#f: tasm
Note
ugh I love the way you write frat Peter <3333 am thinking of how he would react when his frat brothers flirt with his girl jus to rile him up - ❄️❄️
A Little Reminder
--genre: fluff, slight smut, MINORS DNI.
--pairing: frat!tasm!peter parker x f!reader
--word count: 1.4k
--warnings: language, kisses, slight smut, mention of hickeys, fluff!!!
love this request! i have something similar (more angsty) if you want more, "Let Me Be There, Let Me Be Yours".
You were drained, to say the least. Your last lecture wiped you out, followed by a tutoring session to bring up your plummeting English Literature grade. Peter’s the one to blame for that one. Sure, you scheduled an early morning class knowing that it would be hard to get there, but Peter keeping you hostage in bed also didn’t help.
As you walk back to your apartment, you’re mentally cursing him knowing that you’ll realistically not do anything about it. With your headphones blocking out the world around you, your only goal was to get home and to Peter. Your bed calls out for you.
Switching songs, an arm is suddenly wrapped around your shoulders, making you jump out of your skin. Pulling off one side of your headphones, you look towards the person whose arm is around you, finding one of Peter’s frat brothers grinning widely at you. You barely have time to deal with whatever is going on, but still decide to play along not to seem rude, “Bryce, what the fuck is going on?”
“Oh nothing,” he replied nonchalantly, his arm still on your shoulders, “ just walking you home, that’s all.” His tone still holds one of a joke, but now that you’re approaching your apartment he still doesn’t give up.
You can’t help but laugh and scoff, you wonder how long he’ll keep this up. Ducking out of his hold, you stand in front of him, “I didn’t ask you to do that, but thank you so much for your generosity, Bryce. Your heart must be so so big!” You bring a hand up to his shoulder and pat it a few times, “I’ll make sure to tell Pete about this. Just to let him know how caring you are.”
“You do that, (Y/N)! I cannot wait to hear back from him,” his smile is wide still, but sarcasm drips off of his tongue.
You start to walk up the stairs to your building, waving Bryce goodbye as you giggle to yourself. He’s going to get an earful the next time he sees Peter.
****
“Hi, Pete! I’m home,” you call out as you close and lock the door behind you. It doesn’t take long before you hear heavy footsteps approach you from the bedroom, Peter’s disheveled state greeting you. He’s shirtless, his boxers the only thing on his body, but you’re not complaining. Peter’s even wearing his glasses, which is a rarity recently. You’ve noticed he only wears them around you.
As he approaches you, he takes your school bag and your headphones, placing them on the couch before he envelopes you in a bone-crushing hug. You breathe in his scent, the natural musk combined with his body wash makes you melt. Your ear is placed directly on his heart, the rhythmic beat acting as a lullaby.
You look up at him again, craving to see him in his glasses again to see that he’s already looking at you. You stand on your toes to reach his lips, catching him off guard in a kiss that he quickly gets accustomed to. His lips are slightly chapped.
Pulling away he sighs, giving your lips one more quick peck, “How was class, bug?” Brushing a piece of hair that fell into your eyes away, he holds the side of your face.
“It was long and boring,” you close your eyes, the mere thought of it reeling in another wave of exhaustion, “but guess who I ran into on the way home?” You pull away from his hold to walk over to the kitchen, Peter following loosely behind you. There are a few beats of silence as he goes through the list of who it could be, but he soon gives up with a sigh. “Bryce fucking Quinn,” you reveal.
He leans against the cabinet as you reach into the fridge for a bottle of water, his eyes widening, “I haven’t seen him in a while. How is he?”
“He’s good,” you open the cap and take a sip, before dropping the bomb on him, “he’s very nice.”
This sparks Peter’s interest, his head cocking to the side as his brows furrowed in confusion, “Oh really?” Your impression of him shocks him. He knows Bryce Quinn to be a jokester, he’s never taken anything seriously, and if he did, it was always because it was part of a running bit that he carried.
You smirk as you take another sip, trying not to reveal how amused you are, “Yeah, he even walked me home! He even threw his arm over me to make sure I got here safe.” You leave Peter to go into the bathroom, the sudden urge to pee coming over you.
Peter’s once relaxed demeanor was now one of rigid shock, he once again followed you. “What do you mean ‘threw his arm over you’?” You’re sitting on the toilet when Peter opens the door and stands directly in front of you, looking for answers.
“You need me to answer that right now?”
“Well,” he doesn’t see anything wrong with asking right now, “when else am I gonna ask you?” He’s dead serious too.
Reaching for the toilet paper, you gather a few pieces, “Maybe when I’m not actively on the toilet?”
He finally comes to his senses as he turns around, facing the wall, and leaving you to do your business. “It’s not like I haven’t seen every part of you before,” he adds, before turning back around when he hears the toilet flush and the sink run as you wash your hands.
Washing your hands, you look into the mirror only to see Peter behind you, giving you a scare. “If you’re really worried about this babe, you know you shouldn’t,” you dry your hands off on the towel next to the sink. Turning around to face your worried and slightly angry boyfriend, you reach up to hold his face, his head slightly flinching away from your cold hands, you giggle, “Shit, sorry!”
Pulling down his face, you kiss his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands find their home on your waist. The kiss slowly gets needier, causing Peter’s hands to lower down to under your thighs, hoisting you onto the counter, his arms caging you in as he places both of his hands on either side of your head. Your fingers are weaving themselves in his hair, slightly tugging on it, causing a soft moan to escape his lips. You pull away, his lips chasing yours as you back away. “Peter,” you whine.
He’s not listening, his only objective was connecting your lips again. He’s panting as he responds, his voice breathy, “Yeah, baby?” You can’t help but smirk at his current state. It seems like he forgot all about your previous conversation.
As you tilt your head back and forth to look into his eyes, he follows. His lips are desperate for your touch, and it shows. You grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes, “Don’t be too hard on Bryce when you see him next.”
Peter groans as he tilts his head back away from your touch, a breathy chuckle leaving him, “Why are we still talking about Bryce when I’m so close to taking you back to bed?”
You blush at his response, “I’m just saying…I don’t need to be the damsel in distress when it comes to you, Petey.” Peter brings his hands down to scoop under your thighs once again, pulling you up to his chest, making you wrap both your arms and legs around him to not fall, a big smile on your face.
“Oh, bug,” he starts to walk to your bedroom, “you’re never the damsel in distress. But sometimes they need a little reminder that you aren’t theirs to play with, are you?” You shake your head in response, the heat in your cheeks starting to pool lower on your body. “And sometimes they forget that,” he places you gently on the bed.
Peter can’t help but admire you as you lay in front of him. Pulling off his glasses and tossing them to the side, he kneels on the bed to kiss you again, leaving a few marks on your neck to serve as a physical reminder to those around you. Bryce is so fucked.
--author's note: I LOVE FRAT!PETER AND I'M SO HAPPY YOU LOVE HIM TOO ❄️ ANON!!!!!! this got a little spicy at the end and i'm so sorry i have no idea what happened LMAOO. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog. my 300 follower celebration is happening now, so don't forget to send things in!! rules are pinned to my blog!!! ok, ily bye <333
#tasm!peter x reader#peter parker x reader#peter parker#fluff#marvel#andrew garfield peter parker#tasm!peter parker#spiderman#college au#frat!peter parker x f!reader#frat!peter parker#frat!peter#tasm!peter parker smut#frat!peter smut
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approach shift - epilogue
pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version)
length: 2.3k
rating: explicit 18+
warnings: PIV (protected), sneaky little non-descriptive pegging reference, disGUSting fluff
Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.
a/n: I'll keep it quick: I'm so sorry this took so long, but I just wasn't quite ready to finish it off haha. It's been two years almost to the day since I started writing this (and they've been fucking crazy years) so it feels very strange saying goodbye to these adorable losers. I once again can't even start to express how happy it's made me seeing your reactions to this fic, and I'm endlessly grateful to everyone who took the time to leave a comment or reach out to say hi. I hope you like this last sweet little snippet! x
series masterlist
SIX MONTHS LATER
“We need to get up,” you say, making no move to do so.
He turns his face from where it’s smushed into the pillow to speak, his eyes still closed. “You first.”
You groan.
You have no idea what time it is, and your phone is out of reach, but the light through the curtains is blinding like near-noon and Bear’s supposed to be here at 10 to pick you up, so you’re almost definitely cutting it fine.
“Peter.” Your legs are tangled with his, his thigh between yours. He huffs morning breath sleepily into your face in response, reaching a hand out to pat your cheek.
“Shh.” He shifts, pressing his thigh harder between your legs, skin sticky on skin. You know he’s doing it on purpose; he knows exactly where he’s pressing you. You make a quiet, satisfied noise, then pull away regretfully.
“Bear’s gonna be here soon and you need to be dressed. She’ll freak if she has to see your ass again.”
“Mmm. Yeah. I’m up.”
You sit up, and the slow weight of his arm slides off your waist. The bedroom door is open to the living room where you can see the debris left over from your at-home date the night before: the bowl still on the couch with a handful of unpopped kernels still rattling in the bottom, the fairy lights web-stuck across the ceiling still glowing gently and the blown-out candles stuck in pastel wax puddles to the coffee table you’d rescued from the curb a few weeks after moving in together. It’d been unbearably funny watching Peter’s elaborate performance of pretending to struggle under the weight of it on the way back home.
He drags himself out of bed, and you hear the coffee machine gurgling while you start pulling out clothes.
It’s hot and stuffy; the air’s stopped working again sometime in the night, so you screech the window open and prop the broom handle under the frame to keep it there. It’s a precarious solution—more than once, the window’s fallen shut while you’ve been at work, forcing Peter to awkwardly perform a frantic outfit change behind the dumpster in the alley so he doesn’t run the risk of running into one of your neighbours in the elevator. But the rent’s affordable for a pair of research scientists with a dash of supplementary freelance photography cash on the side, and the occasional bags of free food from a grateful shop owner after a thwarted hold-up.
“Should we call about the air?” you wonder out loud through the open door.
“Don’t worry about it, it’ll be quicker if I just get up on the roof and fix it again myself,” Peter says, his voice stretching out into a yawn halfway through. He appears in the bathroom doorway, still naked, two mugs in his hands.
You gasp in appreciation as he passes one to you. “God, I love you,” you murmur, taking a sip.
He grins dazedly at you in the mirror, his cheeks flushed. “Is that all it takes, huh? A crappy cup of coffee?”
You turn and slide the mug onto the counter so you can wrap your arms around his waist. “No. You’re cute, too. That helps.”
He kisses you, his thumb and index finger framing your chin. “M’not cute,” he says against your lips, leaning his too-warm body along yours. “M’intimidating as hell. Ask anybody.”
You’d only gotten as far as underwear before he’d interrupted you dressing, and it already feels like there’s far too much in the way between you. “You’re gonna make me late,” you say, reaching down to dig your fingers into the taut swell of his ass. “Gotta get ready.”
“Okay, so keep getting ready,” he says, mouthing at your neck. “You’re the one groping me.”
He’s right; now you’ve started, you can’t seem to stop. You press your hands to the small of his back, drawing him closer. You can feel his cock beginning to harden where his body is pressed against yours, and his tongue comes out to touch at your pulse. He makes a tiny noise in his throat as you slip one hand down between your bodies to wrap loosely around his rapidly-growing erection.
You stroke him once, gently, and he huffs. “I don’t see how this is helping,” he says.
You hum your response, your resolve melting away as he strokes the back of his knuckles down your spine, making you shiver. “Maybe…” you say.
He ducks his head to kiss first one breast, then the other, your nipples standing hard and sensitive. “Maybe?” he prompts. His fingers brush your hip, coming around to rest just below your navel.
“Maybe, if we’re quick…” you say, biting your lip, pushing your hips upward to try to encourage his hand lower.
“Babe, I can be so quick,” he says, half-groan, half-laughter. He thumbs your labia, spreading you open just a little, so he can touch your clit. “Too quick, even, if you want. Some would say it’s a talent.”
You grin at him, letting go of his cock. “Bed. Now.”
He swings you up into his arms so fast your head spins, practically flinging you onto the bed.
You sprawl out in front of him, your arms thrown back as he peels your underwear off. “Holy shit,” he says, running his hands down your sides, staring at the expanse of your body. His jaw is slack with longing, and the sight of his adoration never fails to make fresh heat flood your face, even after seeing him staring at you like this so many times.
He kneels down over you, sucking two fingers into his mouth as he does. You hitch your knees up to give him a better angle, and he gently presses a firm thigh between your legs. “How do you wanna…?”
“Condom,” you tell him, running your fingers through his hair, making his eyes roll closed with pleasure. “No mess.”
He holds your lower lip gently between his teeth, and slowly pushes his two slick fingers inside you. You shift your hips up, and he withdraws them both again, using the slip of your arousal to work against your clit. He kneels up a little, so he can palm your breast with his other hand as he bends down to lick the inside of your thighs.
“Oh,” you breathe. His fingers stop circling to push back inside you, just as his tongue works a hot, messy kiss over your clit. You grab handfuls of his hair to try to keep up with the pace he’s setting, but the feeling of your fingers against his scalp only makes him work faster, a weak groan vibrating down through his tongue.
He bends his head lower, so he can lick around where your wetness has started to gather on his knuckles as he keeps pumping leisurely, in and out. It’s so wet you can both hear it, and he works faster, angling his fingers higher, until you’re writhing.
“Peter…come on, please,” you beg, yanking hard at his hair.
It works to break his concentration, and he scrambles up, leaning down sideways so he can dig around in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. It’s filled with an assorted mix of toys and, stashed further back, Peter’s wrist canisters. The logic had been that anybody who broke into your apartment would be too freaked out by the toys to keep looking in the drawer, but it also meant Peter had to dig through a dizzying array of plugs and lube every time he went out.
You turn your head to the side and see the wistful way he glances at your strap-on, and you click your tongue. “We’re in a hurry, remember? Later.”
“Mmm. I’ll hold you to that,” he says, kissing you again as he rolls the condom smoothly over his cock.
