#tasm! peter parker
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𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.
college! peter parker x fem reader.
18+ only !!! f! receiving oral sex. peter parker has an oral fixation i said what i said. in my spider-man era again.
peter was a weekly visitor at this point. sometimes, it was twice, but never more than three. three was pushing it.
Three said that Peter meant something to you, and you couldn’t have that. No, whatever this was between the pair of you was strictly transactional. It was Peter texting you late at night, the classic, you up? Gracing your screen, and every time, you would pretend to be annoyed.
As if Peter coming around to give you the greatest head of your life was an inconvenience. Tempted, the devil on your shoulder smirking, to type back, Jesus, again? but never doing it. Instead, you wrote: sure.
Still, it plagued your mind. He never asked for anything else.
It was as if he did this purely for himself.
“Oh fuck,” you mewled, clenching down tight. The hand that was wrapped around Peter’s brown curls clutched and tugged, and the unconscious movement earned you a chastised groan. It rumbled through your cunt, and the echo shot to your clit, making you close your eyes and lean back, wet mouth spilling his name into your dorm.
Peter liked hearing you.
Liked seeing you lose your mind with his head between your thighs, your pussy wet and throbbing from his mouth and fingers. It’s why he came around often. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even text, would just knock on your door -- looking sheepish from under his dark curls -- and just. Not. Say. Anything.
His silence was answer enough. You knew what he wanted. Or, needed, as you later figured out, as you saw how red he’d gotten when you told him he couldn’t come around for a bit. When you said something about focusing on exams, he’d come over anyway, whined, shuffled his feet and said, You can do your work, I just gotta…I’ll be quick.
The lack of explanation made your mind swirl. But regardless, you’d let him in and did your work with his head between your thighs. He’d tutored you, too, told you how to solve for x with his fingers inside of you. He’d said, if you let me make you come again, I’ll do your Maths work for the next week. After he’d left, you stared at the scene of the crime in pure silence.
Just…reflecting.
Peter fluttered his tongue over your swollen clit. Focused on swirling it around his tongue in sloppy, wet circles, and the thick desire that swelled between your thighs began to pool at your lower back, forcing you to arch up into it.
“Please,” you wept, even though he was giving you what you wanted. Flat on your back with his deft grip keeping your bare thighs open. It was 8 pm. He’d caught you just after your shower, so the smell of your shampoo and body wash wafted through the air – Lavender and pear.
Peter had spread you open and said you smelled like spring. You’d been far too turned on to comment on it. He grumbled into your cunt, and you managed to work out the word, more? You hummed, too drunk on him and wound tight to verbalise that yes, you wanted more. Wanted him to make you come, and come again, till all you could do was mumble his name and focus on your breathing.
He'd learnt how you liked it. Paid attention, and he was getting full scores as he pushed his tongue flat against your swollen clit and sucked. Your vision went white.
“Oh fuck – ohfuck, Peter—” you squirmed, but Peter was strong, and he held you to the bed with his vice-like grip, wordlessly saying take it take it take it.
He lapped at you, salvia drooling over your cunt and down his chin, soaking the sheets. He was always so careless. In moments like this, that nervous edge that always fluttered around him was gone, replaced by a visceral drive to either please you, or get what he wanted.
The two bled into each other.
His tempo was leisurely, but that didn’t stop the heat from washing over you all at once.
You clamped your thighs around his ears and moaned -- loud, so loud that you were sure the other students on your floor heard.
Still, the ache was erratic, “So good,” you sobbed, and you heard yourself, heard the near primal need in your voice, and the desperation made you embarrassed, made you cover your mouth with your palm and grip the sheets, willing yourself to cool it.
“Move your hand, or I’ll stop,” he uttered against you, and your clit was so sore that the echo of his words made your eyes roll back. Peter must have seen, as he hummed a laugh, and kissed your inner thigh, “lemme hear you.”
Managing to gain some sense of sanity, you blearily blinked down at him, but all sense of stability you thought you had was wiped away when you saw Peter had his hand stuffed down his pants.
You dropped back onto the bed and sobbed.
You knew he got off on this, but Jesus Christ, you’d never seen that before.
“Gotta be kidding me,” you breathed, and Peter must have understood what you were referencing, as he buried his reddening face into your inner thigh. He let out a breathy chuckle, “’ M’sorry,” he mumbled, “usually I wait till I get home, but you’re just so hot.”
You had to stay completely still, or you’d burst. Usually, I wait till I get home?
Peter moved his face and began nuzzling the wet folds of your pussy. He bumped his nose against your clit, and you quietly choked.
Peter hummed, “couldn’t help myself.”
You figured he did something like that, but the admission made your thighs tense. You pictured him stumbling home – cheeks still wet with you – and tugging his pants down, quickly shoving his hands into his boxers and taking hold of his aching cock. Did he whimper when he came? Or was he silent, all tremors and low grunts? No. He definitely whimpered.
He was far too pretty to stay quiet.
The sudden desire to kiss him swept over you.
Reaching down, you tugged at his curls, wordlessly motioning him to move. When he did, you briefly saw the red of his cheeks and wet of his nose before you kissed him, all tongue, and tasted yourself on his pink lips.
Peter melted into you. Huffed your name like a sigh, and the sheer tenderness of it had you wrapping your legs around his back and pressing your bare cunt against his jeans.
He was rock-hard. Tentatively, you ran your nails over his chest, and dipped low, pressing between his thighs, cupping his bulge, and gently squeezing. Peter wept.
“Oh fuck,” he sobbed, as desperate as you imagined. With one hand in his hair and the other on his cock, you continued to kiss him, until the ache between your thighs became too much to bear.
“Make me come,” you whispered, “and I’ll put you in my mouth.”
Peter had never moved so fast in his life.
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hi! Can I request tasm! Peter w a f!short! reader who is always climbing on counters to reach stuff when he is not home? Him worrying about the bruises on her knees and catching her on the act
thank u in advance!
a/n: thank you for requesting!! ♡
pairing: tasm! peter x short! reader
“sweetheart, what are you doing?” you turn to your unimpressed boyfriend. his arms are folded over his chest and he has his eyebrows raised at you in question. you’ve been caught.
you were currently on your kitchen counter trying to grab a glass.
“nothing!” you quickly climb down from your kitchen counter, with a nervous smile. “we’ve talked about this,” he states firmly. and he’s right you and peter have had plenty of talks about you climbing on the counters. but it’s not your fault! you can’t reach things in your home, you usually ask peter to get things for you but when he leaves you resort to climbing.
“i know- but it’s not my fault!” you defend yourself, you walk over to peter and wrap your arms around him. “i know it’s not, but you need to be careful, i don’t want you hurting yourself.” he melts into your hug and kisses your head. “well what do you suggest i do?” you look up to your boyfriend for answers. “grow taller.”
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heyy bambi i was wondering if i could request tasm!peter x reader where she’s grumpy and he’s sunshine with her getting jealous and not wanting to say anything so she just pouts and he thinks it’s so cute cause reader has nothing to worry about 🥹
hi friend loved this concept...however i can only bring myself to write frat tasm peter so that is incorporated into this plot because it's just fitting. hope you love it.
Love on the Brain
Frat!Peter x Reader
(in place of liking?hearting this post, pretty please, leave a reblog and/or a comment 🫶🏼)
This had been the flashiest frat party of the year by far. Even flashier than the one you and your friends had stumbled into six months ago, where you first met Peter Parker. Now Peter Parker had entangled himself in every sense of your life, like the spider he was. Everyone was dressed in some type of couples get up. Groups of friends having picked out group costumes, or couples having picked out iconic couple costumes. Which is what made you pissed off even more as the brunette dressed in a heart pink dress with a heart logo on it, grasped your boyfriend's arm. Peter’s eyes widened, very interested in her story not at all paying attention to the care-bear girl petting his bicep.
You two were very clearly dressed in a couples costume, both having walked down the stairs in a 1950’s get-up mocking that of Jack and Alice from Don’t Worry Darling. Besides that, everyone knew Peter Parker had a girlfriend, a girlfriend who was pretty territorial.
“He only has eyes for you.” M.J. approached you with two drinks in hand Harry in tow. The two dressed as Fred and Daphne from Scooby-Doo. She pushed the vodka sprite into your hand, eyes peering into you.
“I know. And I have eyes for her right now, just not the ones she wants.”
“He’s so oblivious.”
Harry laughed watching his friend, nodding his head answering the chemistry question thrown at him. “How’d you even get him to catch on that you liked him?”
“Didn’t have too he liked me first.” You shrugged sitting your drink down, leaning against the table of snacks where Peter had left you before being cornered.
“She’s not even one of the original care-bears.” M.J. shook her head. Peter finally pulled his eyes away from her, finding you in the crowd. Warmth and relief washed over you, but apparently not your face as Peter pointed your way talking to the girl. She huffed, dropping her hand shooting daggers at you. You bit back a smile, but your walls cracked as Peter walked over engulfing you in his arms.
“What’s the long face for mhm?” Peter teases.
“This is just my face.” You said dropping the smile again quickly.
“Mhm, is someone jealous? Mhm” Peter teased, rubbing his nose against your forehead, teasing you.
“No, of course not. You know where you’re taken care of.”
You whisper, fixing the tie, you’d put it around his neck earlier. You were insanely green on the inside, and it only filled more when you caught her and a girl in a blue dress pointing your way mumbling something about “bitch.” Your bottom lip pulled inward, biting down on it as you thought.
“You know it’s okay to get jealous. It’s healthy, good for a relationship. Shows we still got something, if you weren’t jealous..well baby I think I’d be a little offended.”
“Do you get jealous?” You deflected away from yourself, hands resting on his shoulders. Peter laughed and tilted his head.
“..’Course I get jealous baby. Why do you think I’m always hanging on you on these things? I gotta show we are both taken. These guys have wandering eyes and I don’t really like that.”
His words made you feel better, him bringing his lips down to your cheek and to the corner of your mouth. You smiled at him, locking your lips with him, hands squeezing his shoulders. “I love you.”
“I love you too baby, promise.” Peter says pecking your forehead. “Now let's go make fun of Harry and that dumbass ascot.” Peter says, taking a drink out of your cup, pointing at Harry who turned already anticipating the loving ridicule.
__________
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How You Get the Girl
Tasm! Peter Parker x Reader
Also posted on my ao3
"Tell her you must of lost your mind
when you left her all alone
and never told her why
that's how you lost the girl"
The first time you met Peter Parker, you swore him off because you knew he'd be trouble.
It was the summer before your first year of college. You worked hard every day to save enough money to get through school. You promised yourself there would be no distractions this summer, just work. You didn't need to be distracted by other things before college started.
But that was before this tall, doe-eyed boy just happened to find his way to your place of work. His eyes glimmered full of mischief the moment his gaze met yours. Your promise of no distractions went out the window from that point on.
When he first approached you, he had tried (and failed) to get your number. He pleaded silently, with that kicked puppy look on his face after your rejection. You almost broke down in that moment, but you were holding on by a thread to the vow you made. So, the boy left with a crestfallen sigh, and you let your shoulders drop, relieved.
That was until a week later. He showed up with a bouquet of sad-looking flowers. He had promised you that they would have looked nicer when he bought them, but they had been crushed in his backpack on the way over. You stared at the pitiful flowers, and Peter held his breath, waiting to see how'd you react. The inside of your cheek stung as you bit down on it. Trying to keep your composer, you scribbled down a few words on an extra sheet of paper. You quickly handed it to him, and he let out a breathy laugh as he read it. The sound was enough to make your heart flutter in your chest.
Before he could cause any more trouble, you quickly shooed him away. With the same crumpled flowers and the paper, you hastily handed him, he left the shop. He had a piece of paper with your number on it, and a few sentences scrawled in hurried writing about how he had to work on his flower transporting abilities. So that maybe the next time you saw him, you would actually agree to go out with him.
Months had passed since that day. Slowly but surely, you began to ask for fewer hours at work. Which meant you had more free time. Aka, more time to spend with Peter.
That damn Peter Parker, with his fluffy hair and stupidly cute, crooked smile, it was all too much. Too often for your liking, thoughts of him invaded your mind.
You had been practically spending every minute of your free time with him. Whether it was late night movies or early morning coffee, it was all coupled with the boy who could make your heart race just by looking at him.
So, you took him in without question when he showed up at your apartment one night, battered and bruised.
Your hands, even if they were a little shaky, worked diligently to clean up his wounds. You had never seen him like this before, although you had noticed Peter showing up with a split lip or an old bruise from time to time.
As you held his face in your palms, a million questions raced through your mind, words on the tip of your tongue. You saw the silent pleading in his eyes, begging you not to ask the questions, so your lips remained sealed. The words died in the back of your throat. You ran your thumb gently over the bloody edge of his lip. His calloused fingers cupped your wrist, stopping your actions in their tracks.
He leaned in close, his forehead pressed against yours. So close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. Your eyelids fluttered shut. You drew in a breath, preparing yourself for his lips to meet yours.
But it never came.
Instead, he pulled away, muttering a quick apology that he had to leave before you got dragged into his own problems. Your mind barely registered the lack of his presence. It wasn't until you heard the front door close, signaling that he was gone.
Without a single good explanation as to why, he had left you alone.
—
The next morning you woke up. A crushing realization of what had happened last night hit you immediately.
At first you were angry.
You went to work and clocked in without saying hello to anyone at all. It would stay that way for the next eight hours or so. A silent rage would fill the hole that Peter had managed to dig in your heart.
You were a bitter mess.
It was easier for the customers to get on your nerves, and you cursed everyone who ever crossed your path. It took every bit of strength you had not to send several angry texts to Peter.
It stayed that way for a couple of days, until you decided to turn your anger on yourself. You felt so stupid that you had allowed yourself to get caught up in the antics of Peter. It was clear to you from the beginning that your focus should be on nothing but your summer job.
Peter had wormed his way into your heart, found a place where he felt comfortable and made himself at home there.
You slowly let yourself off the hook after a few months passed without any contract from either side. Your anger diminished exponentially. Your thoughts drifted less and less to the image of Peter. Eventually, your heart would stop racing after you passed a flower stand or a person who just happened to look a little too much like him.
One night, as you walked home from work, you let your mind wander. The painful sting of his memories wasn't so bad. And you knew that, at that very moment, you were feeling pretty good about your life again.
Then you stepped too close to the road and heard a car horn honking all around you. Your first thought being, "God, please don't let this be the way I die."
