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shortnspidey · 2 months ago

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SLIM PICKINS

Peter Parker X female!reader || WC: 5.7K

SUMMARY: Safe to say your love life was nonexistent. You’d tried everything, swiping through dating apps like it was your part-time job, smiling at strangers on the subway, even letting friends set you up with guys. Still, nothing. Just awkward dates, ghosted messages, and a lingering sense that love might just be a myth. But maybe, just maybe, the problem wasn’t you. Turns out, slim pickins didn’t apply when the best option was right under your nose.

WARNINGS: Established friendship, friends to lovers, idiots in love, angst, fluff, cursing, self-deprecating thoughts, set after the events of Spiderman: Homecoming, Me Before You reference, steamy kiss but no smut!

A/N: About time I wrote something about the man that this blog is named after! Figured I’d combine both with this story, based on the song below! I related a little too much to this, cause let's be so real the dating world is the worst right now! 😭 Hope y’all enjoy!! Divider by @sister-lucifer <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ peter parker masterlist

For you, Valentine’s Day had to be the worst day out of the entire year. Everywhere you turned, couples were practically glued together, gripping hands like the world would end if they let go, feeding each other overpriced chocolates in the park, giggling over heart-shaped lattes like it was the most original thing ever. The city seemed to ooze affection: pink lights in every café window, pop-up flower stands on every corner.

So you did what you did every year, opted out.

No red, no pink, no cheap paper hearts. Just your regular hoodie, headphones in, head down, ready to get through the day like it was any other Friday. That was the plan for tonight too: takeout, a rom-com you’d pretend not to cry over, and your faithful pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream. That was the plan. And you were sticking with it, no matter what. The slam of the lockers nearby snapped you out of your daydream.

You blinked, realizing you’d been standing there too long, caught in your own mental version of a black-and-white breakup montage. You turned toward the sound, already half-expecting to see more heart-shaped nonsense or a couple caught mid-makeout, but it was just your best friend, Peter Parker. He was stuffing books into his backpack like he was late for something, hair a little mussed, sleeves rolled sloppily to his elbows.

He looked like he hadn’t slept much, which, with Peter, wasn’t exactly breaking news, especially not lately, ever since he scored the Stark Internship. You’d noticed the late nights, the new bruises he never explained, the way he sometimes winced when he thought no one was looking. But there was something different about him today. A kind of restless energy buzzing just beneath the surface, like he was waiting for something, or holding something in.

Before you could get too caught up in decoding him, a familiar voice broke through your thoughts. “Sup, loser.” You turned just in time to catch MJ smirking at you, her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her oversized army jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a haphazard bun, earbuds draped carelessly around her neck like a lazy accessory. You couldn’t help the way your mouth twitched into a smile.

MJ had a way of grounding you, dragging you back to earth in the best and most sarcastic ways. You closed your locker with a metallic clunk and slung your backpack over your shoulder, matching her stride as the two of you headed toward the cafeteria. “Any pink-plans later?” MJ snickered, bumping her elbow into yours with just enough force to make you stumble a step. “You know I hate Valentine’s Day as much as you do, Michelle.” You groaned, theatrically.

“Just checking. Can’t have you catching feelings and making me participate in some disgusting heart-themed Pinterest night.” She narrowed her eyes, mock-serious. “Because I will burn it all down.” You held your hands up in mock-surrender. “I believe you,” You laughed, tugging the sleeve of your hoodie over your knuckles. “It’s the worst holiday. Manufactured affection, forced gift-giving, fake declarations of love… hard pass.”

“See, this is why we get along,” MJ smiled hooking her arm around yours. “We’re both deeply cynical with emotionally unavailable tendencies. Can’t forget out motto, expect disappointment and we’ll never be disappointed.” You shrugged. “Actually, I prefer to call it realistic,” You replied, shooting her a grin. “And emotionally self-aware.” MJ raised a brow, amused. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

You pushed open the doors to the cafeteria, immediately greeted by the smell of questionable pizza and the sight of pink streamers crisscrossed along the ceiling like some kind of Valentine's-themed crime scene. Someone was handing out candygrams near the front doors, each one tied with a glittery ribbon and a little plastic rose. You felt your stomach twist at the mere thought.

You noticed Peter had already found a seat by the windows, half-heartedly poking at something on his tray. He looked up just then, as if he felt you looking. His eyes caught yours, wide, doe brown, and tired. But there was something in them. A flicker. You weren’t sure what it meant. MJ followed your gaze, then glanced sideways at you, suspicious. “Please don’t tell me you’re catching feelings for Parker, of all people.”

You scoffed, a little too fast. “What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.” She didn’t look convinced. In fact, she narrowed her eyes in that signature MJ way, like she was two seconds from dissecting your soul under a microscope. At this point, you were pretty sure she could read your mind. The smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth was dangerously knowing. “You’ve got that look.” She stated matter-of-factly.

You folded your arms across your chest, the universal defense mechanism of a person absolutely guilty of something. “What look?” You challenged, raising a brow with as much faux confidence as you could muster. “The maybe-my-best-friend’s-cute look.” She deadpanned, her eyes flicking toward Peter again like she was collecting evidence. “I don’t have a look.” You insisted, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “You do. In fact, it’s happening right now.”

You flushed instantly, heat instantly rising to your cheeks. Your eyes darted away, landing on the nearby vending machine with sudden, exaggerated interest. But MJ wasn’t letting you off the hook so easily. Before you could protest further, she looped her arm through yours and practically dragged you toward the lunch table where Ned and Peter were already seated.

