Chapter Text
You anxiously checked your phone for any texts from Peter, awaiting his return by the time you got back from work today. Sometimes you wondered if it was worth having Spider-Man as a husband, but twice as much when he was doing multi-dimensional travel semi-regularly. You know that he wouldn’t be able to reach you if he was still on a different earth or universe or-
Whatever he calls it. You find it difficult to keep up.
So the only signal you would get that he was okay is when he texts you that he’s back safe. You walk into your shared apartment with groceries, carefully taking out the chocolate milk to put in the fridge for him. You hear chimes behind you and feel a cold breeze as you bend over with the fridge door open, but know it wasn’t coming from your area.
You immediately turn around and see the white eyes of his suit staring back at you from the distance in the shimmery portal of a vague, typical New York rooftop.
When you see one, your eyes scan from left to right, and notice there’s two of them.
He also has explained the fact that there were Spider-Men, people (or anything) in countless universes to you before but you could never quite wrap your head around it. But, you remembered enough from those honest conversations to recognize that this was one of those cases.
They seem deep in conversation, but you couldn’t tell who was who as the suits and physical builds were identical. Both had the masks fully on and they shook hands, perched on the edge of the roof. But, one continues to glance at you during. You waved for whichever one was yours and got your answer as the second pair of bug eyes turned back around to run towards you, waving a peace sign to the other Spider figure.
As soon as Peter jumps back into your world, you wrap your hands around him, opening your eyes and catching the lifeless stare of the other Spider-Man before the portal closes.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Peter says, slightly muffled underneath his mask. You grin while nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck before responding.
“Good, I can’t afford to compete with the multiverse,” You feel his hand caressing your head, gently gesturing for you to look at him as he removes his mask. You instantly feel relief seeing him back with you, safe and not finding random injuries on him.
Your hands immediately reach for his face, running over every line and crease of his smile from his cheeks to his eyes.
“You’re always gonna be my number one priority. Remember?” Peter reminds you as he places his much larger hand over yours on his face, fingers pressed onto your ring.
It had been a little over a year since the actual wedding, and you don’t think you’d get over the fact that you married the love of your life.
“I love you,” You mutter, leaning into his personal space even more to kiss him. He accepts your advancement and kisses you back. His lips are chapped against your soft ones, but you love it all the same as the pressure he placed against them was so light. You almost lose your breath trying to reciprocate the softness he was providing you, dizzied when he echoes your words.
“I love you, too.”
Before you could even think, you laid beside Peter in bed, your hair disheveled while Peter’s just got even more messier than usual. The ache between your legs began to disappear as you hiked one knee across his legs and had your head resting on his chest.
He holds you close while his breathing steadies and your focus on his heartbeat.
“How was this one?”
Your fingertips trace his pectorals while his arms squeeze your body in his grasp.
He hesitates before starting.
“You know how I’ve met versions of myself before?” You nod, planting your hand on his chest before lifting your head slightly to look up in his direction.
“This guy was my twin.” Peter’s voice croaks hardly above a whisper. You only move to readjust yourself with your chin above your hands on his chest, laying down on your stomach to focus on whatever he’s about to say.
“Twin,” You repeat.
“Babe, it was like looking into a mirror,” He adds. There’s no punchline but his lips tug up at what he just said before chuckling humorlessly.
“But we’re so different. He said that he feels stuck, that he’s not pulling his punches anymore. So I was trying to cheer him up, but he’s in a tough spot right now.” Peter shakes his head as he recalls it, and you furrow your eyebrows listening to him.
“You look hung up about it,” You observe, concerned for Peter’s internal monologue. You know how he gets when he overthinks, and you know if he thinks he can help it, he’d be able to help everyone or fix everything.
“What if I can help him?” He admits, confirming your suspicions. You shake your head, before lifting yourself from his body, taking a loose sheet to cover your chest as you move up to face him.
“Maybe he doesn’t need your help?” You try to reason with him, not wanting to put himself at multiverse risk unless he absolutely needs to. It’s clearly important to him in more ways than you can ever understand because of how supposedly identical they were. You took Peter’s word for it but still, part of you couldn’t buy that this was his destiny to go help fix whatever part of his life that he’s in.
