#dark!spiderman

Jameson’s shoulders lifted into a lazy shrug, leaning back in the rickety chair. You knew his opinion on Spider-Man, knew his stance on the matter. Still, even he knew that Spider-Man had never crossed that line before. “No, he isn’t.” He agreed with you. “But he’s about to be. He’s the only one that can be linked to the crime scene. If Sytsevich dies—and it’s only a matter of time—then Spider-Man’s the one who goes down for it.”

Your mind was reeling, gaze falling to the floor. Coffee still leaked from your cup, causing the already prominent stain to grow in size, but you didn’t care.

New York had already begun to turn on Spider-Man. The city that he had saved time and time again had grown to hate him, unable to forgive him for abandoning them entirely, for leaving them to wonder if their beloved hero was even still alive. And to come back like this? To come back a murderer?

“It’ll turn into a man-hunt.”

There was no other outcome for it, both of you knew that much. There was already an eerie sense of unrest that had settled amongst the city in Spider-Man’s absence; and if it was confirmed that their former symbol of hope had abandoned his own code of ethics? The world would turn to nothing but chaos.

It would be the dawn of a new age.

A dark age.

bonus teaser scene - peter parker dialogue from A Dark Age

You were sixteen when you met Peter Parker. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter clicked his tongue, “not enough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay?” he heard you ask.

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

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does tomorrow at four work for you?” 

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

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

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Worse,” he said lazily.

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

“I met this guy in class today.”

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

He grinned, “I’m always listening.”

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

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

“Why would you do that?”

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

Peter felt sick. 

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

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

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

“Fine.”

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled, “thanks,” he dramatically whispered.

You blushed further, “sorry.”

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

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

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

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

He looked at you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Get to know each other. 

That was unexpected. 

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

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

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How convenient. 

“Bunny,” Peter started. 

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

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

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

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

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

Peter swallowed, “oh.” 

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

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

Oh. 

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

“Oh,” he managed to say, “did you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, Peter, please…

You sat still as Peter invaded your space.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay, bunny.”

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

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

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Hm? Oh, no, no, Pete m’not-“

“You are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you can’t speak, hm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” concern filled his face.

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

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

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

+

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

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

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

hey stranger… u around?

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

Maybe

The response was instantaneous.

meet me at the bar

You smiled, rushing to your closet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+

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

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

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

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

“Where were you?”

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

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

“You were out with Harry. I saw you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was he doing? 

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

“Pete, what are you doing?”

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

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

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

A tiny smile graced his lips.

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

His grip on your chin turned painful.

Best friend. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He could never treat you like I do.”

“Peter…”

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

You shifted uncomfortably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter was Spider-Man.

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

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

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

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

“Ungrateful little bitch.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, bunny. Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, bunny?” he pulled off his belt.

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

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

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

“But-”

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

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

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

You shook your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You feel so good,” he moaned.

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

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

Fuck. 

I don’t want this.

Feels so good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Peter, hm, Peter, uh stop, m’gonna-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He would never let you go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged, “So?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? That wasn’t even scary!” 

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

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

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

Yelena rolled her eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Once, I think.”

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

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

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

“Y/N … did something happen to you?”

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

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

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

“Like Peter Pan?” You smiled.

“Yeah, like Peter Pan.”

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

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

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

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

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

Peter wanted to grow to love you. 

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

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

“What do you know about trauma responses?”

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

“But you’re a genius, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bruce didn’t push the subject further. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will, I promise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s me and you,” Peter said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why don’t you like to sleep?”

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

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

“Or a board game!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?”

“Call me Daddy.”

“But you’re not-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I sleepy … Daddy …”

“Goodnight, little one.”

The black mass recoils back into Peter as it unwraps from your body. Peter’s strong arms hold you close as he walks over and gently lays you down on his couch. Something within Peter forced him towards you as you lay unconscious. It was like a burning in the very back of his brain that wouldn’t cease unless he could somehow touch you. His body craved you. And really, he couldn’t lie to himself - he knew he had wanted you for years now.

The moon lit up the apartment, illuminating your face as Peter stares - studying you laying before him. He crouched down, his gloved fingertip caresses the curve of your bottom lip as he bites his. “So beautiful,” he whispers, brown eyes falling to your neck - honing in on your heartbeat. Peter gulps as his gaze trails down to your chest - watching it rise and fall. The cold air had caused your nipples to show through the camisole - hiding your flesh away from Peter, making him weak in the knees.

