#tobey maguire x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

takenbyheartstrings · 2 years

Text

DANCE LITTLE LIAR.

summary: you and Peter are enemies, but something happens one night. It's the night that everything changed between you and Peter. You're trying to forget what happened. But Peter won't let you run... not anymore.

pairing: enemies to lovers! peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT (extended warnings under the cut), mentions of blood, mentions of cheating, fluff, mostly angsty?, i probably missed something so sorry if i did :(

word count: 10.1k (2.4k is smut <3)

authors note: hi! sorry for the lack of fics :( writers block has been on my ASS, but i managed to pull this through <3 AND IT'S ANOTHER ENEMIES TO LOVERS FIC, so i hope you enjoy :)

inspired by DANCE LITTLE LIAR by ARCTIC MONKEYS.

extended smut warnings: PROTECTED sex (p in v), fingering, oral (fem), minor praise kink, idk this is pretty vanilla JKSDFKJSDF.

Your days had been long and strung out – there was nothing exciting. There was nothing there for you to grasp. There was nothing there for you to take or be excited for. You had no goals, and your life was basically the definition of mediocre. Maybe that’s why you were friends with someone you hated. Maybe that’s why the two of you were in the middle of this constant game of cat and mouse. It was confusing and it was addicting. The two of you flirted and the two of you argued and nobody would ever dare to stand in the way of that. People had just gotten used to it.

There wasn’t a reason for the hate. It sort of just happened. Like you took one look at Peter and decided you were going to hate him for the rest of your life. Never let there be a waking moment where he wouldn’t think about your next quip. Never a moment where he would catch a blink of sleep because he was thinking about something you had said to him. It was hopeless and the two of you were pathetic for it, but that’s the way your relationship had just panned out to be. You were in the place you had wanted to put Peter and Peter was in that place for you.

When your boyfriend cheated on you, he told you in spite that you had deserved it and when his girlfriend had done the same with your boyfriend you told him that it was karma. Somehow the world just keeps taking things away from you and pitting the two of you against each other, but also bringing you closer.

You wouldn’t say you’d trust Peter with anything. But there was a layer there the two of you had yet to unpack. It was vulnerability. You would never let Peter Parker see you fucking cry. You’d never dare to let that happen and if you did it would be over your own dead body. That vulnerability would open you and Peter up to so many things – if you stopped hating Peter you wouldn’t be sure what would get you excited for the day or what would happen to your relationship and it scared you, because as fucked up as it is, he is the one constant in your life that just keeps you going every day. He is the reason you wake up every morning and for all the wrong reasons.

Your breath hitches as the club lights flash around you all. Harry had dragged you to this new nightclub and you were already on your fourth drink, drowning out everything Peter had said to you the night before. You wanted to forget what happened with him and you wanted to move on... but how could you? He’d said something last night that would change everything... but if it had, he wasn’t letting it show.

Your dress was tiny and black. Your boobs were on display, and you were fucking plastered. Your body moving with the music, against another man’s body. You didn’t know who he was but the drunk version of you didn’t give a fuck, because you were dancing and forgetting, forgetting everything that happened.

You turn to face the man and he is a handsome stranger. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a daring smile that your lips are begging to kiss. You don’t know where your friends have gone, and this stranger you’re dancing with is paying you all the attention you need. You sling your arms over his shoulders and your lips intertwine as the two of you continue to kiss, his hands trail down your body and you can feel eyes on you – except for the fact that they’re not the eyes of the man you’re kissing, but from a far. You drunkenly pull away and look around the club, searching for any sign of who was watching you. Maybe you’re imagining things or maybe they knew that you were going to look for them. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter anymore. This man had moved on to someone else.

You pouted your lip and turned toward the bar, stumbling over your own feet ordering another drink and placing it on Harry’s tab. Michelle had found you and pulled you and your drink to the roof. You saw all your friends sitting there around a table and the air hit you, making you sober up a little bit, but the sip of your drink took you right back to where you had started.

You made eye contact with Peter and his jaw was clenched as he watched you sit down. This was a typical move for you – getting plastered like this. He wanted to snap you out of it. You were an annoying fucking drunk, and he was always left to take care of you because everyone was always in the same position as you and the fucking spider-bite had graced him with the ability to not be able to get anywhere near drunk. Not tipsy. Not drunk. Nothing. Sometimes he wished he could be like you. Drink to forget. But he envies the fact that he can’t so he wishes you would just stop.

As all of you sorted out who would be in what car, you were in Peters, Harry was sober enough to take home Mary Jane and MJ was good to take Felicia and Betty back.

How had you always gotten stuck with him? He wasn’t sure. Maybe everyone was still trying to create a friendship between the two of you, even if you both avidly spoke out against it. You didn’t want to be his friend and he didn’t want to be yours, yet they kept pushing the two of you together as if one day that would magically change.

You sigh, brushing your hair out of your face as the window sits open, it’s too hot not to keep it open and the air con in Peter’s car was broken. Something you’d learnt one of the first times you’d been in here. You looked over at Peter and the water bottle he’d stopped at a gas station to buy for you, slowly, but surely you were somewhat sobering up but the window being open helped release some of the tension for you throwing up all over Peter and his car.

You took a sip of water as the song changed. It was a familiar tune, and you didn’t know Peter listened to Arctic Monkeys, assuming it was from his playlist. You went to turn it up, but Peter had beaten you to it. His fingers tapping on the wheel.

You were relaxed. For the first time around Peter, you were actually relaxed. Maybe it was because you were still plastered. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe it was the song. But you didn’t really know. Last night had changed things for the two of you. You didn’t want it to. God, you didn’t want it to be like this. But it was. Right now, it was, and you were seeing the Brightside.

You woke up the next day with a pounding headache. One that could absolutely kill you if it tried and it was nothing short of pain. You had thrown up when you got back to your dorm and MJ had held your hair back. Michelle was a good friend, and you were grateful that you were a part of this group of friends. Despite the way Harry pressures all of you to party all the time. You can’t really complain though, it’s not like you’re spending your own money.

You sighed as you looked at MJ’s door. Her and Harry were probably in there. The lot of you were placed into a suite. Suitemates. Which meant you also lived with Peter. It wasn’t your first choice of roommate, but MJ had said it was cheaper for all six of you to live together so you said okay. A good decision? Maybe. But you hated the fact that you had to wake up to Peter in the kitchen every morning making food for everyone. Sure, it was a nice gesture, and maybe that was the problem. That he was always nice. He never had a break. The only person he took all of his shit out seemed to be you.

“Morning Penis Parker.”

“You smell like vomit.” He comments with a grimace.

You roll your eyes, “Thanks for making me remember.”

Peter hands you a plate of pancakes, drowned in maple syrup – just the way you like them, you narrow your eyes, “Is this poisoned?” You question him.

He scoffs, “Right, because I’d make a whole batch of pancakes and waste food just to poison you. Don’t be so conceded.”

You take a bite of your food, “Tastes good, Parker.” You give a sarcastic smiles, “I think the trash would like it even more.”

“Maybe you were right, though, maybe that’s why it tastes funny.” He smirks, “Or maybe you’ve just got fucked up tastebuds because of all the shit you drank last night.”

You scoff, throwing the pancakes into the bin, “I don’t want your food anyway.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

Your eyes meet Peters and as much as you tried to forget the night. You couldn’t. You couldn’t forget that night. The air was shifting between the two of you. This morning’s banter was shit when it was usually full of fire. Your insults weren’t as hard hitting, and it made you gulp. You were nervous and scared and all you ever wanted was to have it back. Before that stupid night. Because it would change everything if you hadn’t known.

BEFORE

You skipped the party. Like an idiot you skipped the party. This would’ve been avoided if you had just gone. Tonight, was a rare night where you had actually not wanted to go out. Stay in and focus on the work right in front of you so you could get to graduating. You picked at your fingernails as you stare at your laptop and it’s blank document. Trying to figure out what to write. You had to write a creative story as an assignment for your course and it was killing you. You were drowned of inspiration and better yet, your head was pounding from a killer headache that just wouldn’t leave you alone.

Maybe you were stressed. Maybe everything was just starting to finally get to you. Maybe it was starting to eat you up and staring into the void of your blank white document in silence wasn’t helping you at all. Sure, the antibiotics hadn’t kicked in, but even so, if they did, you were sure you wouldn’t notice.

Peter hadn’t gone to the party tonight either. He usually goes and leaves halfway through, coming back at the end. He’s usually the one who takes you home. You’re not sure what he does in between the time he leaves and you’re not quite sure you really want to know.

Your fingers began to type, and you had only realised a few seconds in that you were typing random words from slapping your hands over the keys. Writer’s block wasn’t a great look for anyone.

You stood up from your desk and made your way into the kitchen. A glass of water ought to help, you had thought to yourself. Desperately looking for any excuse to procrastinate. But that’s when you heard a thump from Peter’s room and a groan afterwards. Peter hadn’t been here. His door had been open, and you saw he wasn’t in there so why did he come through the window and not the front door, if that even was him. You wanted to assume it was but maybe you were being burgled.

You went over to Peter’s door to see him lying on the floor in red and blue spandex. Your eyes went wide. Either he was doing this for his own pleasure, or he was actually spider-man. You’d hoped it would be the first option but the cuts on his face and the way he was clutching onto his abdomen for dear life was concerning so you rushed by his side. Any thought of hate flying out the window. You were making a mistake. He didn’t see you till now.

Maybe this was all your fault. Maybe the fact that everything changed had been on you. It was on you. Peter looks into your eyes and groans again. But he chooses to ignore the blind hatred the two of you share. Desperately he points to his closet.

“There’s a first aid kit in there, I- fuck!-” He groans in pain as you watch him turn over once more, tears running down his face, “Fuck, there’s gauze and bandages in there.”

You don’t say anything, all you can do is make your way to the closet – your mind isn’t filled with hatred. No. No. No. It’s filled with worry. What would’ve happened if you weren’t here? What would’ve happened to Peter if you weren’t here to patch him up?

“Fuck, Peter, what? What happened?” You ask as you grab the first aid kit from the closet as Peter tries to lift himself onto his bed, his spandex was now off, and he was left in a pair of boxer briefs. You didn’t care right now. You didn’t care that he was basically naked on the bed because there was a gash. A large fucking gash over his stomach.

He throws his head back keeping his hand on his wound. His hand is covered in blood and his suit ruined. He was Spider-Man, and you were using his name. You were saying Peter and neither of you had caught onto it yet but you were desperate to help him. As he groans in pain unable to answer.

“Okay Peter, this website- it says we need to get this wound under running water, because if I use antiseptic, it’ll damage your skin.” You inform him and he shakes his head.

“No. The skin will heal fine.” He says through his teeth, “The spider-bite, it gave me the power to h-heal tomorrow this’ll be gone, but I can’t handle this right now so just patch it up. It hurts, please, y/n.” He begs you, “Please.” There are tears down both of your faces at this point and you nod.

“Okay, this might... it might hurt, okay?” You say through your tears and Peter can only nod at your words.

As you take an alcohol wipe and begin to wash the wound in it, he groans and hisses through his teeth, letting out a groan of pain that keeps your own tears coming and you’re so desperate for him to be okay because you’re not sure what you would do without him. He told you he’d be okay so why were you still worried?

Out of all the things to happen tonight something was stripped from you two. Something you told yourself would never happen between the two of you and you hadn’t realised your mistake yet. You had let Peter see you cry, and he had let you see him cry. There was vulnerability now. One of his biggest secrets was now revealed to you and it was because of chance. It was all up to chance... and god, were you wrong about him. But you didn’t want to stop hating him either.

Because this night changed everything. As you look at the way his back arched when you pressed the alcohol to his skin and the way his eyes looked into yours, desperate for your help and desperate for you to stop hurting him and although you knew you couldn’t you didn’t want to hurt him anymore. But he was going to hurt with or without you right now and you wanted to ease his pain. You wanted to help him stop hurting for the first time in your life and you were clutching onto the fact that he has to be okay. He needs to be okay.

All you want for him is to be okay.

Taking a bandage out of the first aid kit, you help him sit up as he groans when he does so. You place some gauze onto the wound and wrap the bandage around his waist. He sits back and the two of you are in silence. Your hands are covered in his blood and there’s not much he can say to you right now. There’s not much anyone can say. You were just worried for Peter Parker’s life.

Something you had threatened multiple times. Something you hadn’t really cared about before. You were worried. You were in pain because he was in pain.

Your both still sitting in silence and Peter opens his mouth to say something and you turn to face him, speaking before he can, “Pete.” The name comes out like a whisper – something only his friends would call him, “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head, “Not currently... but I- I will be.” He nods carefully, “I know you probably won’t, but can you not say anything about this to anyone? You and my aunt are now the only people who know about me being Spider-Man. Coming home like this almost every night... well, not every night, I can usually avoid this kinds of wounds but, y’know, tonight clearly wasn’t my night.” He chuckles.

You join him and smile softly, “Of course I won’t... I still- I still don’t like you, by the way.” You feel like you have to say it now because what happens if you don’t clarify it? What happens if you don’t actually hate Peter anymore?

He nods, “Right, yeah, of course.” He looks into your eyes, “What if I don’t want you to hate me anymore?”

It catches you off guard and you freeze, “Please, Peter, don’t be ridiculous.” You scoff.

“C’mon you care about me. You could’ve left me here to fend for myself. You cried. You hoped I would be okay.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t leave you to die, Peter. I’m not a bitch like that, okay. But we hate each other, and I don’t count on that changing anytime soon. That’s just the way we are.” You don’t get up from Peter’s bed, but he moves closer to you.

For the first time tonight, you actually see what’s underneath that suit of his, the way his abs are still defined even if covered by bandage. How his collarbone is as sharp as his jaw. His brown eyes melting into your own.

He’s close enough that his breath hits your lips, “What if I don’t want to be your enemy anymore. We can be friends. We don’t have to live in this constant cycle of anger... of hate.”

You shake your head, “Peter...” You trail off, but you don’t move away and you’re not sure who moved in first, but your lips are pressed to his. You’re careful to avoid the wound that sits in between the two of you but he swipes your lip for entrance, and you allow him to kiss you. You allow him to kiss you.

Then they’re not. You pull away and sigh, “I’m- I’m sorry, Peter. I can’t. I can’t let this happen.” You say softly getting off of his bed and walking away.

NOW

As you look at Peter you can still feel the ghost of his lips on yours. Everything was different now. You found it harder to hate Peter. He was a good person and you had helped him. You were there for him when he needed that. You look around to make sure nobody else is awake.

Your face contorts and it’s venerable. Something the two of you aren’t meant to be and you don’t know why you’re asking because you promised yourself you wouldn’t. But it’s kept you up at night, wondering if he was okay. Even last night when you were trying to forget. Kissing someone else to make yourself forget all about Peter. He was still engraved in your mind. Regardless, you ask anyway. Your eyes are soft and your voice barely above a whisper.

“How’s the wound?” You ask him, placing a hand on his forearm.

He looks down at you, those chocolate brown eyes piercing into yours once more, he nods, lifting his shirt to show you. It’s not fully healed yet. But most of it is gone. There’s a scar there but you know as much as he does that it’ll be gone in the next few hours or the next day.

You’d avoided him till now and you were adamant that you’d only wanted to hate Peter. That you didn’t want anything else. But yet, you still did care and Peter wanted to show you that he did care about you. That this thing the two of you had was far beyond hate.

You don’t know what compels you to do so, but you run your fingers over the scar. It sends a shiver down Peter’s spine. Your touch, it was doing something to him, and this was a weirdly intimate position you’d put the two of you in. But he didn’t care and oddly you didn’t either. Not until you heard the door to MJ’s room begin to open.

Your eyes flashed with anger, and you took your hand off of Peter’s wound and he let his shirt drop over it. His eyes still soft as he watches you. His features in awe of the way you mauver away from him. How you’re able to turn your hate on so easily. Even though it looks like you’ve betrayed yourself. Your eyes are still on him, yet your anger is a façade.

“Fuck off, Parker.” You speak viciously. Your tone is far from nice. It’s like his name is poison. Like his name is something so disgusting it should be banished.

You turn your back to him, taking a moment to collect yourself, but it doesn’t seem to work because as you enter your room slamming the door behind you. All you can even think about is him. The way his lips were on yours. The way his hands had been on your waist when he kissed you so needily. The way the kiss had changed everything about the two of you. It wasn’t helping that he wanted you as much as the next person. He made it evident to you that he wanted to put this all behind you, but you just couldn’t you couldn’t. You can’t.

Maybe moving forward with Peter would be better for you. But you aren’t thinking. Of course, you’re not because any logical person would forgive him. Any logical person would want to move forward... and it’s killing you that you can’t seem to let yourself do exactly that.

“What’s up with her this morning?” Harry asks his best friend as he takes his own plate of pancakes.

Peter shakes his head, “Dunno, man.” He shrugs, “Same shit as always. She’s bein’ a bitch.”

Peter looks over at your door and all he can think of his you. He sighs looking down at his own plate, mulling it over. Harry knows he’s got a lot on his mind – especially about you. Because Peter is so conflicted. He wants you. He wants every part of you and that kiss you shared with him was probably the best kiss he’s ever had in his whole entire life. But there’s also the fact that the two of you have said so much to each other in spite, blind hatred, and anger.

