A Bond Can Survive Part II
The walk from the bus stop to Peter's is neither rushed nor slow, simply comfortable as you keep a warm grip on his fingers, your digits intertwined. He's smiling more already, his side of the Bond much brighter than before and spilling out of him in happy waves. The hero is terrible at hiding his emotions or keeping his side of the Bond separate from your connection and that makes you ecstatic. There are still so many words that you need to say to him, apologies you want to murmur against the flesh of his neck and into the shell of his ear, and you realize you'll get the chance once you have him behind closed doors.
"Thanks, Parker. For giving me a little of your time. I know that it's really important that you're always on call, but-" You glance at him under thick, fluttering lashes, the blush on your cheeks subtle but deepening when he looks at you, "I'm happy that I have you to myself." Peter's response is instantaneously written on his face and along the Bond you share. He always blushes easily when you tease or poke fun at him, but the way he looks away to hide the pink spreading down his neck is beyond adorable. The Bond is vibrant and slightly vibrating with sensations that tingle over your flesh. Goosebumps break out along your arms when they brush against his and you clear your throat in a futile attempt to break whatever spell he has over you.
"I-I'm happy too, (y/n). Really. What you did back there, holding my h-hand. I know it's a lot for you. I know that we c-come from two different places but you still want to be with me even when I can't give you all of my time. I wanted to make it up to you." Ah. You thought back to the night prior, to your sulky and childish attitude. Peter could've easily sensed your distress over being ignored again; of course, he would feel bad. Of course, he'd want to make up with you as soon as possible and all you'd done for half of the day was alienate him and make him worry.
"You don't have to do that. I was a jerk today, and you should be mad at me." You murmur, giving his hand a soft squeeze as you cross the street and continue down the block. You've never been to this part of town (your father would have an aneurysm if he found out you stepped foot in Queens) but it looks like any other normal neighborhood.
"You know I can't stay mad at you." He gives that soft, awkward laugh that you've fallen in love with as he tugs on your joined hands before you can walk past one of the houses, too comfortable in your private bubble to see just how far you've come. You realize it's his house when he led you down the short driveway and up to the front door, feeling around in his pockets for his keys before fishing them out to unlock the door, having to shake the keys free when they got stuck to his palm. You laugh at the spectacle, wondering if Spider-Man is always uncoordinated.
His house is modest and nicely decorated; you glance around, soaking in the furnishings, the television, the picture frame containing an eternally smiling man and woman. You separate yourself from him, kicking off the top high heels a bit harshly and reaching out for the frame, consumed with curiosity and a mouth full of questions. As open as Peter is with you, he's never mentioned his parents or home life at all. In fact, it was typically you begging him to use his web to swing to you on the ritzy side of town to help you escape from your glamourized hell. You moaned and groaned about your parents, not knowing a single thing about his. Being here in his place of safety almost feels like a crime you’re committing. What did you do to deserve to be here when you’ve never attempted to picture his world?
"Aunt May?" Peter called out only to be met with silence. He shrugged and turned to see you peering down at the photo, your dainty fingers gently stroking over the glass. Your eyes shoot up to see his face, the pinched expression a dead giveaway that he was bothered in some way. Your fingers instantly set the photo in its rightful place before you ball up your fists.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to touch without asking. Are they..." Your parents? Peter blinked a few times and nodded, and you feel your stomach clench with anxiety. Had you stepped too far, out of bounds? Was this something you weren't meant to pry into? At least not yet? You'd never been to a boy's house before, let alone one you were dating. All of the do's and don'ts are new to you.
"It's fine, (y/n), don't worry about it. It's my mom and dad. They're gone.." His sad disposition is instantly overcome with a cheerful tone, the one he uses when he's trying not to be sensitive, "But Aunt May is amazing. She's taken to me being Spider-Man pretty well," He grinned and you internally exhale at the sight. As happy as Peter could be, you learned that even he had his sad moments, his own depressing past that he has to deal with on a day to day basis. You smiled at him, thinking all the while that you need to be better to him, that he deserved so much happiness in his life. Stalking over to your hero, you grasp onto his arm and start to head for the stairs, tugging him along this time before your nerves get the best of you.