Peter wondered what you’d look like once he had ripped the clothes from your body. He imagined what you’d feel like writhing underneath his touch, or how you’d sound moaning his name when you finish on his cock.

His gloved hand reached towards you, fingers caressing your jaw, his palm trailing down your throat and chest before reaching the lace trim around the top of your cami. Peter shook his head, trying to rip himself from his thoughts - but fuck, did he want you. He had to have you now.

His eyes look up to your beautiful face, still illuminated by the full moon in the starry sky. He’s ambivalent, captured by your beauty - yet wanting to rip you to shreds and finally have his way with you after all this time. His thoughts had grown so cloudy that he had stopped being able to control himself.

The black mass began to creep out of Peter’s chest again, slowly wrapping around the base of your skull and lifting your limp head towards Peter. He licked his lips, slowly bringing them down to your exposed neck. His warm kiss brushes against your skin as he lets out a soft, raspy moan - needing you closer. He was hungry for you - absolutely starving.

His hand gripped the top of your cami, just before exposing you.“Not like this,” he growled, trying to fight the urges pulling him to you. He was ashamed of himself. Peter felt his throat grow dry as tears formed in his eyes watching you lay there, ripping his hands away from you.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Peter whispered, slinking to his knees in front of where you laid on the couch - beginning to sob into his hands as a new voice echoed in his thoughts. “We want her, remember? We have wanted her for over half a decade now - so why not just do it?” The voice boomed as Peter held his head in his hands, shaking it as he whispers “No, no - not like this.”

“Imagine what she tastes like - imagine how good her tight little pussy feels..” the voice took him over as he gripped his hands into fists, closing his eyes to try to stop these new thoughts. “You know she wants it, too. Just fuck her already!”

“No!” Peter growled, shaking his head as he started to pull the suit off - slowly backing away from you in some attempt to protect you from himself. He could feel whatever that was inside of him settling, becoming part of him as he could feel decades-old negative emotions rising up - taking him over.

The sound of Gwen’s back breaking and her head hitting the ground of the clock tower played on repeat in his head as Peter couldn’t seem to run away from his Uncle Ben’s empty dead eyes chasing him in his thoughts. Peter felt every emotion all at once; rage, bitterness - yet somehow he felt so empty. Hollow.

But there was there was something sinister inside of him, whispering awful things to him. Telling him to do awful things. Beginning in a slow, quite whisper - growing faster, louder as it rang out, screaming through Peter’s thoughts. He couldn’t focus on anything besides the burning in the back of his mind, magnetically pulling him towards you. He couldn’t let you out of his sight.

Peter was so afraid beginning to feel himself slip away completely again. Peter crawled back over to where you lay, still unconscious on the couch - desperate for the nearness of you. Yet, so afraid of what was inside of him possibly hurting you in some way. He sat beside the couch, resting his now maskless head right in front of where yours laid. His large gloved hand reached up to grab yours - slowly enveloping it in his as he cried. Peter held on tightly to your small hand, focusing on your heartbeat in an attempt to calm down. The burning finally stopped. The noises were loud, but touching you had made them not so bad. You had grounded him.

He rested his eyes for a moment before your fingers twitched in his grip as you started to stir awake. Subconsciously you cuddle your body into his warm touch. You moan lightly as your eyes flutter open, immediately recognizing where you were and remembering what had just happened back at your apartment.

Your heart raced, now eye to eye with Peter. Before you can scream Peter’s hand covers your mouth, his brown eyes searching yours as he whispers, “Please - don’t.”

——

Miles zooms through the city, swinging to Peter’s favorite rooftops and secret hideaways in the city - finding nothing each time and growing more concerned with every passing moment. His thoughts were already so crowded trying to hash out what the hell just happened back there that he couldn’t really think straight.

He felt the world crashing around him as he convinced himself that no matter what he would do that he wouldn’t make it, just like what happened with his parents. You and Peter were his family now and he couldn’t let his family down again. He had to make it. He had to protect you both.

Peter would be upset with him for beating himself up like this. He’d tell Miles that with great power comes great responsibility. Do what Peter does best and say the perfect thing to calm him down. Damn, he wished Peter was normal Peter.

Miles sat on the edge of the Empire State Building, dangling his feet as he scanned the city - flipping through his cellphone hoping to ping either yours’ or Peter’s location and getting nothing. He groans loudly, shaking his head as he looked down at his fists, thoughts flashing to how ruthlessly Peter had attacked him earlier. His stomach churned thinking of how Peter had treated you.