He leans back, propping a pillow under your hips to give himself more leverage. As he sinks inside you, you hold your breath, letting it out slowly.
He groans above you, easing just a millimeter out and then back in, like he can’t help himself. It feels devastatingly good; he’s thick and beautifully hard right against where you need him, and thanks to his mouth, you’re wet enough that you’re ready for him to start moving immediately.
You hook your ankles together behind his back to pull him in deeper, and he sinks home, fully seated balls-deep inside. You clench your muscles, just to feel as much of him as you can, and he grinds his hips against yours.
You can feel the tension in his limbs as he draws back and starts to move. You’ll never, ever get sick of how he feels inside you, you think, your mouth open. He’s fucking you so good; his strokes long and firm and perfect.
He cups your ass with his hand to lift your hips even further, shifting the angle once again, and your breath stutters sharply in your throat as the head of his cock catches your g-spot.
“That’s it, right?” he murmurs, his voice wrecked. “Right there? That’s it, babe, c’mon, show me, I wanna see…”
You can’t even respond, your fingers gripping his biceps like his body is your only lifeline. It’s so good, and you’re getting so close, you just need…
“Fuck,” you gasp, high-pitched and panicked as you come, hard and blinding.
He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder, chasing down his own release as you clench and melt around him. It only takes a few more moments before his cock jerks inside you and he curses, collapsing the hot weight of his body on yours.
You pant together, sweaty and spent. His cheek is crushed to yours, and he turns his face just enough to kiss any part of you he can reach—the top of your shoulder, your forehead, the tip of your ear.
When you manage to drag your eyes open, you find his huge doe-brown eyes already looking at you. “Good?” he whispers, kissing your shoulder again.
You smile at him, feeling drunk and dizzy. “So good,” you tell him.
You’re still wrapped up in each other like idiots when he jolts hard as though startled. You’re confused for about half a second, before the buzzer from downstairs goes off.
“Oh, shit,” you hiss, scrambling out of bed.
“You get ready,” Peter says, somehow already dragging on a pair of sweatpants. The speed and dexterity with which he’s able to dress never ceases to amaze you. “I’ll stall.”
You’re stepping out of the fastest shower of your life when you hear the squeaky door to your apartment opening.
“Hey, Bear,” Peter’s voice says.
“Hey, Parker. Your shirt’s inside-out,” she says.
You lean the naked top half of your body around the bathroom door to wave at her. “Hey, sorry, I just got out of the shower. I need like, three minutes to get dressed.”
She clicks her tongue, but doesn’t look overly annoyed as she flops onto the couch. “It’s hot as shit in here,” she says cheerfully, swinging her feet up onto your coffee table.
You can hear her and Peter chatting as you hurriedly get ready; he asks her about Krista, she asks him about his aunt. Unsurprisingly, Bear and May had hit it off in a huge way at your birthday after May had excitedly demanded to know everything about the play Bear was auditioning for.
You give yourself a quick once-over to make sure you look presentable before you duck out into the living room. Peter and Bear have moved onto once again arguing about music; Peter’s on Blur’s side, Bear’s on Oasis’.
You give them both a sideways look. “I’m not getting involved in this,” you say, checking to make sure your keys are in your bag. “But I’m just saying, in a real fight, Liam Gallagher would kick Damon Albarn’s ass any day of the week.” Peter grins at you from behind the counter, where he’s attempting to clean the disaster left in the kitchen from dinner last night.
“Oh, my God,” Bear says, looking you up and down. “Why do you look so worked up? Were you guys just fucking? Like right now?”
Peter can’t turn away fast enough to conceal his snort, and you make a face at her. “It’s called caffeine. Come on, we’ll be late.”
Peter waves at her. “Say hi to Krista.”
“You should come with us, next time you get a night off work,” Bear says, helping herself to a stick of gum from the packet on the bench.
“Bye,” you say, leaning in to wrap your arms around Peter’s waist. “Be careful,” you add quietly, leaning up to kiss him.
He grins. “Always am.” He kisses you back, slow and gentle, before letting you go.
Bear shakes her head. “You guys are so gross. Later, Parker.”
Peter trails you to the door so he can close it behind you. Bear’s a few feet ahead of you, and you don’t mean to linger, but you can’t help but look back one last time as you go.
Peter’s leaning in the door, a dish rag over his shoulder. His hair’s chaotic from where you’d run your fingers through it, and his cheeks are still a little pink with warmth.
As you watch, his eyes crease at the corners. “Love you,” he mouths, too quiet for Bear to hear. He still has the cutlery in his hands he’d been drying before you walked out; two knives, two forks.
You can feel your face splitting into a smile you’re sure must be even goofier than his. You hold his gaze, and as Bear drags you away, you’re missing him already.
#peter parker x f!reader#peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker x f!reader#tasm!peter parker imagine#peter parker imagine#peter parker smut#tasm!peter parker smut#tasm fanfiction#tasm smut#peter parker x you
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Guys please give me request on oneshots
Masterlist ig
Steven Grant / all the moon boys
Aaron hotchner
Spencer reid
Miguel o’hara
Peter Parker (Andrew)
Hobie brown
Joe Goldberg
Ghost/ König
Frank castle
Please send me request for them.
#steven grant#steven grant x reader#miguel x you#moon knight fanfic#frank castle x f!reader#joe goldberg#jake lockely#tasm peter x reader#ghost cod#joe goldberg smut#dr spencer reid#aaron hotchner smut#aaron hotchner#hobie x you#hobie brown#hobie x y/n#joe goldberg x reader#joe goldberg x you#request#masterlist#steven grant smut#astv miguel#frank castle x reader#frank castle fanfiction#joe goldberg fanfiction#ghost smut#simon ghost riley x reader#könig modern warfare#könig fanfiction#könig x you
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— too late :(
pairing : peter parker x reader | peter parker x f!reader | peter parker x female!reader | peter parker x fem!reader | peter parker x y/n | peter parker x you
prompt : peter’s laptop dies while you two were doing a very important project for a class. ( from https://perchance.org/otp--prompts ) safe link! /srs
word count : 393, very short!
a/n : can be any mcu peter, but i’ll be using tom’s 🤍. also, feel free to submit me a prompt with any character! i’d love to get back in writing and fulfilling your requests. love u all!
drabble below the read more cut, enjoy loves!
as you two were doing a project for this class, it practically ended up with both of y’all arguing— only because peter wouldn’t listen to you and placed notes everywhere. they weren’t organized and it kind of ticked you off.
“no, idiot! that’s supposed to go here!” you exclaimed, pushing peter off of his seat as you took the laptop from his hands, moving the cursor to where you placed the text box to where it was supposed to be. “[y/n]!”
he scoffed, getting back up from his seat as he took his laptop back, scanning over the newly designed slides. “it looks the same as before… are you kidding me?” peter rolled his eyes, noticing how his cursor was lagging behind.
this only meant one thing.
it meant that his laptop was about to die and their slides weren’t going to backup any of the info they had worked hard on. “oh, shit!”
he began panicking, jumping off of his seat as he started to rummage through his bag, obviously worried that their process was going down the drain if he didn’t find the charger.
your face dropped into an expression as you ran to your room, going through your closet as you looked for a specific charger, throwing down some old boxes just to find the right plug.
“where is it?!” mumbling to yourself, you panicked as well, not wanting your hard work to fail only because peter forgot to charge his laptop AND turn on his backup savings.
finally, you found it! thank goodness.
“peter, i have it!” you exclaimed, having a large grin on your face as you rushed back to the area, only to see a defeated look on his face. it was too late to come to the rescue.
“no way…”
“yes way…” he sighed, shutting his laptop slowly as he placed his head down onto the cold counter. “well… you shared the slides with me, right?”
you had this burning hope that he had at least shared it with you. i mean, everyone does that when you end up in a project with your classmate, right?
peter still had a defeated look, shaking his head as he sighed out loud, even adding a groan.
it was over for you two.
“for fucks sake…” you sighed as well, throwing the charger onto the couch. “we’re totally fucked.”
#⍣ ೋ lena writes#imagines#andrew garfield#no way home#spider man#tasm 2#tom holland x you#tom holland x reader#tom holland x y/n#peter parker x reader#peter parker spiderman#peter parker x y/n#tasm peter#peter parker imagine#peter parker ff#peter parker x you#peter parker x f!reader#peter parker x fem!reader#peter parker x female!reader#marvel spiderman#marvel#marvel x reader#marvel mcu#mcu x reader#peter parker tom holland#tom holland#peter parker fluff#marvel fluff#tom holland fluff#peter parker
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I'm feral for Andrew Garfield's peter. Like, insanely feral. To me, he solos. Like just imagine ftm! Peter but with him🛐🛐🛐
Anyways, have a good day/night. ❤️
-👾
Oh Peter 3, my beloved.
Fingering him after a tiring day of being Spider-Man, he’s just gushing over your fingers and whimpering into your neck while you kiss his forehead. Pretty boy begs you to fold him in half and fill him up.
#╰┈➤ nick answers !#spiderman brainrot#dom reader#top reader#sub character#sub peter parker#peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker#n/sfw#n/s/f/w#👾 anon !
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Sparks Fly
Entry for the amazing’s @withahappyrefrain “Dicked Down December”. Written for the loveliest and kindest person ever born: @ouralcohol
18+ EXPLICIT [minors DNI] - Peter Parker fanfic
Words: 5,2k
Pairing: fem!reader* x Peter Parker (based on TASM!Peter but flexible)
Summary: Friends/Co-workers to Lovers, Christmas vibes
Tags: 18+ explicit, strangers to work besties to lovers, so much fluff, smut (only in the Epilogue though), nudity, vaginal sex, oral sex (both F receiving), all characters are 18+.
Song inspo: Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift
Moodboard: here
“I hadn’t realised we needed a new PE teacher?” you mentioned casually, while taking a bite of your sandwich. You and your work bestie, Kayla, were sitting under the shade of some trees, hiding from the hot late summer sun. Children were running around playing tag, sometimes even using you as cover.
Kayla looked up quickly, mild panic on her face. The principal was with a tall, dark-haired man, pointing to the different facilities from the other end of the playground. “Tan pronto?” she whispered under her breath.
You looked at her quizzingly. Kayla always wore her heart on her sleeve. She was never good at hiding emotions, and right now was no exception. She took a deep breath and, looking down at her shoes, said:
“I’ve been offered to be vice-principal in a different school… And I’ve said yes. I guess that guy must be my replacement.”
“Kayla, that is amazing! Enhorabuena!” You went to hug her, but she turned, tears welling up in her eyes.
“The job is in Florida.”
Your face dropped, and your arms did too, now hanging uselessly at your sides. The tears were also making an appearance on your face.
“I’m sorry.” She managed before the sobs overtook her.
You looked at her for a long moment before pulling her into a hug.
“I’m not. You’ve needed a change for a long time and this sounds like an amazing opportunity. I’m proud of you for taking this step. And I’ll be visiting. Often. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”
--
It turned out that Kayla’s replacement as a science teacher was a guy from New York called Peter Parker. Rumour had it he was running away from something, or someone, back home. But when you asked, he just gave a vague response about him “also needing a change”. You didn’t press any further. After all, we all have our demons.
He caught on pretty quickly to the bond you and Kayla had, and it was as though he could feel your pain. Every time you felt the sadness creeping in, he would pop by with a question about school protocols or class locations.
Some petty part of you wanted to dislike him. He would never replace Kayla. He was just some guy. And the truth was, he didn’t replace her. But instead, he filled a void you didn’t know you had. You and Kayla had bonded over good food, Top Gun, and fanfiction of some superhero or other. You’d cook and then be lazy together, laughing and fawning over hot fictional guys and celebrities. Peter was different, he was intent on learning Spanish and he convinced you to go on runs together so he could practice his pronunciation. After endless conversations about anything ranging from soccer to Taylor Swift lyrics, by Thanksgiving you were essentially inseparable.
--
“Listen up, team! This year, it’s the music department’s turn to organize the staff Christmas party.”
You saw at least four people near you stifle a disappointed groan. The music department was composed of three very extra teachers who were known for the most extravagant ideas and an obsession with glitter for some reason. You wondered if they’d magically found each other or if joining the group implied a transformation into whatever they had going on.
Diana, the oldest of the three, stepped up, hands clasped in an effort to hide her excitement.
“We have a very special evening prepared for all of you. Unfortunately, the PE department wasn’t okay with us using the gym because, I quote ‘it’s a bitch to clean up, and you’ll be too hangover to do it’. So we’ve had to move the location to the old Victorian house at the end of the road that turns out is owned by Michael’s great aunt and which has been recently renovated in an effort to rent it out to tourists next summer.”
Diana’s gossiping and oversharing was nothing new, and most of the staff were only half listening by this point.
“The theme is Christmas fairytale. You must adhere to the theme. If you do not, you will be banned from the bar area. You have been warned.”
“Oh my god.” You whispered. “They did it. They figured out how to get people to put in some effort. Threaten them with an alcohol-free Christmas party.”
Peter giggled under his breath next to you. It didn’t matter how many times you heard that stupid laugh of his, it still made your heart skip a beat. It was like hearing a song you loved as a child that you’d forgotten about. Like the gasp of excitement at the arrivals lounge of an airport on the 24th of December, when someone sees that person they’ve been missing for ages. Like the pop of a champagne cork celebrating a long-awaited pregnancy over Christmas dinner. Like the crinkle of wrapping paper around a perfectly chosen present. It was a simple sound, but it filled you with pure, soul-warming joy.
You didn’t dare look his way though, because he might notice a slight red tinge to your cheeks, a vague indication of a simmering feeling trying to find its way out of your chest, one way or another.
--
“Kayla, I don’t want to go…”
“You’ve said that seven times in the last hour. I’ve been counting.” Kayla had her phone up by her stove and was making something that, you assumed, smelled as delicious as it looked. Her hands were on her hips, in a proper scolding teacher pose.
“But it’s true…” You pouted, sitting back on the mattress. The numerous layers of fabric of the dress you were trying on covered most of the bed.
