I’ve been getting a lot of notes and followers for my parksborn stuff recently so I thought I’d post another hashtag WIP i never finished
This was based off of a dream I had where Peter and Harry were dating but Norman found out accidently and ended up forbidding Harry from seeing Peter, so Peter just started showing up randomly to kidnap Harry off to dates and stuff so they could keep seeing each other in secret.
I wrote a pretty long ficlet that goes with it that’s partially bittersweet parksborn and partially Norman being a terrible father
tw for child abuse and homophobia under the cut
Harry turned his head, Peter was watching him with a heavy expression, green eyes radioactive in the setting sun. Slowly, Peter reached out and took his hand, thumb grazing over his knuckles.
“I miss you, Harry,” he said softly.
“I know,” Harry answered, not knowing what else to say.
“I miss seeing you all the time, and hearing about your day. I miss playing video games, and watching movies, and kissing you in the dark.” Peter hesitated, taking in a short breath. “I miss not having to steal time with you.”
Harry closed his eyes, feeling each word like a stone settling in the pit of his stomach. Knowing how much Peter was hurting because of his mistake, because of his family.
“I miss it too, Pete.”
Peter brought Harry’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. A smile curled against his skin, genuine, but laced with something painful.
“Sometimes I think we should just run away together.”
Harry chuckled, smiling to mask the way his heart clenched painfully at the suggestion.
“You’d never leave Aunt May like that.”
“No,” Peter agreed, “but it’s a nice thought, right? Leaving to go somewhere where no one knows us and we can just be together.”
“Yeah,” Harry sighed, “it’s a nice thought.”
For a moment, they were silent. Harry watched the sun sink to kiss the horizon, just drinking in Peter’s weight against his side and Peter’s gloved hand still wrapped around his own.
Peter shifted, and his other hand came to rest against Harry’s cheek, gently turning his face towards him. His gaze burned hot with emotion and Harry could do little more than close his eyes as Peter leaned in to kiss him. It was a brief kiss, just a second of warmth and pressure before Peter was pulling back. It wasn’t enough.
Harry’s hand slid to the back of Peter’s neck, pressing lightly to pull him back into a deeper kiss. He lost himself in the feeling of Peter’s lips sliding against his own. He didn’t want to think about his father, or his rules, or anything outside of Peter’s arms around him. Here in this single moment they could be anyone they wanted, and they could be together.
They stayed like that until the sky turned dark. Laying together and exchanging kisses like they were the only two people in the world. And Harry sent a quick prayer of gratitude to the heavens that no catastrophes called Peter away, because in that moment he would have rather watched the world burn to ash than let Peter out of his arms.
“Harry,” Peter whispered against his jaw.
“Mm?” Harry hummed half-coherently, more preoccupied by what Peter’s mouth was doing than what he was trying to say.
“I love you.”
Harry opened his eyes, and for a moment he just stared up at the inky black sky. You couldn’t see many stars in New York, but the ones you could cut through the light pollution with a purpose, shining through the haze. He turned his head, forcing Peter to pull back so they could look at each other.
“That’s okay right?” Peter asked. “It’s okay for me to say that?”
“Of course,” Harry breathed. “God, of course it is. I love you too, Peter.”
Peter’s eyes shone in the flickering candle light, a brilliant smile creeping onto his face. It was small, soft, but, God, the depth of the emotion there threatened to drown Harry. He leaned forward to kiss him again. Peter sighed against his mouth, sliding his hand to the back of his neck and Harry wished desperately that they were somewhere more private, alone and comfortable, so he could show Peter exactly how deeply he loved him.
Harry slid quietly into his dad's office, closing the door behind him as he stepped forward into the empty space.
“You wanted to see me?”
His dad was standing by the windows behind his desk with his back facing Harry. His hands were folded neatly behind him and he called out to Harry without bothering to turn around.
“Take a seat.”
Harry hesitated before complying, moving into the room and pulling out the chair placed opposite his father’s desk and lowering himself stiffly into it. He didn’t like the energy sitting stagnant in the room like rancid water, didn’t like his father’s lingering silence as he stared out at the city below them.
Finally, Norman unfolded his hands, breaking the long silence abruptly.
“You’re still seeing him.”
Harry’s entire body went ice cold, like he’d just been dunked in freezing water.