Their conversation, coming to a suspiciously abrupt halt the moment you and MJ got within earshot. Peter’s eyes flicked up to meet yours. He straightened a little in his seat, pushing his tray forward like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Ned looked equally guilty, but less subtle about it. “Y/N! MJ!” Ned called out with a wide grin, waving you both over as if you hadn’t been on a direct path to the table already. You didn’t question it.

You slid into your usual spot across from Peter, MJ settling beside you with her book already reopened like she had better things to do than acknowledge everyone at the table. “Any plans tonight?” Ned asked casually, his tone too light to be anything but bait. “I’ve got a date with Ben and Jerry,” You smirked as you unzipped your bag. “And my bed.” Peter let out a laugh, which seemed to have caught him off guard, because he immediately coughed to cover it up.

Ned, fully aware of your annual anti-Valentine’s crusade, turned to MJ next. “What about you? Anything?” MJ didn’t even glance up from her book. “Why would I want to celebrate a holiday that promotes codependency and glorifies capitalist manipulation through artificial affection and overpriced florals?” You snorted, choking on the sip of water you’d just taken.

Ned nodded solemnly, clearly used to this answer by now, and launched into an explanation of the new Star Wars LEGO set he’d started building, a massive replica of the Millennium Falcon that, according to him, required “Jedi-level precision.”You half-listened, eyes occasionally drifting to Peter, who had been oddly quiet ever since you sat down. You shouldn’t have been surprised, because that’s when MJ struck.

“What about you, Parker?” She drawled, finally looking up, her tone all faux innocence. “Any Valentine’s Day plans we should know about?” You looked over at him just in time to see the tips of his ears turn pink, spreading color across his cheeks. Peter didn’t look up, just stabbed at the contents of his tray like they were suddenly a tactical threat. “Stark internship,” He muttered, shrugging. “Same as usual.”

You tilted your head, studying him a little more closely. That restless energy from earlier hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had doubled. His foot was bouncing under the table. His fingers were tapping an uneven rhythm on the plastic edge of his tray. Something was definitely off. MJ gave you a barely-there glance from behind her book. Just a flick of her eyes. But the message was loud and clear nonetheless.

He’s hiding something.

You engaged in idle conversation with Ned, letting him drag you into a very passionate rant about why Rogue One was the pinnacle of Star Wars cinema. You nodded along, offering a few “totally”s and “yeah, that makes sense”s, but your mind kept drifting. Not because Ned was boring, far from it, but because Peter had gone almost completely silent which was completely unlike him.

Normally he’d be adding sarcastic comments, laughing at Ned’s over-the-top dramatics, maybe even jumping in with a nerdy side tangent of his own. But now? You were lucky to get a grunt, or a tight-lipped smile. One-word contributions. Maybe two, if you were lucky. You wanted to ask what was going on with him, but the shrill screech of the final bell cut through the room. Backpacks zipped. Chairs scraped. People moved like a tide.

You waved goodbye to MJ and Ned, slinging your bag over your shoulder and weaving into the current of students heading to your last class of the day. That’s when you heard it, soft, just behind your shoulder. “Hey.” You turned to find Peter keeping pace beside you, his stride just a little too quick, like he’d hurried to catch up. His hair was ruffled from where he must’ve run a hand through it, and he was fiddling with the strap of his bag, knuckles flexing, fingers twitching.

You’d known him long enough to recognize the signs: Peter Parker was nervous. “What’s up, Pete?” You asked, eyebrows rising slightly, your tone casual even though your heartbeat was beating hard against your chest. He glanced around, eyes flicking to the packed hallway, then back to you. He opened his mouth, closed it, then forced the words out before he could second-guess himself. “D-Do you want to, maybe, go out with me tonight?”

You stopped walking. Hard. If Peter hadn’t gently guided you out of the flow of foot traffic, you might’ve been flattened by the stampede of couples hand-in-hand and girls with teddy bears bigger than their torsos. The contact, his hand on your forearm, steady and warm, sent a current of heat straight through your veins. You blinked at him. “What?” He looked like he might combust on the spot, rubbing the back of his neck, his smile twitchy and nervous.

“I mean, like… you and me. Dinner. Tonight. I thought maybe we could, you know, go out.” Your stomach twisted, not in dread, but in that dizzy, disorienting way when the world shifts without warning. “Did MJ or Ned put you up to this?” You asked, the question out before you could filter it. Your walls were going up fast, automatic. Peter’s face fell for a split second, but he shook his head quickly. “What? No—no, this was my idea. I wanted to do this. I’ve actually been… thinking about it for a while now.”

You studied him, trying to find the punchline, but apparently there wasn’t one. Just Peter, standing there with his wide, hopeful brown doe eyes, flushed ears, and slightly crooked smile that always showed up when he was trying not to panic. He placed both hands gently on your shoulders, grounding you with a reassuring squeeze. “Only if you want to,” He whispered softly. “It’s okay if not. I just… I thought maybe…”

You looked at him, really looked at him and all those pros and cons you’d silently compiled over the last few seconds since he had popped the question suddenly lit up like neon signs in your mind. Pros: he knew you better than anyone. He made you laugh when you didn’t want to. He always saved you a seat, even when he said he wasn’t going to. He looked at you like you were… something more.

Cons? Honestly? You couldn’t think of a single one. Your lips tugged into a small smile, mind already made up, like it was the easiest decision you ever had to make. “It’s a date, Parker.” You watched as his entire face lit up, the tension in his shoulders vanishing like fog in sunlight. “Really?” You nodded once, biting back a grin of your own. And before you could blink, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Soft. Quick. Chaste, but it lingered. Just long enough to make your breath catch in your throat. “I’ll pick you up at five!” He called out, grinning ear to ear, already backing into the crowd. You stood frozen for a moment, students weaving around you, your cheek tingling from where his lips had been pressed. A date. On Valentine’s Day. With your best friend. Who you definitely, totally, absolutely did not have a crush on. Right?

