#peter p

"oh shut the fuck up" peter says, pushing my head into the pillows. A sob racks through my body as I near another high, his relentless hips slamming into my back side only worsting my predicament. He pulls me up by my hair and whispers in my ear "This is what you wanted? This is why you were teasing me all day? What a whore." I can hear the smirk in his voice, and I clench around him.

"f- fuck!" He moans, his pace slowing for a split second. "You like it when I call you that huh? My little whore" he shoves my head back down but begins to grip my hips and pull them to meet his thrusts.

I whine as I arch my back and cum for the n-th time that night. I gasp for air and try to pull away as evil laughter sounded behind me. "C'mon little whore, say thank you when someone makes you cum." I turn my head and see him out of my peripheral, his face sweaty and once perfect hair sticking to his forehead, his abs clenching every time our bodies collide "thank you" I whimper meekly.

"What was that? Didn't quite hear you over your pathetic little moans." He smirks, lightly smacking my ass. "Th- thank you!" I moan as I begin to reach another high.

chapter 1: my tears ricochet “ and i can go anywhere i want, anywhere i want just not home.”

It didn't hurt, when he died. 

Nothing hurt. 

Not the scratches that had littered your entire body, not the shattering of your eardrums. Not your aching bones, not your torn heart. The second you had seen the light leave his eyes, the second you saw death kiss his tender face, you stopped feeling. 

The knife through his heart wasn't dull, wasn't brittle. It gleamed brightly in the pale moonlight as it went clean through his chest. Piercing him. 

Time stopped. Everything stopped.

 There was nothing you could do to stop it, nothing you could do to help him. The feeling of his blood coating your fingers lingered, its stain never leaving. Not at the funeral, when his aunt held you tightly, sobbing into your arms. Not at the top of his apartment building, when your foot hovered over the edge of the ledge. Not now, as you gripped the steering wheel tightly, so hard your hands went numb. 

You had turned down a backroad, following the directions he had left you. It was sunny today, the rays beaming of your little red sports car. Birds were chirping, the slight breeze rippling your hair as you sped down the paved road. A sign lingered ahead, its paint beginning to peel at the edges, the wood chipped. 

Welcome to Westview! 

Its fancy script read, a blur as you sped past it. No emotions were plastered across your face as you slowed into the little town, stopping at the red light. That's how it had been since Peter died. 

No emotions shown. Bottled. Stored, deep down. 

A little girl and her mother trotted across the crosswalk, ice creams in hand as they laughed and smiled. Not a care in the world. Ice cream dripped down the sides of their hands, which earned a smile from the mother, a giggle from the girl. Families gathered in the park as you drove by, playing frisbee, having picnics. Couples walked down the sidewalks, hand in hand. 

The steering wheel was clenched tighter as you continued on, your teeth smashed together, tears brimming at the edge of your waterline. Turning down a small street, you noticed the people beginning to diminish, the odd person in their front lawn. Good. 

It had taken no time at all to find, even without Peter's directions you could have found it. An empty plot of land, only a little red mailbox settled at the end of the paved driveway. A turn of your keys, and the car shut off. Just as you had six months ago. Leaning over, you snatched the folded map from the passenger side. 

Where Peter should be sitting. 

Swallowing a lump that had got caught in your throat, you shuffled out of your vehicle, shutting the door with more force than necessary. A few brick blocks scattered across the land, standing out from the long strands of green grass. A skeleton of what could have been for them. For both of them. 

Uncrumpling the map, you re- read the red words he had left, a fragment of what he once was. A heart, placed around this very plot of land, where the two of you had planned to build a house together. To grow old in. -P 

That was the final straw. The icing on the cake.

 You could do nothing to stop the tears that had trickled down your tinted cheeks, the wails that had escaped your throat as you crumpled to the ground in pure agony. You let yourself hurt. For the first time ever, you let yourself feel. The emotions hit you like a tidal wave, pulling you under its brute force. 

The sadness, the anger, the grief, the pain. It spread through your veins, shattering your heart as that knife had once done to Peters. Blue light erupted as you screamed, spreading through the little town you had now corrupted. 

Let them feel your pain. Let them feel. All of it.

