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literaila · 5 months

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i’ll tell you in the morning

tasm!peter x reader

summary:

“you’re going to fall through the couch.”

“the couch would never betray me.”

warnings: overly considerate peter, scheming reader, fluff and stuff

“you’re supposed to be in bed.”

his voice rolls, like a click on a cassette, and you know that peter is not really there.

because it’s all a little blurry. his voice, the door opening, the feeling when he kneels down next to you, his breath hot in your ear.

it’s all some remanent of a dream. a brief moment where you might wake up, but decide not to.

“i’m serious,” his voice ebbs and flows, waving in and out, like your consciousness. “you know i don’t like it when you wait up for me.”

you groan and roll even further into the couch. your face is smushed, and your hair is a mess, sweaty because you’re drowning under every blanket in the house. it smells like cotton, and peter’s deodorant, and potato chips that you probably dropped through the cushions.

you dig your nose in deeper, trying to get back to that dream.

peters probably not actually there, you think, because if he was he would’ve kissed you awake. his hand would be lazily running through your hair, and his body would be pressed against yours. you would be cuddling by now.

real peter is much nicer than dream peter, who shakes your shoulder, albeit massaging you right afterward. “c’mon, bug, we’re going to bed.”

“sleeping,” you mumble, pulling away from him.

dream peter continues to try and wake you up, while you wonder—amidst the dream, no doubt—when real peter will be home. you want to be drowning in his collarbone instead of your own sweat.

there’s a kiss next to your ear. “you’re going to fall through the couch.”

“the couch would never betray me.”

“we’ll see if you’re saying that in the morning, when your neck is bent the wrong way,” he whispers, and rests his head against yours. you feel it as he breathes out, relaxes. almost like he’s purring into your ear.

so you keen into him, a bit awkwardly, considering that it’s his forehead. “why’d you wake me up?”

“you can’t sleep here.”

“c’mere,” you murmur to him, your hand wrapping around the back of his neck, fingertips just brushing his hair. “cuddle with me.”

“being cute isn’t going to stop me from moving you.”

“peter,” you try and push him away, “go to bed.”

“why are you out here?” his nose trails down your hair, to your neck. “it’s almost four in the morning.”

you ponder this, and decide that you don’t really remember what you were doing before you fell asleep here, with your hand shoved in the crook of your neck. “the beds cold,” you slur, head falling back into the cushions as you doze.

“that’s because all of the blankets are out here. why didn’t you turn the heat up?”

he’s playing with some baby hair by your ear now, trying to lull you to sleep, probably, because he loves you.

“i was waiting for you,” you whisper this like a prayer, “and now you’re here.”

“you waited in the wrong spot. i would’ve come to bed with you. there’s no room for me here,” he smiles when you finally turn your head towards him. he’s got a smudge on his nose, and his eyes are sunken in—aged from exhaustion.

“i know.”

you’re both whispering. trying not to wake that drowsy, lovesick part of yourself right now.

“hmm?” he leans into you, nose brushing your cheek. almost like he’s breathing you in. “what, bug?”

“i wanted to fall asleep with you.”

then his eyes are wide open, and he leans back, brows furrowed in a tight line. “i told you i was going out.”

you muse at his confused face, and lean back towards him. “i know. i didn’t know when you’d be home.”

“you could’ve called.”

“i’m not going to interrupt your repertoire with a burglar at midnight. it’s rude.”

“not to me.”

you tsk, and lean away, back into the pillow comforting you while simultaneously scheming to ruin your morning.

“you need more sleep than i do,” peter adds, trying to keep you awake with his sheer willpower, his hands squirm under your shoulders. “we’ve talked about this.”

“no, you threatened to tell my mom—“

“that’s not what i said,” peter interrupts, groaning into the sofa.

“that i wasn’t getting enough sleep. and i said that you could make your own decisions, but that i wasn’t going to stop waiting up for you.”

“it makes me feel bad,” he ignores your gentle protesting. “i don’t want to keep you up.”

“peter, it’s not like you’re out dancing with strippers.”

he laughs, unexpectedly. and you grin back at him, with a sheer conviction undiluted by any hints of remaining sleep.

“you’re up helping people. i don’t mind waiting for you,” you emphasize this by leaning in to kiss his forehead, tasting sweat and not minding at all.