Miles knew that Peter felt deeply for you and always had. But Peter would never hurt you. Peter was a dork who enjoyed karaoke and loved to take pictures of sunsets. He was the guy you’d call for help and would show up within minutes. Whatever that was back there most definitely was not Peter Parker.

Then he thought about you - his ‘big sister’. Always making sure he is fed and has a place to crash if he’s too hurt after patrols that went bad. Always helping him get blood stains out of his suit after years of crafting together the perfect formula since helping Peter with his suit for so long now. You were so giving, so loving. A constant. He was so mad at you for offering yourself up in order to save him. He was the superhero, he was supposed to protect you.

“If Peter hasn’t already done it by the time I find you I’m going to kill you for stressing me out like this, Y/N,” Miles whispers followed by a long sigh, pulling his mask back on. Lips smacking together, Miles tucks his phone away- shooting a web before swinging back through the city towards his last stop, Peter’s apartment.

——

Your eyes were wide staring at Peter, face to face with you on his couch - still holding his hand over your mouth as the black Spidersuit quickly disappeared from his body, now wearing the clothes he had on before. His brown eyes were doe-like staring into yours - he was scared.

“Please, Y/N - don’t scream,” he repeated, ushering you to sit up on the couch. “You’re going to sit up right here and then I’m going to lower my hand, okay?” You gulp, still trying wrap your brain around what was happening as you slowly sat up. The night’s events begin to rush back into your thoughts, trying to convince yourself you were dreaming, bound to wake up any minute now.

Peter grew agitated by your silence, quickly snapping and speaking in a stern voice, “Do you understand me?!” The abrupt change in Peter’s mood frightened you, quickly nodding in agreement as he lowered his large hand from his firm grip over your mouth.

His knees faced where you sat as he stared at you, chest rising and falling as he spoke in a hurried whisper, “You need to get out of here while I’ve still got this kind of under control. Please, Y/N.”

You furrow your brows, “And what exactly is it that you have under control, Peter? Why are you whispering like that?”

“I don’t know!” He screams at you, grabbing his mouth before whispering, “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Everything - all my feelings are loud in my thoughts and I - I can’t..” Peter shakes his head, never raising his voice from a whisper. “I - I can’t really think straight. It’s like everything I’ve ever felt is heightened. It knows what I want. I don’t know what it is exactly - but it’s so dark, Y/N.”

Goosebumps covered your body hearing Peter’s haunting words. “Hey - hey, we will figure this out, Peter - okay? Like we always do, right? You and me, figuring shit out like always. You and me against the world,” You nod your head, reluctantly placing your hand on Peter’s shaking fist in some attempt to calm him.

Before you could even fully place your hand on his Peter was on you. It happened so quickly you didn’t even realize what was going on until you found yourself pinned against the couch where you sat.

Your wrists were both wrapped in Peter’s left hand’s grip while his right arm was extended beside your head, which was now pressed against the couch. His breath hit your face as he panted, gripping the upholstery. He looked down at your lips before his brown eyes snap up to yours. Just the thought of you touching had finally sent him over the edge.

“Peter?” You whisper as your heart raced, closer to Peter than you have ever been before. Almost nose to nose. Time had stopped, shuffling between your feelings of distress, yet confused by the wetness growing between your legs. You wince, feeling Peter’s grip digging into your flesh, bruising your wrists. His eyes open wide hearing you cry out in pain. He had to fix it.

Peter’s arms wrap around you abruptly, one around your waist, the other around your head - bringing you into him, his face nuzzled into your neck. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry I hurt you, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry.” He said, voice muffled. The smell of his cologne wafted, filling your senses as you gulp. “Im so sorry, I’m losing control again - I can feel it. You calmed me down earlier - I hope it works again.”

He was above you on the couch, digging his face into your neck as his strong arms held you in a warm embrace. The urge to fuck you senseless raged through his body, his brain screamed at him to just take you then and there. He was in the perfect position. Peter wanted to bottom himself out inside of you, he wanted to paint your walls with his hot cum. He wanted to make you his. He had to have you.

You let him hold you, your body vibrating under his touch as if you were purring. He could feel that you wanted him, too. His brain was loud again, screaming at him to shove his dick down your throat and fuck your face until you drank his load.

