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buckyseddie · 8 months

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always hold you

pairings — tasm!peter parker x bff/gf!fem!reader

summary — in which, she needs her boyfriend's support more than anything else, after another particularly bad fight with her father.

word count — 2.6k.

warnings — a little bit of angst, use of pet-names [dove, sweetheart, darling, love, bug], reader calls peter pete, lots of fluff and this is basically just a hurt/comfort fic, protective/soft!peter, this is also sort of similar to my other peter fic (take as a part two that one), peter comforting reader, mentions of the reader's low self-esteem issues and it being explained a bit more, both physical and emotional abuse (manipulation and gaslighting, but not from peter), hugs and cuddles, forehead kisses, peter just taking care of the reader and showing her the love that her family refuses to do, gwen is in here for a second and being the comforting platonic best friend that she is to reader, peter comes off as a little harsh and scares reader a little bit but he makes up for it in the end.

notes — hi! so, this is really more of a vent fic. i know i've written in the past about dealing w/ a toxic family member and how i really enjoyed writing fics similar to my experiences with my favorite comfort characters to comfort the reader because that would usually help me deal with everything. but recently, the abuse that me, my mom, and my brother have been experiencing has become a lot more complicated and traumatizing for me to deal with. and things have only gotten worse. so, i figured i'd do another comforting fic like the other peter fic i wrote about going through that said abuse. i really just feel that it's important to not hide my true feelings and act like everything's fine behind a screen and i just want to be able to talk about this topic a lot more (especially in my writing), because it's so serious and not nearly talked about enough. but, nonetheless, if there's anyone out there that sees this and is a victim of abuse (whether it's emotional/mental or physical abuse, or both) please don't feel obligated to read this. i really don't want to trigger or upset anyone who's dealing with this situation in a very heavy and overwhelming way. just remember though, no matter what anyone says or does to you, you ARE strong and deserve the entire world. i love you all <3. anyways, i hope this makes up for the lack of posting anything (i've been really struggling with a lot, but i'm trying!). gif and divider creds to owner!

p.s., feedback is very much encouraged and appreciated <3.

other fic

main masterlist

IT'S OBVIOUS NOW THAT SHE was stupid to think that he could change. it was even more stupid of her to go back to that apartment.

but, she's always been one to see the best in people — in her case, it's come to bite her in the ass.

even now, as she awaits her boyfriend to return home from his nightly patrol around the city, [y/n] knows that she should've known better.

she trembles as she sits on their shared bed, one of her legs bouncing anxiously — the thought of how peter will react to her foolish decision and the outcome from it is stressing her out, beyond words.

after how he responded the first time he found out about the truth about her father's cruelty and what she'd had to go through, she's worried of how he will react this time — it took almost everything in him to not confront her father, when he first found out.

she abruptly jumps when she hears the front door of the apartment shut softly.

a shaky breath leaves her lips, wondering if it's too late to try to hide the marks on her face and body.

but, when she hears him call out her name from the living room, she knows that it's too late — there's nothing she can do now to hide this.

and even if she wanted to for a split second, she promised peter she'd never lie to him again — after the last time, they promised each other that they'd never hide anything from the other again.

so, with another shaky breath, [y/n] sighs and hesitantly pulls the bedroom door open.

she keeps her head down, her hair falling around her face and covering the marks as she walks out and into the living room.

"sweetheart..." peter's voice trails off, eyes wide with shock and worry.

her breath catches in her throat as soon as she finally looks up at her boyfriend and sees the intense, protective look in his eyes.

"i—i'm sorry, peter." she whispers, voice too raspy to get any louder.

a flash of anger fills his eyes. "please... tell me that you didn't go back to him!" he exclaims in a quieter tone of voice as he pinches the corner of his eyes.

[y/n] flinches at the amount of frustration in his voice.

"peter, i—i'm sorry... " her voice trembles, guilt and regret quickly filling her — she just feels so stupid.

peter sighs, regretting taking his anger out on her.

his eyes immediately soften. "sweetheart, i'm sorry." he murmurs, before starting to walk over to her.

but, before he can reach her, she flinches and winces.

he stops short, freezing in place. more guilt fills him as he realizes that in this moment, she's scared of him.

"look... i—i know that i shouldn't have gone back," she whispers, tears clouding her eyes as she remembers the anger and hatred in her father's eyes.

peter's silent for a moment, waiting and giving her time to explain more — if she's able to.

"i'm... i'm so stupid, peter." she whispers, too ashamed to talk any louder.

peter's eyes widen in shock, not expecting that statement to come out of her mouth. "w—what? darling, that's not true."

this time, a tear falls down her cheek. "yes, i am. peter, who's stupid enough to choose to believe that their abusive, monster-of-a-father can change? me — it's me!"

the rambling and the self-loathing words coming out of his girlfriend's mouth becomes incredibly clear to peter as he walks over to her.

this time now, he doesn't hesitate to pull her into his chest as her voice becomes more trembling and wavering, "this is on me — it's my fault."

"it's okay now, love. don't blame yourself." he murmurs as she stops holding herself back and breaks into breathless sobs into his chest.

after a while, her crying slows and quiets down with her tears now dried on her cheeks.

she faces him and takes in a deep, calming breath as he wipes away the remaining tears away and looks over her bruises more intensely.

"i wanna kill him for doing this to you — again." the venom in his tone sends shivers through her spine — knowing what he would do to protect her comforts her.

but, on the other hand, she also knows that hurting her father isn't going to do anything for them or fix anything.

"no, peter. i know you don't mean that." she murmurs seriously.

an angry frown places itself over his lips. "no, i do."

she sighs. "okay, maybe you do. but, it won't fix anything and we both know that," she says, moving one of her fingers up to smooth out the crease in between his very furrowed eyebrows.

"it's okay now — i'm okay." she whispers seriously, grabbing his hand and rubbing soothing circles over his thumb.

you'd think from how she's comforting him that peter was the one that got hurt, not her — that's just how she is; she always finds herself taking care of everyone else, when she really should be taking care of herself.

maybe that's why they're such a good pair — while they're taking care of everyone else and their loved ones, they can trust the other to take care of the other.

"that's the thing, love. it's not okay! you shouldn't have to go out of your way to avoid him, just to protect yourself." he exclaims, ripping his hand out of hers and this time pacing around the living room with his hand now gripping his hair in frustration.

she sighs, frowning — this is exactly why she didn't want to tell him because she hates worrying him like this.

"it may not be fair, but if it's what i have to do to protect myself, then that's what i'll do — i should've kept doing that, instead of being an idiot to believe he'd change." she admits, shrugging, trying to play this all off, as if it's not that big of a deal.

"don't say that — don't do that!" he abruptly yells, turning around to face her defensively.

she flinches — once again — at the volume of his voice. "don't do what?" she asks meekly, her voice too soft.

he sighs in regret. "i'm sorry. i'm not trying to scare you." his eyes are downcast at the floor, before he looks up again, the guilt clear in his irises this time.

"it's okay, peter." she gulps, berating herself for some part of her being afraid of him — after all, she has no reason to fear him because he'd never intentionally hurt her.

"it's not. i shouldn't have gotten so angry — i'm not mad at you, i promise," he says in a much more quiet voice, sighing as he sees that look in her eyes — the one that she always has when she feels like a burden and feels like she should be apologizing.

"sweetheart, don't even think about apologizing. none of this is your fault."

[y/n] sighs in exasperation. "maybe it is. i'm the one that is always making a fool out of myself by believing in the best of everyone."

she sighs when a flash of irritation shows in his eyes. "what?" he whispers, his eyebrows furrowing together.

she takes in another breath when he walks over to her and hesitantly places his hands over her cheeks.

[y/n] sighs again.

"this isn't your fault, love. know that," he murmurs, his eyes searching hers for some kind of understanding. "please, tell me that you know that."

she sighs again, noticing the tears filling his eyes — it becomes incredibly clear to her how much the man in front of her cares about her.

"peter... " her own eyes fill with tears, even spilling to her cheeks.

without another thought, he gently wipes away her tears. "promise me that you understand me."

she sighs again. "y—yes, i understand," she murmurs, hating the hope that fills his eyes. "but, i just don't believe it."

he opens his mouth to object, but she interrupts him before he has the chance to say something, "i want to. but, i can't just shut off the way i feel — i was raised the way i was and with the trauma i have gotten along the way, i can't just forget it."

more tears fills his eyes, before he moves incredibly closer to her and brings her close to kiss her forehead. "knowing you want to believe it is good enough for me."

when he pulls away from her he smiles warmly at her. "let's go cuddle now, yeah?"

the softness in his voice makes her smile. "sounds like a plan, pete." she murmurs with a nod and leads him to their shared room.

once they're inside of their bedroom, [y/n] walks over to their shared bathroom, to change into her set of pajamas she set aside earlier in the day, after she had just gotten back from her father's home — she used to call it her home, but that all changed once her once-very-close relationship with her father changed.

after she changes and brushes her hair and teeth, she takes in a deep breath and tries to mentally prepare herself for the rest of the night.

but, when she shuts off the light and opens the door, she comes to realize that the bedroom is empty.

she walks out of the bathroom and looks around, her eyebrows quickly knitting together in confusion.

and just as she's about to call out her boyfriend's name, she hears hushed voices outside of the room.

with much more confusion filling her body, she slowly walks out of their room and into the living room, only to see peter standing at the door, talking at the door in a hushed voice.

"pete? is everything okay?" she asks as she walks up from behind him.

he jumps a little in surprise, before motioning towards the door.

the blond hair of their current guest surprises her.

"oh, gwen. hi." she greets her best friend and then her boyfriend, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into him with her chin resting on his shoulder.

"what are you doing here?"

gwen shrugs. "i just wanted to check up on you — your dad called me, yelling at me because he thought that you'd left to go hide at my apartment."

the words that come out of one of her best friends' mouth shakes [y/n] to her very core — anytime she hears anything about her father, she gets easily nervous and scared.

in a matter of seconds, [y/n] slowly pulls away from her boyfriend's body.

she knows that she should try to pretend everything's fine and as if her friend's words don't affect her, but she can't help it.

if she had a few more seconds, she'd probably fall into a state of mind where she'd completely shut down.

but, when a light touch to her shoulder by peter shakes her out of her daze, she sighs and nervously finds her boyfriend's eyes on her.

"what's going on, guys? did something happen?" gwen asks worriedly after seeing the tense look on [y/n]'s face.

peter doesn't speak. he doesn't even look away from his girlfriend — his eyes simply say that the decision is all hers.

despite the fact that him and gwen are pretty close friends, he's always respected [y/n]'s choices.

with a sigh, [y/n] turns to gwen. "i kind of had a run in with my dad earlier."

as she hears that statement, gwen begins to notice the bruises on her best friend's face.

she frowns. "are you okay?" she asks, but after a moment, she groans and rolls her eyes at herself.

"i'm sorry. that was insensitive — of course you're not okay."

[y/n] laughs, despite the seriousness of the situation. "it's okay."

gwen gives her a pointed look, not believing for one moment that what she asked was okay.

"really, gwen," she says, finding some courage inside of her. "i'm probably not okay. but... " she trails off, suddenly feeling like everything is going to be okay with the ones that truly love her by her side.

"for the first time, i think i'm going to be okay — that everything will be okay." she says confidently, moving even closer to peter and practically burying herself into his arms.

gwen smiles. "good. i'm glad."

—————

AFTER A LITTLE BIT MORE of talking, they all finally say their goodbyes and peter shuts the door gently.

they move over to the couch, peter covering them — mostly [y/n] — with one of the fuzzy throw blankets that was lying over the front of the couch.

"you doing okay?" he asks softly as she lays her face into his neck.

she smiles, feeling reassured for the first time.

she lifts her head back up to look at him.

"i know going back was stupid. i do—" before she can continue, he interrupts her with guilt evident in his brown eyes. —"i'm sorry, bug. for how angry i got earlier."

she tilts her head in confusion. "what do you mean?"

"i shouldn't have gotten upset with you. and i'm sorry for startling you. i was just worried." he murmurs seriously, frowning at her confusion.

"i just... every time i think about your dad being near you or hurting you, well, it drives me crazy, sweetheart." he says, trying to ignore the anger in his voice every time he thinks about the type of person his girlfriend's father is.

"pete... it's okay. i'm not going to go back — i learned my lesson." she says, cupping his jaw with one hand, in order to try to calm him down.

he sighs, leaning into her hand and covering it with one of his own.

"that's the point, sweetheart. you shouldn't have to be cautious and scared to avoid him, so that he doesn't act like that. it's not okay."

she frowns, wishing that she could stop him from worrying.

but, she also knows that he needs to get these feelings out and off of his chest.

"tell me, peter. what is it?" she asks, being the understanding girlfriend that he loves — no matter how cliche that actually sounds.

"i love how good-hearted you are, sweetheart. the way you always see the good in everyone, despite what they've done to you — it's amazing," he starts, pulling her hand away from his jaw to hold over one of his legs.

"and i never want you to stop being that person. but, i also hate that you have to avoid him. you shouldn't have to give up your happiness and peace."

she nods in clear understanding.

he groans again, leaning his forehead over hers.

"it's okay, peter."

he pulls away and opens his mouth to say something in defense, but she stops him by speaking before him, "peter, i know it upsets you that he doesn't get to be punished for his actions and i get that."

he stops short, giving her a chance to finish talking.

"i know you hate that. but, i know that you love me more than any urge that you have to give him what he deserves — and that's what i need you to do, okay? love me more than you hate him." he frowns at her words.

as if noticing his hesitation, she says, "for me. please?"

he sighs in defeat and nods. "fine. for you." he murmurs as he pulls her closer into his embrace and body.

she smiles in victory as she lies her head on his shoulder. "i love you, peter parker. you know that?" she murmurs, cuddling up close to him.

"i know i can always count on you." she says, once more, smiling as he chuckles and stretches over to kiss her on the forehead.

"good. because i love you more and i'll always hold you when you need it, dove." he murmurs, smiling at her calm and at peaceful face.

and like that, they cuddle until they fall asleep with peaceful expressions on their faces.

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literaryavenger · 2 months

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Can I be him?

Summary: When Bucky finds something of yours, he hopes against hope that you feel the same way about him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language cause it's me. Fluff. A lot of angst. Idiots in love. Self-deprecating thoughts, both reader and Bucky. No use of Y/N. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 4.8K

A/N: It’s 3am where I live, so… Happy 107th Birthday to my favorite Supersoldier! Today I’m posting 2 Bucky fics because my baby deserves it, this one and another one sometime around the afternoon. Hope someone likes it! Thank you to my angels @ordelixx and @mrsbuckybarnes1917 that gave me so many ideas that helped me finish this. I love you🖤

Masterlist

Being an Avenger is not easy.

The long missions, the intense training, the weight of the world on your shoulders…

Everybody on the team has a different way to unwind after a mission: Steve draws, Clint and Natasha compete doing target practice, Thor sleeps, Sam plays video games, Bucky takes motorcycle rides, Tony and Bruce work on side projects in their lab, Loki reads, Peter does his homework and Wanda cooks with Vision.

For you, it’s going to the rose garden behind the Compound.

It’s a bit of a sanctuary for you, Tony allowed you to put tall hedges of roses with a gazebo-like structure in the middle of them facing the lake, only it’s entirely made of vines.

You made it yourself, that’s your power: you can manipulate anything plant-related.

Everytime you finish a mission the team splits up as soon as the debriefing is over and you walk straight here.

You sit on the bench, also made of vines, take out your diary and start writing.

You write about everything, from details of missions to your feelings about the team. From things you did that you don’t want to forget to things that you want to do after you’re not so tired anymore.

The hedges hide you from view and the only thing you can see when you’re here is the lake.

Sometimes, after a particular difficult mission, you don’t even write. You just sit there and look out into the water, the sunshine or moonlight shining down on you, and you feel at peace.

It helps that nobody else ever comes here. The team understands it’s your safe space, and the agents are mostly scared of your powers ever since you grew a giant carnivorous plant and it bit an agent that squeezed your ass during training.

The agent got both taken to the medbay and suspended on the same day, and you got the thanks of about a dozen girls that had the same problem with the same asshole.

You walk out of the conference room, the debriefing of the team’s latest mission just wrapped up, and like usual everyone scatters to their own after-mission ritual.

Today, though, you can’t concentrate on anything.

Your feet take you to the rose garden by reflex, but your brain doesn’t even register you’re there until you sit on the bench.

Today’s mission took a lot out of you, not just because of the amount of magic you had to use to get everyone out safely, but also because it was your fault the team was in so much danger in the first place.

You fucked up your task, Natasha had to step in and save your ass, moving away from her post and making her late for her own task and that derailed the entire mission.

At the end, you had to use your powers to take out the hundreds of Hydra agents at the same time, which is no small feat and made you almost pass out.

Everybody told you on the way home not to worry, the mission was successfully accomplished and everyone made it out safely, but you know that if it wasn’t for your screw up the team would’ve gotten in and out of base without so much as a scratch.

Nobody had fatal injuries, thank God, but Sam got shot in the leg, Clint got stabbed and everyone else had various degrees of injuries because Hydra got the jump on the team.

Because of me.

That was all you kept thinking about. Your brain had a field day making up all kinds of scenarios where your mistake cost someone’s life, a few of them even had the entire team dying because of your stupidity.

You were so caught up in your head that you didn’t even notice someone following you to the rose garden.

Not that you ever do.

If there’s one thing Bucky Barnes knows how to do, is move around undetected. He’s a master assassin, he was trained for this for over 50 years, he knows how to be a shadow.

Except now he uses his skills for good during missions and, occasionally, to follow you.

Not in a creepy way, of course, just to check on you. At least that’s the excuse he always uses so he won’t have to admit to himself that what he does is, indeed, a little creepy.

But he can’t help himself, Bucky knew from the moment he saw you that he was fucked.

The moment you walked into the room to meet the team his heart was yours. You stole it with one simple smile, with one look of your beautiful eyes.

You introduced yourself and shook hands with everyone, but when you looked at Bucky he felt like a light came on and it was just you two.

You shook his hand and he felt like he had to take it off and give it to you, it was yours now. His hand, his arm, his leg, his head, his heart, his soul. Everything he is was now yours, he just knew it.

Then you said his name and he could’ve died right there and then. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, and it was barely two syllables. Every word you said, every laugh and sound that came out of your pretty mouth, Bucky felt like it was all for him. Nobody else mattered.

Bucky knew then he was in love.

But he didn’t know how to approach you. You were like a fairy, like a princess. Growing flowers, always smiling, baking, growing everyone’s favorite flowers and always willing to help, like growing Aloe when Wanda burned herself cooking, or Chamomile to help with Tony’s anxiety, or Valerian roots whenever someone was feeling down.

You were like sunshine and he was terrified he’d kill your light. But he’d be damned if he’d let the world kill it either, he’d protect you with his life.

So he took to following you, making sure you were safe from a distance.

But it’s not like he never talked to you, the more time you spent with the team the more comfortable Bucky got around you and eventually you became friends.

Bucky knew you could take care of yourself, you were one of the strongest members of the team, but he didn’t like it when you were in your rose garden by yourself. The tall hedges made it impossible to see incoming danger, so he kept an eye on you just to be sure.

For his own piece of mind. And you never saw him.

That was Bucky’s actual way to unwind after a mission.

He’d tell everybody he was going for a ride on his bike, but he’d drive it through the woods around the compound and to the other side of the lake where he’d have a perfect view of you without you knowing.

Deep down he knew it was a little creepy, he could just ask you if he could join you, but he felt like you needed your time alone without anyone else around, and he knew if he asked you, you’d say yes no matter what you were feeling, because that’s just the kind of person you are.

So Bucky watched you from afar, always careful not to be seen. He watched you write for hours, it relaxed him to see your beautiful face so concentrated.

Sometimes you’d laugh quietly at what you were writing and those were the only times Bucky was grateful for the supersoldier serum that allowed him to hear such a beautiful sound even with so much distance between you.

But it was torture for him when he knew you had a bad day. Sometimes you’d hug your knees and cry, Bucky could tell how much you’d need a hug, and it killed him that he couldn’t just walk up to you and hug you.

Everytime he sees you cry his heart breaks a little and he always tries to make you feel better when you walk back inside. He doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, he just tries to make you laugh. But all he wanted to do was dry your tears.

You did notice Bucky always seemed to act a little goofy when you're feeling down, like he somehow knew, but you never thought much of it.

You knew he was a very observant person, so you assumed he just saw your mood through your behavior better than most.

Bucky loves hanging out with you, even if it’s just as friends. You make fun of him like with everyone else, you don’t treat him like could explode at any moment, never walking on eggshells around him like most people do.

You’ve never been afraid of him, and he’s glad that you don’t treat him like glass. You treat him like everyone else, and it makes him feel normal.

Everytime time he hangs out with you, you take him back to a time where he was unbroken. You make him feel alive again.

And he falls more in love with you by the second because of it. You’re all he wants, he wants to have you and kiss your lips and never let anyone hurt you. That’s all he can think about, but he knows that’s not gonna happen.

He heard you talk to Natasha and Wanda, heard that there’s someone you’d gone on a few dates with. But Bucky knows that guy doesn’t deserve you, nobody does.

Even Bucky himself doesn’t deserve you, you’re too pure for anyone in this world, but if there’s someone that has any chance of making you happy, Bucky prays to God that that someone is him.

Bucky knows today’s mission shook you deeply. He knows you blame yourself, and no amount of reassurance will make you believe that everything is okay.

So today, for the first time, Bucky actually follows you. He can see your unfocused eyes even as you walk and he wants to be near you, just in case.

He almost walks to you when you curl up on the bench and start sobbing quietly, but he holds back not wanting to startle or upset you further.

He just listens to your soft cries until you stop and compose yourself. You sigh and get up, walking back to the Compound to take a much needed relaxing shower.

But you’re still so much in your own head that you don’t even notice you left your diary on the bench in the gazebo.

Bucky did notice, though.

He’s tempted to call after you and tell you, but something deep down tells him not to. He waits until you’re gone and then walks to the bench, picking up your diary and opening it.

He doesn’t know why, he knows it’s wrong, these are your private thoughts, but he’s just drawn to it for some reason.

When he starts reading he notices you don’t mention any specific names, which makes sense because only you read it, you know who you’re writing about. He reads a page here and there, reading about your missions or lazy days.

He reads about some memories with the team you wrote about, some he remembers and others he probably wasn’t there for, but seeing all these memories from your point of view does something to him.

It makes him feel connected to you, makes him feel like he’s reading your heart and soul, because he kind of is. Then he reads something that captures his attention completely.

You write about eyes blue like the ocean and just as troubled, about a smile that could light up the world. You write about someone with a complicated past that never lost his spark, never lost his love for life.

A man that went through hell, and never once took it out on the world. A man that didn’t ever blame the world, even when he had every right to, choosing instead to protect it.

You filled pages and pages with everything you admire about this man, everything you love about him that you know he hates.

And Bucky feels like every word you wrote, you wrote for him. But could this be him? Could he be the one you talk about in all your stories?

He wants to. He wants this to be him. He prays you’re talking about him. He wishes this could be him… Who is he kidding?

Of course it’s not me.

It’s probably the guy you’ve been dating. Yeah, that’s it. You’re in love with that guy, that much is clear.

Bucky gets to the page where you write about your dates with the guy, but he can’t read them.

He closes the diary, not knowing that you compared your date to Bucky every step of the way. Not knowing that you granted the guy a second date just to be sure he couldn’t compare to Bucky, and went on a third date at a coffee shop just to let him down gently.

Bucky didn’t read how you know he’s the one for you, he didn’t read his own name written in your handwriting, the only name in your whole diary because he’s the only person you never want to forget, even though you know you never will.

But Bucky didn’t read that.

He puts your diary back where it was on the bench and, with his heart broken and his hope that one day you could be his lost, he goes back inside and to his room.

It’s only when you go back to the rose garden after your shower that you notice you left your diary there, but don’t think much of it. Nobody ever comes here anyway, as far as you know.

After finding out you’re in love with someone else, Bucky can’t stop himself from acting differently towards you, which you don’t fail to notice.

It’s not like he’s mean, but your interactions get shorter, like he tries his best to end the conversation quickly.

He no longer sits close to you, no longer tries to make you laugh when you’re feeling down, doesn’t hang out with you as much during your down time and if he does, it’s never just the two of you anymore.

It’s silly to say, but you miss him.

Bucky knows he’s been distancing himself, he knows you’ve noticed and he can see it’s affecting you, but he’s doing this to protect himself.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before you present your boyfriend to the team, the man you’re in love with and he doesn’t want it to hurt more than necessary.

You decide not to push Bucky, knowing he has his reasons to pull away from you. Maybe he’s just trying to deal with all the stress the team’s been under and you don’t want to add any more to that, so you let him be.

A few weeks later the team’s on their sixth mission in just as many days and everyone is exhausted. You’ve been taking down Hydra base after Hydra base, because waiting too long meant losing your chance to shut down their operations for good before they got the opportunity to leave.

You’ve been dividing in smaller teams to take down the bases while still giving the team a chance to recuperate, but this last one was the biggest and required the whole team together, which sucked for you because you were in the last team with Steve and Bucky that took down a base just yesterday, so the three of you got barely a few hours of sleep while you flew to the last base.

You’ve cleared the base, all that’s left is the agents in the courtyard who are really going down fighting. The whole team is outside now, the Hydra agents giving you a hell of a fight. You’re using your magic against your better judgment, giant vines coming out of your arms like whips, covered in poisonous thorns. One touch of that and anyone would go down immediately, everyone except you.

Or at least that’s what you think.

As you’re fighting you can see an agent trying to sneak up on Bucky who’s fighting near you, so you quickly take care of it for him.

Bucky turns around and sees the agent down and then looks at you with that charming smile you fell in love with and winks at you. “Thank you, doll.”

That’s the friendliest Bucky’s been towards you in weeks and you can’t help but smile back with a small blush.

You can see the last agent standing coming at you from your peripheral vision and you quickly whip him with a vine, taking him down as soon as you can so you can turn back to look at Bucky, still smiling at you.

Bucky’s smile drops quickly, though, as he sees your face draining of any color. You barely have the time to register the sting of your own thorn on your arm that you’re already falling to the ground.

Bucky tries to catch you, but he gets thrown back by your magic that goes into defense mode, creating a wall of thorns to protect your now unconscious body.

The team doesn't know what to do, none of them know enough about plants to be sure that these thorns wouldn’t just kill them all.

The only one that would know that is you, the person that’s passed out, or worse, trapped in the midst of a cocoon of thorns.

“Okay, we need to find a safe way to-” Steve starts but cuts himself off almost immediately. “What are you doing?!”

Bucky doesn’t even turn around to answer, too intent on breaking the thorns around you with his metal arm, not caring that the thorns are ripping his clothes and scratching his face, all he can think about is getting to you.

He finally manages to get through to you, but nobody can follow because your magic regrows the thorns Bucky broke, trapping him with you inside the cocoon.

But Bucky doesn’t care, his eyes never leaving your face as he kneels behind you, running a finger softly along your cheek and shivering when he feels your skin is cold as ice.

His mind goes to the worst possibility, that there’s nothing he can do, but his brain gives him some hope reasoning that your magic wouldn’t be working if you were dead.

Right?

He snaps out of his thoughts when he feels the thorns around you vibrate, he takes you in his arms and shields you with his body from whatever is about to happen.

But the only thing that happens is the shade cast by the thorns gets replaced by sunlight. Bucky looks up and realizes Wanda used her magic to lift the thorn cocoon.

“You couldn’t have done that before?!” Bucky barks at Wanda with a glare while carefully picking you up to take you to the Quinjet.

“She’s not the dumbass that threw himself headfirst in a mess of thorns without even considering another course of action!” Natasha came in Wanda’s defense, though she seemed more amused at Bucky’s antics than annoyed.

As the team heads back home in the jet, Bruce examines you and lets the team know you’re still alive but in a sort of coma.

Their relief is cut short when Bruce makes it known that he has no idea when, or if, you’ll wake up.

As soon as the Quinjet lands you’re taken to the medbay and hooked up to machines, an IV in your arm to keep you hydrated.

Bucky holds your hand through it all, staying all night next to you just in case you wake up. He didn’t want you to be freaked out and alone, he wanted to be the first person to see your beautiful eyes open.

When morning comes, though, you’re still unconscious, but Bucky doesn’t lose hope. You probably need a good sleep.

That’s what he tells himself for two, three, four days.

That’s what he keeps telling himself for a week, two weeks. Never once leaving your side, not eating unless Steve brings him food and makes sure he eats before leaving, and using the bathroom of your room in the medbay.

He barely sleeps and, when he does, he dreams of you.

Everyone was getting worried about him, he refused to leave your side until one day Steve came into your room to tell Bucky there was something wrong with your rose garden.

Bucky was torn between staying with you and seeing what Steve was talking about, but decided that it would kill you if something happened to your roses so he had to make sure everything was okay when you woke up.

Because you’re going to wake up.

Bucky follows Steve to your rose garden, and his eyes widen in horror as soon as he sees it. The roses, the hedges, the vines.

Everything is dying.

Bucky’s heart breaks, only one thought in his mind. If your plants are dying, does that mean you’re slowly dying too?

No. That’s unacceptable. You’re not gonna die, not if Bucky has anything to do with it.

He takes it upon himself to take care of your garden, watering it and doing everything he can to keep the roses and vines alive, fooling himself into believing that this will keep you alive.

He stays on the gazebo day and night, sleeping on the bench, spending every waking moment trying to keep a hold of even the smallest part of you.

But it’s not enough. Nothing is enough.

Bucky loses track of how many days he’s been in your garden, sleeping maybe an hour at a time here and there, watering the roses every few hours and crying the rest of the time.

