“Relax, I just did you a favor. It was just a handjob. Most girls give those for the first time when they’re like sixteen,” he shrugs.

“They do?”

“Yeah. You were just talking about how you feel behind. I wanted to help you out. Hey, at least you don’t have zero experience anymore,” he shrugs with a smile, unlocking the car doors but you don’t get out immediately. His sweet smile warms your heart and your deep feelings for your best friend come back at once.

You know what he just did wasn’t right, but that doesn’t mean he did it on purpose. Apparently he’s had much more sex than you assumed, so you two have different perspectives. Of course it’s not as much as a big deal for him as it is for you.

Anyway, now that it’s over, you already feel lighter.

And, he’s right, at least you have some experience now. It wasn’t how you imagined, but maybe it’s just one of those things you have to get used to. No one likes beer the first time they drink it and yet it always becomes most people’s go-to drink. You hope you’ll get used to this sex thing too and in any way, you’re glad Peter was the one you did it with.

For now, all you want to do is sleep and remove yourself from this sexualized world.

You get out of the car and remember that you’re at Peter’s place.

“Why didn’t you drive me home?” You ask.

“I thought you were staying at my place. And I’m really tired now.”

“Please.” You’d really prefer to sleep in your own bed, even if you’ve spent the night at Peter’s plenty of times, you’d feel more comfortable in your own four walls right now.

“You can have my bed to yourself and I’ll sleep on the couch, okay?”

You shrug. If he won’t drive you home, you have to sleep at his place. You don’t have money for a taxi and there’s no way you’re walking home alone.

As you step into the familiar apartment, you feel the last bit of tension leave your body. You’ve been here so many times, and it’s like a second home. You feel safe here, and it’s not because of the apartment, but because of Peter.

You would have realized years ago if he was a bad person. He was just helping out his best friend, it’s not his fault that there’s something wrong with you and you don’t enjoy sex like normal people do.

You take a random, oversized shirt from Peter’s bedroom and change in the bathroom.

Your heart sinks when you accidentally touch the cum stain on your jeans. All the bad feelings are back immediately. You might throw up.

You get out of your trousers as fast as possible without touching the drying stain.

Peter might be your best friend, but he’s not stupid. He must have realized how uncomfortable you were.

Even if he just wanted to help you, he shouldn’t have forced you. Enough is enough; and he usually knows when to stop.

You throw on Peter’s shirt, scared yet determined to talk about what just happened.

You find Peter sitting on the couch. He looks at you and asks if you want to watch a film before bed.

How can he be so casual after what just happened?

You sit next to him on the sofa and your anger starts to dissipate again. No matter what just happened, he’s still the same Peter. He’s your best friend and he’d never intentionally do anything to hurt you. He made a mistake, that’s it. It happens to everyone.

Maybe that’s just what sexually active adults do. Maybe he really did do you a favor. Up until twenty minutes ago you weren’t even sure what the word handjob meant. At least you’ll know how to pleasure a guy in the future.

If even your kind and innocent boy-of-your-dreams Peter likes sex, then you guess you won’t ever find a boyfriend that doesn’t need sex from you.

And you’d rather use your hand than your pussy, or worse even, your mouth. Although you’re not sure if people actually do the latter, or if it’s just a perverse fantasy some people have. So at least you’ll know how to do a handjob now.

He’s unaware of your inner turmoil, and your shoulder jerks up when Peter puts a hand on your upper back, “Tired?”

You nod, the lump back in your throat. You’ve never felt this many conflicting emotions at the same time.

“Let’s get you to bed then.” His voice is soft and you feel yourself relaxing once more.

You forget that he said he was going to sleep on the sofa. You’ve always slept in his bed together, and you always felt comfortable. Besides, he left a party early for you, drank less, drove you here and it’s his bed. He has every right to be here.

You try to forget about the day, closing your eyes, facing away from Peter, but his phone light and the lamp next to his bed are bright. You try for another few minutes, but no matter how tired you are, you can’t sleep with this light.

Just as you’re about to ask him when he’s going to bed, you hear his voice. You turn around.

“You know I love you, right?” He asks.

“Oh. Yeah I do. I love you too.”

He puts his phone away, gently kissing your temple, “You know, I feel kind of bad about what happened in the car.”

You smile immediately. You knew Peter wasn’t a bad guy. Your chest suddenly feels free again, like you’re emerging from the water after you were beneath the surface for too long, “I forgive you.”

“Oh,” he furrows his eyebrows, “I wasn’t apologizing.”

Your face falls, dread filling you again, “What?”

“I just meant I feel bad because I didn’t return the favor. I’d love to show you how good it can feel.”

His sincere tone relaxes you a bit, but you’re still cautious after what happened earlier so you sit up, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to.”

“Do you ever touch yourself?”

“No.”

He raises his eyebrows, “You’ve never had an orgasm.” You can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement.

You shrug, feeling bad about your lack of experience again.

“It’ll feel good, I promise,” he smiles, his tone playful but you can’t quite get into the same mood.

“You said the same earlier and it didn’t feel good.”

“Come on. Do you trust me or not?”

You don’t answer straight away. One moment doesn’t erase a decade of trust. Besides, Peter is intimidating tonight and you feel like he’ll get his way no matter what, so cooperating is your best shot.

You swallow and bring yourself to nod, Peter’s eyes darkening.

“See,” he smiles, coming closer. You smell a bit of alcohol in his breath and a hint of that cocktail he likes so much.

You stop breathing as he hovers over you, slowly removing the blanket that’s on top of you. You try to push him away but his chest is like a brick wall.

You gather every ounce of courage and strength in your body as you say: “Peter you’re drunk and I don’t want this.”

“Shh, I promise you will once you realize how good it feels. Trust me. Open your mouth.”

You open your mouth to talk and two of his fingers slide between your lips. You bite them instinctively but Peter is unbothered, and no matter how serious this situation is, you can’t bring yourself to actually try and hurt Peter. He’s not doing anything bad right now, he just has his fingers in your mouth, but it’s nowhere near as bad as what he did earlier.

Fingers wet with your spit, he pulls them out of your mouth and moves down your body. You hold your t-shirt tight but you realize under your shirt is not where he wants to go.

One hand on your waist, Peter brings his fingers towards your underwear and your heartbeat speeds up even more.

Your belly flutters wildly when his fingers go underneath the fabric. You hold his wrist with both hands, trying to pull him away, but it feels like all your strength is gone; you’re paralyzed and it doesn’t just feel that way because he’s ten times stronger than you anyway.

The shock from what happened in the car hasn’t even worn off yet, your body isn’t ready for another intrusion like this. Your body isn’t ready for anything and you’re screaming and thrashing around internally but nothing translates to the outside. You’re left without any power, you don’t feel like a human with an own will anymore. You’re completely at Peter’s mercy.

His wet fingers slide between your legs, touching a spot you never even knew was there. Through all the anxiety and panic, you feel a tiny spark of pleasure from where he’s touching you, but you’re too terrified to really notice.

You gasp when he starts rubbing your clit, going down further where you become aware of an unfamiliar wetness that he dips into.

“Such a fucking wet pussy, all for me. I knew you’d like this,” he grins, looking at your body. You don’t even have time to grimace at the word he uses for your private parts.

“Peter–” it comes out as a whisper and he shushes you immediately.

“Shh, relax. Relax. You can’t tell me you’re not enjoying it if you’re this wet.”

The wetness is loud against his fingers, and he pulls your panties down your legs, humiliating you even more now that he’s seeing it all. You’re exposed in your most vulnerable area, and you didn’t consent.

“Peter,” you try again, your body still not listening as you try to push him off. You just can’t.

He stops, looking you in the eyes. You can’t imagine that you look anything but petrified; his eyes, on the other hand, are passionate. It’s not entirely positive, there’s aggression behind it too, but mostly he’s enjoying this and trying to convince you to do the same.

“I’m your best friend. I’d never so anything to hurt you. Trust me, it’ll feel good if you just let it happen.”

It sounds like he’s giving you a choice, and you finally manage to sit up, making his fingers slide deeper into you, and you lie back down on the bed again with a whimper.

This is not how you imagined having sex with Peter. You hoped it would never happen, but if it did you were sure he’d be gentle and considerate. Something inside of you is screaming that he’s only being rough because he has to force you.

What if you submit? What if you just let him? Maybe he’s right, and you will like it more. Sex isn’t regarded as something desirable for no reason.

You relax your legs and Peter notices this immediately, hovering over you again. Licking his lips, Peter smiles down at you, and you smiling back is like a reflex to you.

He’s already being more gentle, his hand running over your pussy slowly. Fingertips wet, he lifts them to his face, smelling you first. Then he pushes two fingers into his mouth, licking you off of himself like a dessert he needs every last taste of.

You flinch when he suddenly hums, loudly.

“Fucking hell. You’ve been depriving me of that sweet taste all these years?”

You don’t know what he’s talking about. Can you even taste good down there?

You swallow to get yourself ready to talk, “W-was that it? That didn’t feel good.”

He chuckles, “We’re just getting started.”

It’s like he drops another brick into your chest, your heart feels heavier with every passing moment, time going by in slow motion.

You only manage to mumble, “Peter no, please.”

His eyes darken. You’ve taken it too far. You should just make him think you want this as much as him, and he won’t treat you as if he’s having to force you.

“Just lie down before I have to tie you up.”

It’s like a punch in the face that activates your fight or flight again. You can’t make yourself believe that you’re enjoying this.

Your eyes drift towards the door, and suddenly you feel like your body might actually listen to you. But Peter sees this.

“Don’t even think about it–”

He grabs you before you’ve even fully sat up. You have no chance against him, no chance at all.

You can’t scream either; your voice is barely there, muted by fear, and you don’t want him to hold your mouth shut. You already can’t breathe fully, you can’t handle more restriction of your most basic need.

He manhandles you onto your belly, ripping off your shirt. It seems as if the whole mattress is shaking from your heartbeat that’s now pressed against it.

You can’t even see what he’s doing now, and tears start to blur your vision. “Don’t,” you croak, but you don’t even know if any tone comes out of your throat. Your ears are ringing.

Peter pulls you by your legs so you’re on your knees, ass in the air, and he can see everything.

He holds your wrists tight behind your back with ease, “Making things so complicated when all I wanna do is make you feel good.”

You don’t believe him anymore, but it never mattered in the first place. He knows you don’t want this, yet he’s been doing it to you all night. You feel yourself going slack; there’s no fighting him, your body is giving up.

The emotional pain is unbearable, but it’s like your mind and your physical body are two separate entities entirely. You can’t move. You don’t even notice how he’s maneuvered himself so his face is between your legs.

You expect his fingers again, but instead there’s something wet against your wet. Peter’s tongue.

It’s so unexpected that you flinch again and don’t stop moving, but his tongue only ends up in more places you don’t want it so you stay still, testing his grip on your wrists but you can’t even try to pull away - he’s that strong.

You give up once and for all, you’re lying on the bed motionless. Your ass is in the air and right in your best friend’s face. You realize that your face is still scrunched up where it’s buried into the pillow and when you finally relax your muscles, what Peter is doing starts to only feel half as bad.

“Such a dripping mess for me. See, I knew you’d like this. Nearly there.”

