Chapter Text
The loud pellets of rain hit the clear glass, causing you to lie awake. A warm blanket slides down your shoulders with every toss and turn, straps of your sports bra following the fluffy, white cover.
It’s rather bright outside for the middle of the night, a dreary blue light shines through the window, reflecting off the wall that stands mere feet from you. The droplets that slide down the glass, illuminated by the blue light and a background of darkness emulate Peter’s eyes from days earlier. It hurts knowing that you were the cause of the haunting sight because you had hurt him so badly. His eyes dripped tears like a faucet, a constant stream of clear liquid brimming in his glassy brown eyes, rushing down his pale cheeks that were stained red and diving into the crevices of his wobbling lips.
You flip over, cupping a hand over your eyes. Why can’t you just reciprocate his feelings? It would be so much easier that way.
You haven’t spoken in days and you miss his laugh, his kind voice, and admirable bravery. You also miss when his eyes didn’t look filled with misery and heartbreak. You miss when his voice didn’t crack and break every time he tried to speak. You groan, sitting up and condemning yourself to another sleepless night.
The cold air in your studio apartment makes you shiver. You run your warm hands up and down your arms, ridding them of the little bumps that had risen. A shadow runs through your home, flashing outside your window. You whip your head around and peer into the sleeping streets. Nothing. You shrug, yawning.
You fix yourself a bowl of cereal, settling on the couch to lazily watch some random TV show while your eyes grow heavy. Your head falls forward, weakened hands spilling milk onto your pajamas. “Shit,” you whisper, setting the bowl onto your coffee table, a single drop of milk falls down the glass of the half-finished bowl. You stand to check on the cushions on your couch. Dry.
You shimmy out of your pants, shuddering once more as the cold air bites at your bare body with only your panties and bra to keep you warm. You reach for your throw blanket and lay flat on your back, reclining your head.
The man on the screen is smiling, eyes filled with joy. They resemble roasting chestnuts, dark and warm as he stares at the woman before him. Peter looked at you that way; until his pupils dilated and his chest dropped like the air was sucked out of him. “I love you,” the man tells her, “I always have.”
You chew on your cheek. Would it have been so hard to utter those words? As untrue as they were? No, you couldn’t do that to Peter. To yourself.
He looked vulnerable, loose hoodie swallowing his otherwise muscular build, making him appear smaller. He took a deep breath, slightly parting his thin, pink lips as his cheeks burned brightly, “I like you…” He wrung his hands on his crossed legs anxiously.
Your heart had dropped, blood running cold. The longer it took you to respond the more forlorn he became, but the gleam of hope was still lit. “Peter,” you began.
He leaned in slightly, listening attentively, uttering a little, “yes?” His shaggy brown hair fell onto his forehead, laying just above his long eyelashes.
You licked your lips, feeling them cool with your inhale, you shook your head, “we’re friends… I don’t, um,” you looked down at your lap when Peter’s eyes brimmed with salty tears and his mouth fell open like wilting pink petals, “like you.”
Your eyes droop once more, exhaustion moving from your body to your brain.
-
Waking is harder than falling asleep - at least, attempting to. At some point, you had passed out, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour or so ago. You’re groggy, blinking slowly and holding your heavy head. You look down, watching the puddle of fallen milk on the glass of the coffee table as if it’s magically going to clean itself up. It doesn’t and you groan, using the pajama pants that lie on the ground to wipe the puddle.
Gusts of air come in waves, the whisper of freezing wind following. You stand and all but haul yourself toward the window, closing it with a slight grunt using all your weight. Stupid New York .
You rush to the bathroom, hugging your middle as you fix your bra, realizing how far it had shifted, almost baring them completely. Where had your blanket gone? You think, spitting your toothpaste into the sink. Is there even enough space on the tiny couch to move around so much that your top almost comes off? You throw the string of floss into the trash can. Paranoia , you reason.
You clean yourself up, following the rest of your typical routine. Cleanser, toner, sunscreen, moisturizer. Tapping the pads of your fingers over your dark eyebags, you reach for your concealer, applying it under your eyes and surfacing blemishes from lack of sleep. It’s still strange , you think. You decide to go for light makeup, tinted moisturizer, cream blush, and the like to match the concealer that brightened your dull skin too much to look cohesive. You pull your hair up, fussing with the difficult locks and securing it haphazardly. Perhaps your top had been that way all along and you hadn’t noticed. You’re still dissatisfied with your reflection in the mirror, looking away from the girl who stares back as you switch off the lights.