“What exactly is the problem? We’ve already decided that the dress is beautiful and on theme, you’ll get enough alcohol to endure Sarah’s incessant bickering, you can watch Jerry make a fool of himself on the dancefloor after four tequilas, and most importantly: you can collect intel on all the new flings that form under the glittery mistletoe that these guys have undoubtedly hung in every dark corner.”
“But it won’t be any fun without you…”
“You have a new friend now!”
“He’s no you.”
“No, he’s way hotter.” Kayla raised her eyebrows and smirked at you through the phone screen.
“Shut up.” you replied, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like that.”
“Why not though?”
“Because… I’m not looking for anything right now.”
“Come on… You’ve ‘not been looking for anything’ for years now. Isn’t it time to have some fun? Or at the very least, some drama to entertain your best friend?”
“You’re the worst. Peter and I are on track to become good friends. If I lose him over a silly infatuation, I’ll be even lonelier without either of you. Not worth it.”
“HA! I knew it! I knew you liked him.”
You instantly regretted your wording, but there was no time to discuss it further. The doorbell rang and with a quick “Gotta go, bye!” the call was over and you were clumsily slipping out of the dress.
“Coming!!” you shouted as you slipped on an oversized hoodie. Hopefully it was the delivery guy with that cute light-up Christmas jumper you’d ordered two weeks ago.
But when you opened the door, Peter was standing there, looking absolutely dashing. Because the truth was, what you told Kayla was a “silly infatuation” was in fact a full-on raging crush. And it had been going on for weeks now.
The way you thought about him switched in your brain right after Thanksgiving. You had a very bad brain day. You didn’t mean for things to escalate, and you certainly didn’t mean to cry in front of him, but all the emotions you had been bottling up exploded and all sorts of negative thoughts appeared all at once.
And he’d said nothing, because there was nothing to be said. You didn’t want to hear another “it’ll be okay” or another “it’ll pass”, and he didn’t say those words. Instead, he hugged you and held you for a minute, five, half an hour, forty-five minutes. While you just cried and cried and cried. And then when you stopped sobbing, he took your hand, took you to the nice bar down the road, bought you a smoothie and told you about the movies that he and his aunt May and uncle Ben used to watch every single Christmas.
Since then, every one of his smiles held a different meaning and every one of his light touches to your arm stung like an electrical discharge. And while you knew nothing could happen -should happen- between you, you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining a life with him, your mind racing with images of picket fences and golden retrievers and children running around the living room.
“Hello…” Peter was still standing in front of you, his eyes wide in both confusion and worry. How long had you been standing there, staring into the void, thinking about how in love you were?
“Peter!” You blurted out.
“That’s me…”
You continued to stare blankly at him, your brain refusing to cooperate as your heart raced at the sight of his unruly hair sticking out in twenty different directions.
“I’m not one to judge anyone’s fashion sense, but I have to say I’m surprised that you chose the mustard stain look to go to Taylor Swift karaoke.”
“Wasn’t that Thursday?”
“Darling, today’s Thursday…” If your brain was short-circuiting before, his use of the endearing term sent it into overdrive and you felt light-headed for a second. You recovered quickly though, you’d had enough breakdowns in front of him for what was left of the year.
“Fuck.”
Despite the facts finally falling into place in your brain, you still didn’t move. So, Peter gently placed his hands on your shoulders and moved you to the side, stepping into your hall.
“You go get changed, I’ll grab the tickets. Where can I find them?”
“Yes, right, sorry.” You shook your head, coming back to Earth. “I think they’re stuck to the fridge. Otherwise… Somewhere on the counter, I guess. I’m sure you’ll find them eventually.”
You ran upstairs to your bedroom, your ballgown still covering most of your floor space. You didn’t really have the time to curate an outfit so you took the most basic black dress and the first pair of nice shoes you could find. It hadn’t even been ten minutes and you were back by the front door, keys in hand, coat on.
“Okay, I’m ready. Sorry about that.”
“You have a very messy place.”
“Not usually, I don’t… It’s just been a messy few weeks.” Messy in your head, you meant. Because it had been a long time since your heart had been in such a fit of emotion that it neglected all responsibilities. Like the night before, when you’d ignored the pile of dirty dishes and instead opened a bottle of wine and wrote self-indulging friends-to-lovers fanfiction that was definitely not a vivid daydream of Peter and you.
“I like your wall art, by the way…” You felt him looking at you from the corner of his eye as you locked the door and headed towards your car. “Spiders, huh…?”
You chuckled. “Yeah, spiders…”
“What’s so funny about spiders?” Did he sound almost… offended?
“Nothing actually. I used to be very scared of them. I sometimes am, still. But that wall art is part of my journey of getting over my fears, and it’s also a reminder of what I’m capable of if I get my mind to it.”
You glanced his way. He looked equal parts confused and in awe.
“Sorry, that was way too deep.” You cleared your throat, suddenly a bit overwhelmed and ashamed of your oversharing. “What do you want to sing first? I say we start with a classic, something from Speak Now maybe?”
Peter was still just staring at you. He didn’t laugh though, he didn’t even look uncomfortable. He seemed just… curious. After what seemed like an eternity in your over-thinking brain, he finally spoke slowly:
“Perhaps ‘Sparks Fly’.” He didn’t take his eyes off your face, studying you, your reaction, the way your eyes widened ever so slightly before you could put on your best neutral expression.
“A bop. Sounds good.”
--
You tossed and turned in bed, running through the events of the evening in your mind. Aside from the rocky start, it had been generally uneventful. Or so you tried to tell yourself. Because really, was there much to pinpoint that would make it different from any other meet-up with friends? There had been his hand gently touching your waist on your way into the bar. How he twirled you on your way to get a drink because someone was singing Lover. How he’d made his way to the bartender and winked at you when he got your order right within the first guess. And a million other tiny things. But above all, more than every other little gesture of kindness and every other possible indication of flirting, there had been Sparks Fly. How he’d held your hands throughout the chorus, and how he’d stared deep into your eyes and ran your hands through your hair at the start of the bridge. You’d expected him to laugh it off, to say he was just joking. Anything, any indication that there was not something weird going on between you. But he hadn’t. And now you were left wondering if maybe it was reciprocal. If he also felt the butterflies, the tension, the tug at his heart to kiss you when he leaned in to help you open your front door that always gets a bit stuck in the evenings. He said nothing. You said nothing. And you supposed life went on, same same but different.
--
As usual, you’d miscalculated how much time you would need to get ready and you were running late. You still had to do hair and make-up and you were supposed to meet Peter in ten minutes. You sighed heavily as you sat down in front of your mirror, phone in hand.
> Running late
> I’ll meet you there
> You sure?
> I don’t mind waiting
> Yeah sure
> You’ll just stress me out
> I would never
You giggled at the glassy-eyed cat sticker on your screen.
--
You hated – hated – getting to events alone. It was so awkward. Even if you knew everyone there, and you got along well with most of them. That feeling of having to find a conversation to engage in, those first few minutes. They were awful.
The hall was empty when you arrived so you sneaked a selfie in the huge vintage mirror that decorated one of the walls. You sent it to Kayla. After all, the outfit had been chosen with her. You were wearing a huge puffy white and ice-blue dress that shimmered magically under the light. A delicate mistletoe wreath on your head and some angel wings completed the look. “A Christmas angel-fairy”, Kayla called it.
You followed the noise to what must have been the dining room, but which had been turned into a ballroom. You gasped at how magical it looked. The renovated ceiling had been decorated with thousands of tiny lights that gave the room a warm glow and made everything look ethereal. The heavy red velvet courtains were drawn, and two fireplaces were lit. Christmas trees stood in every corner, decorated with classic red ornaments and gold tinsel. A bar had been set up at the end of the room, by a band that was playing a cover of Ayo Technology. They had several big bowls full of smoking drinks, and a guy dressed as an elf was mixing drinks for a very happy-looking admin team.
You looked around for Peter, in hopes of going straight to talk to him instead of having to engage in small talk with colleagues you weren’t nearly drunk enough to deal with. It might have worked, had he not been standing at the opposite end of the room. He was wearing black suit and trousers, a flowery midnight blue vest and a beautiful matching cape that brushed the floor with his every move. And… was that an eye patch? What even was that costume?
It took you close to half an hour to make your way to him, which included, amongst others: four compliments on your dress, one joke about the mistletoe on your head by Olivia from admin, and several questions about how Kayla was doing in Florida.
“What is that supposed to be? Santa’s ocean affairs delegate, pirate Parker?”
Peter scoffed, and even before he turned, he already shot back:
“Excuse you, you uncultured ignorant. I’m uncle Drosselmeyer from the Nutcracker. And this cape took a week to make, so be nice.”
Your eyebrows shot up. He’d never mentioned an interest in ballet, let alone in sewing.
When he finally took a look at you, he let out a low whistle. “Damn, you look stunning.” He took your hand and twirled you slowly, admiring the outfit from all angles. “I didn’t know you vibed with long gowns and angelical accessories.” His cheeks were slightly redder than usual, and you couldn’t tell if he’d already had a couple of drinks or if he was somewhat flustered.
“It seems we still have a lot of things to learn about each other.” You muttered under your breath.
You really thought you’d said it quietly. The room was loud enough that you had to speak up to hear and be heard. Yet Peter leaned in closer, your cheeks almost touching, and whispered just loud enough that you almost weren’t sure if it had been your imagination:
“I can’t wait.”
You took a step back in surprise, but he’d already turned to one of the arts and crafts teachers to compliment her elaborate hairdo with little golden bells sticking out of it. People really went all out when alcohol was on the line. You were no exception. You headed right to the bar.
--
You danced, you talked, you drank, you laughed. You even cried once in the bathroom after you saw Kayla’s supportive messages in response to your picture from earlier.
It was almost midnight and you were positively drunk. The kind of happy drunk that gives you just a little too much confidence and a lot of courage. So when the band’s guitar player started playing the first few notes of Love Story, you ran to Peter so you could sing it together at the top of your lungs.
His eyepatch long gone and his hair messier than ever, you could tell he was also drunk. His casual touches were becoming more frequent. His eyes lingered in yours for longer. His smile was cheekier. His whispers more intimate. And, in your inebriation, you felt that spark between you stronger than ever. As if you could almost see it if you focused on the narrowing space between you.
It still came as a surprise when the band got to the outro and he put both his hands on your waist and pulled you close.
“Let’s go outside for a minute.”
He must have been exploring the house earlier because, instead of taking you out through the front door, he led you upstairs through the beautiful staircase in the hall, his hand firmly around yours. You looked around dreamily, your eyes hazy. Whatever the music department had done with the party, you had to give them that it truly felt like a Christmas fairytale. Through a few doors, you were out on a balcony, overlooking the backyard of the house which was also decorated and lit with a range of Christmas decorations.
You stood there, looking out at the beautiful scenery around you. For a minute, you forgot you were there with Peter, you were just drunk and happy and content.
But then Peter let go of your hand. And, as if he was the anchor keeping you from slipping out of your daydream, you looked back at him, concern drawn on your features. Your heart started beating, it felt loud enough that if Peter started talking, you weren’t sure you’d hear him.
“Y/N…”
He searched your face for something, but you were too scared to say anything.
“Listen, I’ll probably regret this when I wake up sober and hungover tomorrow morning…” His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat, maybe trying to gather enough courage to carry on. “I… I think I’m in love with you.”
Your eyes widened, your mouth agape in shock. You couldn’t form a single word, let alone a full sentence. Seeing how you had been left speechless, Peter continued, trying to fix whatever might have been broken with those few words.
“But I promise I won’t let it affect our friendship. I have a lot of fun with you, I don’t want to lose the best friend I’ve made in years.”
You continued to stare at him, your mind racing but your tongue tied. Ten seconds passed, twenty, maybe thirty, and you said nothing. It must have looked terrible from his perspective. But you couldn’t work out what to say, you were frozen in place.
“I’m so sorry.” He turned and walked back inside, while your hand covered your mouth and you tried to work out what to do. Would you risk the friendship you felt in your bones could be one of the most important ones in your life? Would you risk the awkwardness at work if it didn’t work out? Would you, for a relationship life you always claimed you didn’t want? You already knew what your heart would respond to all those questions: yes, yes, yes. You searched your reason, your cold, calculating brain, for a different answer. But again: yes, yes, yes. How could you not?
Your heels were comfortable but it was still a struggle to run with the voluminous dress.
“Peter wait!” You yelled when you got to the top of the staircase. He was almost downstairs, his cape flowing behind him with every step he took. “I’m sorry!”
He looked back, caution written all over his face.
“I’m sorry.” You repeated as you rushed down. “I don’t want to lose you either, but…” panic replaced every emotion that was rushing through your veins, as you felt one of the silky underlayers of the dress get caught under your toes. In slow motion, you realized Peter was too far down to catch you, but at least you wouldn’t take him down with you. Your wreath went flying off your head as you braced yourself for impact. But the crash against the cold steps never came, only two warm arms holding you firmly.
“But what?”
You looked around in shock, trying to work out how he’d made it up half the staircase in less than a second. “How…?”
“But what?” he insisted, interrupting you. You looked back at him.
“But I’ll risk it all.” You inhaled deeply. “Because I think I’m in love with you too.”
Peter’s relief was obvious, from the way his body relaxed noticeably, and from the smile he flashed at you. He helped you upright so you could gather yourself. You were checking the damage to your dress, partly hiding from the sudden elephant in the room, partly to make sure you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself again.
Once it was obvious you were stalling, Peter cleared his throat. When you looked up, he had an eyebrow raised, and gently nodded up. Hanging about a feet over your heads was your mistletoe wreath. It seemed to be floating mid air but upon closer inspection you realized it was dangling from what seemed to be a spider web.
“How…?” again, it was all you could think to say. But this time, Peter wasn’t so patient. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you in for a kiss.
--
EPILOGUE
There hadn’t been much time, Peter left to spend Christmas with his Aunt May in New York. You would also be visiting family.
As for New Year’s… Let’s just say things had worked out nicely and Peter was now running his hands through your hair and kissing your neck and up towards the back of your ear. And oh if he didn’t stop whispering sweet nothings against your skin, you were certain you would melt into goo and dissolve right there on the sofa.