You shake your head even though you know he takes no notice of it. No, you don’t like it, because you never wanted him to do anything like this to you in the first place.

He’s licking you like a lollipop, starting to suck on your bundle of nerves and you gasp when he gets faster in his movements. You shut your mouth to stop the moan from coming out - Peter doesn’t deserve to think that you’re enjoying this for even a moment.

Yet, a debauched moan makes its way out of your throat when pleasure explodes through your whole body, drowning you in bliss. You push your face into the pillow as the orgasmic wave floods your every nerve but you can’t enjoy it, and knowing that Peter can even make you feel good against your will makes this whole thing worse.

He lets go of you when it’s over and you fall on your side, pressing your thighs together to hide from him even though he’s already seen everything you don’t want him to, tasted it even.

“Feel good?” He asks, licking his fingers.

You stare ahead of yourself. No, you don’t feel good. You didn’t want it to be like this.

At least it’s over. Finally fucking over.

A sob gets caught in your throat when you suddenly notice Peter getting naked too. You’re about to ask him what he’s doing, maybe even attempt to run away again despite knowing it’s hopeless. But he grabs your hips and pulls them up and against his front, taking hold of your wrists before you can think of using your hands to push him away.

You feel the same soft skin he made you touch in his car. He’s going to fuck you.

Your scream isn’t as loud as you want it to be when he pushes into you, painful inch for painful inch until he’s in you completely.

“Fuck,” he whispers, as he starts thrusting into you, and silent tears spill down your cheeks, “I said I was doing you a favor for your own sexual experience, and I meant that. But now that I know what you feel like? I’m not gonna let any other man experience this. Ever. You’re all mine now.”

don't forget to reblog if you liked the fic <3

#Peter Parker x reader #dark!Peter Parker x reader #dark!Peter parker #Peter Parker smut #dark!Peter Parker smut #peter parker #dark!Peter Parker x you #Peter Parker x you #spiderman #dark!spiderman #Spiderman x reader #Spiderman smut #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #omg my first fic sdfghjksdfghjk

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harryspet · 2 years

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butterfly kisses | p.parker

[Warnings] dark!grey!peter parker x reader, innocent!little!reader, daddy!caregiver!peter, dominant x submissive, blackwidow!reader, avengers compound/young avengers au, ddlg, age regression, oral sex (female recieving), dubcon!! sex, mental manipulation, reader has ptsd, grooming?, unprotected sex, little editing

A/N: [model in banner is @/enchanted_noir, gif credit to @/defendingwarrior]

In which Peter finds out your little secret and takes advantage.

word count: 5.3k

taglist: @cherienymphe @lovelynerdytraveler @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayonegg-blog @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes @watercoolerpaint @disaster-rose @slutforsebstan @doozywoozy @oneoftheprettynerds @xoxonotme @winterbuckystan1917 @simpformarvelmenandwoman @hallecarey1

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Yelena was practically unstoppable, giving both Bucky and Sam a run for their money. She was faster than them, leaving them spinning whenever she rushed past them. They thought they had her at one point, Bucky’s vibranium arm wrapping around her neck. She was quick to bring her elbow back into his chest and then her fist to his groin. Bucky doubled over but Sam quickly approached with fists raised. She seemed to land all her punches but also take each one that Sam landed with the most grace you’d ever witnessed.

She tried to trip him, kicking her legs behind his own, but he brought her down with him. They rolled together before he had her pinned beneath him. She thrusted her lower body up, weakening his stance, before grabbing his own arm, pushing it against his chest and pushing him into the mat. As Sam’s head hit the ground hard, he’d clearly accepted defeat.

“The groin shots are cheap, Belova!” Bucky was still reeling in pain. She eyed you, a tired smirk on her face, as she took in her victory.

“It’s only fair. You’ve got a hundred pounds on me and I’ve got the ability to kick you in the balls,” You smiled at her words, watching as Yelena helped Sam off the ground.

You heard footsteps beside you and soon you were looking to your left as Peter Parker claimed the space beside you, “Did you see that?” The question became rhetorical as you noticed his wide eyes and the way he was staring at Yelena, “That was just the third round. So far Yelena’s in the lead.”

“Damn,” Peter cursed though it wasn’t very intimidating on his lips. You only really saw him as the kind, sweet guy who charitably helped you and Yelena adjust after moving to the new compound, “Are you gonna go next?”

You instantly shook your head although you realized your answer might seem strange considering the sports bra and leggings you were wearing. You’d put on workout clothes but hadn’t quite gotten the courage up to train yet, “Yelena is way better hand to hand than me,” It wasn’t a lie but you’d spent your entire life training hand to hand. You grew up in The Red Rom just like she had and were trained by the exact same people. You’d gone toe to toe with Yelena as well and you used to be able to hold your own with her.

The look on Peter’s face was curious, like he wanted to know more, but he didn’t press the specific topic, “I was gonna box and I’m in need of a sparring partner if you’d like to help me out,” That didn’t give you much room to turn him down so you nodded hesitantly.

You hadn’t told anyone, only Yelena vaguely knew how much you were frightened of the training room. This place wasn’t at all like the Red Room, you weren’t being beaten or mind controlled into submission. Despite all that, you were afraid of going into survival mode and never being able to escape it again.

“It’ll be low pressure, I’m way less intense than those guys,” Peter continued, placing a hand on your shoulder, as if he sensed your unease, “Plus, I need way more practice fighting without the webs. I get so used to being in the air sometimes that I forget how to manage on my feet.”

You followed him to the wall on the far right that held all the equipment. You eyed a set of white, 12 ounce fighting gloves but Peter stopped you before you could grab them, “First, jump rope,” He held two sets of jump rope in his hand. One set black and the other green, “What color?”

“I like green,” You admitted and that seemed to amuse him.

“Y/N!” You heard your name shouted across the room. You turned to see Yelena wrapping a towel around her neck, water bottle in hand, “I’m gonna go pass out but movie night later with Kate?”

You raised your thumb, “Enjoy your nap, I’ll see you later!”

“Enjoy Peter, I’ll see you later,” She winked very badly before she turned on her heel.

You turned back to Peter, your face warm with embarrassment, “She’s funny,” Peter commented.

“When she’s not being annoying,” You responded, taking both handles of the rope and stretching it out before you, “Annoyingly clever and annoyingly good at everything.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, “I heard Miss Nat recommended you both for positions in the new Avengers initiative.”

You shrugged, “So?”

“So, that means you’re probably annoyingly clever and good at everything too. You just haven’t shown everyone yet.”

“Maybe so,” Those words were all you’d give up to him. He probably had a point but this environment didn’t really allow for deep thinking for you. You thought you might turn around at any moment and see rows and rows of brainwashed agents behind you.

You followed his lead and his pace as he began to skip the rope. You weren’t in your best shape, you could feel it already, but you were keeping up. At first, you regretted choosing to stand directly in front of him but the eye contact slowly became less awkward, “This is kinda easy, Peter” You admitted.

“How. Are you. Speaking. So Easily?” Peter spoke through gasping breaths. Soon, you were increasing your pace as you felt you could go faster. You ended up going way faster than Peter, spinning in circles, as you tried cool tricks.

Peter was trying to keep up with your pace but eventually he had to stop, holding on to his knees as he tried to catch his breath. You slowed down soon after, not wanting to be any more of a show off, “So I was right,” He decided, “You’re good at that.”

You hated the work you used to do but you were reminded of how much you liked the adrenaline rush that came with being physically active. You were far from how you used to be but perhaps the world didn’t need another trained killer, just someone trying her best.

After your warm up, you and Peter went on to actual boxing. You went back and forth with one person holding the punching mitts while the other practiced combinations. This exercise reminded you of the time you lost to one of the other widows in a sparring match. You were taught the importance of being fast on your feet so your opponents blows can’t land effective blows as well as how to land an effective blow despite having a short reach. She made you chase her around the mat, exhausting you, so she could overtake you.

The punishment for the loser was always for every other widow to form a line and one by one land a punch to the loser’s stomach. You remembered the different colors of bruises that your stomach turned and how your mouth tasted like blood for days. The times when you were forced to hurt someone else were even more imprinted in your mind.

Peter realized you weren’t giving it your all, your mind clearly having gone elsewhere, “Hey, hey,” He put down his hands, closing the gap between you. As he came closer, and despite the kind look on his face, your anxiety went through your roof, “What’s wrong? That was good!”

You nodded, “Yeah, I-I just got distracted . . . sorry.”

“That’s okay. You wanna take a break?” You were already taking off your gloves.

“I think that’s enough for me today,” You spoke curtly, stepping away from him. You knew you’d start hyperventilating soon and you didn’t want anyone to see the person you turned into when you were stressed, “Thanks for this, P-Peter!”

His concerned eyes were on you as you walked, a little too fast, away from him.

“Yelena! I told you I didn’t want to watch this!” You pushed her shoulder as she maniacally giggled. After a jumpscare, you’d completely spilled your bowl of pretzels and M&M’s which Kate was now on the floor cleaning up.

“What? That wasn’t even scary!”

You didn’t understand how a movie about a party clown killing a bunch of school aged children wasn’t nightmare material. Kate clearly didn’t like the movie either but she wasn’t nearly as skittish as you, “I’m picking next time,” Kate announced, “Something we would all actually like.”

“No fun,” Yelena pouted, rolling herself off of your bed. You all rotated who would host movie nights and tonight it took place in your room. You were always an accommodating host, having crochet each of the girls their own special blankets, and lined your dresser with bowls of their favorite snacks. Fairly lights flicker above your bed but the cozy nature of your room served as a sharp contrast to the movie you watched on the screen mounted across the room.

“I want something romantic,” You argued, “Maybe a rom com or a historical romance like Pride and Prejudice.”

Yelena rolled her eyes.

“How about a romantic thriller?” Kate asked you, ignoring the blonde assassin’s usual behavior. You nodded eagerly, “Okay, cool. I’ll do some research!”

“I think it’s time for me to turn in,” Yelena faked a yawn.

Kate grabbed her arm, dragging her towards the door, “C’mon grumpy. Night, Y/N!”

You waved her goodbye, hearing Yelena shout as she was dragged out of the room, suddenly chipper again, “Night, Y/N!”

You enjoyed spending time with your friends especially now that you and Yelena had become so close to Kate. When they were gone, you missed their company but you knew you needed your nights to yourself. You began your nightly routine, switching the TV from the credits of a horror movie to the Disney logo.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Lock bedroom door, please,” After hearing the click of the lock, you released a deep breath, “And run a bath, please.”

You cleaned up any remnants of your friends, folding up their blankets and placing them inside the ottoman near your couch. You kept all the tools for your regression in a secret compartment of your closet. You knew it was unlikely that someone would go rummaging through your personal belongings but you liked the security of F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s system.

Picking out pajamas for yourself, you chose a pink, care bear onesie and pink socks. You laid it out on your bed before getting undressed. When you finally got to sink into the bath, you felt the stresses of the day melt away. It was a bubble bath, of course, and you loved the mindless task of constructing figures with them and giving yourself mustaches and crowns.

You were already slipping into your headspace. You’d desperately wanted to be here especially after training with Peter.