When your boyfriend had cheated on you, Peter wanted nothing more than to wrap an arm around you, pull you close. Be there for you. But as always, you continued your spite for him. You continued to be mean and rude and hate every part of him. You continued to be sick and tired of him. So, he continued too. He told you that you deserved it. He told you that he never loved you.

But when he sees you with someone else’s tongue down your throat after the two of you had kissed the night before, Peter wanted nothing more than for time to go back so he could say something else because as much as that kiss the two of you shared meant everything it also meant absolutely nothing. The two of you weren’t friends. You weren’t the one Peter was allowed to call his. You were nothing but his enemy. The thing you had deemed yourself all those years ago.

The next few days were a blur, yet again everyone else was at a party when you stayed back, and you were secretly hoping Peter hadn’t left. MJ was the only one who spoke to you before the group left.

You don’t know why you were hoping Peter would be here when you were too. You didn’t know why you wanted Peter to get hurt maybe? No. No. No. That’s the last thing you wanted. That’s the last thing you wanted. The last. You were shocked at yourself for even thinking that. Maybe you wanted to help him. Maybe that’s what it was. Regardless, you didn’t ever want to see him like that again. That was some of the scariest shit you had ever been through, and you couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like for Peter.

That’s when you heard the thump. You got up from your desk and made your way to Peter’s room, throwing the door open to see him in his room perfectly fine. Perfectly okay. God, you felt stupid. Yes, he was in his suit. Yes, he had just come back. But you had let yourself into a world of care for a boy you shouldn’t care about. You were angry at yourself for believing Peter couldn’t take better care of himself. Regretting the fact that you had stumbled in on him not too long ago.

“You alright?” He asks you.

“Are you?” You brace yourself for impact, not ready to hear if he’s not okay.

He nods, “Yeah, might have a slight concussion, but I’ll be, yeah, I’ll be fine.” He nods again, you stare at him for another second, “We should probably talk about that night.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

You shake your head, “We don’t. We don’t have to talk about anything, Peter. I told you I still hate you. I don’t like you. We’re not friends. We’re not anything, okay? You and I aren’t meant to be anything.”

He sighs, “Stop avoiding it, things changed, okay? You and I? We’re not the same anymore, y/n. Whether you like it or not, we are not the same.” He runs a hand over his face, “We’ve been like this two times. One the first time I met you and Two the other night?”

“Been like what, Pete?” You question him, “What have we been?”

“Venerable, y/n. We’ve been venerable and as fucked up as it sounds, I trust you more than anyone in this fucking house. Maybe it’s because you know I’m Spider-Man. Maybe it’s because we kissed, maybe it’s because we have been through so much together even though we hate each other and all those times we’ve flirted with each other intertwining it with our anger. I can’t do it anymore. You and I? We’re changing.”

You shake your head, “I don’t want to change, Peter.”

“Why not! Let us change! There’s something here between me and you. We need to grow because we can’t keep hating each other. It’s getting old. It’s getting boring. Stop ignoring this. Stop running away from it.”

You’re in denial because of all of this. Because this isn’t the way you need this to go. This isn’t what you want. Everything is pointing to the signs that he’s right. He’s always fucking right. You shake your head; you think about the first time you met. Maybe that’s the reason you decided to hate him. Maybe it was the beginning of everything. Had you really started all of this? You honestly forgot about it.

BEFORE

Yet again you were sitting in the park crying over your roommate, who seems to have been a bitch this whole time. She lied to your face constantly, much like everyone else in your life. You have yet to find a group of honest people who will give you exactly what you want. Attention. Good attention. Love, and kindness. You have hope that you will one day. You might. Who knows? But it’s not like you can really complain. You put yourself into this situation and now you’re crying in a park like some lowlife.

He walks over to you. He’s got brown hair and brown eyes that lurk over you, and he debates if he should talk to you or not. You want to tell him to leave but instead you come out with fire, “What’re you staring at?” You ask, wiping your eyes of your tears, “Deciding if you should tip me? You think I’m homeless?”

He shakes his head, “No. I didn’t think that but now I’m quite sure that you’re just projecting your issues and you really are homeless.”

You roll your eyes, “Well I’m not... I’m not homeless. I’ve got a dorm... I think.”

“So you’re borderline homeless?” he questions.

“What’s it to you?” You ask him, “Unless you’ve got a place for me to go... and forgive me if I’m wrong, you wouldn’t even want me there because I’m a stranger.”

“You’re not though... a stranger.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your eyebrows at the boy.

“You’re in my English class.” He sighs, “You sit right in front of me.”

“Right.” You nod slowly, “Because you know my name, then? If we’re not strangers.” You rub your eyes, a couple more tears falling down your face. Probably what’s left of them anyway.

He sighs, “Let me help you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t need help.”

“Clearly, you do.” He’s getting aggravated now and the way the two of you are looking at each other is something other worldly. You want to kill him for nothing. For suggesting he help you which is exactly what you needed so why are you pushing him away? Why aren’t you letting yourself get help.

You stand your eyes burning because of your tears and you’re denying help that’ll probably be the best thing for you in the next while. What if this is what you need? What if this can reset your life? What do you have to lose? Absolutely, nothing. Nothing at all. You want to keep crying but you also want to move forward.

“What do you get out of helping me then...” You wait for his name.

“Peter Parker.”

“Parker? What do you get?”

“Dunno, good consciousness?”

You laugh, you genuinely laugh. He’s helping someone for the sake of helping someone, it’s not every day you run into someone like this. Not at all. You shake your head; he has to be joking. Maybe your faith in humanity has been lost after all. Because you’re pissing yourself at someone who’s just trying to help you. Your walls are up high. Higher than they ever have been because of your ex-roommate now, especially. This was the first time you’d been cheated on and he did it with her and then they both lied about it. They both led you on. You thought you were making friends. Turns out you were wrong.

But accepting his help reluctantly? It was the best thing you ever did for yourself.

NOW.

To this day Peter still doesn’t know that you’ve been cheated on twice. Just the one. But you didn’t need to tell him. As you looked into his eyes you didn’t need to tell him anything at all. You didn’t owe him that so now why does it feel like you do? He’s unwillingly shared a secret about himself with you all because of circumstance. It’s not everyday things like that just happen. It’s not everyday someone who lives with you is a superhero, vigilante, border lining on both? You are standing across from watching as he pulls off his suit and you have to remind yourself that you’ve seen this before but now it feels different. He’s in a pair of boxer briefs and it’s exactly like summer. Where he would walk around shirtless in a pair of shorts. So why is this different? Why is it fucking different?

You want to run but all you can do is look at Peter. Watch him. You shake your head, pulling yourself away from watching Peter’s body. Pulling yourself away from any thoughts you were beginning to have about changing things. Pulling yourself away... like you always seem to do. It’s funny how things have changed so drastically in the past few weeks. It’s as though you and Peter have been fighting this for a long time, even though it’s nothing such. You thought you hated Peter till you found him half dead in his room.

Peter, though? Peter wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt the day he met you. That’s all he ever wanted to do. But you made that hard for him. You made it so hard because you keep pushing and pushing and pushing him away. From the moment you met him that’s all you did. Constantly and now, Peter was getting tired. It’s not like Peter never hated you, but it’s not like he did. He did dislike you, but he also loved what he hated about you. How stubborn you were. How funny you could be. How nice you were to everyone but him. How you were a genuinely nice person, but he hadn’t been on the reciving end of that. Not at all.

None of your friends knew about this whole situation between you and Peter. MJ had no idea that your feelings for him had been morphing into something else over the past few weeks and you had no intentions of her finding out because all her, Harry, Felicia, Gwen and literally everyone else in your group had wanted. For you and Peter to be friends.

Yet, the two of you were in a constant battle of hate and love and as you can feel that battle beginning to end. That battle getting closer and closer to the finish line. You can’t help but wonder... why are you running?

You shake your head at Peter, “I’m not running, Peter.” You’re lying – you both know this is a poor attempt at lying because you have nothing to run from... not anymore.

Sure, Peter had said things to you. But you had said things back. It was a war and a battle, and those things are going away. There have been less fights over the last few weeks and everyone’s noticed. Yet, nobody has said anything. Your heart is telling you that everything is okay. That’s it’s okay to accept Peter as your friend... or something more.

As fucked up as it is, you might love him. It’s a thing you can’t really explain. A feeling that has been burning in your chest for a while. You don’t know whether you should be upset with yourself for allowing yourself to fall for someone you’d been arguing with for a long time. A person who’s said nasty things to you out of spite and anger and jealously. Because if anything Peter had been jealous and when you saw him with someone else you wanted to be that other person. You had been jealous too. Maybe it field the hatred even more.

Maybe the two of you actually deserved each other. Maybe you should stop running from him. Maybe you need to stop running from him. As he looks at your eyes, he moves closer. He’s stalking closer and closer and closer to you. Towering over to you. You can smell the mint in his breath. He brings his hand up to your chin, bringing your eyes up to his. His breath hot on your face.

“Yeah... you are, y/n.” He sighs, “I don’t care anymore. I need you to know that I can’t hate you anymore. I can’t do it anymore. But if that’s what you want. If that’s what you need, I’ll do it. As long as I get to speak to you as long as I get to be near you.” His eyes are brimming with tears now and so are yours, so desperate for you to know that he’s done with this.

“If that’s what you need... I will continue to hate you. I will never speak to you like this again, but I need you to be sure that you want that. I need you to be sure. I need you to tell me you’re sure you want that.”

You don’t wait for another second before standing on your toes and pressing your lips against Peter’s. They’re soft and plump and you can taste some of the salt from his tears, but he presses against your lips harder. Even though he’s pressing against you, he’s still gentle and careful with you. He’s still treating you like china. The way you needed to be treated. Gentle and loved.

His hands move down to your waist as he moves you towards his bed. Shutting the door behind him. His kisses are softer and there’s more of them. But his lips make their way to your neck, trailing soft kisses down your jaw first, moving lower and lower and lower and you moan gently as they touch your sweet spot, the space at the bottom of your neck and in the dip of your collar bone. Your heartbeat quickens as he brings his lips back up the same path. Probably giving you a hickey somewhere in that vicinity, but you didn’t care because Peter’s lips land back on yours and he pulls away for a moment.

“What do you need tonight, y/n?” He asks you, gently, softly. His eyes full of love and care and everything you’ve ever wanted and needed since the first day you met Peter. Since the first day you met Peter Parker, you’ve hated him and despite all odds he is the one giving you the love and care that you’ve always needed and desperately wanted.

You’re on the brink of tears as you look up at him as he hovers over you and you bite your lip trying to hold them back, “I just... I just want you, Pete. I need all of you, please.” You mutter softly and he smiles, nodding.

“I- yeah, I can do that.” He presses another kiss to your lips as his hands reach for the hem of your shirt, “Can I?” He questions you, requesting your permission.

You nod, “Yeah, you can.” You smile, you try to hide the fact that you’re excited to be doing this with Peter. Because so much has changed in the past few days and it’s killing you, it’s killing you that you didn’t do this sooner because this is everything you want. This is what you want.

You don’t want some stranger. You don’t want some guy from the club that you danced with for five minutes while plastered drunk. You want someone you can trust. You want the boy who stares you down in jealously as you dance with someone else because he wants to be that person with you and now that he is dancing with you in this intimate and hungry way that the two of you both desperately wanted. You couldn’t imagine it any other way. You don’t imagine how you could’ve hated Peter because he’s making you wet to your core and somehow, he’s been on your mind 24/7 since you’ve found out that he was Spider-Man. He’s been a constant thought in your brain because you really do care about Peter Parker and you didn’t believe it then, you couldn’t believe it then. But things were changing well off before that you and you were just too blind to see that.

You are wet. You are so wet for Peter it’s embarrassing. Your core is dripping, and you think if he takes off your panties it might drip down your inner thigh and he’s done absolutely nothing but kiss your neck. He’s not even come close to even touching you.

You sit up a little so he can take off your shirt properly. He discards it onto the floor, and you forgot you weren’t wearing a bra, he stares down at you, his eyes widening before he gives a little smile. His warm hands caressing your waist, sending a shiver down your spine.

“God, you are so beautiful.” He murmurs against your lips, and you smile against them. Why is he the one making you feel this good? Why did you wait so long for this to happen? You’re regretting everything you’ve ever said to Peter. He’s treating you like you’re the only person in the whole entire world. As though you are the person of his dreams... and that’s because you are.

Even when Peter hated you, you were a part of every single thought. The number of times he had thought about smashing his lips against yours to get you to stop talking were astronomical. The number of times he had dreamt about you regardless of what the context of the dream was were other worldly. He had always thought about you. There were things that reminded him of you daily and it was something of these dreams that he was having.

Your hands run down Peter’s body, finally feeling where the gash had once been, scar gone, he was completely healed and as he continued to press his lips against yours, your hands were cold and daring against the warmth and heat of his body. You were addicted to the way his warmth radiated off him. Everything about him was intoxicating to you. How he smelt like cinnamon and wood. Your lips are still on his as his hand cups your breast. Fondling with your nipple as it goes hard. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to feel. Good.

Because most men aren’t good at sex. But Peter hasn’t even started to fuck you and he’s already going to make you cum just by touching your boob. You’re getting drunk on him already.

Sadly, his lips come off of yours, and he trails kisses down your body, in between your boobs, his hand coming off and moving down to your waist, making you shiver once more. His lips end up at the waist band of your tiny shorts.

“Can I?” He questions you and you’re embarrassed. You’ve never been eaten out before. You’re not so sure why he’s focusing all his attention onto you, but you also want to make him feel good.

“Peter, you don’t have to do that. I want you to feel good.”

“But this will make me feel good.” His fingers slide underneath your waist band and you grab his hands.

“Look you don’t, I want you to do whatever will make you feel good and-”

“Have you never been eaten out before?” He questions once he realises how scared you actually are, and you shake your head.

“Let me show you how good you can feel, y/n. Those other boys, they didn’t treat you right. They used you. Let me show you how good both you and I can feel.” He says softly.

You nod and smile, unsure but willing, “Only... only if, you’re sure.”

“I’m very sure... if you need me to stop. If you don’t like it. Tell me.” He says stern, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

You smile and nod, “Okay, I want this, Peter. I want you to feel good.”

Peter pulls your shorts and panties down, his finger running against the slit of your pussy, his eyes flick to the clock beside you, worried that his friends are going to come home and catch you in this compromising decision. He doesn’t care but he knows you do and all he wants is for you to feel okay. Peter decides that you have enough time for this. That you both have enough time for this.

“You’re so wet, baby.” He mutters quietly, pressing a kiss to your slit, getting just a garner of your taste, how you taste so sweet and delicious against his tongue. He could remember this. He wants to remember this. He doesn’t want to live off anything else but you and how sweet you are.

Peter dips his tongue inside of you, your legs spreading slightly and his head in-between your thighs. You watch him as he devours you. His tongue doing laps around your clit. How he’s circling it with his tongue. How he sucks on it lightly and other time a little harder than before. He’s moaning as he tastes you and so are you. Throwing your head back, biting your lip, tiny pants coming out of your mouth making this better than Peter ever thought it could be as he continues to stroke your pussy with his tongue. There are kitten licks and then long and slow strokes that only leave you begging for more. Begging for him so completely, needing him so fully and whole. Your whole body jerking forward as he makes you ever so sensitive against his tongue. You want to scream as your back arches against his face, your hand running into his curls as though there is nothing you need more than this. As though you could never feel this good again. He slides a finger into you without warning and you don’t care at the point because you’re drunk.

Fuck being plastered on vodka shots – this is better. This is what you needed. You’ll remember all of this. You’ll continue to remember this and hopefully get this again so many more times. The squelch of your pussy filling the room is not missed. He’s kissing your pussy, his tongue moving faster and faster and you feel like you’re going to reach your breaking point at any moment. That hot feeling burning the bottom of your stomach and your pussy getting more sensitive as he continues to suck and lick and kiss your pussy. Lapping and drinking all of your juices, fucking feral for you. Devouring you like this is his last meal and all you need to do is cum.

“Fuck, Peter!” You moan softly as your back arches once more, his fingers pushing you against the edge as they press onto your g-spot, pushing deeper and deeper against you guiding you to the orgasm you so desperately needed from him.

When he pulls away you can see this mouth is glistening with you, his lips are red and plump, his hair a mess, a goddamn fucking mess and he presses his lips to yours, letting you taste how good you are. You moan against the kiss as you feel Peter’s cock in his boxers slide against your pussy. You groan softly.

“Peter, please.” You beg carefully, “I want you to fuck me, please.” You murmur against his lips. Your hot breath against his mouth as both of you are now panting. You palm his cock through his boxers, “Please, Petey.”

The nickname turns him on. God, the nickname turns him on, and he presses a hard kiss to your mouth before standing and taking off his boxers. Grabbing a condom from inside his drawer and that’s when you finally get a look at his long and thick cock. You’re not sure how long it is but every thought that had ever entertained you about the size of his cock was derailing your expectations, because whatever you expected? It was not this. He slides the condom on and joins you back on the bed.