It’s safe to say your closet was a war zone within minutes. Clothes clung to hangers like they were taunting you, while others were flung across your bed, draped over the back of your chair, or pooling on the floor like casualties of indecision. Denim, florals, sweaters, skirts, none of it looked right. Your makeup, usually tucked neatly away in drawers, was now strewn haphazardly across your vanity.

Lipsticks without caps, eyeshadow palettes cracked open, brushes rolling toward the edge like they were trying to make a run for it. You stared at the mess, chest rising and falling a little quicker than normal, fingers twitching uselessly at your sides. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. It was just Peter. And yet, nothing you owned seemed to fit whatever it was that this night had become.

Anything you imagined yourself wearing was either too formal, too stiff, too casual, too “I tried way too hard,” or worse, “I didn’t try at all.” You held up a red sweater, squinted, then tossed it aside moving onto the next potential piece. You groaned, flopping back on your bed and burying your face in a pile of unfolded laundry. “This is so stupid." You muttered to yourself. But it wasn’t, because despite your best attempts at denial, your heart had been in overdrive ever since that kiss on the cheek.

Your fingers had brushed the spot absentmindedly at least a dozen times since. Now, every time you looked at the clock, a ripple of panic surged through you. You sat up, blowing hair out of your face, and tried again. Eventually, you landed on something simple but flattering, a soft-knit top in your favorite color and a pair of jeans that hugged your curves just right. You didn’t look like you were headed to a gala, but you also didn’t look like someone who was about to binge another rom-com in sweats.

Makeup came next, light, effortless, like you woke up like this even though you'd definitely sweated through at least one hundred outfit meltdowns already. A little mascara and eyeliner, your go-to gloss, and just the tiniest dab of blush to make you look alive. When you finally looked in the mirror, you paused. It was still you. But it was the version of you who, for once, didn’t dread Valentine’s Day.

The you who maybe, just maybe, was looking forward to this.

You were done getting ready by 4:00. Too early, probably. But you couldn’t help it. You re-sprayed a little perfume behind your ears. Lip gloss reapplied twice. By 4:30, you were already perched on the edge of your bed, checking your phone even though there were no new notifications. None at all. You told yourself he’d show up early, maybe even knock on the door at 4:45 just to be polite.

You checked the mirror one more time, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and tried to act normal. Totally not spiraling. Then it was 5:00. Okay, technically not late. Not everyone was obsessed with punctuality. Maybe he got caught on the subway. Or traffic. Or… whatever Peter usually got caught in. So you cut him some slack. At 5:15, you refreshed your messages for the third time, just in case your phone was glitching.

You checked your ringer, turned it off airplane mode, then turned it back on airplane mode, because that’s what desperate people did when they didn’t want to believe no one was texting them. 5:30. The silence started to feel heavier, the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty, just abandoned. The kind that pressed on your chest, slow and suffocating. 5:45. You peeled off your jacket and let it slump onto your desk chair.

You kept the rest of your outfit on, though. Some stubborn part of you still hoped for the sound of footsteps up the stairs. For a sheepish knock and a “sorry, I got caught up.” 6:00. Your legs had started to go numb from sitting so still. Your phone sat face-up on your bed, taunting you. The city outside your window buzzed with life, laughter echoing from the sidewalks, couples walking hand-in-hand on their way to overpriced dinners.

The world was moving, and you were frozen in place, still waiting on someone who clearly wasn’t coming. By 7:00, your heart sank low into your chest, too exhausted to hold itself up anymore. You let out a breath that felt like it’d been stuck in your ribs for an hour. Your eyes stung, but you blinked fast, forcing the tears back with everything you had. You didn’t want to cry over this, not tonight. Not over him. Still, your throat felt tight as you stood up, walking slowly toward your door.

You reached for the purse you’d hung by the hook hours ago, so sure you’d be needing it, only this time, you quietly placed it back in your closet. Your boots echoed against the floor as you kicked them off one by one. You didn’t bother turning the lights on. You shut off your phone instead, one last look at the blank screen before pressing the button and letting it all fade to black. You peeled off the outfit you’d picked with such careful hope.

The top you thought he might compliment. The jeans you felt just confident enough in. You wiped off your makeup, the mascara smudged slightly beneath your eyes from tears you swore you weren’t going to cry. But you did. You climbed into bed in a hoodie and sweatpants, bundled beneath a blanket like it could protect you from the hurt clawing through your chest. It wasn’t just that he didn’t show. It was Peter who didn’t show. Peter, who knew how hard dating had always been for you.

Who knew how much rejection chipped away at you more than you let on. Who was supposed to be the one person you could trust not to leave you hanging like this. You'd put yourself out there. For him. And he had forgot. Your tears were quiet but steady, slipping down your cheeks and soaking into your pillow. It wasn’t loud sobbing, no, it was that low, ache-deep kind of heartbreak. The kind that made your chest feel hollow and your throat burn and your brain whisper I should’ve known better.

After a few minutes of wallowing in self-pity, you swiped at your cheeks roughly with your sleeve and let out a bitter laugh. “Nope,” You muttered to no one. “Not crying over this. Not again.” You grabbed your laptop from your nightstand and queued up Me Before You. If you were going to cry tonight, it would be over Will Traynor, over Lou in those ridiculous bumblebee tights and her heartbreak in Paris.