After your bath, you were now trying to practice your skin care in front of the mirror. For years, you barely looked at yourself in the mirror, thinking it would be easier to live with yourself if you dehumanized yourself as much as possible. It was rare that you’d let your eyes wander to your lower stomach where you could see the straight incision scar that traveled from beneath your belly button to your public area. Your own exposure therapy didn’t seem to be working as tears sprung in your eyes everytime.

You left the bathroom, deciding that you’d braid your hair into a protective style without a mirror. You dressed in your pajamas, grabbing your favorite stuffed animal, a green frog, and burrowing yourself into your sheets. Tinkerbell was playing on the television and at the end of the movie, when Tinkerbell helps bring spring to the mainland, almost always helped sink you into your headspace even deeper.

It was the middle of the night and you should’ve been sleeping but you had a craving for ice cream. You’d set a rule that you’d always stay in your room when you were in little space but little you often had a mind of her own. You padded to the door, softly asking Friday to open the door, before you checked if the coast was clear. In your pink socks, you tiptoed to the kitchen, holding Prince Naveen close to your chest.

The compound was quiet and you assumed each of the other Avengers were either fast asleep or keeping to themselves. You never knew Tony Stark but you were quite grateful for his technology … and his money. You weren’t sure what kind of life you’d be able to make for yourself if you didn’t have this opportunity.

You rummaged through the freezer, finding a half-eaten container of sherbert ice cream. The color was pink like your onesie so it was a no brainer that you’d choose this to dig into. You shut the freezer before finding a big spoon in one of the drawers. You climbed onto the kitchen counter, making yourself comfortable, as you began to dig in.

“Y/N?” You perked up to see a brown eyed boy staring at you from across the kitchen. He was dressed in a compression shirt and sweatpants, the former highlighting an extremely muscular chest and arms. His figure was even more exaggerated as he crossed his arms. He grinned at you, taking in your appearance, “Is this something Yelena made you wear?”

You frowned, confused, “I’m Love-a-lot Bear.”

Peter looked even more confused than you, “Oh . . . and who’s this guy?” He came closer and you felt a bit annoyed that he was interrupting your ice cream eating. You scooped a bite into your mouth, kicking your legs in happiness as you tasted the deliciousness.

You looked down at the frog stuffie sitting beside you, “Prince Naveen. He got turned into a frog but I’m taking care of him.”

“Like in that movie …” He raised an eyebrow.

You nodded, “Princess and the Frog. Have you seen it?”

“Once, I think.”

“I’ve seen it about …” You calculated it in your mind, “Fifty-four times. I can quote it word by word. Do you want to hear? The Evening Star is shining bright, so make a wish and hold on tight, there's magic in the air tonight-” You began to sing but Peter shushed you as your voice got louder.

“You’re gonna wake everyone up,” He whispered and you looked down, cross eyed at the finger that was now pressed against your lips. You nodded and he slowly removed it.

“Oops,” You whispered, “Why is everyone sleeping when there’s ice cream to eat?”

“Y/N … did something happen to you?”

You shrugged, other more pressing things occupying your thoughts, “I don’t think so … I just wanted ice cream. I better get going because I left all my other stuffies and they can get into trouble when I’m not watching them. Plus, I’m watching all the Tinker Bell movies.”

You hopped off the counter, “Do you want to come?” You felt like you could trust him and that’s why you wrapped one of your hands in his. He didn’t answer with words but he followed you, grabbing your frog that you almost left behind, as you led him to your room, “What’s your name?”

“You don’t remember?” You looked at him with innocent eyes, “Peter, my name’s Peter.”

“Like Peter Pan?” You smiled.

“Yeah, like Peter Pan.”

Peter paid close attention as you introduced him to each one of your stuffed animals. Each one had a name and a short backstory. You told him how you liked to get a new one every time you were in the city. Before he saw your room, Peter never would’ve guessed you’d like any of this stuff. You were quieter and more humble than Yelena but Peter knew you were just as strong. He wasn’t sure why you were acting this way but he wouldn’t deny a chance to get closer to you.

You also explained the entire Tinker Bell franchise to him, introducing him to every character and the politics of Pixie Hollow, “Did you grow up watching these movies?”

You shook your head, yawning, before you rested your head on his shoulder. The two of you sat closely on the couch, your legs sprawled over Peter’s lap, “I didn’t get to be smaller… for a long time. I like being like this, Peter.” Of course you weren’t watching Disney movies growing up as a little girl in the Red Room, Peter suddenly realized. Peter’s mind was reeling, not truly understanding how you seemed to be a completely different person.

You fell asleep soon and Peter knew he couldn’t spend the night here. He couldn’t risk someone seeing him coming out of your room and he certainly didn’t want the other version of you waking up with him in the bed. This version of you didn’t seem to recognize him so would you even remember he was here?

Peter carried you to your bed, tucking you in, and placing your favorite frog in your arms. He held your cheek in his hands, feeling the soft skin there, and admired the features on your face. He liked you before he’d known just how innocent you could be. He imagined your hand in his again, he could still feel the softness of your hands and the warmness in his heart.

Peter wanted to grow to love you.

The next morning, Peter was working in the lab with Bruce. He’d skipped breakfast, not sure if he was ready to face you after what happened last night. You’d gone from sparring partners to cuddle buddies so quickly that Peter was worried he’d imagined the entire thing last night, “Mr. Banner, sir?”

The man looked up from his laptop, “Yeah, Peter?”

“What do you know about trauma responses?”

“I’m not a psychologist, Peter,” He folded his arms, his eyebrows scrunched on his forehead.

“But you’re a genius, right?”

Bruce gave him an amused look, “Why are you thinking about trauma responses?”

“Well … would it make sense for someone who went through a traumatic event … or had a traumatic life, for them to sort of revert back to a younger age.”

“Age regression?” Peter nodded as Bruce caught on, “I’d consider it a coping mechanism maybe for illnesses like PTSD. I’ve seen it used as a therapy technique. It allows the person to go back to an earlier state that may have been less traumatizing for them. I imagine this could be voluntary or involuntary depending on the case.”

Peter sat with his words for a moment, “And how do you think someone could . . . help another person that’s age regressing.”

“If it’s a good coping mechanism that’s working for them, I imagine any kind of support would be good. Being there for that person, however they need. Hopefully they get outside support from a mental health specialist for whatever is causing the regression,” Peter nodded, “You’ve met someone like this.”

“Uhm . . . yeah,” Peter answered, “Someone I met in the city while playing Spiderman. It’s not a big deal. I’m just curious.”

Bruce didn’t push the subject further.

Your work was interrupted by Kate knocking on the glass door that led into the room. Both you and Yelena were standing behind her and you seemed to be laughing and talking together, “Pete, we’re going to the city! You coming?” Kate shouted through the glass.

“You all have got a big mission tomorrow,” Bruce warned, not looking up from his laptop.

“We’ll probably be back before late,” Peter stood from his seat, a mischievous look on his face, “No worries.”

Bruce hummed as if he wasn’t sure that he believed the young Avenger.

“I’m sorry I ran out of training so fast,” Peter was shocked to hear you say. You were sitting beside each other on the train, an awkward situation that Yelena and Kate had arranged themselves, “I get overwhelmed sometimes.”

“Right,” Peter nodded nervously, “It’s okay. I get overwhelmed sometimes too, you know.”

“Really?”

It really seemed that you hadn’t remembered him being with you last night. Peter half expected to see you in a onesie again, chatting away about Disney movies and desserts again. Instead, you were dressed like a normal, twenty-something who was going to the city with her friends.

“Yeah, sometimes I’ll see something or hear something that reminds me of my Aunt … or Mr. Stark, and it doesn’t matter what I’m doing, I just feel like I’m gonna hyperventilate. Like I can’t get air properly into my lungs and I start sweating … and I just get irritable and not fun to be around. And when it’s over, I just feel embarrassed.”

Something flickered in your eyes, something like understanding, “I get embarrassed too. I suppose it’s just a chemical thing. Fight or flight, I mean. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“You’re probably right,” Peter’s smile was weak, “It’s just hard losing people.”

You nodded in agreement, “It’s hard not having anyone to lose.”

Peter wondered if you remembered the family that you were taken from. Peter even wondered if you considered looking for them, “Friends are just as important as family sometimes. It’s good that you have Yelena and Kate.”

“That’s true. Maybe we should be better friends, Peter,” Peter’s eyes turned to you quickly, a bit of wonderment on his face, “If you want, I mean.”

“Hell yeah,” Peter spoke a little quickly but he was encouraged by the warm smile that grew on your face, “I have places around Queens I want to show you guys.”

Peter showed you all where he grew up and the four of you enjoyed sandwiches from Delmar’s for lunch. Next, Peter wanted to show you guys his favorite part of Queens. The museums. Initially, Yelena took a hard stance that going to museums would be boring but even she was entertained by the cool exhibits at the science museum Peter showed you around.

You and Peter talked so much. Much more than either of you expected. You were practically glued to his lip just the same way Kate was always glued to Yelena.

You went to an art museum next, joining an already established tour group in the middle of their own tour. Peter watched you walking around the gift shop in wonderment at all the handmade knick knacks that were for sale in order to support the museum. Peter approached you, a gift bag in hand, “I got you something.”

“What?” You blurted out, confusion evident in your features, “You don’t need to-”

“Just look,” Peter pulled out the miniature figurine he’d just purchased. It was of a small green frog sitting underneath a red mushroom for shade.

Your eyes widened, “Oh, Peter!” You took the figurine carefully in your hands, your voice going up several octaves as excitement filled you, “It’s so beautiful! Look at the little mushroom! How did you know I loved frogs?”

Peter lied, “I just thought you’d like it.”

“You really didn’t have to. I don’t deserve-”

“You do,” Peter assured you, “Keep it, please. It’s for you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you hugged him, “Thank you,” The way his hand pressed into your back sent shivers through you.

“Are you gonna take good care of it?” Peter knew his words came out slightly patronizing and he could tell he might’ve embarrassed you slightly but you nodded shyly in response.

“I will, I promise.”

When Peter knocked on your door a few nights later, the compound was quiet. All that he could see in the dark hallway were sparkling lights shining beneath your doorway. When the door opened, he was glad to see Smaller you, “Peter Pan,” You greeted him, your voice soft and sleepy, “Hi.”

“Hello, little one,” You looked pleased with the nickname, “Or should I call you princess?”

Peter closed the door behind him, taking in the fact that you were only in a white t-shirt, pale blue panties and fuzzy socks, “Both,” You angled your head at him, “But I’d like to be a fairy princess.”

“I should’ve known.” There was something so alluring about being with you in this state. It was like being with you at your most vulnerable state and Peter liked being the only one who knew about Smaller you, “What have you been doing up so late?”

There was no Disney movie playing tonight but F.R.I.D.A.Y. was playing a soft melody of classical music. Peter wondered why you’d made that choice. You grabbed his hand, bringing him over to your own desk to show him what you’d been working on, “Drawing,” You answered, showing him the array of papers, pushing the scatter crayons out of the way, “Look at these, Petey. Look.”

Two of the photos were quite familiar. One was a drawing of a small frog sitting beneath a mushroom and the other was two people standing together near what he assumed was an art exhibit. The girl was wearing a plaid shirt just like she had the other day and the boy was wearing a black jacket.