“No—” he denied weakly, “I’m not. I— I haven’t seen Pete since December.”
Norman turned abruptly, a deep glare set in his brow, like he’d been waiting for Harry to speak, waiting to see what he would say.
“Don’t you dare lie to me, Harry.”
He turned fully, not giving Harry any time to respond before he slammed something down on the desk in front of him. As his hand peeled back Harry’s eyes sunk to the item he’d left behind.
It was a photograph.
Of him and Peter.
They were in the mouth of an alleyway, out of sight from pedestrians as Peter kissed him chastely. Harry immediately recognized the moment from last night. When Peter brought him to a picnic on a rooftop and told him he loved him between kisses under the stars.
“So,” his father’s voice began, low and dangerous, “tell me again who you haven’t seen since December?”
Harry’s eyes remained glued to the photograph. He felt like a voyeur on his own life, looking at this frozen version of himself, wistful but content as Peter kissed him goodnight. Someone had been watching them.
“You were having me followed,” he forced out. Not a question, but a statement of fact.
“Of course I was.” Norman’s voice snapped above him. “I knew I couldn’t trust you to obey my decision, so I made arrangements.” He picked the photo back up, holding it between two fingers like it was something filthy. “Judging by the results, I was correct.”
Harry felt nausea rise in his throat. That a night so sweet, so raw with emotion between them had been polluted, like someone carelessly tracking mud on a white carpet.
“You had no right to have me followed.” Harry hissed.
“I had every right.” Norman retorted, pressing his palms against the face of his desk to lean down to Harry’s level. “You’re my son, and it’s my job to keep you out of trouble.”
“I wasn’t in trouble!”
“What I don’t understand,” Norman continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “is why you continue to disobey me.”
“Because I’m in love with him!”
Norman scoffed, and the sound brought Harry’s blood to a harsh boil, fingers curling into a tight fist against his thigh.
“Love.” Norman spat the word like it tasted vile. “What could you possibly know about being in love, Harry. What could you possibly get out of a relationship with that boy.”
Harry didn’t miss the way his father refused to say Peter’s name, hadn’t since he caught them together so many months ago.
“Shut up,” Harry hissed.
“I said shut up!” He stood, chair screeching across the floor as his abrupt movement forced it back. “This isn’t about Peter!” Harry snapped. “You refuse to even acknowledge it. The reason you’ve been doing all this is because you don’t want a faggot for a son!”
“Harry,” Norman hissed warningly, but Harry was seething, the words spilling out of him faster than he could process.
“Well, guess what, Dad, I’m a fag reguardless of whether or not you keep me from seeing Pete—”
The crack of skin hitting skin rang out. Harry’s head snapped to the side, cheek stinging hot where Norman had struck him. He turned back slowly, moisture gathering in the corner of his eyes as he glared up into Norman’s furious expression.
“Harry,” Norman hissed, “you will not speak to me like that!”
Harry flinched back, gritting his teeth and hating how instantly the anger burning in his chest withered into fear. Norman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and turning back to face the window, a false profesional calm falling back over him.
“It doesn’t matter what you are,” he finally continued, lacing his hands together behind his back in a frustratingly haughty way that told Harry the argument was drawing to a close. “What matters is what people see. You are my son, the heir to this company, and you need to behave as such. I don’t want to see this company fail because people refuse to do business with… someone like you.”
The words slid between Harry’s ribs like a knife, cutting deep into his flesh. He knew. He’d known since the moment his dad opened his bedroom door. Yet hearing the words spat out like that stung more than a slap to the face. Harry’s throat grew tight, and tears burned in his eyes. He swallowed painfully past the lump in his throat. Even if he’d had some response, he wouldn’t have been able to say it.
Norman sighed again.
“Just get out,” he said. “I don’t want to look at you right now.”
Harry looked down at his shaking hands, hating how his vision blurred with unshed tears. He turned on his heel and left the office, letting the door slam shut behind him.
He just walked.
He left the building without a word, picked a direction, and moved. He forcefully shut down his thoughts, focusing on the rhythmic pattern of his own footsteps and the cacophony of city life surrounding him as he moved.