Your body tensed as the car approached at a rapid pace. So close that the lights blinded your vision, and you didn't have time to prepare for the arm that would hastily wrap around your waist. A breath was caught in your throat as the wind whipped through your hair, and your arms clung tightly to the masked figure of your savior.
"Why weren't you paying attention?" Were the first words out of his mouth as he set you down, "That car could have hit you and you could have died!"
Though grateful for your rescue, you didn't appreciate the tone he took with you.
You pried yourself out of his arms and smoothed the sleeves of your jacket. Angrily, you turned to him, your annoyance biting into your words, "look, I've had it with everyone and everything these past few months. I just got back on my feet again, I have no need for a lecture from you."
Silence fell between the two of you, and you saw yourself standing alone in the reflection of the whites of his mask. He choked for a second, seemingly at odds with what he wanted to say.
In a moment of regret, you realized that you had just yelled at the one person who had been able to save you from an untimely demise. Ashamed, you nervously licked your lips before muttering, "thank you, by the way."
The red mask prevented you from seeing the look on his face. But by the way his shoulders relaxed, you knew he wasn't upset. He ran a hand over his mask and let out a small, breathy laugh.
The sound of it made your heart stop and sent pins and needles shooting up the back of your neck. You could recognize that laugh anywhere. He seemed to notice that you also recognized him, and before you could say another word, he was gone.
You stood there mindlessly replaying the sound in your head. All of a sudden, things seemed to be a lot clearer to you.
Peter's mysterious bruises, sudden disappearances, and his lame excuses for always being late finally made sense.
Peter is Spider-man...
His words from the night he left echoed endlessly in your mind in a moment of clarity. Words of sorrow and despair, telling you that you couldn't be involved in his problems.
His problems, you thought at the time, were studying and learning new tricks on his skateboard, so the confusion you felt was justified. Now, though, you realize that he didn't mean his Peter Parker problems, it was Spider-man's problems that he was referring to.
Your phone found its way into your hands. The screen flashed brightly on your dark face. In your messages lay a forgotten draft to Peter. Slowly, you erased all the hateful and heartbreaking words. You replaced them with just two.
"I know."
As the message quickly went from "delivered" to "read" in less than a minute, the corners of your mouth twitched downward. Your hands trembled as you clutched the phone close, waiting for a response that would ultimately never come.
He was too afraid to tell you what he wanted.
—
You passed out as soon as you got home. Your mind was too tired to keep up with your newfound revelations, so you haphazardly tossed your phone aside and slid into bed. Time passed and your sleep was dreamless.
You weren't sure what time it was when you woke up, but the sound of thunder greeted your ears. You tried to blink away the drowsiness of your sleep as you pulled yourself out of the sheets. Your feet padded softly across your apartment's wooden floors until you sat down. Yawning, you reached for the remote and turned your tv on.
Not long after that, there was a faint knock at your door. You scanned your thoughts for possibilities of who would be at your apartment at this time of night, until you settled on one person.
With your nerves on fire, you shot up from the couch and quickly opened your door. It came as no surprise to see Peter stood in your doorway. He was soaking wet. It had obviously been raining while you were asleep. His wet, brown hair was stuck to his forehead, water droplets were collecting on his face, and his arms were wrapped around his frame in an attempt to retain any remaining body heat.
You noticed that he was shivering slightly, and with a hint of guilt you asked, "Peter, are you insane? It's late and it's raining."
You watched as his eyebrows knitted together; he opened his mouth to say something but then quickly closed it again. He seemed desperate to say something, and you silently pleaded that he would say anything to explain his sudden disappearance all those months ago. Without a word from him, you shook your head and started to close the door, but his foot pushed between the door and the frame.
You pulled the door open one more time and crossed your arms in front of you. He looked down sheepishly before finally speaking, "I'm sorry," the words falling from his lips flawlessly. A part of you wanted to take him in your arms and tell him that everything was alright, but the more sensible part of yourself knew that you deserved more than just those two words. With a lack of your response, he spoke up again, "I know you don't deserve how I left you, but I was scared. I, uhm, I was dealing with something? I know that's really vague but-"
Before he could finish his sentence, you held a hand up to silence him. With a sigh, you looked into his eyes and found all of his emotions swirling around in a pool of amber. "You don't have to keep hiding it, Peter. I know," you murmur.
His eyes dart around nervously, and his voice comes out a little shaky, "You-you know?" At your nod of confirmation, he runs a hand through his hair. Your name comes out as a whisper, and he continues, "I was so afraid that I was putting you in danger. That's why I left; I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt because of me. I know it's been a while, but I couldn't stop thinking about you every day." With every word of his confession, you felt yourself coming closer. The soft sound of his voice, in combination with the way he couldn't take his eyes off of yours, was a breaking point for you. With the brush of his hand against your cheek, every last big of anger you were holding on to disappeared.
Peter tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and you felt your voice break, "I missed you, so much. It hurt. You broke my heart, Peter." Without letting you utter another word; he pulled you into a tight embrace. He didn't care if his clothes were soaking wet. You buried your head in the crook of his neck and took in the sweet scent of his cologne as he held you. He rested his head on top of yours as he held you in his arms, and you allowed yourself to sink deeper into him.
"Let me put it back together, please." He pleaded, one hand on each side of your arms as he pulled away from you. "I'll be here for you, worse or for better, no matter what happens." His voice was stern, and you couldn't help the way your breath hitched in your throat. With one last plea his voice came out as a whisper, "I'll wait for you all my life."
A smile crept across your lips, and it was all the confirmation Peter needed before he cupped your jaw. Gently, he pulled you closer to him. He couldn't hold back his smile as his lips tenderly brushed yours. A hand moved to cradle the back of your head, closing any remaining distance so that he could kiss you properly. The kiss was soft, and yet it was filled with months of unfulfilled passion. Neither of you wanted it to end, but when you started to run out of oxygen, you had to pull away to breathe.
And that's how Peter got you, making damn sure that it was going to stay that way.
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Hello! Can I request for tasm!peter parker (maybe taking place at the school or something) where he meets the reader who has a band? Like they are always tapping their pencil and muttering songs and they become friends and he ends up going to their show?? THANK YOU!!!
ahhh i love this request!! i used to be in a band, so this is like a repressed fantasy. also, i sort of imagined this band as being rock/soft punk, i'm sorry if that wasn't the intended genre
At the Roboto
summary — gen-ed classes really suck, but a pencil tapper provides peter with a great distraction.
pairing — college!peter parker x drummer!gn!reader
disclaimer — as always, i don’t own peter (wish i did)
warnings — unedited (literally always is)
The Roboto Club was not a place Peter thought he'd ever find himself. It was small, stuffy, and definitely sticky. The walls were covered in stickers and signatures of bands who had played there (as well as patrons who'd come up with some very colorful insults). The thumping of music filled his ears as his body was jostled by those around him. As he tried to force himself to not freak out from the overstimulation, he made himself remember why he was here:
Gen-ed courses were the worst. Peter had already earned a semester’s worth of college credits in high school, but it wasn’t enough to save him from the agonizing hour and a half long lectures about the Industrial Revolution. His one saving grace had come in the form of a chewed-up number two pencil tapping against the desk next to him.
From the first day of class, he could hear it. Rhythmic pulses of the eraser followed by the staccato of the graphite. He'd glanced over, seeing the owner of the pencil lazily watching the lecture, busy clicking the utensil against the desk instead of writing. He had always assumed it was some sort of nervous tick of theirs until he paid more attention to the beat. There was a pattern to it--the thump of the eraser and the click of the graphite.
Thump. Thump-thump, click-click. Thump. Thump-thump, click-click.
It was a month into the course when he noticed that no matter how it may change, they always held a steady beat with the pencil. It was around this same time when he began hearing the humming. Peter thought he was hearing things at first from how quiet it was. It was too melodic to be an insect, so the bee-theory was ruled out quickly. When he listened in a little closer, he was able to find that the faint noise he was hearing had been coming from the Pencil-Tapper.
When deep in concentration, they had the tendency to hum under their breath. It was like they didn't even notice. They would be moving from typing out notes on their laptop to scribbling on a post-it when they'd start mumbling out a soft melody. Though it was rare, sometimes these murmured melodies would align with the beat of their pencil.
Peter had always been known to be a star student, no matter how boring a class may be, but this Pencil-Tapper was a welcome reprieve from the monotonous lecture he was subjected to twice a week. It was nothing more than innocent interest, of course. No creepy stalking or constant surveillance. Just a way to pass the time as the professor droned on.
Two months into the class, the first lecture of the week had just ended. As always, Peter and the Pencil-Tapper packed their stuff away in humdrum routine. What was different, though, was when the Tapper's pencil fell from their desk. It rolled slowly enough that it hit the ground without a sound, but, of course, Peter heard it. His breath hitched.
He had two options: grab the pencil or ignore it entirely. The kind thing to do would be to return it, but the difficult part of that would be that he would have to return it. Chewing his lip, he looked down at it. It was so small, sharpened down to half its original size. Surely, they wouldn't mind missing something like that. When he looked up, he saw them already walking away. Damn his savior complex.
"Hey," Peter called, his fingers wrapped around the end of the pencil that wasn't ridden with bite marks, "You dropped this."
"Oh, thanks," Tapper's voice came out slow as they looked down at the pencil, "Gross. Sorry about that."
"No big deal." He shook his head, handing over the utensil with a small smile. They returned the grin and turned to exit when Peter interrupted with a small cough.
"Um—" Peter, you dumb, dumb kid, you have nothing to say, why the hell are you speaking? "—So, you tap a lot."
That seemed to catch them off guard. They stopped, letting students filter out of the classroom beyond them. With a quirk of their head, they began speaking again, "I didn't realize I was that loud."
"You're not!" Peter rushed out, "No, no, I just meant that sometimes I get bored, and I sort of tune in to your tapping. Not, like, in a weird way."
"I see," they tutted, "Well, I mean, if you're interested in the pencil tapping, maybe you'd like to hear it on the drums?"
Silence fell between them. It was only for a few seconds, but it felt more like a few hours. The gears in Peter's head turned a little slower than he was used to.
"That was a stupid question, sorry," Tapper let out a sheepish chuckle.
"Not at all," Peter replied quickly, "I just realized that you must've been tapping actual songs."
"Oh, yeah," they nodded, "I'm in a band—Dial 616? We're not big or anything."
"Cool," Peter grinned, regaining a fraction of his calm.
"We have a gig this Saturday at the Roboto. It's just off campus," they explained, "You could totally come if you want. I mean, if you're interested in hearing actual music, not just tapping."
And so he came. The Robot Club was located in a skinny building wedged between a record store and a laundromat. Admission was ten dollars, and there were a few acts. The music was loud and sort of overwhelming, but he held on. Somewhere between the second and third act, he wondered why he was subjecting himself to this. He was reminded when Dial 616 was introduced.
Tapper looked a lot different from the normal sweatpants and t-shirt he'd usually seen them in. Dramatic makeup had been painted on their face that had the illusion of changing color with the flashing of the club's LEDs. Ripped jeans, chunky black boots, a tank top, and two battered drumsticks finished off their outfit. There were four other members of the band, all in equally striking clothes. The crowd around Peter whooped in recognition as they took to the stage, introducing their first song.
They played a few originals and a few covers, Peter's favorite of which being their rendition of California Über Alles. Tapper was a force on the drums. Their face was drawn in utter concentration as they slammed away. They moved from precise beats to messy patterns all without ever losing control of the tempo or their sticks.
When their set was over, they hopped from the makeshift stage, leaving the borrowed instruments there for the next band. Peter was sure it wasn't concert etiquette to immediately follow them, but his body was moving on its own accord. He threaded through the people and to the clump that formed around the band. Maybe they weren't huge yet, but there were still a lot of people bombarding them with screams and hollers of excitement. He noticed Tapper at the end of the of the band members, smiling as they signed someone's arm with a sharpie. When they were done, they looked up, and just like fate, their eyes met Peter's.
"Hey!" They greeted, their voice loud over the already booming music of the next band, "You came. I didn't think you would."
"Why wouldn't I?" He asked, unable to wipe the grin off his face.
"Well, because we only talked once. And you don't know my name, and I don't know yours," they said. Their tone held no malice or condescension, just the aftershocks of adrenaline from being on stage.
"I'm Peter." He had to yell to be heard.
"Y/n," they replied. There was another moment of standstill silence. This time, though, it wasn't awkward. It would actually be calm if not for the thunderous clash of drums behind them.
"I have to go, but, uh, we were gonna go out for pizza if you wanted to come?" Y/n suggested, their behavior suddenly coy in contrast with their appearance.
"Yeah—okay," Peter grinned. They offered him one last smile before disappearing with the rest of the band. Gen-ed actually wasn't that bad after all.
a/n — me 🤝 making up nicknames for the reader
taglist
@reidslovely @iamliterallyspidergwen
#peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker#tasm!peter parker x y/n#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter parker x you#tasm! peter parker#tasm peter parker#thursday writes
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Imagine: Looking up holiday recipes with Peter Parker.
~~~
The holiday season was upon you. It appeared to have shown up early, but that didn't make time to slower.
There was planning, preparing, and tasks to be completed.
Your friend Peter and yourself were up for the task.
"We could use the break."
Pulling up his glasses, Peter nodded.
Stretching your arms, you said, "Pretty sure we're overthinking this."
"And we already spent an hour getting sidetracked on Pinterest."
He leaned away from his computer. The chair creaking underneath him quietly.
"Everytime." You shook your head. "But I loved how they painted those ceilings."
"And the cleaning tips."
"You saved that, right?"
"Yeah. I'll send it to you."
You sighed. "Eventually we'll get this done."