“It’s me and you,” Peter said.

“It is?” Your doe eyes looking up at him threatened to make him melt there on the spot, “Will you take me there?”

“Of course,” Peter agreed, “We’d look so cute together.”

“Yeah,” You beamed, “But I’d wear a pretty dress.”

“And I’d look like a frog in comparison. It would be perfect.”

“Don’t say that, Petey,” You squeezed his hand, “You look like . . . can I tell you a secret?”

Peter nodded and you motioned for him to lean down so you could whisper in his ear, “I think you like a handsome Prince.”

Peter chuckled at that, “Do you?” You nodded and Peter whispered into your ear next, “I won’t tell anyone your secret.”

You looked away shyly. You showed him the rest of the pictures and Peter encouraged you to put all the crayons back in the proper spot back in the carton.

“Are you ready for bed yet?” Peter asked you, “It’s getting really late.”

You frowned, “I don’t like sleep. Can we stay up? Maybe we can play pretend?”

“Why don’t you like to sleep?”

You just shook your head, letting go of Peter’s hand, so you could rummage through your closet and find something else to do, “We could play a card game!”

Peter faked a yawn, walking over to your bed, “I’m really tired, Y/N. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Or a board game!”

“I’ll just sleep and you can play a game. I have some special sleepy dust I got from a fairy friend of mine. It’s gonna help me sleep,” Peter climbed into the fluffy white sheets of your bed, knowing your words had definitely caught your attention, “I guess you won’t need any, princess.”

Peter heard your feet pad over to the bed, “You have a fairy friend?”

“Yeah. I went to outer space once and I met one,” Peter shrugged, “On their planet, lots of princesses and princes have trouble sleeping because they have nightmares.”

“Oh,” The look on your face was doleful, “I get bad dreams like all the time. Would it work on me?”

“C’mere and I’ll show you,” Peter patted the spot next to you. You were hesitant as you climbed in the bed with him, “Lay down on your back for me.”

You did as he said, laying on your back with your head resting against a pillow, “And close your eyes for me, little one.”

“But I’m scared-” Peter pressed his hand to your waist, looking up and down your body. Being so close to you with so little clothing … Peter’s idea turned darker than he originally intended it to be. He was helping you, that meant he could help himself a little too.

“I’m here, don’t worry,” As you slowly close your eyes, Peter took the opportunity to let his hands wander even further, “I’m going to sprinkle the dust over you now. Keep your eyes closed.”

Peter could feel you growing slightly impatient, “Petey, I don’t feel anything yet-”

“Of course you can’t feel anything yet, silly. I haven’t activated it yet,” Peter parted your legs, climbing over your body and settling between your legs, “I want you to call me something, okay? To help the fairy dust work.”

“What is it?”

“Call me Daddy.”

“But you’re not-”

“I am, I’m taking care of you, right?” You nodded, “Then that’s what you have to call me. Especially for the dust to work. Understand?”

“Okay … okay, Daddy,” The word couldn’t have sounded any better on your lips. Peter’s hard-on was already pressing against the fabric of his boxers. His fingers travel beneath your panties, softly feeling your folds. Before you could say another word, Peter’s lips were pressed to yours, swallowing your concerns and then eventually your whimpers.

Peter made his way down to your breasts, pulling your shirt up so they were exposed. He attacked the sensitive buds with his tongue, which seemed to bring you even more pleasure than the gentle fingering of your clit. He could feel you growing wetter, leading him to his fingers traveling to your sensitive hole.

“You’re so beautiful, princess,” Peter said as he kissed over your stomach, including the scar that brought you so much anguish, “Daddy’s gonna take care of you. Make you real sleepy.”

When Peter first slid your panties to the side and pressed his mouth to your hole, your eyes shot open, “Stay still, little one,” Peter spoke with his mouthful. You tried your best not to squirm as the touch brought you an overwhelming new feeling of pleasure.

You wanted to smile, to laugh, and to scream all the same time. It was his softness and wetness pressed against your own softness and wetness. He kissed you down there in a way that was difficult to describe but you could feel a slow build starting in your toes till it all completely rushed to your head. Your body was experiencing waves of pleasure and you were glad when he removed his mouth so you weren’t tortured further.

Peter watched you ride at the orgasm. He pulled down his sweatpants and boxers with urgencies before grabbing your arms and pinning them above your head. He pressed his tip against your interest, his eyes looking darkly into yours as he slowly pushed inside, “Daddy,” You winced, “P-Peter – Daddy, it hurts!”

“I know, princess,” Peter grunted, “You can take it all, I know you can.”

Peter was right, you somehow stretched around him and that feeling of tearing soon subsided. Now, all you felt was completely full and completely at his mercy. You were trapped beneath him which meant he could set the pace for how fast he wanted to go. You started to only think of him inside you, of that primal pleasure that he was unlocking and the complete warmness that filled your skin.

“Oh, you feel fucking amazing,” Peter pressed his forehead to yours so he was as close to your as possible. You felt his own eyelashes fluttering against yours, “You feel so good. Tell Daddy you love it.”

“I–” A hard thrust, “Love it, Daddy. I-I love it.”

You were so tight. Impossibly tight. He had to remind himself to not spill over to fast and he slowed his pace but fucked you even harder. When he felt you tightening around him, he felt safe in releasing inside of you.

Your eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath. Peter fell beside you, and just like he’d promised, you felt like you could sleep for the next few days. Peter pulled the comforter over your body, pressing himself into your tired figure. He admired you closely, his nose rubbing against yours as his lips hovered above your own.

“I sleepy … Daddy …”

“Goodnight, little one.”

Peter laid there until dawn and all he could think about was how pretty you looked when you came.

#Dark Fic #dark fics #dark peter parker #dark!peter parker x reader #peter parker x black!reader #black!reader #little space #yelena belova #kate bishop #peter parker #dark!spiderman #mcu smut #peter parker smut #avengers smut

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macadoodlewrites · 2 years

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The Devil Doesn’t Bargain - Prologue (Peter Parker Mob AU)

Summary: Peter Parker is well on his way to taking over his adoptive father’s business – but with new threats emerging, Peter and Tony Stark decide that a deal between rivals needs to be brokered. A marriage proposal between enemies brings Hallie straight into the arms of Peter, and it won’t take her long to realise that escape will not be easy.

Warnings: kidnapping, drugging, dub-con behaviour, torture, smut, swearing

Ships: Peter Parker x OC

Main Masterlist

The Devil Doesn’t Bargain Masterlist

Word Count: 1.2k

Being woken up by a banging on his door was not how Peter Parker wanted to start his Saturday morning; it wasn’t how he wanted to start any morning. Perhaps if the knocking had come from a woman - preferably naked - or someone holding a wad of cash for him, then he may have been less angry. But as he knew that the only people with access to the house were Ned Leeds, Harry Osborn or MJ Watson, he felt perfectly justified in yelling, “What the fuck do you want?”

It was Harry knocking. “Get your ass up, Tony wants you.”

“Well Tony can go fuck himself and come and see me if he wants me.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Pete,” Harry hollered back. “Just check your damn phone.”

Peter could hear Harry’s footsteps echoing in the hallway as he walked away, probably back to his own bedroom with MJ. If Tony had contacted Harry, it must be important - Tony was the leader of the Stark Mob, one of the most feared gangs in Northern America, and Peter was being groomed to take over the empire. He already had a name for himself as it was - a name that struck fear when mentioned - but he wanted Tony’s title.

Which meant for now, he answered Tony’s calls and messages when required.

Not that Peter didn’t respect Tony - quite the opposite. His parents and Uncle had died when he was ten, and since that day twelve years ago, Tony had inserted himself into his life as a surrogate father, and helped his Aunt May out with tuition, contacts, and practically raised him alongside her. May had been killed two years ago, and since then, Tony had adopted Peter only months before his twenty-first birthday, securing Peter’s place in his dynasty.

He turned over, reaching across his king-sized bed for his phone. Four missed calls from Tony, and even one from Pepper. There was a text above all of the calls.

Meet me at base. Now.

Within an hour, Peter was dressed in his usual attire - white dress shirt, black blazer, black trousers, an extremely overpriced watch, and cufflinks with his initials etched into them - and walking into the Stark base. No one bothered him as he went by, he was only given the occasional nod from some of the higher-ups. He didn’t return them. This was business, and his image as the cold, unapproachable, son of the boss was something that he had carefully crafted and wanted to keep.

Tony’s office was to the back of the base, and Peter knocked as a courtesy before walking in. Tony was sat behind his large black granite desk in his cream leather chair , a stack of files in front of him. There was a large glass of brandy in his hand, and his hair was mussed-up, as if he had been running a hand through it. He barely glanced up as Peter walked in.

“Sit.”

Peter walked towards the side table next to the cream leather sofa, poured himself a glass of brandy from the glass tumbler, and then took a seat in front of Tony’s desk.

“It’s nine in the morning, Tony. Little early to be drinking?”

Tony placed his own glass down on his desk and stared Peter down, his eyes tired behind his glasses. “I could say the same to you.”

Peter raised his glass in a mock-cheers. “Careful there, you almost sound like my father.”

“I’m the closest thing you’ve got to one, kid,” replied Tony, but there was affection underlying his tone. “I have a job for you - a long term one. And you’ll need the boys and their skills to help you.” Peter, Harry and Ned were the perfect team, and Tony knew it.

“Alright. Why the urgency?”

Peter watched as Tony downed the amber liquid in his glass and took in his appearance. Asides from his tired eyes and rumpled hair, his shirt was creased, the top button undone, and his tie was loose. This was not Tony Stark, leader of the most successful mob in Northern America, the commanding billionaire that the public feared. No, this was the rare Tony that only his family - including Peter - saw.

“My house was broken into last night,” Tony said, and stood up to get himself another drink. Years of keeping control of his emotions was the only thing that stopped Peter from dropping his drink. “They nearly made it to mine and Pepper’s bedroom. Both Pepper and Morgan are fine, and in one of our other houses. I fired fifteen men this morning for incompetency and have had to check over every one of our cameras and security systems. We caught the men who broke in and they’re currently in interrogation.” Peter couldn’t help but snort. Interrogation meant that the intruders were dead men walking.

“How did they find your address? It’s not on any of our records,” Peter replied, leaning forwards. “The same as mine.”

“It looks like we may have a mole,” Tony explained, his glass nearly full. “But that’s not what concerns me. It’s the who.”

“And who were they?”

“Whittingham men. That was all of the information that we could find on them. They swallowed pills as soon as they were captured, so I have no idea if they were there to harm Pepper, kidnap my daughter, or kill me, but it won’t happen again.”

Gears were turning in Peter’s head. There weren’t many families that would dare put themselves in the same category as the Starks, but the Whittingham’s were one of them. Dominic Whittingham, the leader of their organisation had been locked in a rivalry with Tony for the better part of a decade. They were influential and powerful - clearly more powerful than Peter had estimated as they’d somehow broken into Tony’s house.

“What’s the job?” Peter asked.

For the first time since entering the office, Tony smiled. He sipped from his drink and placed himself back at the desk, then slid three files over to Peter.