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chapter 2: the last great american dynasty “who knows if she never showed up what could've been, there goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen… she had a marvelous time ruining everything”

“Peter could give me a hand?” you called from the kitchen, requesting his presence from the living room. It was your weekly date night, a Friday night to be exact, and despite the hours you had to prepare, you decided to wait until the very last minute. 

Typical. 

But, on the plus, it gave you an excuse to see Peter in an apron. A ring-littered hand poked out from around the corner, and you swatted it with a wooden spoon you were using to stir ingredients. “Very funny.” you rolled your eyes, his joyish laughter bouncing off the kitchen cupboards as he entered.

 He swerved around the pots and pans you had floating in the air, spoons and whisks mixing as you read from the frayed cookbook. “Whattda need sweetheart?” he murmured into your neck as he snuck behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “To read this out to me, I can't concentrate. And a back crack please.” you smiled up at him, kissing his jaw tenderly. 

“My wife and her cardboard back.” he teased, lifting you up to crack it swiftly, making you squeal. “My husband and his incredible back cracking skills.” you giggled, twisting around to boop his nose with a flour-covered finger.

 “ A pinch of salt and a third of hot water.” he listed, peering over your curls to read off the ingredients. After endless scrambling and flour fights later, the bread was finally in the oven, ready to be baked. “Don't burn it this time!” he called, his footsteps trailing white powder as he trailed up the stairs to get ready. 

You made sure a handful of flour was tossed in his face the second his foot hit the top step.

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Dinner went splendid, as usual. 

That was how it was, in the little world you had created. Everything went splendid. Each day was bright, filled with laughter, and the same birds chirping that you had heard when you arrived to Westview. Every twenty-four hours appeared to be the same, the village you had made falling to every whim and desire you wanted. 

The neighbours were helpful, the storeowners cheerful. Even the “mean” old lady on the block, Mrs. Eden handed out candies the odd time. You saw her sneaking little Kathy a sweet when her mother wasn't looking on their evening walk through the curtains draped across your windows.

 “She’s sweet, ya know. Despite being the cranky old woman.” you murmured from the window, flicking your wrist to send the dishes back in their respectful places, cleared and clean. “She threatened me with her cane when she saw my webs on her roof.” Peter stated, the candlelight lighting up the smirk across his face. 

You turned around, dress swishing with the curtains as he walked over to the record player, setting the needle down. A sweet melody poured of the speakers, the candles emitting a vanilla scent throughout the room as you walked to his outstretched hand. “You deserved it.” you smiled, his warm hand enclasping yours tightly. “You wound me.” he threw his head back and laughed as he held you tightly to his chest, swaying the two of you around the living room. 

One step. Then two.

 The two of you fell into an easy rhythm as you slow danced, his hand a comfort on your hip, your head leaning on his upper chest. A sudden twirl made you giggle, his hand supporting you as he tipped you down in his arms. 

It's you I want to be with… as the world caves in. 

You slung your arms around his neck, kissing him passionately as the melodies continued on. The moon rose high and proud in the sky, its light shining like diamonds across the two of you as the candles began to diminish. 

And yet, as the music dwindled off, the lights in the neighbourhood flickering out, the two of you swayed to the sound of your own rhythm.

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Thump! 

The sound from outside woke you with a start. Sitting up with a gasp, you shuffled around in the sheets as you attempted to take in your surroundings. Peter was still passed out beside you, his breathing steady and calm as he lay asleep.

  Thump! You clutched the sheets tightly, leaning over to place a hand on his shoulder. “Pssst. Peter!” He grumbled something incoherently, snuggling deeper into the blankets. 

“Peter!” you whispered, causing him to grumble. “What sweetheart?” he moaned groggily, rubbing his eyes as he turned to face your frightened frame. “Somethings outside, making noise. Can you check it out?” Thump! His eyes widened in alarm.

 “That sounds like a Y/N problem to me.” he eyed you suspiciously, leaning back against the headboard. “Okay! I’m going to take a look!” you decided, attempting to push your feelings of anxiety aside. A flick of your finger and the curtains blew open. Darkness. 