#holiday imagines#peter parker imagine#tasm! peter parker#peter parker x reader#where dreamers go#imagines#Peter Parker#Peter Parker imagines#The Amazing Spider-Man
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peter parker: a synopsis of his love (( peter parker imagine ))
♡ synopsis: just a synopsis of how he would act, the type of person he is if ur dating him, etc etc. very short, and I just wrote this cos I missed the innocent homecoming!peter. marvel really robbed us of a cinnamon roll and made nwh!peter angsty asf
♡ pairings: peter parker x fem!reader
♡ warnings: fluff. thats it
peter parker is the type of boy that would hold your hand when walking you home, blushing furiously because you haven't even started dating yet. he's the type that would let you copy his homework and help you study maths and science.
he seems like that one geek that nobody used to care about in middle school but suddenly became ripped in high school,, and nobody knows why.
he would always praise the people he loved because the kid didn't get enough praise for himself, and he would crave affirmation and validation, not academically though.
he was crazy good at school stuff. peter would always gamble for touch, his poor touch-starved heart would literally melt when he got a hug from you.
peter is literally the definition of 'he protecc, he attacc, he is a snacc' and he doesn't even know it, cause nobody tells him.
when he first met you, he didn't quite know how to act. he didn't know the difference between a platonic or a romantic relationship. to him, bringing you flowers each morning when he saw you was a 'platonic' thing to do. when tony saw this, he broke out into laughter.
but hey, this was your peter, and you thought he was cute like that. besides, you wouldn't ever ask him to change 💞
#⌇ ˗ˏˋ azzie thoughts 🗯#💞 azzie rambles — ‘she can’t stop talking’#♡ ⁺ . ur daily dose of azeria !#peter parker#thoughts on peter parker#peter parker fluff#peter parker imagine#peter parker headcannons#peter parker hcs#spider boy#spiderman#spiderman headcannons#spiderman fluff#mcu! peter parker#tom! peter parker#andrew! peter parker#tasm! peter parker
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🏠 my muse’s home
😘
EEEEEE let's do Peter Parker!
Pre No Way Home: I expect his apartment to be pretty barren. He really only uses it to sleep, eat, and sometimes research. He only has a couch because May insisted he take her old one, as he "needed somewhere for guests to sit."
Peter absolutely has two forks, two knives, and two spoons. He eats takeout pretty often, citing he doesn't have time to cook. Papers strung about with information about the latest villain he's facing. A radio that broadcasts police reportings. A fine representation of a man who willingly makes no time for himself.
After No Way Home, he feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. He feels hopeful. He feels motivated to change.
Peter is also scared shitless about it. So he starts small. He starts with plants. He likes the greenery and that he's responsible for something that's living. He tries to cook at least once a week. Dishes are a new nightmare but his apartment looks lived in now.
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“AS ABOVE, SO BELOW” – a tasm!peter x reader au
Summary: You’re a social media manager for the Daily Bugle by day and a secret agent with the Black Cats by night. And him? As far as you know, he’s a Spyder. And a pain in your ass. → or, a spy/secret agent rivals to teammates/actually coworkers to lovers fic.
Words: 12,030 (!!! that’s a lot of love and hard work! would appreciate a comment after reading!)
🕷 A/N: my first ever tasm!peter fic, for @spidervee’s tasm!peter au event last april! a little late, but i’m so happy this fic is finally out in the world—i hope you’ll have as much fun reading it as i did writing it! (perhaps more to come? who knows!) special thanks to @darlingwendy who was with me every step of the way on this journey hehe.
🕸 rated t but no minors please! poc reader; gender neutral pronouns; has both other marvel characters and original characters on the side; double lives / secret identities; professional rivalry; coworkers; BANTER; kissing & suggestive themes (but all the way at the end)
mood board | full fic below & on ao3 | dividers by @firefly-graphics
“Are you sure you can’t join us for drinks?” Your co-worker Betty asks, leaning over your desk as you stuff your belongings into your tote bag.
You shake your head. “I got my part-time thing tonight, sorry. Next time?”
“You said that last time. You’re always working! You need to let loose and have fun. What’s the harm in living a little?”
“Mmm, because that means spending money and spending money means having less money to pay rent and I love New York and I want to keep living in it?”
Betty sighs. “Alright, good point.”
“I mean it though—the next time I’m free, I will come hang. ‘Kay?” You hold your pinky out to show you mean business.
Betty rolls her eyes but links her pinky with yours anyway. “Well, try to have some fun this weekend.”
“I’ll do my best.” You give your linked pinkies a shake before letting go.
Betty smiles, satisfied for now. “See you on Monday then.”
“See ya!” You loop your arm through the straps of your bag and make your way out the door, managing to get to the elevator before it closes.
Once it gets to the ground floor, you swipe through the biometrics and call out a goodbye to the guard at the front desk as you run off.
The Daily Bugle is a great place to work; you enjoy your job and you like your colleagues. And like you said, you love New York; you have ever since you had first seen it on TV. That’s why you moved here, and why you work at the Bugle: not just to have your finger on the pulse of what’s happening in the city and to its people, but to use the words in your power to do something about it—or at the very least, have those words inspire those with more power to make an actual change.
As for the things beyond change and beyond your power during your day job? Well, that’s why you freelance.
The real fun begins after you leave the building.
“Alright, you’re closing in. The target should be just up ahead. Door on the left.”
“Got it, Nina,” you respond to your partner on the other end of the call. “By the way, remind me to leave the next gala extraction to another agent, my feet are killing me.”
You push on the door and it’s much heavier than you expect. Big wooden doors in rich people’s homes are always heavier than most, but there’s something else about this.
With a final grunt, you get the door open. You walk inside and see a table had been pushed behind it—and two security guards were restrained on the floor, unconscious.
“What the hell?” You say under your breath.
“What’s going on?” Nina’s voice sounds in your ear.
“You didn’t spot any movement in the room before I came in, did you?”
“No, why? What’s your visual?”
“Two men—security, I think—knocked out and tied up. Looks like really thick nylon?” You lean over to get a feel, pinching and pulling at the material. “Weird, it’s sticky…”
There’s a chill in the air suddenly, and you look up to see a window left open. “Someone else was just here.”
“What? Okay, get out of th—”
“Excuse me,” a gruff voice comes in suddenly. “You aren’t allowed in here.”
Great, you think. Time to put those high school drama classes to work.
“Oh, thank God you’re here!” You cry out helplessly. “I was looking for the restroom and when I opened the door, I just saw these two men on the ground!”
You point at them shakily before bringing your hands to your chest to feign timidity. Turning to the guard with your best doe-eyed look, you pout.
“I have no idea what happened, I just drank a little too much and I really need to pee and—”
“Don’t worry, you aren’t in trouble. And the bathrooms are down the hall.” You’ve disarmed him. Good. “Did you see anything suspicious before you came in?”
“No, sir.” You shake your head. “D-do I need to call the cops, or..?” Your eyes swiftly scan the room a final time.
“That’s alright, we’ll handle it. You take care now.”
“Thank you so much!”
You rush out the door and make your way to the exit. In a calm voice, you say, “I’m headed out, bring the car back around.”
“What the hell was that? Also, how do I submit you to the next Tony’s?”
“Normally, I’d laugh at that but I’m not in the mood. Nee, we have a problem.”
“Tell me in the car, I’m pulling up to the front.”
You spot the black sedan and quickly make your way to it, opening the door and slipping in with ease as you kick off your heels.
“Welcome back. What’s the problem?”
“The nylon I mentioned earlier? Not nylon.”
“You mentioned it was sticky, what was it?”
You open your palm to reveal the piece you were able to extract earlier. “Synthetic web.”
You are very good at what you do. It’s a fact that everyone you’ve worked with (or worked against) knows. Some have even called you the best. You’ve never missed the mark on any job you’ve worked at—until tonight.
So right now, sitting in your boss’ office at Black Cat HQ, is what you can only assume being called to the principal’s office is like.
Felicia sits on her desk, arms folded. “So, who wants to tell me what happened in there?”
Nina looks at you and you nod slightly.
“We think someone may have hijacked the mission. They got to the target first. We didn’t see it coming.”
“The reason I’m not mad is that this kind of situation doesn’t normally happen to either of you. But that’s also the reason why I’m taking this very seriously. You understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” you and Nina reply.
“Okay, continue.”
“Everything was going according to plan—Nina gave me the all-clear, but when I got to the room, it had already been compromised. Whoever was in there blocked the door and incapacitated two of the security team. I think the infiltration point was the window because it was still open when I arrived.”
Felicia nods and turns to Nina. “No cause for alarm before this?”
“No, ma’am. And I checked for any breadcrumbs left behind or any signs of hacking, but nothing.”
Felicia’s eyebrows furrow in concern. “The only one who could bypass our system that cleanly would be—”
“Another agency?” You speak up.
She turns to you. “Yes. A serious accusation. Did you find anything else at the scene that might support this?”
You nod. “Security entered before I had the chance to investigate the room fully, but I was able to verify what the two were tied up with.” You take out a folded gum wrapper where you placed the web from earlier. “It was this sticky, nylon-like material. I think it could be synthetic webbing.”
Felicia sighs, seemingly in relief, which confuses you and Nina. “You should have led with that. Alright, both of you go home.”
You and your teammate exchange a look. “What?”
“Call it a prank, the beginning of a friendly rivalry, whatever. You’ve finally got yourself an equal. It’s just a thing we do to establish rapport between two agencies.”
You feel like you might end up leaving this room more confused than when you came. “I’m sorry, I’m not understanding—”
“Oh right, that!” Nina says suddenly.
You turn to her. “Huh?”
“Goodnight, agents.” Felicia dismisses you both with a flourish of her hand, motioning to the door.
“I’ll explain on the way home,” Nina promises.
At home, you process the events that transpired on what you thought would be just a regular day of spy work. (As regular as spy work gets, you suppose.)
As it turns out, two of the best covert organizations in New York—the Black Cats (whom you work for) and the Spyders—have been maintaining an equally covert partnership over years as a means to balance out the spy “market” in the city.
The more you think about it, the more it makes sense: how else could they operate the way they do and manage to not step on each others’ toes? Or steal any of the others’ clients, for that matter. It’s pretty cool to imagine that even though both sides have done a lot of less-than-legal things in their line of work (for the good of the many, of course), there were still boundaries they wouldn’t cross. But then again, it would be wrong to think that being an agent means not having any rules.
You go to bed that night excited about what lies in store for you. Whoever this is had made the first move tonight, which means they probably think have the upper hand. Maybe they do, for now—but not for long.
For the rest of the weekend, you spend your time crawling the web (so to speak) to find out where Spyders’ next hit will be.
The thing about New Yorkers is that they love vigilantes, especially when they dress the part. Must be the theatrics of it all.
The Black Cats stick to classic catsuits, but their expertise is undercover work—you rarely see them coming since they’ve mastered the art of blending into any situation. The catsuit is usually for more critical extraction missions, where you would need to run and scale and jump and climb. Most situations required you to dress the part, like Friday’s gala event.
The Spyders’ costumes, on the other hand, are more eye-catching, typically ranging from black to blue with hints of red. Their methods are a bit flashier too—they like making it known who had bested the baddies. And as far as you know, almost all their missions were of the high-stake kind, a quick swing by and sneak out.
In other words: the Black Cats operate in the dark, while the Spyders love the attention.
It’s not a judgment call—there’s a reason why they’re one of the best in the city and it’s because that method works for them. It’s just bizarre to you that you couldn’t be any more different.
You consider this to your benefit when you come across the social accounts for ‘spydersightings’. Fairly active on both Twitter and Instagram, these accounts update in real-time and source from user submissions—exactly what you need to track the Spyders down.
You follow spydersightings using realistic-looking burner accounts (just in case) and turn notifications on. The trap is set, and all you have to do is wait.
Come Monday, you have a spring in your step when you get to your desk at 8—right on time. Betty eyes you suspiciously. “Good morning!” You greet her.
“Someone’s chipper. I guess you did end up having some fun this weekend?”
“I did, actually. Lots of reading. Very insightful.”
Betty sighs, but it’s lighthearted. “Not really my idea of fun but, whatever floats your boat.”
“Any meetings you need to sit in this morning?” You ask.
“Let me check.” Betty pulls up her calendar and purses her lips. “Hey, would you look at that—not ‘til 10.”
“Great. Wanna go grab a coffee downstairs?”
“Jeez, this is you without coffee? I’m almost afraid of what you’ll be like caffeinated.”
“Listen,” you start to say in defense, realizing you haven’t even sat down since you arrived. “This is only because I lack sleep. A couple more hours without coffee and I’ll crash on my desk. You’ll come back from your 10 o’clock with me drooling on my laptop.”
“Can’t have that,” Betty replies, getting up from her desk. “Who’s turn is it to buy?”
Opening the Notion app on your phone, you flash the page she created with a record of your shared expenses, as she calls it. “I paid last time, so it’s you today.”
You and your ‘work wife’ walk arm-in-arm and head down on the elevator. The line at the Coffee Bean is exactly what you’d expect at the ground floor of a building with several different companies whose employees would rather pay for an overpriced latte or cold brew than use the break room’s free 3-in-1 on a Monday morning. Which is perfectly fine—you’d rather be here chatting away with your friend than sitting down and working.
At your prompting, Betty tells you all about how her weekend went. You make a mental note to do your best to attend the next after-work hang—especially if it’s karaoke. You kill at karaoke.
“Regular Americano for Peter?” You hear the barista call over Betty’s voice.
“Yeah, that’s me, thanks.” In your peripheral, you see guy with dark hair and glasses make his way to the counter. He’s quite tall and fairly lean, wearing a loose flannel on top of a dark grey t-shirt paired with dark jeans and Nikes. He’s also kind of cute.
“Hey, welcome back, man! Long time no see,” the barista—Ned, you read from his name tag—says warmly. The two engage in small talk and you turn your attention back to Betty, who seems to have turned her head towards them as well.
“Who’s that?” You lift your chin in their direction.
“Oh, that’s Peter! He works in development.”
“Is he new?”
She tilts her head. “Yes and no? He was here before you, then he left for a while. Personal stuff. I think it’s only his second week back.”
You can tell she’s eyeing you and following the trail of your gaze. Then you hear her gasp all of a sudden so you turn back to her. “What—”
“Wait. You think he’s cute, don’t you? I could introduce you!” She says conspiratorially.
“What?! No!” You blurt out, almost too loudly. You calm your voice back down to a normal tone to not draw any attention. “I’m just curious. And anyway, I told you before, I don’t have time to date.”
She hums thoughtfully. “You know what, you kind of remind me of him.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Actually, we dated for a little bit and he was always crazy busy with his part-time stuff, too.”
“At least I did you the courtesy of being upfront that I can only commit to you being my work wife.”
Betty laughs. “Okay, fine. I won’t instigate anything. I’m sure your paths will cross eventually, anyway.”
“Social Media and Tech? Not likely.”
“Who knows!” She shrugs, palms in the air. “Jameson might ask for something crazy.”
“What would be crazy is if he finally ups our department’s budget.”
You finally get to the front of the line and Ned greets you with trained but genuine cheerfulness, the latter form more pronounced in Betty’s direction. You make a mental note of this while she orders a medium iced latte for herself and a large cold brew with three pumps of caramel for you. She thanks Ned and he beams before both of you move to the side to wait for your drinks to be served up.