After all it’s his fault, if he hadn’t distracted you none of this would’ve happened. You’d be in your beautiful garden, probably with your boyfriend, and the only broken thing would be Bucky’s heart.

That he could’ve lived with.

But how can he live with the knowledge that he caused your end? That he killed your light? That he killed his sunshine, his hope, the love of his life? He can’t live with that.

Not that he has to.

While Bucky’s spiraling while surrounded by dying roses, inside your room in the medbay you’re finally waking up after almost a month.

You open your eyes slowly, looking around you at the hospital-like room. There’s nobody around and, as you look at the window, you can see it’s really late at night.

You sit up and try to make sense of what happened while rubbing your eyes. The last thing you remember is Bucky’s bright smile, and then nothing.

You look down at your arm and see an IV, which you take out while frowning. How long have you been sleeping?

You carefully get off the bed and make your way outside to your rose garden, just to be sure everything’s okay. It’s not like anyone’s gonna stop you anyway.

When you get close, the moonlight shines on the hedges and you gasp at what you see. Your beautiful roses withering away, the gazebo made of vines dying too.

But the most confusing thing is the sobs coming from the bench, although no one’s sitting on it.

You get closer and see Bucky sitting in front of the bench while hugging his knees and crying softly. You frown and get a little closer before stopping, not wanting to startle him.

“Bucky…” You say quietly and his head snaps up, his eyes instantly meeting yours.

For a moment it feels like he’s trying to decide if you’re real, he reaches out and you extend your hand to take his. That seems to convince him and he gasps.

“Doll…” His voice is barely above a whisper, almost as if he thinks if he makes too much noise you’ll disappear.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him while getting a little closer to him, concern clear in your every feature.

It’s only when you get closer that you see his face full of cuts and you frown. Those are not just any scratches, it’s clear to you that they were made by thorns. “D-did… Did I do this to you?”

You’re kneeling in front of him now, one hand still in his one the other comes up to trace the cuts in his face softly, but he takes your hand in his and kisses your palm.

“I’m okay…” He reassures you.

Just then he realizes, you’re fussing over him when you’re the one that’s been in a coma for a month. “Are you okay? How long have you been awake?”

“I… I just woke up.” You tell him honestly, then look around at the dying roses and vines before looking back at him. “What happened to me?”

“You got stung by one of your poisonous thorns.” He says quietly, his thumbs rubbing circles on your skin while he refuses to let go of you. “You’ve been unconscious for almost a month.”

“A month?!” You’re shocked at the news, not knowing what to say or do, so you just stay there while letting the information sink in. The silence is broken by Bucky after a minute.

“I’m sorry about your roses… I tried to keep them alive, but…” He looks around with a hopeless expression. “I failed you.”

Your heart breaks a little. Does he really think he failed you?

You take a deep breath, then close your eyes and when you open them again a second later everything’s back to normal. The roses are as beautiful as ever, the gazebo just as majestic. It’s like nothing ever happened.

Bucky looks around in awe when he feels you take his chin and you make him look at you.

“You could never fail me.” You say firmly, wanting him to understand you mean it. You look at the cuts around his face and you can’t help the guilt and pain that you feel deep within you. “I’m sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” It’s like Bucky can read your thoughts, he knows all you can see are your faults, and he wants you to know he doesn’t blame you for anything. “You weren’t even conscious. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I never wanted to be one of the people that hurt you…” Your voice is a whisper as a tear escapes you. “The world hurt you so much already… I never wanted to be part of that. You don’t deserve it.”

Bucky frowns. He feels like he’s heard those words, but where? No, he didn’t hear them. He read them. He read them in your diary, where you wrote about the man you’re in love with. Could it be possible?

Could I be him?

“It’s me…” He says lower than a whisper, his eyes locked on yours, and it’s your time to be confused now.

“What?” You ask him with a frown while wiping your cheeks.

“It’s me you’re in love with.” His voice is a little louder, but firm. He’s not asking you, he’s making a statement.

Your eyes widen in surprise, you almost take your hands away from his but his hold prevents you from doing that.

“I-I… What?” Is all you can bring yourself to say, confused as to why he’s so sure of it. Are you really that transparent?

“I read your diary…” Bucky says, guilt written all over his face, but at least he’s owning up to it. “You wrote about the man you love… and you wrote the same thing you just told me. It’s me, isn’t it? You love me back?” His voice is more hopeful now, his confident demeanor weavering.

“You… You read my diary?” You say, your mind still playing catch up.

It’s only a moment later that you register the ‘love me back’ and you don’t give him a chance to apologize or justify himself before you’re speaking again. “You love me?!”

Bucky hesitates a moment but nods firmly. “I love you, doll. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you.”

You feel like someone punched you and all the air has left your body. You have no idea what to say, so you don’t say anything.

Instead you lean in and kiss him.

Bucky wastes no time kissing you back, but a thought pops into his mind and he reluctantly pulls back. “What about your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” You frown again, having no idea what he’s talking about. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t?” Bucky feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders and he pulls you to straddle him. “What about the guy you went on a few dates with?”

You narrow your eyes at him but decide to table the conversation about how he knows that for another time, so you smile at him and decide to just be honest with him.

“Do you honestly think that anyone could ever measure up to you? Because if you do, you’re an idiot.” Bucky grins and kisses you again.

Maybe he is an idiot. But when he’s the idiot you’re in love with, how much of an idiot can he really be?

It looks like he can be him after all.

985 notes · View notes

heartpascal · 11 months

Text

is it freedom?

▹— spiderverse (future) found family x platonic!reader

▹— summary: after losing everything, you struggle to accept the one thing you needed all along.

▹— a/n: ok i have been enabled by exactly two (2!) people. (thank you both) SO dare i start a spiderverse series??? IF YALL WANT MORE OF THIS… I WILL DO IT. this is really just a set up thing idk but i feel like arachnid has potential for further parts and ACTUAL found family!! also haven’t tagged people on my general taglist bc idk if you guys want to be tagged in ALL works or just all pedro works :(

▹— warnings: slight across the spiderverse spoilers, not really found family yet, injuries, blood, treating own injuries, stitches, fighting (canon-typical violence yall), dead parents (mentioned a LOT), a whole lot of angst (it’s a spider-person so what do we expect), reader has a whole lot of bad thoughts, loneliness, isolation

masterlist PART TWO

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Had you known what this, this thing, would lead to, you would have never started it. Not that you had done so purposely, at least to begin with, more so happening as an event of pure chance. You were in the right place at the right time, and since then, you had been addicted.

But if you could go back, look at yourself just a year younger than you are now, tell that kid what would come if you went through with saving a life for the first time, you wondered. It was a question that scratched deep in your brain, sending you off balance the more you thought about it; would you have still done it? Would you have saved that person’s life, knowing it would lead to your own falling apart?

You would like to think yes. In fact, you know that back then, when your eyes were bright at the prospect of helping people, when you still marvelled at the world like it was good, you would have been certain that it would be worth it. Why should that person die, just to save you? It’s a harrowing realisation. A conclusion that makes your fingers tremble, your voice shake. Now, you’re not sure you would do it. You don’t think you could bear to face that decision knowing what you know of the world around you now.

It’s something cruel, really, that the spider that bit you gave you these powers, and nothing to go back and fix your mistakes. Your perceived victories. Your losses.

But the worst has already happened, and the only one left to die is you, so you carry on. You don the suit every day, you sew up your own injuries on the top floor of the abandoned offices that you’ve claimed as your own. Each day, you wake when you choose, you sleep when you want to, and you work yourself down to your very bones with nobody to object.

The hollow feeling in your gut is a pain you have no choice to ignore, to smother with assurances that this is freedom. What else could it be? You do whatever you so please, you spend your time swinging through the streets of New York rather than doing schoolwork at home, you eat all the junk you could ever have wanted.

It’s freedom. It has to be.

You tell yourself that you don’t miss the home part of having to do schoolwork, promise your heart that you don’t miss home-cooked meals as opposed to greasy food that leaves you unsatisfied. You swear that you like having nobody to tell you what to do. There’s no other choice, after all.

And each day, when you spend a little bit longer out on the streets, getting yourself into needless fights that the police could certainly handle, you tell yourself it’s because you’re protecting the city. You convince yourself that it’s not because of having an unending rage to satiate, or a permanent feeling of breathlessness when you leave police to handle anything, as if you could relive the moment your father, the captain, was left to handle something he couldn’t.

So, you’re almost relieved by the appearance of something… strange. Something dangerous. This is what you live for — this is your job.

You crouch against the wall, fingers splayed and suit itching where you had crudely sewn it back together across your ribs at an almost too-close call. You hold your breath, you watch. The lenses over your eyes shield your sensitive sight from the harshest colours of this new opponent, who looks almost… unreal. Too different to be a part of reality. He yells out, seemingly glitching? A distorted scream of what is apparently pain, accompanied by flashes of colour that are unfamiliar to you.

“Well, that doesn’t look good.” You comment, eyebrows raised beneath your mask, and the strange looking guy snaps his head towards you, long hair slapping across the goggles over his eyes. He bares his teeth at you, something almost resembling a grin marring his face.

“Spider-man!” He yells triumphantly, cackling as he wipes the hair away from his face, tendrils unfurling from behind his back and lifting him into the air.

“Not quite!” You call back, dodging below the metallic arm that shoots towards where your head was, crumbling through the wall. You try to think back to the jokes you used to tell to rile up whoever you were facing, but find your mind is blank. Instead, all you can think of is questions. “Where the hell did you come from, anyway?”

The man follows you as you spring from wall to wall, heading towards the center of the building where it tunnels up for about forty floors, balconies overlooking the fountain below. “A new spider, eh? Well I’ll take you down just as easily as I have the other!” He tells you, though you’re immediately suspicious of his statement. You’re the only Spider-related hero around, and even if you weren’t, you doubt this guy could squash a worm, let alone you.

“Sure thing, man.” You say, sighing, already exhausted by the repetitiveness that comes with every fight. Your opponents always say they’ll beat you, kill you, squish you, take you down, and yet you always get back up at the end of the fight, and they always remain defeated. When you started doing this, you never would have thought you’d get so tired from winning all the time.

And yet here you are, slipping further and further up the building with the octopus-looking guy chasing after you, metal arms crumbling walls and bannisters on his way up. He falters once more, another one of those glitch-like movements sending him down a few floors, but he’s quick to recover. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.

You crouch down on one balcony, somewhere around the thirty mark floor-wise, peering down at the guy as he shakes lingering pain from his body. He charges upwards, aiming to reach you quickly with an almost predatory smirk on his face. Before he can even get close to you, however, you’re back on the move, setting a trap for him that he doesn’t even seem to notice.

It’s only when a group of late workers emerge on what you’re pretty sure is the twenty-first floor that you become more anxious about this fight. You don’t like when civilians are involved.

There’s about a dozen of them crowding the balcony, looking up to where you’re facing off with octopus-man above, some having begun to descend the stairs to the next floor before catching on to your presence. You try not to draw attention to them, but their pointing and whispering sets the Spidey-sense off, ringing loudly between your ears, almost deafening in its intensity. Maybe you underestimated this guy. The flash of a camera sends the last hope of him not noticing down the drain, and he grins at you as he switches targets, climbing down towards them with some semblance of caution.

You’re much faster than he is, dropping down and using a web to catch yourself rather than having to climb. It’s hard to stop yourself from yelling at them, cursing them out for being so damn foolish — who in their right mind would stick around a very dangerous fight to take pictures?

Instead, you choose to yell, “Get out! Go, go, go.” And usher them down the stairs, but it’s not difficult to realise that this guy is going to get to them before they manage to descend to the bottom. You shouldn’t be surprised, really. Nothing is ever as simple as it could be, not for you.

The split second decision to drop down and form a net-like web low enough to catch the workers worked out for you in the end, as you swung back up and pushed the workers off of the balcony and stairway just as the octopus man was reaching them. He cursed at you, refocusing his efforts on you as you vaguely noted the workers clambering down after their screaming had stopped. Honestly — did people really have so little faith in you? Had you ever sent anybody to their death before?

“You are just as pesky of an insect as Spider-man!” He growled out, teeth gritted, and came after you with renewed force. He kind of reminded you of that doctor you faced not long after getting your powers, but this guy looked completely different. The doctor you faced — aptly named Doc Ock — had turned himself into some form of a mutant, he had reinforced tentacles which sprouted from his back. Was this guy some kind of copy cat? Maybe he was just delusional.

“I don’t know who Spider-man is, man!” You shout to him as you ascend the building again, trying to figure out the best way to take this guy down. His tentacles seem electronic, so surely you could disable whatever machinery resides on his back?

“That’d be me.” A voice came from above you, two floors ahead of your position. Your head snapped towards it, seeing a man in a blue and red suit, framed by a burst of orange behind him. He didn’t linger up there long, instead moving to leap down to the guy who had turned his attention to the new guy. The closer you looked at this new guy, the more similarities you saw to yourself — his webs looked remarkably similar to your own, the pattern that went across his suit matched your own, even the wide white lenses that shielded your eyes on your mask. Who the hell was this guy?

The octopus man grinned widely, shaking greasy hair from his face. “Ah, finally! The real Spider-man. Got yourself a new protégé, I see.” He drawled, dodging this new guy’s hit straight off of the bat. You tried not to get annoyed at being referred to as a protégé, considering as far as you were aware, you were the only Spider-person around. Where was this guy when you were holding a bridge full of civilians together? Where was he when you took down villain after villain, never once failing to get the guy? No — you were the real Spider-man, if anyone.

“I don’t know who you are, man, but I’m handling this just fine.” You call to the guy, swinging down to rejoin the fight, webbing the villain’s metal tentacles to the wall behind him, before dropping down to kick him towards the wall.

“Oh, so you know how to send this guy back to his own dimension?” Spider-man asks you, eyebrows raised beneath his mask, and as if on cue, the guy glitches once more, ripping his arms away from the wall and just about catching himself on a balcony below before he could fall into your net.

You gape at the new guy, glancing back up to where the burst of orange remains opened, and is that a portal? Is this Spider-man from another dimension? Is that why you’ve never heard of him before? God, if your mother was alive, she’d kill to find out about this. Inter-dimensional travel was something she had spent her life researching. If you didn’t remain so bitter toward her even after her death, you might’ve been sad she wasn’t alive to see this.

But you were bitter, and it made the experience all the worse.

Because you’re pretty sure that that bitterness takes the place of grief within you. It’s hard to understand why you crave to feel that pain, that grief, as opposed to the aching resentment that floods you with the thought of her. It’s such a sharp contrast to thinking of your father, your kind father, the man who threw himself into a battle he couldn’t have hoped to survive, just on the off chance he could save somebody. You hope you take after him.

“Wait— you’re from another dimension?” You question anyway, eyes flickering between the battle and the looming portal above. In fact, you’re so distracted by finding out about that tidbit of information that you miss octopus man aim a tentacle for you, and it snatches you around the ankle. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me—!”

The man waves you around like some kind of rag doll, and you try not to be too bitter about being caught off guard. You should probably learn that getting caught up in your little pity party always ends up badly, always distracts you from that renowned Spidey-sense. You formulate a plan in your mind when the drip of blood around your ankle draws your attention back to the battle at hand.

You web the wall opposite and hold on tight, pausing the movements and letting the dizziness that had come over you fade away. The man growls out in annoyance, and gets closer to cut the webs with another tentacle, which is exactly what you planned for. The tension from the webs launches you towards him when you let go, and in his surprise, the metal tentacle releases you. You wrap around him, and start webbing up the machinery embedded in his back as Spider-man distracts most of the tentacles, keeping them from pulling you off.

His tentacles start faltering, clearly not obeying his movements, and you wrap them up where they emerge from his back, continuing along until the movement is so limited that he has to use them all to clutch onto the nearest balcony.

You crawl up the tentacles in the very same spidery manner that you’re known for, and crouch, watching the octopus man struggle as Spider-man observes from the balcony opposite. “You wanna finish this one off, Spider-man?” You ask, unable to hide any bitterness from your tone at his mostly unhelpful actions throughout the battle.

“Hey, not bad!” He praises, and it annoys you. You’re good at what you do — for the most part. You manage without help constantly, and that’s the way you prefer it. “You’d make a good addition to the Spider Society!”

Now, you don’t know what the Spider Society is. But honestly? You don’t care. You don’t need help, and you prefer working alone, and you certainly don’t like feeling patronised.

“Whatever, man. Just send him back to whatever dimension he came from.” You tell the guy, and drop down as you hear sirens outside, landing on your injured ankle and just about stopping yourself from cursing. Through all the adrenaline and fighting, you’d forgotten about the way the metal had ripped into your skin, drawn blood. It’s just be another place you’d have to sew up your suit with itchy, uneven stitching. “Officers,” You greet as they open the doors, guns drawn, radios murmuring. “All taken care of. Civilians okay?”

“Shaken up, but fine.” The leading police officer says, immediately relaxing and holstering his weapon. You wish it reassured you that the police trusted you now, but it didn’t. Nonetheless, the other officers follow suit. “Thank you, Arachnid.”

The name your world has bestowed upon you has yet to grow on you, but you nod your head regardless, and salute them as you make your way out, swinging across the city, trying to put the existence of the multiverse and inter-dimensional travel out of your mind. Surprisingly, it’s pretty easy when you have a busted ankle to fix up.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You’re halfway through stitching up your suit, having already sewn your skin back together with as much skill as you possessed in the matter — which was, not much. But the bleeding has stopped, and your stupidly slow healing will take care of it within a few days. You know that the itchy stitches on your suit will just irritate the injury, and though you wouldn’t lose anything if your identity was revealed, it doesn’t feel right to go out into the city with any part of you on show.

No, you wear the suit for a reason. You keep every part of yourself covered because nobody can know it’s you underneath the suit. Not because you had anything to lose, no, you had already lost everything. It was because then you could never make a mistake, you would have to be absolutely perfect, flawless, to make up for the fact that it was you underneath the layer.

So, you settle with a sewn suit that will itch and make the stitches on your ankle sting.

However, when there’s a burst of orange across the room, you have no choice but to forgo the suit, to simply drop the needle and thread and hover your fingers over your web shooters. You wait, nervously, for some other villain to appear. You’re not sure if Spider-man appearing would be better or worse.

But when a foot steps through the portal, it’s nobody familiar. In fact, it’s a suit you have never seen before, made up of dark blues and bright reds, sharp edges and long claws. It’s… unnerving, and considering the silence coming from the person wearing it, you’re not entirely certain of what they’re here for.

A moment later and another person steps through, a woman, with bright yellow lenses across her eyes that filter her irises into an amber. She steps forward, standing beside the person who had stepped through first, and if she hadn’t showed up, you would’ve been tempted to attack. With that being said, you remain on edge, but there’s something… comforting about her presence. Like her presence softens the man’s jagged edges.

She says your name, and then adds, “Arachnid.”

You furrow your brows and curse as you glance back at the suit so crudely laid out on the floor. Still, it doesn’t explain how she knows your name. Was it an inter-dimensional thing?

“Spider-man told us about your work in capturing Doc Ock earlier.” She tells you, as if that explains their presence. You did what you were supposed to do, which was take out the bad guys. “We’re here to offer you a place in the Spider Society.”

You can’t help but wonder if this is some kind of good cop, bad cop thing. She presents an offer which doesn’t sound too bad, and then her sharp-edged companion presents all the drawbacks and the catches. They don’t seem like the type to take no for an answer, either way. You still don’t even know what this Spider Society was! Was it some kind of multi-dimensional cult?

“I already told Spider-man that I wasn’t interested in joining whatever cult you’ve got going on.” You practically hiss, though you didn’t exactly tell him in such blatant words. You were more dismissive earlier, so you’d have to be clear now.

“It’s not a cult,” The man speaks, voice harsh and sharp much like the blades that branch from his forearms. “We work to protect the multiverse from anomalies that threaten to destroy it.”

The woman glances at him in a way that you translate as being vaguely annoyed, like he wasn’t approaching you in the way she had wanted him to. “He means to say that it’s a big job, and we need all the help we can get.” She says, softer, but only in comparison to the man’s harshness. “Listen, kid, you’re good at what you do. We need that kind of talent.”

“You’ll have to find it somewhere else.” You say firmly, because why would you want to leave your universe? This was a lot to think about when you had only learned of the multiverse existing mere hours ago. Regardless, you weren’t about to abandon your city just to go across the multiverse to help other heroes who couldn’t keep a leash on their own villains.

The two of them shared a look, a mere glance, before the woman heaved a sigh. “Look,” She sighed, heavily, like whatever she was about to say was something she didn’t want to be voicing. “Before you make your choice, you should know, your Green Goblin is currently terrorising another universe.”

You couldn’t work out if this was some kind of recruitment tactic, or something. That just wasn’t possible. You had put Gwen Stacy in the highest security prison after all antidotes to her goblin-tech failed. She was stuck in there — permanently. There was no way she had gotten out, let alone gotten out to another universe.

…Right?

It’s hard not to think of the memories at the mention of her—Green Goblin, not Gwen Stacy. Never Gwen Stacy. You wonder if this is where your fear comes from, the terrifying fact that you are remembered only for your mistakes. Because before she was the Green Goblin, she was Gwen. She was everything to you. She was the sun you orbited, the stars that charted your path. And it hurts, it hurts that you can only remember the blood and the dust and the destruction when you think of her.

People aren’t born as monsters, are they?

Like the spider that bit you, that invertebrate that so many fear, it was born the way it was. It was born with those fang-lined maws, with those eight legs and dozens of eyes. It was made into the monster it became, artificially crafted to deliver a venom that changed you forever. But it wasn’t born that way.

Surely, Gwen wasn’t either. She was kind. You remember that about her. You can remember her soft hands that used to hold your own, the loud laughter that always ended in a snort when she laughed at her own jokes, the gentle eyes that stared into your very soul. But those eyes are the very same ones that let her see through your mask, let her see exactly where to hit you to make it hurt. Was that what she was born as? Or is that what she was made into? A killer. A monster.

“Show me.” You say, because what else could you possibly respond? If what they’re saying is true, if the Green Goblin is loose once more, then people will die.

You can’t let her get fresh blood on her hands. Not when somewhere, deep inside your chest, so far down it’s almost unreachable, you have hope for her. You have an innate desire to look for the best in her, even when the Gwen you knew was the first life that the Green Goblin took.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

If there’s one thing you’ve taken from being Arachnid, it’s to expect the unexpected. And you go through the orange portal after Jessica Drew and Miguel O’Hara with that exact mindset about you, staring at where an orange watch-like device is wrapped around your wrist.

It’s in your nature to be suspicious, and these people weren’t an exception to that.

In fact, their presence only heightened that behaviour. After all, what were you to expect from two Spider people, who supposedly came to you for your help?

You weren’t blind, you saw the aged lines of their faces the moment you got close enough to see them clearly, away from the dim lighting of the building. They were adults, adults who had clearly been doing this type of thing a lot longer than you had. You, who was barely bordering on adult, who had fought enough battles already to last a lifetime — so why would they need you?

It didn’t feel right.

And when this Miguel person summoned Lyla the moment you walked through the portal, it felt all the more wrong. She was a hologram of some kind, much higher tech than the kind of thing you saw on your earth. But then again, you had never really been in high tech labs back in your earth. Still, it unsettled you. “Lyla, get me the location of Green Goblin, Earth 5011.” He commanded, and they argued in hushed voices for a moment, before a wider hologram appeared, stamped at Earth 3899.

“How did she get to another universe?” You ask, then, because it doesn’t make sense, and you’re shaking underneath the thin material of your suit. You’re hyper aware of each drag of stitching against the wound on your leg, each patch of fabric you had sewn on in hopes of the suit lasting you just a little longer, because you didn’t have the resource to produce a new one.

“It’s an anomaly.” Jessica Drew tells you, her tone softer than you’d heard it, as if she was attempting to reassure you in some way.

It didn’t help. But how could it? The last time you had faced Gwen Stacy—Green Goblin— you had lost so much. It had been the beginning of the end of everything good in your life. The explosion she had caused at your mother’s laboratory was the very same one that killed her, the very same explosion that sent you and your dad miles apart all while living in the same home. And still, you found a way to hope that there was something to salvage within Gwen.

But not only had you lost your mother, and not long after — your father, you had also lost your closest friend. The one person you had confided in, who knew you from your surface to the deepest level, and she had used that against you the moment the Goblin had taken over.

It had taken everything in you to beat her, back then.

And that was on home turf! How did these people expect you to do that a second time, in a completely unfamiliar place?

“Specifics aren’t important right now. Jessica, you take Arachnid. Lyla, send another one of the teams.” Miguel instructed, dismissing your questions right off the bat. It was frustrating. They were leaving you completely in the dark, and sending you to fight the worst enemy you had ever faced, and they were sending you alongside others like you from different universes. It was like asking you to bare your soul in front of them, to reveal your secrets, your deepest regrets, everything that you wanted to stay buried.

You knew Green Goblin. You knew that’s exactly what she would do. She would undermine you, she would lay your life out in front of you like tiles on a scrabble board. In the end, none of it amounted to much.

Jessica Drew made her way out, glancing at you and nodding for you to follow along. Your moment of hesitation had drawn Miguel’s attention, and he called out to you after a moment of hesitation. “We’ve all faced one like it, kid. It’s easier with others.” He told you, though he held a pained expression on his face all the while. Instead of admitting to the way he had hit the nail right on the head, you simply nodded and followed after Spider-woman.

It was a whirlwind from there.

Meeting up with others. Travelling the length of the so-called Lobby to wherever it was that Jessica was taking you. When you finally arrived, she offered an empty glass box with a mannequin inside, bare. She gestured towards it like it should’ve been self explanatory, but soon realised she’d have to spell it out for you.

You shouldn’t have been so upset by the offer of a new suit.

But you were.

This suit was your life. You had nothing outside of it, not anymore. You couldn’t just throw it away, as if it meant nothing, as if every rip and patch and wonky stitch didn’t mean anything. These were proof that what you were doing was real, that it was worth something. Each stitch proved you had value. You weren’t about to throw all of that away, especially for whatever overly technical suit these people would provide.

You had everything you needed.

And so Jessica led you to the next destination: Earth 3899.

The moment you stepped through the portal, it was like you were hit with a wave of familiarity. And not in a positive, slightly nostalgic way, no— this was chaos. This was the state your world had been in when Green Goblin ran riot, unchecked. She had torn apart buildings, blown up parks, she had set New York City aflame. And she was doing exactly the same here.

It was more contained here than it had been on your earth, and you had to assume that was thanks to the Spider-man already on site, coordinating police, ambulance and fire responses to douse the fires as quickly as she set them. If only the police in your city had trusted you so much, back then.

“Where is she?” You ask, the moment you get close enough to speak to the resident Spider-man of the universe. He looks at you as if you’re familiar, but doesn’t comment, instead just pointing a finger toward a skyscraper just a short way ahead. You’re gone the moment he tells you where to go.

She had the uncanny ability to stay quiet. It had freaked you own back on your own earth, but it was even more terrifying here, where things were ever so slightly different.

“Arachnid.” Gwen’s voice called, and for a moment, you could forget. You could forget every horrible thing the Goblin had done, and you could remember your friend, your Gwen, who had called out to Arachnid more than once without knowing it was you behind the mask. Whether it was for a story or to provide information on your most recent opponent, the voice calling your alias was familiar. But then there was that crackle of laughter, an unnatural gurgle in the way it left her throat, and you turned to see the green-tinged pallor of her skin. “I was so hoping you’d show up.”

You didn’t know how much her appearance would effect you, until you were stuck to the side of the building, staring at what had once been your best friend. You’re so choked up that you can’t even formulate a response, because you want that to be Gwen so badly, but you know it isn’t. The more you look at her, the more Goblin you see, the more you know that the Gwen you love is never coming back.

“Nothing to say?” She asks, and then says your real name, the name she used to say down the crackle of a phone line, or across the school hallway, and she smiles. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“You should’ve stayed in prison, Gwen.” You say, your voice unsteady as you say her name aloud for the first time in what must be forever. She seems to relish in the tremble of your voice, and you have to curse yourself for being so stupid, for already showing the vulnerability she was so easily able to pick out.

The Green Goblin tutted at you, stood atop her glider, but the smile you saw didn’t belong to Gwen. “You’re pathetically predictable, you know. You’re like a moth to the flame.” She tells you, and you fear that she’s right, that you’re the same person you were back when you fought her, back when she almost won. She sighs, like something heavy is weighing upon her, but it turns wistful in the blink of an eye. “I’m just glad your dad isn’t here to see this. He’d be so disappointed.”

“Arachnid, focus.” Jessica’s voice interrupts, before you can spiral down that rabbit hole. How did Gwen even know about your father? She was in prison long before he died. It didn’t make sense.

“Maybe,” You say, that familiar tremble around your words. “He did always hope for the best for you.”

She bares her teeth at your words, the only visible reaction before her mask is slipping over the bottom of her face, stretching out up to pointed ears, all metallic and tinted a murky green. Then, she’s attacking.

It’s muscle memory, mostly, you think.

If you don’t think too hard about it, it could be like playing a game with a longtime friend from your childhood. You know the moves to make, you know how she’ll respond. It’s a constant push and pull, a balance which leaves only destruction behind, the path of the Green Goblin’s wrath tangible in each battle scene the two of you leave behind. You can’t beat her like this.

It’s her glitching that gives you a slight upper hand — and you send her careening off of her glider to the ground below.

Your heart squeezes suddenly in your chest as you watch her fall, her eyes wide in what could almost be perceived as fear. If you didn’t intervene, would she die? Would you have put an end to her story, once and for all, when you secretly hope there’s a cure out there for her? You can’t bear the thought of finding out, of watching her die, and so you foolishly dive after her.

A web to her midsection allows you to grip her before she hits the ground, and you set her down with a far more gentle hand than you would ever admit.