His lips falling back onto yours in drunken heat, both of you are totally plastered on sex. The smell of the room is arousal. The air is thick and all you need is him inside of you at this point. You’re not quite sure if you’ll survive if he doesn’t stick his cock inside of you.

Peter’s finger runs against your sensitive clit again, but he slowly lifts your legs onto his shoulders, as he sits on his thighs. He looks down at you, and how your face contorts as he sticks his cock inside of your anticipating hole that’s still reeling from your last orgasm. But even so you are desperate to cum again and again and again as long as it’s Peter giving it to you. He’s slow at first, moving carefully as though he’s going to hurt you, but when you moan it’s the green light to go a little faster, to move his body against yours. His hips bucking against yours, he groans as he continues to move into you. The slit of his cock presses against your g-spot as he starts dripping pre-cum into the condom. His finger runs over your clit as he continues to pound into you. Your bodies moving like fluid. The way the two of you are so in sync of what you want and how you want it.

“Faster, Peter, please.” You throw your head back and close your eyes, your mouth open as you moan, your tits bouncing right in front of his eyes as he watches how beautiful you are. How you are both so raw in this moment. You’re all he’s ever needed – all he’s truly ever wanted.

Peter does as you say and moves his cock in and out of you faster and faster. Pressing into you, his cock covered in you and all Peter wants to do is taste you again stick his tongue in you and devour you. God, he remembers the taste on his tongue so fucking well. He keeps fucking you senseless. His cock pounding in and out of you and you’re almost numb from the feeling of his sex, you’re drunk, definitely fucking drunk.

Peter’s fucking you so hard, shoving his large cock inside of you, filling you. Filling you so deep and so much. You’re going to cry because of how good you feel, and Peter can feel how your pussy is starting to pulse around his cock. Starting to tighten, around his cock. Your pussy throbbing because of him as you feel your stomach fill with the same fire.

“Fuck Petey, fuck, I’m gonna cum!” You moan loudly as he continues to fuck you so endlessly.

“That’s right, baby, cum for me, c’mon.” He says and it’s enough to push you over the edge as you reach your final orgasm. Your body curls in slightly and jerks forward slightly, Peter can feel himself getting close and as he rides you off of your orgasm, you can feel it too. His cock twitching inside of you, desperate to cum. He pants softly as he continues to pound into you. Feeling that same fire as he watches your tits still bounce and the way you look right now sends him over the edge as cum fills the condom. You’re sweaty, your skin glistening in the soft light of his room. The lamp in the corner amplifying all of your most stunning features. Peter gently takes your legs off of his shoulders as you yawn, snuggling into his sheets.

“Y/n, you gotta go pee.” Peter mutters softly as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “You did good, baby. So good. I hope I made you feel good.”

Peter cleans himself up and you shake your head, “Too tired...” Another yawn escapes your lips and Peter smiles down at you.

How did he ever hate you? Against all odds, he never thought this is where the two of you would be tonight. Peter thought he’d be asleep, and he thought you would be slaving away at your creative writing project. He’s heard you talk about it, but he’s not sure how that’s going for you.

You feel a strong pair of arms lift you up as Peter puts you in one of his nerd shirts, and he’s got a pair of pants on now, regardless, he slides his arms around you and carries you to the bathroom. You never realised how strong he actually was... then again, he is Spider-Man. Peter places you down as you reluctantly go to pee.

It’s funny... how he cares for you after all of this. How despite all the arguments the two of you are now something strange. But one thing’s for sure, you definitely do not hate Peter Parker anymore and he doesn’t hate you.

When you stand and finish peeing those same arms are carrying you back to your room... but that’s the thing, you don’t want to go back to your room, you want to stay with Peter, “Peter, can you... can I? Can you stay with me?” You mutter into his chest.

Peter freezes for a moment, the unusuality of the situation is finally setting in, but he obliges. He doesn’t know exactly where this puts the two of you. Over the past few weeks hate has left you. Jealously had taken over Peter at some point and the two of you had kissed twice – not to mention just had sex.

“You don’t have to.” You whisper into the warmth of him, “But I want you to.” You say meek. Your voice is tiny, and Peter wants to keep cradling you in his arms.

“I’ll stay.” Peter decides, before continuing, “I’ll leave in the morning, so nobody finds out, okay?”

You nod, “O-okay.” Peter sets you down on your bed, before joining you, his arms sliding around you.

When your roommates get home your door is closed and so is Peter’s they think you’re sleeping as far apart as possible. Never did they think or know what would be going on behind your door. If they found out, they’d think they’d enter an alternate reality.

It’s a few weeks later and Peter is making pancakes in the kitchen. You wear one of his shirts to bed. Nobody’s really noticed because it’s plain and white, but you sneak up behind him. Wrapping your arms around his torso, engulfing him in a hug. He laughs as you do so, kissing your hand before tending back to the food.

You kiss his back, the way his muscles shine in the morning, so defined. Peter feels this as he cooks, placing some more batter onto the frying pan before turning to you, pressing his lips on yours – it’s still early in the morning so the two of you are able to get away with this. Peter lifts you up by your legs and places you on the kitchen counter. The smell of pancakes and the taste of your lips are stimulating his senses.

“Petey, what if we get caught?” You laugh against his lips as his hands pull you closer. He’s tucked in between your legs as the cold of the counter sends a shiver down your spine.

He shakes his head, “We won’t, either way ‘s okay.” He continues to press his lips onto yours and your hands make their way into his hair – the pancakes are long forgotten as he pulls you closer to him if that’s even possible at this point.

Peter’s mouth begins to move down your jawline, down your neck, leaving kisses everywhere he possibly can. His hands moving from your waist to your thighs, underneath that large shirt of his that he just loves to see you wear. How you look so sexy in anything you wear will forever be a mystery to Peter. How you look so beautiful all the time will also be a mystery to the boy. Peter’s hands move into your hair and your tongues finally intertwine, the warmth of his hands pressing against your cold skin underneath his shirt as he finally reaches the sides of your boobs, gripping onto your sides. You moan against his lips, so desperately needing more than this. Your core beginning to drip.

How does he always do this to you?

You thought the morning would go differently. You didn’t think you’d be making out with your boyfriend as he cooked breakfast. Something was so nice about how domestic the situation was, as though the two of you were living a life together alone.

As you felt Peter just touching you. Being with you. You smiled against his lips, and he pulls away for air, “What’s wrong he questions?”

You laugh, your arms falling over his shoulders, as you tug on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, “Nothing... I just- I really like this, Pete. You and me.”

He nods, and you finally get a good look at him. His lips are plump and red. His hair is a mess. He’s stunning – beautiful and he’s yours. He’s your boyfriend. It overwhelms you and it overwhelms him, but you place your lips on his after your short confession. He smiles against your lips.

The pancakes are now burnt and the two of you don’t hear the door to Harry and MJ’s room open as you laugh against his lips in happiness. The two of you completely and totally in abyss, pulled away from the world and absolutely in your own. If you got told you’d be in this position a couple months ago, you’d probably laugh. But now you were laughing for all the right reasons.

... and you worry about him. You worry about Peter every night that he goes out. You worry about Peter when he doesn’t text you good night or knock on your window to tell you that he’s home from being Spider-Man. You worry about Peter when you go to these parties, and he disappears in between. You’ve stopped drinking as much so if you need to you can go home and tend to his wounds. Because you care about him. You care about Peter Parker.

Part of you thinks you always cared. If he did die who would be there to make fun of you? Or say some nasty shit that would send you reeling? That’s what it was before. The worry that your greatest enemy would be gone. But now it’s different.

Who will make you feel better about yourself? Who will you tell good news too? Who will kiss you better? Who will help you get rid of your writers block because this story? It’s a story worth sharing. Who will hold you when you’re crying in the middle of the night? Who will make fun of you as you cry at a stupid animated movie (or Revenge of the Sith, which against all odds, Peter had gotten you into Star Wars)?

These things... Peter. He’s changed your life. Sure, for the worse. But that was before. That was before you let yourself fall for him in every single way possible. He was someone who lit up your life and everyone could see that you had been happier... that you had been changing.

... and Harry Osborn had just figured out why. As he watched two of his close friends kiss, who had still been throwing weird insults at each other over the past two months, he finally realises why your banter has been off. Why you in particular, have been happier. Because you’ve found someone.

You found someone that’s made you love and it’s a weird sight to see his best friend making out with the girl who supposedly makes his life hell. It’s so fucking weird. But he can’t blame you. He can’t blame Peter either. The two of you were bound to let this happen. There was always a weird tension around the two of you and Harry was happy that the two of you got rid of it.

MJ wakes up, stirring as she walks over, almost falling because of how dizzy she is and as Michelle looks over at the kitchen counter, she looks to her boyfriend, with a soft groan, “Am I still dreaming?”

He shakes his head, “No... you’re not.”

You laugh against Peter’s lips as he finally notices the burnt pancake on the stove, “Shit!” He says softly and you throw your head back laughing once more. Watching him as he tries to save what’s been long gone.

Harry and MJ aren’t sure what’s going on but what they do know is that there are two people in love in their kitchen.

... and they’ve overcome so much.

hi tysm for reading! | ADD YOURSELF TO MY TAGLIST OR YOU CAN SEND AN ASK <3

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #tom holland x reader #peter parker smut #andrew garfield x reader #tobey maguire x reader #andrew garfield x reader smut #tom holland x reader smut

803 notes · View notes

nowayhomer · 2 years

Note

Please, kissing tobey!spider's neck and how he reacts about it 🥰🥰🥰🥰

ahhh !! this is so cute and my first thought was like, he generally keeps himself in a hard shell but the moment just reveals something cute ?? can't explain but i definitely tried to put it in writing what the moment was like.

caught by surprise

Ⅰ. PAIRING tobey!peter x reader

Ⅱ. GENRE fluff, just super cute, peter smiling for once in spider-man history

Ⅲ. NOTES there's no specified pronouns or gender identification so y'all could literally just imagine yourself in any way you want

Ⅳ. WORD COUNT 354

peter was sewing the sleeves of his suit while listening to a physics podcast. you knocked on the door of his apartment, “peter ? can you open the door ? it’s stuck again.” peter got up and tugged on the handle, pulling it off completely. he gave a sheepish grin when he saw you through the hole where the doorknob had once been, staring at him with disbelief. he let you into his very humble abode and webbed the door so no one could peek through it. “what have you been up to ?” “i’ve just been sewing and studying, you know, another regular night for me.” peter sat in his cloven chair that he tried holding together with duct tape. you stood behind him, resting your hands on his shoulders while you watched him work. it was times like these when you admired peter the most and found a practice of studying his habits. it was not lost to you how he licked the corners of his lips in concentration, the way he twirled the needle between his fingers when he paused to listen to a bit of his podcast that caught his attention. your own attention had been directed to his neck. you had kissed every part of his face, never trailing further down until now. peter felt your plush lips against his neck and pulled away quickly, his hairline to his collarbone turning red. “were you not okay with that ? i’m so sorry,” you went to hold his hand. “no, it was nice… you just caught me by surprise and i’m…” he couldn’t pull himself to finish. “you’re what ?” “well, sometimes my spider senses kick in when i'm surprised, so i got surprised when you kissed me and my senses made me ticklish.” you doubled over, clutching your stomach when it hurt from laughing. “aw, the oh, so tough peter parker gets ticklish. you are so adorable.” you pinched his cheeks. peter wrapped his arms around you, planting a kiss on the bridge of your nose before saying, “please keep giving them.”

you had made it a tradition since then to greet him with kisses on his neck, loving his small laughs and cherishing your relationship.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fluff #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #tobey!peter x reader #tobey!spiderman #tobey!peter parker x reader #tobey maguire x reader #marvel fic #aurigaupdates

317 notes · View notes

nobody7102 · 1 year

Text

Kinkmas 2022, Day 5: Public/Semi Public

Pairing: (Tobey) Peter Parker x Superhero!Reader

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, Public/semi public sex, fingering, implied smut

Main Master-List

Kinkmas List

-----

Swinging onto the top of the flatiron building, Y/N ripped off her mask just as Peter landed beside her. “What the fuck Peter?!”

“I know! I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attentio-“ his words died in his throat as he ducked to avoid the web Y/N threw his way before taking off his mask, dropping it onto the ground as he held his hands up “Hey I’m sorry-” he ducked again to avoid a web before grabbing her arm and tugging her to him. “Baby” he cooed his arm wrapping around her waist, his head dipping down to kiss along her neck “I didn’t mean to hit you with the manhole '' he mumbled before nipping at her earlobe.

Closing her eyes, Y/N’s head slightly tilted backwards as her hands flew to hold Peter’s waist “Ahhh- No!” she quickly said, snapping her eyes open, yet her body still pressed into his “I-...I umm...” shaking her head as her hands moved upward to tangles themselves in his hair as his hands slide down to cup her ass “I’m still mad at you” she panted as his lips worked against her neck.

Nodding his head, Peter effortlessly lifted Y/N till her legs were wrapped around his waist. “That’s fine Baby” he hummed before reconnecting his lips to hers, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth as she moaned. Backing the both of them up against the wall of one of the generators, “Have I told you…” he mumbled “how sexy you are… when you yell at me?” he smirked, biting down on her bottom lip as he rolled his hips into her.

“Ah Peter!” she let her head fall back, trying not to buck against him “Pete… we’re in the middle of patr-Oh!” she gasped as his hand traced over her clit through the spandex of her suit. Rocking her hips onto his fingers she felt Peter’s cock grow hard as it pressed against her core “Pete-” she whined “Don’t do this to me now…. We… we still have another hour!” she huffed

“I’m fine with cutting patrol short” he smiled “But-” he pulled his hand away from her clit before planting them on her hips and dragging her over his hard clothed length causing a low moan to get caught in her throat “I can’t wait till we get back to the apartment” his hands trailed up her back till it reached the neckline of her suit, he slowly pulled at the zipper “I’m having you right now”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spider man x reader #spider man #spiderman imagine #spiderman #tobey!peter parker #tobey maguire #tobey maguire x reader #tobey!peter x reader #tobey!spiderman #tobey!peter parker x reader #Tobey!spiderman x reader #nobody's kinkmass #kinkmas 2022 #kinkmas

122 notes · View notes

bisexual-thoughtss · 1 year

Text

It can really be read as any of them, but I’m always imagining Tobey when I write Spider-Man. Just a little short and sweet one :-)

Peter Parker x Reader

“Isn’t that all you needed?” Peter asks when you grab a bag of treats, but continue to look around the pet store.

“Well, yeah but I wanna look around,” you tell him, making him shake his head fondly.

“Let’s look at the animals, bug!” You exclaim, his eyes crinkling at your happiness.

“Of course, sweets,” he smiles, following behind you as you take him by the hand towards the back of the store.

“Look at these little guys,” you smile, peering into the hamster and rat enclosures. You go around, greeting each of them before moving to the next section of animals, greeting the reptiles with just as much enthusiasm.

“Aw, hi buddy,” you coo at a bearded dragon who’s standing up against the glass of its cage, looking curiously at you.

Peter follows behind you, his heart swelling as he watches you with the animals.

“And who do we have in here?” You ask, leaning in to peer around the next enclosure. You let out a little scream, putting Peter on full alert as you jump back. You bump into him, his arms wrapping protectively around your middle.

“Are you okay?” He asks, peering around you to try and see what scared you.

“It just caught me off guard,” you mumble, trying to block his view.

“What is it?” Peter asks, trying to move around you to look.

“I just wasn’t ready for it, okay? It’s not-,” you start to explain, your voice getting higher and higher until Peter finally sees the tarantula inside the glass case. His laugher fills your ears, your face heating up as he turns back towards you.

“Really, sweets? That’s what made you scream like that? A spider?” He asks, fighting more laughter.

“It’s huge! I just wasn’t expecting that, okay,” you grumble.

“What, you don’t like big spiders?” He teases, trying to wrap his arms around you.

“Get off me,” you giggle, halfheartedly swatting him away and walking toward the counter to pay.

“Oh c’mon,” he grins as he catches up to you in the middle of the aisle, grabbing your hand to pull you back into his chest.

“Wouldn’t be the first time a spider made you scream,” he whispers in your ear.

“Peter! You are on thin ice, bug boy,” You roll your eyes fondly, extricating yourself from his hold.

“I’m sorry, you know I had to. Come back!” he laughs as you continue towards the front of the store.

#spiderman x reader #tobey maguire #tobey maguire x reader #tobey!peter x reader #peter Parker x reader #andrew!peter x reader #tom!peter x reader #peter parker

89 notes · View notes

spider-stark · 19 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

495 notes · View notes

angelofthenight · 1 year

Text

Maguire!Peter: My (y/n) is ranked for top 10 on Pokémon Go.

Garfield!Peter: My (y/n) is top 8 in candy crush

Holland!Peter: My (y/n)’s top 5 on FBI’s most wanted list

992 notes · View notes

supercap2319 · 6 months

Text

Y/N walked towards the living room, where his boyfriend and his two Doppelgängers were watching TV. Their eyes were glued to the screen, until Y/N came into the room. "Oh, hey, Y/N. What's up?"