In the corner of your eye, you spy Peter by the bussing station. He’d already finished with his coffee but was lingering for some reason, eyes scanning your area. You quickly look away, but not before you see him toss his cup and head in your direction.
“Hey, Betty! Thought that was you.” He saunters over with his arms open for a friendly hug.
Betty tiptoes slightly and crosses her arms around his back, patting the material of his jacket twice. “Pete, glad to see you back here!”
“Good to be back.” Peter catches your eyes as he lets go of Betty. “Who’s this?”
You automatically hold out your hand for a shake and tell him your name. “I head the social media department. Been at the Bugle for around six months now.”
He smiles and takes your hand in his firm grip, giving it a couple of shakes. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Yeah. You, too.” You find yourself biting back your smile so you don’t seem too pleased. Over your shoulder, you can feel Betty’s gaze. She’s probably smiling, too. You release Peter’s hand and let yours fall to your side.
He checks his watch. “Well, I gotta run. I have a 9 o’clock. But I’ll see you ladies around?” He shoots a couple of finger guns your way as he runs off.
You and Betty wave goodbye just as your drinks are served. Picking up your cold brew and giving it a swirl with your straw, you share your thoughts with an expectant Betty. “He’s… interesting.”
“Mm-hmm.” She sips on her latte and looks up at you with knowing eyes.
You roll yours. “Let’s get back to work, shall we?”
“You were the one who wanted to get coffee,” she points out. You say nothing more on the elevator ride back up.
A few days pass and nothing comes up on your radar about Spyder’s whereabouts. You even asked for a bit of extra help from Nina to use the Black Cat’s resources (authorized by Felicia, of course) to tap into police scanners—but get nothing but literal radio silence about Spyder.
Then on Thursday, a few minutes after 5 PM, your phone buzzes. At first glance, you already see the word ‘spyder’ and tap on the bubble immediately.
@spydersightings: remember when a lucky fan was able to get a photo with a spyder? #tbt @whatsupdanger, 2018
You see a blurry photo of someone in a Spyder suit flashing a peace sign swinging above a little boy. The boy is probably around 13 years old, and he’s grinning from ear to ear. You find yourself smiling and giving the post a like, despite it not being all that useful to you.
Another notif pops up then, and this one is the one you’ve been waiting for. You jump to your feet, shut your laptop down, and holler a quick goodbye to Betty.
“Gotta run!”
“Don’t work too hard!” She barely looks up from her laptop despite it being the end of the day.
Typical Betty. You add, “Same to you—go home!”
She smiles and waves you off good-naturedly while you race to the elevators.
Once you get to the ground floor, you make a call. “Nee? Meet me at HQ. I got a lead.”
“You know what,” Nina’s voice comes through your in-ears. “I just realized how funny it is that you’re being targeted by a Spyder for this… spy-valry.”
“What?” You huff, slightly out of breath from your climb. You hate buildings with broken elevators. Unfortunately, New York is chock-full of them, and mobs love to stash their loot in them.
There’s the unmistakable sound of chips crunching. “Spy rivalry. I just made it up.”
“I got that, I meant ‘what’ like—” you make a sound of exertion as you finally reach your destination, pulling the metal doors apart and pushing yourself through them—“why is it funny? And are you eating?”
“Yes.” Their mouth is full as they reply. “And it’s hilarious considering your history—”
“Out of all the groups operating in New York,” you interrupt with a whine as you catch your breath, “why couldn’t we bump into a Widow instead—or like, Daredevil or something. We’ve taken down the Kingpin’s goons several times and I haven’t seen him once. It just had to be a web-slinger?”
“What’s the problem? If I recall correctly, you liked those spider boys.”
You let out an exasperated sigh. “Nee, don’t even—”
“I’m pretty sure I remember you even having a huge crush on one of them in high school. Even said something about how you wanted to fight side by side one da—”
“Okay, first of all, you know all mission comms are recorded, right? And second of all, that was like ten years ago and way before I knew about all the other cool people protecting the city,” you say defensively. “I’m on the ninth floor now by the way. Which room am I looking for?”
“903.” You switch your mask settings to night vision and make your way over while your guy-in-the-chair-slash-longtime-friend continues. “And I want it documented when you admit you had to have found it kind of cool that you’re on the same level with someone you’ve admired for years. You heard what Felicia said, whoever this is sees you as their equal!”
“Found it. Going in,” you report, taking out a retractable claw from your gloves to pick the lock. “Also, so rude of you to corner me on this knowing I’ve never lied to you in my life and never will.”
Nina snickers, satisfied. The pin inside the doorknob clicks.
“Yeah,” you admit with a smile, pushing the door open quietly. “It’s the highlight of my career.”
The door opens without a creak and you step through it, drawing your claw back into your glove.
“Whoa.”
“Confirm your visual, agent?”
“It’s quite the visual, alright.”
Right in front of you was the centerpiece of Raphael’s School of Athens painting: the iconic conversation between Plato and Aristotle.
Of course, the painting itself remains on the walls of the Vatican; this is the original sketch Raphael had drawn as a reference. It was supposed to be kept safe—and in one piece—where it was restored, at the Pinacoteca Ambrosiana art gallery in Milan. What the hell is it doing with the mob?
Whatever the reason, you know it starts and ends with it not belonging here. Art was for all of the world to see, not as some hidden treasure only exclusive to a chosen few.
You report your findings on your comms and bring out the carrying bag you had folded into your utility belt. It fits perfectly, and you send grateful vibes out to the universe that it was only a section of the masterpiece—otherwise, you wouldn’t have known how to sneak it out.
“Item acquired,” you inform your partner.
“Nice work. There’s a window in the next room, it’s not too far from the fire escape. It leads to the back alley so I’ll pick you up there. And before you ask, it can’t be opened from the outside without you breaking the glass, so your route really had to be from the ground up.”
“Thanks for clearing that up.” You’re about to head out before you spot a pad of paper and a pen on the table. You smirk to yourself and think it might be a good time to leave a note.
“What’s the holdup?” Nina asks.
“Just leaving a note for our spider friend. Doing the courtesy of letting them know I got to it first.” You keep it short and sweet with a “Gotcha. ♡”
When you set the pen down, you hear a thump! from above.
“Uh Nee, what’s above me? I think I just heard something. Is it a neighbor or—”
“The only thing above you is the rooftop.” Nina pauses. “I think it might be your spider friend.”
“Shoot. They’ll probably see me if I leave now.”
“Your fault for writing a love letter—”
“I wasn’t writing a—!” You stop yourself suddenly, realizing an outburst could blow your entire operation. “Whatever, I need to hide. Don’t make a sound until I say I’m in the clear,” you instruct.
You stealthily open the next door and find it leads to a small bedroom. The window for your escape is directly across from you on the left side; on the right: a cabinet rests against the wall, a bed beside it.
Realizing you still have the note in your hand, you promptly open the window, just enough to make it look like it was left like that haphazardly. You slip the carrying bag behind the cabinet and against the wall, just in case. Then, you place the note on the far end of the bed, nearer the door, before dropping down and rolling underneath it.
Finding space at the bottom of the cabinet, you shift half of your body to fit in the slot, moving as far away from the door as you can. It opens and you expect them to walk in, but you see nothing on the ground.
You do, however, continue to hear movement—and then you realize they’re probably on the ceiling. Of course.
“Anyone in here?” They call out.
Stay calm, you remind yourself. You’ve set the room up to look like you’ve already left, so all you need to do now is wait for them to believe it. You focus on quieting your breathing, making sure that even your heartbeat is steady.
Suddenly, the red-and-webbed feet of the suit you know all too well land on the floor by the bed. You watch as they lean forward, presumably to pick up the note you left.
You hear a chuckle and can’t help but smile to yourself. Their voice sounds youthful; definitely not a teenager, but anywhere between the young adult and older range—you deduce their maturity level would probably fit that. And if you would profile them based on that maturity… they were probably male.
You watch as his feet move closer to the window and you inch your head ever so slightly to be able to get a glimpse. He’s leaning by the window now, pushing open the gap you left wider.
Sticking his head out the window, he checks what would probably be the direction of the fire escape. He must find nothing, because he pockets your note (as to where you had no idea) and mutters a “next time” before crawling out the window, allowing it to shut behind him as he scales upward.
You wait a minute or two to make sure he’s really left before you allow yourself to breathe normally again.
“All clear,” you whisper, shimmying your way out from under the furniture. You retrieve the painting from behind the cabinet. “Heading out now.”
“Phew. Okay. I’m here in the alley.”
“Copy that.”
You exit the window and make sure it closes tightly by pushing against it. Once you’ve secured it, you head towards the fire escape, easily making your way down the bars.
True to their word, Nina is waiting in the car right at the end of the ladder. They open the door to the passenger seat for you and you jump in, placing the carrying case in the backseat before you settle in with your seat belt.
“You okay?” Nina asks once you’re strapped in.
“Yeah,” you reply, still a little out of breath. “That was a close one though.”
“But also kinda thrilling, huh?” They grin.
You nod, smiling, too. “And pretty interesting.”
“How so?”
Turning to them with a curious glint in your eye, you say, “He sounded… kind of familiar.”
You don’t have time for this. You’re a social media manager for the Daily Bugle by day and a secret agent with the Black Cats by night. And him? As far as you know, he’s a Spyder. And a pain in your ass.
Your game of cat-and-mouse spider continued to the point where you would both end up leaving notes for the other at your missions, often a one-liner and a scorecard where one point moved from one column to the next. The most recent one from him was a simple “YOUR MOVE.” followed by a tally with his spider logo and a drawing of black cat—tied at five on each side.
It was a back-and-forth for a total of ten assignments in a little over three weeks—yet you still knew nothing about your rival.
Except that you would eventually meet at some point. You could feel it.
Unfortunately, “some point” would have to wait. You had been too busy with your day job to handle any more nighttime endeavors. One job is hard enough, and you didn’t want to burn yourself out—even if you enjoyed both kinds of work.
But it’s not like you had been missing anything big on the spy front. Not that there was a lack of crime, but when spydersightings wasn’t doing more throwback posts, they were posting sightings of an agent in a different suit.
It isn’t that you’re paying any “extra” attention (despite what Nina might say—you’d argue that it’s literally your job to pay attention to these things), you’re just aware that each agent has a specific suit. There’s a difference in shape and/or color for the spider emblem, and the shades of blues, reds, and sometimes blacks of the suit would also vary, as well as the stitching of the suit itself.
The Black Cats are similar in this aspect, you note, but a lot more subtle; you all wore catsuits but you were able to choose whether it’d be a one-piece or a set, and customize your collars, zippers, and belt buckles, too.
To outsiders, it might be counterintuitive to have defining elements on spy suits, but it hasn’t cost anyone’s identity just yet. And honestly, being able to personalize your own suit is just fun.
Something considerably less fun is your day job. Most times, you do enjoy it, but you’re currently running a big interdepartmental project: a revamp of the Bugle’s digital strategy. It’s moments like these when you kind of regret being so good at your job, because when you’ve proven yourself reliable in a corporate setting, then people will start relying on you for things that should probably earn you a bigger paycheck while still working with your current one. (It can’t just be you who sees this as a problem—you’re quite sure most people would rather money come easy.)
On the bright side, you’re having fun working with a team for once. Covering content and social media at the Bugle is usually a one-person job—another set of eyes would definitely help, but Jameson says the budget can’t cover that and give you a raise—and the only real connection you’ve made at the office was with Betty, partly because she sits closest to you.
As much as you’re a great independent worker, you do love teamwork when the rest of the team are just as capable as you. That’s why you and Nina get along so well (apart from the fact that you’ve been friends for years) and why you don’t end up going home completely drained at the end of the day. It’s tough and taxing work, but still somewhat enjoyable.
And maybe it doesn’t hurt that one of the people you’ve started seeing more of is a certain Peter Parker. For purely professional reasons, of course.
Peter saunters in with that gait of his, holding his laptop in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. He’s wearing a blue sweater that fits nicely around his shoulders, and you notice your first impression of him being “lean” was wrong—though to be fair to you he was in an ill-fitting flannel at that time. This knitted piece was snug in all the right places. You could practically see the shape of his toned arms beneath the sleeves…
You manage to redirect your focus, ignoring what looks like the beginnings of a smirk on his lips.
“Hey! I just sent you an email,” you tell him as you look back down at your laptop. “There’s something wrong with the website’s blog section, the tags aren’t functioning right. Also, I think the Instagram RSS is buggy.”
“Hey, yourself,” he greets, walking closer. “Yeah, I just got your email actually and thought I’d swing by.”
“Oh?”
“Just had to get outta my seat and stretch for a little bit.” He looks right at you. “Feels like I’ve forgotten what the sun looked like.”
“What?” You laugh, feeling a blush creep in at his gaze.
“Do you know what the developer’s side of this floor looks like? The blinds are shut, the lights on are the bare minimum needed for sight, and everyone uses dark mode on their machines. It’s like a bat cave.”
“Ah,” you say, and it’s at this point that you realize all you’ve been saying are one-word replies. “Well, I’ve never been in the tech area.”
“Right.” He nods in understanding before he brings his straw to his mouth and sips the last of his drink. “Okay, scoot over.”
“Sorry, what?”
Peter sets his laptop down on your desk and tosses his empty drink in a nearby bin. He makes a small fist pump when it goes in like a basket.
When he sees you haven’t inched from your position, he explains, “It’ll be easier to adjust the code and ask you to check if it’s all firing correctly while I’m here, instead of us having to go back and forth on Slack.”
You sigh and nod in agreement, moving to the other side of the desk as he pulls in a chair—Betty’s, since she was in a meeting—to sit beside you.
“Don’t mind me. Just continue doing your thing while I do mine.”
You smile politely. “That was the plan.”
The two of you work in comfortable silence, the only sound between you the typing on your keyboards until Peter groans at his screen.
You glance at him in concern before looking back at your screen to continue what you were working on. “What’s up?”
“This page has been weird since day one,” he complains. “Whoever coded it didn’t know what they were doing. I wanna redo the page from scratch so bad, but my project leader won’t let me mess with the timeline.” From your peripheral, you can see that he’s leaning in your direction, looking pointedly at you.
You look away from your laptop to return his expression and roll your eyes lightheartedly. “Unfortunately your project leader is under strict orders to stick to the said timeline. Nothing I can do.”
The both of you share a laugh before looking back at your respective screens.