She says your name, then, a whispered version of it that sounds like Gwen. You think you can see her in those wide blue eyes, in that stare, and you approach with some caution. “Gwen,” You say, more of a question, “You with me?”

“I’m with you,” She answers, as you reach her side, as you resist the urge to pull off your mask. You’re so preoccupied staring at her expression that you don’t see the blade until it’s too late, your Spidey-sense failing you as you wallowed in your search for someone who was gone. “You sweet, predictable bug.” She spits then, twisting the blade she had sunk deep into your side, and you writhe, trying to move away from her.

“Arachnid!” Jessica Drew calls out, drawing the Green Goblin’s attention, allowing you to pull away from her slackened grasp. You leave the blade where it is, knowing your only slightly enhanced healing wouldn’t make up for the onslaught of blood that would pour from the wound. “I think that’s enough, Green Goblin.” Jessica says, riding a motorbike that you swore she didn’t have earlier. Nonetheless, she uses it to put even more space between you and your villain.

“You need a hand, kid?” A new voice asks, and a gloved hand reaches out for you where you had knelt against the tarmac. You look up, seeing a new Spider-man, but this one has his mask up, showing off his aged face and the bags underneath his eyes. You wave him off, staggering up to your feet, and clench your jaw as you stare at Green Goblin, watch as she pulls bombs from her waistband, barely the size of a chocolate bar, but capable of causing irreparable damage. “Get back to HQ, Arachnid, we can handle this.” Spider-man tells you, in what you suspect to be a fatherly voice, but you ignore him.

Time flies, slips out of your grasp, and you don’t know how long you and the others spend fighting Green Goblin, but she proves to be just as difficult of a foe for them to face as she was for you. Each time the three of you manage to get the drop on her, she slips away before she could be caught. It’s frustrating, and you can even see the way irritation thickens in the air, tangible.

Spider-man, or Peter, as Jessica had called him, is with you, focusing on trying to take Green Goblin down, whilst Jessica Drew is focused on damage control, blowing up Gwen’s bombs before they could hit their intended targets. You’re pretty sure the resident Spider-man is around here, too, pulling any lingering citizens out of harms way before Green Goblin could end them. You’d admit, it works better than you had done alone back on your own earth.

But it doesn’t work well enough, and more than one building is damaged almost beyond repair, and in the dust and rubble, Peter was distracted by the few citizens poking their heads out of the gaping hole in the side of their apartments. He didn’t see Green Goblin coming until it was too late, until she had thrown two of her bombs, one towards him, and one towards the already wrecked building.

Your throat dries up as you try to figure out what to do, who to go for, but in the end, you don’t have to choose.

Beams of glowing orange webs shoot into the bombs where they arc towards their victims, blowing them up and leaving both Peter and the civilians in the apartments without a scratch on any of them. Well, nothing that wasn’t already there before. You see him then, running alongside Jessica Drew, none other than Miguel O’Hara — who clearly didn’t think that the three of you were capable of handling Green Goblin.

“We’ve gotta end this.” Peter tells the three of you, glaring over at Green Goblin after coming so close to one of her bombs.

“You distract, I’ll go in.” You say, the only plan that makes sense. The only plan that’ll work. You wouldn’t be much use as a distraction, not with the blood still pooling around the blade hanging from your side, but you could beat her. You knew you could.

Peter nodded, and he, Jessica and Miguel went in one after another, landing hits on Green Goblin before she could even think to withdraw another bomb, or land a hit of her own, whilst you made your way behind her, swinging as high as you dared to go in your state. She was getting angry, you could tell, a distinct flush rushing up the back of her neck, a tell that Green Goblin shared with Gwen.

It was only when she was starting to turn the tide that you jumped down from your spot against the side of a building, looking for your opening.

She sent Jessica Drew tumbling off of her motorbike, which was your chance.

Green Goblin heard you only a moment before you were on her, not giving her a chance to make a countermove. Instead, you were curling your arms around her, as tight as you could, holding her hands away from her waistband. You gripped the blade in your side and yanked it out, holding it to her chest, breathing heavily through the pain as you bared your teeth at her, her face beside your own.

“Don’t make me kill you.” You say, and try not to hear the pleading in your own voice, the distinctive tone of a beg. You may have the upper hand on her, but as always, she had the power. “Don’t.” You repeat, because you can feel it in your bones that you would do it. If it was the choice between her or the hundreds that she would kill on this world, it would be those hundreds. There was no doubt about it, no questions to be asked.

You may have resented your mother, but she wasn’t the only one who died because of the Green Goblin. You wouldn’t let that happen again.

Perhaps she heard the plea in your voice, the giveaway that you weren’t bluffing, because she went still in your arms, still enough for the other Spiders to approach with some caution, eyes on her hands where you held them away from any weapons, using your forearm connected to the hand holding the blade to her chest to keep her left hand from grasping anything.

“I won’t be asking again.” You tell her, which is as much of a threat as you can muster. Or, more so, a promise.

As Miguel pushed you back with a firm hand, throwing a machine at Gwen’s feet, you think she understands. If the two of you are ever in that position again, there will be no hesitation about it. You will kill her.

“Good work, kid.” Peter says as Miguel and Jessica get to work with getting your Green Goblin through a portal to the HQ. He glanced down at where your hand is now pressing into your side, blood pouring steadily. In your other hand, you still hold the blade that had pierced your own skin, that would have killed Gwen Stacy had she not surrendered. He winces as if it’s him who got hurt, and guides you through the portal after the others. “C’mon, we’ll get you checked out. You not got enhanced healing?” He asks, though you suspect he doesn’t expect you to answer, and you’re glad.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

“I can do this myself, you know.” You sigh, wincing as a Spider-man — who apparently is also a doctor and works in the Spider Society’s infirmary — stitches up the wound on your midsection. It’s uncomfortable, though less painful that when you do it yourself. Still, it’s uncomfortable to accept help from these strangers.

“Ooh, shouldn’t say that to him.” Peter B. Parker laughs, one of the many Peter Parkers of the Society, but the same one who had fought Green Goblin with you. “He’ll lecture you on proper healthcare for days if you give him the opportunity!”

The Spider-doctor glares at Peter, or you assume he does, from the slight squint of the lenses of his mask. He kisses his teeth under the mask, tutting, muttering about “Spiders and their complete disregard for their health. Lucky you haven’t died ten times over from infections.” But he doesn’t say anything that requires a response from you, and he soon finished up the stitches. He goes to offer to fix up the injury on your ankle, but you’re up on your feet before he can even get the words out.

“Now, I gotta get back home to the wife, but Miguel wants to see you. He’ll take you home,” Peter tells you as he walks out of the infirmary by your side, but he stops you in the hallway with a hand on your shoulder, surprisingly gentle. “If that’s what you want.”

Your eyebrows furrowed before you could stop them, and the confusion over his words must’ve been written all over your face.

“Why wouldn’t I want that?” You ask, defensively.

Peter opens his mouth, but nothing escapes. Instead, it’s his expression that tells you everything he’s thinking. The crease between his brows screams pitying, or sympathetic. He’s talking about the way you live back on your earth, about the life you lead, Arachnid by day, and by night. With no room for you, no room for your secret identity. He’s thinking of the way you’ll be returning to a world with nobody awaiting you, with not a soul to look out for you, to stitch you up after a battle. Nobody but yourself, anyway.

You pull away from him, brows furrowing further, into an almost angered expression, and you don’t watch the way his hand falls away from your shoulder back to his side. He sighs when you turn away, scoffing as you make your way through the hallways of the Lobby towards where you think Miguel will be.

It’s overwhelming, all of these people. They all believe that they know you, that they know your circumstances, your story, but the truth is that they don’t. Nobody does, and that’s the way you prefer it. You don’t need a Society of Spiders surrounding you, breathing down your neck, telling you they’re sorry, or not trusting you to handle yourself in your own fights, because you can handle yourself. You’ve spent the last year of your life trying to prove that, trying to prove that you can do good things, that you’re worthy of the title Arachnid. You certainly shouldn’t need to prove that to a whole Society of people like you, most of which had been doing the job a lot longer.

You’re capable and you’re content.

You don’t need a life as your secret identity to be content, in fact, it’s better without one. You don’t have to tell so many lies, don’t have to worry about hurting the people you love, because there are none of them left. There’s nobody to hurt, and there’s nobody to lie to. Why would you want to change that?

The hallway ahead looks familiar, and you follow it until you enter a room where Miguel stands, looking at orange tinted screens on a platform halfway up the room. You enter with the absolute certainty that you want to return to your own earth, and you’re not going to let anybody stop you.

“I’m ready.” You tell him, expectantly.

He scoffs, saying nothing, still staring at the screens in front of him. For whatever reason, the reaction makes you angry — inexplicably so. You’re slinging up to the platform before you can have a second thought about it, and you’re pushing his shoulder so he’ll face you, so he’ll acknowledge you.

He stares at you, unimpressed.

“Send me back to my earth.” You press, brows furrowed beneath your mask, but you’re sure he can see the anger in the way your shoulders tense up.

“Sure,” Miguel said blankly, staring at you as if you’d suddenly change your mind or something. “But you know, there’s a lot more like her.” He added on when you said nothing, waiting for him to send you back to your world so you could give him back the stupid watch still wrapped around your wrist.

You stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language. “There are no more like her.” You respond, feeling that hot press on your chest. You don’t want to talk about Gwen Stacy anymore than you’re sure he’d like to talk about whatever he had gone through in his life. Hell, you don’t even want to think about her, but you know that nobody else you would ever have to face would hurt you in the way that she did. In the way that having to see her as an enemy, rather than your friend, had hurt. So, yeah, there was nobody like her, not for you.

Miguel seems ready to let you go for a moment, but then he’s shaking his head at you. “You have a place here. You can be with people like you. You don’t have to do this alone, anymore.” He says, and you think that is ironic, because you don’t see anybody else in here. To you, it seems like he is doing exactly that; doing the job alone. You can practically see the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I prefer being alone.” You tell him, and it has to be true. It has to be.

His jaw sets, acceptance, you think, and he nods. He glances past you, to where a portal was open on the floor below. Considering that you hadn’t seen him set up the portal, you’d wager that his AI Lyla must’ve listened in and done it for him. You pull the watch off of your wrist, relishing in the way your very atoms seem to sag with the weight of being in another dimension.

“Thanks.” You say, and drop down, landing on your sore ankle but not murmuring a word about the pain. You walk back to your world with your head held high, despite your tattered suit and multitude of wounds that would take days to stop hurting.

Miguel stares after you as the portal closes, eyebrows furrowed. He barely acknowledges Jessica Drew’s arrival in the room, already having known she had been lingering in the hallway, listening in. “Well, that went well.” She comments, glancing between where the portal had been and where Miguel stands, brooding. She knows how much pressure he puts on himself, and she knows that he cares about each and every Spider-person in the multiverse. It doesn’t take a Spider-sense to see the way in which you struggle. It’s a familiar struggle, sure, but there were so many Spiders across the multiverse who had a shoulder to lean on in their hardest times. Who did you have? There was no Aunt May for Arachnid, or Gwen Stacy, or Harry Osborne, or, well, anybody.

Jessica thinks that if anybody were to know exactly how that felt, it would be Miguel.

#heartpascal writes #across the spiderverse spoilers #atsv spoilers #spiderman atsv spoilers #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x platonic reader #jessica drew x platonic reader #peter b parker x platonic reader #peter b parker x reader #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse x platonic reader #spiderverse x you #spiderverse imagines #spiderverse one shot #spiderverse imagine #spiderverse angst #miguel o’hara angst #struggling idk how to tag with a new fandom shhh

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webslingingslasher · 1 year

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i'm a sucker for angst to fluff. what if parker's friends say some mean things ab your body but parker doesn't defend you. that night, you won't cuddle him, you won't even sleep in the same bed because you don't wanna disgust him... and peter has to make it up to you.

parker is a dunce!!! peter supremacy!

Peter had two sets of friend groups.

The first one was the original one. Kids he grew up with, suffered through high school and flew into the freedom of college with him. The group you knew the most of, they were the closest to him and nearly the entire group became your friends too. Weekends spent smashing drinks and staying up too late before hitting up a diner for greasy burgers at four in the morning.

Then the second group, which you did not know well, don’t know how Peter knows them and can’t fathom why Peter would entertain them.

It’s split like this.

With friend group A, he’s Peter.

With friend group B, he’s Parker.

You don’t like Parker; not one bit.

Parker can be stark, blunt, bold and cocky.

It was the friend group, they made him believe he was one of them so sometimes he acted a little too much like them. It wasn’t ever too bad, just the stuff you know he normally wouldn’t feed into, he gorged.

His friend, leader of the group, Nick, said it in passing. It’s not the first time you met, granted you try to spend as little time as possible with them but you also won’t give them the cold shoulder. The mutual understanding with friend group B is that you both are there for Peter’s sake, it just makes things easier.

Nick threw his beer back, foam swirled to the top. His long arm extended to the seat next to him, his watch clicked against the chair top.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bag someone with a better body, Parker.” A sharp wink is thrown at your boyfriend, and in response he snorted, “yeah, right.”

It was sarcastic, you’ll give him that. But he didn’t give more, you waited for the ‘real funny, but don’t talk about my girlfriend like that.’ However, he just rubbed your shoulder and sent a small smile, almost like he was saying, ‘you know how it is.’

You didn’t miss the tiny curl of Nick’s lip when you shook Peter’s hand off your arm.

If he couldn’t stand up to his friends over a shit comment then why would you let him put his hands on your body, knowing everyone thinks he could do better?

—------------------------------

Peter frowned when you pulled away from his grasp, he was going for a hug but you floated away. You were quiet on the ride back, not starting conversation but not letting it fail either.

If Peter could describe your emotion right now it would be ‘fine.’

“C’mon, gimme a hug.”

You cross your arms, “you sure you want your hands on me?”

Peter reaches out and tries to pull one hand back with the other but his right hand breaks free and grabs you, “I can’t control them! They need you too much.”

Sometimes it’s really, really hard to be upset with him.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” you pull away, forcing yourself to stand up for yourself, if the situation was reversed you’d shut it down at the dinner table. Not smile sympathetically and give him an ‘oh well!’

“Want company?”

Disappointment covers your features, “not really.”

He wouldn’t stand up to defend the body he loves but he wants to be first in line to use it.

“Oh. Okay, if you want I’ll make us some ice cream cones and set up a movie?”

You shrug, “sure.”

Peter knows what’s wrong but he views it as a boundary issue between his friends and him, not you. He knows what he needs to do but doesn’t want to involve you further.

That message doubles down when you told him you would sleep on his couch tonight, he woke you up after the movie to take you to bed when you shrugged him off, “I’ll sleep here tonight,” that never happens, ever.

“No, c’mon, I’ll carry you.”

His hands slipped under your thigh when you rolled over, “if it wasn’t so late I’d be at home. Consider yourself lucky that I’m still here.”

So, Peter presses a kiss to your temple with an “alright, honey. Goodnight, we can talk in the morning, okay?”

When he walks away you mumble under your breath, “hope you dream about girls with better bodies.” He hears you, it takes everything in him to not bring you with him.

—----------------------------------

Noise woke you up.

The room was bright, sleeping in the living room left you exposed to nearly every window in the apartment. Peter’s room was dark and cool, if you were in there it could be well into mid morning before you rose.

There was a blanket on you that wasn’t there last night, it’s one from Peter’s room, he keeps an extra by his bed for you. The sun peering in warmed up the room and you started to feel just a little too warm.

You almost forgot why you were awake until you heard a cabinet shut loudly and a soft curse murmured from the kitchen. Peter was up early making breakfast, you know he feels largely guilty. It almost makes everything okay.

It took heat swarming your face for you to pull the blanket away, the cool breeze from his ceiling fan felt really good. You yawn, then cough from a dry throat.

“Baby?”

You sniff, nothing more than a harsh breath, “morning.” Your voice croaks from the couch, you hear shuffling, steps get louder until you looked up at his face peering over you.

“I slept like shit, how about you?”

You stretch your arms over your head, “no complaints.”

Peter recognizes you’re still mad.

“Waffles or pancakes?”

You grin, “french toast.”

Peter leans over the back of the couch, his lips puckered. “Deal,” you push his chin away. “No kisses, you’re on time out.”

He wanted to wait until after breakfast but he really can’t last that long without a kiss.

“Okay, come here.”

You got up and followed him, he grabbed his phone sitting on the counter and gestured to taking a seat at the breakfast bar. Peter unlocked his phone and tapped around, he handed it towards you, you looked at him confused before he wiggled it. “Take it, read it.”

Taking his phone you looked down, it was blurry and you had to blink a few times. Peter busy with moving around the kitchen.

A text thread between him and Nick.

“hey man, I know you didn’t mean anything by it but you hurt some feelings by that comment tonight. From here on out no jokes on or about her, cool?”

“Ah shit man, my bad. I didn’t mean to get you yelled at, no jokes about the lady in front of her from now on.”

“I mean don’t joke about her, ever. It’s not cool to me, and it disrespects my girlfriend.”

“Say less, I’ll tell the guys, no more jokes about parker’s girl.”

“Appreciate it, man.”

A small pout takes over your face, he texted it last night after you got home. If you can track it back it would’ve been around the time you were in the shower, unprompted he stuck up for you.

Peter stood up for you, he had your back.

You assumed he didn’t, but he just didn’t make a scene. He kept cool and calm until he was back at home, in regards to not embarrassing you or his friends and maybe damaging either relationship.

You click your tongue, your boyfriend meets your eyes, he’s awaiting a response.

“Well, now it’s hard to be mad.”

“I will always defend your honor, sweetheart. Just because I don’t do it at that moment doesn’t mean I wont, okay? I love you and you are absolutely the hottest woman I could ever bag, alright?”

You respond with countless kisses and cuddles, Peter needs to nearly peel you off his body so he can use the stove safely, but not one complaint utters from his lips.

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker blurb #tasm!peter one shot #tasm!peter x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #tasm! peter parker x reader #my writing #frat!peter

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spideyswebhead · 2 years

Text

Marvel

Fluff - 🌷

Angst - 🖤

Personal Favorite - 🌼

PETER PARKER

-- one-shot / blurb --

Love Letter of Cheese | GN!Reader | 🌷

Chaperone | F!Reader and Roger!Reader | 🌷

Personal Furnace (blurb) | GN!Reader | 🌷🌼

-- series --

coming soon

#marvel masterlist #peter parker masterlist #peter parker one-shot #tom!spiderman #tom!peter parker

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friendlyneighborhoods-spiderman · 1 year

Text

The forgotten child

Pairing's : fem! reader x peter parker, tony stark daughter! x tony stark, tony stark daughter! x peter parker

Warnings: really sad angst, jealousy, daddy issues, neglect, lmk if i missed anything! :)

Summary: dad of the year award? surely isn't going too him

a/n : I know the gif doesn't really match the theme of this story I just really liked it. I did not reread this so please ignore any grammar mistakes. Also, I'm not sure if i wrote a panic attack correctly but I wrote based on what their like for me. hope you all enjoy!

you really tried not to become the forgotten child, always tried you're very hardest to live up to your father expectations, trying to make him proud in hope's he'd show some form of attention.

always studying to get straight a's even through countless anxiety attacks from fear of failing and disappointing your father.

all you ever wanted was reassurance, and if you ever got lucky enough a "You did a good job" after getting a high score on a test.

but it never came, it would forever be something you longed to hear. he would usually just mumble a small, quiet "congrats" as his mind stayed focused on his work and his eyes stuck to the blueprint laid out on the table Infront of him.

you always tried you're best not to feel jealous whenever your father held morgan, you had no ressentiment towards morgan whatsoever, in fact she was the one that kept you smiling most days. although you couldn't help but feel your heart tighten from jealousy as you watched them have daddy daughter time

you really did try you're best to be happy for your younger sister, but you couldn't ignore that aching feeling. all you wanted was the attention she had that your heart ached so desperately for, but it never came despite your countless attempts.

you we're astound to hear a new avenger had been recruited, you always enjoyed meeting new people. mainly because they gave you attention they didn't even know you craved.

you always seeked to see the best in people, no matter what the circumstances we're. including peter parker, there was nothing wrong with him, he wasn't a bad person in fact quite a good one, and if you weren't so envious of him you possibly could have been friends with the boy. but you watched how peter and your father clicked so easily becoming like father and son.

it made the knots in your stomach tighten as you watched them spend time together, it made you feel as if something was wrong with you, like maybe if you tried harder or changed, he'd give you the attention you deserved.

your mother, pepper always said he loved you just as much as he loved morgan or even peter, but you knew the truth as much as you ignored it you knew. but oh, how you wish he did.

"Mom, I'm home" you called out knowing if father was home, he wouldn't answer you. after not receiving an answer, you decided to look through the house in search of your mother, after a couple of minutes searching you still hadn't found her and decided she probably went out and took morgan with her. you heard talking but it sounded like your father, and peter?? "what's peter doing here?" you wondered. you decided to peak you're head through the door and saw peter and tony standing with their backs faced away from you, working on some upgrades for peter's suit.

"you're a pretty great kid peter" tony told him as he smiled at him patting his shoulder. a wave of jealously hit your chest as you watched them, your throat tightening. "Thank you, Mr. stark," peter smiled cheekily as your fingers clenched into a fist at your side.

"Becoming like my son."

once those words left Tony's lips, your mouth went dry, your head aching as you backed away from the door as quietly as possible, you're breathing picking up rapidly. you quickly made your way to your room, tears forming in your eyes, you walked into your room and shut the door softly as your hands started shaking as you paced around your room quickly, trying to stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. you never liked crying, it made you feel weak.

you're breathing came out in heavy gasp as you struggled to breathe. you leaned against the wall coughing as you squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to stop the words from replaying in your mind.

"Becoming like my son" continuously echoed through your head as soft sobs left your lips, you didn't want to feel this way, envious of what your father and peter had. it's not peter's fault about what your father feels about you so why hold him accountable. he'll never love you, at least not like he loves peter. you can't figure out why? you always tried you're best to impress him, but nothing seemed to be enough for him, it's like he didn't even care about your existence.

you stumbled over to your bed, taking deep breathes as your body grew exhausted from crying. you plopped down on your bed tiredly as you snuggled up against your blanket that was where your pillows we're supposed to be, you grabbed a pillow and hugged it too sleep.

you didn't want to put the blame on peter because it wasn't his fault, but a little piece of your heart blamed peter parker.

a/n: CLIFFHANGER!?!? I decided to leave it for now because I haven't come up with an ending that I thought fit the way I wanted so if you guys have ideas, please let me know. reblog's are highly appreciated, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

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forever-rogue · 1 month

Note

TASM!Peter thought I cannot get out of my head for the life of me: Reader pestering him about him and his weird spider abilities like Ned in the MCU movies, but he’s just so loving and patient because he knows he’s weird and she’s naturally curious

AN | Imagine finding out your boyfriend is Spider-Man. It’s going to leave you with a lot of questions, isn’t it?❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings | mild language

Word Count | 2.8k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Peter?”

“This isn’t what it-”

“No way!”

“Babe, this is not. I”m not-”

“Holy fuck.”

“Please, you’re dreaming. I’m not actually-”

“Spider-Man,” you blinked a few times and scrubbed at your eyes just to make sure you weren’t dreaming. But when you looked back at your boyfriend he was still standing there, halfway between the window and bathroom, mask in hand and spandex still covering his body. He looked entirely mortified at having been caught, “Peter.”

“Honey, it’s not…I…” he hung his head and let out a long sigh, annoyed with himself for being so careless, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re Spider-Man,” it was all setting in and you weren’t quite sure how to feel; it was a wild mixture of excitement and annoyance and worry and love - everything all at once, “I…you never told me. We’ve been together for almost three years.”

“I know, sweetheart…it was just better than way,” he tossed the mask onto the couch and took a few steps closer to you. You tensed up and shook your head, “I just wanted to keep you safe. That’s all.”

“You lied to me,” you pouted at him and that was enough to break his heart. If there was anything he hated in the world, it was seeing you upset, “for years.”

“I didn’t lie,” he tried softly but you huffed at him, “purposely. You know I would never do anything to hurt you. Everything I do is to protect you.”

“I feel so stupid,” you scrubbed a hand over your tired face in exasperation. All the weird quirks and odd comings and goings seemed to make sense. It felt almost silly that you hadn’t put the pieces together before. Peter wasn’t exactly subtle, “all this time. The random bruises and cuts…the times you suddenly have to leave - your weird schedule. It seems so obvious, doesn’t it? I…Peter Parker.”

“Baby-”

“You’re trying to keep me safe but what about you?” a deep frown settle on your features and Peter shook his head, trying to keep you from going down that particular train of thought, “oh my god. Anything could happen to you! And what if…if something did happen, how would I know?”

Peter gently shushed you, his strong hands settling on your shoulders with a reassuring squeeze. You looked at him, studying his big honey brown eyes and tried to keep the tears in your own eyes from spilling over, “nothing is going to happen to me, I swear it. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“It isn’t funny,” you sniffled as a few tears ran down your cheeks, quickly and tenderly wiped away by Peter, “I love you, you dumb bug. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” he whispered, brushing his knuckles along your cheek, “you know why?”

“Why?” you huffed softly, reaching for his hand and bringing it to your lips so you could press a kiss to it.

“Because I have to get home to you,” he smiled softly, looking more boyish than anything. You exhaled slowly but nodded, “I’m always going to come home to you. There’s nothing I want more.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he agreed and you allowed yourself to relax slightly, “by the way, spiders aren’t bugs. Spiders are spiders…well arachnids but they’re a completely separate thing.”

“Fine, you big dumb spider,” you let out a small laugh before playfully rolling your eyes, “you’re just lucky you look in spandex.”

“Yeah?” he teased, turning in a circle and striking a pose, “you think?”

“Shut up,” you groaned as he laughed, “just come to bed with me. But just so you know, this conversation isn’t over.”

“I would expect nothing less, love.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It took some time to get used to the idea of Peter, your sweet, nerdy, wonderful boyfriend, being Spider-Man. He just never seemed capable of something like that but when you really thought about it, it all made sense. Peter was brilliant and had a kind soul; him helping people just went hand in hand with who he was.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever get over your worries that something would happen to him - just like he wanted to protect you, you wanted to protect him. That, however, didn’t negate the fact that you had numerous questions for him. You wanted to know everything you could about him well, his spider abilities rather.

You were curious, luckily Peter loved that curiosity.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Where do your webs come from?” you’d been wrapped up in the book you were reading but the question suddenly hit. Peter was sitting across the couch from you, doing some work on his laptop. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, causing your face to warm up, “I just…you have webby stuff, right? Like…where does it come from?”

“Web shooters,” he answered simply, closing his laptop with a soft laugh and giving you his full attention, “it doesn’t come out of my body, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But spiders have it-”

“Not a spider,” he reminded you as you closed your book and tossed it on the coffee table, “human-spider hybrid. Kind of. I think that’s what you’d call it.”

“Why don’t they call you Human-Spider-Hybrid-Man?” you made a small sound of surprise as Peter reached over and gently maneuvered you onto his lap. His large hands settled on your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “wouldn’t that be more accurate?”

“You’re overthinking it,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I don’t make it in my body. I make it at the lab.”

“My genius Human-Spider-Hybrid,” you grinned at him and he couldn’t help but return the smile. To say he adored you was putting it lightly, “will you show me sometime? I wanna see it in action.”

He cocked his head to the side as he let go of your waist and held his arms up. You looked at him in confusion and he pulled back the sleeves of his sweater, “they’re right here.”

“Oh,” you reached for one of his arms and looked over the small band around his wrist, “oh? I always thought they were just…bracelets.”

“That’s the point,” he said as you made a small sound of revelation. You held his hand in yours and gave it a tight squeeze, “it’s really not that exciting.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” how could he think being Spider-Man wasn’t exciting? You took his face gently in your hands as you studied the pretty boy, “you are always fascinating and exciting to me.”

“That’s because you love me,” he put his hands on top of yours and give them a squeeze, “you’re biased.”

“I do love you - very much,” you agreed, “but I’d still think the same regardless, Peter Parker.”

He paused before nodding slightly, “I love you too.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter could feel you watching him, despite your best efforts to remain subtle. It should be noted, however, that your best efforts were pitiful; you might have been openly gawking at him. He stopped what he was doing and turned to you with a small little smirk on his features, “take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“That’s your area of expertise not mine, Parker,” you weren’t going to bother denying that he’d caught you. You walked over to the kitchen and hopped onto the counter, swinging your legs back and forth as you watched him finish putting away the dishes, “but you make a pretty picture.”

“And yet still not nearly as beautiful as you,” he put the last mug into the cabinet before turning on his heel and pressing a kiss to your cheek, “why were you watching me like a creepo, huh?”

“I wasn’t watching you! Not like a creepo,” your cheeks warmed up as you gnawed on the inside of your cheek, “I was just…admiring.”

“Uh huh,” he teased, settling his arms on the counter and caging you in, “ admiring. You’re cute. Now tell me what you’re really thinking about.”

“It’s stupid,” you offered him a sheepish smile but Peter just tutted at you before nudging his nose against yours, “promise not to laugh?”

“I promise,” he whispered sweetly, “you know you can tell me anything.”

“It’s a question,” you paused for a moment, “are you like super, super strong? ‘Cause aren’t spiders like proportionally strong?”

Peter leaned back and laughed softly, causing you to gently shove his shoulder. Not that it would matter - he was basically unmoveable. He grabbed your hand and laced his fingers through yours before you could say anything, “sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to laugh - I’m a horrible, terrible liar. It’s just…you’re precious.”

“Shut up,” you couldn’t deny that inside you were beaming from his praise, “I am not precious! Just curious.”

“I’m pretty strong,” he explained softly as you nodded, “maybe not the strongest being in the galaxy but its up there. I can show you sometime.”