“You don’t know that,” Peter sighs, frustrated as he’s still wracking his head around the last encounter.
You can only imagine what they talked about.
“You don’t either,” You point out. Peter’s big brown eyes meet yours. Gentle, still tired from the mission but also from the welcome back sex, pleading you to indulge him into his matyrdom.
Peter clicks his tongue, more at himself than at you and you raise your eyebrow.
“Right.” He clarifies that it’s his thoughts that he’s criticizing.
The next 48 hours were calm but you could tell Peter was more distracted than usual, presumably about his other self.
You were getting ready for bed, taking melatonin to knock out as soon as possible after the long day you had. You slipped in the covers beside him, listening to his drawn out monologue about how it’s what's best and he’ll feel guilty if he doesn’t do it.
“But it’s not your responsibility,” You remind him in a sleepy voice as your eyelids get heavier. Peter scowls, your vision doesn’t catch it entirely but you know he doesn’t agree.
“Who would I be if I didn’t do anything to help myself?” You rolled your eyes at his sentiment.
“Pete, I know I’ll never understand but you have to move on, your life is here,” You readjust your head on the pillows as Peter turns over to fully get into bed. You’re suspicious of him as his suit is in direct eyesight of you both from the closet.
Peter is staring up ahead, probably not registering your pleas that his own life and responsibilities on the earth he’s from should be more important, also the fact that he shouldn’t be messing with the fate of another version of himself just because he feels obligated to help.
For a man who was so logical, his moral reasoning seemed to go out the window when you rationalized the importance of leaving other people’s decisions and lifepaths alone.
So much so that by the next morning, there’s an empty space next to you and his suit is gone. You stare at the empty hanger and let out an exasperated sigh with the note that was taped on your bedside table in hand.
“I’m sorry baby, I have to do this.
Just give me a few days.
Love you the most -Peter.”
This wouldn’t be the first time he ghosted you with only a note to explain, but he was going to get an earful from you by the time he gets back. You don’t know how you let him get away with as much as he does but you suppose those are the things that come with marriage. Marriage to a superhero came with an entirely different set of terms and conditions though.
-
It was day 5 of Peter’s moral-responsibility escapade and you were getting terrified. You felt bad for constantly asking Miles if he or anyone from the several other dimensions had heard of anything but he was kind enough to keep you updated with as much as he knew.
Of course, that meant the answer was always:
“No, sorry Mrs. Parker.”
You would sigh and hang up the phone.
It was exhausting, not having your husband around but also knowing he was quite literally not in your dimension.
You tried to do anything to alleviate your stress and imagined him eventually texting you that he’s okay and swinging home as soon as possible, knowing that it would only make you scared to imagine the opposite.
You were cleaning the kitchen, carefully taking off your wedding ring to put on the counter so it wouldn’t rip your gloves and silently hoped that whenever Peter came back, he would be safe and not trying to continue fixing other people’s lives.
That evening passes by painfully but while trying to block out the thoughts through a self care routine for the night, you realize that this isn’t the longest Peter had been gone. He should be fine and he’ll come back happier, regardless of the outcome knowing that at least he tried. He deserves to come back feeling proud for knowing that he did what he could rather than leaving it at that. However, he was definitely pushing it as it was already more than a few days.
You slip into one of your t-shirts that are really one of Peter’s and a pair of sleeping shorts, turning off the lights in the house until you hear a loud noise, like a pan's clattering in the kitchen. You’re afraid as you can’t be completely sure that it’s Peter coming back and that you very well could be in danger without him. You call out for his name and get no response.
Light on your feet, you tip-toe through the hall towards where the noise is coming from and see an illumination of the light on the floor, knowing that it is a portal. He’s been going in and out of them so long you recognized the patterns easily enough. You turn on the light in the kitchen and see his figure in his tattered suit, ripped revealing his bruised and bloody skin underneath.
You see that one of his gloves is hanging on by the seams, a wedding band tearing the fabric from underneath, blood decorating the silver.
Rasping out his name, your hands reaching for his hand with the ring. His fingers immediately intertwine with yours, almost trembling and feeling desperate.