"I'm sure she had some questions, probably about the Spandex." Your teasing tone helps both of you feel better as Peter takes the lead and guides you up the stairs, walking down the hall and into the room at the end of the hall.
"Hey, it's a very sophisticated technology that Mr. Stark developed himself!" Peter defended the suit wholeheartedly, his foot kicking the door closed behind you. You drop your bag and not so subtly look around the room. Legos, a laptop, a messy corner of clothes, make that a messy half of the room with clothes, but the bed was at least untouched. Very different from your own pristine room that was cleaned every week, sometimes twice if your parents felt you were being messy. Instead of having you do it yourself, they'd criticize and have someone else do it "properly." You lower yourself into the small cocoon of sheets without so much as a second thought. The scent of Peter is palpable in the air and before you can control yourself, you're burrowing under the covers and Peter is watching while trying to hold back his laughter.
You stretch out your cramped toes, the pads of your feet aching from those insufferable heels, and inhale deeply. Peter’s natural scent is sweet, reminding you of your favorite fruit. It’s homely and comforting and now that you are curled up under covers, you don’t want to leave again. Would it be alright to stay here in the safe little cove of your boyfriend?
“Comfortable?” He asked, laughing quietly as you shifted aside for him to take a seat on his own bed. You nod your head wordlessly, at a loss of what to say now that you two are truly alone. Your parents can’t ruin this moment, Aunt May is off to her own devices, and you can’t muster up the teasing tone you’re used to with all of these butterflies flooding your throat. All you can do is peek up at Peter with an expression he’s never seen before. Instead of sitting beside you, Peter lowers himself to the edge of the bed, easing up your covered feet to set them on his lap.
“Want me to give you a foot rub? You looked in pain the whole walk here. I don’t get why you wear them so often…” His voice softened by the end, his brows scrunched with concern. It’s endearing and sweet and you aren’t used to this much attention and real kindness. Your friends at school are only by your side for your name; who you are as a person mattered very little with a last name in fashion magazines and on the front cover of editorials. Only Peter could make you feel truly seen.
“Please? And it’s not because I want to… my mother says that I need to learn how to walk in them properly when I accompany them to events since I’m not as tall as they wanted. I have to dress the part, be an… elite. Whatever that means. I’d rather wear sneakers- no sandals! Or nothing, just some socks.” These are the only moments where your true thoughts come out, when you are in the safety of Peter Parker’s thickly spun web. Peter’s hands reach under the covers, seeking out your bruised toes. When he finds them, his hands gently cup your left foot, smoothly pressing the pads of his thumbs into the center. Your form instantly relaxed; you can’t tell if it’s from his hands simply touching your bare skin or the fact that your feet could use the pressure.
“It must be rough… having to live with the spotlight always on you,” You try not to get lost in his eyes when your gazes meet, an overwhelming feeling taking up space in your chest. Your Bond throbs with each beat of your heart as he stares at you, his gaze unwavering.
“I’m not the only one, Mr. Hero. Even if people don’t know it’s you under the mask, it doesn’t change the pressure you’re under all the time. You save people’s lives while I just… exist to make my parents look good. At least you’re changing the world for the better.” You laugh after, thinking of the irony; your Bonded is a hero that no one can recognize while your face is unforgettable due to your lineage. What a mismatched pair you made; maybe Peter would be better off with a hero by his side instead of someone that he has to constantly protect with the rest of the world.
“But it’s not the same. No one knows that it’s me. My mistakes are my own, but when I put the mask on, I can be someone else, someone great. You can’t separate yourself from your parents.” At least, not yet. Running his thumb over the curve of your foot, your toes curl and you unconsciously jerk away. Peter laughs at your reaction and you don’t have it in you to be upset. He releases your feet and slip off of the bed, tucking you in along the way.