"I need some advice and you guys will tell me the truth right?"

"Of course." Peter one said.

"The truth about what?" Peter two asked.

Instead of answering, Y/N turned around and unbuckled his pants and pulled them down to reveal a pink g string over his lower regions. He shook his ass in their collective faces, as he innocently asked: "Be honest. Does this pink g string make me look fat? Does it make my ass look too big?"

All three Peter Parkers could do was just stare at the pink string inside the crack of Y/N's ass as they desperately wanted to see the full package of his newly acquired underwear.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #peter parker #petee Parker x male reader #peter 2 #peter 3 #andrew garfield #tobey maguire #tom holland #spiderman #no way home #Spiderman x male reader

195 notes · View notes

court-cost-right · 2 days

Text

https://jacqueline-294.mxtkh.fun/i/O4CqEGQ

#bakugo x reader #librarians #sabrina spellman #driving #tobey maguire #mcyt x reader #stephen king #chad white #indian #keep calm #kpop rp #eliza taylor #celeb #kaho shibuya

129 notes · View notes

takenbyheartstrings · 2 years

Text

KEEP YOUR ENEMIES CLOSER

summary: you and peter hate each other, but spider-man and black cat are close as ever. what happens when you and peter are forced to spend time together and the two worlds bleed together?

pairing: peter parker x fem!black cat!reader

warnings: SMUT!! (extended warnings under the cut), fluff, angsty, can be read as any peter!

word count: 12k (2.3k is smut <3)

extended smut warnings: pretty vanilla, fingering, oral (fem), unprotected sex (pulls out) wrap it before you tap it! that should be it i think <3

If you could choose one person in the whole entire world to kill. You’d choose Peter Parker.

He’s an annoying, unbearable, know it all, who’s way too cocky. Who is nice to everybody but you. You thought it was strange at first, but then you learnt not to question it. You didn’t know why he hated you, but you eventually learned how to hate him. Eventually he’s hatred for you turned into your hatred for him. Nit-picking on everything he did. Not letting him have a break. Much like he hadn’t let you have one slither of fresh air since the moment you had met him.

If you could choose one person in the whole entire world to be stuck in an elevator with. You’d choose Spider-Man.

Easily your best friend. Your favourite person. He’s kind, sweet and cocky, yet not in the way Peter is. He gives you those moments away from Peter to forget the dread before going back home and remembering everything, overthinking constantly. But he’s funny and he’s self-assured and he has every right to be. He stops these villians, he stops crime, he’s your partner in stopping those crimes. You were known as Black Cat.

Your powers surfaced when your father died. It felt like everything in your life had turned upside down, nothing went your way anymore; like there was a constant raincloud over your head warning you that something was going to happen to you. It followed you day after day. It used to be unbearable… until you learnt to control it. Your bad luck suddenly turned into everyone else’s bad luck. You became a hero. In meeting Spider-Man, you learnt that you could use these powers for good.

You remember it like yesterday, meeting him on a rooftop, you used to be a petty thief. You used to steal art that your father had sold. Trying to collect pieces of him back. He was an artist, the best artist he could’ve been. These paintings belonged to the rich. They had taken them, so why not take them back?

You were doing exactly that... and when you met the arachnid, you didn’t fight him, and he didn’t fight you. He saw you were young like him. He saw the anger in your eyes as he spoke. He told you that you could come back from this. He convinced you that you didn’t have to live this life. He convinced you to be a good person. He convinced you to help him stop crime.

The two people were very different. It never even occurred to you that they could be the same person. Never in your lifetime would you had thought that the confident, sassy, superhero, could be that fucking nerd that makes fun of you. That you argue with every single day – fuck banter... This was different. This was hard hitting insults that would make both of you overthink at night. That would make both of you stay awake thinking about every possible outcome, everything you could’ve said, everything you wanted to say. Everything that would’ve made the end of today different.

Upon meeting Peter, you honestly think you’d only got a totally of eight hours of sleep-in total. If Peter was the same, you couldn’t tell. Hopefully he couldn’t see how tired you were either, because then all the makeup that you pound onto your face in the morning would be a fucking waste of time and if he knew you’d probably just stop all together.

The weekday rolled around, and you sat in chemistry. Your least favourite class and probably everyone else’s too (because of you and Peter). You sat next to Peter, and it wasn’t by choice. It was by force. You knew your teacher regretted it as soon as the two of you started arguing over Peter writing down the wrong measurements, which he argued would be correct. You scolded him for not following your instructions. He argued that your instruction was wrong – Mr. Harrington knew he had fucked up, but what’s the point of making a point if you can’t stick to it? He was stubborn enough to leave the two of you next to each other.

Gwen often told you how tired she was of the arguing she was. So did Michelle and Betty. All of them knew Peter. All of them liked Peter. He was so nice to all of them – so why not to you?

You honestly acted like you didn’t care. Your friends knew better, though. Your friends knew that in spite of everything that you and Peter had. You questioned why he didn’t like you. He didn’t like you from the moment he met you… why? Why? Why? Why?

The question lived in your head in those sleepless nights – acting like everything was fine. Acting like you were fine, was tiring. But what’s the point? It’s draining when you argue with him, but it gives your normal life purpose. You wake up every single day and you don’t know how the day will go. But you do know that you’ll argue with Peter. Sometimes it was the highlight of your day.

“Hardy.” He says as he sits down, and you shoot him a glare.

“Parker.” You match his seething tone. You’d been having a shitty day already and you didn’t really need this. Not today.

He pulls out his book as Mr. Harrington begins to write on the board. You write with a blue pen – a blue pen that has sparkles in it, a gel pen with glitter. Peter doesn’t know why this catches him off guard. You do it all the time. You write with a pen with sparkles in them. Maybe it’s how it glides on the page as he stares at you writing, how your eyes are twinkling just like the fractures of glitter in the pen.

He snaps out of it so quickly, “What?” You question him, your voice snaps, you’re angry. He can tell you’ve had a shitty day. For some reason, that doesn’t bring as much joy as he thought it would.

“Nothing.” He shrugs, peeling his eyes away from you – it’s reluctant and he doesn’t know why. He’s supposed to hate you. But he’s never really been good at doing that. It’s all just a front. A front he has to uphold just to remain close to you, it’s the only way you’ll speak to him and quite frankly, the only way he’ll ever speak to you.

At the end of the class Mr. Harrington smiles coyly as he pulls out a stack of paper. Which is exactly what you needed. Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. Because this is just what today you needed another reminder that Peter Parker is better than you. Another reminder that he’ll be valedictorian and you won’t be.

Mr. Harrington hands out the tests, dropping both you and Peter’s upside down, in hopes, in prayers, that the two of you won’t exchange marks. That he wouldn’t start another argument between the two of you when you’d both been so quiet today.

You pick up your paper and you want to cheer. You got a ninety-eight. You would’ve preferred full marks. But either way, you thought you’d definitely beaten Peter. You had a gut feeling.

Peter feels bad when he picks up his paper, there’s the number one-hundred circled in big red marker. He looks over at you and feels his heart ache. You’ve had a terrible day.

He knows. He knew from the moment he walked in the door. He doesn’t know why he feels so fucking bad for you. But in reality, he knows you better than anyone. He knows what makes you tick. He knows what pisses you off... when you think of it. That’s the key to knowing someone. Peter would push the buttons that most people would tend to avoid, but that’s why he knew you’d had a bad day, because Peter had only ever seen you mad. But today was different. There was something about the way you spoke. There was something about your eyes and the ghost of a smile you flashed at Michelle, Ned, and Harry. The scowl you had on your face as you sat down and took out the blue pen instead of the purple.

That’s what caught him off guard. The colour.

Peter’s thoughts about you are interrupted by your own condescending tone and coy smirk that doesn’t quite bring you or him the satisfaction either of you were hoping for. Instead, it’s empty and weak.

“Ninety-Eight, Parker.”

Peter swallows his pride, today. Peter knows better than to ruin your day today. Even if you’ve had a shitty day Peter would usually push and push. But today was different. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe it’s because of the colour of your pen – maybe that’s why Peter feels like he’s going to throw up as he speaks a lie from his mouth.

“Damn, I got Ninety-Seven.”

He lies to you, but he doesn’t regret it, not when he sees your genuine smile, fighting the urge to let his own take over the sad look on his face.

“Fucking beat you, Parker.”

Peter doesn’t say anything else when the bells goes after your sentence. The day is finally over. You can finally see Spidey again. He was the real highlight of your day. You got home, did homework and anything else you had to do before seven pm. School got out at three. That gives you four hours.

You live near Peter. In the apartment complex two buildings down. So, the two of you catch the same train. You always stand on the opposite side, your headphones in. Music blasting. You’re sure people all around you can hear what you’re listening too, and you think Peter does the same.

You get off at your stop and so does Peter. You’re so tempted to grapple your way back home, and you would. You want to go into an alley and put on the suit that sits in your bag. But you can’t. Because of Peter fucking Parker.

You’re quick to reach your bedroom, throwing your bag onto your bed.

Your room is neat and painted blue. Your bedsheets are white and blue, and you wished your suit was the same, but it’s black and white. Like a cat. Your curtains are white, and they have a sparkle. Though, there are posters on your walls of movies like Star Wars or TV shows like The Mandalorian.

Ned often tells you to come over for movie night, where him and Peter watch Star Wars all the time. He tries to convince you by telling you MJ and Harry come along, but it’s not much. They’re all friends with Peter and you’re not. You also don’t want to ruin their movie nights by being unpleasant and arguing with Peter.

The posters are accompanied by pictures of you and your friends and fairy lights. Your bed sits in the corner, so the posters and pictures surround it. Your bookshelf is organised by colour, and you’ve got this large soft white rug that covers almost all of the hardwood floor underneath it.

You pull your homework out of your bag, so sure that it’ll take you all the way until seven pm. The light outside is starting to dim, the sky is beginning to get dark. You turn your desk light on and notice that it’s six-fifty. You shut your books; you have one question left but you’re way too excited to see Spidey again.

You slide on your suit. Latex and fur. Skin-tight. It makes you feel confident. Nobody can see your face; nobody can see you in the night. That’s why you’re not afraid to fight. Because you’re anonymous. Nobody knows you’re Black Cat.

You meet Spidey on the roof top, grappling yourself up onto the building. You smile, running into his arms. Your mask covers your eyes, but it covers you enough so that Peter doesn’t know who you actually are. Your features are usually different anyway. Your eyes are softer, and your smile is wide. Whereas Peter only sees your glare. The way your eyes fume with anger.

Spider-Man wraps his arms around you. Pulling you closer. Peter’s bad days are made better by you. He’s pretty sure he’s in love with you. That he’s got feelings for you. Your flirty demeanour and attitude turns him on. But you’re also the kindest and sweetest – the softest person he’s ever met. He swears, if he didn’t know you could fight, if he didn’t know you could hurt someone – he’d believe you’d never harm a fly.

The hug lasts longer than usual. Both of you gripping onto each other for dear life, “Bad day?” Peter questions you.

“Y-yeah.” You want to cry but you pull away quickly before you can dampen his suit, “You?”

“Yeah.” He nods solemnly, he gives a smile, “But hey! Now we get to patrol, right?”

You nod matching his grin, “Yeah, exactly… did you end up finding that Maggia warehouse?”

“I did. I’ll swing us over there, but we have to be stealthy. We can’t drag any attention to ourselves, or we’ll be done.”

You and Peter had been trying to take down the Maggia for almost a year. They know the two of you are after them. Which makes your life way harder than it has to be. Tombstone is a danger to this city – much like Fisk. But Peter had put him behind bars before he had met Black Cat. But people like Tombstone need to be put behind bars before more people die.

You smile, holding onto Peter again, “Take us away, Spidey.”

The two of you are inside the warehouse. God, you want to get out of here. It’s making you nervous.

“Spidey, what if this isn’t a good idea?” You question the arachnid.

Peter shakes his head, “No. We have to do this. We have to take on Tombstone.”

You know he’s right, but everything in your body is telling you to turn around and run. If you were still on the other side maybe, you would’ve. Your instincts always tell you to run – your fight or flight is always to run. Maybe it makes you a shitty hero. Maybe it just tells you that you’re a natural thief. But the Spider keeps you grounded. If you lost him. If you stopped knowing him, you’d probably turn back to that life of crime and that thrill of not being caught. Taking back what was rightfully yours.

You nod, “Let’s just get this over with,”

The two of you are the perfect pair. It’s mind blowing how in sync the two of you can work. Your identities keeping you hidden. Yet, if the two of you were to know who the other was, you’d probably hate each other all over again… or maybe the two of you would finally set aside your differences.

The most you’d ever seen of his face was his mouth, when the two of you get pizza after a long night of patrolling. Sitting on a random rooftop. Enjoying each other’s company. Talking about each other’s day. You’ve alluded to Peter once in conversation. Mentioning there was a boy at school who made fun of you. Peter had said the same thing about a girl. You obviously didn’t know it was you who he was talking about, but you went on a long tangent about how he shouldn’t listen to her (you), and how she (you) should go fuck herself (still you). He said the same thing about himself – safe to say you are not following the advice you had given yourselves without the knowledge.

Your actions are almost replicated. As Peter webs enemies up to walls and has them hanging in nets made out of his web, completely out of sight from anyone on the ground. You were incapacitating them. Wrapping your arms and mouth around the ones Peter couldn’t reach. Keeping them quiet, setting them on the ground and when Peter would reach you. He’d web them to the roof with a number of webs.

That’s how the two of you worked together.

Once you had most of Tombstones men incapacitated, the two of you move throughout the warehouse. You can finally get a good look at it. There’s an endless number of cars and oil tanks, and the air smells of it too.

As the two of you walked up to his door, ready to pounce. Ready to take him out. But the world clearly had other plans for you at least. Because although Peter has his Spidey-Sense. You’ve got nothing… and he warned you too late.

“KITTEN!” Was the last word that you heard as the whole world went dark, that and the thwip! of a web shot out of Peter’s wrist. A sharp pain pulses through your body.

You woke up on the rooftop where you and Spider-Man would meet. He was sitting there, and you were wrapped in a blanket. Your wound still hurt, but your suit was cut, and your goggles were latched to your face, the suction getting strong – they’re slightly fogged up.

You meet Peters eyes as you sit up with a grunt, wanting to cry through the pain surging through you. Appreciating the gesture of him patching you up without getting you naked or without taking off your goggles. The only downside, apart from the bullet, was that you have to fix your suit… and fixing your suit is expensive.

“Fuck,” you mutter carefully looking down at your side.

“It’ll heal but it’ll hurt.” Peter speaks as he turns around which allows you to remove your goggles.

You can feel the red circles around your eyes, you remove them for a few moments, knowing you’ll have to put them back on in a minute. As you do you feel the familiar sting, “What happened to me?” You question the boy.

You hear him take in a rigid, broken, breath, “Tombstone shot you.” It’s quiet, but loud enough for you to hear. His whisper leaves his lips as you limp carefully, placing a hand on his back, wrapping your arms around me.

“What happened?” You’re not asking about you anymore. You’re asking about him. What he did when Tombstone shot you. His eyes look at you, and although you can only see the lenses; his eyes absent but you feel like you can see them. All you can see are his lips. The fabric of his mask bunched up over them.

He turns into your body, it’s sudden, but his head falls into your arms, “I got out of there.” His grip on you is tight and the bullet wound isn’t kind to you, it hurts, but you can’t tell him that because then he’ll stop, “I got you out of there first and I- I tried to web him up but I was doing a bad job… This is all my fault.”

You give him a gentle smack on the head, “Spidey.” You say stern, “None of this is your fault.”

“But if I had just warned you-”

“NO!” You raise your voice, taking a seat next to him, “I don’t have a sixth sense, okay. But it doesn’t mean you have to be responsible for me. You care about me, Spidey, but I can’t have you guilty over me of all people. My life isn’t yours to worry about.”

He shakes his head, “You’re my friend-”

“That doesn’t matter.” You say softly, “You don’t have to worry about me like this. Don’t have guilt over the things you can’t control, Spidey.”

“What if I can’t help it? What if I can’t help the fact that I care so much about you? About us?”

There’s a fire in his voice as he speaks, ignite, shining bright. You swear you can see an orange glow around him as he talks about you. Each word falling off of his lip with want and need for something more and suddenly it doesn’t feel like the two of you are talking about the bullet that flew straight through your body.

You can’t meet his eyes; you can’t meet those lenses that move as he speaks passionately about his desire without saying a single word. But you can’t act on this because if you become more than his friend... more than his partner, there’s no stopping it. You’d have to reveal a layer of yourself that you swore you would never let yourself show.

You’d learnt to keep people at arm’s length, and it was dangerous letting the spiderling get close to you because today was the first warning. The first wakeup call that anything could happen to either of you or both of you were so close, so tight, that it would kill you if something were to happen to him.

You realise you’re looking down at your legs rather than his face, determined not to look, but you can’t stop yourself, “Spidey...” You trail off softly.