His voice is low and guttural when he says your name, taking off his mask to reveal his face. You feel relief wash over you knowing that your baby is home again and hug him like you have so many times before. You hear him choking back a sob while his much taller frame is swallowing yours and cooed for him to relax, worried about what he saw in this dimension that’s warranting this reaction.
“It’s okay baby, you’re back home now,” Is what you repeat, running your hand over his back, careful not to touch his wounds.
You lead him back into the bathroom, slowly stripping his suit off in silence knowing that he’ll speak when he wants to. He was acting a bit standoffish, staring at you and mute. You didn’t know what to say or the right questions to ask, so you ran the rag under the water and started gently cleaning the blood off of him. His suit was strewn across the floor, and boots were standing upright by the tub. You were thankful he had a few extras in the closet before having to sew anymore.
Peter’s stare is empty, his brown eyes look black and he looks like he hadn't been sleeping since he left. You run your fingers across his cheeks softly as you always have but this time he flinches. You quickly remove your hands from his general bubble not wanting to alarm him as you’re still standing in between his legs as he’s seated on the edge of the bathtub.
You know he regrets it when he grabs your hand to bring his cheek again, staring at you from below through his wet eyelashes.
“‘M sorry bub,” He says it like he’s ashamed. You shake your head to reassure him, and can’t help but smile at the nickname.
“You haven’t called me that in so long. Since we first started going out,” You remind him, smiling wider as you recall your earlier memories with him. A blush creeps up Peter’s cheek but he begins to smile back. He wraps his large arms around the small of your back to bring you closer, his face nuzzling on your tummy before his voice perks up.
“Why did I ever stop?”
You shrug, placing his chin in between your fingers so you can make eye contact with him. “We grew up.”
Peter nods, smiling tiredly, “Right.”
He’s not acting much differently than he usually does when he first comes back, but he’s more injured than his past trips so you know that this time was different.
“What happened with your twin?” You ask as you’re kneeled on the tiled floor before him. You’re cleaning up his scratches with alcohol and cotton balls, discarding the red and pink stained ones in the trash next to you.
“Nothing,” He mumbles, wincing every time you run another cotton ball over a fresher gash.
“Doesn’t look like nothing, Peter,” You scold him for not telling you everything. Your hands remain on the top of his thighs when you stand back up, your shorts riding right below your hips when Peter takes the pleasure of raising your t-shirt to kiss your body.
You’re ticklish at the sudden affection, squirming underneath his sudden display of strength, lips and rough, calloused hands trailing all around your stomach until he stops. You catch your breath from the involuntary giggling he caused when he’s staring at your hips.
“Nine hundred and ninety-nine,” He comments, raising his eyebrow when you realize what he’s referring to. You snort at his confusion and the way he said it.
“You’re such a nerd, you know it’s nine-nine-nine.” You roll your eyes at his sudden awareness of your numerology tattoo. He scoffs with a smile, sighing at the sight of you. There’s a quiet pause and the silence lingering in the air.
“Do you remember the day we got it?”
Peter nods, but not without a favor. “Tell me, I’m already forgetting about it.” His grin widens.
You shake your head flashing a toothy smile at him. He returns one back. “It was only a few years ago. Did you hit your head on a portal the way back?” You try to joke at his lack of memory today.
He laughs along as you sit down on one of his thighs knowing he’d easily support your weight. You wrap your hands around his neck and stare longingly at him before recalling the memory. His stare is not as cold and distant as it was earlier, so you feel better around him again.
“I just like listening to you talk, of course I remember.” He explains.
You nod, failing to hide how good that made you feel. He readjusts his leg to hold you closer while your hands find their way in his hair again.
“The night we met, I just kept seeing 9’s all day. It was 9 on the dot when I walked into the place we were at 9th avenue, it was September, the temperature was like 90 degrees. It was too much of a coincidence.” You can tell you’re rambling so you look back up from the spot you were staring at to see if Peter was still listening.
Of course he was. He nods for you to continue.
“And when I told you this a few years later, I felt like I was meant to meet you because it was the start of a new beginning. 999 is the angel number for it,” He furrows his eyebrows and you shake your head again.