“Why don’t we get started on that project?” He suggested, ducking down to pick up his backpack and rummaging through it. When he pulled his hand back out, all manner of paper and a notebook sticks to his open palm. You watch him groan with frustration and shake his hand but its no use; you snort at his embarrassment, sitting up with his sheets still coiled around you.
“Does that happen often, Parker?” You never recalled seeing his pencils growing stuck to his hands like this during school. Peter groaned softly, a new flush of embarrassment littering his cheeks as he carefully tugged each pencil and piece of paper from his palm. You’re surprised that the stationary didn’t simply stick to his other hand.
“It’s usually not, uh, this bad. But.. you…” His voice grew softer, the tip of his ears pinkened, “make me nervous.” You grin at his admission, wiggling closer to the edge of the bed.
“Oh, do I? What else do I make you feel?” The question is out of your mouth before you can help yourself. You’re growing addicted to seeing his face flustered and feeling that sensation run along your bond. You realize he can tell exactly what you’re thinking when he pouts, venturing a peek in your direction. He turned his head away after a moment, speaking as he feels around for his notebook and tugs it from his bag. This time, luckily, the notebook doesn’t stick to an increasingly sticky palm.
“(Y/n), I don’t r-really know how to explain. It’s like all of the thoughts racing through my head just… come to a s-stop when you look at me. And you r-really see me… and even if us being seen together is a problem.. Y-you still wanted to make it up to me. I-” You stop him by unraveling from the sheets to reach out your hand, your movement making his words dry up in his mouth. A nervous Peter is your favorite sort, but now even you can’t help the way your cheeks warm from his sweet words. You want to say it- you want to say I love you. You want to make this as real to him as it is to you. Because nothing in the world brings you peace like being near your Bonded, Peter Parker.
Peter is still initially shy when it comes to contact, even more so now that she’s… in his room… alone. He’s reaching back before his brain consciously realizes it, the paper and pen he’d painstakingly unstuck from himself clattering to the floor as their hands clasped together. She tugged him closer easily because Peter is a little out of it right now. Her hair is no longer kept and perfectly coiled from her lying in his bed. Her locks messily splay out behind her, looking soft to the touch. He wanted to run his fingers through the dense locks before grasping gently and pulling her in for a-
“Parker,” She exhaled, her sigh dreamy and lost. His last name never sounded so good; tingles ran down his spine, worse than his spidey sense, as his leg gently knocked against the bed frame. He stared down at her blushing smile, realizing a moment too late that she could feel this, him and his emotions, just as strongly; the moment he visualized kissing her, those same intense impulses zapped through their bond and straight to her chest. She gave one more pull and Peter can do little else but lower to sit beside her, his thumb gently stroking over the back of her hand. His knee lightly pressed against the blanket separating them as his heart squeezed.
“I-” She started, only for the words to grow stuck to her tongue. She parted her lips before closing them again, drawing Peter’s gaze downward. Her lips always look so plump and soft and all he can think is kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her. He watched her gaze lower as she leaned in closer, his own face shifting closer. Just before their lips could meet, he felt that all too familiar zing up his spine and tingle along the back of his left ear. Spidey sense? But why now? He tried to ignore it only for his tingles to grow worse. He exhaled softly, his breath tapping against her plush lips as the door bell gave a resounding ring.
The atmosphere dissolved quickly and Peter can feel that all the courage that built up to the moment had also hidden itself back down a hole.