-
You’re standing behind the register, watching customers stride in and out, picking through the colorful assortment of fresh produce, dropping the best into their carts, and wandering off to the packaged foods.
Your eyes glaze over, only being snapped back to reality when your co-worker waves a cup of coffee in front of your face with the logo of the cafe across the street staring at you. It smells of vanilla, a little stronger than you prefer, but captures your attention nonetheless. “Hm?”
She laughs, “what’s goin’ on? You look like a zombie,” MJ smiles and hops onto the counter, tucking her dark coils behind her ear. She looks pretty with her bright eyes and plump lips tinted a flattering pink. Her umber skin is unfairly flawless, even toned and free of blemishes, her matching brown eyes adding to her mesmerizing look.
“That’s a health violation,” you say, taking a sip of the drink. It’s a simple vanilla latte, though much too hot in your opinion, even in the freezing weather.
“Call the health department,” she gives you an unimpressed look as she rolls her eyes. “Anyway,” her expression quickly turns serious, “where’d you disappear to, huh? Heard you were getting some exciting news this weekend.” She wiggles her brows, leaning in close to you. She smells of almond and vanilla.
You sigh, looking toward the display of oranges on your left as Peter’s shaky voice echoes in your mind.
“I–I’m okay,” he stuttered, “yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I-I understand. D-Don’t worry about it.” He tried to laugh but it came out strained, choked.
“Yeah, well.” You don’t want to talk about it. You don’t really want to do anything at all.
“Oh no,” she frowns, “what happened?”
You feel your throat tighten and you blink back tears, “Can we talk about this later?”
“Sure,” she places a hand on your shoulder in a way that you are sure is supposed to be soothing. It isn’t.
When she walks to her own station, you touch the corners of your eyes, wiping the excess water, and forcing a smile as an elderly woman slowly walks over, basket in hand and full of groceries.
-
The boutique is only a block away from your job. There is a pretty light-up sign right above the bright blue door, flashing a neon pink and blue. MJ walks in first, heading straight for the racks lined with various types of blouses. She looks expectantly at you but says nothing. You settle one row over, pretending to be entranced by the selection.
You’re going to have to start talking soon. If she doesn’t hear it from you, she’s going to hear it from him. Or worse, from Harry or Ned.
You take a deep breath, “I rejected him.”
MJ swallows, “oh.”
“Oh?”
“I just… I thought… Well, we all thought,” she rambles, flipping through the hangers at a fast pace, “that the feelings were mutual.” She inhales, “that you loved him back.” She stops, glancing at you from the other side of the racks. “It’s just,” she pauses, considering her words, “you two… spend a lot of time together. The connection was obvious so it only made sense that-”
“I do love him,” you cut her off, feeling a headache coming on from her rambling. You knead the fabric of a white cotton sweater, “I really, really love him.”
“Why didn’t you say that then? Be happy with him.”
You feel ashamed. Why couldn’t you?
Peter is a good guy. He’s the epitome of a perfect boyfriend. Everyone around you expected your relationship like it was an inescapable inevitability. You’d be together one day, permanent smiles and tender touches that make envy grow in even the happiest of couples because you two were just meant to be . And you wholeheartedly believe that Peter would have a relationship that would evoke jealousy in the purest of hearts.
Just not with you.
“I can’t do that to him,” you mumble. “I love him in a different way.”
“Right…” it sounds like she doesn’t believe you, her dark eyes flickering all over your face, examining you. As if you’re a child that doesn’t know any better and you’d come to your senses soon enough. MJ continues browsing the clothing, sending you sneaky looks as she texts on her phone, the clicks of her typing making it obvious that she’s talking about you.
You want to go home, but you force a smile and continue your slow search in the familiar boutique. You can’t lose another friend.