“You are absolutely stunning.”
“Mmh…” You hadn’t been able to form a coherent sentence in the last ten minutes. You just hummed and whimpered while your body reacted to what you could have sworn was electricity passing to and from between the two of you.
Peter reached further down, caressing your back and waist tentatively. He was taking his sweet time and, as much as adored it, you felt a need building up in your core that needed to be met, and it needed to be met soon.
“Let’s move to the bed.” As much of a people pleaser as you usually were, the suggestion came out as a demand, firm and confident. In return, Peter didn’t hesitate, he simply looked into your eyes and picked you up bridal style.
You were impressed by how easily he carried you up the stairs, reminding you that you still hadn’t worked out how he’d managed the sprint up the stairs at the party. But that was a conversation for another moment because Peter was putting you down on the bed and seeking confirmation in your eye as his fingers trailed circles on your thighs. You nodded and he proceeded to run his hands up under your skirt, pulling down the hem of your tights. His hands ran back up your legs to pull your panties to the side. His fingers ran up and down the inside of your thighs as his lips met your clit, giving it a soft kiss before licking up and down and getting to work.
You lost track of time, and you were pretty sure you ascended to an alternate reality at some point, and were only brought back by the tightening coil in your abdomen. Peter switched perfectly between licking, sucking, kneading your thighs and humming against you in satisfaction. It was as if he could hear your heartbeat accelerate and relax with every wave of pleasure, giving him privileged information as to how to act at every precise moment.
But it was only after he put in his index finger inside you that you felt the orgasm incoming.
“Oh, fuck, Peter.”
You felt him smile cheekily against your clit, and you wanted to smack his head. You probably would have if he hadn’t been in charge of your pleasure at the time.
A second finger quickly followed, hitting your G spot at just the right time while your clit remained at his tongue’s mercy.
“Peter!” you whimpered, your right hand gripping his messy hair, while your left hand held onto the sheets for dear life. Your moans filled the room as you rode your high, his fingers maintaining a constant speed throughout your orgasm.
You were panting, still trying to catch your breath, as Peter undid his shirt buttons and helped you out of your dress.
“I cannot stress this enough; you are gorgeous.”
You peeked through your half-closed eyelids only to find him standing there, admiring your body.
“Beautiful enough to make love to?” Peter’s eyes went dark with desire at the question and you smirked at him.
The remaining clothes that still clung to your bodies were quickly removed and discarded. Peter kneeled between your legs, his hands combing his hair back. He was hard and leaking precum already. The awareness of him being this aroused just from making out with you and eating you out hit you like a train and you spread your legs wider for him.
“Ready?” he asked.
“So ready.” You winked at him and his cheeks turned just a tiny bit redder.
He didn’t rush it, he took his time, letting you adjust to his size. He only started pumping once you nodded at him. Slow, long strokes had you whimpering and squirming as you hid your head in the pillow, self-conscious of all the noises you were making.
“Hey, look at me. Those sounds you’re making are the hottest thing I’ve ever heard but I want to see you too.”
You were flustered, it was as if he could read your mind. But you made an effort and kept looking at him. And oh, was it worth it. He sped up his pace and lowered himself down to his elbows, close enough to kiss you and for you to grab his hair again. God, he had such amazing hair. He was panting, he seemed to be struggling.
“Tired, Parker?” You giggled in his ear.
“No, not at all. I’m just trying very hard not to cum because it would be embarrassing to last literally five minutes and also I want to make you cum at least once more.”
You were taken aback by this display of honesty. You had to admit you’d never been with any straight guy who felt so comfortable admitting stuff like that.
“I can help with that.”
You pushed him back a little, just enough that you could reach into your nightstand drawer and squirt some lube onto your hand.
Peter wasn’t moving, just looking at you in fascination. You reached between your bodies and circled your clit just like you did when you were alone. When your first moan hit his ears, Peter was brought back to Earth and he started pumping into you again. Tentatively at first, but deeper and faster as he gauged your positive reactions.
“I’m so close”, is what you said, but it took you so much effort to string the sentence together that when it came out, you were actually extremely close. So close that the next thrust from Peter’s hips sent you into orbit and you could do nothing but clench around him and hold his arms as if they were your anchors. You were just riding the last few waves of pleasure when you felt his consistent rhythm failing and his face contort. He soon crashed on top of you, both of you panting, completely blissed out.
A sound coming from the outside caught your attention before you could fully relax into each other. You frowned.
“Are those fireworks?” Peter asked. You turned towards your window and, sure enough, you could see colourful lights through the thin courtains.
“It looks like it.” You responded.
“I would have sworn it was 10 pm just ten minutes ago.” He sounded positively confused. You couldn’t help but laugh, one of those laughs that come from the belly, that makes you feel like a child again. And it must have been contagious because Peter started shaking on top of you, laughing quietly into the pillow next to you.
“Happy New Year, Peter.”
“Happy New Year, darling.”
--
Shout-out to @p3mybeloved for her cameo as Y/N’s best friend ❤️
#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker x fem!reader#peter parker x you#tasm!peter parker smut#tasm!peter parker fanfiction#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker x you#tasm!peter parker fluff#peter parker fluff#tasm!peter parker x y/n#peter parker imagine#peter parker x f!reader#dicked down december
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peter parker x f!insecure!reader
yeah guys this is a self-indulgent fic what about itttt
tw: deppresion and insecurites
you've been in bed all day, not having enough energy or reason to get up. life's been hard recently, you've been stuck in a depressive episode for the past couple of weeks, and you've never felt more insecure in your life.
you can't stop thinking about all those girls from your school and how they look so much better than you. their hair is shinier, their waists are slimmer, they don't have any face fat, and they just all around look so much skinnier than you. peter would look so much better with them, he deserves more than you.
all you want to do is sleep nowadays, so you put your phone down and pull your blanket farther up when you hear the front door open and peter walk in. you listen to him take off his shoes as he makes his way over to your guys' room.
peter lands at the door and knocks, after you don't respond he knocks again, "honey, you in there?"
you mumble a response and he comes through the door. he takes one look at you and a flash of concern washes over his eyes. peter walks forward and sits down on the bed and looks over at you, "are you ok bug?"
you can't find it in yourself to tell him what's wrong and how you're feeling about yourself so you lie to him, "nothings wrong sweetheart, i'm just tired"
peter places his hand on your shoulder, "y/n, please don't lie, i can tell you've been crying. so what's wrong bug?"
you sigh, "you wouldn't understand"
"then help me understand y/n, that's my job, to understand you"
"i just- i can't. peter, i can't deal with any of this shit anymore. why are you even with me I just-"
"why am i even with you?", peter cuts you off, "i'm with you because you're the most beautiful girl i know, you're funny, smart, and there's just so many more amazing things about you that it would take me days to list off all the reasons"
you start tearing up, "i'm not beautiful peter! i'm- i'm so fucking ugly, and you'd look so much better with those girls from our school! why would you ever choose to be with a girl who isn't stick skinny and doesn't have the perfect face when you could be with any other girl?"
by this point, peter looks like he's about to cry, "y/n! why would you ever talk about yourself like that? god!", peter runs his hands through his hair, "you're like the prettiest girl i've ever met! and who the hell cares if you aren't the skinniest! it doesn't matter if you have bigger thighs or a bigger stomach, it just makes you better to cuddle with, and fuck those other girls. i love you y/n, not them"
you look into peters eyes and just start crying into his shoulder, "thank you pete", you start crying a little harder and pull away from peter, "i love you so much"
"have you gotten out of bed at all today bug?", you shake your head no, "ok so you probably haven't eaten or drank anything yet today"
"that would be correct"
lets go get some food into your system then", peter says as he starts to pick you up bridal style.
"peterrrr, put me down", you giggle
he kissed you on the forehead, "not a chance love"
#peter parker x reader#tasm!peter x you#hurt/comfort#f/o imagines#marvel#peter parker#x reader#deppresed reader#reader insert#insecure reader#peter parker x you#y/n
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A TRAGEDY
F. Scott Fitzgerald, Basil & Cleopatra // Richard Siken, Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out; // Richard Siken, Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out // (vi) Richard Siken, War of the Foxes // Richard Siken, Planet of Love
#gwen stacy#gwendolyne stacy#peter parker#marvel#marvel comics#spider-man#gwendolyn stacy#since that tag still gets people I guess? her name is spelled like that in so many comics...#tasm#tasm 2#the amazing spider-man#the amazing spider-man 2#the night gwen stacy died#my stuff#I couldn't link the original edit for st.ar wars because the person deleted so I linked to the reblog on my profile#f. scott fitzgerald#Richard Siken#litany in which certain things are crossed out#war of the foxes#planet of love#basil & cleopatra#basil and cleopatra
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the difference between the fourth wall breaks of something like the Deadpool movies compared to something like Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn and She-Hulk: Attorney At Law is that every joke in Deadpool feels masturbatory like the writers think they're so hilarious for doing a fourth wall break like that's never been done before whereas both of the other two not only feel right at home with the characters' personalities but are much more natural and much more well done compared to the jokes in Deadpool or its sequel. (do not get me started on Deadpool 2, the movie sucks ass in basically every way except for the characters of Domino and Yukio. every single joke in it was outdated before it was even written. they were making fucking dubstep jokes in 2018. it was a 2012-ass script made way too late and riding on the coattails of the first with even less effort into being actually good.)
but the difference between those properties is that Deadpool wants to be congratulated for being some insanely crazy shocking movie that's pissing off the studio system or whatever but every single joke in it was approved by those people because it makes them money like it's so antithetical to the entire point they're trying to make and it makes for a very infuriating watching experience sometimes. the cognitive dissonance is hard to swallow with that one. but the way BOPATFEOOHQ and She-Hulk do their bits feels so much more authentic and less self-congratulatory and also just like they're clearly done with so much more passion and effort and care? when I watch either of the Deadpool movies, I feel like I'm watching a bunch of executives jerking themselves off. when I watch the other two, I feel like I'm watching a passion project that the executives clearly didn't give a shit about and thus the creative team were actually allowed genuine creative freedom with not a lot of oversight. that's a little less true with She-Hulk (especially in terms of that glorious finale although even that feels more authentic and artist-driven than most things in either Deadpool movie. Kevin Feige's boring, sanitized ass does not have the range to do that finale) being a MCU property although Phase 4 was so fucking experimental and it was a joy to behold even if not everything hit but it's still true and more authentic for the most part. with Deadpool it feels like the only person who really really cared about it was Ryan and like maybe a few of the other actors who actually did do commendable work with what they were given but with the other two projects, it feels way more collaborative because every single person showed up and cared deeply about what they were making.
(this is an addition to the tags bc I ran out [apparently i forgot there was a 30 tag limit] but. anyway the point is. Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn is a phenomenal movie in basically every single way and you should watch it.)
#James talks#sorry I just wanna scream about how much I love BOPATFEOOHQ again#the first CBM since 2014's The Amazing Spider-Man 2 that felt more like the voice of artists than the voice of a studio.#I love Shazam but even that felt like it was a little studio driven instead of being a David F. Sandberg movie.#like BOPATFEOOHQ feels artist driven the same way The Batman does and the TASM movies do.#not to derail this tag rant but the TASM movies are Marc Webb movies through and through.#yes they have Sony's grubby hands on them with the product placement and shit but they are inseparable from Marc's vision#they are what Marc cares about more than what the studio cares about. the thematic interests are all Marc Webb.#anyway point is: more art like BOPATFEOOHQ bc it actually cares and less shit like Deadpool that is just pointing and laughing.#Deadpool feels like it's laughing at the concept of superhero media and it's a horrible boring deconstruction of it bc it doesn't get it.#it feels bad to the psyche the same way those meme disney show record scratches do—#like 'my life is kinda crazy' but it's 'ironic' now so it's 'funny'.#'see it's funny bc they're self-aware!' okay but what are they doing by being self aware???#I'm not saying every piece of art has to be some profound exploration of whatever but Deadpool feels bad to watch in a way the others don't#BOPATFEOOHQ is actually fucking commenting on something using its gags!#the fucking 'they call her... the crossbow killer gag' is actually thematically relevant!! women telling their own stories!!#a subversive joke actually playing into the themes of the project!! imagine that! care ajf effort put into saying something!!#anyway Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn is phenomenal.#genuinely one of the greatest CBMs out there. also just a phenomenal time. even tho Parasite is a better movie overall#— BOPATFEOOHQ was my favorite movie of 2020.#some of the best action around with a great script with amazing pacing and phenomenal acting and a great score and soundtrack!!#literally nothing more to ask for.#one of my usual criteria for evaluating how good a piece of art is how much I'd add to it to help it do what it was trying to do.#like not cutting anything from it unless absolutely absolutely necessary. just adding like maybe 10-15 minutes to the runtime and—#helping maybe a few weaker elements shine more. with BOPATFEOOHQ the only change I'd make is to have more of the characters.#let us see more of Cassandra and Black Canary. more of their inner lives and backstories.#Christina Hodson tells us their stories with great efficiency and it's done really well but visually I'd just like to do more with them.#give them each maybe a 2-3 minute scene with what their daily routine is like.#maybe explore Canary's history with her mother more. see how it ties into the GCPD more effectively.#maybe actually see Cassandra's parents and how she deals with them daily instead of hearing about it from her hiding outside
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Love You More | Pt.10
Word Count: 1.8k
Bucky x Reader, TASM! x Reader
A/N: Been awhile since I posted for this fic but here's an update!
Series Masterpost
“Y/n!” Bucky screamed “God dammit” he pulled the phone away from his ear, closing his eyes so tightly they creased
“Let me guess she hung up abruptly on you too?”
Bucky nodded “She's with the spider kid, there fighting villains and she said they’re not alone but she sounded like she was —“
“Saying goodbye?” Sam finished for him
Bucky nodded “But not in that way, i can't explain it, like she's going somewhere, moving away, but still never gonna see me again” Bucky paused “i can't not ever see her again Sam — i shouldnt of — She's everything i have left, i love her Sam“ His voice quiet, cracking at the seams
Sam placed a hand on his shoulder “I know Buck, we’ll figure this out”
“How?”