“Anddd, I’m not. Peter can you please just look?” you cowarded, jumping back under the covers. Thump! “It's a tree branch against the window sweetheart. Cmere.” he cooed, wrapping his arm around you, letting you settle into the crook of his shoulder, stroking your hair soothingly. 

You snapped the curtains shut once more, snapping off the branch, letting it thump to the ground. You'd deal with it tomorrow. Or procrastinate it. Whatever float your boat when you caught a wink of sleep. “I don't like tree branches anymore.” you grumbled, pulling the blankets around the two of you, cocooning you. “I don't think they like you either.” he chuckled, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, tugging on it gently. 

The golden wedding band gleamed around his finger, the ring staying on even during rest. The sight brought a smile to your face, and you reached up, gripping his hand softly for comfort. “At least you like me. That's all that matters.” you giggled, kissing the back of his hand. “I don't like you, I love you.” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. 

“I love you too.” you quipped, letting his fingers continue their movements. Tiredness began to seep through your bones, the weight of the day dawning on you.

 Here, in his arms, was the only time you truly let yourself go. Let your mind settle. The town was asleep, giving your powers time to recharge, time to rest.

 Peter cocooned you, made you feel safe and small. The sound of the cicadas outside was all that could be heard as the two of you sat in comfortable silence, herding thoughts that trampled by. The clock struck midnight, the moon continuing to shine brightly. “We’re an unusual couple, aren't we?” Peter questioned, breaking the strand of silence.

 “I suppose. A witch and a man who shoots webs from his wrists and hangs from the ceiling the odd time. A lot of couples are probably like that.” you deemed sleepily, sleep urging you over to its side with each breath you took. “Oh yeah? Do you think a lot of coupes magically teleport flour to smash into their husband's face?” he asked, tickling you with a laugh. You squealed, shimming around in his grasp. 

“ Yes! All the time.” you giggled, smiling at his arm that he had draped across your middle. 

“All the time.” he muttered, sleep laced in his voice as he grinned, head on the pillow.

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Your tongue caught the ice cream that was spilling out of your cone, and onto your fingers, making them sticky. The sun beat down on your mint chip, the green liquid smeared across your napkin.

 “I don't understand how you like that stuff.” Peter taunted, staring down at your ice cream with a look of disgust across his face. “Hey! If you have chocolate ice cream, aka the most basic of all basic things ever- there should be no comment coming out of you.” you drawled, bumping his shoulder lightly. 

The two of you sat upon the top of a picnic table, feet worn converse on the bench. The park was bustling with activity, frizbies thrown, the swings creaking steadily. It was a hot summer day, yet the breeze blew gently, blowing your hair and the leaves upon the trees. 

“Hmph. Mean.” he pouted, making you giggle. His eyes slithered up to the large building across from the two of you, the Daily Bugle. Peter's work. 

You studied his face, watching him gaze at a worker walk through the sliding doors. It twisted into confusion. “Peter? Is there something wrong?” you worried, placing a hand on his thigh in concern. “Oh, no, no it's stupid.” he shook his head, avoiding your gaze.

 “Hey, we talked about this. Nothing is stupid when it comes from your brain bug boy.” you assured. He sighed, finally looking into your eyes. 

“I’ve just been picking up this pattern, it's probably nothing but I can't let it go. Everytime, everyday, the same people show up to work. I’m talking the exact time.” You arched your eyebrow, letting the mint chip drip down your hand.

 It was the least of your worries right now. 

“Maybe they're just punctual.” you defended, twitching your foot against the peeling paint on the wood. “But the exact time? Everyday? That's extremely unlikely sweetheart. It just itches me the wrong way.” he muttered, licking his ice cream once more. 

“I wouldn't worry about it too much.” you smiled, knocking his shoulder lightly. He smiled gently, looking up overhead as the bird fluttered by, soaring into the fluffy clouds above. “You’re right.” he nodded, butting your shoulder back. It worried you, the idea that he was catching on. You urged yourself to change the subject, to take his mind off things.

 “What do you wanna do before dinner tonight? I thought I saw scrabble peaking out from the tv stand before we left.” He laughed, kissing your lips. Mint and chocolate blending into one as his lips met yours, the sickly sweet sugar rush hitting you like a train. 