“That’s why you can move things so easily,” it made sense now, why he never seemed to have an issue with moving the furniture or carrying in all the groceries at once, “wow. You’re amazing. The Amazing Spider-Man.”

“Not amazing,” he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you off the counter, easily and effortlessly holding you. You wrapped your legs around his waist and looped your arms around his neck, “just basically a mutant freak.”

“You’re my mutant freak,” you buried your face in his chest, but not before pressing a kiss to his neck, “that I love, very much.”

“The mutant freak loves you very much too,” you could feel the laughter rumble in his chest as you allowed yourself to melt into him, “curious girl.”

“Can’t blame me,” he could feel you grinning against his skin, “not everyday you find out boyfriend is Spider-Man.”

“True,” he agreed, “I’d be pretty shocked if I found out my boyfriend was Spider-Man.”

“Peter!” this time you were laughing too as he started to walk you both down the hall towards the bedroom, “where are we going?”

“Bedroom,” he rasped, “I can show you how strong I am.”

“Oh,” you felt your entire body warm up, “yes please.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was late at night, but you weren't feeling too tired just yet. You were in bed, staring at the ceiling and deep in thought as Peter laid next to you reading. You liked listening to him make some small sounds as he read and the sounds of the pages turning.

“I'm not a mind reader but you're thinking much too loudly,” Peter stole a quick glance at you, causing you to scoff loudly as you rolled onto your side so your back was to him, “honey.”

“Mind your business, Parker,” you burrowed further into your pillow, “I was just staring at the ceiling.”

“Hmm,” he mused softly, “what's your silly question of the day?”

“Excuse- first of all, my questions aren't silly,” you sat up right and crossed your arms over your chest, “and secondly, you're Spider-Man! I have a million questions. Don't be a jerk.”

“I am not,” he insisted through a few giggles as you smacked him with a pillow. You knew that you'd never hurt him which just made the situation all that much more ridiculous, “I love your curiosity. I love all the little things that cross your mind.”

“Now you're just pitying me,” Peter rolled his eyes as he pulled in between his legs so the the two of you were facing one another. He put his large hands on your calves and gave them a gentle squeeze, “Pete.”

“I love you, you know?” He asked softly as you nodded. If there was anything you knew in the world it was that Peter Parker adored you to no end. But then, you loved him just ask much, “you never gotta worry about asking me anything. So come on baby, tell me.”

“Fine. Fine,” you groaned softly before mumbling your question to him, “can you like stick to walls and stuff?”

You'd said it so quickly and fast that Peter hadn't caught what you were saying, “pardon?”

“Ugh,” you huffed, “do you have the ability to crawl on the walls and ceiling like real spiders? Or is something your weird mutant DNA didn't get.”

Peter tried his best not to laugh but he could barely stop the corners of his mouth from quirking up, “yeah, babe, that is something I can do.”

“Whoa,” you watched as Peter stuck his hand to the wall and showed you how it stuck, “that's so cool. Kinda gross but cool.”

“It's definitely gotten me out of a few scrapes before,” he admitted, “I'll take you for a ceiling walk some time.”

Your face lit up with pure excitement before your brows furrowed in confusion, “will our kids have your spidey thingies? What did you call it the other day? Spidey senses?”

Peter had stopped processing anything you were saying as soon as he’d heard our kids. It had stocked something deep within him. He only came back to reality when he felt you tickling his side, “our kids? What do you mean our kids?”

“Oh,” your cheeks warmed up as you bit your lips and shrugged lightly, “I dunno, I just think about it sometimes. You know, one day we’ll have kids. We’ve always talked about that. Unless…you changed your mind?”

“No!” he said much too quickly as a small smile tugged up the corners of your mouth, “I haven’t changed my mind. I-I want kids. With you. Only you.”

“Good,” you relaxed slightly as Peter’s entire face turned bright red, “so what do you think? Will they be part mutant spiders?”

“I don’t know exactly how that works,” he whispered as he pulled you closer to him, “maybe it would be inherited or not. I’m not a geneticist.”

“No,” you shook your head as you took his hand in your face, “just a biophysicist and biochemist. Hardly anything to brag about.”

“I’m basically a professional clown,” he grinned as you traced your fingers along the contours over his face. He was so pretty and you loved getting to have him just like this, gentle and quiet and all yours. He took one of your hands in his and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “luckily I’ve got you.”

“I’ve got you too, Peter Parker,” you pulled him into a tight hug; if he had been a normal person you might have crushed him a little too much. Luckily, he was able to withstand your embrace and tenderly hugged you right back, “my Spider-Man.”

“All yours,” he agreed easily, “all yours.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was spring now, and the nights were gentle and warm, finally not filled with rain as they seemed to have been the entire winter. You were leaning out the window and taking in the sights and sounds of the New York evening.

You heard the door to the apartment open, followed by Peter’s familiar footsteps. Before you could turn around to greet him, you felt his arms wrap around your waist as he pulled you into his chest and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. You sighed softly as you pressed your body into him, “hello my love.”

“Hi sweetheart,” he whispered into your ear, “what are you doing hanging out the window?”

“Just admiring the city,” you turned around so you were facing him, “and now I’m admiring you. I’ve got another question for you, my spider.”

“Which is?”

“Will you take me swinging?” you asked softly, a nervous little expression on your face. Peter’s face grew into a large smile as he nodded eagerly. He’d imagined what it would be like with you loads of times before. He never thought he’d get to make it an actual reality, “but promise you won’t drop me?”

“I swear I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, “and I promise you’ll have fun. Whenever you’re ready, just say the-”

“I’m ready,” you said excitedly as Peter laughed softly, “can we go now?”

“Yes,” he kissed your cheeks, “let me go and change. Then we’ll go swinging.”

“You’re the best, Parker,” you grinned at him, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he looked at you with soft heart eyes, “my spider girl.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x fem!reader #tasm!peter #tasm!peter parker #peter park one shot #peter parker imagine #andrew garfield

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literaila · 8 months

Note

Ok it's headcanon time what do you think Peter's reaction would be when him and his friend who've been bffs for years and are very comfortable with physical touch suddenly starts to pull away from him cause she saw him flirting with another girl at thier college mixer and so she starts to pull away from his physical touches cause she feel like she should finally be able to move on from him and start her college life without pining after him all the time and slowly peter starts noticing that she always give him affection when he needs it on his tough days but refuses his touch even when he remotely comes near her

🌌

just so you know

tasm!peter x fem!reader

a/n: sorry this took ages, i forgot how to write (there was a more perfect gif but tumblr hates me)

“what’s going on?”

you look up again, meeting uncertain eyes with a fake sense of amusement. you know what you’re doing, and so does peter.

“what?” you tease, running your hand over plastic price tags and years of dust, staring down at ceramic mugs and tiny scentless candles.

peter puts his hand on your back, walking with you, and as a subtle and graceful friend, you quickly move away from him, pretending to kneel down and look at a set of plates.

“that. this—this thing that your doing.” peter points to you like it’s a physical entity. some thing you’re holding just to hurt him. a handful of tricks.

“looking at cat mugs?” you ask, eyebrow raised.

“avoiding me. pretending like you haven’t been evading every question i’ve asked.”

you frown, but don’t look up. you finger a curved handle, swallow and let the lies slip from your mouth without any effort. if you’ve been distant from peter recently, it’s nothing but an accident. a practiced maneuver. “i’m not avoiding you.”

“you haven’t looked at me all day.”

“i’m looking at you right now, peter.” and so you do.

peter smiles, laughs a bit, his chest rising and falling, but it’s frustrated. he runs a hand through his hair, shakes his head. and then he bends down and wraps his hand around your arm, pulling you up before you get the chance to stop him.

and you would stop him, you know, if he hadn’t already pointed out that you’ve been doing it all day. for at least the past week.

his touch burns, like a singe on your already red wounds. and even though he’s smiling at you, being as gentle as peter always is, you can see your tension, can feel your own hesitation in his skin.

“did i hurt you, or something?” he asks, biting the inside of his cheek. “i know we—well, we’re not um, that hesitant with being close, touching and stuff, but if i did something accidentally—“

“you haven’t hurt me, peter.”

“okay… then what’s going on? do you need to discuss boundaries with me?”

“what?” you laugh.

“i’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” peter says, softly, like you’re some breakable thing. “i just want to make sure that you—that we’re okay.”

“of course we’re okay, peter.”

and then, that’s not quite true.

when you look into peters eyes, it’s not an auburn storm that you see. it’s not even yourself being reflected in his irises.

it’s flashing lights and music that made your head pound. there’s sticky floors and too many people—so much air, and too much breathing in such a small room. you see people laughing and singing, hands and bodies intertwined like it would hurt to be apart.

and it’s all sort of beautiful and disturbing, all sort of a lot—but then, there’s familiar hands, running up an unfamiliar body. peter had asked you to dance, but you knew it was only so he could laugh because he knew that you couldn’t.

when you look into peters eyes you see her. and there’s such a strong fire ignited in your chest, such a vehement jealousy that you have to look away.

you have to physically pull yourself away from him just so you don’t feel like that. just so you can tell yourself that it’s not fair.

“we’re fine,” you repeat, softly, and you look away from him. turn away, so you can block yourself away from his all too knowing stare.

you don’t pull away from his hands, but god do you want to. you want to take a break from him, a break from all of this until you can promise yourself that you just don’t care.

that you don’t crave his side stepping and hand holding and resting your head on his shoulder or leaning against his chest. that isn’t fair.

you clear your throat; you can’t lie to him, and it’s not like peter is going to let you. “it’s just…” you start, stepping towards him and then away. “i don’t know if lindsay would be comfortable with it.”

peters face flinched, he tilts his head at you. “lindsay?”

“i don’t want to get in the way of anything…”

“get in the way of what?”

you meet his eyes and laugh. “c’mon, peter. you’re not as discreet as you think you are. there was that night at the club and then the “study” dates you’ve been going on.”

“that wasn’t anything—“ peter is quick to get out, but you shove his shoulder, pretending your laughter isn’t painful.

“save it, loverboy. if you want to hold someone’s hand,” you tease, “it should be your girlfriends. i was surprised you even asked me to come gift hunting today.”

peter swallows. “she’s not my girlfriend.”

you nod, turning away from him. “yeah, okay.”

“i’m serious. we’ve been working on a project for bio-chem, that’s all.”

“i’m not blind, peter.”

he walks when you do, leaning his head down until he can see your face. “don’t you think i’d tell you if started dating someone and it was serious?”

“um, no, not really. we don’t ever talk about that stuff.”

“yeah, because you get weird whenever i bring it up.”

“i don’t get weird—“ you say, turning to glare at him. he’s closer than you expected though so whatever you were about to say falls into the air. it blows away with the feel of peters breath on your cheek.

“i would tell you,” he says, “if i had a girlfriend.”

you lean away from him, taking a deep breath in. “okay, peter. but the point still stands. you shouldn’t be holding hands with me while you’ve got a girl who’s waiting for you to get your head out of your ass. or stop lying. whatever.”

“i don’t want to hold her hand.”

peters voice is soft, and his hand is gentle as it lands on your waist. he pulls you to him, like he’s sure that you’re going to run away.

“well now i know why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

peter chuckles, staring down at you with burning eyes. and this time, when you look at him, you see only a secret catching fire. “i don’t have a girlfriend because i want to hold your hand,” he whispers, a finger brushing up against your jaw.

“o-oh.”

you stare at him, unsure what else to say.

what other announcements need to be made, what other proclamations you should probably get in writing.

peter smiles again, wider. he lets go of you and turns so his shoulder is to you. and then he grabs your hand.

“just so you know,” he says, smirk far too much.

just so you know.

2K notes · View notes

madschiavelique · 9 months

Note

hii i love your work!

i was wondering if you could write a sensitive fem!reader x Miguel O’Hara x Peter B smut? peter is like a soft dom and miguel is a hard dom?

miguel of course says something a little to mean while fucking her from behind, and she starts to cry and peter is all like “miguel, you made her cry”

thank you 🙏🏼

OMG anon you don't know what this did to me

you just provoked my new addiction : i want to write so much more miguel x reader x peter now i'm OBSESSED (also tumblr was kinda bugging while i tried doing this post so i hope things will be alright fdvfbsef - and this is not proofread :D)

summary : miguel made you cry because he was mean as you were eiffel towered by him and Peter B.

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, hard dom!miguel o'hara, soft dom!peter b. parker, reader being eiffel towered (i'm french and feeling very patriotic on this one🥖), miguel being a bit too mean, overstimulation, pnv sex, sodomy, no use of Y/N word count : 1,2k

tag list : @fandom-ash

You whimpered once more, your whole body feeling electric and tired at the same time as you sank down shakily. Miguel was behind you, his warm breath landing on your ear as you felt his torso bulge against your back. Peter was facing you, kissing your shoulder as your breasts pressed against his chest.

You couldn't tell the time any more, whether it had been an hour or more that they were fucking you without stopping. Many orgasms had been reached, and your body was floating in this cloud of overstimulation. You were exhausted, at the end of your rope, with barely enough energy to lift your body and sink on both of their dicks buried in you.

Needing to regain your strength and rest both your thighs and your whole body, which had been in orgasmic succession, you rested for a moment, not moving as their two cocks stayed all warm in you.

"Did I say you could stop?" Miguel grunted against your back, his teeth grazing your skin as his hand rested on your thighs and squeezed your flesh between his massive fingers.

You let out a moan, your head falling back to rest in the crook of Miguel's neck.

"I can't," you breathed shakily, "it's too much."

You could feel the electricity coursing through your thighs, your body on fire, absolutely exhausted by the effort that had been required of you from the start.

"Come on sweetheart," Peter encouraged, caressing your cheek as he waited for you to continue. "You can do this."

You inhaled harshly, pressing down on your trembling thighs to rise again and continue. The knot forming in your body stretched from your lower stomach to the small of your back. The overload of sensation was heightening your sensitivity to the limit, both physically and mentally.

Your legs were tired, trying to bury yourself properly on them. One of your hands had found its place on Peter's shoulder, the other holding Miguel's thigh and allowing you to hold on better as you went back and forth.

"Is that the best you can do?" Miguel grumbled against your ear, both your faces covered in a light sheen of sweat.

One of his hands went to your hip, digging his fingers into your skin as he pushed even deeper and you let out a moan. The fatigue was getting hard to handle, all the sensations mixed together, their breaths, their voices, their words...

"If you can't do it right, I'll find someone who can".

This sentence stung you in the chest. All you were doing was trying to do your best for them, to make them feel good and have your share in it too. Were you really that incapable? Were you so incompetent that you didn't do anything for them? Were you really that useless?

"Watch your mouth," Peter warned, not necessarily condoning the crude words his partner had just uttered.

But it was too late, your heart clenched, your throat constricted as a ball formed in it. Your eyes burned, you would have preferred not to cry, but your nose stung so much in your abstinence that you ended up breaking. When the tears came, you lowered your head against Peter's shoulder, and they flowed hard and committed.

"Hey what's that," he said, feeling beads running down his skin that he knew wasn't sweat.

You didn't dare look at them, your hips still moving, your shame and discouragement oppressing your chest.

"Look at me," he asked softly as his hand came to rest on your cheek.

You looked up, your eyes unable to find his. But he placed his index finger like a hook under your chin to raise it, and your wet eyes met his.

"Oh no," he said, mouth half open, "bunny, are you crying?"

You immediately felt Miguel tense up, his hand suddenly much softer against your skin.

"What?" he asked, gently sliding his hand over your jaw in the hope of turning you towards him and seeing your face.

But you pulled away from his touch and buried your face in Peter's shoulder, not feeling strong enough to face Miguel's gaze.

"Miguel, you made her cry," Peter said, stroking your hair gently as Miguel's mouth fell open in surprise.

He hadn't realised the impact words like that could have on you, especially in this context. You had been so good to them, and you still are, their absolute dream. You are perfection itself, and Miguel would obviously never want to replace you with anyone else.

"Muñeca..." he murmured against your back as he came to kiss you tenderly, his hand caressing your hip.

Your tears were still flowing, your back shaking with little jolts of heartache and pleasure.

"Mírame," he asked gently, kissing the back of your neck.

You breathed in, lifting your wet cheeks from Peter's shoulder and turning to meet Miguel's face.

His eyes instantly became pained, pained to have been the one to cause this state. He would never, ever wish for anyone but you. He caressed your cheek, kissing the corner of your eyes and licking your wet skin.

"Please forgive me, amor," he whispered against your skin, "you know I never meant these words, right?"

Your chin trembled and Peter put his hand on your other cheek to wipe it clean.

"You're the only one we want," Miguel assured you, his eyes fixed on yours. "You're the most perfect thing that ever happened to us, and we would never want anybody else than you."

You sniffled, the sweet words he gave you pressing into your heart like a comforting balm. You loved them both so dearly, and it felt good to know that they did too.

"How are you feeling right now?" Peter asked, kissing your cheek softly.

You breathed in, still feeling the exhaustion weighing on your thighs and body.

"Like everything's too much," you managed to whisper, sniffing and swallowing.

"Do you think you can come just once more for us, nena?" Miguel asked, kissing your shoulder gently and stroking your thigh with his thumb.

The knot in your stomach was still tight, and it was almost painful not to get any relief from it.

"Mhm," you nodded as you pushed on your thighs again to raise them up.

Miguel's hands both came to grip your hip to guide you, helping you to sink and rise much more easily and sparing you a little pain in your thighs.

"You're so good for us," Peter breathed, kissing the crook of your neck lovingly, "you're doing such a good job, taking us like that."

Miguel kept pace with your hips, neither urging you on nor slowing you down. Both their warm breaths landed on your skin, whispering sweet, soft words that softened your heart and enveloped it in adoration.

Your moans began to multiply, vibrating in your throat a little more as you finally approached orgasm.

"Come for us, muñeca" encouraged Miguel.

And you came, your whole body shaking as if a bolt of lightning had struck your core and spread seismic waves of pleasure throughout its entirety.

You let your head rest against Miguel's chest, and he kissed your forehead gently.

"I knew you could do it," he whispered.

"You're our angel," Peter confirmed as he kissed your cheek.

2K notes · View notes

shawnxstyles · 10 months

Text

panty stealer 2

DATE: JULY 12, 2023

summary: after the forbidden and surprising night of the ‘break-in’, you couldn’t get your mind off of peter. luckily, he couldn’t either, and finds his way back into your bedroom to invite you to a party.

requested: so many times yes!

words: 11.2k!! woah

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [fingering, slight oral, masturbation, vibrator], praise kink, degrading kink, slight exhibitionism, dirty talk, and protected sex), language, mentions of marjuana/alcohol, and fluff

note: this was the most anticipated and loved of all my writings! i’m so thankful for everyone who liked part 1, i just had to write a part 2. enjoy!!! sorry if the gif is all weird again

—

so many thoughts flew through peter’s mind as he swung through the streets of massachusetts: what homework or projects he might have, you, class, praying flash doesn’t do anything stupid while he’s gone, you, hoping ned doesn’t have a panic attack from flash’s idiocy, and you you you.

he thought of your body and the way it felt underneath him while he pushed himself deep inside of you. and the whimpers you let out as you came. and the sound of your laughter through the palm of your hand. and the smile on your face as he kissed your forehead. he wished he had kissed you longer. he wished he had stayed longer. forever.

was that dramatic? maybe.

you were a recurring thought that never seemed to cease from his brain.

peter sees you around school sometimes—only on the days you two have class together. neither of you made an effort to approach the other, almost as if you expected the other person to do it first. you both sat far apart from each other, too afraid to move seats around and make it obvious. but peter’s gaze fell heavily over your shoulder too many times for you to not feel it.

every time you shifted around to face the back of the room, you watched him avert his wandering eyes to anywhere but you. it made you smile and giggle quietly behind your hand, and of course peter’s hearing picked up on the angelic sounds, causing his heart to skip against his ribs.

and then class would begin and you’d have to wait until next class to see him again.

peter wanted to go see you—talk to you. he really did. but he was so busy with school work and being spider-man that he didn’t have a night off. mid-terms were coming up, but that also meant thanksgiving break was in the rear view mirror. after halloween of course.

in college, halloween was like any other day. you didn’t get a day off to trick-or-treat and hang out with your friends. instead, you were given a pile of tests the week before.

not much of a treat, huh?

outside of college, however, people threw the best parties that night. one of those people obviously being peter. luckily, halloween was on a saturday, so everyone would be done with mid-terms and ready to party their asses off.

flash needed everyone and their mom to come for him to be satisfied (well, maybe not their moms). he’s going to blow up everyone’s phone telling them to invite every person they know. peter didn’t care who showed up. he knows that halloween is one of the biggest parties of the year (besides fourth of july). peter only wanted—no needed—one person to be there.

—

knowing it’s been weeks since he’s seen you and the party was only in a few days, peter had to come and see you. he had to make sure you got the invite. it was difficult to fit visiting you into his schedule, but like always, he made it work.

you were becoming important to him, a priority.

he would only be in and out because who knows what would happen if peter was caught in there? last time, flash got his car hit with a baseball bat. flash was so mad that he completely forgot about peter’s dare, even though it was the whole point of sneaking into the house. it was deserved, but peter didn’t want any of that happening to him. so, peter promised himself no funny business unless you were in his room.

ugh, but peter really didn’t want you around the frat boys. they were way too much.

the sky was pitch black besides the hint of stars that were sprinkled in the sky. it was a chilly, fall night that made peter want to cozy up and pass out in his bed. but he had more important things to do first.

after a boring night of patrol, peter sneaks into his room through his opened window. without making too much noise (unlike flash), he quietly changes out of his suit and packs it into his closet in a box labeled books. peter is certain that no one, especially flash, would ever open that box. so he fixes his appearance by adjusting his shirt in the mirror, checking his teeth, and messing with his wild hair. on impulse, he throws on a cap to better hide himself. with that, he jumps out his window once again, shutting it closed on his way down with his sticky fingers.

like he’s done once before, peter sneaks across the street to the forbidden sorority house. he stares at the windows; all darkened bedrooms, except for one. peter wasn’t one hundred percent sure that that single lit bedroom was yours, but he was willing to test his luck.

for you.

peering at his surroundings, peter flips his hat backwards and slowly crawls up the side of the house. his fingers latch onto the windowsill as he very slowly lifts his head over it. he notices that it’s slightly cracked open before his gaze is seering through the glass.

you have got to be fucking joking.

your body lays sprawled across your bed as a delicate hand wanders between your parted legs and slides your infamous panties to the side. your torso is covered in the same mit t-shirt from that night, draped over your lavish figure tantalizingly. a laptop plays a pornographic scene of some sort, headphones plugged in one ear.

god, he wanted to touch you so bad.

he wondered if you were thinking of him. recalling how his fingers caressed down your body and how they touched every inch of your skin. but you couldn’t be, right? it’s been weeks and peter hasn’t made a move. you’ve probably moved on from that night like nothing happened. peter should probably go, leave you alone during such an intimate time—

“mm, peter,” your angelic voice hums a quiet moan that was only loud enough for peter’s hearing. peter feels his cock twitch needily at your noises, hissing to himself as you whimper his name. “feels so good.”

well, that’s just like a goddamn invite.

using every skill he has learned from being spider-man, peter yanks open the window and creeps inside. you were too emerged in your fantasies; eyes screwed closed as you listened attentively to the ongoing video. you failed to notice peter’s looming presence over your bed, even with only one headphone in. your noises continued, spurring peter’s next actions on.

without saying a word, peter lays his hand over yours, which is rubbing cute circles over your clit. your movements freeze and your eyes fly open. your mind doesn’t register the sight before you, so your breathing stops and your lungs get ready to scream out every millimeter of oxygen in you. but peter slips his other hand over your mouth before you could alert the entire neighborhood of his presence.

peter could sense the erratic beating of your heart as your tense muscles very gradually soften once you realize it’s him. once you’ve calmed down enough to not scream, you take your free hand and lower peter’s from your mouth.

he came back.

“p-peter, i didn't know you were coming,” you weren't sure what to say. your mind was still spinning like a top toy and your heart was beating like a galloping horse. your skin was burning underneath him, full of embarrassment and immense desire. “a head’s up would have been nice…”

“i’m sorry for the interruption…” peter says, eyes dragging down your body. his hand moves above yours gradually. you inhale sharply as peter guides your hand.

“you don’t seem sorry,” you retaliate as the friction from your hand with the help of peter’s begins to rile your body up again. you feel the wetness seep from your cunt, aching and needy for more. for more of him.

“how come you’re so wet?” peter completely ignores you, and removes your hand from your pussy with a gentle toss. peter didn’t expect anything tonight, but he especially didn’t expect to find his little angel with her hands between her legs. you gasp when his fingers are directly touching you, instantly clenching around nothing. his fingers are a bit chilly, in contrast to your flamy skin. “is it from the video?”

“n-no,” you stutter between needy pants as his fingers threaten to sink into your pulsing hole. your legs spread wider for him, inviting him closer to you. you slam the laptop down with shaky fingers to show him that you no longer need it.

“then what’s got you so wet?” two fingers dip into your cunt to persuade you to talk, but it’s doing the opposite. you bite your lip to hide the traitorous moan that threatens to escape. heavy arousal coats your labia while he pumps in and out of you easily, waiting for an answer.

“i was thinking of you,” you admit, hips rolling into his touch greedily. “wondering if you’d ever come back.”

peter’s heart saddens at the thought of you waiting for him. this whole time peter assumed you forgot about him, when in reality, it was the exact opposite. and there was sticky evidence to prove it.

“i’m right here, angel. what were you thinking about?” his body leans down hovering over yours, causing your body to sink into the mattress.

“thought about you climbing through the window, just like you did. imagined you’d fuck me, like you promised,” you moan quietly between words, trying to sound cohesive. hearing you say such vulgar words has peter’s cock twitching in his pants. with peter, you weren’t afraid to be straight to the point and tell him what you want. peter admired that, and would probably do anything you asked him to.

“with time, i’m a man of my word, baby.”

close and personal, peter interlocks his lips with yours. your frolicking hands drift to his warm neck, caressing the nape as you melt into him. peter inserts a third finger into you, eliciting a muffled moan against his lips. the action opens up your mouth and allows peter to effortlessly glide his tongue inside.

his fingers ram into you at a deliriously fast pace, causing your mind to haze into a euphoric state. it was impressive how peter could be kissing you unforgettably, but also skillfully pleasuring you with his hands. peter seemed like a man full of secrets and skills that you were dying to know.

who is peter parker?

fogging up your mind, your muscles tense and your back continues to arch until your stomach is touching his. your legs threaten to close from the overwhelming pleasure from his fingers, but you battle to keep them wide. his mouth trails down your neck and attacks the sensitive skin below your ear. teeth digging into your lip, you withhold all of your noises that peter so desperately wants to hear.

“if we were alone, you wouldn’t be allowed to be quiet,” he husks in your ear before trailing further down your neck. his voice was every level of attractive, pushing you closer to the edge. peter continued to check off all of your invisible boxes of turn ons.

“i know,” your voice was delicate and strained, and peter could tell you were close.

your walls gripped his fingers eagerly, and your stomach tightened up. it was embarrassing that you were so close so fast, but you couldn’t hold it any longer. once his fingers curled one last time inside of you, you were a goner.

“come for me, baby,” he demanded quietly, so you did.

your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, drenched in blissful euphoria. peter worked you through your high by softly rubbing your legs and coaxing every last drop out of you until you were sensitive to the touch.

without having to ask, peter lowers himself to your mound and yanks your panties down and off your legs. he then cleans up your mess with his skillful tongue, licking and slurping all of your juices. your sensitivity causes you to be squirmy, but he’s done before you know it and then you’re left reminiscing.

although he was right in front of you, you missed his touch already. you missed him inside of you because it made you feel connected, intertwined. you didn’t want him to leave you again for weeks and come back on a random week day. or even worse, never again at all. you hoped that it didn’t become a pattern because you were getting attached to him, whether you liked it or not (you did), and that wasn’t a healthy pattern to be attached to.

peter’s body hovers over yours once again, held up by his muscular arms. your eyes attach to every detail on his face, admiring and memorizing his features in fear that he’ll leave again. he gazes at you like a living daydream, ethereal underneath him. one of his hands caresses your supple cheek, lightly swiping away your frisky hair. you practically purr into his touch, melting at his gentleness.

“peter,” you start, voice as fragile as thin glass.

“y/n.”

“please, don’t leave,” you insist in a whisper, hoping he’d stay. but you know he can’t.

“you know i can’t,” he says as you begin to sit up. see?

“when will i see you again? you can’t just… show up at any time,” you huff, sitting up straight as peter takes a seat beside you.

“i know i know…” peter thinks for a moment before reaching into his pocket. “here. you can put your number in my phone.”

your heart skips a simple beat. you extend your arm to snatch your phone on your nightstand before hesitatingly grabbing peter’s. you switch devices and enter your numbers. you label your name as ‘y/n :)’ and then you trade back phones, but don’t look at them.

“c’mere,” peter says and you curl your body into his. his warmth was addicting and cozy, and could easily make a great pillow for the future. “i’m sorry for not coming back sooner. i’ve been pretty busy with… everything i guess. i should’ve told you.” with your head cradled in his chest, he kisses your rumpled hair genuinely.

a sweet apology. could he get any better? is he just a figment of my imagination?

you lift up your head so you could see him looking down on you. “apology accepted, parker. but i feel like i’m being manipulated with your kisses.”

“how was i supposed to know you’re a sucker for forehead kisses?”

“everyone is a sucker for forehead kisses!” you whisper yell causing him to laugh wholeheartedly as quiet as possible. he kisses your head a few more times, making your heart full of affection and care.

how did you get lucky enough for peter parker to fall into your life? or more specifically, break into your house on two accounts?