He had no idea how long he walked for. Only that when the sound of footsteps echoing his own drew him out of his head, he had no idea where he was. Harry turned on his heel, coming face to face with three large men approaching him. The one on the left had a patchy beard that looked like he plucked at it habitually. The one on the right had obviously skipped leg day because his arms were disproportionately large compared to the rest of his body and for a moment all Harry could think about was how much of a field day Peter would have if he was fighting these guys. The largest one, the obvious ‘leader’ of the group, stepped forward. He had grimy pale skin and greasy hair slicked back against his skull.
“What’s a pretty-boy like you doing in a place like this?” He asked planting his hands on his hips like they were having a casual conversation and his two friends weren’t trying to subtly shift in order to flank him.
“Nothing,” Harry answered shortly, drawing his hands out of his pockets in case he needed to respond quickly. “Just passing through.”
“You got a couple bucks?” He asked, sliding one hand in his pocket. “Me ‘n my buddies need to buy some smokes.”
“No,” Harry answered honestly, he didn’t stop to grab his wallet before leaving. He also hadn’t bothered to grab anything akin to self-defense and he was kicking himself for that now.
“Yeah I bet, Osborn.” The man gave a sleazy grin like he’d just caught Harry in the middle of a lie. “How much you got on you right now?”
“Nothing.” Harry turned out his pockets to reveal the empty lining inside. “Can I go now?” Harry turned to leave. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy, but he was still startled when a meaty hand wrapped around his arm and yanked him back.
“Not so fast, Osborn. You’re still a good meal ticket.” Greasy Hair pulled him around, holding tight to his wrist as his two friends, Ratty Beard and Gorilla Arms, closed in around him. “I bet Daddy would pay a pretty penny to keep you in one piece.”
The mild irritation in Harry’s stomach sparked into a flame, hand curling into a fist. Before he could think about the consequences he pulled his arm back and threw a punch. His fist connected against the man’s jaw with a satisfying crack and he reeled back in shock, releasing his grip on Harry’s arm.
A flurry of action broke out at once. Harry spun around to dodge a blow from Ratty Beard, pushing forward to cinch his hands behind the man’s neck, yank him down and drive a knee into his stomach. The air left his lungs in a harsh exhale as Harry shoved him back to knock him off balance.
Someone grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides and the side of Harry’s head exploded in pain as Gorilla Arms landed a solid hit against his face. Harry planted his feet, forcing his head back as hard as he could to crack against his attacker’s face. The back of his skull throbbed in pain, but the arms around him released as Greasy Hair stumbled back, swearing and clutching his bloody nose.
He’d never been as good in hand to hand combat as Peter was, but he tried to scrape together what Peter had taught him as he faced down the other two men and dodged blows best he could. He got another solid punch against Ratty Beard’s face before he was yanked back by the collar of his shirt, knocking him off balance.
Greasy Hair shoved him against the brick wall of the alley, twisting his arm behind him. His teeth scraped against the inside of his cheek as his head hit the wall with a bone-shaking thud and the acrid taste of blood spread through his mouth.
“You aren’t bad in a fight, Pretty-Boy, I’ll give you that.” His voice was thick from the blood gushing out of his nose and his grip pushed painfully tight against Harry’s arm. “But I am going to tear you to pieces.”
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you ganging up on people is wrong?”
The familiar voice cut through Harry’s haze of anger like a bucket of water dousing a flame. There was a distinct thwip of a web and the weight holding Harry in place was ripped away. Harry winced as his arm was yanked in the wrong direction but given the free space, stumbled back away from the wall.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure the police will let her know all about it.”
There was a scuffle, and the sound of pitiful yelps as Peter took down the thugs before they could even fully process what was happening.Harry couldn’t help but admire the quick work Peter made of the men. Even as his stomach twisted into knots waiting for the moment Peter’s attention returned to who exactly he was saving.
“Hey, are you okay.”
Harry spat a glob of blood out of his mouth, turning his head just enough so he could see Spider-Man standing there, strong and perfect.
He watched Peter’s body go rigid with recognition and turned fully to face his best friend.
Peter’s voice was soft, and thick with disbelief. He wasn’t exactly addressing Harry, just letting the name fall from his mouth in confusion. Still Harry answered,
Peter snapped out of his daze and rushed over to Harry.
“Jesus, are you okay?”