“You know,” he says in between clicks, “I didn’t take you for the glasses-wearing type.”
You feel a little self-conscious; you forgot you were wearing them today. You explain anyway, “Been nearsighted since the sixth grade. I wear contacts most of the time but my eyes didn’t feel like cooperating with me today. And my insurance doesn’t cover Lasik, so.” You shrug. “How about you?”
“I feel kinda bad now.” He takes the frames off his face. “Mine are just for show.”
“Really?” Part of you wants to add to look smart or something?—but in your few interactions with this guy, you know he doesn’t need to look it; he is smart.
“Yeah, anti-blue light or something. My aunt got them for me when she realized that aside from the video games, I really did have to stare at a screen all day for work too, in order to pay the bills.”
“That’s sweet of her.”
“It is.” He slides his specs back on with a smile. “Didn’t have the heart to tell her that there isn’t much scientific proof about the harms of blue light from screens though.”
You smile. “Sweet of you.”
“I’ve been told,” he comments back and returns to his laptop. Before you can add anything else, he finishes clacking away at his keyboard with a flourish. “There, we should be all set up now. Go check.”
You refresh the page, checking the links and tags again. He fixed the problem quite promptly, taking another milestone off the project timeline.
“That did it,” you confirm. “Thanks.” You turn to him and smile.
He smiles back. “Yeah, no problem.”
Your phone buzzes and you immediately see ‘spyder’ as your screen lights up. His eyes follow the flash, but your hand is quick enough to lock the screen.
Or so you think. “You a fan?” He asks.
You try to play it cool. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He nods, but doesn’t say more. You’re thankful he dropped the subject. “Well,” he stands and picks up his laptop off the table. “I should be getting back to my station.”
You nod. “Thanks for stopping by.”
He starts to walk away before spinning on his heel to turn back. “You know, I could do that more often. Stop by. If you’d like that.”
The sudden invitation—if that’s what you could call it—surprises you, but you can’t help but grin. “I would like that. Or, you know, we could also get a coffee. Outside the office. Maybe when this is all over and we have some room to breathe?”
Peter matches your grin. “I’ll hold you to that offer.”
You nod in acknowledgment and supply a small “Cool”. He echoes your response and you laugh.
“I’ll go and head back now,” he says.
“Okay. Bye!”
“See ya!” He clicks his tongue and flashes what you now see as his signature finger guns before dashing away.
“Just so you know,” you hear from behind you. You turn around and find Betty, who had apparently returned from her meeting in the nick of time. “I heard all of that. I also heard what was not being said.”
You know there’s no use arguing with her, so you just laugh and tell her to shut up.
A couple of weeks later and your project at the Bugle wraps up. Surprisingly, Jameson treats the floor to a pizza party—one where everyone only gets a single slice each but, hey, it’s something.
You’re in the middle of a conversation with Betty when Peter walks up to you, plastic cup in hand.
“Hey, ladies,” he greets. You and Betty say a “hey” back before he lifts his chin in the direction of your drinks. “Can I get you a refill?”
“I’m good,” Betty replies.
You check your cup to see you’re almost out, so you accept his offer. “That’d be great actually. I hope we’re not out of Coke Zero?”
He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “I actually just took the last of what was in the bottle. But you know what?” He hands you his nearly-full cup and takes away your nearly-empty one. “Here. I don’t mind bouncing to a Diet or Regular or whatever.”
“Are you su—” you being to protest, but he’s already downed the rest of your drink.
“I’m sure. It’s no problem.” He flashes a smile and you concede.
“Thanks. Hurry back?”
He nods before running off—not unlike a puppy, you note.
You don’t even notice the smile on your face until Betty points it out. “Look at you!” she says. “Can’t believe you were the mayor of I-Don’t-Have-Time-To-Date Town a couple of months ago and now you’re getting your flirt on.”
“To be fair, we still haven’t gone on an actual date. Just a few joint coffee runs with like, 10-minute conversations.”
Betty makes a noncommittal noise while you take a sip from your—Peter’s?—drink.
“But who knows?” You add. “Now that the project’s over…”
Just as you were about to allow yourself to indulge in normal-person things, your phone buzzes with messages.
Nee: you finally free from the corporate clutches tonight? got an assignment that’s up our alley
Nee: LOL. didn’t even realize i made a cat joke at first. i’m hilarious
“Let me guess…” Betty starts.
“Yeah, my freelance thing wants me to come in. I could use the extra cash, I’ve been without for some time now…”
Betty sighs, knowing all too well what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your lack of free time. At that moment, Peter returns with his drink.
“Hi again.”
His charm is irresistible, you just have to smile. “Hi,” you say back.
There’s a ping! of a notification next to you and it’s coming from Betty’s phone. You notice her reply swiftly with a smile on her face. She finishes her drink and sets it down on the table. “I gotta go. Would you toss this for me?”
“Yeah, sure. Where are you off to?” You ask.
“A date. With Ned, from downstairs?” She smiles again.
“The barista? Oh, I knew he was into you!” You gush.
“Glad he took my advice to finally ask you out,” Peter adds, almost bragging. “Have fun, you two.”
“Thanks. See ya Monday!”
“Bye!” You wave after her as she skips to the elevator.
“Speaking of which… on my round trip to the drinks table, I was thinking about that coffee,” Peter starts. “Would you wanna grab some dinner instead? And maybe catch a movie?”
A pang of disappointment weighs on your chest. “Pete, I’d love to, I really would. It’s just that—you know how I mentioned I freelance sometimes?”
“Oh. I see, no worries.” His face falls ever so slightly, but the look of understanding is more prominent. “Actually, something came up for me too, I was just wondering if I could ditch.”
You smile apologetically. “I really am sorry. But next time! Definitely next time.”
“Yeah, for sure!” He nods.
There’s a moment of silence before you add, “I actually have to head out, so um. I’ll see you Monday?”
“Don’t worry about it. Let me walk you to the elevator?”
You nod, smiling. “I’d like that.”
The two of you walk together, shoulders brushing from time to time. Thankfully, the silence between you isn’t awkward at all—in fact, it feels like he’s as bummed as you are, which is oddly comforting.
Locking eyes as you wait for the elevator to shut, you give a small wave and he flashes you a peace sign. At the last second, you dart out to peck him on the cheek, and you giggle at his stunned expression as the doors close.
“This better be good, Nee. I missed out on a date tonight.”
“A date?” Nina exclaims in your in-ear, mouth half-full.
“Don’t tease!”
“I’m not! I’m happy for you! It’s about time!” They say sincerely.
“Yeah, well, the thing about time is I don’t have the luxury of it.”
Nina makes a lighthearted scoff. “You are so dramatic.”
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groan. “This is the worst!”
“That wasn’t a cue for you to give another example—”
“No, Nee. Look.”
You snap a photo of what you see in front of you: another empty safe, save for a piece of paper. No guesses needed to know who it’s from: there was a “Missed me?” in that now-annoyingly-familiar scrawl, and your score tallies—with a point in his favor.
Sighing, you say, “I’ll clear out, there’s nothing left for me to do here anyway.”
“Wait, don’t go just yet.”
“What’s up, Nina?”
“I just picked up a signal—” they pause, probably to verify the location— “on the roof! I think you can still manage to get the package. And maybe meet your Spyder friend, too!”
You don’t respond—you already started running as soon as you heard the word ‘signal’.
It’s an office building, so you find the stairway easily. There are a few floors above you to get to the roof. You smirk to yourself realizing that this is the perfect time to use your favorite spy tool—your grappling hooks.
You aim the hooks at the handrails and manage to pull yourself up each floor swiftly. Finally, you see the door at the top and kick it in.
Your veins are rushing with adrenaline when you make it to the roof. Panting, you look around and see a figure in an unmistakable shade of red examining a flash drive—the very one you were supposed to take from the safe.
He spots you and mutters a “shit”, and you run toward him at top speed. As you approach, he readies his position to spar, but you catch him by surprise when you take the low ground and sweep his leg, causing him to lose his balance.
You snap your head around to see the drive in mid-air and quickly tumble towards it to catch it in your hand.
“I got it,” you manage to say under your breath. But before you can pocket the device, a string of web takes it away.
“Sorry,” the Spyder says, probably not very sorry at all. “No hard feelings?”
Before you can even reply, he’s gone—swinging from building to building and getting farther and farther away from you.
Automatically, you start to go after him, aiming your grappling hooks at the building across from you.
“Hey!” You suddenly hear Nina yell your name in your ear. “Don’t even think about it. You’ve never used the grapples to swing across buildings before. Maybe practice that in a safe space before you do it out on the field, huh?”
You pant. “I almost had him.”
“Yes. And you were amazing. But let’s call it, okay?”
“Fine,” you accept. You were exhausted anyway.
“Come on. Let’s go for some milkshakes. You deserve it.”
“Alright. But only if you’re buying.”
“Your wish is my command. You’ll probably want to take the fire escape to get outta there. Meet you at the bottom.”
“Thanks, Nina.”
When you get home from your milkshake date, as you’re emptying your pockets, you find that tonight’s encounter might not be a complete loss after all.
Other than finally meeting your rival mask-to-mask, you realize he got clumsy with his last note: he left a clue.
Unlike the other ones he left (which seemed to be just plain paper), his most recent message was written on the back of a receipt—from a very familiar cafe, no less.
That’s right: the Coffee Bean on the ground floor of the Bugle Building. The only problem is that it’s smack in the business district and the building alone is forty-six stories tall. So, it could be anyone from those 3 floors devoted to the editorial office, 2 sub-basement levels for the printing presses, and 41 floors rented out to other companies or tenants or what-have-yous.
Still, you know there’s only one way this competition will end—and you’re one step closer to it.
At this point, you realize that catching your Spyder would need a new strategy—one that may involve not actually engaging with the Spyder for a while. Putting your pride aside and letting him keep the one point he has over you, you would opt to surveil in the meantime, observing his movements to and from the scenes spydersightings would post about. If you couldn’t beat him at the location, you’d steal from under him on his way out.
It turns out that having an active social life actually helps this new strategy. You’d finally accepted Betty’s invites to go out with other people from the office after work, and since you were always in densely populated areas, it was quite easy to spot any commotion. If a Spyder was in the area, you’d hear about it.
You’d even gone out of your way to plan some of the hangouts—a win-win situation for both Betty and yourself: Betty gets to have fun with friends, and you get to narrow down a location.
Then, on days you weren’t being social, you’d head to the gym to train your upper body and core, or to the Black Cat training center to practice your grappling hook maneuvers. Though you can admit you’ll never be as smooth as a Spyder, you were getting the hang of swinging.
And on top of all that preparation under the guise of work-life balance, you’d even used one of your precious vacation days at work so you could preserve your energy for the grand finale.
Tonight is the night, you can feel it.
“Alright, I’m getting a new heat signature above you,” Nina says. “Are you ready to intercept the package?”
“Born ready. Let’s go.”
You move towards what you and Nina had mapped out as the nearest extraction point to the wall, keeping a keen eye out for your Spyder.
And then you see it—a glint of red in the night sky.
“I’m moving in,” you report.
From this point forward, every one of your movements needs to be precise.
You watch him land on the building wall so you run to the adjacent corner, shooting your grappling hook so you can climb up as well.
Pulling upwards, you scale the wall—then use your weight to swing around the corner.
“Surprise!” You say, unable to keep it in. He turns his body toward you and in a fraction of a second, you can see his mask pulled halfway up, the brown envelope being held between his teeth.
You shift your weight so that your feet can land on his chest. He makes an oof! sound as you fold your knees in and push as you take the folder with one hand, before you swing back on your rope.
Midair, you retract your hook and shoot it to a lower section of the next building, so you could find your way to the ground more easily. You brace your landing with a tumble before immediately breaking out into a run to find your escape route.
“Great work!” Nina cheers excitedly in your ear. “Just a few blocks ahead, you’ll find the manhole we talked about. I’ll lead you out of there and when you come out, you’ll be right in front of the car.”
“I see the manhole. I’m going in.”
“See you on the other side.”
You take the crowbar you had strategically left in the alley and lift the manhole with minimal effort. Despite the stench of the sewer, you were in euphoria. Absolutely buzzing. Simply elated. Just over the moon.
Everything is going according to plan—until you trigger a web trap.
In your haste, you failed to check if the place was booby-trapped. Now, you were all but glued to the ground, the webs reaching your knees. You couldn’t leave your boots behind even if you wanted to.
“Nee, we got a problem. I’m stuck.”
“What?” They don’t mask the worry in their voice. “In… what?”
“A web.”
“Thank God. I thought it was something else, considering the location.” It takes a beat before they realize— “wait, did you say web? Shit.”
“Yeah, that might have been just slightly better,” you quip, attempting to wriggle out of the trap to no avail. “If we found his getaway area, and this is the sewer nearest that, it makes sense he’d have it secured somehow.”
“Damn. Well, at least you have the folder, right?”
You’re about to reply in affirmative when you suddenly feel a presence looming behind you—and then a red-and-blue-clothed arm reaches out to take the envelope from your hands.
“Surprise,” comes the smug voice. “I’ll take that.”
“Shit. We were so close,” you hear Nina say.
The Spyder crosses in front of you as he boasts his victory. “Sorry I didn’t have time to write another note, but I believe that puts me two points in the lead?”
Refusing to give him the satisfaction, you assert, “You know, I had that one.”
“Of course you did,” he replies, his tone patronizing. “The other ones, too.”
You roll your eyes. “Are you really not going to acknowledge—”
“No, actually, I know you did.” You both pause, and you consider if he just gave you a compliment. Then he continues, “That’s why swooping in at the last minute to finish the job is just so satisfying.”
You scoff, incredulous yet proud despite still being stuck in your shoes. But you won’t go down without a fight. “I don’t know what’s worse, if you were ignorant about me being good or that you’d rather take credit for how good I am. You know what, this is how I know you’re definitely a white cis man. And I mean that as a complete insult.”
“What?” He laughs incredulously. You can’t help but grin.
“I mean, the way you just take credit for a person of color’s hard work so easily.” (Also, you saw his lips, but you didn’t think you had to add that.)
“Hey hey whoa, you playing this card?” He puts his hands up in front of his chest (one of them still holding onto the envelope), as if surrendering.
You smirk, wanting to drive another nail into the coffin of your comeback. “If I have to. Who knows, maybe I’ll make an anonymous tip to the Daily Bugle about how their favorite Spyder is bigoted, opportunistic—”
“You’re joking,” he interrupts, and you really are, but he’s laughing, and it’s kind of cute, so you continue.