“you never fulfilled your promise,” you said, referring to him having sex with you. don’t misunderstand, you were very grateful for what he gave you, but to be direct… you were greedy, needy, and missed his dick.

no time for beating around the bush.

“like i said, with time, i’m a man of my word,” which, in other words, means he’s not having sex with you. tonight, at least. you can’t help the small frown that appears on your lips.

“how much time? a girl has needs, you know,” you rose your eyebrows and pointed towards the closed laptop. peter puffed under his breath, causing you to smirk.

“there is a party this saturday… at my place. you should come,” peter informs.

“should i come or do you want me to come?” it was a test.

“if this is some sexual innuendo, yes—”

“jeez, get your mind out of the gutter, peter!” you roll your eyes and softly shove his chest, but a smile never ceases from your face. that only causes him to wrap his arms around you and squeeze you harder against his firm body.

he must live at the gym.

“you started talking about sex first!”

he’s not wrong.

“of course, i want you to come to the party, y/n,” peter smiles as his eyes wandering over every inch of your face. in any other scenario, gorging eyes would’ve made you feel insecure, but peter’s made you feel all flushed and tingly. “you’re the only person i want to be there.”

your smile enlarges even more and a rush of heat crawls up your neck. instead of kissing his lips for being such a romantic goofball, you decide to pull off his backward cap and kiss his forehead. the rosy blush that cascades his pale cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed.

“see! everyone likes forehead kisses!”

just as you say those words, peter hears footsteps padding across the hallway. he really didn’t want to leave you again, but he also really didn’t want to get caught. he sighs and you notice his change of demeanor, causing another frown to arise on your lips.

“you have to go, don’t you?”

“i’m sorry—”

“it’s okay. i’m glad you came. i’ll see you on saturday,” you smile genuinely and kiss his forehead again. he smiles, but catches your luscious lips instead. peter almost forgot about the footsteps, always lost in the moment with you.

he is obsessed with kissing you.

however, the moment is too short for both of your liking. peter struggles to pull himself away from you, but does because each footstep in the hallway is like a warning. with a finally kiss to your forehead, peter smiles endearingly before approaching your window, ready to jump out.

“oh, and peter?” as his hands are on the window, he turns around to look at you. “don’t forget these.”

you fling your panties at him and his quick reflexes have no problem catching them. you take his hat that he left on your bed and lay it on top of your head. peter cannot describe the fond feeling that bubbles up in his chest at the sight of you in his apparel. he’s sure he would die seeing you in his clothes if he’s starstruck from you in his cap.

a familiar heated flush blossoms on his cheeks as he lightly shakes his head with a few chuckles.

“you’re ridiculously cute,” is the last thing he says before he slides out the window and jumps down onto the ground.

ridiculously cute. you’ve never been called that before. are you surprised that you like it a lot? nope.

you still don’t understand how he doesn’t break a few limbs from jumping out of a two-story house, but again, that’s just one of the many things he’s skillful at. you wondered what else he was capable of. like you said, he seemed like a man full of secrets. some people thought of curiosity as a curse, but you saw it as a pathway to unknown opportunities.

not even a minute after peter left, there’s a knock at your bedroom door. you answer, skeptical, and one of your friends walks in.

“i know we’re not allowed to have any guys here, so you get kind of lonely, but when you’re watching porn at midnight can you please turn it down? i could hear it at the end of the hall,” she rubs her eyes and elicits a yawn. your eyes widen and you swallow thickly at the idea of the entire house hearing you.

you really thought you did a good job at being quiet…

“uh, yeah, sure thing,” you half smile as you apologize and wish her a better goodnight. you flick your lamp off and shift comfortably on your bed.

you gaze at the ceiling and imagine peter’s face above yours. you envisioned his lips, his cute nose, and each precious beauty mark on his face. it was easier to fall asleep knowing what his phone number was, and that saturday was only three days away.

—

those three days could not have been longer. the party was your motivation to wake up every day and go to class, eager as ever. you only saw peter once at school and that was not enough to satisfy the yearning you had inside of you. that yearning was also like an alarm clock that sprung you out of bed at eight a.m. on saturday.

you knew you had hours to waste, so you did all the things you had been procrastinating on: laundry, tidying up, few assignments due next week, and you even dusted parts of the house. yeah, you were that bored.

you weren’t sure what time the party started, but you would probably be able to tell from your window. you had no idea what you were going to wear even though you were thinking about it since wednesday. you believed you had a good sense of style, at least to your liking, but you don’t have all the clothes that you wish you had. living on a college budget wasn’t easy, but you made do.

at this point, it was only two in the afternoon, and you were about to run into the wall until your head was bleeding just to waste more time. this was the downside to having a ridiculously big crush on someone; the inescapable waiting. when crushing, time seems prolonged when you’re without them. but when you’re with them, the world seems to stop completely. it’s like nothing matters but just you two.

you remembered back to wednesday when peter was sitting on your bed and holding you snug against his body while you talked about such a mundane thing like a party invite. you could never erase the feeling of his kiss, his lips forever etched onto yours. the kiss felt like hours, but it was merely a minute before he had to pull away. you imagined what it would be like to just be with him without worrying about anything else. these daydreams cause the yearning in your chest to expand like a balloon, which is never going to satisfyingly explode until you’re in his arms again.

without making a big deal out of it, you needed a good outfit. so, you knocked on one of your “sister’s” doors. you weren’t a fan of the term “sorority sisters,” especially because none of these girls felt like sisters to you. yes, you were all decent friends who went to parties and went out to eat once a month together. but you weren’t as close to them as you were with your friends back at home. you missed them, but you’ve all moved on with your lives.

violet answers with a cheery come in and you walk into her room. you hint that you’re looking for a nice dress for the party tonight.

“i’m glad you came to me first,” she smiles as she stands up from her bed. she heads toward her closet, which is practically pouring out clothes that would laugh at yours. she had so many colors and choices, it was almost overwhelming and you weren’t even the one really choosing. “so. who’s the guy?”

“what? who said anything about a guy?”

“the fact that you want a nice dress for a frat party. you’ve never cared before, so it has to be a guy. so who is it?”

“it’s no one in particular,” you lie easily as you sit on her bed. she sifts through each dress in deep thought.

“so, you want a nice dress to catch any guy’s attention? i don’t buy it,” violet shakes her head, causing her long, black hair to wave.

not that you really care if she believes you, but what’s a believable lie? you know she’ll probably nag you about it the entire night if you don’t give her a valid excuse.

“if i’m being honest, i’m trying to, you know,” you raise your eyebrows high, motioning your hands as she whips around to face you. she nods as a knowing smirk grows on her lips. you weren’t technically lying–you did want to get laid, but you only had one person in mind that could do the job.

“i see. that’s all you needed to say,” she flips through more dresses before pulling out a short red one that makes your eyes widen. it looked nice, too nice, and you didn’t want to ruin anything she had because you’d probably spend the next few months paying to replace it. “let’s get you ready.”

“but the party is in–”

“nuh uh, we’re getting ready now. also, we’re making it into a costume.”

–

for once, you’re glad you listened to violet about getting ready early because it was already six o’clock by the time you guys were both finished. you somehow gave in to the idea of her dolling you up into some kind of sexy spider woman? you didn’t really know. she thought the red and blue accented your skin nicely. violet did what she wanted. you didn’t even plan on wearing a costume in the first place, so you didn’t really mind.

your hair was down and wavy. you had her short red dress on and white fishnet tights. she also gave you royal blue heels. she painted black webs on your eyes with eyeliner while you wore a matching red lipstick. it was a lot more than you expected to see on yourself when you looked in her vanity mirror. hopefully, the look is as attractive and alluring as violet says it is. meanwhile, violet dressed as “slutty catwoman” (her words, not yours).

and yes, violet was going. everyone at mit would be going. it was one of those annual parties that's been going on for years, even before your class was there.

you enjoyed that; traditions and routines. they created memories and showed the change through each generation. thinking back, you bet your ancestors would die of a heart attack if they saw the way you were dressed and the things people did at these parties. but none of those thoughts stopped you from leaving the sorority house and walking across the street to the frat party.

you hadn’t even walked in yet, and the music was booming throughout the neighborhood. through the blinds that failed to close, you could see the technicolor lights flashing in redirection. cars of every shade were parked for probably miles down the street, and you knew as the night went on the number of people would only increase.

violet walked in front of you, strutting through the door like she owned the place. you followed behind her almost cowardly, but you weren’t really looking for everyone’s attention anyway. just one.

however, you forgot that the whole reason violet believed you were wearing this dress in the first place was for that exact reason. so, when she realized your shyness, she turned around and shook all your nerves out of you. literally. she shook your shoulders until you were woozy and nearly stumbling over your heels (you are now wishing you wore sneakers). it was like you were already tipsy by the time she was done.

she dragged you towards the kitchen without any words, seeming as though you wouldn’t be able to hear them over the blaring music and loud chatter. bottles of liquor decorated the marble countertop along with blue and red solo cups, trashed like a 90’s high school movie. violet grabbed the first bottle she saw, pouring the dark liquid into a cup she somehow snagged.

“your turn,” she shoves the bottle and cup towards your body as a stranger bumps into you from the back. the place was getting packed, making it hard to find anywhere to breathe. “some liquid courage.”

“i’m okay. i will later, though,” you rejected, not liking the idea of being drunk when you had a goal in mind. by the end of the night, you really wanted to be in peter’s bed. but you hated the idea of being drunk while having sex, especially when you wanted to enjoy it. you only indulged in drunk sex when you really needed to get off and one; didn’t want to remember what happened, or second; didn’t want it to last longer than that night. mostly the latter.

you know what it feels like to be with peter, and you craved to feel like that again. just thinking about him made you feel a thousand different kinds of wonderful; heart racing, stomach swirling, core burning. you knew the second you found him it would be hard to keep your hands away.

–

peter finally decides to shuffle down his stairs for the first time tonight. when the roaring music began an hour ago, he knew the party had, too, but he didn’t feel like going down yet. he couldn’t help but peek out his blinds in his bedroom, waiting to see you crossing the street.

he swears he was in his bedroom for at least an hour, occasionally peeking out the window, impatiently waiting for your arrival. with a slight frown on his face, he realizes that you might not be coming.

why would you?

peter assumed that you just now noticed how creepy it was for him to sneak into your bedroom. twice. maybe all your smiles and kisses were just silent pleads to make him leave the room faster. but your laugh seemed so genuine, and the sweet, little noises that you muffled under your palms were from real pleasure. right?

you were moaning his name.

he imagined you strutting across the street in a jaw-dropping dress, one that would send him into a frenzy. but you would be too humble and would shrug it off like you were the most average person on earth. peter would scoff and take you into his arms and drag you up into his room. then he would admire you until you believed you were the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen.

open mouth kisses etched on your naked body. bites and pinches of tease. your sweet hums and delicately broken moans. nails clawing into his tough skin greedily. his voice guiding and praising you while yours is disheveled in pleasure.

god, he’s so in his head. he’s so far gone. and he barely knows you.

like a daydreaming idiot, he slaps the side of his head a few times to get his brain back into reality. he stares at his appearance in the mirror, silently motivating himself to have a good night whether or not you show up.

taking a deep breath, he finally exits his bedroom. of course, the music is booming and the place is already as crowded as a concert. peter trails down the stairs, but stops midway when he sees the top of your head.

is that you? how did he miss you?

moving swiftly down the steps, he weaves his way through the crowd, his fake glasses nearly slipping down his face. multiple people try to stop and chat with him, but he doesn’t indulge for long, having a clear destination in mind.

but, just when he reaches the kitchen, you’re gone.

he swears he just saw you. maybe he’s going crazy.

releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, peter pushes through a few more bodies before reaching the sliding glass door. he squeezed himself outside and inhales. when you’re in a house full of sweaty, drunk people smoking weed, you become more grateful for the fresh air.

he removes his glasses and tucks them into his neckline. his eyes gaze at the backyard’s minuscule decorations, and then to the sky. he stares at the stars as they wink at him, reassuring that everything will be alright. he wishes that the town won’t need saving tonight and that everyone will be on their best behavior. he hopes that you’ll come to the party, even if it doesn’t end with you in his arms.

even though that’s all he really wants.

“peter?” a voice speaks, and the sound was so elegant and soft that he thought the stars themselves were talking to him. he forces himself to blink a few times before spinning around to face you.

he nearly faints when he sees your costume.

short red dress, white tights, blue heels, black webs. you were dressed as spider-man, or spider girl, and you looked absolutely fucking stunning. you would be the death of peter. seriously, he thinks he might pass out from lust and admiration looking at you. you were just so drop-dead gorgeous, he couldn’t believe it.

maybe the stars were on his side tonight. unless they wanted to kill him…

“are you okay?” your soft voice of concern walks straight up to him, delicate hand resting on his shoulder.

“y-yeah,” peter stutters before coughing. is it surprising that he’s already half hard? a small blush cascades his pale cheeks. “you look… really fucking good.”

there’s no dancing around it.

now, familiar heat warms your neck, cheeks, and ears at his compliment. his voice was low, so only you could hear it over the screaming music, and it was laced with a small growl that had your stomach flipping. your hand fell from his shoulder.

“thanks,” you couldn’t think of what else to say, but then you looked at his outfit, which was little to none. actually, he was wearing normal clothes. peter was probably the only person at the party without a costume. “i guess i had to go all out since you decided not to wear anything. it’s your party and you didn’t think to dress up?”

peter laughs, breaking any invisible tension that might have been there. god, you loved his laugh. it was so childlike and full of joy, that you couldn’t help but smile.

“i have a costume. hold on,” peter puts on his glasses.

“if you say you’re a hot nerd—”

“nuh uh, i’m a super hot nerd,” he then rips the buttons off half of his flannel, presenting the superman symbol on his chest. rolling your eyes, it was your turn to laugh. your hand covers your face at his silliness as you lean against the nearby wall for support.

“you’re such an idiot.”

“i can’t be a nerd and an idiot, angel.”

“somehow, you make it work,” you both chuckle with huge smiles on your faces, unable to look away from each other.

“hey, dickwad,” flash abruptly appears from the sliding glass door that you two were standing by. he was dressed as spider-man, which nearly made peter cry laughing out of irony when he first found out this morning, but he kept that to himself. “—oh, hey, y/n. nice costume! at least someone has taste.”

“superman is a great superhero—”

“whatever, dude. at least spiderman is real!” flash shouts before parading away, repeating the statement to his next victims that will hear him.

“what do you have against spider-man?” you ask, leaning against the rough wall by just your arm. you were too afraid to have the dress touch it, in fear of ripping or ruining it.

“nothing,” peter shrugs.

“oh, c’mon,” you shove at his shoulder playfully. “just say you don’t believe in him. it’s okay.”

“what! of course, i believe in him, he’s not santa claus.”

“oh my god, santa isn’t real?!” you pretend to be shocked, hands slapping your cheeks. peter lightly chuckles and rolls his eyes before nonchalantly grabbing your hand. your heart speeds up in your chest at his simple movement while your breathing halters.

and just like that he’s in control.

“do you want to get a drink?” peter’s thumb plays with the skin of your knuckles while he waits for your answer. but you can’t think of anything right now besides the soft caress being tattooed onto you.

“no, i’m not in the mood to drink tonight,” you replied, hoping that gave peter a hint at how you wanted the night to go. peter wasn’t as stupid as most guys, so you have high hopes that he understood the foreshadow.

“well, what are you in the mood for?” his voice was low again, speckles of lust wavering in it. he takes a step closer to you, and you can’t help but lay flat against the wall. you weren’t even thinking about the condition of the dress anymore. you swallowed as your stomach burned in anticipation.

“somewhere quiet,” your eyes flickered between his darkening eyes and his pink lips.

“it won’t stay quiet as long as you’re there,” a cheeky smile rises up on his lips as heat floods through your body. you hit his shoulder lightly, embarrassment flushing your cheeks.

following him and his contagious smile, peter drags you through the crowds of people. there were more people in the house than when you arrived, but you’re not surprised. the upstairs section of the frat was basically off-limits to most people, unless you really had to go to the bathroom and the downstairs one was taken. you’ve been to the house a few times, but you’ve never stayed long enough to go upstairs.

but tonight everything is different.

unlike your wooden floors, peter’s are carpeted, so you’re walking very carefully on your heels. when you reach the top step, your calves are slightly burning from the exercise.

looking both ways, peter leads you towards his bedroom at the end of the hallway, hands intertwined. it felt secretive, and a part of you liked it. he closes the door right when you got inside, locking it quickly. but while he’s doing so, your hands release from his to explore his room. he rushes to clean his messes books.

peter had a gray and black color scheme that was alluring. his dark gray sheets looked soft and plush, and you could imagine yourself sleeping in them every night. were you getting ahead of yourself? maybe. you barely knew him, but you felt like you’ve known him forever. you glance around his room some more, trying to get to know him.

he had two band posters; led zeppelin and guns n’ roses. you didn’t expect the second one, but it impressed you. his desk was scattered with textbooks and papers like he had just been studying. turning around you see his two-mirror closet. it was slightly ajar, letting you see a few boxes.

“what’s in the boxes?” you ask, slowly creeping your way towards them. you don’t miss peter’s eyes widening slightly and his cheeks heating up. now you have to know.

“n-nothing important,” peter scratches the back of his neck, and if he’s trying to hide something, he’s doing a horrible job at it. on the sides of each box were black handwriting.

“trophies and medals,” you read aloud, inching your way towards the door, “books—”

“y/n, don’t!” peter exclaimed nervously with a hand reaching out to stop you, causing you to turn around and eye his expression. he swallowed thickly, praying you didn’t open the box. his anxiety was at an all time high. “there’s… personal stuff in there.”

“okay, okay. you don’t want anyone to know you have sexy magazines,” you rolled your eyes and huffed out a chuckle. “i get it. i’m not jealous.”

“yeah…” peter’s cheeks don’t cool down, still red and warm. for some reason, he senses the awkward tension arising in the atmosphere around you both, and he doesn’t know how to tame it. you both know what you want now, but it’s hard to bring it up without being so forward.

“did i tell you that you look good in glasses?” you speak after the few seconds of silence. you get yourself comfortable on the edge of his bed, unstrapping your heels from your already sore feet. you groan. “feels so much better.”

“thanks,” peter joins with a never-ending blush, sitting next to you. he’s itching to touch you.

why was it so much easier when he broke in?

he turns to face you and stares at your eye makeup. you had little black webs on the corner of your eyes. for some strange reason, the idea of you dressing up as him really turned him on. even if you didn’t know it was him.

“peter,” you said a bit breathlessly. your heart was racing with anticipation and lust. he hadn’t even noticed you were staring right back at him. you could look at each other for hours, but you really wanted more. needed it. subconsciously, you were both leaning forward towards your lips.

“yeah?” peter’s gaze never faltered. his honey brown eyes darkened to black.

“i brought something for you,” his eyes shifted from your lips to your eyes, curious.

“it’s not even christmas yet,” he smiles, “and what’s that?” you leaned closer to him, your lips hovering over his ear.

“it’s a surprise,” you whispered seductively, grabbing his hand and placing it on your thigh. he doesn’t hesitate to rub the supple skin covered by fishnet, warm and smooth.

when you pull away just the slightest, peter crashes his lips to yours. the kiss was as passionate as your feelings for him, erupting your anticipation and nerves in small gasps. he shifts you over to his lap, so you’re straddling him. instantly, you buck your hips into his crotch, desperate for more than a heated kiss.

your heart is thrashing in your chest and there’s a familiar burn in the lower part of your stomach. your hands roam his brown hair, exploring his locks like it’s new territory. except it’s not. you’ve never felt like you’ve known someone so well without even knowing them that well. the chasing, the waiting, the wanting, the needing, the wondering—it was the strangest feeling, and you were addicted to it.

you pop your lips off of peter, puffy and pink. you both take a second to breathe before you start kissing down his neck. you’re not shy with your teeth, leaving marks on his tough skin that’s shielding layers of muscle.

when you get to his collarbone, you nearly whine because he still has his flannel and shirt on. you swear you’ve never been more horny or desperate in your life.

“relax, sweet girl,” peter reassures, petting your hair while you look up at him. “we have all night.”

just tonight? you thought. what about the other nights? and days?

after a soft sigh, you nod and begin unbuttoning his flannel. your hands are a bit shaky from all the anticipation and the rapid beat of your heart. of course peter notices.

“are you alright?” he questions softly, being the caring guy he is.

“yeah, just nervous, i guess,” you answer honestly because he makes it easy to. he’s comforting and he cares.

so why are you nervous?

but instead of asking you why, he says, “me too.”

after you undo the last button and gently remove his flannel, you delicately smile at him. it was so pretty, peter couldn’t help but smile too. you tug on the end of his superman t-shirt, and he yanks it off. and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to his immaculate figure. it was sculpted to perfection, as if he was given his body from some drug. or maybe even the gods.

his hand raises to caress your supple cheek, causing you to stare at his face before he’s kissing you again. it started off sweet and gentle, like how peter saw you. but it didn’t take long for it to be rougher and full of lust. peter could feel his jeans tightening underneath you, and he wasn’t stupid enough to confuse the scent of your arousal with perfume or something.

trying again, your lips go to trail down peter’s neck again. his breath is wavering our sighs of pleasure as you lick and nibble his skin.

“gonna tell me that surprise?” peter asks, hands crawling up to the back of your dress. he’s sure to be careful as he drapes the straps down, the top slowly sliding down as you make out with his chest. you push peter’s body down so he’s laying flat on the bed, not answering him. “not gonna answer?”

you weren’t. you didn’t have time for all the things you wanted to do with him. all the things you wanted him to do to you. maybe you were too far gone to think it would take more than a night to be fulfilled by peter. more than two. more than a week? maybe a month. you’d keep going until you’re sick and tired, but you don’t think you could ever get sick or tired of peter parker.

lost within the feeling of his body, you barely comprehend when he flips you dramatically over. his hard body hovers above yours, your dress barely hiding your peaked nipples.

“i ask you a question, baby,” he husks, breath fanning over your skin and traveling toward your ear. a shiver scatters up your spine and a spark of lust fires in your clit.

“you have to wait and see,” you answered breathlessly, a smirk rising on your face.

a dark color covers his eyes. peter doesn’t like not knowing something, so he’s desperate to figure out your little “surprise.”

with little to no effort, violet’s dress is tugged all the way down your body. he tosses it gracefully onto his bedroom floor, but doesn’t pay any mind to it as he gazes over your body. he hasn’t seen you since wednesday and he was craving you like crazy. he thought he was going to go insane. but as he stares down at your figure adorning white fishnets sexily, he finally knows what it’s like to go crazy.

“is this my surprise? because, fuck, you look like a prize.”

you giggle as his rough fingertips trail down your torso. your nipples ache from neglect and the chilly october air that somehow breezes through the room. your body arches up into his touch, needing him badly. maybe you should just tell him the surprise.

but wouldn’t it be so much better if he just found it himself?

“can i unwrap my present?” peter teases with a cheeky smile, nudging at the waistline of your fishnets. you know that the second you open your legs he’s going to see your wetness leaking from the fabric.

“yes, peter,” you can’t help but laugh.

“do you care if i rip them?”

“what?”

“can i rip them?”

“i don’t—” the quiet sound of stretching and ripping cuts you off. he tore your fishnets. well, violet’s fishnets. “peter!”

“too late. i’ve never been good at unwrapping gifts,” he quickly kisses your cheek in a sweet apology, “luckily, i’m pretty good at taking care of them.”

you roll your eyes at his cheesiness, but can’t help but smile like a little kid. as he makes his way down your body again, he widens your legs and sees his surprise. your heart throbs just like your aching cunt.

“ah, so that’s my surprise,” he grumbles. it’s hard for him to keep it together right now.

peter stares darkly at the small purple toy peeking out from your bare pussy. you had no panties on, which in peter’s eyes, seemed ironic. from the top of his eyes, he sees the tiny smirk creeping up onto your lips.

his hand crawls up your leg until it reaches the soaking folds of your throbbing cunt. he pets your slit delicately, like you’d break if he fully touched you. you might. even from that simple touch, you were squirming underneath him, silently begging for more.

“how long has this been keeping you full?” he questions, curious, “is this what you’ve been using while i was gone?”

“mhm,” you hum when his fingers find your puffy clit, throbbing with desire. you leaked all around the purple toy, wetness gushing from you.

“look at you. fucking soaked. what made you this wet? was it the toy?” peter circles your clit faster, making your breath falter. you try to keep your eyes strained on him, but the feeling is just too incredible to focus on anything else. “answer me.”

“n-not the toy,” you stutter with breathlessness. a wavering moan elicits from you.

“then why are you so wet?” he taunts, and the low level of his voice floods over your body just right. you clench needily around the toy right in front of him, causing him to growl.

“you! nothing makes me wet like you do,” you admit head falling back on the pillow as his rough pace gives in. he’s satisfied with your answer, so he goes to a full, fast rhythm.

you’re so dazed with your orgasmic chase that your body rumbles as it nears. to make matters more intense, peter testingly pushes the small button on the bottom of the toy. it springs to life, vibrating your entire insides electrifingly. a broken moan escapes your swollen lips, and you just pray it’s hidden behind the heavy beat of the party music.

your legs shake in his hands as his head lowers. you’re so close to your high and then he does even more? you swear you were going to explode.

his challenging mouth sucks harshly on your clit, devouring you like you were his last meal on earth. instead of the bed sheets, your hands find their way to his soft hair, tucking the roots with triumph.

you’re breathless and you’re close. so, so close. you can see your orgasm in front of you like a sunset and you’re riding straight into it on a horse.

“peter!” you cry when he nibbles on your clit, a smirk pressed against you. it was nice to release your moans without having to muffle them down. your core tenses like never before, overwhelmed by the extreme pleasure. “i’m coming—oh, fuck, please let me come!”

“go ahead, sweet girl,” he pops off of you and replaces his mouth with his thick fingers. “give it all to me.”

so you do. you release every tension within you that was holding you back. with eyes screwed closed, your back arches from the high. the wetness squeezes out of you while peter eases you through it. he switches off the vibrator and puts it somewhere besides you on the bed.

he lowers his head to clean up the mess with delight. when he comes back up, the grin on his face is toothy and contagious. you reflect it back, wondering how you got so lucky. how were you lucky enough for your intruder to be peter parker?

“you okay, angel?” peter asks, thumb caressing your heated cheek bone with concern. you’re melting into his touch, hoping to be a part of him forever. you wouldn’t mind.

“yeah, just… thinking.”

“good or bad?”

“i’ll tell you later,” you smile as you recall all the small thoughts you have of peter. peter rolls his eyes dramatically as your hands rub down his chest.

“but… i was wondering if i could be on top? just wanna try it. i need it,” you stare into his eyes and patiently wait for an answer. you’ve never been on top before, but with peter it seems like it would be really fun.

“i don’t know. do you want me to die?”

you laugh, forcing you to look away from his brown eyes. you push peter off the bed until he’s standing and ask him to take off his pants. when he’s completely naked, he goes to lean against his headboard, ready for you to sit on him. you crawl over to him as he puts on a condom from his bedside table.

“ready, baby?” he massages your upper arms.

“you’re being too nice, peter,” you note as you throw your legs over his hips. you didn’t actually know what you were doing, but confidence is key. if you just pretended like you knew, it would look like it, right?

“what? do you want me to be mean, baby? ‘cause i can be mean.”

“don’t think you’re really capable.”

“we’ll see then, doll,” peter says deeply as his hand grips your hip tightly.

as you slowly lower your body with peter’s guidance, you feel his tip enter you. it was a different feeling than being on the bottom. you had more control, but you had to do more work. you’re not sure if you cared to have so much free reign. you kind of preferred when peter took the wheel.

you rocked your hips forward, feeling his hard cock fully inside of you. it was stretching you completely out. you couldn’t get up if you tried. there was a pain mixed with pleasure that filled you up so good.

“c’mon, y/n. fuck yourself on my cock,” he growled in encouragement as you attempted to lift your hips up. you barely move because you’re squeezing around his cock so tight, like if you let go you’ll die. peter lightly moans as you squeeze him, wondering if he’ll die right here inside of you.

“i-i can’t,” you whine.

“you can’t? thought you needed it?” he taunts. peter can be mean if he really wanted to,

“it’s too hard.”

“you’re not even trying. good girls at least try. don’t you want to be a good girl?”

peter thrusts up into you once to make you moan, which works successfully. you spit out your broken moan with your hands clawing his biceps.

“barely moved and you’re already moaning. pathetic, really. you asked me to be on top and you can’t even take it.”

you clench around his prick at his degrading words. you didn’t think he could be mean, but you were wrong. his words were just the right amount of degrading that made you weak and so, so wet.

“look at that. my girl’s getting off on words like pathetic,” my girl. the two words nearly cause you to come right then and there. then peter thrusts up into you with purpose in each movement. as one hand grips your hip, the other floats up to your breast and fingers your nipple. he flicks and tweaks at it, causing you to arch into his touch. “what about slut? do like when i call you my slut?”

“fuck, peter,” you groan at his dirty talking. with each pump, you would feel every inch of him inside of you, filling you up completely. although you’re so full, you needed it harder and faster, and it was going to be difficult to get it from this angle when you’re not being much help.

before the begging words even slip from your mouth, peter is flipping you both over with ease. he doesn’t waste a second to slide back into you, causing your body to erupt in flames.

he begins with hard pumps, slowly gaining speed. but once he’s going fast, you could barely focus on your senses. you swear you could hear colors.

the sounds of your moans, shrieks, and screams echo throughout his bedroom. you don’t care if people could hear you. you hoped they could. you hoped they knew how good peter was destroying you, so they knew you were his.

peter hoped the same thing.

“so, so good, peter,” your eyes rolled to the back of your head in ecstasy.

“yeah? such a slut for my cock, huh?” he teases, voice low and lustful. “so cockdumb that you couldn’t even ride me.”