“Then you laughed at me because you’re such a geek and went on a tangent about probability,” You pause as Peter throws his head to the side, a small laugh escaping his throat from fake offense.
You also giggle but force yourself to continue, “But then you agreed, because of how important I became to you. I think we were on a date when I got a receipt telling you this and we were the 999th table served at that diner and then I said that this is our number, and you said we should get it tattooed.”
He hangs onto every word as you recount the memory, he cuts you off with the ending of the story. “So we did it that day.”
You nod, feeling a bit of relief.
Your head is laying on his shoulder when he finishes the story, thinking about how many times you’ve rehearsed this explanation of how you had a matching tattoo with your boyfriend before you guys became engaged.
“You tell it the best,” Peter interrupts your thoughts.
You nuzzle your head in his chest and he takes the opportunity to scoop your body up in his arms by wrapping his other arm underneath your leg to take you to your shared bedroom. You squeal in surprise begging him not to move so suddenly or else he’ll get blood on the sheets but he ignores your requests and eventually you do too.
When you’re making out with him, your back is pressed up against the bed feeling suffocated by the intensity and desperation of his kisses. You feel his erection through his boxers pressing up against your heat, just as frenzied for his touch as he is for yours. You moan in his mouth, eventually biting his lip when he tries to pull away to undress you as fast as he can. You’re only clad in your underwear by the time he’s pulling down his boxers but notice a difference.
Unsure if you’re seeing things you run your fingers over his skin on the right of his prominent v-lines and notice there’s not any remnants of swollen skin from your matching 999 tattoo with him.
“Peter?” Your voice is small, still laced with lust, unsure if you were overreacting or not.
Peter throws his boxers to the side, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand due to his swift strength while he uses his middle finger to play with your clit through your underwear.
“Fuck, I missed this,” He pauses, staring at your heat before meeting your eyes again. “I missed you so much.”
Your eyes narrow in confusion but it’s hard for you to focus on what he’s saying, not fully understanding but also trapped underneath his touch.
“You’re scaring me,” You whimper and it only translates as a moan, breathy as his fingers move faster with your wetness collecting onto them as he pushes your panties to the side. “I’m right here Peter, I’ve always been right here.” You remind him, thinking that he’s alluding to the past few days. In his defense, they did feel like forever.
Your arms struggle underneath his but you move involuntarily, feeling your cunt clench around nothing already. You moan his name on repeat, your breasts jiggling as your chest heaves up and down from his attention.
“I had you before,” He slips one finger in.
“And then I lost you,” Another finger enters.
Peter begins thrusting skillfully before you can think better of it. “I’m not risking that again.”
Your eyes widen at what he just said and the intensity at which his fingers are curling inside you.
You think about the lack of tattoo, the subtle difference in mannerisms since he came back and the fact that Peter had just left in search of an identical version of himself.
Feeling yourself become dizzy, the tightness in your stomach from the fact that you were about to cum mixed in with the fear and realization of the situation at hand. “Where’s Peter?” You choke out when he slows down, edging your high.
He looks up at you, leaning down on your frame to kiss your cheek. You shudder, lip quivering from the onset of tears about to spill out.
“I’m right here bub,” He whispers. Peter picks up the pace of his fingering and your legs close around his hand, not wanting him to go any further. He uses the hand that had been keeping your hands together to open your legs again to continue and you cum around him, sobbing silently at the nickname.
Your tears start to run on your face, salt streaking your skin. Your breath is uneven from the sobs and cumming simultaneously.
“Where’s my Peter?” You place emphasis on the my even though your voice feels like chalk in your throat. You use your hands to support yourself sitting up, trying to keep your legs together when he removed his fingers from your cunt. He shakes his head at the attempt to close access off from him and pushes you back down on the bed, gently as you both know trying to defend yourself would be futile.
You lay down in defeat, watching in shame how he wraps his legs around your waist while his hands are holding your arms above your head once again.
“You know that deep down, I’m him.” Peter's eyes are blown out with lust, his cock standing tall against his lower abdomen. Your eyes trail past this and to the absence of the tattoo and feel the fear making your body frozen again.