He opened them. One was the file on Dominic Whittingham - Peter had read through it many times. Know thy enemy, and all that. Dominic was known for his wealth, his charitable contributions to society, and presented himself as a good man. To anyone on the flip side, in the depths of illegal activity as Peter and Tony were, Dominic was as crooked as they came.

The next was on Aiden Whittingham, the heir to the family legacy. He was essentially Peter’s twin, on the other side of the game, the one groomed to take over eventually. Peter had also read through this file many times.

And the final one was on the daughter. Halston Whittingham.

He knew this file well. It was much smaller than her father’s and brother’s. As far as anyone was aware, she had no dealings in the family business, no hand in any illegal activity. She was a socialite, she attended events for charities, cut ribbons at ceremonies, appeared in magazine covers for her style and family name, and had a reputation as innocent as her father’s was blackened.

Peter had also done his own separate research on her before, pitched ideas to Tony...

“Tony,” Peter started, staring down at the picture attached to the file. A pretty blonde, smiling widely into the camera. “Why am I looking at her file? What is the job?”

Tony leaned forwards; hands clasped as he leaned on his desk. “It involves Miss Whittingham, Peter...”

NEXT PART

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#peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #dark!peter parker #mob!peter parker #mafia!peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman imagine #dark!spiderman #marvel imagine #tony stark imagine #tom holland imagine #mafia boss au #Peter Parker x reader #peter parker x oc

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thebluepanther · 9 months

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Just cause I can 🥴

Artist is @white_6606 on twitter! Go check them out!!

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #dark garfield #spider man 2099 #the blue panther #miguel ohara #papi chulo #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse

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tarjapearce · 6 months

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Dr. Michael Stone

Mad Scientist variant! Miguel O'Hara x Spider!f! Reader

art by @Spiderthingcoo on X

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Smut, Breeding Kink, Mild dub-con, Oral sex (F receiving), possessive behaviors, rough electroplay, Questionable morals, Dark Miguel, manhandling, yandere scientist (I guess?) P in V, isolation, edging, female anatomy, Nipple play, dumbification, Michael Stone is a walking redflag. No proofread, objectification, power play.

Summary: From all the variants of Miguel you could've encountered, you met him.

A|N: Inspired by @Spiderthingcoo and Halloween ✨

Pt. 2

Clink

The sound repetitive and echoing in your hazy mind, luring you out of the slumber you had been forced to. Eyes heavy with something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

A sharp inhale gave you enough courage to part your lids enough to reckon your surroundings. Blurry and wet eyesight slowly came into a focus and clear view of where you were. A lab.

How had you ended up here? Where was Miguel? Why wasn't Lyla making fun of your passing?

The explosion, of course.

A weakened groan escaped past dry and chapped lips, while your mind tried to recollect and organize the memories it created before going on a blackout.

The mission was simple, try and track the anomaly. Rhino. But the villian wasn't up for dialogue and had sent you flying against a wall, damaging your watch. Miguel had promised to fix it once you were back at HQ.

But the damage had been severe enough to not only electrocute you, but to cause an explosion within the already open portal. A boom powerful enough to throw you out of the current timeline and swallow you into another one, much to Miguel's distress. And then, nothing.

Pure black darkness.

Pristine white walls elegantly dressed with technology you had never seen before. The machine whirrings and hummings kept your eyes wandering from one extreme to another, trying to find anything that would be out of place. To your dismay, nothing indicated to be in such state.

Except for one thing.

Sitting in a simple chair, was a man clad in white, blending in with his environment. If it wasn't for his titanium rimmed glasses and their reflection, his tan skin and a very familiar looking face, he'd go undetected under your radar.

But your ever trusting spider senses alerted you of his presence. His red eyes bore into you, stalking, awaiting; preying. Impassiveness and stoicism plastered on his beautiful face.

A glacial chill ran down your spine.

"M-Miguel?" You rasped in the admist of your drowsiness

The man's eye glinted, dangerous and curious as he stood. His hair wavy and silky, graciously slicked back, His smirk deepened as he walked right before you, watching you with such marvel it made your breath hitch.

"Michael." The Boss' doppelganger corrected.

A stupor spreaded through your legs. Your arms had gone numb long ago. Another late realization as you looked at your limbs, expanded and trapped in the metal contraption, like a crucifix. Your legs remained separated, toes barely touching the floor and completely bare before him.

Panic rose as he placed a white gloved and immaculate hand on your cheek. Miguel was always speaking about the variants of the villains that he often forgot to mention about his own.

This one in particular was one to be extremely wary of. Dr. Michael Stone, acknowledged son of Tyler Stone, the CEO of Alchemax. A scientist obsessed with the spider DNA his team had recollected many years ago.

"Dr. Michael Stone, Mike for the friends."

He cupped your face and kissed you deeply. Tongue sweeping on your trembling mouth, taking a taste of you. He let you go with an appreciative hum. His thumbs pressed on your now glistening lips to pry them open, taking a glance on your teeth. Your breath fanned his face as he explored your mouth with his thumbs initially.

"Healthy breath and teeth, no fangs, sadly" the doctor mumbled to himself while catching your tongue in between his thumb and index finger, pulling it enough to examinate it's length.

You whimpered at the pain. Saliva escaping your mouth, which he collected quickly in a little glass vial. His fingers typed in the data in a holo-pad that materialized next to him.

His face was deranged, a soft blush crept on his sharp cheeks. He had stumbled upon a gold mine.

The drowsiness had left your body entirely, fear and nausea replacing it. Modesty or shame weren't in Michael's vocabulary. Nipples perked at the cool air that invaded the lab.

He brought a little table with several pieces of something he had been tinkering with.

"Your little contraption seems something too advanced for people in your world. Sadly the damage is too great to salvage something."

He displayed the now burnt pieces of the watch, pieces you supposed were the core of its functioning.

"For how long have you been a mutant?"

"Years." Voice meek, he nodded as he kept typing away, without looking much your direction, too deep in the screen and the data displaying on it.

"Is there any others like me?"

You gulped. Your brief silence had been enough answer for him.

"I see." His grin turned into a devious chuckle, "I suppose there is one of me that is like you, isn't it?"

Upon hearing no answer of you, he pressed a button, where a sudden electricity jolt coursed through your body. Earning him a pained yelp from you.

"I don't appreciate your silence, cariño. Now, when was the last time your period came?"

Your body lingered in unpleasant waves of the shocking aftermath. Soft breaths turned into short and shallow pants, anger rising again.

"I don't remember" You admitted curtly and uncomfortable by the direction the interrogation was taking course.

"Have you had children before?"

The question made you blink stupidly at him while sneered at your reaction and cleared his throat. Keeping at bay the ominous thoughts already forming in his wicked brain.

"N-No." You mumbled and his lips pursed in a wolfish grin it sent an ill feeling through your chest. Your brain's danger alarms flared, begging you to run away as fast as you could. But how such thing would be achieved when you were nearly T qposing, naked, before a man that had everything but good intentions with you.

"There's always a first." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. The hidden promise in his words had you struggling against your prison but it stopped as he sent another electric jolt through your body.

You groaned both painfully and annoyed in between raged pants.

"Let me go! " He could only cackle at your waning order.

"But why would I do such thing, cariño?" His fingers tracing the slope of your jaw, "Not when I have found the perfect vessel for my lineage to develop."

Heart thumped wildly on your chest, threatening to escape up your throat.

"P-Please, let me go."

Something dern recoiled in his eyes, pleading was futile, even though he loved the way you pronounced such words.

"Can't do. In fact, I think production should start right away."

He beamed and your heart sunk. Hopefully Miguel caught your signal before the gizmo was broken for good. Attention snapping on a pair of eyes that danced around your body. He licked his lips while loosening his tie. His glasses were removed.

Your chest heaved with anxiety, but he kneeled before you, pushing your outer folds away to reach the forbidden prize he was set in devouring, your clit. It twitched and contracted when his thumb stroked it softly. Michael didn't waste time and sunk himself between your thighs.

"N-No!" You panted while trying to squeeze his head away from your thighs, but his grip was steely. His tongue assaulted your cunt with such intensity it had you clenching your jaw and panting within seconds.

Strong and moist muscle dribbled down your pussy, teasing around your quivering hole. His plump lips captured your little nub of nerves in between them, to then apply pressure within strong sucking motions. Your hips bucked, nearly melting at the powerful sensations the scientist dragged you to.

The slick of your labia increased making his motions smoother, vicious and wet. You could feel him resting his head on your lower belly as his mouth ate you like a starved man. A lap here, a dribbling up and down there and it had your mouth gaping open.

"Fuck" You tried to lurch forward but the upper restrictions on your limbs could only allow much movement. Your head heavy with lust blown and fearful thoughts, making it loll side to side, shaking off the pleasure that crawled all the way up, trying to fog your judgment completely.

The goal however was accomplished when his tongue delved in your hole, fucking it with such expertise it had your breath slurred and blown from your lungs.

His moist muscle curled, coiled and slurped at your cunt. Twirling and gathering your juices in his mouth. As dangerous as he was, Michael seemed a connoisseur of the female anatomy. And he ate like a starved man, like his life and investigation depended on it.

Your head was thrown back, just like your eyes in their sockets. Breaths turned erratic when his hands squeezed the round of your breast. Maneuvering your perky nipples a little too rough. He pinched, pulled and slapped them, matching the merciless pace of his assailant lips.

Teeth ground together, jaw clenched and trapping in the moans he rightfully had earned. Your hands managed to fist in the admist of the numbness they had been subdued to.

His tongue ventured deeper with moist and gulping movements, the tip of his nose buried in your pubic mound, keeping you in place from squirming too much, chasing that relief that would bring you a bit of peace to your tortured cunt. Heat pooled in his mouth, pressure tightening, edging you to an endless and dangerous spiral of tempting corruption.

A strangled whine came off your throat as he stopped and looked up at you. Darkened pupils wide, absorbing the red iris upon the sight of you.

Perfect, beatific even.

You were the perfect vessel for him. Lips flushed in need, exhaling the stimulation out of your system. A rapturous expression on your face, like a virgin that had been worshipped, and he was the chosen one to corrupt such grimace. His tie was removed completely and tossed somewhere.

With a tap of the holo-pad, your restrains were loosened, and you fell on the floor with a thud. A little groan as your body made contact with the cold tiles, blood rushing back to your limbs, leaving a prickling sensation all the way down your hands, awakening them.

As much as you hated to admit that you had enjoyed it, the rational side of you took control again, urging you to an attempt of escape while you crawled on your fours. Your suit had been discarded on one of the trash bins.

A strong hand grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you towards him, wobbly and feeble legs trembled at the forced attempt of standing up, only for your torso to be slammed against a nearby metal table. Air knocking out of your lungs with a 'oomph'

"You are going nowhere."

Despite the overall nerd-ish look, he was strong. Strong and big enough to pin your arms effortlessly before you, to then place a pair of metallic hoops on your wrist that instantly adhered at the table. Magnetic handcuffs, of course.

Breast flattened against the metal, unruly strands of hair obscured your sight, his agitated breath fanning over the crook of your neck. Rear was positioned in the perfect pose to expose both your holes. Pussy glistening with a mix of his saliva and your own slick.