He gulps, growing breathless being this close to you. “You need to go while you can,” he growls in a raspy voice, breath hitting your neck and giving you goosebumps, the heat growing warmer between your thighs.

“What?” You ask, realizing you had started to lean into Peter’s touch. He started to push you off of the couch, standing you up to walk you out of his door. Everything was happening so fast.

“Go while it will still let me, it’s the only way to keep you safe,” Peter growled, fighting his own feelings as he pushed you closer towards the door. “Please, Y/N - I don’t know what I’m capable of right now.” You turn towards him, pointing at his chest, “I’m not going anyway until we have figured out how to fix you, Pete,” you protested, giving him a look of disapproval.

Peter grabs your wrist, quickly shoving you against the wall beside the front door - his eyes dark as he looked at you breathless. “You don’t understand,” he growls, trying to divert his gaze from you though determined to get you out of his door and to safety for the time being. “I don’t want it to be like this,” he said, hungry for you.

You had grown frustrated, pointing your finger at Peter’s strong chest, “I just think that you’re convinced I can’t take care of myself, Peter. I’m not scared of whatever is-“

Peter shuts you up when his hand finds its way to your throat, looking at your lips before his brown eyes peered at you. The pressure of his palm made you weak in the knees. “You don’t get it, Y/N.” “I don’t understand what exactly, Peter?” You reply, your tone stoic. “I can handle myself, Pete - you of all people should know that.”

“You clearly don’t understand - I want to fuck you,” his voice was frank, “I want to fuck you until you can’t see straight, Y/N. I want you to scream my name so loud that my neighbors hear you.“ His nose brushes yours, as he continues, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you closer.“I have wanted you since college, Y/N - don’t you get it? I can’t hold myself back from you anymore with this thing inside of me and that’s why you have to go. I don’t know what I’ll do to you. Years old feelings are literally taking me over and I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t fuck you right now. So, please -.” He’s breathless still, playing out picking you up and throwing you against the wall in his head over and over again - wanting to use his new darkness inside of him to hold you down so he can hold you up against the wall when he finally eats you out.

You stare silently at Peter’s handsome face , convinced those words didn’t actually come from his mouth. Peter was nose to nose with you as his deep eyes stared into yours. “You’ve always wanted me?” is all you could whisper, placing your pointed finger into an open palm on his chest. His heart was racing.

He bit his bottom lip, it rolled slowly out of the pressure of his teeth. All you could do was either stare at your hand on his chest or his gorgeous lips. Either way, you were trapped - You, hungry for more of Peter and Peter starving for any way of touching you, being on you - anything.

The room was thick with longing and desire, Peter placed his forehead on yours, shutting his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down again. All you wanted to do was kiss him, bring your lips to his after all these years of dreaming what they felt like.

But then a loud knock came from the door beside where both of you stood. You both stare, wide eyed at the door before looking back to each other. You mouth, “Miles?” and Peter shakes his head, putting his finger over his mouth, whispering, “Not his heartbeat.”

Again, the door was pounded on - the doorbell rang out. Peter abruptly fell to the ground, grabbing his chest. You look down, seeing the black substance rippling underneath his skin, Peter winced.

The doorbell rang out loudly as the person on the other side pressed it over and over before a man’s voice yelled, “Parker, answer your fucking door and give me those damn pictures! Jameson needs them asap, you ass!”

Each ring of the doorbell made Peter cringe, still clinging to his body and trying to not scream. You drop to your knees, desperately trying to stop his pain - but then it hit you.

You had to stop the noise. So you stood, opening up the door quickly and seeing a man standing on the other side. He looked close to you and Peter’s age. Almost familiar.

“How can I help you?” You ask, crossing your arms and keeping the door close to you - too afraid of this guy seeing Peter in this state. The man gawked at you before shaking his head, giving you his hand, speaking in a low voice, “Eddie Brock. Sorry, is Peter there? He hasn’t answered his emails or texts and Jameson needs those Spiderman pictures within the hour.” He paused, licking his bottom lip, “Are you Peter’s girlfriend or just his friend? Because if you are just friends I’m available anytime for you, beautiful.”

Hearing Eddie speak to you like that infuriated Peter, beginning to grit his teeth - trying to push out his raging thoughts telling him to kill the man. Peter stood up, wrapping his arm around your waist as he pressed up behind you, his hand bracing himself on the doorframe staring at Eddie in the doorway. “I’ve got your pictures and I just emailed them to you, so you can leave now - Brock.”