“you’re going to be tired tomorrow. when did you fall asleep?”

you acknowledge your win for what it is, and sit up on the couch, looking around your apartment like you can’t remember where you are. “probably an hour ago. i didn’t know when you’d be home, and i waited a while, but then i moved to the couch so you’d have to wake me up if i fell asleep.”

“so this was an elaborate scheme, huh?” peter laughs at you as his teeth graze your cheek. his chaste kiss makes you warm.

“i learned from the best.”

peter chuckles against you, and the two of you sit like that for a moment. calculating each others breathing like there’s something you might miss, however brief.

and then you smile at him, and he smiles back. “bed?” he asks you, softly, fingertip running against the skin of your jaw. you nod.

his arms wrap around you as he picks you up, your head rested comfortably on his shoulder, legs wrapped around his waist.

“i’m leaving you on the couch next time,” he threatens as he walks, “just so you know.”

“then we’ll both wake up with sore backs. not just you.”

peter snorts. “i didn’t say i would be there.”

“like you can sleep without me.”

he doesn’t say anything to that, but you feel him murmur in your hair suspiciously.

peter sets you down on the bed softly, pushing your legs so you’ll lay down, then covering you with the comforter. he tucks you in like any average middle aged dad.

when you grin he nods, very satisfied with himself.

“i’m just gonna change,” he says, taking a step back.

“hurry. i’m tired.”

“now, look who’s talking,” he shakes his head, but moves swiftly to the bathroom. you hear it as he runs the sink, as he bangs his foot on something and curses, and when he pads back into the bedroom, looking like a young child sneaking out of bed in his pajamas.

you laugh. “where did you get those?”

peter looks down to himself. to the many cartoon styled spider-man’s dancing across his cotton pajama set. “what? this old thing.”

“i don’t think i can be seen in public with you if you’re wearing that.”

“we are in the privacy of our bedroom,” he points out.

“i don’t think i can be in the same room with you if you’re wearing that.”

peter shakes his head, pouting like he’s disappointed, but he slips the shirt off, a concession he’s apparently willing to make.

though you don’t doubt that there are ulterior motives to this move.

“c’mon,” you whine to him, “i’m cold.”

“you’re so needy.”

you roll your eyes, but sink into him as he shuffles from beside you, laying his head near yours. “you’re not coddling me.”

“i’m so very sorry, my dear,” he whispers, and wraps his arms around you.

“shh,” you nuzzle your nose into his neck, and murmur against his hot skin. “i want to go back to the dream i was having.”

peter must be laughing at you, you can tell, even slightly asleep, because something jostles you.

“what was it about?”

you smile against him, listening to his heart like a hymn you’re devoted to. “i’ll tell you in the morning.”

he whispers something, brief, a whisper in the quiet of the room. but you feel the words as he settles into the bed, his calloused hands running over your skin.

and you fall asleep; hands clutching the others heart.

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spider-stark · 1 year

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SPIDER-BOY

Pairing - Peter Parker x Reader

Summary - Thinking he has no chance with y/n as himself, Peter begins approaching them as Spider-Man.

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// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

Two months.

That was how long it had been since Peter first indulged in his ridiculous idea of talking to you under the guise of Spider-Man. Of course he hadn’t meant for it to last this long, promising himself that it was just to help him build his confidence–maybe even learn a bit about what kind of things you liked–so that he could actually ask you out as himself. Unfortunately, though, things hadn’t gone quite as he had planned.

Spider-Man offered him a type of courage that he just wasn’t able to muster as Peter Parker. Under the cover of his mask he was able to come across as easy-going and flirtatious, never failing to leave your cheeks a deep crimson from the playful banter. Yet, when he did manage to speak to you as plain ole’ Peter, all of that was suddenly lost on him, leaving him a complete and total bumbling mess. As far as he was concerned, Peter Parker had no chance to be what any girl wanted, especially you. But Spider-Man was a different story.

And so he continued to exploit Spider-Man, using the masked hero as a means to continue getting closer to you, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to hide behind his secret identity forever. To be fair, he would rationalize to himself, Spider-Man had taken a lot from him, it was only fair that he got something in return.

