Divided (peter parker x reader)
She was his best friend. They built circuits together. Shared notes. Shared silence. He always knew she had powersâhe just never asked how deep they ran. Now theyâre on opposite sides of a war neither of them wanted, and for the first time, Peter sees what she really is.
peter parker x reader
He doesnât realize itâs her until the air changes.
The fight rages around himâshouts, crashes, metal groaning under superhuman weightâbut suddenly everything fades. The air goes heavier. Thicker. Warm. Static crawls across the back of Peterâs neck, and his hand falters mid-swing.
It hits him in the chestânot a blast, not a blowâjust a feeling.
Something familiar.
Something known.
Something wrong.
Then the smoke thins. The dust clears.
And there she is.
Itâs like being punched in the gut without ever being touched.
She steps forward out of the haze like a ghost. Or a god.
Combat boots. Fingerless gloves. Field jacket cinched tight around her ribs like armor. Her hairâs pulled back, but wild around the edges. Her jawâs clenched. Her hands glow.
And Peter? Peter canât breathe.
Because her faceâ Her face is exactly the same.
But her eyes arenât.
âY/N?â
His voice cracks like it forgot how to say her name.
She stops walking.
And the world stops with her.
Heâs never seen her like this.
Not in the crowded hallways between third and fourth period. Not tucked beside him on the roof of the compound, passing cold fries between bites of half-baked theories. Not when she stole his notes and doodled little spiders in the margins. Not when they snuck out of training together just to lie on the grass and breathe.
And neverâneverâwith glowing veins of gold-red light pulsing under her skin like molten energy caged in something fragile.
The hum of her power hits him like a wave.
Itâs beautiful.
And terrifying.
âYou shouldnât be here,â she says.
Her voice is steady.
But her hands are shaking.
Peter stumbles forward a step. His chest is too tight. His suit is too hot.
âWhat are youâ You canât beâthis isnâtââ
âYou donât belong on this side,â she says.
Her hands flare brighter. The light spills down her arms in angry flickers. Heat bleeds off her in waves.
Neither of them moves.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â he asks.
âTell you what?â
âThat youââ He gestures helplessly, voice splintering. âThis. Your powers.â
She flinches. Itâs quick. Barely there.
But he sees it.
âYou think I wanted you to look at me like that?â she says.
âLike what?â
âLike youâre scared of me.â
Peterâs throat closes. âIâm notâ I justâ Youâreââ
He canât finish.
Because he is scared.
Not of her power.
Of what it means.
Of how long sheâs kept this locked away. Of how far apart they suddenly feel. Of the fact that heâs seeing her fully for the first timeâand itâs here, now, on opposite sides of a war neither of them started.
And she sees all of it.
She lifts a hand. Light pools in her palm.
âMove, Peter.â
âDonât do this.â
âMove.â
âY/N, pleaseââ
âMove.â
She fires.
It doesnât hit himânot quiteâbut it hits the tarmac just three feet from where he stands. The blast sends him flying backwards, ears ringing, world spinning. He flips, webbing a container midair, landing hard on one knee and gasping.
His hands tremble.
Heâs never seen her like this.
And it terrifies him.
Because he knows her.
God, he knows her.
Sheâs the girl who stayed on the phone with him all night after Uncle Ben died. The one who stitched his suit the first time he came back bloody and shaking. The one who sat beside him in AP Bio and whispered âYouâre doing greatâ during the pop quiz they both bombed. The one who used to say, softly, when the power flickered beneath her skin: âIâm not dangerous, Pete. I just feel too much.â
But now?
Now sheâs glowing.
And sheâs aiming at him.
âI never wanted to fight you,â Peter says, breathless, watching her approach.
Her boots crunch over broken pavement. Her face is calm. Her eyes are wreckage.
âWeâre on the same side,â he says.
She stops walking.
âNo,â she says quietly. âWe never were.â
Peter shakes his head. âThatâs not true.â
âI just pretended for longer.â
The words hit harder than the blast.
Peterâs chest hollows out.
âYou left.â
âI had to.â
âYou couldâve told meââ
âYou wouldâve tried to stop me.â
âI wouldâve followed you.â
She stares at him.
âYou didnât.â
The silence is deafening.
She steps closer. Every movement is sharp, deliberate, controlledâbut thereâs emotion under the surface, like her power isnât the only thing threatening to spill over.
âYou donât know what itâs like,â she whispers. âTo be monitored. Restricted. Treated like youâre one breath away from turning into a weapon.â
âI never thought that about you,â Peter says. âNot once.â
âBut you never said that.â
He flinches.
She keeps going.
âYou stayed quiet. When my father locked me in a room. When they started calling me unstable. You didnât ask questions. You didnât ask me anything.â
He tries to speak.
Fails.
Her eyes flick down to his lips.
And her voice breaks.
âYou shouldâve kissed me when you had the chance.â
The light pulses brighter than ever.
And thenâ She fires.
Point blank.
White light swallows everything.
The air howls.
Peter hits the ground hard, skidding across fractured pavement.
When he blinks through the static, the smokeâ
Sheâs gone.
The silence afterward is sharp.
Like glass in his lungs.
Peter lies still on the cracked concrete, breath stuttering. His suit's scorched. His ears are ringing. The glow of her power still burns behind his eyelids, imprinting itself on him like a scar heâll never shake.
His fingers twitch.
Sheâs gone.
Not just out of sight. Out of reach.
Out of them.

