Eddie held his hands up in surrender, shaking his head as he spoke, “Damn, Parker - Y/N, do you see how mean he is to me?” He smiled, you could tell the relationship Peter and Eddie had wasn’t an ideal one. “Once again, Brock saves the day since Peter Parker is such a slacker.”

You gripped the door feeling Peter tense up, scared of him flying off of the handle. Eddie continued to speak, “Remind me, Pete - why are you head of photography for the Daily Bugle if you can’t ever deliver on time?” His eyes shift to yours, smirking as he whispered, “Does he deliver to you better than he does the Daily Bugle, Y/N?”

You could feel Peter’s frustration growing as he grind his teeth, trying to not unravel again - he could probably kill this guy if he really wanted to. “Eddie, get the fuck out of my face and away from her. Now. Don’t fuck with me.”

Eddie flashed you a smile before he waved, winking - “See you at work, Parker. And, Y/N - hopefully we will meet again, yeah?”

Peter slammed the door in his face, pinning you to the wall again, his arm still around your waist. Though you wanted nothing more than to wrap your body around his, scale him like a tree - you needed to save Peter Parker from himself. So you constructed a perfect plan.

“What time is it?” You ask, looking to the clock on his stove top - seeing it was pushing 10 o’clock. “We need to go, now. We need to tell Miles where we are going.”

“I crushed my phone,” Peter whispered hurriedly, staring at your lips. “I thought you told that Eddie guy you sent him the pictures?” You ask.

“I crushed my phone, okay?! I wanted him to get the fuck out of here and away from you!” Peter snapped again, slamming his fist into the wall before recoiling himself from you. He scared you, genuinely.

So you did the only thing you knew to do at that moment to protect yourself, you push Peter away from you - throwing his front door open and ringing the door bell a aggressively, causing Peter to fall back to the floor.

He groaned and winced at the noises, watching you dig your fingertip into the almost dried blood on your shoulder and drawing something on the door with it before sprinting away down the hall. “I’m sorry, you’ll understand soon, Pete! Come find me!”

“No!” Peter screamed, feeling as if his heart was being ripped away from him as you ran. He got up, chasing after you as you left the apartment and fled into the loud city. “Y/N!”

——

Miles finally drops to Peter’s fire escape, quickly throwing himself into the apartment, only to find it empty. “Fuck me!” He screamed, starting to look around the apartment for some sign of you or Peter. But then he sees the front door wide open and stalks towards it slowly, afraid of what he might find. Looking into the hallway of the complex he finds nothing.

But then Miles smells blood. He followed the scent. It was your blood. It wasn’t much, but he found it - your drawing on the back of Peter’s door.

A messy clock - the hands falling at 10 PM.

Miles looks over to the stove’s clock, seeing it was only 8 minutes until 10. His brain was going crazy trying to figure out what your drawing could possibly mean.

You and him always joked you were on the same wavelength and that’s how you both always finished each other’s sentences and got along so well. This was so much different though, trying to decipher what the clock meant.

The pieces fell into place, finally clicking in his brain.

Miles realized where you went. “You’re a damn genius, Y/N,” he whispered, shutting and locking Peter’s door before he sprinted, throwing himself from the window before shooting a web and flying through the night air.

As he flies through the city he sees you running from a distance, spotting Peter as he swings after you, clad in his new black suit. And then he watches as you stop running, reaching exactly where you need them to be, the clock tower where Gwen Stacy was murdered so long ago.

This ends tonight.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meet me at base. Now.

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

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

“Sit.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Why the urgency?”

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

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

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

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

“And who were they?”

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

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

“What’s the job?” Peter asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEXT PART

It seemed like everyone from the biggest crime mob syndicates down to the smallest of cat burglars were laying low.

And who could blame them? The news headlines spoke about how some officers were beaten to a pulp, and the likely culprit was the vigilante in red. You didn’t know what to think. Certainly it wasn’t true. He saved you, didn’t he?

You spent evenings climbing to the top of the high rise and watched, just hoping to spot him swinging across town. But no dice. Spider-Man was nowhere to be found.

So you were left with little choice. You had spent weeks avoiding the mayor’s son, letting him know that you were out of supplies, on a hiatus, even out of town. But he was eager to make a deal, and deep down you knew it would work. Spider-Man would come to you.

So you let him know you had baked a treat to commend his loyalty, a free batch of cookies, and when you heard the knock on the door for the time of the pickup you were buzzing with adrenaline.