The kiss was reassuring, tender, and simply… Peter.

 Soft. Comforting.

 “Your suggesting going up against a scrabble king, you know. You cheat every time.” he whispered, forehead touching yours as you looked into his soft chocolate orbs. “You think it's cute.”

 “Maybe I do sweetheart. Maybe I do.”

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chapter 3: mad woman “no one likes a mad woman, you made her like that”

Things were going well. 

You were happy, healthy and most importantly, so was Peter. Months had passed, the seasons changing from a hot summer's day, to the cool, crisp autumn evenings. Peter hadn't mentioned any concerns regarding the town, and its people in it, which had made you relieved beyond belief. 

But if he dug his nose just a little deeper… the thought had you shivering. If he found out what you had done, why you had done the actions you committed, how would he react? 

Would he be upset? Understanding? You didn't know. 

The uncertainty of his reaction made your stomach churn with anxiety, causing you to fill out forms quicker, the pen scratching the page so hard it ripped. The sound of the door slamming had the black ink spilling across the page, making you jump in your seat. 

“Peter?” you called out from the kitchen island, your voice leading him over to where you sat, knees drawn up with fear. 

Silence. 

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. 

His hair was ruffled, jacket buttoned wrong, his eyes glazed with concern. You noticed him bite his cheek as he ran his hand through his hair. No wedding band was placed on his finger. “Peter what’s wrong?” you asked, unravelling yourself from the stool to stand up. 

“I went poking around the outskirts of town today.” 

Oh. Oh. He knew.

 “Do you mind telling me why exactly, there are families who look like they have just risen from the dead?” he snarled. “What makes you think I have anything to do with that?!” you defended, backing up from his fuming frame slowly.

 “Because you're the only one with powers in this god-forsaken town Y/N! Christ what have you been doing to these people?” he raged, frantically waving his hands around the room. You felt your powers surge through your bones, your hands glowing blue as your rose from the ground slowly.

 “All these weird patterns I’ve seen, they're intentional aren’t they? Have you been controlling these people? Puppeteering them to your every whim?” he asked, sounding exasperated. 

As if he knew the answer already. “ I had reason Peter! I’m your wife, you don't think I had reason?” you growled, power building as you sensed him backing up until he bumped the wall, beginning to climb it steadily. 

“This-  this isn't my wife. My wife would not pull this shit. Wheres the woman I loved Y/N? Where did she go?” 

A tear slipped down his cheek, and you watched it trail down his flushed cheek. From anger, or from sadness- you couldn't tell. His voice broke, causing your own heart to shatter.

 It wasn't supposed to go like this. This wasn't supposed to happen. 

“She’s here Peter. I did it because… because-” 

“She did it because you're dead Peter Parker.” a deep voice sounded from across the room, and you whipped your head over to see a man you knew all too well step out of a gleaming portal. The golden circle swirled and flickered as he emerged, tall build stepping out from the haze.

 “Hello Y/N.” he smiled. 

Steven Strange.

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“I’m- I’m what?” Peter gasped, shock splattered across his face. 

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, feeling the tears begin to fall. “You aren't supposed to be here, Steven.” you snarled, anger sparking through your bones as he neared, the eye of agamotto gleaming brightly on his chest. “Aren't I? You're destroying the multiverse, Y/N. Tearing it apart, limb by limb.” 

“Can we go back to the part where I’m fucking dead?!” Peter snarled, whipping his head from you to Steven, alarm etched in his features. You sighed, lowering yourself to the ground as a sign of surrender. “That night, on the bridge? When we were fighting Norman?” He nodded, the memories flashing across his eyes from that night. 

The night that changed your life.

 “He stabbed you. Clean through the heart. There was nothing I could do.” your voice broke, and you clenched your throat, as if to stop the memory from pouring out anymore than it had too. His eyes widened in shock, hand slipping down to rest over his heart. 

“So… so you did this?” he whispered. “I did this for us. Because I couldn't live without you Peter, I just couldn't. I loved you. I still love you. And I couldn't… I can't-” 

You couldn't continue. A sob racked through your body, shaking you to the core as he neared you. 