“Well” Sam reached for his phone back from Bucky, scrolling for a certain number “Were going to New York, and i got a quick way to get us there — Hey Torres, i need another favour”
“Y/n!” Peter 3 shouted, wasting no time in shoving past Strange and the other two Spiderman's “Stop him!” He shouted pointing towards the goblin, as he jumped off after you.
Your eyes were shut, your body limp as he dove after you “Please please please, not again” He felt a sigh of relief leaving him once you were safe in his arms, making sure to grab you first and web second.
He gently laid you on the ground, both his hands cradling your face “y/n please” his lip quivered, his eyes were trying to focus to see if your chest was moving but his unshed tears were compromising his ability to see.
He shakily brought his hand to your neck hoping for a pulse, he held his breath as he waited.
A gasp escaped your lips, your eyes slowly peeled open. Everything was blurry for a second but you could make out that hair anywhere “Peter?”
“The third” He took a shaky breath “I thought i lost you”
“I'm hard to get rid of, the universe seems to want me alive forever” You gave a small smile, as he helped you into a sitting position.
“Did i?” You gestured to the ground
He shook his head “No i caught you before you good but you past out”
“Thank you for saving me Parker”
His mouth was open but he couldn't figure out what he wanted to say, there was so much he wanted to get off his chest but he only had so little time, he wanted to tell you that this whole time he’s been here you’ve been saving him, that slowly you were mending his heart back together that he thought, no he knew you could make it whole again, but he didn't say that, he just nodded.
You brought your hand to his cheek, his words weren’t coming out, whipping away the tears that flowed down them “Hey, i'm not worth crying over”
He placed his hand on top of yours, closing his eyes for a brief second really taking in the warmth, the golden feeling he felt inside of him “You’re worth more than you think you are”
“So are you – is Peter okay? Did i?”
He nodded “You did, he’s” he pointed to your right “We should probably”
“We should” You agreed
He stood up first extending his hand out to you, you gladly took it and planned on never letting go of it, making your way to Peter.
“Stephen, I could do it”
He shook his head “Doesn’t mean you should”
You looked towards the three Peters hugging “But i could, and everything would be okay here right”
“Nothing is ever 100% Y/N — your purpose to this universe is more than you realise, your a vital part to it”
You scoffed “This universe as never done anything for me except take away everyone i love from me — Just please, tell me what will happen if leave”
Sighing he dropped his demeanour down from Avenger to friend “I don’t know, it could be catastrophic or it could not be, it could affect us immediately or not at all, but is it. chance you're willing to take? Dooming everyone here?”
“I played the game, I followed the rules, I did everything I was supposed to, everything this universe wanted me to!” Your voice cracked “a-and i still lost — What's wrong with me breaking the rules and finally getting the chance to win?”
“Everything — y/n the sake of the universe depends on it, depends on us and right now it's on a very thin line. Don't do this or everyone we lost would have died for nothing, Tony would have died for nothing. Its selfish”
Your mind was made up before this conversation even happened, this was more of a curtsey to let a fellow coworker, a possible friend out “Exactly, there's no one else here for me anymore, there all gone” Pause “You gotta do something for me”
“Y/N” he warned, trying his best to hold the others off, who were trying to get through.
“You gotta watch out for him”
He shook his head “He didn't tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Were all going to forget Peter Parker, it's going to be like he never existed, it's the only way”
“There always only one way with you“ You scoffed, realization dawning over you has you thought aloud “But if i'm not here i wont forget”
“Your not thinking straight!” He shouted “If you go i'll find a way to pull you back, you dont belong there”
“I don't even belong here right now, i should be buried 6 feet under beside Steve … with Bucky”
“I'll find you” His voice was firm “And i won't show you the courtesy i am now”
You held your head high “I wish you all the luck, Stephen”
Before walking towards the Peter’s — yours was running towards you, he was anxious “Y/n, i gotta tell you something” Peter 1 held your shoulders, to steady you for the news you already knew he was about to tell you “Strange, his spell — “ a tear rolled down his cheek
Your thumb reached out, wipping it away “I know Pete”
He nodded, tears streaming down his face. You pulled him in for a hug “I'm not going to forget you, i will never forget you but you have to promise not to forget me okay? You gotta look after yourself, I promise I'll be back, I love you Peter okay?”
He pulled away, eyebrows raised, confused “What are you talking about?”
You looked over af Peter 3 who was admiring Peter 2s wound that you healed almost directly after it was created. Peter 1 followed your line of sight, his mouth forming an O shape “Woah woah, you're not going to?”
“I am, i can do it Peter, i know i can, but i need to know you wont be mad and ill come back i promise, Ill find away, i know it i feel it”
He gave you the famous genuine Peter Parker smile “I could never be mad at you, just promise me you’ll come back and help them all remember? I don't wanna be forgotten”
“I promise”
He pulled you in for one last hug “I gotta go y/n, i gotta call Ned and MJ”
“Yeah yeah, of course” You waved him off,
As he started to walk away he turned back to look at you “I love you too!”
“Hey there she is” Peter 2 smiled
“Here i am, how ya feeling?”
“Good good, much better than before” He laughed gesturing to where his stab wound was previously, he looked between Peter 3 and you, knowing well enough you two wanted a minute alone he made his goodbye to your brief “It was nice to meet you y/n, maybe we’ll cross paths again some other day” he held his hand out.
You connected yours with it “Lets, but under different circumstances”
“Agreed” he smiled, waving as he walked away, waiting to be sent back home
“Hey” Peter 3 was trying his best to smile through the heartbreak he was feeling “So this is it'' His mouth was dry he knew his time was almost up here, so now was as good as any to say anything he wanted to “I just want you to know, i think you’re amazing, i wish this could be different, i can't help but feel like we —“ his voice was strained as he tried to get out the emotions he was feeling “we could have been something more… perhaps in another universe, another lifetime”
You took a step closer to him, resting your hand on his cheek, he happily leaned into your touch because he thought it was gonna be the last time he would feel it.
“What if it didn’t have to be, what if it could be this lifetime but in another universe?”
He was quick to respond, he felt dizzy by your words and what they were insinuating “What do you mean?”
“Im saying, what if this isn't the last time — what if this is just the beginning”
“For us?” He finished
You nodded “For us — if that’s something you’d want … to try?”
“Of course that’s something i want but how is that even possible?”
You trailed your hand from his cheek down his arm and to his hand “The same way all this was, i can do it Peter, i just have to sneak through the cracks when you get sent back, it won't affect anything here, it shouldn’t”
His eyebrows raise “I don’t want to cause any issues here for Peter or your friends but — “
“It wont”
He nodded, trusting your answer “I don't have all of this, i don't have a lot of money, i have a shitty little apartment y/n, there’s no Avengers, it's just me i don't..” Trailing off he realised he was running out of time as he looked up as Peter 2 waved, disappearing back to his universe “Are you sure?” he asked frantically.
All his attention was on you, like the two of you were the only ones here, which you most certainly weren’t. His eyes gazing into yours like they held the whole god damn universe, which they didn’t but to him it was so closest he would get to the stars. Like how could anything else possibly matter besides this exact moment. He was waiting so patiently but eagerly for the words to flow out of your mouth. Like your lips held the key to world peace — his world.
“I’ve always done what was asked of me, what I thought I was supposed to do. Everyone has always made my choices for me but… this time — this choice is all mine. I am choosing this, i am choosing you”
#peter parker x you#peter parker x reader#peter parker x fem!reader#peter parker x f!reader#peter parker fluff#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker fanfic#peter parker fic#peter parker#marvel#marvel fanfic#spiderman x you#spiderman x reader#spiderman fanfic#spiderman fic#the amazing spider man#spiderman#tasm#tasm peter x reader#tasm!peter#andrew garfield#andrew!peter x reader#andrew!spiderman#andrew!peter parker#bucky x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x you#sebastian stan x reader#bucky barnes x y/n
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"are you awake yet?" "no." "oh, okay sorry." + peter parker + and it's like the first night they've spent together
Pretty Girl
✮ tasm!peter parker x fem!reader
✮ word count: 0.6k
✮ summary: a soft morning with peter.
✮ warnings: allusion to smut, mention of sexy times the night before, reader has hair that can be tucked behind her ear, mentions of morning breath, a soft kiss and a steamy kiss.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
main m.list ⋆ peter parker m.list
not my gif. credits to the owner :)
The comfort of the blankets covering your bare body makes you want to sink deeper into the mattress, but the sudden confusion of your surroundings pulls you out of your groggy state. You come to your senses as you feel for the sheets around you, the unfamiliar texture makes you realize the arm thrown over your waist.
For a split second, you panic, until you force yourself to calm down. You sigh as you remember that you spent the night with Peter, and you nuzzle your body closer to his, a soft smile appearing on your lips.
Peter must have felt your sudden need to be closer, because he pulls you closer to his chest, his skin warm from sleep. A flush of warmth runs over your cheeks. Some of it is from pure joy, but most of it is from giddy at the thought of the night before.
The sun is starting to peek through the blinds of Peter’s window causing you to squint, effectively pulling you out of the sluggishness of sleep. Now that you’re awake, your body can’t stay still. The urge to turn around and press small kisses to Peter’s face was strong, and it took everything in you to stay facing away from him.
You could only move for so long before Peter started to stir, his heightened senses picking up on your restlessness. An incoherent groan slips past his lips, causing you to giggle. You finally turn your body to face him, your hand reaches up to push a mess of his hair away from his eyes. Your hand lowers to rest on the side of his face, your thumb slowly rubs back and forth. Your voice is still warming up as you ask, “Are you awake yet?”
Peter’s eyes are still closed, but a small laugh leaves him. His smile falls rapidly as he tries to conceal it. Now with his face forcing a frown, he responds, “No.”
If your boyfriend wants to play games, you could too. You pull your hand away from his face, and quickly turn back around and move away from his grasp. He opens his eyes at your sudden movement, and he’s met with a view of your bare back. “Oh, okay sorry,” you mumble to him as you make yourself comfortable on the other side of the bed, a grin appearing on your face.
You can hear a chuckle coming from him behind you before you feel an arm around your waist, turning you around and pulling you onto his chest. Pieces of your hair fall around your face as you laugh. “Hey pretty girl,” Peter whispers as he tucks some strands of hair behind your ear then moves to hold the side of your face.
Your heart melts at his greeting. He brings your face down to his to kiss your lips softly. You savor the feeling, but quickly pull away, “I have morning breath, Peter!”
His eyes are still on your lips, his gaze carries an unmistakable look of longing. “I don’t care,” he mumbles as he pulls you back down again.
This time, you don’t pull away. Your lips are beautifully entangled with his. The kiss is deep and fills you with an overwhelming sense of love. Peter’s fingers begin to weave through your hair, giving it a slight tug as he moans into your mouth. You don’t pull away until you absolutely have to, the lack of air causing your head to swirl. “I thought you weren’t awake,” you tease.
“No, no,” he starts, “I’m definitely awake. I don’t know what you’re talking about?” You laugh at his response before looking over his features. You take a mental picture of the Peter you’re looking at now. The morning sun looked good on him.
✮ author's note: hi all!! first of all, thank you for the support during my unplanned hiatus. your kind words have meant so much to me. once again, im slowly putting out the rest of the recs from the 400 follower bash, so stay tuned for those!! and im literally so close to 500 already...like what?? so keep an eye out for a little celebration for that too!! ok, ily bye!!!
#fluff#marvel#peter parker x reader#tasm!peter x reader#andrew garfield peter parker#peter parker#tasm!peter parker#spiderman#llftd 400 follower bash#tasm!peter parker x f!reader#tasm!peter parker fluff
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approach shift pt. nine
pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version)
length: 4.3k
rating: explicit 18+
warnings: Mentions of death, fingering, a quick wristy (lol)
Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.
a/n: Last full chapter but there will be an epilogue in the not-too-distant; I'll probably have more notes then. Thank you x
series masterlist
The back of your head is torturously itchy.
You try surreptitiously to press your knuckles to the spot, just to relieve the worst of it. The nurse sitting closest to you glances up at you from over the top of her monitor and guiltily, you clasp your hands back down into your lap.
It smells sour in here, like soft plums left to rot. Whichever industrial cleaner it is this hospital uses, it’s definitely not one anybody’s trying to market for domestic use. It’s probably cheap as fuck, you contemplate, your hand drifting back up towards your head.
“You can go in now,” a new nurse says beside you. You jerk your hand away. “He’s awake. I let him know you’ve been waiting.”
“Oh, thank you,” you say, unpeeling yourself from the plastic waiting room chair. “I won’t be very long. I just wanted to say hi.”
She gives you a mild, distracted okay-that’s-nice-whatever smile and disappears. You push open the door to the room she’d just exited and duck inside.
It smells far better in here. There’s a vase of opening lilies leaving red pollen-stains on the table in front of the window, and the lavender-powder smell of clean sheets. Doctor Brant is propped up in the bed, frowning hard at the tablet in his hands.
“I hope you aren’t working while you’re meant to be resting,” you say.
He tilts his head down to peer at you over his glasses. “Oh, no. It’s just sudoku. It’s good to see you.”
“You too, Doctor. How are you?”
He nods, and sets the tablet aside. “Well, they’ve finally taken me off the oxygen so I expect I’ll be allowed to leave soon. All things considered, a little smoke inhalation injury at my…advanced age could’ve been far worse.” His eyes glint a little bit. “Were you injured?”
You shake your head. “A concussion, but I’m fine. The. He. Um. You know. He got me out, before he went back for you.”
“You shouldn’t have stayed to look for me.”
You sit gingerly on the very edge of the chair next to the bed. “I thought. I didn’t think he’d made it to you in time. I thought you were both.” Your voice starts to sound weird, so you stop talking.
He folds his hands together over his chest. “It’s strange. I remember the first time I saw him. I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought it must have been a stunt, or an advertisement for something. Silly, really. And yet he’s saved Oscorp from itself more times than it deserved. After Connors and Dillon and that whole terrible disaster with young Harry. It’s too much. There’s no reason for anybody to endanger themselves in that place ever again.” He takes his glasses off and sets them beside the bed. “Which is why I’ve resigned.”