His hands fluttered over Harry’s body as he searched for damage and instantly he wasn’t a superhero anymore. He was the same dorky Peter Parker Harry knew and fell in love, and it was enough to almost bring the smile back to his face.
“I’m fine, Spidey.”
The use of his other name brought him back to himself. He straightened up, slowly pulling his hands away from Harry like it was the last thing he wanted to do.
“I— Hold on, let me take you somewhere safe. Um, lemme just—”
Peter turned around, stooping down to pick up an unconscious man from the ground. It was the leader, the one who’s nose Harry broke. Peter dropped him where the other two were webbed up, maybe being a little rougher than he normally would. He took a moment to make sure they were all securely webbed up before making his way back to Harry.
“I notified the police to come pick these guys up. Let’s get out of here.”
He gingerly wrapped one arm around Harry’s waist, watching him closely like he was checking for any sign of pain or discomfort.
“I’m fine,” Harry insisted, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck.
Peter studied him for a second longer before finally shooting out a web to stick at the top of one of the surrounding buildings and pull the both from the ground.
Harry closed his eyes against the nauseating blur of the city passing by and the swooping of his stomach with each drop as Peter carried him to a safer location.
When they finally alighted gracefully atop a random building and Peter pulled his arm away, Harry had to take a moment to steady himself with a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“I hate traveling like that,” he groaned, pressing a hand against his forehead. “I don’t know how you do it every day.”
“It’s not as bad when you’re the driver,” Peter said lightly. His tone was softer, more careful than usual and Harry’s stomach immediately dropped like they were still swinging off skyscrapers. “Harry, what are you doing? Why were you walking alone in a neighborhood like this?”
Harry swallowed hard past the painful knot forming in his throat.
“My dad found out about us.”
He watched the whites of Peter’s mask widen as his body went rigid.
“H— How?” He stuttered. “We were so careful—”
“He was having me followed,” Harry explained. “The guy got a picture of us last night, when you were dropping me off. I saw it when my dad was confronting me.”
Harry watched the eyes of Peter’s mask narrow, a crease forming between his brows.
“Did he hurt you?”
Peter’s hand gently grazed over what was sure to be a nasty bruise on his jaw, and Harry remembered the stinging pain of a slap and sharp words slicing through him.
“No,” he answered, reaching up to take Peter’s hand away from his face. “This was all those guys.” It was only half a lie.
He could feel Peter’s eyes on him, even through the mask.
“Did he kick you out?”
“I—” The words stuck in his throat, everything that happened suddenly rushing in and crushing the apathy he had wrapped around him like armor. “I’m not sure—” His voice broke, and he pressed a hand against his mouth as he crumpled in on himself and a sob wrenched itself from his throat.
Warmth enveloped him as Peter’s arms wrapped around him to pull him against his chest. Harry returned the embrace, digging his fingers into the back of Peter’s suit like a lifeline as he buried his face in Peter’s shoulder and cried, loudly and openly.
One of Peter’s hands stroked his back, the other reaching up to run soothingly through the hair at the back of his head.
“I’m so stupid,” Harry forced out, his voice hoarce and thick with tears. “I should’ve known he was having me followed. I should’ve—” he cut himself off as his throat tightened, threatening to tip him back into a sob.
“No, I was being careless.” Peter said, his hand stilling against Harry’s hair. “I was so caught up in wanting to be with you, I didn’t care about the consequences. I should have listened to you.”
“I didn’t want you to,” Harry admitted, turning his face into Peter’s neck. “Every time I told you to stop I was praying you wouldn’t listen to me.” Harry pulled back just enough to look at him. At some point Peter had taken his mask off, and his eyes shone bright with unshed tears. “The thought of you appearing out of the blue was the only thing keeping me going.”
Peter smiled, lifting his hand to wipe the tears off his cheeks.
“Then I did my job.” His smile fell slightly. “I don’t want you going back there. Can I take you back to my house?” With a slight smile and a tilt of his head he added, “We’ll take the subway.”
Harry huffed out a laugh, reaching up to take Peter’s hand and twine their fingers together.
The New York subway at night was a liminal space all it’s own, so no one paid much mind to the teenage boys with red swollen eyes and tear tracks crusty on their cheeks. And if their hands remained firmly clasped together for the entire trip back to Peter's home in Queens it was no one’s business but their own.
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