A gentle stroke was brushed across your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. Your salty tears continued to fall, blending with his as he rested his forehead against yours. Just as he had done that day in the park. Just as he had done when the two of you had first moved in. Just as he always had.

 “I would have done the same.” he whispered, his voice a soft caress. Peter's hand slipped down from your cheek as you sniffled, hiccuping on your tears as they swallowed you whole.

 He understood. He always understood. 

Until he didn't.

 A grip was placed firmly around your throat, squeezing. “Peter?” you managed to squeak out, watching in alarm as his hand continued to grip tightly. It was unbearable. You kicked and scratched, clawing at his arm as it tightened, attempting to use your power to get him off. Except you couldn't. Strange’s fingertips were as dark as the night sky outside, your powers trickling out of your body at lightning speed. 

It was an illusion. All of it. He had placed a veil over you, as you did Westview.

 This Peter had appeared out of the dark fingertips he used to draw and stretch out your powers, distracting you with whims as he stole from you. Peter continued to squeeze, a sadistic grin plaster across his face as your eyes seemed to pop put of your skull. 

Kicking and struggling, you tried to gasp, attempting to take any means of air in. Your vision began to spot, your body turning as limp as a rag doll as your powers seeped out of you, seeping into Strange.

 It was too much. All of it was too much. 

Peter's arm was littered with scratches, the blood trickling out from the assault wounds you had attempted. The smell was tangy and coppery as your eyes began to flutter shut, your ears ringing loudly. 

Alone and weak, you slumped to the ground below you, your body turning numb. 

You saw Peter, your Peter, slamming open the front door, horror on his face as he screamed your name, when the world went dark.

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chapter 4: the afterglow “ i don't wanna lose this with you, i need to say, hey- it's all me, just don't go… meet me in the afterglow”

It didn't hurt, when you died. Just as it didn't hurt, when he died.  

His hand around your throat had ached, but what ached even more was the look on his face as he rushed in. The horror. The agony. 

Yes, the grip around your throat, sucking the air from your windpipe had hurt. As did the feeling of your powers, being stripped away from each tendon, each bone and blood cell. But no amount of pain could compare to what it felt like, to see his face as you crumpled to the ground. 

The dying itself part, the second you took your last breath, didn't hurt. You couldn't feel anything. As the world turned dark, you felt… free. 

Something you hadn't felt in months. Not since before Peter died.

 The world you had created for the two of you had been amazing. It had been perfect, not a hair out of place. But being with Peter before his death, was like becoming a bird spreading its wings. Peter had unlocked the cage you were trapped in. It was dark, wherever you were, for some time being. 

Of course, you couldn't necessarily keep track. It could have been seconds. It could have been years. You lay in the darkness, just waiting. Waiting for anything at all. Then, one day, it came. It wasn't a rush, something big all at once.

 It came in bits in pieces. It started off as a small, white light. An orb, if you will. You stared at it as it formed, watching it bend and contort. As days, months, years trickled on, it shifted into something more. An orb became a doorway. A bright light pierced your soul, and you squinted against it as it blazed. A handle formed, the arch appearing. 

Come. Open me. 

A voice slithered through the air, gentle and calming. What did you have left to lose? Scrabbling up, you collected yourself, stepping closer and closer to the gate. With a click, you pressed down on the handle, creaking the door open. As you stepped through, it slammed behind you, disappearing into thin air. This place it had led you to was beautiful. 

You recognised it, somehow. 

An empty street, stores lingering along it. It was clean and polished, everything gleaming as you walked down the path. There was no one here with you, except for the slabs on concrete and metal, the streetlights that were shining above you, and the water that stretched out from beside you. The sky was a soft pink, the puffy clouds breaking through the haze. 

You looked over, across the street, to see a bridge. 

You knew this place. You were sure of it. 

That's when you realised.

 I LOVE YOU was sprawled across the bridge in white webs, sparkling like crystals as it bounced of the sun's gentle rays. “I was waiting for you sweetheart.” a soft voice called from behind you. 

You couldn't stop the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks as you turned to face him. 

“Welcome home.” Peter smiled at you, with open arms.