-
The few weeks pass quickly as you settle into a new routine. One without Peter. Or any of your friends really. You talk to them less and less. Plans are either canceled or you see photos of them on social media during hangouts you weren’t invited to. MJ doesn’t approach you at work anymore either, simply sending you small smiles before scurrying away to talk to Harry over the phone. It hurts knowing your relationships were so shallow, but you can’t blame them. You’d feel the same. You didn’t even want to be around yourself for breaking Peter’s fragile heart like you did.
You thought it would get easier, but you still can’t help the sighs that slip from your lips when Spider-Man appears on TV screens, on the street on posters, or on the side of buses. Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.
You miss him dearly. It’s like he’s everywhere. A head of shaggy brown hair on the subway, in the alley behind your apartment building, the laugh behind you that would dissipate as soon you turned your head. You’re losing your mind.
You’re ready for reconciliation, but with what Harry and MJ made it clear that he is not.
“He’s out patrolling,” Ned says, sitting beside you on the bench. You were surprised when he texted, inviting you to hang out in the park that Peter loved going to. “We finally convinced him to leave his room.”
“He hasn’t left his room?” You feel your stomach sink. You can picture his red, runny nose, his chapped lips, and his pale, burning skin stained with sorrow, his radiance dimmed. Knowing him, he is cuddled in with his blanket up to his neck in a tightly wrapped cocoon, his hands secure to his side, a list of comforting movies playing in the background, and endless pints of ice cream sitting open.
“Not since it happened,” he looks at you with slight malice. You furrow your brow the smallest bit, stunned, but like with MJ, you can’t blame him.
Days later, Harry looks at you the same way when he hands you a bottle of your favorite drink as he wanders into your home, plopping onto the couch.
You manage to mutter out a surprised, “hey.” You eye the bottle in his hand, curiously, a question on the tip of your tongue.
“Pete bought it earlier,” Harry answers your question before you have the chance to ask it. “It was almost reflexive, he just reached for it. He’s always thinking about you. Even after what you did.” You swallow, wringing your hands together behind your back.
He looks around, taking in your neat, lavender-scented apartment with everything in order. Your floral bedsheets and perfectly placed pillows. The clear counters and table tops with lively fresh flowers. Daffodils.
“Seems you’re doing well, huh?”
You huff at his accusing tone. You aren’t, but they wouldn’t know that. They barely talked to you anymore.
It was clear who they sided with. All of them.
-
The kiss is featherlight. You wouldn’t have felt it if you weren’t so close to consciousness. You pull away from the soft lips, too tired to spring into action just yet.
You open your eyes slowly, your mind clearing quickly as you shoot up, leaning away, “Peter? W-what are you doing here?”
He’s still wearing his Spider-Man suit. The tight red and blue fabric highlights his muscular build, even in the dim lighting. His mask is off, clutched in his hand that holds onto the couch's armrest. He’s panting, with shallow breaths and airy exhales. His face is red, sweat lining his delicate but angled features. His eyes are clearer than they had been that day, golden brown eyes looking at you intensely.
“I love you.”
Your heart drops in the same way it had before. You can’t break his heart again. “Peter,” you beg, “don’t.”
“I love you,” he repeats. “You love me, too. I know it. I see the way you look at me.”
You give him a look of disbelief and shock, “what?”
“You do,” he says. Peter stands, straddling you before you could react, cradling your face. He’s hot to the touch, warming you instantly.
You jerk your face away, “Stop it, get off me.” Your heart begins to race as he runs his hand over your shoulders. Suddenly your lack of clothing is at the forefront of your mind. You feel unsafe, so you angle your face away as he tries to kiss you again.
“I can prove it to you,” his breath fans your jaw, tongue running along the skin. His gloved fingers feel strange when they glide down your chest, lingering on the swells of your breasts, the bulge of his web shooters pressing into you.
“I’m gonna fuck you,” Peter whispers in your ear, nibbling on the lobe.
You flinch back, “that’s enough, Peter. Get off.” Fear consumes you when he forces your head up by your neck. His strength doesn’t allow you to move away, making it painful when you attempt to.
He’s being so forward. It’s so unlike him. The Peter you knew isn’t like this at all. He’s meek and shy and awkward and caring. If anything, he’s a little too sweet.
“Sh,” he shushes, his light eyes hidden by something darker. You try to move your shoulders to no avail. His lips brush yours, and your face contorts uncomfortably. You keep your mouth still as he places wet kisses on yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth and exploring. His pink muscle slides against your own and you recoil, pulling it as far back into your mouth as possible.