“Yeah, Twitter will have your ass. You’ll be canceled by even the most liberal of stan accounts.”
“Okay, but good luck since I work at the Bugle and—”
“Wait, what did you just say?”
If this were a TV show, you would hear that record scratch sound.
Did this Spyder just… accidentally reveal his identity?
“…Whaaat?” He laughs nervously.
You obviously can’t see under the mask, but the way his body freezes makes you think his face is probably such a funny thing to behold right now, eyes widening in mortification before he shuts them tightly. He squeezes the bridge of his nose through the mask and puts his face in his hands.
“Look can we just forget ab—”
“Hold on,” you say, processing the information you now know.
The Coffee Bean receipt, the Daily Bugle connection, and that familiar charm… there’s no way.
Unless… maybe the simplest answer is the right one?
You decide to take that chance and say, “Peter?”
He doesn’t respond right away, just slowly takes his face out of his hands. With the mask, his expression is unreadable. But you have to keep pushing.
You know that unmasking him (so to speak) will finally end the competition, so maybe it was time for a little more risk. After all, you were already so close to the big win.
“Since we’re in the business of meeting each other equally,” you interrupt before giving a little pause. “Me, too.”
“What?” The Spyder—Peter?—asks.
You hear Nina’s voice in your ear at the same time. “What are you doing?”
“I… work at the Bugle, too…”
“You’re kidding.” He doesn’t bother masking his disbelief.
“Trust me,” you say, both to him and to Nina listening in.
You lift the mask off your face. “Surprise,” you announce for the second time that night (though you’ve lost count of just how many there’d already been).
“You…” You can tell by his voice and the way he shakes his head that there’s a smile on his face.
“It’s me,” you confirm with a smile. “And you are…?”
The Spyder’s mask comes off next to reveal the face of the boy you’ve grown fond of: Peter Parker.
“You got me.” He smiles, wide, and you match the shape.
Then it dawns on you both that you’re still stuck.
“Oh shit, sorry, lemme just—” he rips through the webs easily— “there you go.” He holds out his arm to steady you as you step out of the trap area.
“My hero,” you comment, and you swear he blushes. You decide to use this to your advantage. “So, Peter. You wanna get us out of here? I’m sure there are still some diners open if you wanted to grab something to eat.”
Cocking his head to the side, he gives you another boyish grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“I have a car waiting at the end of the tunnel. And a person who’s very curious about you,” you add, pointing to your ear.
He leans forward (a little close, but you’re chill about it) and says “hi.”
Nina says, “Tell him he gave us a lot of grief. Or I can just tell him myself later.”
“Oh, I heard ya,” he replies, chuckling as he pulls back. “I gotta drop this off at home first, though.” He brandishes the folder in his hand.
You fold your hands across your chest and shake your head. “Hmm, no, I think I should take that.”
It actually looks like he considers giving it away. “What’s in it for me?” He jokes.
“I think I can make it worth your while.” You wink.
“Oh.”
“Mm-hmm.” You hold your hand out and he places the folder in there. “Good boy.”
“Still here, by the way,” Nina says quickly. “And waiting in an increasingly dark alley.”
You smile, folder now in your possession. “We’re on our way.”
Peter’s able to grab a backpack he had stashed away for emergency outfit changes. He throws on a jacket and sweatpants over his suit.
You introduce Nina and Peter to each other and they get along great, but Nina chooses to drop the two of you off at a nearby diner so as to not be a third wheel.
As you grab your backup coat from the car, they whisper, “Guess you didn’t miss your date after all, huh?”
You both grin and tell them to shut up as they drive off laughing.
Throwing on your coat, you walk over to Peter who’s waiting at the entrance of the diner. You notice he’s grinning, too. “So, were you talking about me or something?”
You’re starting to wonder if he has some sort of super-hearing. “And if I was?”
“Then great. No further comments from me.” He shrugs and you laugh as you both enter the diner.
A waiter arrives to greet and seat you at a table with a free basket of breadsticks and two glasses of tap water. You order a grilled cheese and tomato soup for yourself and he gets a bacon cheeseburger plus two Coke Zeros, one for each of you.
“I just realized something,” you say as the waiter leaves. “You work in development.”
“Yes.” Peter replies with a nod.
“Web development,” you reiterate, stressing your point.
“Yes,” he repeats, knowing exactly how it sounds, and stuffing a breadstick into his pleased grin. “What can I say, I commit to the bit.”
You laugh and you realize it comes so easy with him. You take a big drink from your water and grab a breadstick to munch on to avoid getting flustered by the epiphany.
“So, how does it feel like to win? You did unmask me.”
“It feels pretty good,” you admit. “But how does this end, does the loser have to stop working as a spy or something?”
“No, no.”
“But how will you know I won’t expose you?”
He leans in close and lowers his voice. “Well first, because you’re a spy too, so you know the rules. Second, your boss won’t let you, because of said rules. And third, because I know you well enough to know you have integrity.” He locks eyes with you in an earnest and you nod. He backs away slightly and continues, “Besides, it’s not that big a secret. I have some people in my life that know.”
“Really?”
“Well I don’t exactly go around advertising it but, you know, the people that care and worry about me deserve to know where I go most nights.”
“Like your aunt?”
“She was the first one I told.” He smiles. “What about you? I’m sure you have people you confide in.”
“Well, it helps that my oldest friend is my partner on the job, so I’m not really left itching to tell anyone else,” you confess. “My parents are worried enough; they’re barely convinced that little ol’ me can take care of myself in such a big city.”
“Well, I think one day they’d be happy to know they’re wrong. All things in their own time, of course.”
“Thanks, Peter.” You smile at his sincerity and understanding.
The food soon arrives and you chat over your meals. You allow him to dip a fry in your tomato soup and he gives you a little piece of his bacon. When the check arrives, he offers to pay for it all and you let him as “reparations”, which he accepts with a laugh.
It’s a nice night for a walk, so you both decide to head home that way, extending your date with more conversation.
“So, why did you want to become an agent? Assuming it was your choice,” Peter asks,
“Honestly, I lived a pretty comfortable life. It wasn’t luxurious by any means but we had it good. If I had stayed in my small town, I don’t think anything exciting would ever happen to me, and I would’ve been okay with that,” you tell him. “And then in my senior year of high school, I saw this guy in a spider suit on the news, constantly saving the day. Then I realized that there was something more to life, and it was waiting for me in New York.”
Peter smiles, suddenly shy at the implied admission of admiration. “So, no tragic backstory then?”
“No, thankfully I didn’t have anything too bad happen to me for me to want to help people.” You smile back. “I’ve just seen too much bad to not do anything about it. How about you?”
“My uncle…” he trails off, wondering if this is good first date conversation.
You sense his hesitance and say, “Hey, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”
He shakes his head. “No it’s alright, I brought it up. My uncle was killed when I was in high school, and I couldn’t help but think it was part of a bigger conspiracy. I did some digging and I ended up being right. Then the Spyders approached me and the rest is history.”
“Hey,” you say, gently holding him by the arm to stop him in his tracks. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
He smiles. “It was a long time ago. But thank you.”
“Can I give you a hug?” You ask.
“Uh, yes,” he replies.
His eagerness makes you laugh, and you tiptoe a bit to hold him in an embrace. You can feel him nuzzle your neck and you feel like you’re hugging a big dog.
“Anyway.” He motions to continue walking and you follow suit. “Enough about me—how the heck do you manage a full-time job and this on the side? And be good at both?”
You shrug, smiling. “We all need hobbies. Plus, it’s good exercise.”
He laughs. “You serious?”
“I am! Also, weirdly one is a form of de-stressing from the other.”
“You’re amazing.”
You fight the blush that creeps in at the compliment. “Thanks. I could say the same about you.” You pause, readying yourself for the admission. “Well, I have. Pretty famously.”
“Oh, have you?” He asks, suddenly very curious.
“Well, not to brag, but I was the first person to call you the ‘amazing spider-man’ on Twitter.”
“No way.”
You nod. “Remember how I mentioned my senior year…”
“You’re kidding!”
“Actually, that was what got me a job offer from the Bugle. Which is kind of funny, considering—” You stop yourself.
“Considering what?” He steps in front of you to keep from evading the question.
“Uh, considering I was just a small-town teen from—”
“No, wait, don’t tell me you had a stan account, too.”
“That’s all you get. Find the rest out yourself.” You walk past him in nonchalance. “Anyway, I believe you know your way around the web.”
“Oh, ha-ha,” he says, catching up to you easily. “You know what, I could just hack you.”
You eye him dead-on. “You wouldn’t.”
“Maybe. But maybe you don’t know me well enough to say what I would and wouldn’t do. How do you think I was able to beat you on the job so many times?”
“Equal times,” you correct. “And I won in the end using fair means.”
“Not sure how you would define fair since we’re essentially Robin Hoods, but okay.” He shrugs. “So, you’re a fan? Like, a longtime fan?”
You roll your eyes lightheartedly at how he switched the topic back. “I pretty much moved to New York because of you. Yes, I’m a fan.” You can tell by the look on his face that he’s about to say something really smug, so you add, “But Daredevil is my favorite.”
Peter stops in his tracks. “Yeah, right.”
You nod, stopping next to him. “It’s true.”
“You know, he’s a friend of mine, actually.”
Well, you weren’t expecting that. “O-oh?”
“Yeah, I could introduce you—are you blushing?”
“I am not!” You laugh and start to walk ahead so he can’t take a closer look at your face.
He chases after you. “You totally are!” Then you notice him stop before returning to a more leisurely pace. “Oh, you know what? I take back the introduction thing.”
“No! Why!” You whine as you turn back to him, and then you notice the redness at the top of his ears. “Wait, are you jealous?”
“Definitely not!” Peter says almost immediately, avoiding eye contact.
You stand right in front of him, arms crossed, and narrow your eyes. “Are you lying?”
He looks down at you and gulps. “... Maybe?”
Pleased with yourself, you smile. “And you say I don’t know you well enough.”
You walk a little more in comfortable silence when Peter suddenly—but gently—grabs your wrists and leads you to an empty alley. “Hey, come here. I wanna try something.”
“Okay…” You start. “I hope you’re aware of what this looks like.”
He laughs and says, “Trust me.” And you do. “Just—stay right there.” He positions you in front of the wall of the alley.
“Alright.” You stand and wait just like he asked.
After a few minutes, you hear the sound of his web-shooters and the call of your name from above you. You look up to see him lowering himself from the top of the fire escape railing to hang in front of you.
You do what you do best when you’re nervous: talk. “You know, like this, you look more like a bat than you do a spider.”
This gets him to laugh, but he tells you in a hushed voice, “For once. Just for this one moment. Stop talking.”
You nod.
“Good. I’m going to kiss you now. Nod if—” He laughs. You’re already nodding.
Your hands find the back of his head and you pull him closer to meet his lips with yours.
Kissing Peter is the most amazing thing you’ve ever experienced in your life.
You can say with confidence that you’ve never been kissed like this before—acrobatics aside. He kisses you the same way he looks at you; like nothing else around you matters. It’s only your first of what you’re sure will be many kisses, but you can already feel like it will be just like hearing his laugh—every time will set your heart as aflutter as the first. You know this is something you will always look for from now on; his kiss is your new favorite song, your new regular coffee order, your new bedtime hoodie.
The first thing you say when you pull apart for air is, “Wow.” The second is, “You were jealous.”
Peter groans, and you laugh. “Could you please just savor this moment with me.” It’s not a question or a request. He leans forward for another kiss.
You accept it in multitudes and giggle against his lips. “How long have you been wanting to do this?”
“With you, or in general?”
“Uh, both.”
He takes a moment to consider the question. “Long enough.”
You grin. “So, the same answer for both? Would it also be the same if I asked you how long you’ve been wanting to kiss me, regardless of direction?”
Still upside-down, he rolls his eyes. “Well, would it be the same if I asked you the same questions?”
“Would it be the same answer for in or out of our suits?”
“Don’t make me come down there.”
“And what if I want you to?” You smile.
Peter flips over easily and lands on his feet. As soon as he does, he steps toward you again for another kiss, holding you firmly by the waist and breathing you in deeply. You relish in another first kiss with him, this time right-side-up.
When you pull away, you say, “Actually, I only did that so you could come down and stop the blood from rushing to your head. But thanks.”
“Hmm, you care about me or something?” He asks smugly.
“Um, well, you know…” You say, getting a kick out of frustrating him.
“I got another question: do you ever stop talking?”
You laugh and shake your head. “Nuh-uh. You gotta make me.”
“Okay, challenge accepted.” He takes you by the hand and leads you towards the fire escape. “Come upstairs?”
Now you’re speechless. Your jaw drops and Peter is smirking so hard.
“You took us to the back of your apartment building to make out?” You ask.
He shrugs. “Thought it’d be convenient.”
“Oh my God.” You laugh, fully enjoying this moment. “You really are amazing.”
“So you’ll come up?”
“Yes, but only if you swing me up there.”
Without even taking a beat, Peter takes your hands and wraps them around his neck, then lightly lifts your legs to wrap around his waist. “Hold on tight.”
Before you know it, you hear the sound of his web-shooters and you’re zooming in the air. When you land, it’s softly onto his bedroom floor, and his lips are on yours again.
Work becomes a lot easier after you and Peter get together. Of course, injustices—whether you see them on social media manager for the Daily Bugle or as a secret agent with the Black Cats—will always keep you up at night, but it’s always good to know you have someone to come home to at the end of the day.
Sometimes, it’s even better when that person becomes a partner you can rely on, to get you through any kind of tangled web or any sticky situation, no matter what kind of job you’re working on.
But the days you can relax with each other and just be are the best. When Peter tells you one of his favorite ways to relax is on a web hammock between two skyscrapers, you immediately demand he make one for two on the next mission you work together.
And here you are, watching the sunset from 50 stories up, playing 20 Questions.
“Okay: flight or telekinesis?” You ask.
“Flight, always flight,” Peter answers. “That way I won’t have to reload my web-shooters all the time. Or deal with traffic, like, ever again.”
“That’s a good answer.” You nod. “Telekinesis for me though, hands down. But it’s one of those powers that are definitely, like, really important to go to the right person. I accept that.”
“I think you could handle it.”
“Aww, babe.” You lean your head on his chest. “Thank you for trusting me.”
He chuckles and pats your head. “My turn. Back to basics: cats or dogs?”