That kind of pain made sense. Predictable. Scripted. It wasn’t supposed to feel this personal. You clicked play. And that’s when you heard it. A soft sliding sound, followed by the faintest thud of something landing just inside your room. Your heart jolted. The window. Your breath hitched in your throat as you slowly turned your head, blanket still pulled up to your chin. And there he was, Spider-Man. Climbing through your window like this was just a casual Friday occurrence.

Red-and-blue suit gleaming in the low light, a plastic bag dangling from one gloved hand. “Spider-Man?” You whispered, half a gasp. Half a question. Your voice cracked under the weight of surprise and disbelief. The white eyes on his mask snapped wide, comically so, like a cartoon. His whole body stiffened like he hadn’t expected you to be there, even though this was your room. “What the hell are you doing in my—”

You stopped.

His shoulders. His posture. The awkward, familiar way he froze like he’d just been caught sneaking in after curfew. Your breath caught. No, it couldn’t be. Something inside you shifted, recognition blooming like something you weren’t supposed to feel. He didn’t answer at first. Just stood there like a kid caught red-handed, one arm still holding the bag, the other halfway raised like he might wave.

You blinked, your stomach churning with something hot and bitter. “Peter Benjamin Parker,” You hissed, voice shaking as you sat up straighter in your bed, blanket clutched like a shield around you. “If that’s you behind that mask, so help me, God—” Silence. Then, his voice, muffled and hesitant, cracked through the air like a confession. “…Y/N, please, I can explain.”

You stared, eyes wide as he tugged the mask back and off his head with one hand still raised, almost like he thought you might throw something. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when you were suddenly staring at the boy you’d grown up with, the boy you trusted more than anyone else, standing in front of you in spandex and dried blood. God, you wished you had been wrong.

For a second, just one, your fury wavered. His face was bruised, his lip cracked open and caked with dried blood. His eyes, still soft and impossibly brown, carried this exhausted, haunted look that hadn’t been there a few months ago. Not really. You always assumed he was just overextending himself with school. Or the internship. But now it all made sense. The chronic exhaustion. The sudden strength. The sudden ghosting.

The constant injuries that came with vague excuses. How he’d somehow grown five feet taller overnight. It all just clicked. And yet, it didn’t stop hurting. You tucked your knees to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them, blanket slipping from your shoulders as you fought to keep your voice steady. “Y/N, please,” Peter coaxed softly, stepping forward. “I know it’s a lot to process—” You let out a scoff before you could stop it. “Understatement of the year.” You muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“I swear I was on time. I had everything planned. I even had Mr. Stark get us a reservation at that little Italian place you kept walking by after school, the one with the outdoor string lights and those little lemon desserts you said you wanted to try.” Your chest tightened. “I was on my way,” He rushed on, voice cracking with guilt. “And then this guy, some psycho in this rhino get-up, literally plows through Midtown. Police were nowhere close, and people were getting hurt, and I couldn’t just ignore it.”

He ran a gloved hand down his face, clearly exhausted, clearly frustrated with everything, including himself. “I’m not trying to make excuses,” He added quickly. “I hate that you thought I forgot. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t a priority tonight. I’m so sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am.” You stayed quiet. Not because you didn’t have anything to say, but because you had too much to say.

You were hurt. Humiliated. Angry. And worst of all, underneath all of it, you understood. That’s what stung the most. You finally looked up at him, face unreadable, voice flat. “It’s fine, Peter.” That made him flinch more than if you’d screamed at him. “It’s not like you owed me anything, anyway.” You gave him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. His lips parted like he was going to say something, but no words came.

You stood from the bed slowly, brushing past him toward your dresser. “You should go,” You murmured, not looking back. “You probably have another crisis to swing off to, right?” Peter shook his head so fast. “Y/N—” But you weren’t listening. The ache in your chest was suffocating, louder than his voice. Your own thoughts were clawing at you, stupid, stupid, how could you have thought this would be different—

Then, twip, a sudden tension yanked at your hip, and the world tilted. You stumbled, instinctively reaching out, and slammed straight into a broad, solid chest. One you knew by feel alone. Your hands found purchase on the firm muscle of his biceps, fingers digging in harder than you meant to. “Peter, what—?” You started, breath catching, eyes wide. But he didn’t let you finish. “It’s not okay,” He declared firmly, hands gently steadying you by the waist.

His voice was lower now, almost trembling. “It’s not okay because I meant what I said earlier.” You froze under his touch, blinking up at him, still trying to play catch-up as your heart sprinted. “I’ve been working up the courage to ask you out for months,” He swallowed thickly. “I planned everything, the dinner, the reservation, the speech, even the damn gift.” His voice cracked a little at the end. “I had this whole moment in my head. I was going to tell you how I feel tonight. I was going to tell you everything.”

He took a breath and stepped back just enough to gesture to himself, to the red and blue suit clinging to him like second skin. “This. All of it. I was going to explain. Because I didn’t want to lie to you anymore.” Your eyes darted between his face and his suit, your throat suddenly dry, your fingers still curled against the sleeves at his arms like your body didn’t want to let go, even if your mind hadn’t quite caught up.

“Y/N…” He whispered, eyes locked on yours, like he was searching for something in them, hope, maybe, or forgiveness. “You’re my best friend, but…” That pause. That heartbeat of silence. That sentence that shattered you before he could even finish it. “I don’t want to be just your friend anymore.” Your breath stuttered in your chest. And then— “Y/N, I love you.” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t second-guess. “I’ve always loved you.”

The confession was raw. It wasn’t poetic or perfect, it was real. Said with the intensity of someone who had run through hell all night and still showed up because you were the only thing that mattered. Your lips parted. But no sound came out. All the hurt, the disappointment, the unanswered texts, the hours spent alone tonight, none of it erased what he did, or how you felt.