You stare at him. “You. What?”
He smiles at you; the expression a little indulgent. “All those years of work, gone. And for nothing. I’m sure you’ve already heard what happened?”
You have. It’s been all over the news the entire week. First the speculation: was it an attack? Was it political? Was it another disgruntled ex-employee? A competitor? And then, later, the worse, more boring truth: regular old corporate negligence. An undertrained technician who’d tried to prematurely purge a vac test chamber with concentrated oxygen. An alarm system two years overdue for maintenance. And floor upon floor of laboratories filled with dangerous substances, improperly stored.
Nobody else in your department was seriously hurt. But others weren’t so lucky.
“When I started with Norm, it was all about changing the world for the better. And in the end, we’ve helped nobody.” He shakes his head. “If you’ll forgive my language…Fuck Oscorp. I’m ready to start over.”
You grin at him, even though it feels a little watery. “I’m…really happy for you.” And you are. In the brief time you’ve worked under him, his passion has been obvious, but he’s always seemed so bogged down by the minutiae of red tape; appeasing a board of investors with no interest in the importance of his life’s work beyond its potential profitability.
But it also makes your already-uncertain future with the company even foggier. You’ll need to find someone else willing to offer you a similar graduate position, and you already know you won’t find anything else quite as specialised as the work he’s been doing.
He takes a sip from the glass of water beside his bed, then sits back with a sigh. “Publicly-funded research is a far less glamorous world than that of private enterprise. We’ll be relying primarily on grant funding and academic support. There won’t be any glass fountains or vertical gardens, I’m afraid.”
You nod sympathetically. “I can imagine. It’ll be a big change.”
His eyebrows draw together at you. “I would understand if your answer is no.”
You blink. “My answer?” you say, like a genius.
“If so, I would, of course, write you a glowing recommendation. And I have plenty of contacts I could put you in touch with, if you’d prefer that.”
Holy shit. Is he…? “Hold on. Are you offering me a position with you?”
“Well, yes.”
He grunts as you dart in and hug him. “Oh! Yes! I mean, of course! I would love to. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this.”
“Uh.”
You lean back as he smooths his blankets down. “Sorry,” you say, a little sheepish. “That was unprofessional.”
He tries to look stern, but it’s unconvincing. “Well, yes,” he says again. “But I’ll choose to ignore it just this once.”
You stop by to see Bear on your way home. The roller doors in the alley beside the grimy little theatre are propped open so you can see all the half-painted set pieces inside, and there’s a bunch of people dressed all in black gathered around smoking.
“Are you gonna be home tonight?” you ask, watching her inhale the deli sandwich you’d brought after correctly guessing she hadn’t stopped rehearsing long enough for lunch.
“I can be if you want,” she says, her mouth full of half-chewed food. “But I was kind of planning on staying at a friend’s.”
You press your knuckles absently against the back of your head and leer at her. “Would this friend happen to be the same person who wanted you to move in after one salad date?”
“If you don’t stop scratching your stitches I’m calling the hospital and narcing to your doctor. And yes.”
You make a face. “I’m not even touching them!”
She stuffs the rest of the sandwich in her mouth and wipes her hands on her jeans. “I’m seriously cool not to go, though. It’s totally fine.”
She’s barely left you alone since you got back from the emergency room, even setting alarms and checking up on you throughout the first couple of nights. You know for a fact she’s had to cancel other plans for you—again. You shake your head. “No, go. I kind of want some alone time anyway.”
It’s another cold, bright afternoon. You walk into the feet of your shadow and spread your fingers beside your body as your arms move, watching them elongating out on the pavement in front of you, lost in thought. You’ve been lost in thought a lot, lately.
You’re just past the end of your block when you catch sight of the figure sitting on the stairs outside your building. Long legs in faded jeans are stretched out and crossed over at the ankles, and there’s duct tape around the toe of one sneaker. You slow to a halt on the sidewalk. A woman behind you huffs with irritation, veering around you, a giant paper grocery bag clutched in her arms.
He looks up from his cracked phone screen as you draw level with your door. His hair is as chaotic as ever, stuck up in every direction, except for at the nape of his neck, where it curls gently around in little flicks. He looks tired. He’s always looked tired, the whole time you’ve known him, but you notice it differently now. Like the holes in his jeans, and the bruise on his jaw, and the angry-sore-looking blisters on his knuckles.
He smiles a little, jerking you out of your silent staring. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t wanna just show up unannounced. I’ve been trying to call, but,” he holds his phone up, and you shake your head.
“My phone was—”
“Yeah, I figured.”
The wind lifts the edge of your scarf and shivers under the neck of your coat. There’s something sweet in the air; like cinnamon sugar, maybe someone baking from one of the open windows overhead. “Do you want to come inside?”
His expression is soft as he considers you, looking up through his lashes. “Okay.”
Neither of you speak on the trip upstairs. Your hand accidentally brushes his as you reach out for the elevator buttons, and you both pull away, as awkward and over-polite as strangers.
He stands a respectful distance back as you open your door, and you lead him inside, waving your hand vaguely toward the sofa. “Do you want a drink?”
He folds himself into the seat nearest the window, hunching over and shoving his hands between his knees. A cold drift of sun touches his jaw. “Um, no thanks, it’s cool.”
You sit down beside him, folding your hands across your lap like you’re about to get a class picture taken.
He chews his lip, runs his thumbs over his burned hands. Outside, a car horn beeps. “It’s not because I didn’t trust you,” he starts. “If you’re wondering. I don’t want you thinking that’s the reason.”
“It’s okay,” you say. “You don’t need to explain.”
“I just want you to know—”
“I know.” You try to smile at him, and it feels a little watery. “I get it. I know why you couldn’t tell me.”
His brows bend together just enough to mark out a pained line. “I’m sorry.”
You shake your head. “Really. Don’t be.”
It falls silent in your living room. The little clay pinch pot in the centre of the coffee table Bear had brought home from the artists’ market watches you both watching one another; soft-skinned and tender as nervous newborn things.
“You might die doing this,” you finally point out. “One day. All those times you’ve been hurt. You might…not come home.”
He nods at the floor. “Which is why I couldn’t really ask you to, you know. Waste your time with—” he waves his hands vaguely back and forth between your bodies. “It’s not worth it. And, like, trust me, I would never, ever want to drag you into any of the shit I’m involved with. I didn’t mean to fuck you around so long, knowing you wouldn’t...” He looks back at you, his dark eyes soft. “It was just. The happiest I’ve been in a really long time. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry. It was shitty of me. Selfish.”
You stare at him for a few seconds in stunned disbelief. Then you laugh. You don’t mean to, and his head jerks back, startled. “Are you serious?” you manage.
His eyes are huge. “Uh. Yeah?”
You laugh again. It sounds a little manic. “You’re unbelievable.”
He flushes. “Could you maybe quit laughing at me when I’m trying to—”
“Peter. You saved my fucking life. Twice. Even after I was a total asshole to you. You saved me.”
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, look, I don’t want you to feel weird about that. Like, it’s totally, one-hundred-percent not a big deal and I never want anybody to feel like—”
“You help people. Strangers. Every day. For nothing. And they aren’t even grateful. The things people write about you.” He hasn’t moved, and you realise you’re talking louder than you need to, considering he’s right in front of you. “You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met,” you tell him, emphatic, needing him to get it. “You’re a good person, Peter. I’m so sorry I didn’t see that before.” Your voice breaks a little and it’s embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as the fact that your vision has gone blurry and your cheeks feel suddenly too hot.
You stop and breathe for a few moments, willing yourself not to cry. He doesn’t say anything, just studies the edge of the rug as though he’s pretending not to notice, and you’re grateful.
Then, quietly, he takes a breath. “I was going to tell you. Before the fire. I saw May, and she told me she saw you, and that you’d talked, and. I wanted to explain everything.”
You remember the way May had looked that day in the park; her small, sad mouth, and the way she’d spoken slowly like she was choosing each word carefully. “Does she know?”
Peter half-shrugs. “We’ve never talked about it. But, like, I know she knows. And she knows I know she does.” He gives you a little smile. “It’s easier if we both keep pretending we don’t, though.”
“Does anyone else?”
His smile turns tight. “I guess not. Not really.”
“So you’ve been doing this all on your own? The whole time? How?”
He runs his hand back through his hair. “Yeah. Well, I guess I’m pretty good with DIY now, you know? I wasn’t always. I had to learn. Shit went wrong a lot in the beginning. Shit still goes wrong a lot.”
You lean in a little, curling into the cushions. “What’s the hardest part?”
You’re expecting him to say the fear of discovery, or the isolation, or the sheer physical exhaustion. But he wrinkles his nose. “God. The sewing. It’s so hard. And it’s constant. I swear I pop a different seam every day.” His face goes blank for a moment and he looks at you as though a brand new thought has just occurred to him for the first time. “It’s actually really nice. Getting to talk about this.”
“Am I allowed to ask about the outfit?”
He slaps his hands over his face. “You are absolutely fucking not allowed to ask about the outfit.”
Your mouth drops open in outrage. “I wasn’t gonna laugh! I just want to know why—”
“Look, I was going for, like, a velodrome thing. Like for speed and better flexibility and less wind-resistance and then like, anonymity as well, obviously, and originally—”
“What about the, uh, pattern?”
“Yeah, okay, okay, it seemed cool at the time! I was fifteen!”
The thought of Peter as a child, alone, in danger, no doubt even ganglier and nerdier than he is now, sends a fresh pang of sadness through you. You try not to let it show. “Do you eat the webs?”
He stares like you’ve just asked if he’d like to swap heads with you. “What?”
“Certain types of spiders go back and eat their webs after they’re done with them. Like, to replenish the protein they expended making them. Do you ever eat yours?”
The expression on his face is the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. “Uh, no. It’s inorganic. Like, it’s a, like essentially a nylon polymer composite. It’s not edible. I mean, I’ve never tried, but it’s designed to dissolve after a few hours, so I guess if you did really want to eat it, it wouldn’t hurt you…” He trails off, sheepish, looking at you sideways. “You’re fucking with me.”
“Yeah,” you say, unable to stifle your smile any longer.
He grins and ducks his head. He hasn’t shaved today, you note; there’s a little bit of stubble along his jawline.
Your chest hurts. Seeing him, being close to him, just like before. It pulls open the ache of missing him, turning it from a bruise into a wound. You know you shouldn’t. You tell yourself not to. But you do it anyway.
“I miss you.” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper.
He looks so fucking sad. His eyes are huge and pained and so close, and then they dart down to your lips, and you see it; the precise split-second the urge hits him, then the one after as he fights it, and your heart sinks and you’re about to lean back but then his mouth is on yours and it’s soft and it’s warm and unbearably gentle as his hands sweep up to the base of your neck.
It’s not the best kiss you’ve ever had.
You’re twisted uncomfortably to face him. Your hands lay shocked in your lap, and you’re pretty sure he can hear you attempting not to sniffle too much with your breathing, and you’re so busy worrying about it that you forget to open up to him; his tongue touching the edge of your lips. His fingertips brush the stitches at the back of your head and you flinch, pulling away.
“Oh, shit, sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, visibly mortified.
“It’s okay,” you say. “Didn’t hurt. It’s just sensitive.”
“For kissing you,” he clarifies. “I know we’re not, like…you know. Anymore.”
That hurts. You shake your head. “We could be. We could try.”
“I can’t ask you—"
“No. Don’t do that. What do you want?”
He exhales through his nose and a tiny, pained sound escapes with it. “It’s not that easy—“
“It is. It is that easy. What do you want?”
“You have no idea,” he says, suddenly. “God. You have no fucking idea how bad I want you. I want this. You’re the only thing I. Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes, frustrated. “You just have no idea how bad this could go.”
“I do,” you tell him, gently. “I know exactly how bad it could go. And I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry that happened. It’s so, so fucked up that that happened and I’m so sorry, and I know nothing I can say will ever make any of it any less fucked up, but fucked up things happen. They happen all the time for normal people, too. And fucked up things are going to keep happening and it’s inevitable and it’s part of being alive and that’s why we just need to take that risk every day, and choose to—to try to just be happy in as many stupid fucking hopeless ways as we can anyway, because we deserve to be happy. You deserve to be happy.”
He’s staring at you like he wants to believe you. Like he wants to cry. “You need to know,” he says, reaching his hand out, pulling it back. “I can’t promise you this’ll be okay. If you still wanted…I would try. I would try so, so hard for you. Harder than I’ve ever tried at anything. But I—I still just have no way of knowing that it’ll be okay.“
You smile at him, shaky and sure. “That’s any relationship, Parker.”
This time when he kisses you, you’re ready. Your mouth opens eagerly under his, catching the faint metal-salt of his skin, the dryness where his lips are ever-so-slightly windburnt.
All the breath leaves your body in a rush. You shove your hands up through his hair, lifting up onto your knees and sliding across his lap until you’re straddling him on the couch.
He tilts his head back to work his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands sliding up underneath your shirt to find the edges of your bra, and it’s awkward and clumsy and you’re both breathing hard by the time he manages to get your jeans unzipped and his hand cramped into your underwear.
“Holy shit,” you gasp, half-dizzy from kissing without pause. You almost bite him when his fingers find your clit. “Can you—yeah, like that, oh, my God—"
“Hold on, it’d be better if, let me…” he murmurs, frustrated, and you let out what could only be described as a yelp as he lifts your entire weight up to easily shove your jeans and underwear the rest of the way off your legs before settling you back down over his lap.
You’re stuck between trying to grind down against the front of his jeans and trying to give him enough space to work his hand back between your legs, ultimately deciding on the latter as he finds your clit again, this time his attentions unhampered by clothing.
His body hasn’t forgotten yours. It only takes a few moments of searching before he has you melting into the palm of his hand; your bones soft and hot inside you as you roll your eyes closed. It’s easy with him, just like before, but better.
You’re almost close when he eases two fingers inside you, and that’s easy too, so easy, the way you give for him. Your forehead rests against his as your lips come apart; too focused for kissing anymore.