You hoped it would work.

As certain as the sun he was in and out, trying to lay low himself. He didn’t even come with a friend this time. 

“Hey, I appreciate it.” He smiled cordially. “You know, everyone is freaking out out there. You know, they’re afraid of him.” His accent was thick, Brooklyn, you thought. You couldn’t help the quip of your lips at the mention of Spider-Man. Even the mayor’s son was shaking in his Timberlands.

“Just stay out of trouble, and he should leave you alone.” You hummed with a nonchalant ease, and you walked him back down to the street. He agreed with a similar hum.

As you watched him turn the corner past your apartment you let out a soft groan. Snow was starting to fall. You weren’t going to spend the night up on the rooftop tonight.

So you trudged back up the steps, eager to get out of the cold. And just like that first night you decided on sticking to the living room, making sure the window was unlocked for any visitors. The night dragged on, and every bump and noise in the night kept you awake. Maybe - no.

At some point in the night your heart dropped into your stomach.

Spider-Man wasn’t coming.

And you lost out on a sale. With a huff of frustration, you called it a night.

You knew you were cutting it short when May called in for a last minute order.

You had no plans to bake, but instead to enjoy the cold and the snow with tea and a good book. But May was insistent. She told you the book club was taking a break and when it abruptly started back up she called you in a panic.

“I just think it will be a nice way for everyone to calm down,” She urged. “Everyone has been so tense lately.” 

You knew what she meant, and you couldn’t have agreed more. Every interaction on the streets made you look twice behind you. Everyone was on edge, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth to see everyone walking on eggshells.

But maybe it was better that way. After all, there was less crime. 

So you caved, letting her know that you would start working on her order right away. Time flew by, and while trying to squeeze in the last of the chocolate thumbprint cookies you ran out of eggs. 

You were too caught up in your own train of thought, unknowingly spiraling down a rabbit hole of crime and the superheroes that stopped it.

Shit. 

If you hustled to the store and back you would really be pushing it. Even if you took a cab to the store and to May’s you’d be running late. There had to be some other way.

Maybe one of your neighbors had a couple of extra eggs. Peter. Peter just might have them. So you rushed out the front door without taking off your apron or cleaning the flour off your cheek.

You knocked twice on his front door and waited. And waited.

Was time passing too quickly? Were you standing there for too long? Maybe Peter wasn’t even home. But just as you turned away you heard the soft click of the lock before the door opened in front of you.

You quickly realized why Peter didn’t answer sooner. He must have been asleep.

Peter opened the door enough to poke his head out, hair flying up in all directions, and was rubbing the sleep away from his eyes when you looked back at him. 

You woke him up.

“Hey.” He croaked lightly, and when he looked down at you it was with a lazy, if not surprised expression. There was flour everywhere.

There was flour in your hair and on your face and down your clothes. Part of him thought to make a joke about it, but he thought twice when he caught the panicked look in your eye.

“Hey,” You replied quickly, a look of surprise etching itself on your face. If you were less focused on your baking you would have noticed the bags under his eyes and the scratch healing along his cheek, but you were too distracted to slow down and really look at him. “You wouldn’t happen to have a couple of eggs, would you?”

He blinked twice. Eggs?

Oh. The flour made much more sense.

Peter bit his lip, taking a moment to think. “Gimme just a second.” And with that he disappeared back behind the door, closing it with a heavy thud.

So you waited as patiently as you could, taking a moment to calm yourself down before patting the flour off your hands. This could work. Peter could help you, and you wouldn’t be late.

You could have never known the sheer chaos happening on the other side of the door.

Peter was frantic.

He rushed to the fridge, eyes scanning past cans of beer and old takeout, to the lower shelves of science beakers filled with red mists and congealed experiments. He had forgotten about those.

But there were no eggs. He should have just told you no, that he didn’t have them. He didn’t even really like eggs. But you came to him for help.

And Peter wasn’t going to let you down. 

He remembered that his next door neighbor, the one with the yappy terrier, was gone during the day for work. The apartment was empty. In one hasty moment Peter made a mad dash to the window, grabbing his web shooter from the table along the way, and hurried out to the fire escape. 

Peter swung the short distance, broke the lock on the window without thinking twice about it, and slunk into the musty apartment, narrowly avoiding knocking over a lamp as he hurried to the kitchen.

The fridge was stocked. Stars were shining in Peter’s eyes.