Yet standing there in front of him, seeing the bruises he wore like a badge for a world that didn’t even know his name, and hearing those words… It made the pieces shift. Not fall back into place, but shift, like maybe they could. He took a cautious step forward, his hands rising again to hold you, not demanding, just asking. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” He repeated again, voice so soft it barely reached over the beat of your pulse. “But I swear, I meant every word. I love you.”

You didn’t answer.

Then, slowly, tentatively, your fingers slid from his arms to his chest, right over his racing heart. “Say it again,” You whispered. Peter blinked, surprised. “Please,” You all but begged, eyes stinging. And so he leaned in, forehead brushing yours, breath fanning against your lips like a promise: “I love you.” Your breath hitched at the words. Three of them. So simple, I love you, yet they cracked something wide open from inside you.

You stared at him, your heart hammering like it might tear itself out of your chest. His hands were still at your waist, thumbs stroking gently, grounding you. And then you surged forward. There was no hesitation, no overthinking, just raw emotion igniting like a match finally struck. Your lips met his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was desperate, hungry. All the pent-up frustration, the hurt, the longing, the unspoken tension between you exploding into that one moment.

Your hands flew up to tangle in his curls as his mouth moved against yours like he’d been waiting for this, aching for this. Peter groaned softly, the sound muffled as your bodies pressed together, flush with heat. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, holding you to him like you might vanish. You felt the hard muscle beneath the suit, the way his chest heaved as your kiss deepened, mouths moving in perfect sync like you’d been made for each other.

You gasped softly as he walked you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed, forcing you to lay down as he followed hovering above you, mouth never leaving yours, cradling your face in both hands now like you were something precious. Something fragile he’d nearly lost. The kiss softened then, still heated but slower, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your lips with his own.

Your fingers brushed over the bare skin of his jaw, and you shivered from the electricity dancing along your spine. When you finally pulled apart, barely an inch of space between you, your noses brushed, breaths uneven and mingling in the small distance. Peter’s eyes searched yours, glassy and warm and a little wild. “I’ve wanted to do that since freshman year.” He whispered, lips brushing yours as he spoke.

You smiled, thumb tracing the corner of his mouth. “Guess we’re both just as clueless.” He leaned in again, slower this time, like a promise: I’m not going anywhere. And this time, when his lips found yours, it wasn’t rushed. It was everything. Everything you’d waited for. Everything he’d been holding back. It was the kind of kiss that pulled the breath straight from your lungs and made the rest of the world dissolve.

His fingers brushed your jaw with delicate reverence, but the way his mouth moved against yours was anything but tentative. When you parted your lips slightly, whether in a gasp or invitation, you weren’t sure, he didn’t hesitate. His tongue slipped past your lips, tentative at first, like he was asking permission even as your fingers tightened in his curls. The kiss deepened again instantly, a slow heat building in your chest as your tongues met, exploring, tasting, hungry for more.

You let out a soft, involuntary noise against him, half gasp, half moan. You felt him react immediately, one hand sliding from your waist to your lower back, drawing you in closer until your bodies were pressed together from chest to knee. You could feel the tension in him, the restraint, even as he kissed you like he’d been starving and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His tongue moved with yours, teasing and coaxing, a little clumsy but oh so Peter, earnest, sweet, passionate.

The kiss was messy, hot, addicting. Your fingers tugged gently at the ends of his hair as his mouth slanted over yours again and again, like he couldn’t get enough. And maybe neither could you. After what felt like hours, breathless, lips tingling and kiss-bitten, you finally parted, foreheads pressed together as you both tried to catch your breath. Your fingers were still curled into the fabric of his suit, heart thundering against his chest.

"Kinda leaving me hanging here." Peter huffed, his voice rough with affection as he reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from your flushed face, his knuckles grazing your cheek in a touch so gentle it made your heart stutter. You raised a brow, eyes flicking to the plastic bag now lying abandoned on the edge of your bed. “Is there ice cream in that bag?” Peter blinked like he’d just remembered it existed. “It’s probably melting as we speak.” You grinned, and he smiled back, soft and shy, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“I love you too, Parker,” You whispered, the words landing between you like a spark catching dry tinder. His whole expression changed, like something sacred had just been handed to him. He leaned down again, lips parted, clearly intent on sealing the moment with another kiss. Only you pressed a finger to his mouth, stopping him with a teasing smirk. “But you’re definitely not off the hook.” His brows lifted in amused surprise.

“I demand a re-do. No interruptions this time. And a lot of Cherry Garcia ice cream to make up for tonight.” Peter laughed, the sound boyish and breathless. “You’ve got yourself a deal, pretty girl.” His voice dropped just slightly, low and fond, as he leaned in close again. “As long as you’ll also do me the honor of being my girlfriend.” You tilted your head, pretending to consider it, even as your lips twitched. “What does that entail?” You asked, faux curiosity laced in your tone.

The smirk that stretched across Peter’s face was positively wicked. His nose brushed against yours as he whispered. “Whatever you want it to.” That was it. You surged up and met his mouth with your own, kissing him again almost as if sealing the deal. His hands cupped your jaw, tilting your head as your mouths moved together with a new urgency, less frantic than before, but somehow deeper. More intimate.

Like now, with everything out in the open, there was nothing left to hold back. His tongue found yours again, slow and sure, as you pulled him closer, your fingers accidentally pressing against the spider emblem on his chest. You gasped when the suit loosened around his torso, revealing the defined lines of his chest and abs. The surprise only held you for a second before you pulled him in again, fingertips skimming eagerly across his skin. The bag with the ice cream lay long forgotten, but you didn’t care. You had something better.

You had him.

And maybe, just maybe, Valentine’s Day wouldn’t be so bad after this.