“i-i can do it,” a breathless moan escaped you, but you were too floaty to understand what you were really saying.

“oh, now you can do it? well, it’s too late, sweetheart.”

peter’s pace doesn’t falter. he makes sure to make every thrust count as he hits every angle. you cry out in bliss, chasing your orgasm like your life depends on it.

“i’m close,” the whine that elicits from you is groggy and strained from how sore it feels. you can’t even imagine how raw it would be from taking him down your throat…

for another time.

his rough hand trails down between you until he’s pressing his hand down on your stomach. with every shift of his cock he can feel himself moving through you. as he puts more pressure, you both collectively moan at the feeling.

“can you feel me? can you feel me deep inside of your little cunt? do you feel me right here?” peter drags your trembling hand to place it on your lower torso, right where he’s nonstop thrusting into you.

“yes, peter! fuck, you’re so big. i feel you in my tummy,” you clamp around his cock, your orgasm right around the corner. “please, please let me come. i’ve been good.”

“have you? you couldn’t even ride me even when i let you.”

“i’m sorry, peter–please. need to so bad,” your eyes are squeezed shut as you beg peter. his hand that was on top of yours drifts down to your clit. he stimulates it by rubbing in tight circles that have you seeing stars. every muscle is in your body is screaming and pleading for release while he overstimulates you more. “want to be good!”

“yeah? want to be a good girl?” a needy moan elicits from you. “then come for me. right now while you’re squeezing me.”

the air surrounding you turned wistful and cloudy. your body rumbled and erupted as you orgasmed, shaking with desire as it poured out of you. you thought the first time that you and peter fucked was the best sex you’ve ever had, but after tonight, you’ve never been more wrong. maybe it’s because you two are a little more comfortable with each other. maybe it’s because you told him to be a little mean. whatever it was, it was the best fucking sex you’ve ever had. because it was more than sex. it felt like more.

peter’s orgasm trails yours, making sure that you come first. his thrusts were slowier and sloppier as he pants out heavy breaths. before exiting you, his hand reaches up to caress your face.

“okay?” his voice was a bit raspy as he came down from his high. his arms were on either side of your head, and you felt safe and protected.

“more than,” you smiled dopily at peter, whose eyes were twinkling. reflecting a smile, peter begins to pull out of you. “do we have to?”

“have to what?” he stops his movements, half-way out of you. you hated the empty feeling that started to flood over you because you knew he’d leave soon. well, you would leave soon.

“leave. can’t we just stay in here all night?” you question. a part inside of you was scared for his rejection, that he was going to kick you out and then that was it. but the other half of you had the courage to ask because you knew it would all be fine.

“i would–”

“oh, there’s a but coming.”

“but i need to eat. and so do you,” he pulls out of you and rids out the condom within a few seconds. you don’t move from your flat position on the bed, feeling the cold waves of loneliness flooding over you already. peter had a tingle that you wanted more. you wanted to stay, but you were too nervous to ask. you were good at giving him big hints, though.

he loves the idea of you staying. laying with you and hearing your soft breaths as you sleep. cuddling close to be warm from the cold air. peter’s heart lurches at the wonderful thought.

peter reaches for his clothes and dresses. you bend over and slip on the dress, without the fishnets. your hair was probably a mess, but you didn’t care because the only person you cared about seeing tonight was peter.

once you’re dressed with shaky hands, peter stands in front of you and rests his hands on your shoulders. delicately, he caresses your neck as you practically pur into his warm touch. you felt your heart rate pick up, even though he was just inside of you.

“and then, if you’d like, we can come back up here,” he presses his chest against yours as his voice softens, “and we can lay in bed, watch a movie, and not worry about being caught because we don’t have rules like you do.”

although your heart was beating fast already, you’ve never felt more comfortable. he made you feel reassured, and you couldn’t ask for more. with a smile rising to your lips, peter’s heart skips a beat at the wistfulness cascading throughout his body. your lips were soft and kissable, your skin was glowing with an orgasmic shine, and your makeup was a bit smudged, but you still looked like peter’s perfect girl.

his girl.

“wait, before we eat, i have to get some stuff at the sorority.”

“okay,” he says, “put this on. it’s freezing and your wearing practically nothing.”

he throws a hoodie at you and you catch it with blinking eyes. it as a small gesture, but your heart was melting. you slip it over your head without any question. and then he’s dragging you out of the extremely loud and crowded house. no one says or questions anything, and you’ve never been more glad to be so invisible.

–

“what are you doing? come on!”

“what if they see me?”

“there’s no one home!” you whisper-shouted at peter as you walked through the door. there was a key under the flower pot that worked great when you forgot your key.

it’s kind of ironic that you are both sneaking into your sorority. it’s a full circle moment.

you both tiptoe through the clean, white house. peter nearly takes his shoes off because he’s scared he’ll leave dirt footprints in his trail. he really does not want to be seen in this house knowing what happened to flash the last time they snuck in. but it’s peter’s job to be stealthy, so he hopes he could keep up the good work.

you make it up the stairs and head straight for your room. peter remembered exactly which one was yours, now that he’s been in it two times somehow. once you’re both inside, he shuts the door behind him quietly like someone would hear him.

“why did we just tiptoe all the way up here? there’s no one even here!” you say in a normal level voice as a chuckle follows after. peter laughs with you as you search your drawers for some clothes.

“i feel it’s only right to bring the mit one, right?”

“definitely.”

“wait, did you leave the vibrator on your bed?”

“uh… yeah. sorry.”

“peter!” your skin grows warm with the idea that someone might stumble into his bedroom and find it just lying there. you cringe at yourself.

you pack a small overnight bag with your most needed essentials. peter sits patiently on your bed, practically swinging his feet as he analyzes your bedroom. it was simple with a few picture frames of family and friends. your room was basically plain white with a few pink and blue items scattered around the place. in all, it was you. he couldn’t think of a better sorority room to fit your vibe, your personality better than this room. it was naturally gorgeous, like you.

even though peter was looking around your room, he was still watching you pack. he observed when you folded a pair of night shorts with the mit t-shirt and even threw in an outfit for the next day just in case you two went out. but you were missing something.

“okay, let me grab my toothbrush,” you quickly left the room and in no-time were back. “let’s go. i’m hungry now.”

“but you’re forgetting something,” peter says. you blink, wondering what you might be forgetting.

“but i grabbed everything–” you watch as peter glides towards your dresser drawers. he opens the top left and immediately finds your colorful panties and underwear. your eyes widen in embarrassment, even though he’s seen you naked multiple times. something about him staring at your undergarments was just a little more… vulnerable?

peter snatches two different colors, a royal blue one and a vibrant red one, similar to the first one he saw you in. of course, he picked these colors purposely.

“which one? i’m thinking the blu–”

“what are you doing! that’s my underwear!” you tried to reach for them dangling in his hands, but he was way quicker than you. it’s like he knew before you even moved.

“well, i think at this point it’s kind of a tradition for me to take one, no? i couldn’t take them earlier because you weren’t wearing any!”

your neck and cheeks flush with embarrassment. yeah, you may have been confident when in the moment, but talking about it just made your face hot. peter always knew how to get you going. to get quickly out of this situation, you grumble, “blue.”

and with that, you were on your way back to the frat house. the party was still going strong and surprisingly, no one asked where either of you were. when you and peter walked through the door, people just acted like you’ve been there the whole time. but they were also drunk and high, so was it really that shocking?

within the first few minutes of you and peter being in the congested house, you both look at each other with a knowing look. there was no way you two could eat in this populous, mess of a place.

“diner?” peter shouts over the blaring music. he swore flash turned it up to full volume, even when peter told him specifically not to do that.

“exactly what i was thinking,” you reply loudly as you squeeze your bodies through the crowd. peter slides his hand into yours as you shift through everybody. a spark of electricity nearly shocks you.

when you approach his car, you throw your bag at the bottom of your feet before dropping into his passenger seat. you both inhale and exhale the refreshing night time air. the house smelt like marjuana and sweat, but his car was scented with pine and fresh leather.

as he started the car, you two didn’t say anything. and it was perfect. it was comfortable. it was safe. you turn your head to look at peter, whose eyes were fighting between the road and you. your heart skips a beat that’s getting familiar as you smile softly. gently, your hands intertwine as you ride on to the diner.

your journey with peter started… differently than most. but you liked the idea of having a tradition with peter. sure, it may not be traditional, but it was yours. you would both have to create a fundraiser for all these panties he will be stealing because they’re not cheap!

is it really stealing if you know he’s taking them? whatever.

when people ask how you guys met, it’s going to be a funny story. how many people break into someone’s house as a dare and then fall in love with them? not many.

wait… love?

–

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. i could not be more grateful for the love on panty stealer. i never thought any of my writing would get this much notice, so thank you (times three) for all the likes, comments, and reblogs.

note: i won’t be making anymore full parts, however, i will do blurbs/drabbles of these two if requested!

taglist: @invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @marzipaanz @sylum @harrys-humble-housewife @blurazbabe @introverbatim @piperparker7 @graceberman3 @tommy-braccoli @fioooweeooweeeoo @conrad4life13

crossed out= not able to tag

#shawnxstyles #peter parker #peter parker smut #tom holland #tom holland smut #peter parker fics #peter parker fanfics #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland fics #tom holland fanfics #peter parker one shot #tom holland one shot

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ddejavvu · 5 months

Note

i’m dead. i went to request something, got distracted on my dash then took a nap😭

but anyway now that i’m awake could i request either tasm!peter or even like spider-man!james with like a shy reader who is needy and horny af but too shy to make a move or ask but they sense it with spidey senses?

p sure the way that i wrote this is not how spidey senses work but it's hot so just drop it

this post is 18+, minors dni.

There is something lethal about the combination of Peter's veiny, long fingers, and his thick black glasses frames. His jaw is wired tight with annoyance as he tinkers with his stubbornly broken web shooter, and the sharp angle only adds to your slowly building arousal.

He tries wrenching a slightly singed piece out of place, catching its jagged edge on the soft pad of his finger and swearing, "Fuck!"

That doesn't help your case.

You draw in a sharp breath and Peter catches it in frustrated abandonment of his concentration. Once his project has forsaken him you're the only thing left to focus on, and clarity slams into him with force that almost rattles his teeth.

His nerves crackle and fizz with warning, arm hair standing on end as goosebumps pimple and pucker his flesh with pricks of pain. He glances at you, sees your blown-out gaze focused on him, as well as the subtle clench of your thighs.

You want him.

"Hey," He breathes, voice coming easier now rather than the harsh bite of his cursing, "You okay over there, babe?'

"Mm-hmm," You nod, and if Peter didn't have a deeper perception for sensation than most, he'd have believed you. But his senses are screaming, rushing through him like turbulent waves on a rocky beach, grating against his nerves and telling him you want him. You need him.

"Don't lie," Peter grins wryly, "I can tell."

You don't answer; not a further lie, but not a retraction of your previous one, either.

"My body tells me, y'know." He muses, slowly standing from his place at the desk and stepping- almost stalking over to where you sit tensely on his bed, "It tells me that yours is on fire. That you need me to touch you. Here," He reaches down, thumbing at the edge of your plush inner thigh with a gentle touch, "Is that where you want me, sweetheart?"

You nod vigorously, but Peter catches your chin, scooping your lips into a brief, but firm kiss.

"Tell me." He prompts, which you think is awfully cruel considering he's just told you he knows exactly what you want and need, "Tell me where you want me, baby."

You reach for Peter's hand, and he lets you guide it to rest in the skinny divot you've created by spreading your thighs slightly. It's just barely big enough for him to slip his hand into, but he thumbs down your slit over your panties with a nimble touch.

"Here?" He confirms, and his response is a shiver that runs down your spine and shakes you like a leaf on the bed.

"Okay, baby," He concedes, the teasing flame he'd goaded you with snuffed out by your helpless desire, "I'll touch you here. Lay down," He croons, helping you recline over his mattress and plumping the pillow beneath your head, "Just relax, okay? I know what you need, baby, let me help you."

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venus616 · 1 year

Note

Hi!! Requesting a spicy tasm!peter fic where he puts his photography skills to use if ya know what I mean 🔥🫶🏽

his muse; {p.p.}

Pairing: peter parker x f!reader (gif is tasm but you can interpret this as any peter parker)

Summary: peter puts his photography skills to use when you're naked

Warnings: established relationship, smut, vaginal fingering/sex, oral sex (blowjob), praise kink (if you squint), photos during sex, language, unprotected sex, 18+, NSFW

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: hi. i love this trope So Much… like more than you will ever know, but bc i love it and i’ve seen it done multiple times with peter i was very scared to even do anything with it sjnksks but here is my finished product, i hope you like it~

(Also- it is my gift to anyone who actually likes reading my content bc ive been gone for a While and will be gone for another 2-3 weeks bc finals are not fun! so i hope this is good, enjoy!)

You’re putting away your shared laundry when you hear a loud noise on your window sill. You don’t even flinch this far into your relationship and only shake your head, separating your clothes from his. The window opens letting in a cool breeze and Peter’s book bag hits the ground before he gets inside.

It's only then you look and give his body, clad in his suit, a scan and smile. “You okay?” You ask. The sun already set and the crisp winter air started to fill the room.

He scoffs before shutting the window. You turn your body around from the basket in front of you to see Peter shaking his head while taking his camera out of his bag.

The professional camera Peter spent a year saving up for when he was 18 was sat next to your much less efficient Polaroid camera. On it, there was a photo of you two celebrating your anniversary together recently. The flash showing you kissing Peter on the cheek, he’s blushing at the attention and eyes closed from the flash.

Peter smiled at the memory before he continued speaking.

“Why do people think it’s okay to commit crime when I’m just getting off my shift?” He sighed before setting down his bag next to your bed.

“They’re so inconsiderate,” You pout playfully while folding his clothes into his reserved drawer at your place.

Peter looks up from unpacking and focuses on your ass poking up from your position. You feel his eyes on you as your t-shirt hangs loosely on your body, and the hair on your legs prick up from the cold in the room.

Peter takes off his mask revealing his disheveled hair and takes in the sight of you like it’s his last.

Your lacy underwear decorating the plump flesh of your butt, reminding Peter of how quickly he had to leave this morning before getting to appreciate for bandaging him up last night.

His eyes continued to scan up, seeing the old t-shirt frame your shape, admiring it as if he had x-ray vision.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Peter is brought out of his thoughts hearing your soft voice, taunting him for his staring problem.

“Don’t tempt me,” Peter quips back. He shakes his head before tossing his mask in your empty hamper. Sitting on your bed and bending over to remove his boots, his ears don’t miss your footsteps as you saunter to him.

You place your feet in between his while he looks back up to you, removing the rest of his suit.

“It’s never stopped you before,” You cross your arms while he slips out of his suit, leaving his web shooters on. The suit is strewn across the floor and your eyes focus on Peter’s body.

No matter how beat up he was, Peter remains to be the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You ran your hands over his, now, yellow ribs. Compared to the purple constellation he had yesterday, you were grateful for his superhuman healing.

He had a nasty fall yesterday, left with some scars and bruising, but thankfully this time you didn’t have to stitch him up.

You even notice the scratch on his arm is almost gone but Peter liked wearing your special bandaids. He likes giving you a reason to buy more cartoon ones for him.

Peter watches your eyes carefully scan his body for anything else and adores you for it. Still, he hates making you worry.

“You weren’t naked before.”

A smile creeps up on your face, a giggle disguised as a scoff when you answer: “I’m not naked.”

You don’t realize you set yourself up for Peter’s response until he smirks. His hands snake up underneath your shirt to toy with your nipples, already hard because of the cold air lingering in the room.

A hiss escapes your mouth at feeling his larger, colder hands grip your boobs. Peter slightly grins at his effect on you. He pulls at the bottom of your shirt before raising it up your body. You oblige, pulling it over your head to toss it across your room.

His face lit up at your frontal nudity, hands placed on either side of your hips tugging at your underwear.

“Let’s change that.”

You roll your eyes at his response, but not without a smile plastered on your face. You could feel the heat pooling in between your thighs and the excitement in your stomach.

“What position should I be in?” You shudder under his callus fingers. Peter lightly furrows his eyebrows when you turn, gesturing to your polaroid camera from your bedside table.

His face relaxes when he registers what you guys are doing, not realizing how serious you were being.

Your eyes flicker up and down his body when you turn to face him, noticing his erection bulging out of his briefs. Leaning down you use your hand to palm him through the fabric, feeling his cock pulsate in your hand.

“On your knees,” You whip your head up when Peter says that, his hands still roaming around your body.

You quirk your eyebrow up in response. Pressing your forehead and nose to his, you plant a kiss onto his lips. Your hands are now on either of his thighs, sinking lower onto the ground as the kiss deepens.

Before you can fully get down, you hear a light thwip and break the kiss.

You see Peter’s wrist is flicked out with his web shooters activated, latched on to your polaroid camera. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes before he pulls it into his hands.

Resting on your knees, you’re before him with your fingers tracing the waistband of his boxers. You carefully watch for his reactions, but he’s refamiliarizing himself with your flimsy camera you got in your teenage years as a novelty.

You cross your arms on his legs and look up at him, the camera points at you and all you can focus on is his wide smile behind the camera. “Let’s see if I still know how this works,” Peter jokes.

You repose with both your hands on your knees, pushing your breasts out in between your arms. You didn’t realize they were hardly the focus of the photo (but still included, Peter was only human after all).

The photo snaps and you remember you have to get used to the flash again. Blinking a few times to get used to the discomfort, the photo prints out and Peter seems pleased with himself already.

“It hasn’t even developed yet,” You taunt, you resume palming him as you assume that was the extent of his practice shots.

Peter shrugs while shaking the photo as gently as possible. “Hey, who’s the photographer here? I know a good subject when I see it,” He nudges you.

When the photo barely develops, he shows you and you see yourself: half naked on your knees with your face fully in the photo. You were surprised he included that much of your face, and managed to catch you looking as confident as you could. But it was easy when Peter was behind the camera, he never fails to make you feel like his only muse.

You blush and look away from the photo as you continue to massage him. Peter’s breath hitches at the rate at which you go at, and you smirk to yourself.

No matter how much control Peter took in bed, he wasn’t afraid to show you how quickly he’d fold for you. It was one of the many things you appreciated about him. Another one was just how vocal he was, his whimpers before you even got to touch him were making your underwear dampen.

When his dick starts twitching, you pull his boxers down, his cock slaps up to his stomach while he watches your movements. Locking eyes with him, you wrap both your hands around his shaft before slowly jacking him off.

You’re mesmerized by the way his body is flexed under your touch, you almost don’t hear what he says.

“Your mouth,” He breathes out.

You sit up higher on your knees and kiss up his happy trail, lingering when you get closer to his cock. You hear his groan and look up, meeting his eyes.

You raise your eyebrows. “My mouth, what?”

Your lips quirk up again, teasing him. “Use your words.”

He rolls his eyes in response but you shake your head. “I can stop,” You remind him.

His brown eyes almost bulge out his head when you say that, wrapping his own hand over yours to stop your movements from pausing. He leans over to get closer to your face, the scent of you surrounding him. Peter’s face softens at your smugness.

“Baby,” He starts. You wait to listen to how he pleads for you to stay while he leads your hands.

“I need that pretty mouth of yours to suck my cock,” He gasps out and removes his hand when you loosen your wrist in response. Your eyes soften at the praise and Peter mentally celebrates when he leans back to his original position.

You reposition yourself as well, with your neck getting to work as you lick a stripe underneath the shaft of his cock. Peter sharply inhales at the feeling and brings his head back up.

You lock eyes with him when you feel the jolt in his body and open your mouth in an ‘O’ shape around the head of his cock.

Relaxing your throat, you lower your head on his length and feel the tip of his cock hitting your uvula before you begin bobbing your head.

Caught off guard, you could taste the saltiness of his precum on your tongue now. You gagged a bit and popped off him to lick it off in the most obscene way you could think of.

Peter mutters, “Just like that.” and you look up.

Forgetting he had a camera, the shutter went off to capture your tongue on the underside of his wet tip.

You collect more saliva in your mouth while you run your hand up and down his shaft. Feeling prepared enough, you go back down on him with the drool dripping on his cock on your hands.

Peter went crazy at the heat of your mouth and the sight of your lips around him. The only thought he had was to get the camera out again to keep this moment forever.

Getting slack jawed at this, he tangles his hands in your hair but doesn’t change your pace. He only starts pushing it out of your face as it gets in the way.

You look up at him and see Peter pointing the camera at you as you have half his cock in your mouth. The first shot is taken, and he tries to not move too much as the photo prints out immediately. He releases a few breathy moans at the pace you're going at while he places the new photo on the side.

Peter silently gestures to you to get him out your mouth so you release him with a pop, flipping your hair to the side as you continue to jack him off.

“That’s good,” He mutters, when he places the camera at his eye before snapping a new photo.

“I probably look insane,” You grumble, already feeling self conscious at how messy your hair looks, coupled alongside the drool and precum at your mouth.

Peter shakes his head and pulls you in closer by your waist and you yelp, finding yourself now pinned under him on the bed.

“Never,” He shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your tit as he pulls your underwear off. You immediately moan at his aggression on your sensitive nipples and he chuckles against your skin when he feels you flinch.

Peter’s calloused hands find your clit and start massaging it, and you throw your head back in pleasure when he finds his rhythm.

You feel a twinge of disappointment when he removes his mouth from your tits but you look up to see the camera watching you, and a shutter going off before you are even ready.

“Pete,” You warn. Your sternness doesn’t last when he slips in a finger in your embarrassingly wet cunt. You almost mewl at how full he makes you with just one finger.

“You looked so pretty moaning like that,” Peter explains while his finger curls into you. He knew what he was doing when he smiled again, leaning down to kiss you on the lips.

Your annoyance was no match for his desperation as you eventually gave in. One of his hands cupped your cheek while his lips were frantic on yours. He’s greedy for you, almost lapping up your tongue with his own before he pulls away.

“Just let go, forget the camera is even there,” He mumbles in your neck when you gasp at the absence of his lips.

He slips in another finger and thrusts faster, making you nod mindlessly as you surrender all control.You grip onto his bicep as he pumps in and out of you, begging him for more friction. You can hear how wet you were, and while you were embarrassed, Peter relished in it.

“Can you take a third for me baby?” He asks in a low voice as he sits up on the bed in between your legs. You nod vigorously but he quickly removes both fingers.

You open your mouth to complain but instead yelp out when Peter pulls both your legs closer to his chest as he kneels on the mattress. He set aside the camera briefly.

“Yeah?” He searches for an answer.

“Yes,” You grunt out, already desperate for much more than his fingers.

He massages your heat with his fingers again before he inserts three fingers in, jolting your body to sit up. You let out an obscene moan and couldn’t help but to massage your clit while he fucks you with his fingers.

One hand being in competition with Peter’s while the other massages your boobs, you’re almost too dazed to notice the shutter then went off while you were closer to an orgasm.

“Fucking incredible,” Peter breathes out before putting the camera with the new photo down, and leans down to kiss you. His pace never falters, making you whimper against his lips.

“I’m about to cum,” You announce shakily. Peter swallows your pleas with a kiss and just curls his fingers against your g-spot faster. You feel that familiar build up in the pit of your stomach and the pace of your clenching pick up.

“Cum all over my fingers baby,” He answers, and you immediately let go. You hold Peter closer as you cum, heaving underneath him like you’re in heat. Your body Peter continues to finger you but only because he loves the way you suction around him.

He still lets you come down from your high, kissing you through it and massaging your breasts with his free hand during. When your breathing slows down, he sits back up and removes his fingers from you.

“Need you inside of me,” You remind him as you reach over to palm his already hard cock against his stomach.

“Gonna let me cum inside of you?” He asks, holding his cock in his hand already glistening with your wetness. He readjusts to line himself up to your pussy awaiting your answer.

You cock your head with your arms supporting your body from the bed. “I’ll let you cum wherever you want,” You say.

Peter grunts at your answer before inserting himself into your entrance, and immediately throws his head back at the feeling, your warmth and wetness engulfing him.

“So fucking tight,” He comments, and you silently agree as you feel yourself stretching out on him. Your eyes fluttered shut as you clenched around him.

“Fuck,” you moan out as he finds a comfortable pace for the both of you.

Or that’s what you thought.

You hear a shutter from your camera and realize he took a picture (or two) of you in this position beneath him, moaning out for him flat on the bed with his cock inside of you.

You didn’t have time to care as when he got his shots he immediately started to rock into you, and you felt the strength of him against your thighs before he picked up the pace.

You watch him thrust into you and slowly lose himself above you.

“I love the way you feel around me,” He pants out, closing in on your body with his forearms framing your face. You nod as the bed squeaks and your hands roam his body, stopping at his shoulders and the nape of his neck.

Peter obliges to your physical demands and dips down to suck on your neck, causing you to whimper as your body continues to jolt from his thrusts. His soft brown hair tickles your skin as his teeth chew at the sensitive skin in your neck. You don’t know whether to giggle or moan, but you’re vocal regardless.

“Go faster,” You whine, becoming impatient with him.

“I’m not gonna last if I go faster,” He growls against your skin, sending vibrations down your spine. He thrusted slower, bringing his hand down to the back of your knee to bend it closer to your body. You felt him hitting your g-spot repeatedly that you knew you weren’t going to last any longer like that.

“I don’t care,” You cry out. Peter scoffs in your neck as if to say a begrudging ‘Fine.’ and kisses you on the cheek before kneeling back up. He’s already twitching inside you before he begins thrusting again. You almost forget what you got yourself into until you feel his balls slap against your cunt repeatedly.

A string of curses escape both your mouths, yours because he’s just so big and you can feel the tension build up in your stomach again. Peter’s cusses are because you just won’t stop clenching around him in response, he feels like he might burst the next time you tighten around him.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” He mutters before spilling into you.

You go slack jawed at the feeling of him cumming inside of you. It feels hot between your thighs, in between the burning feeling of his hard thighs slapping against your softer ones, and feeling him twitch and coat your insides and the outside of your cunt with his load.

You cry out as he almost slips out of you, but realize he’s gonna take another picture. You’re not sure what to do, or what exactly he’s capturing but you decide to listen to his earlier advice and let it happen. Peter places the camera on his eye while his cock almost goes soft half away inside of you, and you can feel him rubbing his cum around your thighs and up your hips.

He mutters another curse, before snapping the picture. You close your eyes and your legs when you decide that that was the last photo and miss how Peter compiles all of them on your bedside table.

Eventually, you look up and see him pulling back up his underwear and beckoning you to see the photos. When you get up and see 6 photos lined up from tonight.

One of you on your knees, your breasts protruding and almost being the main focus of the photo if it wasn't for your face. You want to laugh at how excited your eyes looked but you know it was only because of who was behind the camera.

Two more during and after the blowjob, one of you in the middle taking Peter in your mouth and giving the camera (but really, Peter) siren eyes. The other was you slightly disheveled, but Peter swore you were the prettiest girl in the world with drool around your mouth.

A third of you being fingered, your head is thrown back in unfiltered pleasure from his fingers, your breasts sitting high on your chest as you’re on your back and your nipples were glistening in the photo due to the suckling that happened off camera. While scanning this photo, you realize that being caught in the moment wasn’t such a bad thing and Peter is silently celebrating he caught your O face in action.

The fourth was similar but you had more control over your pleasure as you’re on camera massaging your breasts and hand on your pussy. You feel like a vixen with the way you’re fondling yourself, Peter silently agrees as he knows you look like one.

Fifth and sixth photo show the before and after of Peter fucking you senseless. Fifth with your body being still underneath his, and the photo displaying that exhilarating feeling you both get when your bodies meet in the first thrust. And the sixth photo when you’re both comfortable enough to come down from your high together. The sticky, white cum is slayed over your sopping, wet pussy and Peter’s fingers and cock in the frame to remind you who fucks you like this.

“Do you like these? I can burn them away if you don’t,” Peter runs his hands through his hair nervously, not trying to make you uncomfortable if the bit had gone too far.

You only shake your head with a laugh bubbling in your throat at his consideration and hug his much taller frame from behind. It felt good to rest your head on his back, while his arms engulf yours from the front.

“I love them, I love you,” You speak low but loudly enough so he can hear, and feel, your words.

“Which ones do you want to keep?” He asks.

You know it’s out of courtesy, just one of those things you two got used to asking each other after taking pictures on this camera. You kept the silly anniversary photo while he kept the very nice one he took of you.

“It’s all for you,” You answer. Peter sputters quickly, turning back around to see your face when you say it, you only nod in full seriousness.

He leans down to kiss your cheek as a thank you and you only smile back.

“I think you’d get more use out of it than me,” You add with a tinge of humor. Peter only plays it off with another suggestion while hugging you from the front. His arms wrap around your shoulders while you rest your head in the crook of his neck.

“You know what though?” He asks, trailing his hands down to your naked hips, stopping to cup the round of your ass.

“What?” You mutter in his hold, already feeling your body heat up at the thought of round 2.

Peter smirks before snaking one of his hands to your pussy. Knowing that you’re about to start throbbing, at the thought of him. You gasp before he speaks and he chuckles while he proposes his new idea.

“I think it’s only fair if we make a movie now.”

5K notes · View notes

literaryavenger · 15 days

Text

Thoughtful

Summary: You find something of Bucky's.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avengers!Reader

Warnings: My poor attempts at being funny. No use of Y/N. Just a whole lot of fluff.

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N: This is a dream I had and I couldn't get it out of my head so I decided to write it down. Hope somebody enjoys it!

Masterlist

“Good morning.” you say casually to Bucky sitting at the island as you enter the kitchen.

He merely nods back to acknowledge your presence while sipping his coffee. It’s not like Bucky doesn’t like you, he’s just not a morning person. But the whole team is used to his morning grumpiness.