Your faces are beckoned closer, you can feel the heat of his breath on your lips, and everything is happening in slow motion, and you feel like everything is calling you to stop because you can’t let this happen. You can’t let him feel guilty if something more happens to you than a stupid gunshot to your side. You’re battling with yourself over whether to place your lips on his or run away.

“Stop.” You whisper quietly as you look over at Peter, “You’re shaking the table.”

He rolls his eyes, “I would stop if I could help it.”

You turn to face him, “Can you just be nice to me for one second? Is that so hard?”

He fakes his pout, “It really is. I’m so sorry.” He’s voice is dripping with condensation, not letting you escape his eyes that say he really doesn’t care if you’re inconvenienced by him.

“Are you really, though?” You question knowing the answer and you can hear your voice start to raise, the volume getting louder.

“Right because you’d stop if I asked. You’re the most hypocritical person I know.” His tone seethes with hatred towards you.

You scoff ready to pounce, opening your mouth to speak, hypocritical? You are not hypocritical.... you are not hypocritical... right?... right?

There he goes again, getting in your head, making you question yourself – but you know better than to show it as you get ready to fire back but a voice cuts through the two of you. Making the two of you jump – and it’s angry. Angrier than you and Peter both are and you can finally hear Mr. Harrington just snap.

“WOULD THE TWO OF YOU STOP?!” The tone, the volume of his voice, all of it send you and Peter into a shock that makes both of you paralysed; unable to move... scared, “I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR ARGUING!”

He stalks up to your desk, “I have let the two of you argue and fight, but this is the last straw. This has been going on for months. So... on Thursday afternoon, the two of you have detention here. The two of you will be cleaning the room of its filth after the Chemistry practical exams. Are we clear?”

Both of you nod your heads, but Mr. Harrington doesn’t bite.

“Are we clear?” He questions, his voice is firm, and it makes the two of you all the more scared.

“Yes, Mr. Harrington.” You’re short to follow Peter’s words but they’re mumbled anyway.

“Phones.” He speaks.

“What do you mean?” Peter questions.

“Give me your phones. After you’re done with your detention you can grab them from my office. I won’t be there, so just let yourselves in.”

You and Peter reluctantly hand Mr. Harrington your phones and you feel a pit in your stomach.

You didn’t know how long it would take the two of you to clean up, but you knew it would be a long few hours you’d probably have to spend with Peter. You’re praying that you can get it done within the hour and see Spidey, but you doubt that’s going to happen.

As Thursday rolls around, the two of you stay back after your exam, you’re supposed to clean up after every single test, but you think Mr. Harrington disregarded that rule because the amount of test tubes lying around the room is just gross and the room smells like chemicals.

He leaves the two of you to it, shutting the door behind him. You turned to face Peter with an awkward smile, “I can take the right side of the room and you can take the left. Hopefully we’ll be done by the hour.” You’re crossing your fingers but you’re not sure it’ll happen.

“Right, because your measurement of time is always right.” He shoots at you with a glare, and you fight the urge to slap him in the face.

“One time, Peter.” You speak through gritted teeth.

He scoffs, “One time that fucked us up for the whole semester.”

It’s a pang of guilt that hits you, your eyes soften before sharpening once more, Peter sees the way you deflate for a moment and decides not to push it any more than he already has. You don’t say anything either, making your way over to your side of the room.

The only sounds in the room are the taps turning on and the squelch of the sponge and soap that bleeds to the bottom of test tubes. There’s this tension in the room, awkward? Yeah, you’d guess so. But there’s something else too – you want to talk to Peter. Maybe it’s because the tension that’s in the air is something you could cut with a knife. Except for the fact that there’s not much you could say. Your stomach feels weird because of it, and you want it to go away, but you know it won’t.

An hour passes and Peter is right – your measurement of time is one of your greatest weaknesses. You look over at him as he furrows his eyebrows, trying to clean a stain off of a beaker. You debate in your head whether or not you should help him since you’ve only got two of your own left and he’s got three.

Against all your thoughts you walk over to him and take the beaker from his hands.

Peter doesn’t say anything as he watches you clean the glass, using one of the cleaning products to scrub it off. Instead of a cutting edge glare his eyes are soft as he watches you; admires you. Admires the furrow of your own brows and the fury in your eyes as you attempt to do the same thing he had. The way your hairs a bit of a mess, some loose strands of hair sticking out of place. How you bite your lip as you focus. His mind starts to wonder to how he could be the one doing that – biting your lip. He wonders why he’s thinking like this, but he doesn’t stop himself. But what makes his heart do backflips is the way you smile triumphantly as you complete the task of removing the stain from the beaker.

“I wonder what they had to do to get a stain like that on there.” Peter says absent minded. You had expected him not to say anything at all, but you grab another one of his beakers.

“They’ve been sitting here for hours... which is, gross, so, it’s not surprising.” You shrug as you meet his eyes.

You can see a small smile upon his lips, but it’s barely anything, the corners of his lip quirk the tiniest bit, “Glad we didn’t have to do this experiment again.”

You chuckle as you scrub the glass, “Right! It was such a pain.”

“Especially when you got the time wrong,” You and Peter spoke in unison, and you finally realised what was going on.

The kindness you had offered Peter and the kindness that he had offered you was short and sweet, but it couldn’t happen again. You scoff shaking your head. You knew he was the one who had messed up that assignment.

“It was you.” You scrubbed the beaker harder this time; Peter was scared it was going to break underneath your anger.

He sighs, “Mr. Harrington said it was you, remember.”

You freeze for a moment, there wasn’t an excuse for that one. The teacher made the call, no matter if he was right or wrong, “Well Mr. Harrington is sexist, then... an incel, if you will.” You glare at the boy in front of you, setting down the beaker you had cleaned and moved over to your side of the room again.

It had been another half-hour since you had last checked the time. When you finally cleaned your last beaker, the look on Peters face was one of relief. The two of you began grabbing your things and making your way towards the door.

Your hand wrapped around the knob and twisted it, but it didn’t open. You tried again and nothing. You and Peter were stuck.

“What?” Peter questions you.

“The door...” You grunt, trying again, “Won’t...” Again, “Open.” You let go of the handle with a long breath.

“Let me try.” Peter walks over to the door and jiggles the handle, trying it again and again like the times you had already attempted.

You and Peter were stuck.

“Fuck!” Peter huffs, slamming his fist into the door making you jump.

You sit down on the floor in front of the desk, “We don’t even have our phones.” You throw your head back, slamming the back of it into the table a few times.

Peter sits next to you, looking at you as you pull your legs up to your chest. He does the same, both of your heads leaning against the desk.

About a three quarters of an hour had passed. The room feels weird, and you and Peter haven’t said a single word to each other. You stole some pens and paper from the desk and begun drawing Peter in all of his misery; in all of your shared misery.

There was something soothing about drawing him. Like he’s got the perfect face for it. It’s not anywhere close to even. He’s got scars on his face and his eyebrows are slightly bushy. His eyes are wide, and his lips are leaning more towards the thin side but are also quite plump. His hair flops over his face in all of his dishevelled mess. His jawline is sharp, and his nose is actually quite perfect, not too small, and not too big, but his ears lean to the larger side of the scale.

Luckily for you, Peter hasn’t noticed you drawing him. He’s got his head in his chemistry book, doing his homework. Which is what you would be doing if you hadn’t left your chemistry book in your locker. You promised yourself you would go grab it so you could do the work because it was due tomorrow, but it didn’t look like that would be happening. The clock on the wall had almost reached eight pm and you and Peter had settled for the reality that you’d be here all night.

You feel lucky that you’d worn a hoodie so you could at least use that as a pillow.

The room isn’t dark, but you and Peter didn’t want to turn on the overhead lights. You hadn’t talked about it – it was more of a silent agreement because you both turned on lamps.

Peter shuts his textbook, startling you slightly and making his way over to you. He takes notice of your drawing. How you’ve drawn him. He didn’t know you could draw. Peter didn’t know much about you – he thought he didn’t know much about you. He thought the two of you had nothing in common at all.

“You’re good at drawing.” He says quietly, pulling a chair to sit next to you.

You bite your lip, you don’t look up at him, you don’t meet his eyes, “Thanks.” You mutter softly, “Is there anything you’re good at?”

You ask him a question. Partially because you like the sound of his voice. Partially because it releases whatever tension is in the room.

Peter needs a moment to think about it. Other than school and Spider-Man, there’s not really much. He could tell you he also draws, but that would be a blatant lie. You can feel his body shrug.

“Not really. I’m okay at video games.” He chuckles.

You smile as you continue to draw, taking a moment to turn your head to face his. You see how he’s looking at you. There’s no hate in this moment. There’s no anger. There’s just the two of you. You feel as though it won’t last long, because the two of you only know how to argue. You don’t know how to be friends.

You continue to meet his eyes for a moment, with a hum, you speak again, “That’s not bad. I’m not good at much either, there’s school or drawing... I’ve never been good at much. I’ve never been able to be good at anything... bad luck kinda just follows me wherever I go, y’know?” You can feel yourself opening up to Peter and you’re not stopping yourself. You’re giving him more ammo.

Why are you giving him more ammo?

He sighs, “I get that. There’s like three things I’m good at.”

You turn your head back to your paper and for a second, there’s a comfortable silence. Until Peter decides to talk again – you knew this wouldn’t last long.

“I’m sorry.” Peter states suddenly and your head whips to face him.

“For what?” Your tone is curious, but mad, why would he be apologising... did you want him to apologise for something?

He shakes his head softly, leaning his arms on his knees, letting his head rest on them, “Because I'm the one that got us into this mess.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your gaze away, trying to focus on your drawing, “Yeah you are.”

Peter huffs, “You know what?... While we’re here, what’s your fucking problem with me?”

Your head snaps back to face him again, “My fucking problem with you? God, Peter, you’re the one who hated me first! I should be asking you that question. You never stop nit-picking on everything I do and you’re constantly the voice in my head telling me that I’m worthless! You’re nice to everybody but me!”

You’re standing up now and Peter matches your stance, “My god, do not throw all of that in my face! The first day I met you, you were boasting that you were the smartest person here and it made me feel like absolute shit and then you started comparing your marks with mine.”

Peter stalks closer to you as you move back into the side-bench. The room is darker now that Peter had turned off his lamp when he had decided to come and sit next to you. The tension that built in the room from earlier is only growing and growing and it’s going to explode. You can feel is as Peter moves closer to you, both of you mad. Both of you seething with anger. Both of you are breathing heavy.

“You constantly make me feel like shit, Hardy.” He says as you’re pinned, and you can feel his breath on your face. It smells like mint; he smells like wood and cinnamon and it’s the only thing you can bear to breathe, “and guess what? I... hate you.”

You let out a dry chuckle and Peter could fall to his knees. The way you look pinned to the wall, the way your eyes are darker than before, filled with something unrecognisable. You could say the same for Peter.

“Guess what, Parker.” You almost spit your words, leaning forward as much as you possibly can. You swear you can hear his heartbeat coming out of his chest, “I hate you too. That’s one thing we’re both good at, isn’t it?”

You’re not quite sure who moves first but in the heat of the moment, your lips; his lips, were smashed together. Your teeth clashing and your tongues down each other’s throats. Peter uses his strength to lift you onto the bench, as he sits in between your legs, continuing to fuck your mouth with his tongue.

Your saliva mixes in heat and the room is silent, except for your soft moans against Peter’s mouth. You can feel your core growing wet and all you want is Peter. You’ve never wanted Peter so badly in your whole entire life.

Peter pulls away, you know that for sure. You can feel your lips getting red and swollen already, but he pulls your hoodie over your head, “A tank top and no bra... who are you trying to impress?” He mutters before peppering kisses down your neck.

“Certainly, was not you.” You shoot back at him, and you feel his teeth nip at the skin that he kisses.

His breath is burning hot as he talks, “Don’t be a fuckin’ brat, Hardy.” He kisses your neck again and all you can do is put your arms behind you for support, letting your head fall back.

“What do you want?” He asks you pulling away from you and he can hear you mewl in response. He wants to hear you moan; he wants to feel you squirm in pleasure underneath him. He wants to hear you whine when he denies you from cumming because you’ve been so bad to him. But he also wants to hear your moan when you orgasm, when you cum all over his fingers.

That’s what he intends to do to you today. Right now, on the science bench the two of you do your projects on and nobody will know, and it’ll have to be a secret the two of you share. Something you can’t tell anyone else. Something that ties the two of you together.

“Anything.” You mewl underneath his body, “Give me anything.” You’re begging, he can hear how desperate you are. How much you need this source of release.

He chuckles against your neck, and you could feel the smirk on his lips, “God, you are so needy... if I knew that, I would’ve done this sooner.”

You slap him softly and he only chuckles, “Don’t do that or I’ll hold back.” You don’t do it again and Peter’s hand slides into your sweatpants, “This okay?”

You nod, “Y-yeah.” You mutter softly.

Peter feels how wet you are, how your slits are covered in your arousal and want for him. He could cum in his pants from just feeling you.

“God,” His breath his hot against your ear, “You are so wet... all of this for me. Seems like you don’t hate me that much.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Peter.” You shudder as you feel his fingers dip into you for a second before pulling them back out.

You’re desperate. You need it. You want it, “Peter, please.” You mewl. God, you hate yourself. You hate the way you want him so bad. But everything was telling you yes. That burning in your stomach filling you with desire for Peter and only Peter.

He loved hearing his name on your tongue. How you only ever called him by his last name, but this was personal. This was something that made both of you venerable.

“P-Please.” It was hard for you to even speak. You were already drunk on Peter. You hated the way you sounded. You hate how much you like this. Finally, being able to submit to Peter. Finally, be able to do whatever he wants.

Peter doesn’t speak as he slides two fingers into your dripping cunt. Penetrating your hole as your body folds inward against his. Your head falling into the crane of his neck as you moan in pleasure. Your body moves against his as he moves his fingers in and out of you. Your body falling back onto the bench.

The squelch of your pussy fills the room and your moans do too. You’re trying to keep quiet, but his fingers are thick, and strong. You can feel him in every inch of you. How his middle and pointer finger pressing inside of you and his thumb rubbing your clit making you retract once more. Your head falling back onto his shoulder.

“God, Petey.” The nickname slips off of your tongue and you feel yourself get hot, but Peter continues to press into you, harder, rougher. Everything that you wanted. Everything you need.

“Say it again.”

“Fuck, Petey.” You groan again as he presses into you, further, deeper.

You can feel that pit in your stomach burning up, you can feel your stomach churn and tie itself into a knot. You can feel yourself coming closer and closer to that sweet release. You need it.

“Fuck, Petey, I’m gonna cum.” You bite his shoulder in need.

“That’s right, that’s right, cum for me, y/n.” He speaks and all it does is push you over the edge. Your cum all over Peter’s fingers and he groans as he pulls them out of your pants, wrapping his mouth around them licking off your cum.

You bite your lip as you watch him do so with everything inside of you compelling you to speak, “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“Didn’t expect us to be.”

“I still hate you.”

You feel like you’re compensating.

“Didn’t expect you not to.”

Peter seems so completely chill. He seems like he actually doesn’t care. When in reality, he does. You can still feel yourself soiled in your pants and you’re slightly uncomfortable because of it. That and the fact that Peter had just made you feel good, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just weird.

Peter climbs onto the other side of the room and onto the table. You’ve bunched up your hoodie underneath your head and try to fall asleep. You can hear Peter’s soft snores, but despite your tiredness nothing gets you to sleep. Peter’s trying his best not to let himself feel something as he lets himself go.

You wake up in the morning met with the face of Mr. Harrington’s face as he had realised his mistake. He was clearly embarrassed and lets the two of you go, telling you that you can miss the first two periods, which were in fact, Chemistry. You and Peter walk home together, and you don’t say anything. Neither of you can muster up anything to say. Honestly, you’re considering skipping the rest of the school day and just wandering around in your suit. Alone or with Spidey, you weren’t sure. But regardless, you needed to stop thinking.

When Peter reaches his complex, you’re not sure if you should stop or continue, settling for the latter you keep going. It’s frustrating, that your feelings toward Peter are more complicated than ever.

You feel the burn of the warm water cascade down your skin, and you’ve decided you weren’t going back to school. Mr Harrington could be pissed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go back there. It was Friday anyway; you wouldn’t be missed over the weekend.

You check if your mum is home before slipping on your suit and the second you do, a message from the spider shows up on your goggles. Thank God.

You find him on the roof the two of you usually visit, “Hey, Spider.” You say softly, he can tell something’s up, and you know it.

“Something wrong, kitty?” He questions you, placing his hand on your arm, you can tell his eyes are looking at you with ease, with pity.

You nod softly, “I did something and I’m not sure If I’ll regret it.” The eyes on his suit begin to widen, “I didn’t steal again, Spidey, relax. I told you I’m never going back, no matter how much I want to.”

He nods, “I know, I just wanted to make sure,” He caresses your arm softly, “So what happened?”

“There’s this guy at my school and he makes my life hell, and I did something I never thought I would do... I dunno, I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

The arachnid nods, “It’s alright, let’s just swing around the city, take your mind off of whatever you’ve done.”

“Hopefully it does, Spider.” You smile carefully.