Peter doesn’t like that. He tugs your lips with his teeth until you wince due to the pain of his bite. Your eyes are filling with tears as you look up at him. No look of remorse, only anger, and slight frustration, “you’re making this difficult.”
You shake your head, “Pete…”
He rolls his eyes at your tone, “give in or I’ll make you.” A tear slips, falling down your cheek. Peter leans in, licking up the wet path, sighing contently. “You’re so pretty. Please don’t make me force you.”
“P-Pete, just get off. We can talk tomorrow,” you try to reason, gripping his forearms.
He’s sitting up again, hand trailing down your chest, admiring you. He sighs, “talk? We did enough talking. Don’t you remember?”
You bite your cheek. Maybe you should’ve lied. Better a liar than this.
“I like this,” he purs, running the pad of his finger over your bra strap. You whimper, afraid of the lustful look on his face. He snaps the sage strap, making you a jolt.
Peter dips his head down towards yours again, grabbing your waist. He gives you a little kiss, smiling when you return it. He’s far too strong. You stand no chance and you know it. Maybe if you go along with it, he won’t take it as far as you fear he’s going to. He pecks you again and again, rougher each time. Growing hungrier and hungrier.
You hate the way you begin to melt into his mouth when he begins to kiss you properly. His thin but powerful and all-consuming lips make your mind go blank.
He reaches his hand behind him, slipping off the tight suit with minimal effort. Your heart begins to race and dread fills your senses. He is more toned than you expected, bulging with muscles and soft, milky skin. He nudges your cheek with his nose, an oddly gentle gesture, a fragment of the Peter you know climbing to the surface.
He reaches for the clasp of your bra, tugging it as he tries to expose you. He pinches the skin of your back and you hiss. “M’sorry, baby,” he coos, tenderly touching the skin.
You whine, thankful to hear his soothing voice. You’re confused by your reactions. As much as you don’t want it, you so easily give in. You feel ashamed, blaming your exhausted mind that was coming to life with every passing moment. You have to end this.
Still, you shudder when your bra loosens, nipples pebbling when his eyes lock on them. “Fuck,” he grunts, latching onto one, nibbling. You moan, gripping his hair the way he likes. The way you had memorized after endless nights of cuddling and playful teasing. He groans, hips grinding into your thighs. Peter worships the flesh of your chest, praising, mouthing, and groping. You loathe the reaction of your body. You try to pry his head away until finally, his head lifts. But your success only lasts seconds.
“Pete,” you call. His voice sends a ripple through your body when he hums into your neck where he began to suck. It’s invasive, having him so close when he’s grinding against your stomach, erect cock poking you through his underwear when you don’t want him in this way. Your breasts are tingling still and you feel marks rising under his lips. It’s too much too fast.
“I’m really tired. You can always come back tomorrow.”
“You know,” he begins, biting harshly at your clavicle, “I really thought we were getting somewhere.” He’s pushing you back in the blink of an eye, brown hair framing his face as he peers down at you. “I thought you were beginning to understand what you feel for me.”
“I do!” You cry when he lowered himself, kissing down your exposed body. Fear shakes your body again. “I do, Peter.” You reach for his face, only just grazing his soft hair.
“No, you don’t,” he scoffs, grabbing your hand, “liar.” You flinch, the look in his eyes is frightening, he said it with so much venom. Liar .
He tugs your underwear off roughly, dull nails scratching your legs. “Oh my god,” he sighs, touching up the glistening slit. His hot breath heats your pelvis as the all too familiar tingle built.
You gasp as your pussy leaks from Peter’s fondling. You hate the way he’s making you feel against your will. It isn’t right.
“Peter, stop it,” you say, voice firm. He ignores you, letting a stream of spit fall onto your aching heat. “I don’t want this. Please, I don’t like you like this,” you whine, biting your lip to keep your whimpers at bay when he takes your sensitive nub into his mouth. He moans at the taste of you.
Peter’s middle finger had only penetrated you to the end of his second knuckle, you can feel the way he wiggles it. “Yeah? Look at how excited you are. Clenching around my finger, trying to suck it in.”