In fact, it might just become your favorite day of the year.

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mihii-i · 2 months ago

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Pls do something with Andrew and a fem reader I feel like there's too little content of him, of course you don't have to and I totally get if you don't want to just do it when you have time and if you want to

don’t you wanna make me proud?

Pairings: andrew graves x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, afab reader, dark themes, unprotected sex, marking, smoking, blood, murder, mild gore, decapitation, manipulation, argument, guilt tripping, established relationship, toxic relationship, but he does love reader don’t worry, reader’s also a bad person, there’s no incest shut up, ashley’s actually fucking dead, mild 3A spoilers, guy and woman kissing during pride month my bad guys, slightly ooc but for a reason I swear, crybabies that’ll unfollow me again lmaoo, I mean this shouldn’t be romanticized but this game’s fucked up anyway- INCEST FANS DNI AND SEEK HELP, not proofread.

A/N: I have to clarify this on EVERY tcoaal post, but no I don’t support incest don’t cry in my comments and yes, this game is actually good. it’s not as bad as you say it is, and if you somehow think this is gooner material, you have problems if you goon to this game. also again if yall unfollow thats ur choice on being uneducated so go interact with my other content tf….now playing — I like the way you kiss me by artemas. 🕯️

Warm, metallic flicks of the lighter dragging the flint wheel against chrome swiftly elicited a scratchy hiss that echoed throughout the cramped motel. Followed by a gentle orange glow crackling along the lit end of the cigarette, caving the off white rolling paper to crumple and darken into a blackening grime folding in a brownish gradient upward. Your jaw tightened at the nauseating hit of nicotine clouding the air as a wreck to your train of thought, with even the slightest sound equivalent to a pin drop serving to easily irritate you.

Your gaze narrowed over to the scrunched cushions of the torn up couch, rips and scratches littered over the grey cotton tugged down alongside a few stains of god knows what rubbed on various edges. Though, your boyfriend didn’t seem to mind much while he lounged carelessly on the couch, head tipped back over the edge and legs crossed over the opposing armrest with his knees barely bent to accommodate his taller frame within the confines of the annoyingly small sofa.

Andrew’s fingers kept on the thin cylinder of his cigarette pressed to his chapped lips, while his ring finger idly traced along his chin whenever he drew in a breath to ease his nerves, green eyes mindlessly dozing off into the distance as if he contemplated on an elaborate scenario that awaited you two. He hadn’t exactly been subtle regarding his clear distaste for the wretched situation the two of you had landed yourselves in, despite his eyes scripting a drastically different story from what his mouth said.

That sickening memory was all too clear, the outlines of her once intact skull flat against the carpet, left to drown in her own blood as seeping pools of crimson swallowed up the dampening fabric. Eyes devoid of any light, lacking unshed tears with her sliced head detached from her neck that carried the dead weight of the rest of her body in her usual clothing. Such a horrific sight to behold as you trembled, hand clasped over your mouth to choke in the feeling of your own hot breaths trapped in your humid palm while you couldn’t tear your eyes away from her corpse.

Yet Andrew on the other hand kept his sights fixed on the floor, face decorated with reddening splatters that ranged all over the left side of his face, along with his palm painted in his own sister’s blood as he gripped the polished wood of the cleaver—now tainted with the vermillion that he shared with the one who lay dead before his feet. Dread snaked its way within your senses at Andrew’s gruesome display of rage blinding the usually calm man, even more so whenever you were met with Ashley laying limp on the floor. Unable to respond, nor protest.

You hated her. Never was there a time you hadn’t wished death upon the disgustingly attached piece of shit that refused to grow up from clinging to her brother. Seeking to preserve a fantasy of having her caretaker at her beck and call in such deluded hatred and cuts of anyone else that seemed to come close to him. Hell, you wanted to find your own chance to cut her neck off with that cleaver, and delight in the sight of her gone to be plunged into the burning pits of the underworld.

Despite all that, you couldn’t even swallow back the pure trepidation lumped in your throat at the sight of your longing wish finally come true. Fuck, didn’t feel as good as you hoped…if anything it made you feel awful, retracting every mental thought that piled up to cover the initial elation to see those once hatred filled pink eyes finally darken. Hatred morphing into pity & remorse plagued by fear. Fear that crashed onto you with Andrew’s lapse in judgement when he struck his sister, his glare cold and unfeeling when set on her laying without any sort of burial.

But you knew, behind that oddly cool expression, lie a scream of misery and regret, rotting him from the inside out with the lingering whispers of him wiping out the only person he ever had before. The girl he raised perished by the claw of his own hands, that were drowned in her blood.

No matter. You were still here, right? He was fine with that. His darling girlfriend just needed to support him through the loss of his sister. It’s better this way, no matter how much he missed her.

Strangely enough, he was able to play it off unaffected. Although the consequence remained with his feelings for you simply stinging tenfold. Playing the role of the overprotective boyfriend, dictating the two of you as a single aspect rather than seperately as he refused to let go. Decisions he made had to accomodate to you both, and the thought alone of you no longer at his side only widened the existing pit aching in his stomach.

You wouldn’t think to leave the man you loved, he’s going through a hard time. He lost his sister after all, so you should stick by his side. No matter how much he frustrates you, or how much of a dick he’s been recently, stay by his side.

You can do that, can’t you, (Name)?

He’s scared he’ll let you down.

Distressful silence swallowed the tense air continuously as you expelled a hushed sigh, growing increasingly perturbed by the lack of noise from Andrew still letting clouds of smoke roll off his tongue in a thick, fluffed fog. His knee poked further out of the torn denim holes from his jeans, loose threads peeking out of the rips the further his leg retracted back to sit upward.