The two of you spend time in the city, flying off of buildings, racing. The two of you had a run in with a couple petty criminals. But nothing major. It’s not until the two of you are on the familiar rooftop with a box of pizza. His mask just above his lips and nose as he eats. The two of you laughing.

“D’you ever think any of our villains follow us back here?” You question Peter.

He shakes his head carefully, dangling his feet, “Nah, besides, there’s thousands of kids that go to this school, it doesn’t mean we’re any of them at all.”

You nod, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

You turn to face him, the two of you close. He sets down the pizza box, “So, did you forget?” He asks you softly.

“No... but I had fun.”

“I’m actually in the same position,” The spider sighs, “There’s this girl I can’t stand, and I did something to her. I’m not really sure if I regret it, though. Truth be told, I’ve kinda got feelings for her, but she, uh, she’d never feel the same.”

“Well, you don’t know till you try.”

He chuckles, “She’s a tough egg to crack, yesterday, I shed her of a few layers, but I don’t think it was enough.”

You place your hand on his thigh, “Don’t beat yourself up, Spidey.” You stand up on the ledge with a sigh, “Well, I’ve gotta go home... homework,” You smile, “And hey, thanks for today, I- uh- really needed it... bad luck kinda follows me wherever I go.”

A kiss to his cheek is the last thing you do and as you fall off of the edge, disappearing into the night. Peter feels something familiar about the words you had spoken. Thinking back to last night, the night the two of you did what you did. How his worst enemy couldn’t possibly the person he seeks comfort in... his partner in stopping crime.

... it couldn’t be? Right?

The next few days were spent with Peter freaking out over what he had learned. Everything about you. Everything the two of you really had. He hadn’t seen you... Black Cat... you. He hadn’t seen you, these past couple days. Given, crime was quiet this weekend, it didn’t stop. He hadn’t heard from you either.

Which made him worry? Should he be worried? It’s like you’re two totally different people, yet he can see parts of you in your superhero alias, the insults you shoot at the enemy are much like the ones you shoot at Peter. Both of you quipping at them as you fight. He looks at a selfie the two of you took on his phone, and he can finally see you. The glass of your goggles are quite tinted, and you’re smile completely changes the way Peter sees you. He’d only ever seen the way you sneered and moaned. God, that face you made when you moaned turned him on so much, but the sneer you’d give him made him feel like shit – but your smile made him want to smile.

Peter remembered the day he met you as he lay in bed that night. Thinking back to why the two of you hated each other. Maybe Peter had started this but that’s because of the Cat. The Black Cat. The person that was you. Peter loved Black Cat. He had harboured so many feelings for you over the past few years – so when a cute new girl had shown up at Midtown, someone who he could actually get along with, someone just as smart as him, he was rude and condescending because he knew he would begin to feel something for you, but it turned out that he already had, and he had no clue.

He thought about how he could bring this up to you. How he could confront you. How he could tell you that he knows you’re his best friend. How he’s yours.

Peter thinks about different scenarios of how this could all go. None of them end well.

Well, there’s the fairy tale ending where you kiss him and love him for exactly who he is, because he’s ninety-nine, point, nine percent sure Black Cat has a crush on Spider-Man. But even though he can look past it. He can turn everything he hates about you into something he loves. He’s been doing that ever since the rooftop.

He knows it’ll never happen.

“Parker, what the hell are you doing?” He’s dragging you into a janitors closet, as you protest against his hand.

He doesn’t know how to say this to you, but the light is dim and all he can do is stare. Albeit you’re angry, the way he looks at you is making you want to melt. But you can’t let yourself feel something for Peter. He’s your greatest enemy. Besides, you love Spider-Man. You love whoever is underneath that stupid mask – no matter what.

“I know who, I know what you are, Hardy.” He speaks softly, “I know you’re Black Cat.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Parker. She’s a vigilante. She works with Spider-Man. Do I look like someone who knows fucking Spider-Man?”

He nods, “Yeah. You do.”

You scoff, “Fuck off. I’m leaving. You can’t throw accusations like that around.”

Your hand goes for the door, and you feel something stick to the knob, your hand sticks to the knob. The familiar webbing that your best friend uses. The familiar webbing that Spider-Man uses. The Spider-Man you know. The Spider-Man you love. The man you said you loved underneath the mask no matter what.

“No.” You whisper, turning your head to face Peter, “No. It can’t be you... It can’t be you.” You’re shaking your head frantically, trying to enable any sort of hope you have that he’s lying to you. That this is some sick prank.

But it’s not. You know that. You hate this. Because you said you’d love the man under the mask, but the man underneath the mask is Peter.

You gulp, the question reluctant to fall from your tongue, “How did you know it was me?”

“Bad luck kinda follows me wherever I go. I’ve only ever heard two people say that. You and Black Cat. Technically one person.” Peter says, “I didn’t want to believe it at first, but the whole reason I was an asshole to you was because I had feelings for you... but Black Cat you. Not Y/n you. I didn’t want to fall for you because let’s be real, you’re an amazing, smart, incredible girl and suddenly all the things I hated about you became things I liked, but I’m not really sure that’s true because I kinda liked you the whole time.”

You can’t listen to this anymore. “Let me go, Spidey.” You whisper, “I’m sorry, but I can’t... I need time... you’re the person I love the most but you’re also the person I hate. The person who made the last few years hell... I’m sorry.”

Peter pulls out some web remover from his pocket, “I get it. It took me the whole weekend to try and understand... I still can’t understand, but I want us to be the same as we were. I want Peter and Y/n to be Spidey and Kitty.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible, Peter.” You turn the knob of the door with your now free hand, “I’m not sure we’re even Spidey and Kitty anymore.”

You leave the janitors closet and you can’t even stay at school anymore. The one person you could count on to make you feel better was the only person you couldn’t stand. The person that took your mind off of Peter finger-fucking you was Peter. The person who fucked you. Peter knew things about you that nobody else knew. Nobody ever would know except for him.

Suddenly, you felt exposed.

More exposed than you’d ever feel if your identity was actually exposed to the public.

You ran out the door and headed home, making your way into your room. You promised yourself you wouldn’t go back... but you also promised yourself that you’d love whoever was underneath that goddamn mask no matter what. You weren’t quite sure what promises you could keep anymore.

This had been calling to you. You needed to do this, and you needed to do it now. You put on your suit and took out a bulletin board hidden inside your closet.

The last piece of art your father had ever painted.

You knew who had it. You just didn’t know where they were. You didn’t know where Wilson Fisk would be. This was the big leagues. Bigger than anything you’d ever done before. Bigger than any job you would’ve let yourself do before. But now it’s different.

It’s different because you have more experience. You’re stealthier than you were two years ago. You’re more agile. You’re quicker. Sneakier. Less reluctant to stun and hurt people.

You, however, have somewhere to go first.

Tombstone walks into his office, and you sit at his chair, a smirk lacing your face as he pulls out a gun. But you hold your hands up.

“Woah, woah, woah! Relax, I’m not here to bust you, graveyard.” You snicker at your own quip, “I’m here to ask you a question... I need some help.”

“So, you’re back to your own ways.” The smirk on his face is anything but large, small, discreet, and so enticing. You want to slap him in the face. You still want to bust him. But you can’t, otherwise he won’t give you the information you need, “Crime was never the same without you.”

You shake your head, “This is my last job before retirement. It’s risky and big. But I don’t know where he is... I have one painting left, Lonnie.” Your voice is somber, genuine.

“How do I know I can trust you’re not working with the Spider?” He questions, folding his arms.

“He did something to me. He betrayed me.” Your tone is seething and angry. You’re angry. That’s all you are. Mad. Unspeakably mad, “I don’t need him anymore. What I need is his last painting. You know how much they mean to me. You know how long I’ve been waiting.”

He nods, “I know, I know. But what’s in it for me?”

You shake your head, “I have nothing to offer money wise. I keep them. But should you ever need something incredibly hard to find. Hard to acquire. You’ve got the number for these.” You tap your goggles, “... and I will be happy to come out of retirement.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, “Alright... who are you looking for?”

Perched on the building across from Fisk’s, you stare into the apartment, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Your spray paint is in the belt of your suit and you’re ready to make your mark. You can see your father’s painting. You can see the beautiful light blues and candy pink hues that cover the canvas in contrast with Fisk’s white walls, it’s the only colour in the room. It’s the only sign of life in the apartment.

You desperately want to take it and replace that sign of life with your signature tag. The tag that lets him know that he’s the victim of your wrath. The victim of stolen art that he had stolen from you first. The painting had barely made a dent in his bank account and your families had acquired nothing because of the art museum ripping you off after his death. How all they did was gain and all you did was loose. How your mum was working shift after shift to keep you in Midtown so you could do something great for the both of you. Your mother Felicia Hardy was nothing short of amazing.

She didn’t deserve what had happened to her.

How she suffered for both of you more than you would ever have to.

But your stakeout is interrupted by the familiar padding of feet behind you. The familiar voice that breaks you out of this trance you’ve got happening. It’s going to kill you to face him. To look at him. Especially after turning back, trying to turn back to this life you’d promised him you would never turn back to.

“I thought you promised me you wouldn’t go back.” He says quietly, loud enough for you to hear, but his voice laced with disappointment. You’d rather him be angry or mad.

Knowing that it’s Peter now. Hearing disappointment in his voice rather than familiar venom.

You look at him through your goggles. They’re tinted, you have to remind yourself of that every time you look into his eyes. Though, it doesn’t really matter anymore.

“I guess we make promises we can’t keep.” You sigh, turning back to look back into the room.

“You don’t want to do this, Kitty... this isn’t you.”

“You don’t know me, Parker!” You say exasperated, “You don’t know anything about me.”

You’re lying to yourself – he knows you more than your mother. He knows you the best out of anyone you ever know. You keep reminding yourself about that and it keeps bringing you pain. But it’s something you can’t seem to stop thinking about. Something that won’t seem to leave you alone.

Something that regrets making you lash out like this. Something that makes you regret not kissing him in that janitors closet and telling him you can work through it. Work through the confusion. Work through the problems you face with yourself and him. Work through the problems that can bring Y/n and Peter together just like your superhero counterparts.

You’re so confused and it’s killing you. You want Peter. You do. But you’re scared to let yourself want him more than you’ve already had him. This whole time you’ve had Peter. You’ve had Peter Parker.

“Stop lying to yourself!” Peter reads your mind, “We have something. You know it. I know it. You can’t keep hiding yourself from the truth.”

“I’m not hiding from any truth, Peter. I want to love you. But how can I love someone who’s provoked me into being the worst version and the best version of myself around them?”

“That’s my point... I’ve made you better.”

“You’ve also made me horrid... do you not understand that?”

He moves closer to you, placing his hand on your shoulder, “I do... because you’ve done the same thing to me, sweetheart. But now that I know you. Now that I truly know you. I can only make you better. I don’t have to pretend to hate you anymore.”

You look up at Peter and his hand flies to your chin, caressing it softly, “Petey...” You say quiet, “I don’t know what I want. I mean, I do. I want you. I want Spider-Man. But I don’t know what I want right now.”

“I can put the mask on, I can leave, and I can let you get back to your business, or you can leave, either way, we can pretend this never happened... or we can face the music. I can stay. I can make you feel good, I can make you feel better. Then you can choose to go back to your business, and I’ll leave... or you can come back with me.”

You stare into the lens’ of his suit, “Peter...” You trail off, taking the next step and removing your goggles slowly, there aren’t any red marks yet.

Peter takes off his own too, moving towards you until you’re leaning against the ledge, “So what it’ll be, Kitty? What do you want?”

You look up him and it feels like the science room all over again, but now it’s real. Everything is real. The boy standing in front of you is one of love. One that you do love. That you need to love.

“I- I need you, Peter.” Your voice is quiet and all you can inhale is him. All that fills your scent is him.

And soon, all you can taste is his tongue. How your tongues are intertwined, moving together. In sync. Sharing control. It’s not rough like the first time the two of you kissed. Full of anger and desire. Now full of passion, romance.

His lips were softer and plump, they moved with yours so fluidly. They mix in with your grape Chapstick which Peter thinks only makes you taste better. Although, he should believe you always taste good. His hands are wrapped around your waist and his they make your skin tingle, burning straight through you.

Peter’s hands manage to find the zipper of your suit and as he pulls away, “Can I?” He questions.

You debate it for a moment. You like him. You like all of him. You want him. Right now. But do you want to have sex on a rooftop?

“Yeah.” You smirk, “It’s okay.”

His fingers slip for a moment, before gripping back onto the zipper, sliding it down. You’re pulling it off and you’re left in your panties, “If I knew you didn’t wear a bra underneath this thing maybe I would’ve acted on this sooner.”

“Peter!” You say through a laugh, and his lips land back on yours, through your smile. Your laugh doesn’t last long as Peter’s lips begin to trail down your neck, reaching one of your many sweet spots. This was one Peter had discovered the other night, “Peter.” You moan breathless.

How he’s been kissing you for a moment, a single moment and you’re already gone. You’re head leans back slightly as his head is in the crane of your neck, “God,” you moan once more, your hands run along Peter’s suit, “I can’t be the only one, Petey.”

He nods and removes his lips from your neck, taking off his own suit and you can see how hard he is through his boxers. You palm his cock before his lips are back on yours, “Fuck, Kitty.” He groans softly as you hold his cock through his pants, he removes your hand from his pants, “Kitty... I wanna taste your kitty.”

“EW! Peter!” You slap him quickly through a laugh, “God, you are such a dork!”

“You love it,” He presses a soft kiss to your lips, and you can’t help but smile.

“I do.” You say quietly against his lips. Your breath hot on his, “So what’re you waiting for?”

Peter pulls you onto the floor of the rooftop, on top of the pile of your suits, his tongue trails down your body, before finally reaching your pussy. His thumb flies over the thin material of your panties. You shudder at how sensitive you are. God, he’s barely even touched you and you’re already folding underneath him.

“God, you’re so wet. You’re so fuckin’ wet.” He almost growls? You don’t care, he’s too hot for you to care. You feel so high on the feeling already that you don’t care.

Your hand runs through his hair, through his pretty curls, they lace your fingers, his hair is soft... so soft. You think about asking what shampoo he uses after all this is done. He’d laugh at you and the feeling of bliss you feel from the thought of that overtakes everything that you ever felt before.

“Petey,” Your moan is breathless and needy. You were allowing him to let him have you. You were finally letting him have all of you.

Maybe you’d come to regret this someday... maybe Peter will break your heart. But you don’t feel any of that right now. All you feel is love and hope. All you feel is good.

Your moans are turning Peter on by the minute. He wants nothing to devour you. He wants nothing more than to make you feel good because that makes him feel good. He’s addicted to the taste of you. It’s a taste he desperately wanted back the second the two of you stopped. He tried too hard to remember your taste and scent over the weekend and now he’s got it all splayed out in front of him.

Peter slides his hands into the waistband of your panties, “This good, Kitty?” He questions you in a whisper and all you can do is nod, “I need words, baby.”

“Yes, Peter.” You match his volume, “Please. Do whatever you want with me. I just need you.”

You can feel his smirk as he pulls down your panties, it’s not long before they’re all the way down your legs and it doesn’t take long for his tongue to dip into the deep pool that is your pussy. Your wetness coats his tongue, covering it in the sweet juice. He moans at how sweet you are, how good you taste. The vibrations of his moans on your clit make you want to scream. How he's kitten licking and trying different speeds.

You mewl underneath him so needy for him – your knuckles turn white as you’re gripping onto his hair, holding on for what feels like dear life as he continues to lap at you. Long and small strokes with his tongue. He feels so good against you. Your moans filling the air of the cold rooftop as your nipples stand hard. Peter’s hands make their way up your body. His hands so warm against you. Holding your tits, his fingers grazing against the hard nubs.

He sucks and makes circles around your clit, making you moan and your back arch. How is he so fucking good at this? He was supposed to be quiet and kept, you’d expect nothing like this of him... though, you also should’ve asked yourself that question in the science room.

Peter’s breath is hot on your pussy as he continues to lap at your sweet juices, moving faster and faster until you have your final release. Your stomach churning with desire, swirling with a fire that brings you nothing but bliss; nothing but that sweet release. Your hand remains in his hair, but slowly slithers out as Peter comes up to meet your face once more. His lips are swollen and red from the taste of you. He presses a kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself.

You run your hand down Peter’s body, finally reaching his boxers, finally feeling how hard his cock really is, “What do you want, Peter? Cause I know what I want.” You say quietly.

“I wanna fuck you so bad.” He smiles and you match his grin.

As he slides his cock into you, it feels like a revelation. There’s not much here but feelings for each other. Somehow this is proving to you that Peter won’t hurt you like he has in the past. You wonder why this is showing you everything’s. Maybe it’s because the two of you are in such a venerable state that makes both of you exposed in all the best ways. Sure, it’s dark on the roof, but the light of the moon, the lights of most buildings and the shimmer of the stars in the sky make Peter look as beautiful as ever. The moon light on his face, the drunken haze of sex the both of you are in. Breathing in that cinnamon scent you smelled two days ago, trying to fight it, but now that you’ve let yourself have it all, it’s as though he’s put you into a trance.