There, perched beautifully on the top rack there was a carton of a dozen eggs.

But it was also at that time that he heard the vivacious barking coming from the other room, and it was approaching fast. He had forgotten all about the dog. Cursing under his breath Peter took two eggs from the carton, sealed it up, closed the fridge, and webbed his way back over to the window. 

He spared one look at the wide-eyed terrier before it started yapping again and Peter was off, closing the window, swinging back over to his apartment, and throwing the web shooter onto the ground.

All the while the eggs were secured in his left hand, and when he looked down the only sign of trouble was the faintest crack along the top of it. 

But Peter was breathless. He pulled his free hand through his hair before making his way back to the door. The entire interaction lasted no longer than a minute.

When he opened the door you were still there, fidgeting with the corner of your apron before looking up at him. You were still there. You waited for him.

Peter held out his hand silently, palm up to the sky, and to see the smile creeping up into your cheeks was worth it. 

“Here, take these.” He pushed the words out on an exhale, letting his tongue press against the roof of his mouth as he watched you with a gallant grin.

When you plucked the eggs from his palm you noticed the callouses etched into them. It was a fierce contrast from the gentle way he was presenting them.

“Thanks, Peter,” You smiled again, looking down at the eggs safely nestled in your possession. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You paused, waiting for him to reply or close the door, but he did neither. When you looked back up to him an ounce of your hurry vanished. 

“You know, I saw you on the news.” You started again and Peter’s attention jumped. His composure changed as he pressed himself farther into the hallway. You watched the question etching itself along his parted lips. “After the commissioner incident, I mean. Do you really believe it?”

Peter’s stomach felt filled with rocks.

“Believe what?” He questioned a little too quickly, but his voice was still soft.

Peter’s shoulders straightened, and he was looking at you with an almost defensive stance. Did he not know what you meant?

“That Spider-Man is just trying to help people?” You asked honestly, trying to jog his memory. A moment passed as he looked down at you, and you felt dumb for asking at all. Embarrassment burned at your cheeks for a quick moment and you shook your head, trying to shake it off. “Hey, forget I asked. Thanks for the eggs-”

“I do believe it.” He rushed out. looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. “I do.”

His reassurance did more than calm your nerves. You looked up at him with respect, with certainty. 

“Me too,” You agreed with a small smile, and not a moment later you heard the buzzer on your oven go off letting you know it was done reheating. “I’ve really got to go,” You explained quickly, “but thanks again.” 

And as you retreated back to your own apartment Peter was left at the door with awe etched into his cheeks. He’d kill for you to look at him like that again. It sparked a kind of fire within him.

He was all alone with his thoughts and the only sounds were the muffled barks from the dog next door. 

You were exhausted, your arms shaking as you towed grocery bags far too heavy up to your apartment. You were cursing under your breath, blowing hot air into the cold stairway and paused with a groan. It was just another two stories.

But it was so damn far.

You had been so distracted with baking for others that you let your own grocery supply dwindle down to nothing. And you really had a hankering for a chicken pot pie.

But why stop there? You loaded up on the basics; on more than enough coffee to spare, and maybe even a pint of ice cream. It was so easy to grab everything in the store, but now that you were carrying every bag up with you? Mega mistake. 

With a huff you finally made it up to your door, fishing the keys out of your pocket with a forlorn urgency. You were convinced your arms would break at any moment. 

The door opened with a groan, and as you closed it behind you you looked across the room to a light you weren’t very familiar with. It was a yellow lamp light burning from the lamp next to the tv.

You paused. You never used that lamp.

“Is this a bad time?” You jumped at the voice, turning with a fright to see Spider-Man leaning against the edge of the couch. “You’ve been causing quite the commotion. And I thought I told you -”

“You know what,” You interrupted with a bite. “You are really hard to get a hold of.”

Spider-Man didn’t understand your tone. You were frustrated with him. You were met with a moment of concentrated silence.

“You were trying to…reach me?” The disbelief of his question met your ears with resistance. 

You were still upset at all the trouble you went through to find him.

“And now you’re finally here,” You paused, at a loss of words. It had been weeks. Weeks. 

It had taken the mayor’s son and all of his friends to bring the vigilante to your door. You had taken on shady clientele hoping to gain his attention, and for what? For him to leave you in the dust until it was important enough for him? No, no. You were tired. You weren’t in the mood for his teasing games. 

“Where were you?” You asked directly, letting your grocery bags fall down on the corner table. 