“Dogs,” you say automatically. “No brainer.”
“You’re a dog person?” He asks, surprised. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Why? Oh, is it the catsuit?” You tease.
He pauses, furrowing his brow to look serious. “Yes. And I was fully prepared to tell you that I’m a dog person but I’ll make an exception for you.”
You laugh at this and smack his chest playfully. “I just think it’s funny the catsuit misled you.”
“More than it being ‘misleading’, I think a better way to put it is that it distracts me.” The way he eyes you make you feel conscious and confident at the same time.
“Ah, if it distracts you so much, should I take it off? So you can concentrate better?” You offer with a smirk, hand on the zipper down your chest.
“Wow. Here? Didn’t think you were such a tease.” He raises an eyebrow.
You move closer to him, further egging him on. “Well, not here. But it looks like there’s still a lot you don’t know about me, Parker.”
Peter hums thoughtfully, pressing a kiss onto your smiling mouth. “I think I’ll take my time finding out.”
thank you for making it to the end!! please consider a like/comment/reblog after reading. 🥰️
tags: @spidervee @fallensilencefics
#tasm!peter au event#april is for aus#april au event#au event#jade writes#and here come the tags#tasm peter parker#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm!peter x you#tasm! peter parker#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm!spiderman#tasm!peter parker x you#peter parker x reader#peter parker x fem!reader#peter parker oneshot#peter parker imagine#peter parker#andrew garfield!peter parker x reader#andrew garfield spiderman#andrew garfield!spiderman x reader#peter parker x gender neutral reader#peter parker au#tasm!peter x reader#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#andrewgarfield!spiderman
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saw the post abt requests!! maybe insecure fem!reader and peter just being the best bf in the entire world? no pressure tho!!!!
a/n: sorry this is so late but, thank you for requesting. i hope you enjoy!! don’t be shy and send me a request!
pairing: tasm! peter x reader
you’ve never had a boyfriend before dating peter. and you don’t know how to really act with peter. you two have just started dating so everything is fairly new to you. including kissing. and you’re a little nervous about it. you think you’ve been pretty good at hiding and dodging kissing. key words: you think. peter has definitely noticed. he’s not going to push you into kissing him. but, he is curious why you don’t want to kiss him.
“sweetheart, can i ask you a question?” you turn from the movie you and peter were watching. “yeah, what's up?”
“why won’t you let me kiss you?” peter asks, looking at you curiously. you turn back to the tv. you weren’t expecting peter to ask. you were sure he would ask some day, just not today. “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” peter speaks softly, wrapping his arm around you, bringing you closer to him. you sigh out. you have to tell him.
“promise you won’t laugh?” you look at your boyfriend nervously. peter grins at you, bringing up his pinkie finger. “i promise, i won’t.” you and peters pinkie fingers lock together.
“i’ve never kissed anyone.” you tell him. you wait for him to laugh at you. he never does. “really?” he looks at you confused. and he is how a pretty girl like you, never experienced their first kiss yet.
“yes, it’s embarrassing, i know.” you laugh at yourself, to defuse the embarrassment you’re feeling right now. “it’s not embarrassing, i’m just confused.” you raise your eyebrows up at peter, you’re now feeling confused about his confusion. “why are you confused?”
“why has no one has kissed you yet.” he states simply moving closer to you. then you see something click in peters head, a mischievous smile appears on your boyfriend’s pretty face. “does that mean i’m going to be the first?” he asks confidently, with a smug face, while you smile clearly flustered. “yes.” you admit to your boyfriend. peter smiles and places his hands on your face. “can i kiss you?” he smiles, confident. you let out a small “yes” and he does.
#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm! peter parker#tasm! peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker#tasm peter x reader#peter parker#peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker x y/n#tasm!peter parker x you#tasm! peter parker x you#tasm! peter#tasm peter x y/n#tasm peter x you#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#tasm!peter fluff#tasm! peter fluff#peter parker fluff#tasm peter parker x reader#kiyahs requests₊˚౨ৎ ˖
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Just a Tap
Synopsis: Before they were Peter and Bashful they were strangers with an annoying (semi-traumatic) meet cute.
Pairing: Frat!Peter x Fem!Reader/OC
CW: None really, car accident? maybe if you can count that. Swearing.
Reblog or comment in place of liking this post, pretty please.
Pulling out of ESU parking structure six was a hell fest. There was a constant flow of traffic that seemingly never let up, and a ton of pedestrians that would either wait for all the cars to pull out before crossing the path, or simply used the heavy traffic flow to their advantage. (Y/N) pushed her head back into her seat frustrated, why was New York traffic such a nightmare. The highway traffic started to let up and she sat straight up breathing a sigh of relief.
“Fucking finally.”
She looked right and then left before letting off her gas, letting her car roll. Out of nowhere a skateboarder rolled in front of her, causing her to barely tap him with her car. But still she felt terrible. She slammed on her breaks, her hands flying up to her mouth. The boy slammed his hands on the hood of her car, throwing his hands up. He was quite obviously laughing at the situation, and did not seem injured at all. Placing her car in park and throwing her flashers on she basically threw herself out of the vehicle, the skateboarder had already started walking away tossing a look over his shoulder. (Y/N), however, was frozen in place.
“I am so sorry, are you okay? Do you need a ride?” She yelled after him, looking over her shoulder to make sure no other cars were leaving behind her.
“I’m good! Just wanted to play it up a little bit.”
He laughs, turning, his skateboard in hand. “We should both watch where we are going next time.” He yelled back smiling. “You’re too pretty to be hitting boys with your car.”
(Y/N) shook her head, swallowing the tears that had built up in her eyes. How could he just be joking about this. Then she saw the shirt: yellow with a red Theta Tau logo on it with ‘ESU est. 1930.’ stitched below it. Frat boys. Suddenly she felt less bad for tapping the bleached blonde with her car.
“But I skate through here the same time everyday, maybe don’t hit me next time okay?”
“How about I make sure I don’t miss next time?” She yells back getting into her car, now annoyed that he found the whole interaction funny when she was trying to be sincere. The blonde smiled in response, she watched him turn and skate away. She checked both ways multiple times and pulled onto the road heading to pick her friend up from work.
-
Fraternity row was lit up in all different colors, the first football game of the season had just ended and the whole street was celebrating the victory. M.J. wrapped her arm around (Y/N) as they walked down the street.
“Come on you seriously can’t still be hung up on the douchebag that skated out in front of you. He was in the wrong not you, he was jaywalking..jay..skating? Doesn’t matter.” The red head shook her head, her curls shaking. “He’s a dick for that and I’ll tell him if we ever see him. Now please relax and party. Please, it's the first big frat crawl of the semester.”
“Fine..yeah, you’re right.”
“I know I am.” M.J. kissed her friend's head, and started to say something else before being cut off.
“Hey! Watson! Hey!”
M.J. and (Y/N) turned their heads quickly trying to spot the voice that came blaring towards them. A head of blonde hair was in front of them in seconds. A lanky guy stood before them engulfing M.J. in a hug which she gladly returned. “Oh my god. Osborn you scared me, hey this is my roommate and friend (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Harry the guy I was telling you about.”
Harry Osborn was a name you were all too familiar with. M.J. had been in love with him since summer orientation when they met and got stuck in the elevator together. They’d been talking ever since.
“Hey nice to finally meet you.”
“Yeah you too.” Harry smiles at her. “Hey, why don’t you guys come into Theta and party?” He offered up, pointing in the direction of the bright yellow door contrasting against the white siding of the huge house.
“Look at that line, no thanks.” (Y/N) laughed.
“No no it’s my frat, well I’m a pledge but I can get y’all in come on.”
-
(Y/N) stood against the back wall of the party, a black plastic cup in hand as she sipped the vodka sprite mixture out of it. If she could fold in on herself she would, she didn’t even like frat crawls. She only went because M.J. begged her, and she didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to hang out with her. However, M.J. was nowhere in sight. Osborn had stolen her away as soon as they got into the house.
“Well..look who it is.” A voice pooked around the corner at her, she jumped slightly. “Oh come on don’t be bashful. You already hit me with your car.”
It was the blonde guy from yesterday, he leaned against the wall next to her. Smiling at her slightly. “I said I was sorry, you walked out in front of me.”
“I did yeah sorry. But it’s really rude of you.”
(Y/N) stomped her foot wanting to crawl in a hole and cry. “I didn’t mean too hi-”
“No not that. I mean not asking for my name..it was the least you could do after all.”
Her brows furrowed, mouth forming a smile ‘o’. Her eyes feel to the ground and she bit the inside of her cheek.
“Peter Parker..and you?”
“(Y/N) (Y/L).”
Peter smiled and slid down the wall sitting on the floor, waiting for her to join him.
“Nice to meet you (Y/N)…again.”
Wrote this very quickly this morning because the lab is empty and have no one coming in until later.
#tasm peter parker#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm!peter imagine#tasm andrew garfield#tasm peter x reader#frat!peter#andrew garfield#tasm! peter parker x reader#tasm!peter x reader#tasm! peter parker#tasm peter imagines
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Multi-Fandom Masterlist
[writing requests - open] |ao3|
Currently working on Broken Promises (Mike Schmidt x Reader)
Keys ↴
♡- fluff
✵- smut
☽- angst
Characters I'll currently write for:
Mike Schmidt - fnaf
Peter Parker (all versions) - mcu
Matt Murdock - Daredevil, mcu
Danny Rand - Iron Fist, mcu
Blurbs
Imagines
TASM! Peter Parker ↴
How You Get the Girl ♡/☽
Series
Blurbs
Mike Schmidt ↴
Needy ✵
Imagines
Series
Mike Schmidt ↴
Broken Promises☽
Feel free to request a song for me to write about! Send an ask with the character, song, and possibly short description of plot (or you can leave it up to me).
Debut
Fearless
Speak Now
Red
All Too Well - mike schmidt x reader
1989
How You Get the Girl - TASM! Peter x reader
Reputation
Lover
Folklore
Evermore
Midnights
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Do You Like Waffles?
Masterlist
A/N: The Sequel to Do You Like Pizza? That no one asked for.
Pairings/Characters: TASM! Peter Parker x Reader
Warnings: Tony Stark’s dazzling personality, sexual innuendos so MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED, swears
Summary: It’s been nearly two years since Tony revealed he was Iron Man, and you discovered he was your father. So, what else could possibly go wrong in this universe? What other messes might you have to clean up while trying to maintain your relationship with Peter Parker?
“Baby, honey, honey, darling, sweetheart, terror of my life, madam stun gun, baby,” Peter’s finger was poking your cheek, his breath hot on the back of your head as he perched on his knees in bed and badgered you into consciousness.
“What?” You hissed as you yanked the covers up over your head. “Peter, please. This is the worst day of my life. Let me sleep in. I won’t get fired for being late.”
“I just wanted to know, do you like waffles?” He whispered.
What the fuck?
“What the fuck kind of question is that?”
“Do you like waffles?”
“Yes, yes, I like waffles.”
“Okay. Great. Thanks, honey,” he leaned over and mashed his lips against your cheek to leave a slobbery print before he jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen.
You sighed heavily as you lay there finally opening your eyes and accepting the day.
Things were very, very weird, okay? They were bizarre.
Your mom dies, your dad is back from the ‘dead’ and the world’s most annoying, eccentric billionaire. Your boyfriend is a superhero who, apparently, learned the multiverse is a real thing and refused to touch on the subject anymore for fear of ‘timey-wimey anomalies’ and all that stuff. Then, your ‘dead’ dad moves to your side of the country, buys a tower, starts to build it and put things together all the while he nearly: died of palladium poisoning, had a giant Russian nearly kill him, his best friend got his own suit, and the pirate-looking guy came back around.
Again.
This was very, very weird. Okay?
It seemed like in such a short amount of time, things were getting even more weirder than usual. Hell, you thought that growing up having a guy run around dressed as a spider was fucking weird. Imagine how strange and unusual it was that your new norm was your father flying around in a red and gold suit to save the day?
Horrific.
To top it all off, you caved.
To be fair, it took you awhile. At first you rejected working at Stark Industries, which was fine, because with all the drama in Tony’s life and trying to fix up that building, it was just taking far, far too long to move everything to the East Coast. Hell, sometimes he was still going over to the West Coast to deal with his empire.
But, when it seemed like Tony was grooming you to work at the company alongside Pepper and leave your current job because of his illness, when you realized that SHIELD seemed just as shady and questionable as every other government agency you had considered after working with them for awhile, when working freelance was just too difficult and annoying to sift through the serious inquiries against the Stark stalkers, well, you realized that maybe it was time to see how Stark Industries would work with you joining them.
That leads us to today, your first day working at Stark Industries, and you already had a sense of dread. You’d been in the bathroom all night shooting your anxiety into the porcelain throne and listening to Peter’s jokes about you trying to kill him in his own home. To Peter’s credit, he did say if you had this much dread working for him, that you didn’t have to, that you could just do anything else you wanted, but there was a part of you, maybe it was sick and twisted, that just had to know what Stark Industries would be like.
Dragging yourself out of bed, you took a shower and put on your clothes for the day. Tony gave you a start time, and whether it was your poor quality of sleep your desire to constantly rebel and piss him off, you were electing to generously ignore his request.
Entering the kitchen, you saw your boyfriend standing behind your usual seat at the kitchen table, drumming his fingers on the back of your seat while he smiled at you.
Peter also had his fair share of drama. Almost two years later, and Peter’s lab work was slowly but surely making progress, but his work as Spider-Man seemed to be moving at a much faster pace. There was a Vulture guy, someone who you think might have been named Kraven? You couldn’t remember, but it was all utterly chaotic, and that didn’t even count all the other various gangs and mob bosses on a daily basis.
It was because of his desire to fight these sorts of crimes and stay on the street-level to protect the little guy that Peter refused to have anything to do with SHIELD, plus, well, his father did have a few words to say about that as well. Besides, Peter owed his life to being down in the streets with his favorite New Yorkers. After all, if he was too busy fighting aliens and galactic stuff, how could he have ever met you?
Although, to be fair, he definitely met you on accident. And, of course, he fell out of a portal. But his reasoning was that it was on a street — well, it was in an alley. That still counts, right?
“Did you make waffles for breakfast?” You asked with a smile on your face as you approached the kitchen.
“I actually made pancakes, and they came out absolutely disgusting, so I ordered some waffles. Look, look, I got Nutella and strawberries to go with it. And, and, and?” Peter ran to the refrigerator, yanked the door open, and dramatically fanned his arm out to the side to show the door, “We have whipped cream.”