His cock and how wet you are just making it all the easier. Peter groans deep, his voice husky and the way he kisses your neck again, needy, full of want for your body. His lips come back onto yours. He bites your lip softly and you moan against the feeling. His cock is pushing deeper inside of you. The two of you moving in motion. Only being able to feel each other. You can feel the slit of his cock pressing against your g-spot and his fingers move down your body, landing on your clit, stimulating you further.

His balls hit your skin as your bodies blend. Till the two of you are one large chunk of flesh. Together, made into one. Partners in stopping crime. Best friends.

His lips hit yours again, togues intertwined once more. You pull away breathless, panting, sweating. You feel like you’re seeing stars and you’re drunk, drunk off of the feeling of Peter’s raw cock inside of you.

Your moans fill the air once more and Peter can feel you getting tighter as he continues to move in and out of you. Your clit is pulsing and sensitive, throbbing.

“Peter, I’m gonna cum.” You moan, letting him know exactly what you’re doing, you can feel the desire awaken inside of you. You can feel your stomach burn and burn. You can feel yourself walking closer and closer to that edge.

“That’s right, Kitty, cum for me.” He groans as he too can feel himself getting closer, but he needs you to cum first.

“Ah! Fuck!” You groan as you feel yourself pour over. His words pushing you over. You’re stuck panting as Peter begins to ride you off of your high, all you sensitive and the hole of your pussy feels raw and wet.

“Fuck...” Peter moans as he feels that same sensation of desire built up inside of him. That fire. That need for release.

“Cum on my stomach.” You tell him you’re your pants of breath, unable to catch yourself.

Peter growls as he pulls out of you, rubbing his cock as cum comes out of the slit of his cock, warm and sticky all over your stomach.

He falls next to you with a soft chuckle, “How are we going to clean you up?”

You turn to face him, “I’m not sure... but right now? I don’t really care.”

Peter pulls you into his arms, kissing your collarbone, “I’m sorry I hurt you like I did.” He mutters against the sweat of your skin.

You shakes your head softly, “I’m sorry too... we both kinda fucked up, right?”

He nods softly, “Yeah.” He presses another kiss to your shoulder, “What does this mean for us?”

You smile wide, grinning brightly, “I’d be willing to give us a shot if you are.”

“I most definitely am.”

“Peter! Guess what!” You call across the room, running back to your table from Mr. Harrington’s desk, “I got one hundred!” Your cheerful, you’re happy.

“Congrats, baby!” He presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

The adjustment for everyone was weird. Especially for Mr. Harrington. Seeing both of you kind to each other. Nice.

Yes. The arguing was familiar, but this is something that he never thought he would see. The two of you getting along let alone a couple.

“Me too.” He mutters against your cheek.

You shove him playfully, “Why didn’t you say anything!”

“You want me to be honest?” He questions you softly.

You nod, “Yeah... I do.”

“Sometimes if I notice you’ve had a bad day, I lie to make you feel better.”

“Wait what do you mean?”

“You remember last semester when you got that mark back and I said I got ninety-seven because you got ninety-nine?”

You nod your head, your eyes morphing into a sceptical glare, “Yeah... I do.”

“I lied. I got a hundred, but you looked like you had a bad day.”

“Peter. We didn’t even like each other then.” You said softly.

Honestly, this was heart-warming, tugging on every single string your heart could muster up.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

The bell goes, and Peter begins to walk away.

“Peter what do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Peter!”

You run after him feeling nothing but warmth and love.

#peter parker x reader #tom holland x reader #andrew garfield x reader #tobey maguire x reader #spiderman x reader

448 notes · View notes

nowayhomer · 2 years

Note

How about a Tobey!Peter Parker x Female Reader AU where it's Reader who gets bitten by a radioactive spider at the field trip and becomes spider woman or whatever you want to call her. Time skip to college, Tobey!Peter and Reader are together but the relationship is difficult because she cancels last minute or reschedules. He starts to think she's cheating, but finds a clue that makes him put two on two and figure out reader is spider woman, then confronts her afterwards? Thank youuu :)

sorry this took a lot longer than planned, i moved back to uni but hey, i'm here now ! enjoy <3

araneae

Ⅰ. PAIRING tobey!peter x spider!reader , tobey!peter x fem!reader

Ⅱ. GENRE not really angst ?, fluff ending, au where you are a spider-powered hero named araneae and peter is just peter.

Ⅲ. WARNINGS minor usage of mature language, a minor depiction of injury

Ⅳ. WORD COUNT 1,4k

your spider bite grossly itched; the two punctures were still rouged from when you first got your powers. you tried to look away but the injury was hypnotic. your thoughts were thrown back to high school and the infamous oscorp field trip.

there you were, standing behind peter parker, the school photographer. you were a columnist for the midtown high newspaper, a bit too mesmerised by your colleague. you watched peter focus his lens on one of the spiders, barely catching something about a spider taken for experimentation. it wasn’t long after that you felt two sharp needles in your hand, you shook the spider off and watched it crawl away.

the arachnid was not the only thing that had crawled away from you, your whole life seemed to be slipping through your fingers. you barely spent time with your best friends, and your grades had fallen from the pristine record you kept throughout high school to dangerous expulsion waters at esu. the worst part was the way your heart ached every time you would see peter wait for you in another restaurant, but you were too busy being a superhero to make the time for him. it was pathetic, you were finally dating your long-time crush and there was a thread worth of actual dates in what should have been a fully knit relationship sweater.

peter couldn’t believe what was happening to him. he sat alone and munched on a garlic breadstick in anger, sinking in his seat. this was the 27th failed date since he started dating you eight months ago and for the past six attempts in a row, he found himself in the same situation. he was internally punching himself for thinking anything would work out for him of all people. peter’s home life was filled with stress and just when he thought his escape to college would be fruitful, he met you. well, he had always known who you were; the quiet student who would rather die than get outside of her circle, but when he finally started talking to you in the hallways of the dorm hall in freshman year, he just clicked with you instantly. the friendship was a gift, the relationship, however, seemed to be another burden on peter parker’s shoulders.

peter walked to central park, watching his reflection ripple pitifully from the bow bridge. if fate dealt hands to everyone, it seemed to make sure peter would always lose the game. he sighed, thinking about why you could have possibly left him again. what if you were busy ? no, you’d let him know beforehand about your availability. what if you got sick ? no, he’d see you miss classes. what was the one reason that had you hiding and escaping him ? the worst thought of them all made him go dizzy. what if you were cheating on him ?

peter was going rounds through the park, thinking of all the memories he had with you and it put into perspective how turbulent your relationship had been, especially surrounding a certain hero.

peter had called you to meet him in front of the daily bugle to walk to times square where he would show you his pictures of araneae on the big screen. it had felt as if you came the second he ended the call. the whole walk to times square, peter carried the conversation and talked about the superhero he took pictures of. he didn’t catch it before, but you were silent and smiling as if you were a pendulum joining and leaving his attention. when you finally joined the conversation, you commented about how you heard about araneae using glass shards to attack kraven, you called it ‘inventive combat.’ peter thought the memory would help him focus on how unfocused you were around him, but his brain was wired to the details. how did you know about the fight with kraven at all ? the paper hadn’t been printed yet and he was the only spectator. peter didn’t catch it before because he was too excited about taking you to see his pictures.

peter rolled back through his memory drive, trying to picture every detail.

on a rare occasion, you had been able to make a date. you had seemed tense, the whole seven minutes you had been there having been spent looking out the window nervously, like being in the same room with peter made you anxious. in his mind, he thought your behaviour was because he could confront you about cheating on him at any moment, but he couldn’t focus on anything before the fight. before you had even gotten your drinks, the windows looking out to the streets had burst and everything felt like slow motion. the shards rained like cascading diamonds; every time they caught the light he was blinded. he turned to where you were crouched but you had vanished into thin air. araneae jumped in front of him, rapidly shooting webs to hold the scorpion to the wall. the hero yelled at peter, “get out of here now !” peter was frozen, still looking for you. “i can’t go, my girlfriend, y/n, i can’t find her.” he scoured the room frantically. araneae had told peter that you were fine and to hurry out. peter waited outside from a safe distance, praying you’d come back to him. araneae had left the scene after knocking scorpion unconscious. you had come out of the bathroom with cuts and bruises a minute after araneae left.

peter had to take a seat on a bench nearby to collect himself. he rethought every moment with you; during every missed date, there happened to be another villain running loose with araneae trying to stop them.

how could he not have caught it before ? your insane reflexes, the way a cut would disappear the next day, how you always knew to pull peter out of danger before anything happened.

you were araneae.

you climbed onto the fire escape, clutching your eye with its ripe wound. you wiped your bleeding nose with your sleeve and grimaced when you felt the liquid soak through, feeling both cold and warm against your skin. you took a long shower to wash off the grime that built up from your fight against kraven. when you stepped out of the shower and were met with your bedroom door hitting your wall when it was forced open. peter ran in, gasping for air with his tie barely in a knot. “i know.” he stood upright, looking towards you for a reaction, his sight instantly moving to your swollen eye. peter walked to you in a hurry, holding your face in his hands, softly brushing his finger over your wound. he quickly pulled away when he heard you hiss in pain. “i fell… in the shower. just slipped and my face hit the tub, it’s a funny story actually,”

“y/n, i’m not an idiot, give me some credit.”

“what are you talking about ?”

“you’re araneae.”

hearing the confrontation was not on your bingo card; it was the most unexpected thing to happen and you fought animal-themed supervillains all week. “peter, be rational. how could i possibly be a superhero ? i definitely don’t have the time for that with esu, and the newspaper, you know me.”

“y/n, you can be honest with me.” you took a deep breath and let yourself spill your emotions. “i’m sorry. i didn’t tell you because you have enough on your plate, always taking care of aunt may and uncle ben, working to help pay for your rent and their rent, being a stem major– i can't have you be worried about me.” peter was still holding your face, the smile he wore gifted you a second surprise for the night. “y/n, you being a superhero isn’t a burden to me. what happens in my life, i’m perfectly fine with it, but being with you always made my day, even if you didn’t show up most days because you’re out saving the day. i was so scared before i realised… i thought you didn’t want to be with me anymore, that was the real burden.” he chuckled. “wow, my girlfriend is a fucking superhero.” he said breathlessly, kissing you. you laughed with him, “yeah, i am.” you pulled out an extra mask you had sewn and let it cover your face. you turned away from peter, offering him the space on your back, “let me take you out for a swing.” peter climbed onto your back, “lead the way araneae.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fluff #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #tobey!peter parker x reader #tobey!peter x reader #tobey!peter au #tobey!peter parker au #tobey maguire x reader #marvel fic #aurigaupdates

104 notes · View notes

xspeter · 8 months

Text

JUST BARELY

peter parker x fem!reader

synopsis - fall is the best season.

“peter.”

“yeah baby?”

“it’s fall.”

usually, when the two of you first wake up, the first thing out of your mouth is a, “good morning baby,” so this is slightly unusual.

“what d’ya mean?” he asks, voice husky with remnants of sleep.

“it’s fall. like… like leaves changing color, weather getting chillier, pumpkin spice latte… fall.” you say excitedly.

peter furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “okay..?”

you scoff and immediately sit up, your sudden movement causing the fuzzy blanket to fall from peters chest. he’s immediately met by a sudden cold brush of air and his arms instinctively wrap around his body to try and savor any warmth that you had selfishly stolen from him.

“what do you mean ‘okay’? it’s fall! the best time of the year!” you say excitedly. “this is the only time of year where it’s acceptable to wear crew necks and cardigans! and- and haunted houses are opening and pumpkin patches! and we can make those cute little halloween cookies you get at walmart! oh my gosh and i almost forgot about halloween! i love halloween!” you ramble.

peter smiles warmly at you, finding your rant amusing. you two had gotten together back in feburary, so he had no idea you loved autumn this much.

“if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you loved fall more than you love me.” peter teases.

your eyebrows furrow and you pretend to think for a minute before you shrug, “well,” you say, “fall is about here,” you explain, putting your hand right in front of your chest, “and you are around… here!” you put your other hand a tiny bit lower than the first, and peter gasps at frantically throws his head back.

you giggle at peters dramatics, but suddenly your pulled on top of peter as he tickles you in retaliation.

“peter- peter stop!” you laugh, but your pleas fall on deaf ears.

peter ignores you and continues tickling up your sides. your laugh music to his ears.

“peter- peter- wait!” you gasp out, finally finding the strength to pull yourself away from him.

peters eyebrows furrow and a concerned look washes over his face. “what’s wrong?” he questions, his chocolate brown eyes looking into yours. his expression is nothing but pure love, and suddenly, you really do think you’ve found something you love just a little more than fall.

“i just love you.” you mumble.

peters lips crack into a small grin and he leans in and kisses you softly.

“more than fall?” he asks a against your lips.

you sigh dramatically, “just barely.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #tom holland #andrew garfield #tobey maguire #spider man #fluff #fall #autumn #marvel #ilovefall #really fluffy

190 notes · View notes

spider-stark · 5 days

Text

INFINITELY YOU

part three // spitfire

WARNINGS - 18+, minors DNI

WORD COUNT - 4.5k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker // tobey!peter = pete

On the walk back from Peter Pan’s, it seemed as though Parker had managed to entirely escape the sputtering awkwardness that had ensnared him the night before.

And, after countless city blocks of listening to him babble about absolutely everything and anything, you realized that there was one very striking similarity between him and Peter.

Both boys had a fervent interest in all things nerd.

“New Hope takes place nearly two decades after the rise of the Galactic Empire, meaning that Leia is only nineteen when she's kidnapped and forced aboard the Death Star! Which is like, absolutely insane, right? Seriously! Imagine being nineteen years old and stuck inside of something that has the potential to obliterate an entire planet!”

Shoving open the lobby door to your complex, Parker hardly even waits for you to hum your agreement before continuing his retelling of the Star Wars film.

“And at the exact same time, Luke is finally beginning his Jedi training! Which, honestly, nineteen is actually super old for that, but-”

Moving towards the stairs, Parker close on your heels, you cut him off with a question. “Too old? Nineteen is hardly even an adult,” you argue. “What age do most Jedi start training?”

“About four or five, so obviously Luke was way behind,”

Not even a full three stairs up, you come to a grinding halt, leaving Parker to bump into your back. “Four?!” You cry out, wide-eyed as you spin around to face him. “That’s insane!”

Parker only lifts his shoulders, clearly not understanding the reason for your horror.

Furthering your point, you add, “There’s nothing ethical about taking a bunch of little kids and training them to be weird, intergalactic warriors!”

“It’s the best way to train them!” He lifts his hand defensively, explaining, “The earlier they start training, the less likely it is that the kids will have formed an attachment to their families! That way they learn to act out of logic instead of emotion!”

For a heartbeat, you’re rendered entirely speechless by the absurdity of his claim, left to stand with your mouth agape as you blink at him.

“That sounds like emotional abuse,” you finally huff, shaking your head. “Actually, scratch that—it doesn’t sound like emotional abuse, it just is!”

“It’s not abuse-”

You hold a hand up, stopping him before he can say anything else. “Give me one good reason why a group of adults should withhold love and affection from children if they aren’t abusing them.”

“Uh, how about the fact that love is basically what made Anakin turn to the dark side!” Parker scoffs, clearly unwilling to recognize how insane the notion he was pushing actually is.

“Or maybe Anakin turned to the dark side because he was indoctrinated and traumatized by some stupid space cult!”

The expression on his face is downright laughable.

It was as if you had just reached out and slapped him across the face. His jaw went slack, his mouth hung open in blatant offense. As a sputtering noise falls from his lips, trying and failing to come up with a good rebuttal, you smirk.

“Exactly,” you boast, taking his inability to speak as a sign of victory.

Twirling on your heel, you continue up the stairs, nearly all the way to the top before you finally hear him come stomping up behind you.

“The Jedi Order is not a cult!” He finally shouts after you.

Already traipsing through the hallway, fiddling with your keys, you sing-song, “Whatever you say, bug-boy.”

Reluctant to admit defeat, Parker continues grumbling under his breath as you unlock the door, spouting something off about your lack of respect for George Lucas.

“Look,” you tell him, pushing the door open, “if liking Star Wars matters this much to you, then I’ll gladly watch them with you.” A wry smile plays on your lips as you turn to look at him, standing in the doorway, “Maybe watching them will be enough to change my opinion on turning kids into galactic slaves.”

Eyes narrowing in a playful glare, he’s only able to hold the expression for less than a few seconds before a laugh causes him to break character. “I just can’t believe that Peter hasn’t made you watch them already,” he admits. “I had you watch them so much that you could probably recite the scripts from memory alone!”

His amusement dies off as soon as he finishes the sentence. Despite having been the one to bring it up, the mention of his world seems to cast a sullen shadow over him, ruining his sweet, boyish smile.

Curiosity instantly claws at you, begging you to ask him why his world seemed to have such a negative effect on him. Or, rather, why his version of you seemed to have such an effect.

This had happened last night too, when you had asked him if the two of you were friends in his world—and it was because of this that you assume that you’re somehow the common denominator in his discomfort.

Still, you don’t let yourself ask him about it. For as much as you’re starting to like Parker, you don’t know him nearly well enough to try prying into his life.