You close your eyes and shake your head as he leans down towards your face, trying your best to squirm underneath his body.
“I’ll do anything you want, just don’t do this,” You sob weakly, your chest feels as though it’s going to cave in. “You’re not him but you don’t have to do this, please,” You cry a bit louder, but not enough for anyone to hear you. You quickly realize that it wouldn’t do any good for people to see someone who has the same exact identity as your husband hurting you, if you wanted any chance of seeing your Peter again.
He slightly readjusts his hips above you and you think he’ll let you go, listening to your pleas but he just hikes up your legs in order to line up to your heat. You hear him chuckling slowly while your legs are instinctively wrapped around his legs, still shaking from how he made you come.
“All I want is you.”
Your heart picks up its pace as you feel his head right underneath your clit and in between your lips, slowly entering you, feeling that space between your legs be fulfilled. Your guilt eats you up knowing that you were enjoying this, and he knew you were enjoying this, but him not being your actual husband.
“Get off of me,” Is what you say but your hips say otherwise. Your moans get ragged as he continues to slowly thrust, allowing you to get used to his size before he picks up the pace. Your body moves back and forth as he does, fucking him back as you maneuever yourself up and down on his length.
He removes his hands from holding you down, mainly to see what you do and you only wrap your chest in embarrassment, biting your lip as he stares down at you.
“You can’t resist me baby,” He acknowledges, you sniffle. His hips thrust into you again, rocking down into you and you clench around him, causing you both to whine in pleasure. He hiked up your leg higher, flatter against your body as he grabbed the underneath of your thigh to go deeper.
Your empty sobs fill the room as the bed under you creaks, he growls in response. “It’s all the same, in every universe you’re mine.”
You shake your head at that, a thread of “No’s” filling your head but you can’t bring yourself to say it aloud. His cock thrusting in and out of you, his hand gripping you like you’re the only thing he can touch is clouding your mind. His toned body is slamming against your hips and you reach out to hold onto him as he gets rougher, wanting him to anchor you for the inevitable climax.
“I love you just as much as him,” He continues, relishing in your high pitched mewls that he took as praise. He groans lower when you make eye contact with him as your hands grip onto his bicep.
“Maybe even more.”
You shake your head, eyebrows pinching up and lips in a pout as you can feel the sobs coming back when you think about your Peter. You have no idea where he is right now. How you’ll explain yourself when he comes back.
If he comes back.
You shake your head even faster and finally verbalize the “No’s” you’ve been wanting to say but couldn’t bring yourself to.
Your legs become sore at the position he kept them in and presses his chest up against yours. He whispers in your ear, “The fact that I even did this for you says a lot.”
Your head is spinning.
“I need you, more than you’ll ever know.” He grunts, his final thrusts feel like he’s about to split you open, he knows this by the way your eyes pinch together in pain and slows down for you, trying to ease the friction by using his thumb to play with your clit during.
You separate your lips in relief and he uses the opportunity to gently kiss you.
He’s not your husband, he’s not your Peter Parker. But you can’t even bring yourself to identify him as an evil version of your lover. Especially not when he kisses you like this.
A version of him that refuses to make the right decisions, prioritizes the wrong things and goes out of his way to get what he wants is still him. Every part of you wants to scream that this is wrong, telling him that there’s another way and that you have to find a way to fix this, but you can’t think straight when he’s all there is in front of you.
Kissing back, you’re desperate to feel him, any version of Peter, on your lips and you squirm underneath when his fingers rub faster on your clit.
Your cunt tightening around his cock when you feel the tension snap in your stomach. Peter’s hips stutter at the feeling, cumming immediately inside of you and separating himself from you. He allows your legs to relax, laying you back down fully when he removes himself from you.
His fingers trace your tattoo, leaning down to kiss it before trailing down to your swollen, puffy cunt.
“I’ll get a 999 tattoo too,” He says nine-nine-nine this time, smirking when you meet his eyes.
“It’ll be a new beginning for both of us.”
It’s the last thing he says before going back in to eat you out, petrifying you to an unfamiliar degree.