“Andrew.”

You finally spoke his name firmly, pivoting over from the flimsy wood of your chair to face him. Well, that certainly caught his attention as he whipped his head over to you, messy locks hung down his head as his fluffed hair stuck out. The quizzical expression plastered along his face almost made you reconsider retaliating his recently shut out behavior, blurs of exhaustion lined along the bottom of his eyes in darkened circles bagging down his face. It made you feel sorry for the tireless efforts he exerted for the sake of you.

“Hm?”

“So..about the next course of action after we get out of here? We need to have a plan somehow.”

Andrew only clicked his tongue pensively to the roof of his mouth, pondering possible scenarios of what he could possibly do upon vacating this crappy motel. Pursing his lips, his sharp eyebrows furrowed deep in thought to evaluate any possible outcome that hurled his way. Both to keep you safe, and to eventually end up out of the run in the shadow of his awful self—hopefully safe with you in the disgruntled effects of this awful person he was. He blinked, curling up off the couch as his socked feet planted into the ground with his elbow resting atop his thigh.

“I don’t have anything. Give me a bit, (Name).”

Since when was your boyfriend suck a lazy prick? At least get a hook of sorts on what you could ease into gradually! You wondered with the drops of sanity left in you on what consumed the once calculating and farsighted man who planned ahead on the smallest of conundrums, shielding you from any ills possible. Perhaps the previous encounter with Lord Unkown—or that’s who Andrew said he was—could’ve played a part, or maybe your lack of cooperation with his initial plan. Either he was drained and unable to formulate his thoughts properly, or he was just straight up upset with you. Well, the latter made more sense in this case.

“Look, if this is about us being caught by the police, I’m sorry. But we disposed of them and even destroyed the camera! I just wasn’t thinking with that giant demon and accidentally caught the attention of an officer. It’s been handled, we can move on.”

Andrew only exhaled a scoff through his teeth squinting over at you to contain the deep wave of disdain. He couldn’t possibly be upset with his love, yet why wouldn’t you listen to him? Why didn’t you trust him?

“I told you to trust me. And we don’t know if the footage was deleted altogether, by the way. We just got rid of any other potential footage of us butchering the cops.”

“I always listen to you, Andrew. You can’t flip out because I thought you were going crazy with a single idea. I just thought my judgement would be the better one. And how was I supposed to trust that your idea would be more ‘beneficial’ as you put it?”

“Stick around and you’ll find out.”

You grumbled at his vague, yet cryptic reply huffed past those beautiful lips, deep in their desaturated hue. Likely from the lack of being tended to and cared for. Standing from your chair, you stepped over to his spot on the couch, plopping yourself down at his side against his shoulder, baggy drags of black fabric draped loosely past his exposed collarbone to brush against your arm. Expression knit tight, you delivered a disapproving shove to his arm, earning that darkened expression as he cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what’s been up with you lately, but—“

“But what? Don’t tell me you’re taking it out on me for your screw-ups.”

By the second, you could feel your seething vexations slipping through the cracks of your composure at Andrew’s indignant attitude and presumed grudge harbored toward you. You drew in a deep breath, scrambling for any sense of control over wanting to smack him upside the head before rising to your feet, folding your arms as you stared down at Andrew not even bothering to look over at you.

“What the fuck..? Look at me when I talk to you.”

You hadn’t done anything, to be frank. In fact, Andrew preferred your company far more than Ashley’s. Even enjoying yours by miles ahead due to your civilized nature, and endearment of reciprocated affection toward him. He’d hate to hurt you, but of course your refutation towards his already shattered mental state could do nothing but drive him crazy, even as Ashley’s ghost continued to haunt him. Leading to him abruptly kicking the bottom of the dented coffee table as the ashtray clanked against the wood, and standing upright before you furiously.

“You don’t get to order me around, (Name)!”

“Then quit being pathetic and act like my partner for once instead of a child who didn’t get his way!”

“Why can’t you see it?! I’m clearly hurting! Can’t you atleast stick by me instead of being a bitch! Hell, I should’ve killed you instead of her!”

Shit. That one stung.

Your breaths only came out ragged and uneven at his words that cut you apart from the inside, prodding at your heart gently before spearing through. You didn’t know what you expected from him, he did raise her his whole life after all. By now, Andrew had picked up on the mindless words he had spewed out in no time, his initial heated irritation boiling down back to the plane of rationality.

“(Name). You know I didn’t—“

“Is that how you really feel, Andrew?” You heaved out, your own heavy lidded eyes meeting his. He was quick to shake his head vigorously, stepping back from you as he raised a hand to his nape, the tag of his sweater flicking along his skin in his increased sense of everything around him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…” he couldn’t even finish his sentence before he fell back into the couch, head craned down to bury in his knees as he set the shrunken cigarette into the ashtray weakly. “I love you. But I can’t help but wonder if I regret it.”

Unfortunately, you shouldn’t understand. You shouldn’t feel sympathy for this man who missed someone who clung to him like a leech. And yet, here you were. Weak in his wallowing call of pity that bit at his judgement and possessed its collar of need on him.

“You know I love you.” He reiterated, almost pleading for you to stay with him, knowing the foul monster he was in a corrupted cage of dread. You could simply sit beside him once more, cheek smushed to his shoulder from sheer exhaustion building up within you. Both of you.

“Sorry. I forgot it’s tough for you.”

“Don’t be, my love. It’s just, I lost my sister. The girl I raised. Dead by my own hand. Can’t you spare some patience for me? I know I haven’t been able to think straight recently.”

You hesitantly stared down at your lap, chest twisted in rue. He’s going through such a hard time, and so are you. He was the only pillar you could lean on in this storm of grief you could navigate through, and you were his. Your lover and clear equal, the one you’d give up the world for and vice versa.