Also, you and the brunette supersoldier aren’t particularly close, so you don’t really expect bells and whistles when he sees you.

You pour some coffee for yourself and then sit on the kitchen island in front of Bucky. A light jingle coming from under your shirt gets Bucky’s attention and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“What was that?” He asks you, his curiosity getting the better of him.

You frown at his question before following his eyeline and seeing him looking at your chest. But he’s not staring at your boobs through your admittedly thin tank top, he’s looking under them where he can see something resting between the fabric and your skin.

You’re honestly confused at what that is for a moment before you remember and your eyes widen a little as your cheeks start reddening in embarrassment.

Bucky’s confused at your reaction as he watches you take the chain around your neck to bring out the set of dog tags around your neck and Bucky frowns even more.

“I didn’t know you were in the military…” He comments while looking at the tags and then at you, unclear as to why you’d be embarrassed about it.

“I wasn’t…” You say quietly while glancing down at the tags. “They’re kinda… yours.”

Bucky’s even more dumbfounded by your answer. But, after letting your words sink in and deciding he indeed heard you correctly, he couldn’t help the grin that started to grow on his face, much to your surprise.

You thought maybe he’d be mad, although it’s not like you stole them, you simply found them. But still, you were worried what he might think about you wearing them.

“Oh good, I thought I lost them!” He says relieved. “I looked for them everywhere.”

“Well, can I have them back now?” He asks you after a moment of silence and you realize you haven’t even taken them off yet this whole time.

So you quickly do, leaning over the kitchen island and setting them down carefully on his outstretched hand. You watch him put them on, your eyes lingering on the metal on his chest a minute longer than necessary before going back up to his.

“And why exactly are you wearing my dog tags?” He asks, and right now you wish he’d get mad at you instead. Anything is better than the amusement that’s all over his face at watching you squirm in your seat.

“I found them at the gym… But it’s not like I was planning to keep them.” You quickly justify yourself, your tone entirely too defensive even to your own ears as you blush more. “But you had just left for your mission with Steve and I thought I would just keep them safe until you came back, so I put them on… But I had every intention to give them back, I swear!”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, doll...” He says, his grin turning into a full grown smirk as he points out the obvious. “But I’ve been back for a week, and you were still wearing them.”

“Yeah, I-I guess I got so used to them that I forgot to give them back…” You say quietly, your face turning impossibly red as Bucky seems to be having the time of his life right now.

You groan internally when you see his smirk still going strong at your embarrassment and you decide to cut your losses and not give him more fuel to add to the fire before 9am.

You get up and put your empty cup in the sink. As you turn around you’re startled to find the Sergeant much closer to you than he was before, the kitchen island no longer between you. He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything or even pull away before he’s talking.

“On the other hand…” He takes his dog tags off and reaches out to put them around your neck, making sure to keep his eyes on the metal and not glance at your boobs no matter how much he wants to. “Maybe you could hold onto them for me.”

He looks at the tags on your chest then up to your face before he pulls away completely with a quiet “Beautiful.” and takes a step back, leaving you a flustered mess.

After a minute you remember how to breathe and you glance down at the tags. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. We wouldn’t want me to lose them again now, would we?” He says with a smile, reaching out to lift your chin gently and making you look at him. “But you’ll keep them safe for me, right doll?”

You nod almost without thinking about it, his eyes putting you in a trance. You’re sure you’d agree to anything right about now, all you can really hear is your own heart pounding anyway.

“Plus, now I can do this…” He lets go of your chin and wraps his hand around the chain of the dog tags.

He uses his hold on them to pull you closer and your heart skips a beat as he leaves you a soft kiss on your lips. You barely realize what’s happening before he’s pulling away again and you merely look at him with your mouth agape in shock.

Before you can say anything, though, you hear snickers from the door of the kitchen and you both turn towards it just to see the whole team there. All of them have smirks, grins and smiles, everyone delighted at the situation as your face starts getting redder than Tony’s Iron-man suit.

You look back at Bucky and the cheeky bastard is also smirking, clearly much more amused than you at being caught like this.

“Okay, well,” You say while clearing your throat awkwardly and stepping away from Bucky to escape from this situation altogether. “I’m gonna go research the tallest building in New York so I can throw myself off of it.”

Your deadpan reaction leaves everyone laughing as they get away from the door so you can pass.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart, it wasn’t that bad!” Tony yells after you between laughs, obviously sarcastic and you roll your eyes.

“Bite me, Stark!” you yell back, not even tempted to look back as you try to hide a smile of your own while hearing the team’s amusement in the kitchen.

You’re still a little in shock that Bucky kissed you but, once the embarrassment at the team having witnessed it washes away, you can’t wait to follow up on this with Sergeant Grumpy.

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ronwestbreeze · 11 months

Text

too fast

pairing: miguel o'hara x spider!fem!reader warnings: more angst summary: he should've stopped you... word count: 2.4k author's note: this will be the last installment! since we don't know what happens after atsv we're gonna leave it here for now! thanks for giving too slow so much and i hope you enjoy part 2!

part 1

If Miguel O’Hara had to guess, it all started going downhill when you accidentally discovered that your sister was going to die. It wasn’t supposed to happen, you finding out. Like everything else in a Spider person’s life, it was a canon event that was bound to happen, a significant event that would truly make you who you were now. The White Spider. An event that would happen naturally, like all tragic ones do.

Because the truth was, they happen. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

That’s what Miguel tried to tell you. That if you tried to interfere, then your dimension would unravel just as his did. He didn’t want that for you. Couldn’t want that for you. There were worse fates and that was one of them.

But of course, you were determined.

“Don’t tell me to stand by and let it happen, Miguel, all because of some stupid canon shit. Don’t tell me that.” You gritted out as you stalked down the hall, him right behind you.

“I am, Domino.” Miguel argued desperately. “I am telling you not to endanger your dimension over something that is supposed to happen. I am doing this to protect you—“

You whirled around on him, causing Miguel to stop short in front of you, “This is your way of protecting me? By telling me to stand by and let my sister die all because of some computer program?! Be fucking for real, Miguel!”

“Yes, because I know the dangers of what’s going to happen if you—”

“No, Miguel, no you don’t.” It hurt, your words. You knew what he had gone through, what he had lost. But you were too stubborn. He knew this. “I’m gonna try. Because that’s what we do. We try even if the odds are against us. That’s what all this shit that happened to me has led up to, right? Why stop now?”

It wasn’t like Miles Morales. No, this was before he learned that there were more forceful ways to stop something like this from happening.

He should’ve stopped you.

But things just fell apart too fast for him to keep up in the end.

Miguel practically dove through the portal to your dimension with Jessica and a few other Spider-men at his side. The crisis was a disaster. The Brooklyn Bridge was halfway in the water, cars either destroyed or hanging by black webs made by you. Immediately, Miguel and the others played damage control. There was yet another villain that had escaped their world and fell into another. This time it was a Green Goblin. One large enough to do this much damage.

It didn’t take long for Miguel to spot your white suit swinging about frantically, your head turning quickly every second. Which meant he had arrived just in time to stop you from making the biggest mistake you could’ve ever made for yourself and your universe. Miguel kept his eyes glued to you while leading people to safety. Until he spotted your sister’s car being thrown up in the air, quickly being caught by your black webs.

You were at the top of the bridge, trying to convince your sister to calm down, revealing your identity to her. Miguel landed on top of the bridge, you sent him a scowl and raised your hand, “Don’t!”

“You know what will happen, Domino.” He tried warning you. “One life or an entire universe? Over other families? Other brothers and sisters? What then?!”

You ignored him and shot a web down to your sister to grab onto. “If I don’t do this, then I will never forgive myself. I’m not like you, Miguel.” You looked at him pleadingly, desperately. “I can’t—”

The green hulking figure hurtled right into you, taking both you and Miguel off guard.

Your grip on your sister slipped but she was able to grab onto another web and hold on while you were preoccupied with the Green Goblin. A wave of rage—fear?—hit Miguel as he dashed toward the ugly beast, using his whole weight to throw it off of you and tackled it down to the ground.

“You don’t get to touch her!” He growled, pounding the goblin’s face until it was finally unconscious.

The bridge began to fall. Jessica began ordering every spider person around to quickly gather all the civilians left on the bridge. The top of the bridge where your sister was hanging began to crumble and Miguel watched as you swung back toward her.

He should’ve stopped this long before. He shouldn’t have let it get this far.

You were already dashing across the top of the bridge, Miguel had ended up behind you in seconds. You glanced over your shoulder at him, “Miguel, don’t!”

But he ignored you and shot his scarlet webs toward your figure. But of course, you were quicker than him, You always were.

His webs had missed. The web holding your sister up snapped. She was falling.

And you had dived after her.

Miguel leaped off the bridge, shot a thick web toward you and above him. In seconds the fall had stopped. You were now hanging and attached to Miguel’s web while the other half of his web kept him attached to what was left of part of the bridge.

But your webs had already been released.

You had already caught her.

No. No. No. No. No.

You had been too fast for him.

When the adrenalin cooled down a bit, you shot your head up at him, the angered glare evident on your face, “Were you really about to fucking stop me?!”

Instead of acknowledging your anger, Miguel shot back, “Do you realize what you’ve done?!”

“I saved my sister!”

“You’ve given your universe a death sentence!” Miguel shouted. “Why do you have to be so fucking selfish?!”

“Selfish?!” You snapped. Now you were quite pissed. Truly, he had never seen you this angry before now. He supposed that it made sense that it would be him to cause this. There had been many close calls. Now, it was different. You couldn’t keep your resolve. “I didn’t invade another universe and replace a girl’s father! Did you ever think that your situation was different?! Did you ever think that what you did was a lot worse than me saving my sister?! You can’t project your problems onto me, Miguel. It’s not the same and you know it—”

“Did it ever occur to you that I did this because I love you?” Miguel hissed. “Did it ever occur to you that I couldn’t bear to watch you lose everything over the same mistake I made?! Did it, Domino? Did you ever stop and think—”

“Wait.” He realized then that you weren’t looking at him anymore. Instead you were looking down. At the end of your web. “If I screwed everything up, then how come my dimension isn’t unraveling?”

The way you asked this, the way you posed the question made him go silent for a moment. Because he just then realized things weren’t changing. Other than the chaos that was happening around them already, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. No holes in the dimension. Nothing disappearing.

“I….” Miguel looked back to you, “I….M-Miguel I saved her, didn’t I?”

He still couldn’t respond.

You reached your web up and tied it to Miguel’s wrist before snapping his web attached to you apart.

“Domino—”

But he watched you fall toward the bottom.

It didn’t take him long to get there too. It didn’t take him long to see the limp body attached to the end of your web. It didn’t take him long to realize that your universe wouldn’t unravel any time soon.

Your sister was dead. Just like it was supposed to….

This was supposed to be better. This was supposed to be what kept you and your universe safe.

Miguel O’Hara always made the tough calls. The decisions that no one else could.

So why did it feel like the dimension was tearing itself apart in front of his eyes? Why did it feel like you were going to disappear at any second? Why did it feel like he had already lost you even though you were right there.

He did. He lost you.

You slipped from his fingers so fast…

“Is this what you wanted?” A weak whisper left your lips, your back still turned to him.

There were no words he could say that could fix any of it.

Miguel removed his mask, so that you could see his face. So that you could see how sincere he was. Only for you to see. Only you mattered in that moment.

“Sometimes you can’t stop what’s meant to happen.” When you glanced over your shoulder at him, when you looked at him through glassy eyes—your mask now gone—it made the words a lot harder to force out, “I never wanted any of this. Not like this…”

Jessica and the others arrived but didn’t say anything. Jessica had been one of the people on Miguel’s side about the whole ordeal, but even she was smart enough not to say anything. You were already hurting too much.

You glared at him through the water falling from your eyes, you glared at Jessica, you glared at all of them.

“Well, congratulations.”

“Y/N…” Jessica tried, only she went silent when she noticed your sister’s body limp behind you. There was nothing to be said.

You tore off your bracelet and threw it at Miguel’s feet. “You saved the canon, O’Hara. You should be proud.”

After that, you stopped coming to HQ. Except for that one time when you announced you were quitting the society for good. After that he stopped seeing the White Spider swinging around your dimension and stopping bad guys. The only time he saw you don your suit was to fight a new villain called the Electro. After that, he hadn’t seen you in the newspapers nor social media ever again.

This wasn’t something he really didn’t see coming. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure if the canon knew this was what exactly would happen after your sister’s death. That you would just stop being the White Spider. That you would give it all up.

Fuck. Of course this would be the last straw. He knew you. He met your sister multiple times.

You weren’t like Miguel. You would not bounce back easily. That was never you.

He should’ve stopped it. He shouldn’t have let it get that far…

The fight on the train didn’t last for long. Like you had said beforehand, you hadn’t planned on fighting him. Only keeping him at bay so that Miles was given time to go back to his dimension. So you had gotten your licks in, getting to kick your man’s ass was something so refreshing and should’ve happened sooner if you were being honest.

You landed a few kicks at Miguel—his waist, face, and legs—before he grabbed you and threw you off the train. But you fell gracefully, knowing that you had done your part. So you entered your data into your bracelet, a portal appearing behind you.

“He’s just a kid, Miguel.” You called.

The last thing you saw was Miguel, an unreadable expression on his face as you disappeared through the portal.

Gwen had recruited you to help Miles a couple hours after you had gotten back to your dimension. Apparently, he had been sent to the wrong Earth so now it was your job to track him down and help him complete his goal. Helping him succeed at something that you couldn’t.

So before you started this long fight, the long journey ahead, you went to your sister’s grave. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were here. After the funeral, you weren’t sure you even came here alone yourself. Just to see her.

It hurt too much before. It only just kept reminding you how much you failed. Why you stopped being the White Spider. Why your relationship with Miguel could never quite be the same.

Your spine shuddered and you turned your head slightly away from your sister’s grave. “It’s kind of insensitive to do a sneak attack when I’m visiting my sister, O’Hara.”

Behind you, Miguel stood a little further away. His mask was off. You didn’t move from your sister’s grave and he didn’t move from where he stood. The two of you took to staring at each other for a long moment.

Since it didn’t seem like he was going to say anything first, you sighed, “Don’t act so surprised. I thought you knew me better than that—”

“I thought I did too.” Miguel scowled, though the harshness was mixed with something looser. Something that would’ve made you crumble on the spot.

You cleared away some of the dead rose petals from the last bouquet of flowers that were left here, “Is that what you came here for? To berate me into changing my mind? I’m convinced already—”

“I’m not here to convince you. How can I do that when you won’t listen to reason?” Miguel hissed. “If you are willing to die over this, destroy another universe, then…” You looked at him fully then. Perhaps you were too far away to see, perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn his eyes were red. Not from his unique abilities.

The emotion in his eyes, god you wanted to look away. You didn’t want your resolve to fail again. Not this time.

This time was too important.

“Then what?” You asked him quietly.

Miguel never responded to your question. He ducked his head down for a moment. The words that left his mouth almost barely audible. “How many times will I have to lose you, Domino? How many times will you leave me?”

You stood and slowly inched toward the man. Cautiously, you gently grabbed his face once you were close enough and leaned your forehead against his. Your thumb caressed his cheek. His larger hands wrapped around you until his face is buried into your neck, practically inhaling your scent.

God, it was always like this. One moment you were in each other’s arms and in the next throwing each other off of trains or running until neither of you could run anymore. Moments like this, the gentle, the quiet. It never lasted.

In the next moment Miguel wasn’t in your arms anymore. You weren’t on your Earth anymore. Now you were flying about in search for Miles, hoping to find him before Miguel and his gang did. You were never sure when the two of you would ever find that semblance of peace again. Those moments were gone in seconds and you were back to the real world. That’s how your cycle went.

That was your canon.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara one shot #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara across the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman atsv #atsv #marvel #jessica drew #hobie brown #gwen stacy #peter b parker #mayday parker

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heartpascal · 10 months

Text

or is it loneliness?

▹— (eventual) spiderverse found family x platonic!reader

▹— summary: you need closure, and information. two visits kind of give you that.

▹— a/n: guys idk what im DOING. i have things planned for atsv but not how we’re gonna get there … rn im just yolo-ing. im not a big fan of this one but im gonna start writing the next one asap, which will hide fully be more found family-ish lmao arachnid is gonna start warming up to them all some day i swear

▹— warnings: angst, injuries, not good thoughts, dead parents, sensory issues, explosions, violence, fighting, blood?, damaged hearing for a good minute, peter b parker eating burgers deserves its own warning, food, mention of throwing up / nausea, insecurities about being good enough, refusing help, idk what else, if ive missed anything let me know!!!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree (everything taglist) @justmare @uniquemonstrosity @lacunaanonymoused @erensbbg @dulceteris @noxxing @escherichiacolli @ray-rook @i-3at-kidz @miwagila @stoneforests (is it freedom’verse) — also i only tagged those who explicitly asked to be tagged!

MASTERLIST , part one

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You spend a long time sat on the edge of the open window, staring out at the traffic below after getting back from Spider Society HQ. There’s a tangible relief that comes with returning to your dimension, like a weight being removed, a tension that is finally released from where it had been pulled taut. Your shoulders feel just as heavy as they did when you left, but you try not to think about it. You try to be happy that you’re back.

While you wouldn’t say it aloud, and you hate to even have the thought, you don’t think anybody had noticed you were gone. But then again, who would? You have no reason to be so upset about such a thing.

Time slips by as you diligently sew up the tears in your suit, frowning as you hold it up once you’re finished. It looks nothing like it used to, but then again, neither do you. Things have changed, it only makes sense that your suit would, too. You wonder if travelling through alternate dimensions can alter your perception of things. You’d swear that your suit had been a different shade before you left, lighter, maybe, but you have nothing to compare it to.

At least now, this time, when you put on your suit there is evidence of damage that Gwen Stacy had caused. The stitching along your the material where she had tore into you is a tangible thing, physical, and you run your fingers across it as if it might disappear. It’s almost a relief, to be able to feel where she had caused you pain, as opposed to the invisible ache she had left within you after fighting her the first time around.

Alongside the scar raised on your body, the fight with Gwen had left you with a sort of paranoia. An uncertainty in the back of your mind that has you glancing over your shoulder, has you messing up simple manoeuvres as you panic, thinking you hear her voice.

It must have been your third day back from the HQ that you come to the conclusion that you have to visit Gwen Stacy in her prison.

The decision doesn’t come easily. It comes slowly, torturously so, a realisation that deafens you as you glare through squinted lenses at the city around you. You won’t be able to go on like this, getting yourself hurt in stupid ways all because you’re not certain that she’s back in her prison. You’re meant to be a hero, which means that messing up, despite whatever paranoia that lingers in the back of your head, is unacceptable. It has consequences.

Seeing her in the flesh will likely be the hardest thing you’ll ever do. Except, maybe, not killing her when you caught her in that other dimension. You keep your mind on the fact that she won’t be able to touch you, that she’ll be walled away, to reassure yourself that there is no risk of either of you hurting the other — at least, physically.

But seeing her isn’t the only difficult part.

No, the hardest part is stepping back into an identity that you had lost your grasp on, long ago. You wear your old clothes, clothes that you hadn’t put on in months, and try to remember how it felt to be you, rather than Arachnid.

“Hi, Mrs. Stacy.” You say, when the door to an all too familiar apartment opens just a slither, and you catch sight of her wrinkled eyes. There’s a noticeable change to them when she realises who you are, and she’s slamming the door shut, undoing the chain, and reopening it before you can say another word.

She whispers your name like she can’t believe it’s you — and you can’t blame her.

You had disappeared, months ago, after the death of your father. Going missing was far easier than being placed in a foster system that would only hold you back. It had been so much easier, not having to face anyone, not having to speak at his funeral.

“Hi.” You repeat, when her stare lingers in the silence for far too long. The sound of your voice once again breaks her out of her trance, and she’s rushing forward to pull you into her arms as if you were her child. You suppose, in some ways, it was quite a lot like that. At the very least, your presence will remind her of the daughter she had lost.

“Where have you been? Oh, honey, I was so worried.” Mrs. Stacy says, her voice trembling by your ear as she squeezes you tight, unfazed by your lack of reciprocation. “Come inside, please.”

You follow her through the doorway, closing the door behind you as you had done so many times before. Not looking around at the apartment is near impossible, but you’re not sure how much familiarity you can take. Even just seeing Mrs. Stacey’s aged face makes your chest ache, your legs feeling shaky.

“Sit down, honey, let me get you a warm drink.” She says, a tremor to her voice as she bustles towards the kitchen which is adjoined to the living room. The news plays on the television, and you’re glad to hear a weather report, rather than some city-wide attack. Mrs. Stacy is quiet as she goes through the process of making your favourite drink, but with your enhanced hearing you listen to the telltale clink of a spoon against ceramic. You listen closely to her hitched breathing as her footsteps pad back into the room. “Here.” She hands you the warm mug, and you don’t comment on the way her hand shakes.

“Thank you.” You say, though it feels stilted, wrong, too formal. It’s hard to be normal in this setting, to be whoever you used to be, especially as she stares at you like she’s seen a ghost.

Mrs. Stacy stares at you for a long while before she speaks again, as if she’s still not sure that you’re real. “Where have you been? After—After your dad… we didn’t know what happened to you. Are you safe? Do you need help?” She asks, frantic once she’s gotten started on her questions.

“Mrs. Stacy, I’m fine, really.” You lie, smiling tightly over the rim of the mug as you hold it towards your face. Before, you would’ve burnt your tongue drinking it too fast, but you’re hesitant to drink it at all. The last thing you want is to become too familiar to your old life. “I’ve been staying with some friends, downtown. It’s been good.”

She raises a brow at you, and stares for a moment longer. “Honey… you don’t look well.” She tells you, and raises the back of her hand to press it against your forehead. Her frown only deepens when you flinch away from the touch. You try not to curse yourself too much, but can’t help reprimanding the way you hadn’t anticipated such an action.

The skin on your forehead is clammy, but that’s just the anxiety, the nerves at being back here. Arachnid can’t get sick.

“Listen, I… I was hoping I could ask a favour from you.” You say, hesitantly, gripping the warm mug tight between your hands, but loosen your fingertips against the ceramic when you hear a minute crack.

Mrs. Stacy furrows her brows, looking more concerned by the second, but nods. “Of course, anything.” She tells you, and places one of her hands against yours on the mug.

“I was hoping I could visit Gwen.” You voice, after one last moment of hesitation. The way her face immediately crumples at the request doesn’t give you much hope, especially as her hand withdraws from your own. “I—I know you don’t get to see her very often, and maybe it’s selfish, but… I don’t know. I wanted some kind of closure, I guess.” You ramble on in response to her silence, glaring down at the liquid still swirling in your mug.

“Honey,” Mrs. Stacy interrupts, her voice soft in contrast to the way yours was growing in volume. You quiet immediately, your gaze drawn up to where her tearful eyes stare at you, her expression almost mourning. “I would never deny you that, but you should know… I haven’t visited Gwenny since she was put in there.” She admits, her stare dropping to her lap, almost ashamed.

“Oh,” You voice, softly, in response. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed— I—I mean, I can’t even imagine—”

“No, don’t be silly, how would you have known?” She replies, raising her eyebrows at you strictly. “Now, I can get you that visit. I’ll call my attorney first thing tomorrow, but… really, honey, do you need me to call someone for you? Who are these friends?”

Her voice is familiar, and it’s kind, which makes it all the more painful. It’s strange, seeing the resemblance between her and the Green Goblin, and it makes a part of you ache. Your life wasn’t the only one torn apart by Gwen. In fact, her mother probably faced the worst of it. With her husband being long gone, her oldest son away at college, youngest withdrawn after her daughter became a homicidal maniac, who did she really have left? Who was looking after Helen Stacy?

You smile at her, as best as you can without tearing up, and reach out to grasp her hand, which she readily accepts. “I’m okay, Mrs. Stacy, I… It’s just a few friends of my dad, from his home town. Their kids, too. It’s better than being put in the system.” You tell her, and can only hope that she believes you. You have no way to back up these lies, knowing those friends of your father don’t exist.

“You could’ve stayed here, you know?” She says, teary and squeezing your hand so tightly you can hear your bones creaking. You smile sadly at her.

“You’re a much stronger person than me, Mrs. Stacy. I couldn’t even face my dad’s funeral, let alone be around the memories of somebody I lost. This place, it—it reminds me of her.” You explain, voice shaking as you hold back your own tears, swallowing them down and trying to breathe through the ache in your throat.

The way her heart breaks is almost loud enough for you to hear it, but she nods her head understandingly, regardless. “Of course,” She says, nodding still, “But know you always have a place here, okay?”

“Okay.” You respond, heart clenching so tightly you’re not sure it can pump your blood any longer.

“Now, what’s your number? Your old phone was disconnected.” She says, shaking her tears away to pull out a pad and pen from the coffee table. She sets the notepad against her knee, looking expectantly toward you.

“Oh, right,” You stutter, teeth chattering as you comb your mind for the number of your burner phone. “There was a mixup, because it was in my dad’s name.” You explain needlessly, still searching your mind for the answer. Finally, you remember it. You listen to her ballpoint pen scrape along the paper as she writes the numbers as you say them, and then she clicks the pen off after writing your name beside it, underlining it twice.

“How about I give you a call with the details of your visit, okay, honey?” She asks, nodding with a pleased hum at your affirmative. “Good. Stay for dinner, okay? I’ve missed you.”

Who are you to deny her that?

Though, even as you try to pretend that you help to set up the table for her benefit, and as you hug Gwen’s little brother tightly when he comes home for his, you know, deep down, that it’s for you. That this is a moment of selfishness that you’ll let yourself have, because god, you deserve it, don’t you?

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It’s thirteen days post Spider Society discovery, and you’re starting to regret the way you discarded that watch so carelessly. Not because you want to be a part of some cult of superheroes, but because you wish you had asked some more questions.

Surely Miguel O’Hara must’ve known a way to stop these villains from appearing in other universes? And if he did, had he already implemented whatever it was to stop Gwen escaping again? How exactly did she escape the first time? Was it a coincidence? Is there somebody out there, working behind the scenes, helping her get out?

You, unfortunately, have no way to answer any of the burning questions nagging at the back of your head. While a part of you hopes that you never see any of the Spider Society weirdos again, you also desperately want answers. Especially if it meant you could call off your visit to Gwen Stacy.

But the day arrives as any other does, and you spend every moment before the drive over to the prison desperately hoping that one of the Spider-people will show their face. None of them do, and you’re left to get into Mrs. Stacy’s car and simply brace for the journey ahead.

You’re pretty sure that swinging would be quicker, or easier, but you had no way to explain that way of transport to an interrogating Mrs. Stacy, and so you had to relent to her insistence on driving you. Now, you sit here, shifting in the seat of the car, uncomfortable without your suit underneath the clothes you used to wear on a daily basis. Even the knowledge that it’s stuffed into the bottom of your tattered backpack in the boot of Mrs. Stacy’s car doesn’t bring you any comfort.

Instead, the rough material of an old jacket has your skin crawling like you were being bitten by a thousand mosquitos, and the trousers on your legs itch like you’re allergic to them.

You suppose, really, that the spider bite that gave you so many powers had to have more drawbacks than just destroying your life. It only makes sense that your heightened senses would extend to the receptors on your skin. It makes every movement in these clothes torturous, and you wonder if it had always been this way, or if you were just so unused to wearing your old style of clothes. Either way, you hope that you won’t have to wear them for much longer.

If it all goes to plan, you should be in and out of the prison, just ensuring that Gwen Stacy is actually in the cell as she’s supposed to be. Then you just have to endure the fifty minute drive back to the city with Mrs. Stacy, and you’re free. You won’t have to wear these clothes again, won’t have to use your name, no — you can just sink back into the half life that is being Arachnid. It’s better that way.

“Okay, honey, here we are.” Mrs. Stacy says at last, having shifted her car into park. She pointedly avoids looking at the looming high-security prison ahead, instead focusing on you as you wipe your sweaty palms against your trousers. “Now you take as much time as you need in there, alright? I’ll be just out here, if you need me.”

You smile tightly at her, nodding with what you hope is more of a grateful expression rather than a grimace. “Thank you, Mrs. Stacy, really. I appreciate it, more than you know.”

That much was true — after all, it wasn’t like you could tell her that she was allowing the vivid paranoia you had been experiencing to be put to rest after her daughter escaped to another universe. Mrs. Stacy, from what you could gather, didn’t even know that Gwen had been missing for any amount of time. She had no idea what Gwen had done, how many more people she had hurt, but you assured yourself that it was better that way. Mrs. Stacy already had to deal with plenty, and that knowledge surely wouldn’t help.

She was already dealing with her own grief and feelings on the situation, as well as trying to support her two sons in the matter. Given what Gwen’s little brother had asked of you when he found out about you visiting her, you knew that he hadn’t been to visit Gwen, either. It seemed that he wasn’t coping with it all very well.

“Of course, you’re family. You should know that by now.” She says, smiling with teary eyes, reaching across the console to grasp your hand tightly in her own.

Her words take a stab at your chest, especially considering what had happened to everybody else who had seen you as family. Dead parents, villainous best friend — it really didn’t bode well for your loved ones. You just reassured yourself with the fact that you’d be able to disappear as soon as the two of you returned to the city. You couldn’t put her in any danger, that way, or her remaining kids.

“I’ll—I’ll see you after, okay?” You respond, squeezing her hand in return before quickly letting go and throwing open the car door, getting out and catching a slither of Mrs. Stacy’s surprised reply before you shut the car door.

There are guards waiting for you at the gates, checking you are who you say you are, scanning you for weapons before you even get in the building. They’re satisfied after their searches, content that you weren’t stupid enough to bring a weapon into a highly secure prison. You keep your focus on your breathing as they walk you in, handing you clothes to change into as well as a box to put all of your belongings in.