“I should… probably get that.” She sighed out a “yeah” before shyly turning away, hiding her face as her grip loosened. Raising from his spot beside her, Peter felt his shoulders cave as he stepped over his backpack and passed her on his way out of his room. Aunt May shouldn’t be home yet, her work always keeping her busy at F.E.A.S.T well after Peter has returned home from school. With his senses on high alert, the hero inhaled and exhaled slowly while walking down the steps, his mind racing through dozens of scenarios in the event that there is danger. How to make sure she is kept safe, how to keep the damage to his home a minimal and protecting the surrounding people from attack. If it’s an enemy, how did they find him in the first place? Was any aspect of his clothing or items bugged? Or-
Opening the door, Peter is overwhelmed by an intense sense of hostility. No wonder his spidey senses were tingling. His brows furrowed as he stared up at the older man and woman standings cross from him. They definitely didn’t live in his neighborhood if the rolex watch clinging to male’s wrist had anything to say about it. The woman stood impossibly taller, a hot pink pantsuit clinging to her thin frame. She looked familiar and Peter can feel his stomach steadily dropping lower and lower. This woman looked like her.
“H-Hi, how can I help you?” He managed to speak past his growing nerves, wanting to still put on a brave face. Neither of her parents looked impressed; he can tell by the sneer still on her father’s face at having to look at him and probably past him to the somewhat bare living space; anything would be bare in comparison to an expensive house.
“You tell our daughter to vacate this premises. This instant.” So much for first impressions. Peter managed to stammer out an invitation for them to come inside to wait, but her father quickly (very, very quickly) declined. Turning away from the open door (he felt too nervous to close it on them now and settled for leaving the screen door still closed instead), Peter quickly trailed his way back upstairs, the happy bubble in his chest more than popped.
You love feeling Peter through your extraordinary bond, how his emotions flowed and waned like phases of the moon. You could feel his longing to hold you close, the guilt whenever he had to deny you in pursuit of protecting the city, how badly he wanted to kiss you. You feel his emotions almost as strong as you feel your own. His string tied to you is so strong that you can sense a change in his mood the moment you heard the door open down below. How quickly his heart dropped made you worry and you contemplated on whether or not you should head down to see what is happening. You stand after a few minutes, when you can hear Peter walking up the steps. And you feel your own initial joy crumble at the look of defeat on his face. There could be so many reasons as to why, but you know before he can speak.
“Is it…” Them. My parents. Peter glances down and nodded his head silently, unable to find the words to express and finding his side of the bond too jumbled with sensations. Guilt. Immense guilt.
You can only guess at what was spoken, but from the look on Peter’s face, you know that they were rude to him, a mere teen, and it would mostly stem from Peter not being rich or affluent. He didn’t have a big house or a flashy car or rich parents to shower him in whatever he wanted. That’s all that your parents would see- what Peter did not have. For the first time, you feel the rage in your core bubble to the surface.
Your fingers clench into tight fists as you feel your shoulders begin to shake. One look at Peter, hurt, is enough to send a roaring wave through you. You’re angry at them for making him feel lesser than and, even more so, angry at yourself for letting them instill in you the need to seek their validation. With your resolve pounding in your head, you’re moments from stomping your way downstairs to give your parents a piece of your mind.
You exhale a sigh when he reached to wrap his fingers around one of your shaking wrists. His touch is enough to calm you but not enough to quell your storm. You feel so angry and overwhelmed that your eyes are growing blurry.
“It’s okay, (y/n). I’m fine.” There he goes again, putting on a brave face for you but you don’t want that facade. Why isn’t Peter angry, too?
“But… It’s not okay. They’ve done this my entire life and I just- I don’t want them to do this to you too.” Not being able to protect Peter from their toxicity is your biggest shame. You wanted to strut down those stairs and give them the explosion they’d been building for years. Sensing your twisted gut, Peter drew you in closer until your nose bumped against his chest. You close your eyes and lean in closer, not wanting to leave.
“It’s not okay, no… but I don’t want to be the reason you fight with your parents.” Shaking your head, you grumble against him.
“But you aren’t..”