“I’m going through a bit. Love me the way I love you, (Name).”

“I do love you. I’d never let you go over something so petty.”

“My beloved.”

He leaned further into your touch to seek a brief sliver of warmth radiated by you, jet black locks tickling your face as he breathed out a hum of contentment.

“Mm. Wonder what I get from following your orders then?”

“…don’t you wanna make me proud?”

“…I do.”

Andrew tentatively clasped his hand in yours, lacing his fingers as he thumbed at the soft flesh contrasting his leather like touch, sighing out in utter need to adhere to the warmth he sought from you.

“Can I make it up to you?”

“As in sex?”

“You’re way too on the nose about it…but yeah.”

Your gaze pierced those hollows of devilish green at his gradually reddening face, eyes hooded low as you carefully examined him up and down, wanting to take in his thin figure concealed by the baggy clothing he wore.

“Of course.”

That small whisper was the final switch that flipped over, darkening the empty cavern that was Andrew himself to fill up with your existence as his ground. The tip of his nose nudged up to yours as his eyes never left you, flickering down to your lips for a split second through his hazed vision blurring together lust and love into one. Before lunging in to collide his lips to lock against your own. In which you gratefully accepted, leaning into the kiss you yearned for as your hand squeezed his at the painfully close proximity.

—

It would be pathetic hadn’t you loved him, really.

The way you caved in so quickly to his pleas, happy to sob out those sharp, needy gasps that occasionally dissolved into a choked out moan when you felt him inside you. Yet it was of no concern to be ashamed of, especially when it was something you craved no matter how swollen your cunt ended up being, or how bruised your body was from the various marks he ingrained onto you. His apology was quite enough for you to bask in when he took care of you this well.

You were utterly drunk on the dizzying bliss of Andrew prying you open on his thick cock, legs coiled tightly around the bony end of his waist as his thin figure stuck to yours in a thin layer of sweat. His nose dug deeper into your feverish skin to scramble for some sense of semblance in the blanking ardor that intensified with each thrust into you, each contraction of your spongy walls squeezing around him as if you were begging him to stay inside you.

Surely his hunger for your pussy was difficult—if not impossible to satiate, while the fire that raged within him to drive himself into you couldn’t be put down even by an army. His need for you only rose everytime he rolled his hips in and out of your cunt, starved gaze flickering to the glistening slick moist along every inch of his length. Showing you with every breath expelled from his body, every movement and every ounce of his being to let that display of affection shine through.

His physical need for your body wasn’t even enough. Thrusts burying himself deep inside you, pressing his tip roughly to dig into your womb a scorching testament to how badly he desired you, what you truly were to him. A show of how intense the need for his everything was. Fingers sinking into your thighs, his bruising hold on you tightened, squeezing the cloud-like softness that brought about his refuge, fervent thrusts speeding up to seek more of your whimpers gradually heightening in pitch and volume as his veins dragged along the gummy velvet of your walls.

Lingering kisses sloppily traced down your throat to your chest as his tongue ran long every purple tinged bloom of his teeth dragging your skin to suck in, accompanied by outlines of his teeth dotted in your flesh. Alleviated by his warm tongue pressed to those marks as an apology of sorts. An apology for the pain you endured for his desire, and a remedy for you to be enveloped in the same desire of his which you both yearn for.

Andrew’s quickening thrusts speared into you over and over as your shaky thighs remained pushed apart in his iron grasp, your free hand off his back tangling in his dark hair, threading through before squeezing a fistful of his locks to ground yourself from his harsh movements. Rather than gently rolling his hips at a leisurely pace, he merely rammed them forward to slam into you, lodging his cock deep within you as he relished in the vice like grip you maintained around him.

Your nails dragged down his back swiftly at the height of your intense orgasm drowning you in pleasure, heart slamming against your chest as you could only manage a small whimper once he withdrew his cock from you, ropes of hot white painting your lower stomach. Without hesitation, Andrew hemmed you in his protective grasp, thin arms wrapped around you as your hand rubbed his shoulder, seeking his affection after practically being hit with the wave of your climax.

You weren’t supposed to cling to him like this.

You were supposed to let him know this was pathetic.

But you weren’t any less pathetic, were you?

Andrew finally rasped out in his strained voice, clearly faded from the low groans he let out earlier.

“I’m so proud of you.”

A/N: OMFG help this was highk fun to write because I’m really in my dark themes mood and I feel guilty if I write it with my comfort characters—but honestly tcoaal is perfect for writing these kinda themes so. But tbh again, if yall cry im writing for this game just leave atp and don’t be dicks my bday is tomorrow yippee because again, if you refuse to be educated on this game and want to point fingers with TikTok and Twitter knowledge be my guest.

Also, to the requester, please don’t be so cautious with your request. It makes me upset how the tcoaal fandom is a mix of weirdos and normal people, and the normal ones get treated like utter ass by rude fucks, so requests are overly cautious. Ofc I’d be happy to write your request especially cause you asked nicely, but honestly take care of yourself and bring up the confidence when requesting ❤️

And again, don’t cry in my fucking comments…yall wanna cry about video games but where are yall working towards stopping ACTUAL issues like…I dunno fucking human trafficking, child marriage, HELL EVEN IRL INCEST WHERE PEOPLE ARE MADE TO MARRY THEIR COUSINS. So if you really wanna talk about how incest is bad, stop acting like something that isn’t glorifying incest is, and go help the world you sorry excuse of a human. I love all of u guys sm and this fic was high key fun to write because me and my friend were on call and I asked him whether I should add the nsfw or not lmao

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