"Marvelous. We are about to create the Opus Magna of my investigation. Aren't you excited, bonita?"

Your ears perked ominously at the unbuckling and fumbling of his pants.

"You have no idea how long I've awaited for a chance like this." His flushed tip rubbed between your folds, coating himself before aligning to your drenched hole. He tittered while taking a vice like grip on your hips and with a sudden motion, he buried inch by inch inside your gummy and sticky walls.

"Miguel!" You cried as he sheathed to the hilt, stretching you a bit past your limits. Fingers tangled in your hair and he pulled back with force. Granting him a pathetic yelp from you.

"Michael." He growled into your ear, "I am no bound by weaknesses unlike that defective copy of mines. But don't you worry..."

His tone venomous, "I'll make you learn my name one way or another." He slid a hand around your neck and squeezed a whimper out of you, "You're here to stay after all."

Callous fingers slid back to your hips, groping and grounding himself before he pushed in. A strangled moan came before air was cut short again by his firm and deep thrusting, allowing you to adjust enough to his girth. It was scary how perfect he fit inside, reinforcing his belief you were made specially for him and the explosion had been the catalyst for his plan to build a superior form of being, set in track.

Not only had he been granted a subject he had been chasing for nearly a decade, but now, he couldn't just study you, but also impregnate you. And what a better coincidence when you were reaching your most fertile days. Or so the data had dictated, and data didn't lie.

"With me." A deep cackle erupted from his mouth as an onslaught of merciless thrust were delivered between your supple and plump glutes, making them jiggle at his rutting.

A garbled and shaky moan escaped your lips, eyes wide at the core shaking pace he had settled. Toes curled and your hands fisted against the metallic handcuffs, trying to anchor yourself once more to something as the table creaked violently underneath both. The pressure on your clit increased as his balls slapped it, sending jolts through your body.

Your cunt received him with an obsence slurp, swallowing him whole over and over, hole moulded to his thick shaft, leaving you empty every time he slid out, only to be refilled impossibly deep with a pitiless plow.

You were a mewling and wailing mess underneath his formidable frame. Torso rock hard, just like the throbbing cock inside your snug and drenched pussy.

The room and you were the only witnesses of his borderline animalistic growls and snarls, set into his goal to fill you to the brim the times he saw it fit. After all, no experiment was successful without trial and error.

All you could hear was the rough slapping of your flesh melding together in a rough display of power where he indisputably had the upper hand.

Fire licked at every inch of your skin, tears prickled at the corner of your eyes, blurring your sight with overstimulation. He gave you no time to properly breath, too lost in wrecking your cunt to care, enraptured in the thrill your flesh offered him.

A firm slap on your jiggling ass granted him a choked wail, one of the few indicators you still remained conscious and holding it together. He frowned.

It wasn't enough, he wanted nothing more than your ruin. Having you subdued to him, both in mind and body. Stubborn nature couldn't just leave you fucked physically. The need to possess you in all it's wholeness took over him. You'd be his, and if he had to face his counterpart to keep you by his side, then so be it.

Michael stilled for a moment, giving you precious seconds to catch a much needed breath. He removed the lab coat and shirt, exposing his sweaty and well sculpted torso. Your legs trembled, your brain buzzed with all sort of sensations, the metal fogged with every deep breath you gave against it, if it wasn't for the restrains in your wrist, you'd certainly be on the floor, since your legs were giving up in supporting you.

A little drool streak escaped the corner of your lips, connecting to the space underneath you. Your hair was pulled back with a mild yank, forcing your spine to arch. The Fibonacci sequence would draw perfectly in the curvature of your flexible spine. One of the many perks of being a spiderwoman.

His frame swallowed you once more as he propped your right thigh on the table, granting him more access to delve in deeper into you.

" Ohmygod" you howled at how full and deep your insides were. He smirked at your words, "I can't... I can't-"

"You are more than capable of taking me, pequeña." A deep thrust and he had you sobbing, "Don't disappoint me now."

He rasped in blown inhales.

Your brain was melting just like your body. Instead of unceasing and swift slaps of flesh, steady and rhythmic plunges filled in the void space. Your mouth did nothing but nonsensical gabbling. Occasionally praising him with a coherent lewd curse or a whine.

Eyelids drooped a bit too low as your mouth went completely ajar, exhaling weakly. The weight of his frame pressing against you, slotting perfectly on your back. His hips dug into yours remorselessly, then you felt his arm hooking underneath your lower belly in a possessive embrace, letting the once punished breasts to bounce freely as he pounded relentlessly into you.

The second he skimmed on your tender skin, your body went taut and your brain shut off for a second, overheated by the mind shattering orgasm crashing over you. Only then your body was allowed to go limp on his arms, but that didn't stop him from giving a few more core shaking thrusts before emptying himself inside you. Flooding your womb with his hot load.

"Mi...Michael-" You croaked almost imperceptibly at the canvas he was making out of your insides.

Oh the joy of knowing he'd have a superior offspring made his wicked brain tingle. A malicious laugh escaped him upon admiring your current state. Fucked out and full of him, to the brim like he had promised. Michael Stone was a man of word.

When he had poured the last drop of cum inside, he pulled out to pick himself up. Underwear and pants secured back on his waist. His discarded lab coat covered his upper frame once more, body too heated to keep adding layers of clothing. He released the handcuffs off your wrist and caught you before your body slumped on the floor.

He rewarded your outlasting with a deep yet brief smooch, which you recoiled from. It didn't matter. You'd learn to tolerate his presence soon enough.

His arms carried you like a ragdoll. A doll that somehow still refused to be tamed, adding more dry bones to the raging obsession fire. You struggled from his grip but he didn't budge, a cruel laugh met you instead as he waltzed you to an empty room. Naked with jelly-like legs that didn't cooperate, angry and fearful and powerless.

He tossed you onto the bed and marched back towards the entrance. Proud of your lack of strength to retaliate and cunt full of his cum. His seed would do it's job soon enough. He had waited years, a bit more won't hurt him.

The thought of your belly rounding up with his child made his deep gaze to lock on you over his shoulder for a moment.

"Welcome to my world, querida." His cheeks spreaded in a wicked smirk before disappearing into the light, locking you out from freedom and hope.

Darkness drowned you, like his obsession. Dr. Michael Stone had finally achieved a breakout in his investigation. And he had no intentions of letting you go. Not until you produced the many heirs he had in mind.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Miguelverse #miguel o'hara smut #Spiderman 2099 smut #atsv smut #t writes✨#Michael Stone AU #dark!miguel o'hara

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fortheloveofleon · 10 months

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BABY FEVER

⊱ Pairing: Yandere!Miguel x Reader

⊱ Summary: Miguel misses the joys of being a father. He just wants you to understand the happiness a child can bring — even if he has to make you…

⊱ Contents: 18+, Yandere!Miguel, Mean!Miguel, Dark Content, Baby Trapping, Dubious Consent, Smut, BDSM (Bondage), Rough Sex, Choking, Breeding Kink, Blood Kink, Creampie, Slight Hint to a Mommy Kink At The End

You’re laid up on this lavish bed, sore hands clasped above your head in a pair of metal handcuffs. The tough material is etching into your skin, chafing and nipping each time Miguel thrusts into you.

“‘Guel,” you slur out his name, a shuddery breath escaping as he grinds into you harder, “s’ too much, I-I’m sorry.”

An angry mess towering over you, Miguel scowls at your pathetic begging. Silent but seething, the taller man merely runs his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, panting as he reaches down to grasp your face with his large hand.

Eyes locking with yours, Miguel draws his slick-stained cock all the way out of your tight cunt, just until his tip remains — then he pushes back in, hard and fast, earning a loud cry from you.

The mix of hurt and pleasure is a dangerous one, a welcomed warning that hums through your body as his speed of his thrusts pick up again.

Miguel doesn’t really care that he might be hurting you right now — quite frankly, he’s hoping you were in a bit of pain.

You deserved it.

You were such a slut, throwing yourself at all the other guys at Headquarters. He should’ve known better than to let other men get that close to you.

But of course — Miguel was insane, and delusional.

You had nothing done nothing of the sort, but only made the innocent mistake at smiling. A mere smile at Peter whilst playing with Mayday was enough to drive Miguel to this state.

He’s always been protective, obsessive, Miguel can’t even deny it.

“Ungrateful. Fucking. Whore,” he hisses, each word enunciated with a heavy surge of his hips — white fangs are bared as he leans in closer to you, breathing out a laugh at your dazed form. Tough hands find a home around your neck, clutching.

The grip is a reminder, a threat of what could always happen.

But it’s for your own good. How could a sweet girl like you survive in a big, bad world like this without him?

Your fingers grasp helplessly at his forearms as black dots speckle your vision. Eyes rolling back into your head, hiccuped moans pulse from you as his shaft slams in and out of you.

“I’m…” you choke out as a familiar syrupy warmth begins to tremor from your lower half, “I-I’m gonna…”

Your sentence is incomplete, stuttering to a close, yet it’s whole to Miguel — he knows what you need. You’re merely a finger stroke away from cumming your fucking brains out.

Miguel latches his mouth onto the side of your bruising neck, sharpness pinching your skin when he finally bites down. A sickening blend of pain and euphoria surges through you.

It’s like you hit Cloud Nine — you’re panting, whimpering, back arching and cunt clenching as your orgasm builds and breaks. Sweet, sweet ecstasy fills every ounce of you, and you can feel it so hard, it’s like you’re choking more from the pleasure than his palms.

A tangy metallic taste coats Miguel’s tongue and he can’t help but moan out with you at the taste. “Ha…mi corazón…”

A throaty chuckle vibrates against your skin as Miguel suckles at the bleeding marks, lips leading to press wet kisses. His thrusts have grown sloppy, greedy as he wants to find his own end.

The length of his cock is barely leaving your cunt, hips rolling rapidly with little rhythm as he grunts and groans.

All he wants is you.

The feeling of his body on yours snaps you of your daze as a daunting realisation comes to mind.

“Wait!” you rasp out, jiggling the cuffs above your head. “Guel, y-you need to pull out.”

Chest heaving, Miguel pauses, cock still buried deep inside you. Posted above, caging you in between his forearms, wordlessly questioning you.

“You’re not…you’re not wearing a condom,” you breathe out quietly, carefully. “You need to pull out.”

Miguel is silent, staring.

His fingers slowly brush away the damp hairs sticking to your face, rubbing his thumb over your plump lips, almost like he’s trying to remember it’s shape through touch alone.

If love had a taste, he thinks, it would be your mouth.

He kisses you, soft and gentle, and you can’t help but melt. Pulling away, Miguel cups your jaw. A ghost of a smile lingers, but refuses to show.

Sometimes, Miguel tries to consider the lengths of his obsession with you — where it stemmed from, how it started. He could never find a straight answer. But there was one undeniable truth.

Miguel is irrevocably in love with you.

He’d only accept death if you were the one holding that knife.

Miguel is in love. But he can’t say it. The last time he showed he was capable of loving something, the universe took it from him.

But he didn’t need to say anything… he could show you.

His voice is low as he shakes his head and speaks, eyes boring into yours. “You, are going to make a great mother.”

And God, the way your eyes widened could’ve killed him right there.