Plus, the interactions had been mostly innocent. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself, opting to ignore the many times that coy attitudes began to border on actual sexual attraction. He tried not to think about those times (though there had been many nights where he purposely let those interactions slip into his mind, reliving them from the privacy of his bedroom), instead just promising himself that he wouldn’t let his romantic escapades as Spidey go too far.

“So,” your voice filled his ears, his heart skipping a few beats at the sound, “at what point should I start to wonder if you’re stalking me?”

Peter chuckled at the question, his fingers gripping the railing of the balcony to your apartment, effortlessly hanging from it. “Do you feel like I’m stalking you?”

“Hm,” you placed a finger against your chin, pretending to be deep in thought, evoking even more laughter from the boy. “Maybe a bit.”

“Oh yeah? What did I do to give that impression?”

“Well, to be fair, you’re currently dangling a couple hundred feet in the air off the side of my balcony.” You told him matter-of-factly, gesturing to where he was still hanging from the railing.

His brows furrowed beneath his mask, an expression that was barely noticeable due to the fabric covering his face. “And that makes me a stalker? I thought you’d find it romantic, a sort of Romeo-and-Juliet moment.”

“Romeo threw pebbles at her window, he didn’t scale an entire apartment building dressed in spandex.” You reminded him, “But, actually, it’s more so that I don’t remember ever giving you my address.”

Peter froze for a moment, having not thought about the fact that your previous run-ins with Spider-Man had always been in public spaces–catching you after work or just happening to bump into you on the street while patrolling–never at your home. He only knew where you lived because you had told him, but as Peter Parker, not Spider-Man, when the two of you were assigned to a project together last week. He mentally face-palmed at his own ignorance.

“Superheroes keep up with where all the pretty girls live. One of the lesser-known parts of the job.” He quipped, hoping that flattery would keep you from thinking too much into it. You only rolled your eyes at the comment, luckily not pressing any further.

“So what did I do to deserve a surprise Spidey visit this time?” You hummed, leaning back against the cold brick of your apartment building.

Peter hoisted himself over the edge of the balcony so that he was standing across from you, his arms finally beginning to ache from holding up his bodyweight for so long. “What, I’ve gotta have a reason to stop by and see my favorite civilian?”

“Civilian?” You snorted. “And here I was thinking you and I were friends.”

He dramatically placed his hands on either side of his face, feigning shock at your words, “Oh God no! You and me? Friends?” he let his hands fall to his waist, an exaggerated breath leaving his mouth, “No, not at all. I think that would be a conflict of interest.”

You cocked a brow at him, “How so?”

“I mean–I just think it would really interfere with our whole superhero slash damsel-in-distress routine, ya know?”

“Damsel-in-distress?” You gasped incredulously at the claim, though the corners of your mouth were still quirked up in a smile.

Peter nodded, “Uh, yeah. That’s literally our whole thing, isn’t it? You constantly running into trouble, me swinging in and saving your life.”

“You haven’t had to save my life once Spider-Boy.” Peter scoffed at the name, acting like he was insulted.

“Oh c’mon!” Peter dragged the word out, practically whining as he took a fraction of a step towards you, the movement enough to leave only a few inches between the both of you due to how small the balcony was. “You are literally always getting yourself into danger.”

“Okay,” You crossed your arms over your chest, craning your neck so that you could actually look up at him, the masked vigilante having several inches on you, “give me an example then.”

Peter rolled his eyes, a gesture only evident by the dramatic way his head moved along with them. He reached a gloved hand to your face, letting his fingertip gently brush against the semi-healed cut along your forehead. “You literally got this by tripping over your own shoes and banging your head against the counter at a coffee shop. Not to mention the fact that you spilled your entire coffee on yourself in the process.” He trailed away from the cut, moving to brush a stray hair behind your ear. He didn’t take his hand away, though, letting it rest against the side of your face. “You are always in danger because you are the danger.”

Your eyes widened for a moment, so quick that he didn’t even notice the reaction. He was right, you had done that, an unfortunate consequence of being the clumsiest person alive. But, still, his words left you confused; remaining silent for just a moment as you turned them over in your head. When you finally opened your mouth to speak you were cut off by the sound of distant sirens, a groan immediately coming from him, knowing that your interaction would now be cut short.

His thumb brushed against your cheek, acting as an unnecessary silent apology.