“But I would be.. I know they don’t like me now, but- but maybe they will one day.. So you should go.” For all of his sensible words, you can feel the strain on your bond as you peel away. Peering up, you can’t help the sad furrow of your brows. Peter lowered his head enough to kiss between them, smoothing them over with his lips.
“Wrong spot,” You mumbled, your nose crinkling under the touch of his lips as he shifted down. His lips feel warm, albeit a little chapped, and despite not wanting them too, your brows do relax. His next kiss is against the tip of your nose.
“Wrong again,” you grumble, but his kisses are having their intended affect. Your limbs are no longer shaking, your anger quelling only a bit more as you tipped your head up a fraction. His lips are so close at hand and you know they’ll feel every bit of good but- there’s another ring at the doorbell and you know your parents will not wait any longer. You both sigh out of frustration and you ache as you pull yourself away. Tugging on the pain inducing heels bolsters your resolve to choose regular sneakers next time. Peter handed you your bag and followed after you down the short hall and down the stairs, only falling back when you made it to the door.
Watching her open the screen felt like the ending of something and the tingle at his left ear only made his anxiety spike. She forced a smile then as she took a step out.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Parker.”
Peter stared at the closed door for a while, the tingle indicating his spidey sense spreading throughout his body. His fingers began to tremble as he turned back to head up the stairs, his stomach beginning to clench up painfully. She’s upset, he knew it even without having to tap into their bond. He’d never seen her so angry before and he wasn’t sure what he could’ve done to make the situation any better. The way her parents stared down on him made the poor boy from Queens feel like scum on the bottom of some villains shoe. Still, he didn’t want it to escalate any further and he would take the snide attitude if it meant they could grow to like him… he could be charming, you know?
. o .
“You’re not to be alone with that boy again, (y/n). Why would you come all the way to this place without notifying either of us? Do you have any idea how much-”
“What? How much time you wasted having to find me? I didn’t think you’d even be home so why does it matter?” The dam held at bay by Peter’s soothing words broke and you are so angry that the tears smart in your eyes. Sitting in the back of the Rolls-Royce, you crossed your arm and peered out the window, your arms shaking.
“How dare you speak to me this way? We didn’t raise you to be so unruly. Has that boy been poisioning you? Did he ask for money, is that it?” You felt the pain in the back of your neck from how hard you snapped it towards your mother. People often said that you looked too similar, and you pray that you never have that type of smug, judgemental expression that’s staring at you now.
“Peter doesn’t need money. And just because he doesn’t live the way we do, you think it gives you the right to judge him for it? Peter is brilliant! He’s one of the best students my school has ever seen. He has an internship with Tony Stark and he did all of that on his own. He didn’t need someone to pay his way. He would never! I’m- I’m so tired of you always doing this. You make me play dressup, you make me do whatever you think I should. You never let me do anything for myself.”
“Hm. And you think you know what’s right for you? We’ve worked so hard to give you the life you deserve! We even have the perfect Bond for you! And you think you could’ve done it on your own too? (y/n), everything we do is-” Her tangent is cut off from the audible crash on the road ahead.
You never had a chance to see what was happening before a telephone line began to snap, the lose of structure causing the pole to fall and swing, bashing into the driverside of the car. Multiple cars went flying in quick succession as the screams pelted the air, one after another, the vehicles crashing into buildings and on top of one another. People are scattering about, but you don’t know that.
The Rolls-Royce lay on it’s side, your seat belt being the only thing keeping you from falling. You can’t breathe, the impact causing your ears to ring so hard you can’t hear the yelling close by. It all sounds so far off. A boiling heat permeated from your abdomen and you feel like you’re wet but you don’t know why. As your gaze fell to the side of the car, you could make out your mothers shape, the air bag covered in blood form your vantage point.
“Mo…m? Dad?” Her arms lay limp at her side, and your brain can’t make out the scene before you as everything slowly grew black like a TV suddenly being switched off. One last thought crossed your mind as the static set in.
Peter.