The scrub-like clothes they give you are even worse than your own, sending shivers up and down your spine at the feeling of each fibre scraping against your skin. You just try to breathe through it. Luckily, the rest of the security checks blur by, which means less time spent on agonising over this visit. You barely hear a word of the statement they read to you before you go in, and your hand cramps as you write your signature against a dotted line of a waiver. All of the other legal things were sorted out by Mrs. Stacy’s lawyer, which you are more than thankful for.

Instead of having to deal with that, you just have to wait.

You think that the waiting might be the worst part of it all. With the scrubs making your hairs raise and promoting uncomfortable shivers up and down your body, as well as the cold metal seat that they sat you on, you’re far too aware of everything around you. You can hear the hundreds of heartbeats in the buildings, the beeping of security doors, the footsteps heading your way. You can smell the coffee that the head guard in the adjoining room to the one you’re in is drinking, as well as the day-old sandwich in his desk. Worst of all is the way your own heartbeat is thrumming in your throat, padding harshly against your chest, so loud in your own ears that it slowly starts to drown out everything around you.

Gwen’s footsteps are heavy, accompanied by the clinking of the chains she’s shackled in. You can practically hear the maniacal laughter that had come from her whilst in that alternate dimension, even though she’s completely silent as she enters the room.

She smiles at you when you look up, and for a moment you’re fooled — it’s soft, gentle, kind. But then you see the glimmer in her eyes that was distinctly not Gwen, and you feel the scar along your side throbbing with phantom pain.

You smile tensely at the guards, who regard you with looks of gentle concern and caution, before they attach her chains to a link on the floor beside a chair three metres away from where you sit. They nod at you, which you return, and you watch as they go and take their positions beside the door before you move your eyes back to the elephant in the room — which is Gwen Stacy.

“So, you missed me?” She asks, baring her teeth in a grin that has too much teeth to be anything friendly. Gwen regards you closely as you stare at her, watch for any signs of flickering, any signs that this isn’t real. Her brows raise slowly, the longer you’re silent, but you’re in no hurry to talk. “No? Is that not it?”

“Sure, I miss you.” You respond after another stretch of silence, tilting your head to study her more closely. You don’t acknowledge the way that your voice shakes as you speak, the way it comes out in something closer to a croak before you swallow harshly against your dry throat. “Thought I’d come to check in.” You add, brows furrowing to make sure she gets your true meaning.

“Ah,” She voices, then laughs, shoulders shaking, chains clanking loudly against her metal chair. “I get it, now.”

Gwen doesn’t add anything else after that, even though you suspected that she may take this opportunity to loudly claim that you were Arachnid, outing your identity once and for all. Apparently, if she does want to out your identity, she doesn’t want to do it like this, as she stays silent until you speak.

You sit forward on your chair, ignoring the way the guards at the edges of the room shift uneasily at your movement. “Your mom arranged this for me, you know?” You say, eyebrow raised. She probably knows what you’re doing, or what you’re trying to do, but she doesn’t voice it. Instead, she just shifts to lean backwards in her own chair, sighing as if relaxing.

“Hmm, so she can visit.” Gwen says, nodding her head as if it’s all making sense now.

“She can, she just doesn’t want to. Neither does Georgie.” You respond, and find satisfaction in the way her eyes flash at the mention of her little brother, the nickname that the two of you both used to call him. She recovers quickly, but you can tell that she knows it wasn’t quick enough. The Green Goblin cracked, right in front of your very eyes. It’s proof that, if anything, her little brother has some meaning. “He wanted me to tell you something.”

Her head tilts across from you, though she doesn’t move from her laid back position.

You clear your throat, and look at the words you’d written on your skin. She tilts her head forwards the slightest amount, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, glancing at the guards who look just as uncomfortable as you feel. “He said that he misses his Gwenny, but he doesn’t want you coming home.” You stare at her as you repeat his message, the one he had told you nervously, as if he was truly afraid that Gwen would escape and come back. Her eyes twitch as she focuses on keeping her expression cool, but you know that the words have hit something in her, even if it’s part of the Green Goblin. “Looks like you even ruined your own family.”

You’re up on your feet as she lurches forwards, flung backward from where she tried to go against her chains to rush toward you. The guards are in front of you in mere moments, but you weren’t in any danger. Not as long as she stayed in here.

It’s almost satisfying, to see her chained up. It’s so different to seeing the Green Goblin on the outside, where she could be your Gwen Stacy. Whereas in here, bound by chains of heavy metal, clothed in uncomfortable looking prisoner scrubs, she was nothing but the Green Goblin. It was reassuring, almost, to be able to pick apart something physical between the two.

She bares her teeth at you, animalistic in a way that Gwen never was, and glares at you as you follow one of the guards out of the room, the others closing in on her, ready to take her back to whatever cell she came from.

The clothes you wear become less overbearing as you keep your focus on the guards taking Gwen away the whole way back through security, only switching back to your surroundings when they hand you the tray of your own belongings to change back into. You’re relieved for many reasons, and you try to focus on that feeling as you approach Mrs. Stacy’s car rather than the way your jacket itches.

Mrs. Stacy looks as if she wants to speak as you get in the car, as if she wants to ask about your visit, but she seemingly can’t bring herself to do it. You keep your mouth shut.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Not a month later, your daily activities are back to normal, uninhibited by the daunting idea of Gwen being free. Still, though, you think about her more often, as much as you did in the time after she was put away the first time.

Mrs. Stacy had tried to call you more than once since, and at the two week mark you’d had to invest in a new burner phone. You just couldn’t risk anybody getting a hold of it and seeing her contact, or the ringer going off and exposing your position in a fight. No, it was better for her not to have your number. Besides, you had hers memorised if you needed to call her.

It was better if you tried to reduce any connections to Gwen Stacy. You’d be much better off, the less you thought about her.

Despite knowing that, you couldn’t help it. And despite seeing that crack in the Green Goblin exterior at her little brother’s words, you didn’t have much hope for her. You don’t think they’d let her out of prison even if you could find a cure, somehow. The fact of it was that Gwen Stacy’s life was over. She had no hope of a future in this world, the Goblin had destroyed that. All you could do was remember her and hope beyond anything that in one of those alternate dimensions, you and Gwen were happy together.

The thought of it played on your mind every day, a lingering pain that stung at your eyes. You thought about it so much that you had even imagined the world where Gwen had never become the Goblin, where you and your Gwen were happy. It was a suffocating image, one without any hope of being true, but you couldn’t help thinking about it.

Even as you fought villain after villain, petty criminal after petty criminal, you thought about it. Even now, as you were swinging around a bridge, dodging all the debris this villain was throwing your way, it played on your mind.

It was a distraction, and it was one you needed to get rid of.

That much became certain as the villain you were facing, Tombstone, managed to get a hit on you, sending you flying across the bridge. You landed on a car with a groan, the windshield cracking below you, and you rolled your eyes as the person in the car held a hand on their horn until you managed to climb off, a distinct Arachnid-shaped dent left in the bonnet.

Well, that would be aching tomorrow, that much was for sure.

He grinned where he was stood across the bridge from you, showing off his filed teeth, as if trying to intimidate you with the pointy edges of them.

“You’ve been a formidable foe, Arachnid,” Tombstone says, his voice barely a whisper above the wind, but you can hear him perfectly. You suspect he knows as much, and that only makes you nervous. “But I think it’s time for our battle to come to an end.”

“I actually agree.” You respond, stretching your aching back and feeling a bone shift when it definitely shouldn’t. You can’t help but wince, gritting your teeth and glaring over at Tombstone across the bridge.

You’re getting tired of these villains, of their constant spiel about how the world should be, about how everything should be how they wanted it to be. What was so wrong with the human population that everybody couldn’t just get along? Surely, if everybody got along, listened to each other, the world’s problems would be solved. But then again, this is New York, and it’s a city in which greed is bred.

A light press against your webshooter has you slinging high up on the bridge, staring down at Tombstone as he watches you intently. You’re planning your next move, considering all the variables, when a burst of orange manifests into the air behind him. He looks confused as you falter in your web slinging, dropping slightly before you catch yourself, and he turns around just in time to receive a curled fist to the face, courtesy of a familiar man in a red and blue suit.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” You murmur, lowering yourself to the bridge to approach this Spiderman, glaring at where Tombstone stands, straining against a red barrier that had materialised from the device Spiderman had placed at his feet.

“I hate that guy!” The familiar voice of Peter B. Parker says, shaking his fist as he hops slightly from one foot to the other, his lenses squinted before he finally turns to acknowledge you. “That guy sucks.”

Your brows are furrowed, eyes squinted behind your lenses as you stare at Peter, confused. This Tombstone guy isn’t an anomaly, is he? While you hadn’t faced him before, you knew that there had been a battle between him and another vigilante down in Hell’s Kitchen. And he knew your name, hadn’t been calling you Spiderman like the last anomaly. So why was he here?

Peter sighed, as if he was disappointed to be met with your confusion. “You got a place, kid? Or a burger joint, maybe?”

With that same amount of confusion, you nodded, brows furrowed as cops came to collect Tombstone, who was still in a fit of rage. You can just barely hear him swearing to get you back, both of you, through the barrier. Peter gestured a hand forwards for you to lead the way, and with slight hesitation, you swung off with him following.

Now, the two of you are sat in a Shake Shack, despite you wanting to head back to the offices you were set up in. Peter had ordered two burgers, one for you and one for him, though you had decidedly rejected the one he pushed towards you. He had only shrugged, and accepted it onto his own plate.

“My wife’s pregnant, can’t even stand the smell of these.” Peter groans, stuffing what must’ve been at least a quarter of the burger in his mouth. You just nod at his statement, though you had to admit you were slightly surprised that this guy was going to be a dad. But then again, you’re pretty sure you can remember your dad scoffing down his favourite food in a similar way. “Now listen,” He continues, speaking with his mouthful and paying you no mind as you cringe at the sound. “Miguel wants to strike a sort of… deal with you.”

“Okay?” You respond, brows furrowed. You look around the place, uncomfortable with all the people staring at Arachnid in a booth beside an old man stuffing his face. The lenses of your mask squint with you as you look at Peter, waiting for him to add anything on to explain his statement. “Then why’d he send you?” You ask, at last, when Peter makes no move to speak of his own free will, too engrossed in his second burger.

Peter held up a finger, gulping down a sip of his strawberry milkshake. “Said something about this being good practice for me,” Peter eventually answers, flashing you a smile. “You know, being a new dad and all.”

He seems to realise quickly that that was the wrong thing to say as your eyes narrow further, visible only through the shift of your lenses. The last thing you need is some random guy trying to father you. Even just the idea of it irritates you, makes the very blood rushing in your veins feel hot with anger. You had a dad, and look what good that did you. He’s gone.

Not to mention the implication of you being a child! You’re far from being a kid. You’ve been looking after yourself for some time now just fine. Whatever deal Miguel wants to strike with you is because they need you. Not the other way around. You knew that you shouldn’t have let that Spider-doctor fix you up.

“I’m not some kid. I don’t need you lot, you need me. Don’t get it all twisted, Peter.” You respond as he continues to look like a deer in headlights, clearly kicking himself for revealing what Miguel had said. You keep your voice low, fighting to stay unheard with the quietened air in the diner. “Now hurry up and tell me about whatever bullshit deal you want to strike with me, so I can say no and we can go our separate ways.”

“Kid,” Peter sighs, before immediately wincing as he realised he just directly disregarded your statement about not being a kid. “Sorry, Arachnid,” He corrects, settling his hands on the table in front of him, finally taking a break from his almost-finished food. “Nobody’s saying you can’t do this.”

“Sounds like that’s exactly what you’re saying.” You mutter, averting your eyes from Peter and instead narrowing your lenses at the people still staring in your direction.

“All we’re saying is that you shouldn’t have to do this alone,” He continues, ignoring your interruption with nothing but a quirked brow. “It’s a tough job. Everybody needs someone to look out for them, you know? It’s in our nature to feel responsible for everything around us, as Spider-people. But you can’t carry the whole weight of the world on your shoulders, it’s too much!”

You stare blankly at him, remaining unimpressed with his whole speech.

Peter sighs once more, looking at you with hesitant hope that you’ll come around. Unfortunately, you’re not about to let these people think that you’re incapable. If anything, Peter’s little speech was just adding fuel to your fire. You liked proving people wrong — it’s what you thrived on. You needed to prove them wrong. Because if you didn’t, what did that make you? You couldn’t let people be right about their assumptions of you. If you couldn’t prove everybody wrong, then that meant some of the things people said about you were right. And with the amount of people who accused you of being responsible for more deaths than you saved, who portrayed you as a menace rather than a vigilante, who said you weren’t worthy of your powers, who said whatever divine intervention had given them to you was wrong, you couldn’t let them be right. You wouldn’t.

“I already told you people. I’m not interested.” You spit out at him, feeling your frustration brimming over the edge. Why would nobody just trust you? Was that so much to ask? You understand that you had made mistakes, that you had cost people their lives, but you were trying. Why couldn’t that just be enough?

Peter says nothing as you slide out of the booth, stomping your way out of the Shake Shack as if you were some kind of grumpy teenager. He could only hope that his unborn child was a less grumpy teen, but then again, he was pretty sure you had every right to be miserable. Correcting himself, he could only hope that his unborn child never experienced your reasons for being so miserable.

You make your way towards your office building, swinging through the streets whilst doing your best to keep your heightened hearing down. You really didn’t want to have to deal with anything else, tonight. All you wanted was to get back, to put on the only clothes other than your suit that didn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin. Even if it was just for an hour, you’d take it.

While you had gotten used to how quiet it was in the building a long time ago, you couldn’t help but think that tonight, it felt almost… eerie. There was something tingling, buzzing at the very base of your skull, but even as you strained your hearing, your sight, everything, you couldn’t detect anything out of place. Everything seemed normal, so you couldn’t understand why you were so on edge! It couldn’t just be Peter’s presence, surely, because he posed no threat to you. So what was going on?

Picking up your backpack filled with belongings, you stared around at the empty office, the breeze that flowed through the open window sending a shiver down your spine, even though you weren’t feeling cold. Something wasn’t right. You just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Hello? Anybody there?” You call out, straining your hearing once more, trying to listen out for even the slightest sound. A movement, a breath, anything, even as you couldn’t help but think that this was the most cliché horror movie like moment that you had experienced to date. Still, you heard nothing, but that nagging feeling didn’t dissipate, and you quickly lost all desire to change out of your suit.

The unease you felt only grew stronger as you stood there, unsure what to make of the feeling. It was quickly growing towards being overwhelming, but you didn’t know what to do.

Luckily for you, you didn’t have to make a decision.

Unfortunately, the decision was made by one of the very people you were trying to prove yourself to.

Peter B. Parker — or at least, you were pretty sure it was him — swung through the very same window you had, only to grasp a hold on your arm and pull you out of the window as he jumped straight back out of it.

Now, you had been Arachnid for a long time now. You had gotten used to the swinging, to the way your stomach dipped and your throat tightened, but you had never experienced it where you weren’t the one in control. Finally, you understand why people you brought to safety had, on occasion, thrown up immediately after you set them down on their feet again. The feeling of falling, of having no choice but to trust somebody else to catch you, it was terrifying.

But what was infinitely more terrifying was the way that the very floor of the building you had just been stood on exploded.

The blaze was blinding, even with your lenses protecting your eyes, but the noise that came moments later was much, much worse. And sure, you had been around explosions before, but never one that big, never so close. And never so unprepared for one.

Your ears were ringing, and you vaguely realised that you had become dead weight in your shock, with Peter struggling to keep his grasp on your arm firm. After a moment, you had the sense to grab his forearm in return, trying to assist him in holding you up. He didn’t seem as effected by the explosion in comparison to you, and you wondered if he’d had the time to put earbuds in his ears as you had sometimes done before a fight. Either way, you were insanely envious as the pain in your ears increased, leaving you struggling to focus on holding on to Peter.

When he set you down, which couldn’t have been more than a minute after he had grabbed you, considering you could still see the office building smouldering, you had to hold a hand over your mouth even over your mask, trying to rid yourself of nausea. Smoke was leaking into the darkening sky, and you saw the flash of sirens below, but heard nothing other than the distinctive ringing that felt like it was melting your brain.

Peter’s hand was squeezing your shoulder, and after a moment in which you didn’t acknowledge him, he was gripping your other shoulder with his spare hand, shaking you the slightest bit. You looked up at him with a groan, squinting past the floating lights in your vision to see that his mouth was moving, no sound coming out. You shook your head, trying to get rid of that incessant ringing, but it didn’t work. You dropped your chin to your chest again, hands bracing against your ears as if they could ease your pain, and you didn’t make a move as Peter removed one hand from your shoulder.

Mere moments later, the same tingling you had felt before the building you were in exploded returned, stronger, more intensely. Your head snapped up, frantically looking around, paying Peter no mind as he spoke into the orange-glowing watch on his wrist. You breathed through your nose, trying not to cough at the smoke permeating the air, and you just managed to push Peter over the edge of the roof of the building, with you diving after him, as another explosive went off.

That explosion was smaller than the last one, and the only reason you had managed to avoid it was because you knew it was coming. You knew what the alarm bells in your head were trying to tell you now, and you spotted the projectile just seconds before it reached your feet.

Part of you was glad that your senses were dulled from the first explosion — your hearing, especially, as it meant you were less effected by the close-range on this one. You saw Peter’s eyes widen as he looked up above you at where the explosion had just occurred. You just about managed to web him before shooting a web towards the next building, feeling something in your shoulder pull sharply with his extra weight and the suddenness of the move.

You squinted down at him as he gripped the web attached to his chest with one hand, his lips moving more frantically as he spoke to a hologram projected by the watch on his other hand.

“Shit, what is going on?” You asked, though mostly to yourself, but the only way you could tell you had even voiced the words was by the way they rumbled out of your throat. That explosion had messed up your hearing, for the moment, anyway, and you quickly realised that with your slow healing and the ringing in your ears, this fight was going to be majorly difficult.

You only had a moment to think that, before something snapped the web that was holding you to the building, sending both you and Peter falling through the air. Embarrassingly, you’re pretty sure that you let out a yell of some sort.

All the air was knocked out of you the next second as something hurtled into you, sending you careening towards the windows of the closest building. Peter, for a moment, had a shocked expression on his face, before he seemingly realised what was going on, smiling and letting out a string of words that you didn’t hear. You groaned as your sore back collided with the window, smashing upon your impact, and you were sent sprawling over a desk, a monitor breaking underneath your sudden weight.

Yet again, there was a hand against your shoulder, and you paid it no mind as your head dropped back, thudding against the desk. You couldn’t help but groan, the duress that your back had been under today was certainly taking its toll, leaving your whole spine throbbing with pain. On top of that, you were struggling to catch your breath, and with the sudden adrenaline provided by the spider-sense fading, the intensity of the pain in your ears was increasing.

Finally, you managed to peel your eyes open to see a concerned Peter B. Parker looking at you, with Miguel O’Hara stood beside the shattered window, staring out menacingly, as if daring whoever it was to attack again. Peter said something else, squeezing your shoulder, and all you could do in response was hold up one thumb.

Miguel seemingly barked out an order over his shoulder, and a moment later, you were squinting against the bright orange light of a portal.

Peter was hauling you to your feet, leaning to hold one of your arms over his shoulder, practically carrying your weight towards the portal looming ahead. “No, no, wait,” You said, and you felt the way your words slurred as you became slightly delirious with a mixture of pain, adrenaline, and desperation. “Stop, I gotta—”

He only shook his head, before tipping the two of you forward until you both fell into the portal.

The dizzying feeling of inter-dimensional travel definitely didn’t help the pounding in your temples, nor the nausea you had previously been feeling, and you had no choice but to try and focus on Peter’s grip on you as you squeezed your eyes shut. When the world finally stopped spinning, or feeling like it was falling away around you, you opened your eyes just enough to take note of where you were — which was back in the Infirmary of the Spider Society HQ.

You shook Peter off, standing on your own weight and waving him away when he tried to assist you as you swayed once more. You glared, eyes narrowed, and turned to head straight back through the portal you had come from, only to see it close before your very eyes.

The same Spider-Doctor from the last time you were here snapped a band around your wrist, and you squinted down at the red and blue band. It made you feel lighter, even slightly, which felt good on your aching bones and muscles. You opened your mouth to speak as the Spider-Doctor led you to sit down on an empty bed with white sheets, but you vaguely saw the way his mask shifted as he presumably spoke. You couldn’t tell what he was saying with his mask on, but a minute later, you felt a sharp prick against the inside of your elbow.

You just about had the lucidity to murmur “You fucker—” before you succumbed to the weight of your eyelids.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

When you woke up, it was to a throbbing pain in your forehead, that only got worse when you tried to open your eyes. At the very least, you were glad to have your hearing returned to you, albeit slightly muffled, which you were only aware of because the sound of voices across the room was the reason for you waking.

“I’m just saying, maybe knocking the kid out wasn’t the greatest idea!” Peter B. Parker’s annoyingly loud voice says, slightly high pitched in the end. Who he was saying it to, however, you couldn’t say, not without opening your eyes. And that didn’t feel like a good idea, the lights even with your eyes closed feeling like too much.

Instead, you just groan, bringing your hand up to rest over both of your eyes. “It wasn’t a great idea.” You say through gritted teeth, more than annoyed over the situation you found yourself in. Honestly, what did these people have against leaving you be? Why did they think they had any right to tell you what to do, or how to handle things, or to overrule you when it came to your own treatment?

“Hey, kid!” Peter responds, drawing the letters out in that typical oh shit voice. From the snippet of the conversation you had caught, at least he was seemingly trying to advocate for your consciousness. However, that didn’t change the fact that he was there when that Spider-Doctor knocked you out. No, you were still pissed. And when you got your hands on that doctor? He was in for it.

Any other thoughts or feelings on the matter were overturned when you realised that your hand was resting over your eyes, not the lenses of your mask.

Who do these people think they are?

You open your mouth to jump into a rant on that exact subject, on the audacity that they all have, but find yourself silenced by somebody grabbing onto your free wrist, and seemingly dropping your mask into your hand. You feel it until you’ve got it the right way around, and then pull it over your face.

The lights are much more bearable with your lenses back over your eyes, but it’s still painful, and still worsens that pounding in your head. But it does mean that you can see who’s around you; Peter, Miguel and the Spider-Doctor. You have half the mind to leap at that doctor, but Miguel is raising placating hands in your direction before you can make the move to do so.

“Let’s all calm down.” Miguel says, placing his hands on his hips when your eyes only narrow at him.

“What is wrong with you? Who gave you people the right to—to take off my mask? To knock me out? Hell, to come to my universe and get in my business!” You practically yell out, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way your back hurts with the movement and glaring when the three of them step forward to help you.

“If Peter hadn’t gotten there when he did, you would’ve died.” Miguel responds plainly, seemingly aggravated by your irritation. One of his arms is raised in a gesture towards the man, who smiles almost guiltily, as if helping you was a crime. Which, in your mindset, it might as well have been. “There was an anomaly, a villain from another dimension targeting you.”

“I can handle myself.” You spit out, though the way the room spins when you stand is almost a direct contrast to your words. Your blood is rushing through your veins, and you realise that there’s a machine beeping next to you, increasing in frequency. As you look, you realise it’s measuring your heart rate, and you yank wires off of you that you hadn’t even noticed before, as if they were exposing you somehow. “And that doesn’t give you the right to take off my mask. Who does that?”

Spider-Doctor raises his hands, as if surrendering, though seems unintimidated by the way your glare switches to him. “It was necessary. Your hearing was severely damaged by the explosion, you needed treatment. You have dampening-buds in your ears now, while your healing catches up.” While that sounds reasonable, it only makes you angrier. Why did these people even care if some anomaly killed you? If your hearing was damaged? Why did they insist on bothering you?

Miguel sighs, pinching his nose, before he lifts his head up to speak to you again. You just about stop yourself from making a snotty comment about his attitude. You didn't even want to be here, and here he was, acting like dealing with you was such an inconvenience to him. It was frustrating. “Your universe seems to be at some sort of epicentre of anomalies, and we don’t know why. Yet.”

“We’re just trying to keep you safe. You can’t deal with all of those anomalies alone, nobody can. Sometimes, you need a team.” Peter says softly, like he could convince you of the matter. “Believe me, you don’t want to learn that the hard way.” He adds on, smiling almost hesitantly, as if there’s a memory he’s thinking of connected to his own words.

You’re sighing through your nose, your teeth gritting together as you regard them. “Okay, fine, you want to come take out your anomalies, or whatever? You do that. But anything more than that isn’t welcome.” You say, at last, your eyes narrowed towards them as you wait for their responses.

You still don’t really understand it, any of it, but it’s becoming clear that you have no choice but to deal with these people. Apparently, they were not budging on all of this stuff, which — fine, so long as they stay out of your way. The last thing you need is a bunch of Spider-people stepping on your toes, or making you seem incapable in front of the citizens of your own dimension when in the end, they’ll all up and leave.

After all, you can remember your mother telling you how important it is to do things yourself. The moment you start accepting help, you relax, and when they decide they don’t want to help you anymore? You’re screwed, your sense of independence reduced to ashes. And as Arachnid, there’s far too much at stake to risk that happening.

“Here,” Miguel says, only nodding his agreement — or at least, that’s what you assume the nod was for. He throws a watch towards you, and you catch it with some confusion. “In case you see any anomalies before we do.” He explains as he watches you fiddle witht he watch in both hands, glaring down at it as if it was offensive. He’s relatively satisfied when you relax at that explanation. While Miguel doesn’t voice what else it’s for, knowing you’d only get irritated and refuse the watch, he’s silently hoping that you’ll understand. It’s so you can come to them, if you need them. They can only hope that they’ll be able to tell you that, one day, before it’s too late, without the offer scaring you off.

“So, I’m good to go?” You ask, looking between the three Spider-Men still staring at you and the watch you hesitantly clasp around your wrist. They nod, or, Peter and Miguel do, while the Spider-Doctor throws his hands in the air, exasperated.

“That dimension is yours,” Peter says, leaning over to see the screen of your watch. “The button at the bottom will input this dimension as the destination. Just press that,” He points to another button, “To open the portal to whichever dimension has been typed in.”

You nod, still pissed that he’d let the Spider-Doctor knock you out, but at least you didn’t give him a snarky comment. Instead, you just pressed the button to go back to your own dimension, and stepped through the portal the moment it was big enough for you to go through.

You didn’t expect for him to follow you through.

“Hey, listen,” Peter says, almost reluctantly, as if he doesn’t want to upset you. When you turn to him, he raises his hands, as if to further prove that sentiment. “I am sorry that he knocked you out, I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

“Okay, fine, apology accepted.” You say, flatly, turning to survey where exactly you are. It doesn’t take you long to notice the remains of the building you had been camping out in, the building charred and the air still thick with all the smoke that had been produced.

“I wasn’t done,” Peter sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose momentarily. “I also wanted to say that I’m sorry about your building. And I wanted to ask, well, mention about how when Doctor-Peter took off your mask, he noticed you don’t have anything protecting your ears, like other Spiders with your level of enhanced hearing do.”

You turn to stare blankly at him, while mulling through where exactly you’re going to stay in your head. If you’re being honest, you’re not paying his words much mind. So what, you don’t have anything protecting your hearing? Sure, sometimes you had stuffed earbuds into your ears when you knew you were going into a rough fight, but you didn’t know when some psycho exploded your building right in front of you. Plus, it’s not like you have unlimited resources to figure out some way of protected your ears under your mask while also letting you effectively use your hearing.

“Okay? And?” You ask, voice edging on the side of boredom. In all honesty, you just want to be left alone. You want to put on your comfy clothes, curl up into a ball and go to sleep so you can dream of a world where everything is okay. The likelihood of that happening is small, but not impossible, right?

“Well,” Peter hesitates then, which piques your interest the slightest bit. “Here, I had these made back when my hearing was crazy sensitive, but it’s not anymore, so I got no use for them!” He says, holding out two blue and red earbuds in a clear case. “You gotta wait until your ears are healed up to use ‘em, but I figured they’d do you more good than me.”

For a moment, you’re ready to deny him. To glare and insist that you don’t need his help. But then, he had said that they were originally for him, and he didn’t need them any longer, so really, would it be so bad to take them? To accept this one thing? To allow yourself to be saved of this tiniest bit of pain?

“You’re sure?” You ask, likely the least aggressive you’d spoken to him, though that’s not to say that it was asked softly. You were still firm on not accepting their help, on doing your own thing, but you could accept this much, surely? It couldn’t hurt.

Peter smiles, a short laugh leaving him, and he waves the box towards you. “I’m sure!”

“…Thanks.” You say, shortly, as you accept the earbuds offered to you. He also hands you the backpack that you had lost track of after the attack, and you accept that far more quickly. You’re glad that it feels the exact same weight as it did the last time you held it, before you shove the earbuds into the opening and zip it back up.

There’s a portal still open on the rooftop the two of you stand on, and Peter backs up to go towards it almost reluctantly. “Also, if you need somewhere to stay—”

“Don’t push it,” You respond, quickly, cutting him off before he could finish what he was saying. He doesn’t take offence to your abruptness, and smiles with a nod, before he disappears into the portal. You stare out at the city around you, looking in the direction of another building you had been very reluctant to return to. “What is my life?” You ask yourself, rhetorically, because you don’t know how you’d even answer that.

You glance behind you to ensure the portal is closed, before jumping off the rooftop, freefalling, relishing in the way the cold wind soothes the pain in your back. Before long, though, you have to shoot a web to catch yourself. You head towards the only place you know will be suitable for you, but can’t shake the way the thought of it chills you.

All you can do is hope that this multiverse stuff will be over with, and soon.

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