“Sounds like somebody needs Spider-Man.” You told him as he let his hand fall from your skin, forcing himself to the railing. If he didn’t go now, he wouldn’t leave at all. “You better hurry, it could be one of those pretty girls you keep tabs on.” You shot a teasing grin in his direction, referencing his earlier comment.

“Ugh, they just never give me a day off.” He joked, swinging his feet over the balcony railing before gripping onto it and allowing himself to once again hang from it. “Try not to trip into anything dangerous until I’m back.”

He turned his head and reached one hand out, likely to shoot a web at the building across from yours, but hesitated when he heard you speak again, a sudden panic filling his body at your words, “Be safe, Parker.”

The sirens continued blaring, growing closer with each second, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heart wildly thumping against his chest. “What?” He sounded completely dumbfounded, his head slowly turning back to look at you, only to find you standing with your own finger pointing to the cut he had traced on your forehead, a wide grin on your face.

“Spider-Man wasn’t there the day that I fell.” You shot a knowing glance in his direction, one that had his cheeks heating up. He had never been more thankful to be wearing a mask, aware that his face was likely beet red. “I asked Peter to meet me there so I could borrow his biology notes.”

Peter didn’t speak, too stunned by his own stupidity for slipping up and not thinking about how he was there that day as himself, not Spider-Man. This time you were the one to take a step forward and close the gap between you, having to lean down just a bit in order to be face-to-face as he dangled from the railing.

“You’re a lot more confident in the suit.” You mused, your hands finding the base of his mask, lightly tugging the material up to reveal his face. Even though it was dark out you could still see that he was blushing. “But I prefer you without it.”

His jaw fell slack, words getting caught in his throat as a million thoughts raced through his mind, though one thought in particular was a lot louder than the rest: I prefer you without it.

“You should definitely go.” The sirens were now close enough that you could actually see the faint red-and-blue lights a few streets over. He looked in the direction of them but still didn’t make a single move to leave. You seemed to recognize his hesitation, tugging the mask back down over his face. “If you ever remember how to talk then you can come back when you’re done. But ditch the mask.”

Peter nodded at your words, his eyes remaining glued to you as you straightened back up, turning your back to him to go back inside your apartment–leaving him to go off and be a hero. Once you were inside he couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head as he forced himself to get into motion, swinging in the direction of the police lights.

Turns out Peter Parker did have a chance.

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agusrkive · 4 months

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Some say love is a burning thing

what would it be like to go on a date with tasm!peter who’s just head-over-heels in love with you as much as you are with him—

cw: fluff, fluff, fluff

going on a date with Peter would include him being all over you and your face would heat up wondering how the hell did you even manage to get this man in your grasp?

as if that wasn’t enough, he’d also pepper your face full of kisses until you hide from embarrassment. you were in public for god’s sake! and he’d make it up to you by pulling you to his chest with his arms around you like a vice in case you try to slip away from his grasp and his lips on the side of your head "aww did I make my girl shy?" the tone in his voice was teasing. you let it slide, but not without sending a playful punch to his chest. you look up at him with a frown, his full height towering yours. you weren’t small, he was just very tall and gorgeous. he leans down a little and you avert your gaze trying your hard to stay annoyed at the man, but you fail anyway when you steal a glance at him and see the look on his face. nothing but endearment and full of admiration like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened in his entire life.

so you give in and booped his nose with your finger. he’s so cute you thought as you let out a small giggle and stand on your tippy toes before giving him a quick peck on the lips. you caught him off guard and he pouts.

“kiss”

"but I just gave you one.” you tease him a little more and he just rolls his eyes. now he’s the annoyed one.

"that was merely a peck, need a real one.” he whined and pursed his lips at you. you grin at him while he just stands there like he’s not going to budge until you give him what he wants. you

not wanting to make it hard for him anymore, you grabbed his face and pulled him down to you. his mouth came crashing with yours and you feel yourself melt with his kiss. the way he moves his lips against yours is enough to send your mind in a frenzy. his kisses are soft and gentle, but hungry with need. you feel him pulling you against him even more closer as he try to deepen the kiss. it lasted more for a minute or two before you decided to pull away remembering again that you’re in a public place. god you could never get enough of him

“too much?” he chuckles while you just nod your head at him, face still looking a little red at the public display of affection that you two just had. you look around and find no signs of people nearby. you sighed in relief and you felt Peter grabbing your hand.