You whine as he slowly slid inside. His erection was poking your calf, moving with his slight thrusts. “You’re gonna feel so good around me.”
Panic shoots through you, “no! Peter,” tears begin slipping as he gets up, removing his underwear, hard cock slapping his stomach. Veins protrude up his long, thick length, leading up to his leaking head. You can’t help but lick your lips. From fear or arousal, you aren’t sure. You push at his navel, hands slightly bent.
“Shut up,” he seethes, leaning in close. “What don’t you get?” He reaches for your chin, “I’m gonna fuck you because I love you,” his eyes are intensely looking into yours, “and you love me.”
You shake your head, “no,” you whisper. “Pete, please, stop it.”
He gives your mouth a harsh tap, “what’d I just say?”
You shut your mouth, biting it as he runs his tip up your slit. He slaps his cock against your sensitive clit causing you to flinch and whimper. His pupils are blown, looking at you in a way you don’t like. A mixture of bitterness and desire.
Your thighs push against his own, toes curling as his cock forces its way into you. You tense, shutting your eyes tight. It’s too much, he’s stretching you to your limit. Your slick makes it easier but the pain is persistent, burning deep in your core. You can feel yourself trembling as he begins his hard but slow thrusts.
You can sense him above you, drawing closer to your face with each passing second. You are grunting in pain every time he plunges in and out of you when you feel his lips on your wet cheeks, kissing the droplets of tears.
“Open your eyes,” he breathes, “I wanna see you.”
You shake your head, kicking your legs around the soft couch, trying your best to avoid any contact with Peter. You can feel yourself pulsing around him as pleasure shoots through you with every snap of his hips. You’re impossibly wet, feeling it drip past your ass and staining your couch.
“Open,” he grasps your chin, “your eyes.”
You want to scream at him, push him away from you. You want to hurt him. You can’t recognize him anymore and you want nothing more than to be as far away from him as possible.
You relent and open your wet eyes. Your lip wobbles and you let out a pathetic sob. You aren’t sure if it’s the harsh snaps of his hips or the evil look in his eyes that cause it. You’re sliding further up the couch. The upholstery burns the skin of your back.
Peter’s soft lips brush yours and he takes your top lip between his teeth, pulling it into his mouth. His hand slides between your bodies, rolling your twitching mound between his fingers. You can’t hold back the lewd cry that forces itself out of your mouth. He exhales heavily and you can feel it on your chin and down the expanse of your tongue. He nibbles harder at the lip between his teeth, “like that?”
You try to shake your head but your body betrays you. You feel your walls tighten until you can feel every vein that runs up his cock. You lose control of yourself, feeling your arms wrap themselves around him and your back arch until his tones muscles press into your soft stomach. You’re moaning embarrassingly loud but you can’t find it in yourself to stop. He’s too good. He feels too good.
The sudden halt of his thrusts makes you cry out, feeling your orgasm pull further away. You whine, digging your nails into his muscled back. “Tell me you love me,” he whispers into your ear. “Tell me and I’ll make you cum.”
You kick your legs, mind racing. You want him out, but you want him closer. You want to feel him deep inside you, but you want him to leave.
He pulses inside you, causing you to gasp, “tell me, baby. Say it.”
You hesitate, biting your lip and exhaling shakily. You can feel the shift in his hair as you blow out and the brushing of his calf to your kicking leg and the curly hair at the base of his cock on your clit. His fingers rest just above the twitching bud, hovering over the hood of your pussy.
“I love you.” It’s so silent you don’t think he heard it, but the snapping of his hips picked up instantly.
“Liar,” he growls, hips slamming down onto you. He lifts his face from your neck until you can see the bright blush high on his cheeks. The emotions in his eyes flicker from adoration to hatred so quickly your eyebrows furrow until you feel your orgasm inching closer again and desperation fills your entire body.
“Say it again.”
“I love you,” you squeak. Your head falls back as his fingers play with your clit again. You feel his teeth graze your collarbone, biting as your orgasm hits you. You spasm as his teeth bite down on your collarbone, feeling electric waves ripple through you.
“Liar,” he grits. He loses his rhythm, hips stuttering.
You whimper, ashamed of the bliss that continues to run through your body. Lair.