“Are you sure? I thought we used it all on Friday night for human sundaes,” you leaned over the counter while Peter checked the can. You watched as he frowned and shook the empty can in his mouth before expertly tossing it into the recycling bin.
“Okay, so we don’t have that. But we have breakfast, and you’re going to have a magical day,” Peter said as he came around the counter and rested his hands on your hips. “It’ll be fine. You two get along better than you think.”
“I don’t know. He’s annoying.”
“Right, and you’re not?”
“Hey!” You pouted while he laughed and squished your cheeks in his hands before he pressed a kiss on your forehead. “Dickhead.”
“You happen to like my dick head, so,” Peter shrugged easily and escorted you to your seat. “It’ll be okay. Pepper will be there! You love Pepper.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure how she dealt with him for so long,” you sighed and sat down while Peter grabbed a strawberry and brought it to your lips. You spotted Peter’s hand, opened your mouth, and let him place the strawberry slice in your mouth, playfully biting the tip of his finger. He hissed and pouted before playfully squeezing your thigh and sliding into the other seat. Your shoulder sagged as you looked to him,“This is fine. Right?”
“It’s fine, honey,” Peter smiled softly as he stared at you. “You’re going to do great things, trust me.”
“Okay…” you sighed dramatically and grabbed your fork. “Hey, since there’s a multiverse — “
“No —“
“Do you think there’s one where Tony also has a kid? What’s she like, or he? Does he have a daughter in every universe? How —“
“I don’t know, and I couldn’t tell you anyway,” Peter told you.”
“But you trusted Happy because you saw him —“
“I —“ he paused for a moment as he stared at you and thought back to the day they learned your original name would’ve been some variation of MJ. Peter took a deep breath and shook his head, “I think you should focus on our universe and our life, no?”
“So boring,” you stuck your tongue out at him.
“Oh, really? You didn’t say that the other night,” Peter quipped. “In fact, I think it was along the lines of, mmf-hmph! mhm—“
Face burning in embarrassment even though no one was around to hear him tease you, you hurled a strawberry at his cheek. Peter was laughing hysterically as he let it land on his cheek, holding his gut and cackling while you hid your face in shame.
“Hey, no need to be embarrassed. We’ve practically perfected web bondage. I mean, did we rip off your mustache a little bit last time? Yes. We should probably stick to regular gags, but — ah!”
Peter jumped out of his chair and ran away from you as you jumped out and chased him. You cornered him into the bedroom where he let you spear him onto the bed. You grabbed your pillow and put it over his face. Leaning forward, you shushed him and told him to go to sleep while he flailed dramatically beneath you before going still.
Peter flipped you quickly after that, straddling your waist with his thighs while he laughed into the crook of your neck after tossing the pillow away. You were a giggling mess beneath him as one hand wound its way through his hair and the other ran up and down his back.
“I have to go,” he murmured after a few minutes of this cuddling. He pecked your neck before leaning up and kissing your lips. “Do you need a ride to work?”
“Uh,” you thought about it before being interrupted by your phone. Peter shot his web across the room to grab it and hand it to you. Checking the phone, you shook your head. “Nope, he told me it’s a late start because he wants to work on something tonight. So….”
“I’ll pick you up tonight when you guys are done, then,” Peter nodded and kissed you a third time before getting up. “Eat your breakfast! Take your vitamins, all that good shit.”
You shook your head and sat up just as he poked his head back into the bedroom, “Yes, Parker?”
He shot you a toothy grin, “I love you, Y/N.”
He still made your face heat up every time he said that, “I love you too, Peter. Now go! Don’t be late!”
“Who, me?” He called out to you as he grabbed his waffles, made a sandwich of it, and headed to the fire escape. “Never!”
Shaking your head, you flopped back down into bed and stared at the ceiling.
If only your mother could see you now, an amazing relationship, some sort of companionship with your father, a new place, an entirely new life for you. It was unlike anything you could’ve imagined. You wish she was here to celebrate it with you.
~*~
Late in the afternoon, you arrived at Stark Tower. It was more put together now than it had been, that’s for sure. Hell, it basically looked like it was finally completed and had some employees move in already.
You got off at the designated floor, the penthouse you had seen when Tony first bought the building. You quickly thought back to the day where you all met Nick Fury hiding in the darkness. You shook your head as you stepped out of the elevator and spotted Tony and Pepper immediately.
Tony was sitting on the sofa with an arm around the back. One leg crossed over the other as he whispered something in Pepper’s ear. You watched as she laughed and leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder as she muttered that he was deplorable.
“Spawn in the room,” you announced your presence as you stepped off of the elevator. Neither one jumped away like they’d been caught red-handed. Instead, they turned and greeted you with smiles. Well, Pepper smiled. Tony raised an eyebrow.
“You’re late.”
“You told me to come in late.”
“Right, and that was after you should’ve been here. So, technically, still late,” Tony said while Pepper sighed and lightly smacked his thigh. “What? It’s true.”
“It’s nice to see you, Y/N.” She said, loudly, and over Tony’s voice. “Come here, we were just going over the blueprints.”
“Yes, you can finally see what I’ve been working on that you’ve been denying yourself of,” Tony explained as raised his hands and brought the blueprints to life in hologram form.
“The holograms? Yeah, I know. I installed them for SHIELD because they couldn’t understand the blueprints you sent.”
“Yeah, I thought that’d be funny, really give them a test, yet only my Spawn could understand it. How precious,” Tony quipped. “But, no. I mean this, the tower. It’s going to run on arc reactor energy, completely clean. I’m going to give it a test run tonight and I want you to be a part of it.”
You blinked, “Why?”
“Eh, feels like this should be some father-daughter type of shit,” Tony shrugged casually, refusing to show an ounce of feelings of parental desire.
That wasn’t very, well, strange at this point. See, Tony hiding the fact that he was dying certainly put a strain on the relationship you two had been building. Pepper and Peter theorize it’s causing the two of you to put each other at a distance to not have any feelings hurt. Again. Both feel like you two are stunted morons and are waiting to see you two sobbing in each other’s arms one day.
You’re their favorite idiots, though.
“Okay, then. A very, very large arc reactor to power an entire building —“
“And part of it is underwater but that’s neither here nor there and we have nothing illegal or questionable to worry about,” Tony said.
You looked to Pepper who nodded, “I took care of it.”
“Great,” You set your bag down on a chair and rubbed your hands together. “Okay, then. What can I do?”
Later that evening, surrounded by containers of takeout and a bottle of champagne that had yet to be open, you and Pepper were hanging around the workbench while Tony was flying out to dive under the Hudson and take the tower off the grid.
While he was doing this, the elevator doors opened and Peter was exiting the elevator and heading towards you with a smile on his face and a black jewelry box in his hand. When you turned around and spotted the box, you tilted your head to the side curiously while Pepper beamed and greeted him.
“Hey, Peter. How are you?”
“I’m great, Ms. Potts, thanks. How are you doing? Still sane after being with these two?”
“I think sane is a debatable term in their presence,” Pepper teased.
“Okay. Rude,” you nodded while Peter leaned in and kissed you. “Hi there.”
He grinned, “Hey. Look, I got you something —“
“Peter, this seems potentially expensive — “
“Just open it,” Peter insisted, pushing the box into your hands.
You glanced over your shoulder at Pepper who smirked to herself and turned around, focusing her attention on Tony and the work he was doing. You weighed the box in your hands for a few seconds before lifting the lid. What you found inside made you cackle quickly before reaching your hand in. Peter watched in utter delight as you lifted up a brand new stun gun in your favorite color, “You didn’t!”
“I did,” Peter beamed. “I know you lost yours, and you kept forgetting to get a new one, so I got you a brand-new, trusty tool for self-defense.”
“You are a sweet man, Parker. Thank you,” You cupped his chin and gave him a kiss before spinning around and waving the weapon around with glee. Peter shook his head as he set down his jacket and backpack and walked up to the desk to inquire what Tony was working on.
Pepper explained what was happening while Tony was working. When he announced that he was returning and that all they had to do was the work on their end, you happily pressed the button while Pepper spoke to Tony.
And flirted.
You looked at Pepper with a mock expression of horror while she shot you a wink and continued on.
“How are we doing?” Tony asked as he approached. “Looks operational. Am I a god or what? Ladies, how does it feel to know an absolute genius while also being absolute geniuses — Oh, hey, Cummy Parker.”
“Tony!” Pepper hissed quietly.
Peter shook his head, “Hey, Tony. Nice tower.”
“Thank you. Maybe one day you too can be this brilliant,” Tony teased, his back to you as he leaned in to kiss Pepper, all the while you ere slowly raising your taser.
Peter caught this and slowly lowered your hand, even though it would be amazing to see you stun him.
Again.
You looked up at Peter and pouted while Pepper and Tony were flirting, pouring champagne, and moving into the living room. Peter smiled down at you and shot you a wink before kissing your forehead and coaxing the stun gun back into the case.
Suddenly the elevator doors opened, and you all turned to see Agent Phil Coulson entering the party.
“Security breach! It’s on you,” Tony told Pepper as the two of them stood up from the sofa.
“Hey, Coulson,” You smiled and waved to the agent as Pepper greeted him.
"Phil, hi!” She smiled brightly. “Come in.”
“Phil?" Tony questioned as she quickly made her way over to him.
“I can’t stay,” he nodded to Pepper before glancing at you and Peter. “Ms. L/N, Mr. Parker, it’s good to see you both as well. However, I’m afraid I’m afraid I come with business.”
“That’s okay, Phil,” Peter began.
Tony scoffed, “What is happening? His first name is ‘Agent.’ Never forget that,” Tony replied.
Ignoring Tony, as one must do to deal with him, Phil lifted the portfolio tucked under his arm and attempted to hand it to Tony while saying they needed him to look at it. Tony, of course, did not like to be handed things, so Pepper took it from him, gave him champagne, and then handed the portfolio to Tony.
“Should I be here for this?” Peter leaned down to whisper in your ear as they talked about the Avenger Initiative. “After all, I said no.”
“As did I, and Tony was rejected. You’re fine, Peter,” you replied back in a whisper. “But, you know, at least you weren’t rejected.” You said loudly, locking eyes with your father.
“Apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others,” Tony explained as he brought the device over to his workbench.
“Well, who doesn’t know that?” Pepper quipped to Phil who smiled ever so slightly.
“This isn’t about personality profiles anymore,” Phil insisted.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Tony brushed him off. “Ms. Potts, can I have you over here for a second.”
Pepper excused herself, leaving you, Peter, and Phil to stand around each other while they spoke quietly. You paused your lips and nodded a few times as you shoved your hands into the pockets of your slacks. “So, how’s SHIELD?”
“Good, good. We took care of that New Mexico problem,” Phil explained. “You were right, mythical weaponry definitely only moved for one reason.”
You smirked, “I told you so.”
Peter balked. “Wait. What happened in New Mexico?’
“Classified,” Phil told Peter. “But it could very easily be unclassified, should your career aspirations desire a change. You’d be a wonderful team player. Actually, we’d like you in on this as well.”
“Leave the kids out of it,” Tony’s voice was heard across the room, arm waving back at Phil while he kept his eyes on the holograms of various people fighting in front of him. “They stay out of it.”
You rolled your eyes, “We can make our own decisions.”
“You couldn’t even decide what you wanted for lunch today,” Tony answered. “They stay out if it, far, far out of it.”
“I think he’s still upset that giant Russian guy threatened you,” Peter said quietly before turning to Phil. “I’ve got my own work down here, but if you guys need me, I’m just a phone call away.” Peter blinked for a moment, wondering if this man knew of his other identity. “I mean, well — “
“We’ll keep that in mind, Spider-Man,” Phil winked and turned his attention to an approaching Pepper who asked for a ride to the airport. Phil said his goodbyes and left with Pepper.
You and Peter joined Tony’s side, curious as to what he was studying. You and Peter were marveling at what was being displayed, all the while, Peter was thinking about what an Avenger was, his mind going back to the young Peter Parker he had met right before he met you.
“Wow,” you trailed off. “So that’s what they did after New Mexico. Loki Laufeyson, interesting,” you mumbled to yourself as your eyes went to the blue cube. “This looks dangerous.”
“This looks like it’s not in your job description. “Tony quickly put it away. “You two need a ride somewhere?”
“I’ve got us covered,” Peter spoke up.
“Good. Beat it, I’ve got some work to do. Try not to get kidnapped or anything, would ya?” Tony said as you and Peter started to walk towards the balcony.
“I’ll leave the kidnappings to you,” you replied as you wrapped your arms around Peter’s shoulders. You looked at Tony and sighed watching him bring everything back up to study over. You then turned your attention to Peter, “Be gentle with this drop. I’m still not used to this.”
Peter snickered to himself, “That’s not what you said last night —“
“You’re disgusting, go home!” Tony roared as he fought off the potential trauma this could induce in him.
Arriving at home after picking up some takeout, you and Peter climbed onto the sofa together, limbs tangled up in one another���s as you both put on a movie to watch while you ate.
“Do you think they’ll call for help?” Peter asked you after a few minutes of silence.
“Nah,” you shook your head as you took a bite of food. “We’ll probably see them fuck something up on the news, though.”
Peter nodded and stared at the TV, “So, did you know Captain America was back?”
You cleared your throat, “That’s classified, Peter. I mean, why would I, of Stark DNA working with SHIELD, know of Captain America’s return?”
“You fucking knew didn’t you?”
“Golly, what is this movie? So..interesting,” you joked as you ignored him.
#tasm! peter parker x reader#series: do you like pizza?#series: do you like waffles?#peter parker x reader#stark! reader#peter parker x stark!reader#tasm! peter x reader#tasm! peter parker x stark! reader#peter parker#stark!reader#peter park imagine#peter parker fic#spider-man#fluff#marvel#mcu#andrew garfield#tasm! peter parker#tasm! peter#tasm!spider-man#spider-man x reader
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Peter Parker x Reader Moodboard
#valentine's day moodboard#Peter Parker x Reader Moodboard#tasm! peter parker#The Amazing Spider-Man#where dreamers go
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so here’s the deal: i’m trying to write the second part to infrunami, but i’m having some hockey peter brain rot (not to mention my constant sirius black cravings). i know i just did this, but i need help
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker x you#peter parker x fem!reader#hockey peter parker#tasm! peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker#tasm! peter parker#peter parker x y/n#peter parker imagine
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