Your eyes hovered fiercely over where his eyes would have been behind the suit, but moved to his hand as you noticed him clench his fist.

Spider-Man was nervous.

“I, uh,” He paused, and for the first time you had seen the vigilante uncertain. He wasn’t expecting this kind of bite from you. You took a step closer, and when he didn’t retreat you came face to face with him. “I needed to a break.”

His words were void of the normal cunning edge he carried, and his shoulders slumped as he stood up to face you. You could tell something changed. Spider-Man was tired. He wasn’t himself.

And for a moment you let your frustrations sizzle down to nothing. 

Maybe he didn’t even realize how hard you were looking for him. You couldn’t blame him for that.

“Are you alright?” 

He didn’t answer; at least, not directly. “You have to stop selling to these kids. It’s not safe.”

You held back rolling your eyes. He was deflecting. 

“Is that why you’re here?” Your concern fizzled out to disappointment. 

Of course that was why he was there. He stopped the bad guys. And you, well, you were a bad guy. 

After a quiet moment you thought of a different tactic. 

“Then how else am I supposed to find you?” 

His head snapped up in disbelief. You weren’t trying to defend yourself or deflect. You weren’t scared of him. You were searching for him. 

“I never got to thank you for saving me.” You spoke up again, and for the first time you looked away from Spider-Man. He noticed. 

When he stepped closer you bravely held your ground, eyes darting back up to the mask. 

“You don’t have to thank me.” He assured in a low, slow voice. It danced on the edge of a whisper, and you could hear his slow, steady breathing. 

Oh. Your heart ached for a moment. He was just a man. He was just a man doing his best. 

“But you can’t go looking for me. There are some bad people looking for me.” Spider-Man paused, keeping his voice low. “Money corrupts. Power corrupts.” He spoke easily. “But sweetheart, you are not greedy. You need to stop selling to these dangerous families.”

His words went in one ear and out the other. Well, all but one. You noticed his endearment whether he wanted you to or not. 

But you were focused on something else. He never did answer your question. 

“Are you alright?”

Your doubling down made him realize you weren’t letting it go so easily. It was like you could see straight through the façade. But you weren’t going to get any answers out of him. 

“Are you hurt?” You tried again, and when he shook his heart you hummed. 

“Are you in danger?” Again, he shook his head. 

You nodded tightly this time, turning back towards the kitchen. Baby steps, you thought. You would need to take baby steps. You reached for the groceries, letting a wild hair of an idea get the better of you. 

“Are you hungry?” 

You paused, waiting for an answer, but as you turned back towards the living room he was gone. 

With a sigh you let your head fall. 

Disappointment curled in your stomach. What was the matter with you? You shouldn’t have expected so much from a man you didn’t know. 

And it was unfair. He seemed to know you so well, to know your every move, but you were sitting on the sidelines of his night. He was a literal spider on the wall, not letting anyone get too close. 

But you couldn’t help but wonder; did he treat other people the same way? Did he treat other women the same way?

No. No, you supposed he didn’t. You sure hoped he didn’t. 

The curling feeling lasted well into the night, until at last you could understand it. 

You were jealous, sure. But it was more than that. You were lonely.

Peter was overwhelmed. 

He learned something he wasn’t prepared for. 

You weren’t selling to the powerful families to defy him. You weren’t trying to be greedy from your deals.  

You were doing it for him. You were trying to get his attention. And it was working. 

It filled him with a kind of selfish pride he’d never felt before. You were still growing and selling regardless of the risk. 

Peter’s stomach was in knots. His breathing was uneven. 

It was blissfully suffocating.

“What’s wrong with me?” His voice shook as he tore the mask off, leaning against the wall outside of the apartment building. He could hear you pacing, trying to maneuver your own straying thoughts. Somehow he could feel your distress seeping through the walls. 

What was he doing? Why was he setting himself up for heartache?

But deep down Peter knew why. He knew why he kept gravitating to you. 

You weren’t afraid of Spider-Man. You weren’t afraid of the stories, and it excited him.  

Peter didn’t know what to think of it, but he couldn’t leave you high and dry forever. Maybe it was time for him to move on with his own life. 

You were headstrong. His headstrong marijuana dealer. Peter couldn’t help the breathless laughter that passed his lips. 

His little MJ. 

He liked the sound of that. But the city was dangerous. He would have to be careful this time. Peter decided then that if he was going to have you, it was going to be on his terms. 

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