Not yet, at least.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to force me into sitting through them in this world, too.” You tell him sweetly, sweeping an arm out to gesture inside of your apartment, inviting him. “It’s not like I’ve got any plans for the rest of the day.”

You couldn’t even remember the last time you did have plans. Life had been so quiet since that last night with Peter and Mj—the night when everything went so horribly wrong.

Parker sucks in a breath through his teeth, a hand coming to rest against the back of his neck. “I should probably get back out on the streets,” he reluctantly says, sounding more like he was convincing himself of that than you. “But, I don’t know, maybe we can take a rain check on it, yeah?”

Disappointment washes over you, sudden enough that you’re sure it shines through on your face. It takes a shocking amount of willpower to stop yourself from trying to persuade him to stay, wanting to remind him that two other Spider-Men were already running themselves ragged in pursuit of the villains—so why did he have to go, too?

You had grown used to his constant talking, having found solace in the chatter that kept you from slipping too far into your own thoughts. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay so that you wouldn’t have to be alone; so that you wouldn’t have to risk thinking too long about Doctor Strange or the multiverse or constants or Peter.

The thought of admitting any of that out loud, however, felt incredibly humiliating.

“For sure,” you force a smile, trying to ignore the many thoughts swirling in your mind. Then, eyeing the slightly too-tight Ramones shirt that he’d stolen from you, you add, “But shouldn’t you at least come in and change?”

His nose wrinkles slightly as he shakes his head. “Nah—I think this city has more than enough spider-people swinging around it right now. I figure we might actually benefit from one of us patrolling on the ground-level, y’know? Maybe I can ask around for any giant lizards or blown light bulbs.”

It’s hard to tell if the last bit is meant to be a joke or not, but you laugh anyway if only to avoid knowing why you should be worried about lizards and light bulbs.

“Sounds like a plan,” you second his idea. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later then?”

A surprising sense of joy lights his eyes at the sound of your hesitance, unfitting of the simplicity of the moment, but charming nonetheless. He grins—a wide and endearing sort of grin—as he takes a step back, “I won’t be gone long,” he promises before reminding you, “lock the door behind you, alright? And if you need anything-”

He pauses, patting the pockets of his jeans only to remember that he didn’t bring a phone with him to this universe—and that, even if he did, there likely wasn’t a wireless plan good enough to support multiversal travel.

“If you need anything, call 911.”

“Got it,” you laugh, watching as he stumbles backwards towards the stairwell, cheeks red with faint embarrassment.

Turning to go inside, you can’t ignore the warmth that now blooms in your chest.

You could definitely get used to having him around.

A peculiar sensation prickles at your skin, curling along your spine like icy fingertips.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The usually comfortable atmosphere of your apartment had shifted. An eerie tension fills the space, a near-suffocating feeling that has the very walls holding their breath, humming a tune of warning as you inch further into the living room.

Your stomach twists as the sharp tang of exhaust fumes fills your nostrils. By the couch, a faint breeze rustles the curtains of a window, wafting in the nauseating scent of the city street below—a window that hadn’t been open when you left earlier.

A mere foot or so away, you notice that the picture frame Parker had been fiddling with before is now lying on its face, having been knocked off the end table and abandoned. Atop the table, you notice that the lamp is sitting askew, its base just inches from tumbling over the edge and joining the frame.

Someone had come in through your window—and it didn’t appear as though stealth had been very important to them, given that they had clearly stumbled into the table upon their entrance.

Adrenaline floods your senses, your spine stiffening as you take a series of slow, quiet steps.

Moving towards the corner, you carefully reach out a hand to grab the metal bat propped against the wall. The bat had been an unlikely housewarming present from when you first moved in, given to you by Peter’s mentor and your own reluctant renegade, Tony Stark. For nearly two years now it had sat in this corner, unused and gathering dust—until now.

You wrap your fingers tightly around the base, wincing slightly as the rubber grip pulls at the still-healing flesh on your palm, making you curse yourself for not properly bandaging the wound last night.

But you’re used to pain—and so you’re easily able to bite back against it as you ease through the living room, checking for any sign of the intruder's presence.

As you walk, gripping the bat like your life depends on it, you can’t help but hear Tony Stark’s voice echo in your mind.

If you’re gonna live alone, then you should have some sort of protection—he had told you, gently placing the cool steel into your hands for the first time, a ribbon tied sloppily around it—not that you need it.

Satisfied with your search of the living room, you start easing towards the hall. You’re good at sneaking around, having had a lot of practice at it—every movement you make is calculated, every footfall so purposefully gentle that it’s nearly silent.

Quiet as you were, you could do nothing to ease the sound of your blood thrumming wildly in your own ears, your heart pounding against your chest.

The incessant beating worries you—because you know that there are people in the world with the unnatural ability to hear such things. Peter, even with his enhanced hearing, had to be close to someone in order to hear something as soft as their heartbeat; but you had heard rumors that there were others who could hear a pulse from miles away, others like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

The thought makes your blood run cold, though you try to push the worries from your mind. From what you know, the Devil doesn’t have a habit of breaking into apartments, nor was Queen's his usual jurisdiction.

No—what you were dealing with had to be no more than an average burglar!

An average burglar who, somehow, scaled up the side of a building to break into your apartment…

Alright—you think, approaching the end of the hall—perhaps it’s a not-so-average burglar, then! Still better than the Devil.

Peeling one hand from the bat’s handle, you curl your fingers around the doorknob to the guest room, Parker’s room. You ease the door open slowly, trying to keep the old hinges from crying out as you peer into the space.

The sweet scent of vanilla is the first thing that hits you, contrasted by the subtle bite of vetiver.

Parker—the room smells of him, even though he had only been here for one night.

On the bed, the quilt is rumpled and thrown about, pillows strewn about. The doors of the armoire are wide open, a few old shirts hanging over the edge of one of the shelves, no doubt from when he went digging through your clothes in search of something to wear.

The room was messy, but empty.

Your shoulders sag, half-a-breath loosing from your lungs. The relief is short-lived, however; as by the time you edge back into the hall to turn towards your own door, you’re overwhelmed with dread.

If whoever broke in was still here, then this was the only place they could be—save for the bathroom, though you seriously doubt any burglar would have much interest in scouring through your toiletries…

Easily, gracefully, you twist the knob, the metal yielding quietly to your careful touch.

The curtains are tightly drawn, eradicating any trace of sunlight and leaving the room cloaked in shadows. But, even in the darkness, you’re able to see the rough outline of a figure sprawled out across your mattress.

For a split second, you think of Parker’s advice to call 911, the weight of your phone suddenly heavy in your back pocket.

You think of how you should follow that advice.

You think about how fast you could run—if you would be able to reach the front door before they could catch up to you.

But then you stop thinking, disregarding all logic and reason as you take a step into the room, as if drawn in by some invisible force.

Remaining mindful of your surroundings, you slowly approach the edge of the bed. Squinting in the darkness, you try to study the body laid out atop your comforter. Watching the steady rise-and-fall of their chest, it suddenly hits you that, whoever they are, they’re asleep.

Slinking around the corner and coming to stand at your bedside, you’re finally close enough that you can see them in spite of the absence of light. Crimson and blue spandex clings tightly to their arms as they cling one of your pillows to their chest, and you feel your entire body sag with relief as you loosen your grip on the bat.

So this must be Peter 2.

The fabric of his mask is bunched up and resting along the bridge of his nose, which is somewhat smushed against the pillow he’s holding, no doubt leaving him to breathe in the scent of laundry detergent and your perfume.

Lower, you can make out the subtle contours of his jawline and the curve of soft, pink lips. Higher, you’re met with the impassive stare of then white lenses sewn into his mask.

The lenses shield his eyes from your view, and a curious feeling begins to tug at the furthest corners of your mind. Take it off—it seems to whisper, compelling you to move in closer, your shins pressing against the side of the mattress—take it off.

You grit your teeth and try to ignore the feeling, try to ignore the velvet-voice slithering through your mind; begging you to look at him, to touch him, to notice him, to-

Pain shoots along the side of your temple, likely in response to the sudden tightness in your jaw. It distracts you enough that you’re able to shake the strange feeling long enough to regain your focus—even if the remnants of it still linger.

You shouldn’t be interested in him—you should be pissed at him.

Not only had he broken into your house, which was already bad enough, but he had also climbed into your bed and made himself cozy! The absolute gall, the audacity he must have, has you allowing the tiniest sliver of rage to ignite inside of you.

Both hands still gripping the bat, you lower it from where it rests against your shoulder to swiftly jab its head into his stomach.

A cough sputters past his lips as the impact pushes the air from his lungs.

You’re actually shocked that you landed the blow—in truth, you had expected his spider-sense to kick in and detect the incoming hit, waking him with just enough time to dodge the shot. But, apparently, his instincts had made the mistake of assuming that you were of no threat to him.

“Morning sunshine,” you chime, your feigned cheerfulness set off by a sneer.

He’s scrambling into an upright position, knees sinking into the mattress as he presses a hand against the sore spot you’d created on his stomach. “What the fu-”

His voice is hoarse—from sleep or pain, you’re not sure—and he doesn’t finish the curse spewing from his mouth once his head shoots up towards you, as if finally registering the sound of your voice.

“I don’t know what things are like in your world,” you muse, swinging your bat back to rest against your shoulder, “but in this one, breaking and entering is considered a crime.”

He’s still catching his breath, and while those damn white lenses covering his eyes give so little emotion away, you assume that he’s going to apologize. It’s what Peter would do, and Parker, too.

But not him.

“Your friends said I could stay here,” he defends himself. Taking another deep breath and extinguishing the burning in his lungs, the lower-half of his face transforms into a defiant smirk. “It’s not breaking and entering if you were invited.”

“And did they tell you to sleep in my bed, too?” You shoot back, brows rising in annoyance. “Word of advice: next time you’re invited to stay in a total stranger’s house, maybe try not to repay their kindness by crawling through their window.”

He mocks you without missing a beat, “Word of advice: you live in a shitty neighborhood—if you don’t want people coming through your windows, you should try locking them.”

“Ah, right! Cause the average person is definitely willing to scale the side of a building for the prospect of an unlocked window!”

“You’re a pretty girl in a dangerous city,” he drones, lifting a shoulder as he meets your sarcasm with purposeful calm. “You’d be surprised what people would be willing to do for a chance at getting you alone.”

The insinuation sends a shiver down your spine, but you mask your unease, flashing a smile that’s more predatory than sweet. “Aw,” you coo, “so you think I’m pretty?”

He returns the expression, skillfully avoiding your derisive question. “I think you’re irresponsible—and a little cocky.”

“Better to be cocky than a felon,” you remark. “Just spare my neighbors the acrobatics show next time, would you? Maybe try knocking on the door like a normal person! Preferably when you’re not dressed like… that.”

It’s not that his suit wasn’t nice, because it was. But it lacks the advanced Stark-tech that makes Peter’s suit so uniquely sleek, meaning that it was likely safe to assume that no one in this world would mistake this boy for the real Spider-Man.

Unless they were to catch him scaling up the side of your building…

“I tried knocking.” he sounds exasperated, as if you are testing his patience. “You weren’t home.”

You snort a laugh, wondering if he truly believes that is all the reason he needs to break into someone's home.

“Then you should’ve waited until I got home,”

“I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I was too tired to wait.”

“Then you should’ve slept in the alleyway with the rest of the strays,” you hiss at him, fingers tightening around the bat as your frustration builds.

The sheer ferocity in your voice gives him pause, stunning him into silence.

Then the corner of his mouth begins to twitch upwards, lazily grinning at you as if he actually enjoys the verbal onslaught.

You can tell that he’s watching you through those white lenses, and his tongue darts over his bottom lip, you feel your breath catch in your throat. “Fine,” amusement dances in his tone as he raises his gloved hands, “fair enough.”

For a moment, no sound comes from your parted lips, leaving you to stand there gaping at him until you remember how to speak. “Fair enough?” You echo, shaking your head slightly. “That’s all you’ve got? No apology?”

He moves, forcing you to take a step back as he shoves his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s not as tall as Parker, but he still stands an inch or so higher than you, making it hard to not feel intimidated as he stares down at you, your own face staring back from the reflection of his lenses.

“Better not push your luck, Spitfire,”

He’s baiting you—he has to be! Using a stupid nickname to get under your skin, to try and prod further at your short temper. And it’s working—god, you hate how much it’s working!—because you find yourself contemplating putting his superhuman durability to the test by whacking him over the head with your bat.

“By the way,” he says before you have a chance to act on your intrusive thoughts, pointing at your hands, “you’re bleeding.”

As if his words switch a flip in your head, you’re suddenly aware of the acute throbbing in your palm. You loosen your grip on the bat, letting it clatter recklessly to the floor as you hold your hand out to examine it.

Unsurprisingly, the rubber handle managed to tear open the barely-healed cut on your palm, courtesy of your too-tight grip on it. You hiss through your teeth, watching as blood oozed from the cut, dripping down towards your wrist.

Slipping past you, the boy only half-manages to stifle his laugh. “You should probably take care of that.”

He’s already slipping out into the hall by the time you regain enough awareness to follow after him, gritting your teeth against the pain.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“To the other room,” he calls over his shoulder. Once he’s standing in front of Parker’s door, he spins back around to face you, his snarky expression still in-tact. “Where I’m hoping you won’t follow me.”

Everything about him causes your blood to boil—his grating voice, his insolent attitude, his stupid soft lips.

“Would it kill you to be nice to me?” You exclaim, your voice strained with pain as you try to wrap your hand in the lower half of your shirt.

It takes no-time for blood to start seeping through the thin material, and you certainly don’t look intimidating like this—the lower half of your abdomen on display as you try to apply whatever pressure you can to the wound—but you don’t care.

“I don’t have to let you and Parker stay in my house—I’m doing it because I’m nice, alright? And, so far, you’ve been nothing but a dick!”

The thin fabric of his mask shifts, brows furrowing at the mention of Parker. Unlike Peter, however, he doesn’t bother commenting on the nickname. “Nice isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe you. Especially since you’re the one calling me names.”

The levity in his tone makes you want to scream—what was his deal?!

You press harder against your bleeding palm, your breathing turning shallow. You’re not sure if it’s frustration or pain or what, but you feel like your head is spinning. “Look, I don’t know you, alright? But this? Isn’t gonna work,” you bark at him, chin lifted defiantly as you stare into his mask, unrelenting. “If you plan on staying in my house, then you’ll get your shit together—got it?”

His head tilts, curiously watching as you continue your frantic speech.

“No crawling in through my windows or sleeping in my bed or smarting shit off! And take off that stupid mask!” You huff, shaking your head. “Or, I don’t know, pull it down the rest of the way! Just do something because you look stupid like that!”

The words are spewing from your mouth like a torrential downpour, fueled by the rage swirling in your stomach and the throbbing in your hand and—

He laughs, a genuine laugh that isn’t born of derision, and you feel your racing thoughts slow to a halt. “You should work on your insults,” reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs his mask off. “Because that was pathetic.”

It’s no longer just your thoughts that have slowed, but the entire world. Everything around you feels like it has come skidding to a stop—leaving you staring up at him like a dumbfounded idiot.

He’s beautiful—a commonality among Peter’s variants, it seems.

He’s smirking, an infuriatingly charming smirk that lets you know he has no intention of listening to your demands for him to silence his quick wit. But you’re not focusing on that—no, you’re focusing on the features that had been hidden from you this whole time; his dark hair, tousled from removing his mask, falls in a chaotic halo around his face, contrasting the vibrance of his eyes.

His eyes.

They leave you breathless, and you hate it. Colored with the deepest cerulean you’ve ever seen, his eyes feel like staring into the depths of a crystalline ocean. You can almost feel yourself getting swept up in their tides, feel them enveloping you in a feeling of familiarity, as if this wasn’t the first time you had been pulled into their ebbing waters.

“Have we–” your mouth has gone dry, your voice cracking. “Have we met before?”

It’s a ridiculous question, and you recognize that even as it’s spilling from your lips. You couldn’t have met him before—not when the two of you weren’t even from the same universe!

He seems to be thinking the same thing, and you’re already preparing to take the full force of whatever smartass comment he’s about to fling at you. “I’ve met you,” he says simply, taking you by surprise. Then he inclines his head towards your still-bleeding hand, “You should patch yourself up before you stain the carpet.”

You look down at your hand, at the hem of your shirt, soaked in blood.

“But just so I know,” you look back up, his body half-turned towards the door, his fingers resting against the knob, “if Peter and Parker are already taken, then who does that make me?”

You have to force yourself to take a breath. “What did I call you in your world?” He’s silent for a moment, staring at the floor and chewing on his lip. Then, pushing the door to Parker’s room—their room—open, he smiles.

“Pete.”

a/n - ayyy, pete's finally here! and, ofc, lots of other little important details sprinkled around as well.

also, i really wanna say thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying this story so far! it truly means the world to me to read all of the nice comments and to know that you guys are interested in this story! so, again, thank you 💖 as always, please comment/like/reblog and let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

part four, titled "blooms of subterfuge", to be released april 29th

272 notes · View notes