“I missed you,” he breathes, working his wrist. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much.”
You flex your thighs as you rock with the movement of his hand, and that’s when you need to touch him, urgently. It takes a little repositioning before you manage to open his jeans and ease his cock out, wrapping your fingers loosely around him.
You feel him tense and shudder as you stroke him, too slow to really get him anywhere, too lost in the way his long, firm fingers curl inside you.
He noses along your jaw, mouthing lazily at your damp skin, his eyes closed, and then he’s there, right where you need him, and you’re clenching and biting down on the sounds trying to escape as you come apart sudden and hard around him.
You’re still loose-limbed and shaky when he pulls his slick fingers free, gently moving your hand out of the way to grasp himself instead. You feel a little guilty; you’d almost forgotten about him straining in front of you, but he doesn’t seem to care as he jerks himself quick and short in his fist. His other hand cups the swell of your ass as he huffs hot breath into your hair, your neck, coming sudden across the inside of your thigh.
You slump your weight against him.
Neither of you speak for a while. Your hand is curled between your bodies, trapped where it’s warm and you can feel his heart slowing in his chest. He runs his hand absently from your hip to your thigh, then back again.
“Peter,” you murmur.
“Mmm.”
“You do need to promise me one thing, though.”
He moves, just enough that he can look up at you. His cheeks are flushed. “What?”
“We can never. And I mean never. Tell Bear we fucked on her couch.”
His eyes widen in horror. “Oh, my God. She already hates me.”
“I know. But it’s okay, because we’re not gonna tell her.”
“I just don’t know if I can keep that secret; I’m not good at subterfuge, y’know, I’m just not that kinda guy—"
“Yeah, yeah, okay—"
“—and you should see me under pressure; I fold like origami—"
You kiss him again, just to shut him up, and feel his lips curling up against yours.
Your thighs feel sticky and gross, and you’re starting to get cold, and when you get up you nearly fall over from the cramp in your leg from sitting so awkwardly, but you’re too happy to care in the slightest.
You stand together in the bathroom, cleaning each other up. Every time his eyes meet yours in the mirror you both smile again, giggling and getting in each other’s way, like idiots.
It takes twice as long as it should to get back out to the couch, and you’re hoping he’ll curl up with you again but then you catch him glancing toward the window. “You need to go,” you say. It’s not really a question.
He hedges. “I kind of do, but…”
You offer him a little smile. “It’s okay. Go.”
He nods. You walk him to the door, where he pauses. He chews at his thumbnail, looking at you sideways again from under his eyelashes.
You watch him for a few seconds, waiting. “What?” you finally say.
He presses his lips together, runs his hand through his hair. “So. It’s probably, like, kind of weird. To ask. At this…uh, juncture.”
He’s nervous, you realise. It’s excruciatingly endearing. You nudge him. “I feel like weird’s kind of our thing.”
He grins. “Yeah. I guess. So. I was gonna ask if you’d like to go out. For dinner. Friday night.”
There’s absolutely no way to prevent the smile slowly pulling at your mouth. “Peter. Are you asking me on a date?”
He laughs, a little self-conscious huff. “Uh, yeah. Like. I mean, I wanted to way sooner. But. I guess I wanna try doing things properly this time. If you want.”
You can think of a thousand different things to say, but most of them are embarrassing, so you settle for keeping it simple. “Yes. Fuck yes. Obviously.”
He blinks. “Oh, okay, awesome, holy shit. Okay. Should we…? I don’t have your new number.”
“Oh, yeah, I need to get yours again too.” You pull your phone out and make a new contact before handing it to him.
He stares at your screen for a second, then he snorts. “You have me in your phone as ‘p.p.’?”
You wrinkle your nose at him. “Why? What do you have me as?”
He laughs again, quiet, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He hands your phone back. He takes a few steps out the door, then he sticks his hands in his pockets. “So. I’ll see you?”
“You will,” you tell him, watching the way his jaw juts crookedly when he smiles.
He’s halfway to the elevator, walking backwards, his hands still in his pockets when he calls back to you. “Friday, Miss Jersey.”
You laugh. “Quit disturbing my neighbours.”
You stay there long after he’s gone, leaning against your doorframe, smiling to yourself, aching with stupid, giddy affection.
#peter parker x f!reader#peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker x f!reader#tasm!peter parker x reader#andrew garfield!spiderman x reader#tasm fanfic#tasm fanfiction#tasm imagine#peter parker imagine#tasm!peter parker imagine#tasm!peter smut#tasm!peter x you#tasm!peter fanfiction
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happy valentine’s day 2 my bf muah ilu petey
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saw someone on twitter rt the photo of her with andrew garfield and say she should play cindy moon...... do not even play with me like that i'll go crazy
#starting my krystal as silk campaign NOW.#and when they reboot tasm and bring in krystal to play cindy moon..... then you'll all see#f(x)#krystal jung
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Flowers In Your Hair
Entry for the amazing’s @wicked-remarks ‘ “Kink or Treat”!
18+ EXPLICIT [minors DNI] - Peter Parker/Spider-man fanfic
Words: 4,8k
Pairing: fem!OC* x Peter Parker (based on TASM!Peter but flexible)
Summary: Flower Shop + Sex Pollen + (kind of) Professional Rivals
Tags: 18+ explicit, mostly strangers to lovers, smut, nudity, vaginal sex, mild praise kink, oral sex (both F and M receiving), no bed in sight, some fluff, all characters are 18+.
Song inspo: Flowers in Your Hair by The Lumineers
Moodboard: here
*[I say OC because it’s written in the third person, but can be read as reader because she uses a codename the whole time and her physical appearance is barely described]
The bell over the door rang for the third time that day, and Peter barely had the energy to look up. It was probably someone “just looking” or a tourist hoping to take some aesthetic shots for their travel log. Slow days like this made him want to close the shop and swing himself far far away from here.
He had been trying for a good hour to focus on the physics problem due for tomorrow evening’s class. Frustrated from the lack of inspiration, he finally looked up to see a young woman admiring the carnations displayed near the door.
“Good morning!” Peter said in his best customer service voice, stifling a yawn. “If you need anything let me know.”
“I will, thank you.” The woman shot him a smile that barely reached her eyes. She seemed focused... Too focused for a simple visit to the flower shop, Peter noticed.
Peter’s tingle rang loudly at the back of his mind, pulling him off his stool. He cleared his throat and casually made his way to the woman.
“They are just beautiful, aren’t they? Those yellow ones arrived only this morning.”
She hummed an approval and took a step away from him, now seemingly inspecting the coloured roses.
“Disappointment.” Peter intended for his tone to be playfully stern, but it turned out harsher than expected. This caused the woman to turn, a mixture of surprise and mild panic taking over her features for a split second, before settling into a controlled expression of confusion.
“Excuse me?”
“Disappointment, rejection. That’s what yellow carnations mean.” Peter smirked, leaning forward as if confiding. “But don’t tell anyone, I don’t think many people buy flowers to express disdain anymore.”
She laughed and took another step away, her hand now on the door handle. The sound of her laugh warmed Peter’s chest, and for a second he forgot he was suspecting her of… of what exactly? Of acting shady in a flower shop?
Come on Peter, get a grip, you’re just sleep deprived from the night patrols. He thought to himself.
“Let’s not give them any ideas.” And with another ring of the bell, she was gone.
Peter stood there for a few moments, taking one last look at the yellow carnations before closing the shop for the day.
-
It was around 1 am when Peter woke up in a cold sweat. Another nightmare. He got up to get some water. He tried to remember what the dream had been about. It was about work. Conventional work. Flower shop. But also, Spider-man? Carnations. Yellow carnations. The woman looking at the yellow carnations. What was she wearing? Wide-brimmed hat. Red wide-brimmed hat. Like that night about a year ago at the docks. Red wide-brimmed hat amongst diamond smugglers…
Peter’s hand let go of the glass of water he was holding as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place in his brain.
By the time the glass shattered on the floor, he already had half his suit on and was headed towards the window.
-
It wasn’t often that criminals walked in through the door of the local superhero’s side job, Peter thought to himself. He hoped he wasn’t too late as he dropped down to the ground a few buildings away. Approaching by foot, he didn’t see anyone inside, nor anywhere around him.
In the shop, everything seemed to be in order. He approached the carnations. He thought about the new provider who had brought them. Mrs Hernandez had said they had shown a lot of interest in getting the flowers in the shop as soon as possible. This was nothing new, one would think, in the flower industry. But even Mrs Hernandez, with 50 years in the business, thought their approach was odd. “Muy raros, Peter. But the claveles are beautiful, ¿no?” she’d said.
He was lost in thought when he heard a voice behind him.
“Well well well. If it isn’t our friendly neighbourhood killjoy.”
Peter turned to see the now familiar red hat. The rest of the outfit was now black though, including a black cloth covering her mouth and nose.
“Who would have known the one and only Spider-man had a side gig as a florist.” She gave the keys on the door a jingle. She chuckled as she circled the room to leave Peter between her and the door. A bold move, Peter thought. She really wanted those flowers. Why not just buy them during the day?
“I don’t work here. I just… I keep spare keys for the forgetful neighbours.” Even his tone was unconvinced.
“Yeah, sure. And you just happen to be inspecting the one flower I’m here for because your sixth sense told you to.” She rolled her eyes.
“Maybe…? Who even are you?”
“You can call me Scarlet. Logistics agent. Pleasure to meet you, Spidey.” She held out her hand but he didn’t take it.
“Black market contrabandist, you mean.”
“Depends who’s setting the terms for black and white. I only want to help people have a good time.”
“Right. Well. You seem nice enough, Scarlet, but I’m finding it hard to trust you and I think I’m going to take these flowers to the police and let them work out what could have you so interested in them.”
“I really don’t think you want to do that.”
“And why is that?”
She looked at him intently for a few seconds before responding, she seemed to be weighing her options.
“Listen. I don’t deal drugs, or arms, or blood diamonds, or anything that might hurt people. I just like bringing people pleasure in ways that may be… unconventional… but not harmful. I know we might not always deal on the same side of the law, but we don’t have to be enemies. I’ve been seeing you all over the news, and I know you hold your morals above the law. So if I told you these flowers could be a big problem if handled incorrectly, will you please let me go my own way so I can take them where they won’t be a problem?”
Peter didn’t answer, so Scarlet went on. “Or are we going to have to fight? You’re really too cute to fight.” She was bluffing. She had a fair amount of martial arts training, but she was certainly not skilled enough to take on Spider-man.
“Tell me more about them.” Peter said, and Scarlet wondered if he was just curious.
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“The police it is then.”
“Okay, okay. These are “carnations of life”, they look like common carnations but they hold some very… interesting properties. They grow only on a small island off the coast of Croatia and people all over the world pay exorbitant prices to enjoy the side effects of their pollen. The thing is, they must be transported at night, or else they wither immediately. But it is also during the night that the pollen works its magic. So what I’m going to do is put them in this container that I have in my bag, neither of us is going to breathe for about two minutes while I do it, and then I’ll disappear and we won’t meet again for a while, okay?” She was already opening the lid to the big glass jar and reaching for them.
But Peter moved to intercept, now standing in the narrow space between her and the flowers, almost touching them. “Wait a second. You said you didn’t deal drugs. This sounds a lot like drugs to me.”
“Be careful, Spidey! If you even brush them the pollen will go everywhere and we’ll be in big trouble.”
But Peter didn’t move, Scarlet sighed but didn’t take her eyes off the yellow blooms.
“These give you a temporary high of sorts but are not considered a drug because they are not addictive and they have no side effects past the initial reaction. Because there is a very small production of these flowers worldwide, the people who do know about them are very secretive. I doubt even the NYPD has ever heard of them.”
“Why should I trust anything of what you’re saying?”
“Oh, you shouldn’t… But wouldn’t it be fun if you did?” Peter could see the smirk in her eyes, as she leaned forward to whisper in his ear: “Oh I do wish we could try this pollen together, but I’m afraid the money I’m getting from this transaction is worth way more than a night of fun with Spider-man…”
The words and sensual tone sent a wave of arousal through Peter’s veins, and his eyes went blurry for an instant. Just enough for Scarlet to reach behind him and grab the flowers. They were already in the glass jar when Peter’s tingle kicked in and reflexively swatted the jar out of Scarlet’s hands. He saw everything in slow motion: Scarlet’s panicked eyes, the jar hitting the floor and cracking into four pieces, the carnations flying off into five different directions, the pollen turning glittery with the sudden movement and spreading all around them…
Scarlet knew better, and Peter should have as well, but the sight of the sudden million sparkling specks of dust flying around them made them both gasp in awe. Neither of them had ever seen something so beautiful, so mesmerising. And that one gasp was enough.
“Fuck.” That was all Scarlet managed to say before she felt the rush through her veins.
Peter was already stumbling backwards, gasping further for air as he felt his lungs heat up like embers. He pulled his mask off, asphyxiated. He saw Scarlet taking off her hat, mask and coat, seemingly feeling ablaze as well.
“What’s… what’s going to happen to us…?” Peter managed between heavy breaths.
Scarlet managed to lift one eyebrow and attempted to smirk, but it turned into a pained grimace.
It took about three minutes for the pain to pass. Both of them panted heavily, catching their breaths. But Scarlet got moving quickly, drawing the blinds on the big window shop, making sure they were completely shielded from the outside. She locked the door with Peter’s key, which was still in the lock. Then, she picked up the shards of glass from the floor and put them in the bin behind the counter. With some brown paper, she expertly wrapped the flowers so they were sealed off as well as she could.
Peter felt so rattled he could do nothing but stare, confused. “Was that it?”
Scarlet looked up: “No. I’m just making sure we don’t get hurt, or arrested, or in further trouble really. It’ll kick in any minute now.”
Peter could barely process her words. He could just look at her red-tinted lips moving, the way her hair was all out of place, some locks falling on her face. Her hands moving swiftly, red nails softly scratching the counter’s surface as she put away everything that was in her way. Dazed, he looked down in horror to realise he wasn’t just aroused, he was completely hard under his suit, which was oppressing him in a way he’d never experienced before.