Without warning, he drives into your heat faster than ever, frantic and filled with a purpose once more.

“Miguel, please wait!” you whimper out.

The headboard bangs and creaks, slamming against the wall as fucks you faster than before. Every nerve of yours is aflame, overstimulated from the wave of your orgasm. Your mouth is agape, eyes tearing and Miguel only looks down with hooded eyes, smirking before a chuckle breaks from his throat.

“You’re mine,” he hisses out, hands groping your hips, plunging his cock deeper.

Miguel’s laughter mixes into a moan, soft but spiteful, filling and fucking you until he slams into you one final time, choked groans unravelling as he finally spills into you.

You twitch beneath him in that moment, legs shaking. He shifts, steadying himself so he doesn’t crush you beneath his weight. A few silent seconds pass, filled only with the sounds of your heavy breathing.

Like a cat, Miguel nuzzles into your neck, nipping at your skin before unclasping the cuffs, throwing the metal away. Heavy arms snake around your body, holding you captive once more. He kisses your neck.

“So,” he breathes out, “did I make you feel good…mommy?”

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #marvel fanfic #miguel smut #marvel au #miguel x reader #dark content #miguel o’hara x you #yandere miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel fan fiction #miguel x you #miguel o’hara fanfiction

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kinoselynn · 4 months

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#spiderverse #astv #miguel o'hara #miles morales #mephiles the dark #sth #sonic #meme redraw #spiderman #artworks

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dilfartist · 10 months

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A foolish endeavor

Pairing; Yandere Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You manage to snag Miguel’s gizmo and escape to another universe. How long will it take before he, or the spider society, find you?

Word count; 2.8k

Reader description; Female/GN

TW; kidnapping, probably terrible spanish (i did use sources Spanish-speaking users suggested), non-con touching, yandere themes, dark writing.

Notes; {if i mistranslated any of the spanish please do contact me in my DMs. I wanted this fic to be better but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Did not proofread.}

Midnight coated New York in a dark blue hue. Most nights the city lights illuminate the darkness, providing the ability to see. However, the motel you find yourself ambling to is the more isolated part of the city.

Rain poured down heavily, producing cacophonous echoes of raindrops slamming against the concrete. Clad in a drenched hoodie and damp black yoga pants, you scurry to the other side of the street just in time to avoid being hit by the passing truck.

Cigarette smoke and frigid rain overwhelm your senses, mainly due to the cigarette buds scattered on the motel parking lot.

The motel is okay looking. By no means does it look nice, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Guess this is where I’ll sleep tonight,” you mumble to yourself. You take a brief glance at your surroundings. Night overcame the sky, giving the atmosphere a dark hue but the lights gave you a clear standpoint.

Numerous lights hummed irritatingly, not even a minute passed and you found yourself obtaining a headache. You navigate the main office, which is on the left side of the horseshoe-shaped building, and a blue neon sign points in the direction of the office. You started sauntering over, putting pep in your step when the cold rain declined heavier than it did the last five minutes.

Six months ago, you wouldn’t be having this problem. At least that’s what you believed. You could’ve been at your apartment, catching up on a show you’ve failed to complete thanks to your busy work schedule.

Unfortunately for you, doing a task as simple as watching your television, in your home, was truly impossible. Why? Because the earth you roam isn’t yours, to begin with. Your apartment isn’t yours. The job you work isn’t yours. You aren’t certain you even exist in this universe.

You can’t find the strength to complain. Honestly, you’re delighted to be away from the man who stole you away from society.

Miguel O’Hara.

Otherwise known as Spiderman 2099. You know, the superhero.

It must be confusing to hear that a superhero kidnaped a poor civilian. Superheros don’t normally commit unforgivable acts. Regardless, Miguel didn't care. Miguel is aware he is different from other heroes given his beliefs. Abducting you was just one of the many wrongs Miguel fulfilled.

You just wished you knew his motives at the beginning. If you did, you wouldn't have to search for sanctuary. You wouldn't have to lie low in a different universe.

Before Miguel, you lived a decent life that included a decent job. It was a Tuesday afternoon with sunny weather and clear skies. Your friends invited you to a picnic at the park and, for once having a clear schedule you agreed. You recall the sun beaming down on you, overheating your body to the point shade was a necessity. You moved from the picnic blanket to a nearby bent tree. One moment you're enjoying the shade, the next you're falling. Then something transpired. You jerked in the air, something white clinging to the front of your shirt. You felt your body floating in the air, legs thrashing in fear when your body conceded it was in mid-air.

You must have fainted because you have no recollection of what transpired next. What you do remember was watching through bleary eyes as four strangers hovered over you clearly disputing. Currently, you know them by Jessica Drew, Peter B. Parker, the iron spider, And Miguel O’Hara.

The accountability for your well-being somehow landed in the hands of Miguel. In the beginning, Miguel had such a short patience for you, not that he didn't possess an attitude with anyone else, he just happened to have a really short fuse with you.

His explosive temper with you was undeserving. You hardly gave him any reason to blow up. Your presence alone just pissed him off, at least it appeared so.

You avoided him as much as possible; Departing a room when he entered. Ensuring any errands were accomplished before he arrived home, so you didn't have to leave your room to aggravate him.

Then he began to seek you out; popping up wherever you were in his apartment. Alone watching television on the couch? Not anymore. Miguel joined you on the other side silently watching as well. Sitting silently in the dining room eating lunch? Miguel enters with a bowl of cereal, starting a conversation about the day’s news. Enjoy video games and decide to play by yourself? Miguel grabs a controller and questions the rules and certain controls.

For someone who was as snappy at you as a feral dog, he sure did like to invade your solitude.

By the second month of staying at Miguel’s, he found solace in your presence. He became relaxed. Nice even. And then by the fourth month, you became friends. You never visualized being anything other than friends, but unbeknownst to you, Miguel did.

When you first caught the news of Peter figuring out what universe you belonged to, you were ecstatic. After all, the mystery of your universe's number had been the sole reason for crashing with Miguel and not immediately returning home.

You turned to Miguel, asking when was the appropriate time to drop you off. To your astonishment, Miguel’s brows furrowed, and his lips morphed into a grimace, “you will not be returning.” he affirmed.

Miguel shocked not only you, but everyone witnessing the scene. A gauche silence conquered the atmosphere.

You and Miguel stared at each other for a beat, then you voiced your perplexity. “What do you mean “I will not be returning?” Miguel, I need to go home.” you took a step closer to Miguel.

Miguel gazed at you with an uninterested stare. “What I say goes, (Name). And I say you're staying here.” he spun around, returning to whatever he had been working on before. “We all have a busy schedule and dropping you off will only alter it.”

“It’s not worth it,” he said like he was ending the conversation.

“Okay, then Peter can take me home when he needs to drop off Mayday.” you insisted, looking over at Peter to see if he’d be alright with your plan.

No expression was needed for you to catch on to the attitude Miguel began to gain. “(Name), I won’t tell you twice. The answer is no. Now, Peter take her back to my apartment. We’ll speak about the matter later, at the moment there are more important issues happening.”

You found it laughable. To think the minute you stepped into the man's sight he wanted you gone, but now Miguel was fighting you to stay with him. Ironic, isn’t it?

That night you and Miguel, the very moment he came inside his apartment, quarreled for an hour in a half. Your argument being you did not belong to him and could do whatever you pleased. Miguel’s argument was the insignificance of the matter to him.

You detected Miguel’s temper was starting to get out of hand. The way his fists began to clench, the way his brows creased, and the frown deepened after every sentence he uttered. You’ve seen his strength. His fierceness. And you’d rather leave than have any of his tantrums directed at you. Doing what any rational person would do, you attempted to leave the room. You advised him to de-stress before speaking to you again.

Miguel was having none of it. Not even a second passed before you were yanked back by the forearm.

You’re face-to-face with Miguel. Miguel towered over you, looking down at you with his signature red piercing stare. He bends down, momentarily staring at you until he finally speaks. “I can't allow you to leave.” The way he talks is low and if the room weren't already quiet, you wouldn’t have heard him. “I love you,” he confessed, voice cracking, closing his eyes as if it pained him to say it. He opened his eyes again. “And I won't allow myself to lose any other person I care for.”

Pulling twenty dollars out of the torn-up wallet you found on the side of the road, you slide it forward on the mahogany brown table. The fatigued receptionist glances at the money, then gazes at you with an irked expression.

“This isn’t enough.” She states matter-of-factly. She slides the twenty back to you.

You purse your lips, staring down at the cash. Twenty dollars is all you had. What were you to do now? The next nearest motel could be miles away; it was a miracle you made it to this.

Your eyes flicker back to her. You take two fingers pushing it back to her, giving her your best puppy eyes. “Please! I don't have anywhere else to go tonight. If I can’t stay here I’ll have to sleep on the streets.”

You were lying. You would’ve taken off by dawn, needing to be on the move after getting rested.

Her hardened expression softens. She takes a deep breath, eyes studying the money. Shaking her head, she takes the cash. “One night only, alright?”

You propose to her a smile, nodding with gratitude. She allotted you a key. A small golden-greenish key, with the number five engraved on the head. Tonight you’d sleep on the grounded floor of the motel.

The inside was decently prepared, having a dingy tone that gave off a haunted vibe. You hum in displeasure. Two queen-sized mattresses are positioned on the right side of the wall. They appeared stiff, and the blankets laying upon them looked thinner than a sheet of paper.

Sighing, you softly booted the door shut. Flopping down on the nearest bed, you groan at the sensation of the rough mattress.

When tomorrow comes you’d have to find a fresh location. Miguel could continually find your locale, thanks to not only Lyla but the whole Spider society. Perhaps you postponed his search this time. His watch or gizmo- whatever the hell it was- rests on your wrist.

Shifting your head to the side, pulling your hand out of your pocket, you glance at the gizmo.

Tightly clutched in Miguel’s hold, you stare quietly at the ceiling. You debate acting on your next actions. There were times Miguel slept lightly, aroused by creaks in the floorboard. Other times when the sound of glass shattering did not bother him even a little.

Glancing down at the arm wrapped securely around your midriff, you endeavor to gradually lift his arm up. He unconsciously retaliates, arms consolidating, resulting in a small gasp slipping from your lips. You’re quick to rub his arm, to offer him comfort, and to calm him.

It works. Miguel grumbles, his grasp faulting. You carefully move his arm aside, then unhurriedly get up from the bed.

Before leaving the room you observe Miguel. Miguel sleeps soundly, an angry expression inscribed on his face. But he is asleep, so you take your chance while you are able.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, you immediately spot the gizmo on the marble counter. Compared to the technology you have at home, it was top-notched, a huge improvement. Of course, he lived in the year 2099. Obviously, there would be a difference in technology.

You grabbed the gizmo, examining the complexity. From monitoring the spider people using them, you know it’ll take you wherever universe you request. Great. However, you weren’t a spider person. If you teleported in the middle of the air, you couldn't grapple on the closest object with a web. Or claw your way down a building

Fuck it.

If dying meant escaping him, then so be it.

You didn’t really mean that. Every time you went to teleport to a different universe, you cringed retreating your hand.