“Oh.” The pollen clearly had an effect on his reflexes as well because it took him a good minute to process what was going on. By then, Scarlet was in front of him, reaching for his neck and pulling him down into a deep kiss.
What had been confusion and delayed reactions instantly snapped into a desperate need to have her there and then.
Peter quickly undid his suit and peeled it off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.
Scarlet did the same with her clothes, now standing in front of Peter in a lacey red underwear set. She couldn’t help but stare at his toned figure, and Peter’s breath hitched at her beautiful form.
“This is very wrong.” He said, his hands already running up and down her sides, his dick pressing against her hip as he pulled her in close. “Is there another way of stopping it?” His words were coming out on autopilot, some better part of him subconsciously trying to do what was right. But his body was betraying him with every passing second, and his brain felt foggy with an overarching desire that engulfed every thought he had and tinted it deep red with passion. And he could not stop it even if he was really trying to. At least he was pretty sure he was trying.
Scarlet, on the other hand, was surprised, to say the least. This was her first time exposed to love carnations, but from what she’d heard, and from her own impulses at that very moment, it was basically impossible to question your actions under its effect. The superhero’s morals really were strong as steel.
“Not that I know of.” She managed, between gasps as he sucked and bit and kissed a trail down from her chin to her collarbone. Her hands were firmly anchored to his hair in a desperate attempt to keep the balance her legs were refusing to offer.
“And you’re okay with this?” He pulled away briefly to seek assurance in her eyes as much as her words.
“Yes, please, Peter, I need this.”
Peter stilled, confused as to how she knew his real name. Panic caused a new burn of adrenaline through his veins. His face must have shown it clearly, because Scarlet lifted an eyebrow, a cocky grin across her face, and simply said: “You had a very cute nametag on this morning”.
Some kind of relative relief allowed Peter to relax slightly. “Attentive to detail. Check.” He pointed out.
“It’s part of the job, what can I say.” She shrugged and tossed her hair back dramatically.
“Yeah? Well, part of my job is helping people in need. So let’s get to it.”
And with that, his arms circled her waist and he lifted her up. With her legs wrapped around his torso, and her hips grinding against his hardness, Peter’s vision blurred for a few seconds, consumed by desire now that he had the green light he needed to enjoy this.
Coming to his senses, as much as he was able to under the influence of that damn flower, he unclipped Scarlet’s bra with one hand, while the other tentatively kneaded her ass.
The moan she stifled against his neck spurred him on. He moved towards the back corner of the shop. Hidden under an intricate display of dried flowers, was a sofa. Once a luscious shade of green velvet, it was now faded and worn out, but it would have to do. With one arm, Peter pushed away the dried flowers, leaving behind a trail of petals and leaves which gave the sofa a new colourful covering.
He gently put Scarlet down on it, then quickly removed his boxers. Scarlet’s mouth opened slightly at the sight of Peter’s dick. But he didn’t notice because he was already pushing aside her panties, and diving his tongue into her wet core. After a few circles around her clit, Scarlet was a moaning mess, sprawled on the flower-covered sofa, one hand on the armrest and one intertwined in Peter’s hair. She didn’t even notice the roughness of the dried leaves still covering the sofa, lightly scratching her skin, or the colourful petals finding their way into the locks of her hair.
Peter’s index finger gently teased her entrance while his tongue continued to work at his clit.
“Peter, please…”
“Please what, pretty girl?”
“Please don’t stop.”
And he didn’t. His finger went into her smoothly, her arousal providing enough lubricant for Peter’s middle finger to follow shortly after.
Peter’s mouth suddenly covered her whole clit and sucked, tongue still teasing her. At the same time, his fingers curled, hitting her G-spot just at the right time to send her spiralling.
Whether it was Peter’s skill or the pollen’s effects, or both, the orgasm that hit her was nothing like she’d ever experienced before. Peter’s hand carried her through it all, until she was panting and pulling at his hair. He kissed her gently, his breath heavy.
“Tired already, Spidey?”
“No, just extremely turned on right now. So if you don’t mind…?” He held his dick in his hand, his tip stroking her sensitive clit.
“I do not.” She smirked through her hazed expression. He entered her with one smooth slow stroke, stretching her and filling her up deliciously. She moaned at the feeling.
“You make such lovely sounds for me.” He started with slow strokes, letting her adjust to his size and slowly prepping her up for her second orgasm. When she started lifting her hips to meet his thrusts, he caught the hint and started picking up the pace. Her hands travelled up and down his chest, up to stroke his hair, and down his arms, tense from hovering above her on the sofa. His grunts were getting louder by the minute, and she could feel him getting close.
But he had other ideas in mind, so he picked her up swiftly and bent her over the armrest, her hands clutching at the old velvet while her legs opened for him. He pushed a hand between her hips and the sofa, his fingers expertly applying the right amount of pressure to her throbbing clit. He entered her once more, the new angle letting him hit her sweet spot every stroke without fail.
She gasped as she felt the wave of pleasure about to hit her.
“That’s it, come for me, sweet thing. You’re doing so good for me.” The praise was enough to send her over the edge, and her muscles spasmed around his dick. A few more strokes and he was pulling out, his cum spurting onto her back.
He pinned his hands at either side of her on the sofa, panting into her ear. They stayed there for a few minutes, catching their breath.
“Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” he whispered softly, before kissing the back of her neck.
About a minute later, she felt him gently wipe her back with soft tissue.
“Thank you.” She said quietly.
“Is that it, then?” Although he tried hard to hide it, Peter sounded almost disappointed.
She turned around, plopping down on the sofa and making herself comfortable.
“From what I hear, it comes and goes in waves. The effects can last anywhere between 2 and 6 hours.”
His face remained serious, but Scarlet thought she saw a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Better rest up before it hits again then.” He said, lying down beside her, his arm lifted up above his head tentatively. She raised her head and he put down his arm for her to rest on. He stroked her hair softly, admiring the contrast of the dried flowers against her now messy hair.
He smiled to himself. This was all so wrong, but it felt so good.
-
Scarlet didn’t know how long she’d slept for. But it was still dark outside and Peter was not cuddling her anymore. She felt odd. When she moved, she worked out why. She was soaking wet between her legs. She blinked a few times, trying to come to terms with her sudden arousal. She looked up to see Peter leaning against the counter. He must have not noticed her sit up, because he didn’t react. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw why. He was slowly stroking his dick in his hand, eyes closed and head thrown back.
She slowly approached him. He was so entranced he only opened his eyes when she was standing in front of him and whispered: “Do you need some help with that?”
She dropped to her knees in front of him, replacing his hand with hers. He said nothing, just looked at her with pure adoration and nodded.
“Fuck.” Was all he could muster when she teased his tip with her tongue, her right hand moving up and down his length.
Slowly, she took him in his mouth, her hands moving to hold his thighs for balance and leverage. She started bobbing her head, hesitantly at first, but with more confidence when Peter started moaning and gripping hard at the counter’s edge. She couldn’t quite get his whole length in her mouth, though she tried to, so she focused on using her tongue to find his sensitive spots instead. It must have worked, because shortly after, Peter roughly grabbed her hair and pulled her away. “Careful, sweet thing, or you’re going to end up with a salty tongue…”
“But what if I want to?” She pouted at him playfully.
He gulped, clearly having to restrain himself from shoving his dick back in her mouth. His hand pulled her hair back a bit more so her neck was exposed to him. “Maybe another time. But I’m stretching this out as much as possible.”
He tugged at her hair so she stood up. He picked her up and sat her on the counter. One stroke of his fingers over her entrance revealed her wetness to him. So this time, he didn’t even wait for confirmation. He went in immediately and his fast, shallow strokes caught her breath. She held on to the nape of his neck, panting heavily straight into his ear.
“Peter, you feel so good. Don’t stop. Yeah, right there. Shit.”
Sucking him off must have turned her on more than she realised, because before she knew it she was biting into his shoulder to stifle her moans, and her body went limp against his firm chest while he fucked her through her orgasm.
He slowed down, pumping long and deep into her while she caught her breath.
“Can you do that thing again?” she whispered, hazily, avoiding eye contact.
“Do what again?” he was clearly distracted, his eyes focused on the point where their bodies met, soft wet noises mixed with their heavy breaths.
“Bend me over and fuck me from behind?” this brought back his attention, finally noticing the embarrassment on her face. This was the first time she’d looked insecure. He thought about teasing her, but being honest to himself, it turned him on even more (if that was even possible) and he loved that she was making suggestions.
“With pleasure, sweet thing.”
Scarlet was once again impressed by Peter’s ability to move her around effortlessly and with extreme care. She realised, if he wanted to, he could really hurt her. An odd warm feeling rose from her stomach up to her chest. She tried to shut it off, but she knew exactly what it was. How rare was it to find a guy who wouldn’t go straight for his own pleasure, even despite a feeble attempt at foreplay? Maybe losing tonight’s deal was not so bad… Maybe a night with Spiderman really was worth it...
The thought vaporised into thin air when Peter entered her, hitting that critical spot again. Her recent orgasm had everything feeling extra sensitive, so it almost felt like she was thrown straight into the rollercoaster of pleasure again. She moaned louder than she intended to, her nails digging into the edge of the counter, her toes barely touching the floor. Peter’s hands had been traveling up and down her back, stroking the sensitive skin on her sides: from the side of her breasts down to her waist and her hips. But now, he was holding her ass cheeks apart, and from the low moan that escaped his lips, Scarlet could just assume he was enjoying the view. His thrusts were getting sloppy, so she gently squeezed her walls around him. He huffed loudly, his hands landing roughly at either side of her on the counter.
“You certainly know what you’re doing.” He breathed into her ear.
“Whatever could you mean by that?” She tried batting her eyelashes, but all she managed was a hint of an innocent smile. At the same time, she squeezed again, and pushed her ass back into him, catching him off-guard.
“You fucking tease.” He tried to laugh but it came out as a breathy moan instead. A few more thrusts and he was collapsing on her again.
-
Scarlet woke up suddenly, gasping for air. She felt disoriented, but faint sunrise light came through the shut blinds which helped her get her bearings quickly. Peter was behind the counter, holding a mug. The smell of fresh coffee, mixed with the scent of the flowers that surrounded her both on the sofa and all over the floor, was positively intoxicating… Albeit in a more subtle way than the yellow carnations still sitting on top of the register, neatly packed away.
“Hey, you okay?” He was walking towards her, looking concerned. His Spiderman suit was on up to his waist, the top half hanging loosely over his hips.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Scarlet rubbed her eyes and yawned. When he sat next to her, he offered her her clothes, which he must have picked up from around the shop.
“Are you feeling better?” There was something in his eyes as he said so that she could not decipher.
“Better… I think so, yes.” Her tone was unconvinced, but she didn’t know why. She did feel better. Although the sight of Peter’s bare chest was still sending a tingling to her core, and looking into his chocolate-brown eyes felt like shaking a jar of butterflies in her stomach. Although, for the latter, she doubted it even had anything to do with the carnations.
“I’m just… very tired.” She stifled another yawn, trying to think of a good excuse to call in sick to work.
She started putting on her underwear. She giggled softly when she noticed Peter was entranced looking at her, now clad in red lace. Peter’s eyes widened and then looked away when he realised what he was doing. He cleared his throat awkwardly while making his way to the counter quickly. Scarlet caught a glimpse of what must have been quite an uncomfortable erection, but Peter said nothing.
“Coffee?” he asked casually, but he was still not looking in her general direction.
“No, thank you, I think I’ll go straight to bed.”
“That sounds very sensible. I’m jealous, Mrs Hernandez expects the shop open at 9 am sharp and the only good enough excuse for her is death.”
Scarlet was honestly surprised. She really thought Peter would try again, to get it out of his system. He was obviously still under the influence of the carnations. Even if it hadn’t been visually evident, she could feel it still running through her own veins. And she’d given him the green light last night already. However, ever the perfect gentleman, he was doing his best to act normal.
“I need to go home, have a shower, get some clothes appropriate for shop keeping, you know… Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?”
“Drop me off…?”
“I can swing you home if you want.”
“Wow, Spidey… Are you trying to find out my address?” she smiled teasingly, adjusting her hat in place.
“What? No, no. Not at all. I could call you a cab?” He was fiddling with his mug anxiously. Against her will, she thought it was terribly endearing.
“I can make my way home. Thank you anyway. You can ask for my number though, if you want to.” She batted her eyelashes playfully.
Peter still hesitated.
“It feels wrong, what with you being a criminal and all.”
“Depends what your definition of “criminal” is, Mr Vigilante.”
“Please tell me you don’t read that Daily Bugle crap. It’s all lies, you know?”
Scarlet laughed at Peter’s disgusted face. The sound filled the flower shop, sweetening the already scent-charged room. Peter couldn’t help but smile, and the sight warmed Scarlet’s chest. She slipped a card from her pocket and placed it on the counter.
“I can give you intel that will help you take down real criminals if you give me leeway to continue my harmless operations.” She leaned over the counter to kiss his cheek, and before Peter could react, she was already by the door, carnations under her arm, smiling back at him. “And you can also take me out to dinner.”
Peter’s hand lightly touched his cheek, where her lips had been, lost in thought for a few moments. He was brought back to the present by his phone alarm, reminding him he had to get home quickly if he didn’t want to face his boss’ wrath.
He was swinging just a few streets away when he saw her, walking with purpose towards a subway station. He swung low, taking advantage of the still fairly empty streets and passed mere centimetres away from her.
“You still have flowers in your hair!” He shouted, tossing a lock of her hair back. Her startled jump almost sent her into orbit, and Peter couldn’t help but laugh. What a shame he couldn’t hear her most-likely angry response. Here was to hoping she’d forgive him once she read his text:
7 pm Friday - Moondance Diner? Strictly (un)professional.
#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker x oc#peter parker x fem!reader#peter parker x you#tasm!peter x you#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter x y/n#tasm!peter x oc#tasm!peter angst#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker x you#tasm!peter parker smut#tasm!peter parker x y/n#peter parker imagine#peter parker x f!reader#wicked's kink or treat
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have i told you how much TASM Parksborn matters to me
you havent but thats so valid
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