“Jesus! Alright, I'm doing this!” you softly berated yourself. Bracing for the impact of the possible fall you might face, you shut your eyes tight and twisted the gizmo. “Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground!” you cried.

How long would it take them to find you? How far could you get?

God, being on the run was stressful.

Your eyes flutter closed, plush pillows luling your tired mind. ‘I should get some sleep’ you thought. Warmth spread throughout your numbing body, as you finally permitted yourself to sleep.

When you awake gasping for air, almost as if you’d been suffocating. Instantly you arise, a hand rushing to your chest confirming it still thumped with a beating heart. Your skin is sticky with cold sweat, making your clothes uncomfortably cling to your body. “What the fuck?” you barely uttered, mouth arid.

Suddenly you had a gut feeling to check the window. You stand, groggily walking toward the large window adjacent to the front door. Pinching the hem of the curtain, you haul it aside.

The night is still pristine, the stars glowing in the dark sky. Nothing seems out of place. And yet you continue to have that gut feeling. Look outside, there’s something outside. Your eyes move to the parking lot.

You see it.

Blue and red. Something blue and red is making its way toward the motel. Squinting, you can make out what it is. Miguel. It's Miguel!

“Oh, shit!” you expressed, dropping the curtain. Wasting no time you locked the bottom and top locks. You veered around, frantically searching for a place to hide. You are no fool. Locking the door was simply a distraction; Miguel would tear the door off its hinges in a second.

Hiding underneath the bed is a childish strategy. That and hiding underneath the covers. Still, you drop to your knees, squeezing underneath the bed, using the blankets to cover any spaces revealing you. Pressing the palm of your hand against both your mouth and nose, you listen closely to everything around you.

At first, all you hear is the air conditioning blowing cool air, and the people next door’s baby weeping. Then you hear it. The doorknob oscillation. Your eyes widen, fear causing your breath to hitch. When the door refuses to open, the person behind the door commences kicking in the door. One kick achieves them access to the room. The door slams against the wall, shaking the ground, sending a vibration under you.

“¿Qué carajo?” you know that voice anywhere. It’s Miguel speaking in his native language. A habit Miguel has when he’s angered or stressed. “¿Dónde está ella?” Miguel snaps, striding into the room with anger-powered steps.

You can see through the tiny slit in the blankets, Miguel turning to the table where you placed the gizmo. Miguel picks up the gizmo, putting it back on his wrist.

He shifts his concentration to finding you. He calls out your name, malice dripping from the way he shouts it. He disappears from sight, presumingly moving on to the bathroom. Many things are heard being tossed around. Miguel probably was looking for evidence of you staying here, apart from the gizmo.

You gather the courage to, oh, so carefully stretch your leg out, then proceed to quietly shuffle from under the bed. You waste no time, rushing out the door, feet bare without socks or shoes. The gravel burns the soles of your feet, scraping and imprinting on the skin.

You practically succeeded in leaving the lot until you caught a glimpse of what stalked behind you. On all fours, Miguel sprinted at you, claws scuffing the concrete, like a predator running after its prey.

“Holy shit! What the actual fuck!” you panic aloud, taking your eye off what was in front of you, your mind solely focusing on the man hunting you. Big mistake on your part. A concrete parking block is in your way, but you don’t see it. You jolt forward, tripping over the block, your other foot catching you before you hit the road.

Just when you thought you still had the chance of running away, you’re sorely mistaken. Miguel pounces on you, and the clash of your bodies colliding results in Miguel tumbling down the road, you secure in his arms.

The tumble ends; you’re struggling not to vomit, head resting on Miguel’s firm chest. The world spins. It’s easy to forget your position when the urge to throw up is fresh.

Miguel holds your head, pressing a myriad of kisses on every part of the skin visible, muttering with his eyes closed. “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.” He sounds so frantic, reciting those same words, his tongue stumbling over the utterances.

His eyelids raise, uncovering his red orbs. He presses his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes. It’s a domestic stunt that makes your stomach churn. “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.” he huffs, then continues, “I’m happy you’re alright. I don’t know what I'd do if I lost you, mi alma.”

Taking your hand, he places a soft kiss on the back. “Had an anomaly harmed you, I would have ripped their fucking throat out!”

————————

Translations

- “¿Qué carajo?”/ what the fuck?

- “¿Dónde está ella?”/ where is she?

- “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.”/ I should be furious with you, but I'm not.

- “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.”/ thank god you’re okay.

- mi alma/ my soul

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intoxicated-chan · 11 months

Note

Hi! Can you make yandere head canons for miguel o'hara? I'm curious what kind of yandere he will be ;-;

Yandere!Miguel O’Hara Hcs

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ What it’s like having Miguel as a Yandere, welcome to the life.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Reminder! This is DARK CONTENT!! Thank you for the request! I may have gotten carried away with it… I also feel like this is more of a little fic than hcs, I’m sorry if it appears that way!

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1k

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, DARK CONTENT, stalking, toxic relationship, controlling, death, blood, power imbalance, tracking, baby trapping…

Dark content under the cut. MDNI 18+

If you are an employee at his business, Miguel can be/is controlling and delusional.

Controlling people is easy for him, he owns a business, and quite a large one.

So, in the beginning, of course he’s in denial. But he wasn’t going to deny the affection you gave him. You just offered him a drink. He wasn’t going to deny your attention. He collapsed before a meeting.

Because of this, you became more affectionate. In reality, you were just worried about Miguel, you couldn’t sleep at night unless you knew he was taking care of himself, which is why Miguel issued you a watch. Lyla was built into i2t and it gave you access to Miguel whenever.

What you clearly didn’t know was that there was a tracker built into it, and Lyla kept tabs on you as well, per Miguel’s request.

It was all harmless, he just needed to know where you were 24/7. The location of your apartment, friends’ houses, favorite shops or cafes. Everything about you.

But one day, randomly, he thought back to the people he lost. He worked so hard for you, he couldn’t dare lose you.

Slowly, Miguel confined you to work at home. Then came the random visits so he could check up on you, but he was getting a good look at your apartment. Which room is what? Where’s the bathroom? First-aid… Things like that.

Then comes the stalking. The man has all the connections he needs to get what he wants. It’s easy for him to have people watch you, and if they aren’t good enough, then he’ll have to do it himself.

Which is why Spider-Man is always coming around when you’re in trouble, almost like he knows what’s going to happen. You didn’t find it strange, he’s Spider-Man. He should be everywhere and keep everyone safe.

It’s all harmless, it’s not like he’s purposely leading bad guys to you so he can save you, having you believe Spider-Man will always be there for you. Which is an ego boost for him, a very big one.

But your day became hell when Miguel promoted you to his personal assistant. It was from then on that he stayed in his office almost the entire day and you were there with him, running files, altering him of meetings, you had to keep him organized and on schedule. With his stubbornness, it was impossible.

It was like he was purposely giving you the wrong papers which made you look like a fool in front of everyone. Which ruined your reputation within the business. A once proudful, one time, and perfect employee is now screwing up simple numbers.

Which then leads you to talk about it with Miguel, he became your support system.

But being your shoulder to cry on wasn’t enough for him. But having you by his side, tabs on you, knowing your location… It will settle the dust, but not for long.

He’s going to start craving for more and more,

When you get into a relationship with him, he can become violent. But not directly at you, he’ll be punching walls, throwing objects as a way of controlling.

Making you second guess your choices of words. He’s jealous and highly possessive, manipulative and overly affectionate.

There will be days where he’d ignore you then a few hours later, he comes in with your favorite flowers and all doting on you.

“You must understand why I am hard on you, because everything I do, I do it for you.”

He wants you to know that you’re the only one who’s perfect for him and the other way around. So when an insect comes crawling into your life and putting thoughts into your minds, he has no other choice but to get his hands bloody.

He prefers slow and painful rather than quick and harmless. He wants the insect to know the pain of how hard it was to convince you that they were wrong. He might keep torturing them for a couple days before he’s done with them.

Whether it be a stranger, acquaintance, sibling(s), best friend, or parent(s)… Doesn’t matter who they are, they have no right to voice their opinions because his relationship with you is golden, perfect.

Even more when he finds the discarded pregnancy test, all his hard work and he’s finally getting rewarded. A dream he wished for, a family he desired for.

He finally has you where he wants you to be. Alone, scared, and confused. You swear that you were taking your birth control. He switched it out. Even with a plan B he gave. It wasn’t a plan B.

He has you scared, worrying about how you were going to take care of a baby without him, but of course, here comes his facade. He’s comforting you, letting you know that he’s happy with the result, and he knows that you didn’t mean to trap him. He trapped you.

He’s got his wish, and he ain’t letting that go.

Everything is supposed to be.

Yet there always has to be something screwing up his plans.

Even if you do run away and think that there’s no way for him to find you, he’s already at the hotel. Did you forget? How could you?

Like before, Miguel has connections and not only that, he’s Spider-Man. He’s going to convince you that it’s best to return because the baby needs both parents, no matter how shitty the relationship the parents have with each other.

What else should you do? Get married! Better now than later. Invite friends and family, who aren’t dead yet, to come join you and your husband on your happiest day of your life.

Locked down to a man who controls every aspect of your life. A man who will kill anyone who dares to say otherwise because they have no brain, until like him.

He knows what’s best for you, no matter what anyone else says.

#x reader #x female reader #dark content #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spider man across the spider verse #spider man x you #spider man x reader #spiderman x you #spider man 2099 #spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman x y/n

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explosiongamora · 6 months

Text

Being mostly unloved your whole life with out much attention from people around you 🤝 loving obsessive yandere characters

#🤭#yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #yandere got #yandere game of thrones #yandere marvel #yandere avengers #yandere xmen #yandere resident evil #yandere Leon kennedy #dark fics #yandere #dark #Yandere avatar #yandere spiderman #joe goldberg x reader #love quinn #love quinn x reader

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spider-stark · 25 days

Text

INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place.

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange.

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown.

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter.

Or, at least, none that mattered.

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do.

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play.

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift.

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether.

And Peter never even asked why.

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?”

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.”

And how true that must have been.

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too.

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night?

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.”

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?!

“Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?”

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.”

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter.

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.”

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.”

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter.

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.”

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used.

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar.

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite.

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.”

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now.

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?”

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.”

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too.

“Did he?”

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.”

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's.

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him.

“Well did he have anything useful?”

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter.

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups.

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0.

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration.

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear.

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?”

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation.

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.”

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite.

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?”

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.”

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?”

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch.

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?”

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him.

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.”

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.”

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.”

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth.

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.”

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?”

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?”

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.”

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now!

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-”

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!”

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.”

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief.

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded.

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere.

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now.

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down…

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.”

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell.

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered.

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night?

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.”

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips.

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world.

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all.

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone.

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting.

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway.

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!”

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!”

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else.

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?”

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?”

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.”

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse.

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully.

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter.

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!”

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.”

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?”

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task.

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway.

“Mj happened.”

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?”

“Yep. That’s the one.”

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.”

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.”

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease.

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth.

You sucked in a breath.

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.”

His brow snapped up. “What changed?”

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours.

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth.

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?”

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance.

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.”

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-”

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.”

“I’m not pretending-”

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.”

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.”

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest.

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.”

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?”

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

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