“let’s get you home now,” he said as you trailed on behind him, hands we’re intertwined with each finger, his palm was so warm against yours. it was big, but not too much as it just perfectly fit yours making your heart flutter at the sight. you walked a little faster to catch up with the big stride of his legs and now you’re walking side by side with him thinking how lucky and happy you are right now.

#tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #peter parker x reader #fluff #tasm fanfiction #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter smut #mutual pinning #established relationship

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spiderfunkz · 4 months

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thinking about peter parker whos girlfriend is a total book nerd . . . where he'd always take you on dates to the bookstore and insists on buying you a new book. where he'd follow you around the store like a lost puppy while you run around trying to find the book you want.

peter parker who'd always be there to comfort you when your favorite character meets their end, where he would say, "maybe they'll get resurrected in the next book, who knows?" while awkwardly smiling, which usually puts you in the mood again to smile and laugh at his attempt to comfort you. "the series is done peter, that was the last book." you sniff, "hey maybe they'll do a cameo in the prequel!"

peter parker who'd listen to your rambles about your most recent read and do research afterwards because he couldn't process all the lore properly and got confused halfway as you were talking. but even when he is confused, he still listens and nods anyways.

peter parker who waited for it to rain at night so he could recreate the 'kissing & dancing in the rain' scene from one of your favorite books because you wouldn't stop talking about it, and he personally thinks you deserve to experience that at least once. you both ended up getting a cold

peter parker who lays beside you and reads comics while you're reading your books. where he'd slowly inch closer and closer to you and rest his head on your shoulder, placing his comic book down and just slowly fall asleep on your shoulder as you whisper the lines from your book.

peter parker who'd secretly read along from behind and dramatically gasps when a character does something remotely weird. where at the end you two would just start gossiping about how that character would do such things.

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 year

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PREACHERS DAUGHTER- P.B PARKER

Pairing: Best Friend! Peter x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: you and peter were complete opposites, you the goodie two shoes preachers daughter, him the bad boy next door. yet fate has pulled the two of you together, and you can’t help but feel a certain lust for him.

Warnings: ORAL (fem), teasing, kissing, marking, pet names, best friends falling in luvvv, swearing, weed involved, booze mentioned, praise kink, masturabtion mentioned, lotsss of dirty talk, peter blowing smoke into reader mouth

based of the album- preachers daughter, by ethel cain

It was mesmerizing- the way his fingers moved.

You felt as if you were under a trance, the watch on the chain swinging back in forth in front of your eyes, hypnotizing you.

His rings, silver and shining in the pale moonlight the clock hands, the veins that ran up his wrists acted as the numbers that blurred together after some time.

Each component drew you in as his fingers strummed each string, moving up and down the fingerboard to play each chord, a sweet melody emerging from the instrument.

Your mind was far, far off from the homework you swore to yourself you would be doing tonight, despite having your best friend over. You knew you couldn't focus on anything but him, yet you let him slip through your window, with the cracked and peeling paint you refused to paint over- because you and Peter were the reason for its damage.

You refused to change anything he had touched or wrecked, whether that be the broken dresser handle that was hanging on for dear life, or the jumble of photos the two of you had pasted on your walls while drunk out of your minds.

They looked awful, all crooked and cluttered to fuck, but you didn’t touch them.

Refused to. If Peter placed them there, that's where they stayed.

You looked up at them now, gaze focusing on the smiling faces that stared back at you, that watched over your every move- in a comforting sense. Their presence lingered, as you peered back over to Peter, following the sound of strum from the strings, the sound coming to a screeching halt as he suddenly fished for something in his ripped jean pocket.

He was so beautiful when he was concentrated.

The subtlety bite of his lip, pearly whites tugging on the flesh with a sense of urgency as his jaw would clench. The way his messy, slightly ruffled russet hair would fall in front of his eyes, rings glimmering as he slid his hand through the locks to push it back into place.

You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, wanted to tug on them to make him hiss in pleasure, the way he did the one night he had decided to use your thighs as a pillow. Peter's reaction was tenuous, a slight growl escaping from the cage of his clenched teeth.

You noticed, though. You always noticed, when it came to him.

“Bunny? You want one?” he asked softly, pre-rolled in blunt twirling between his large fingers, making you stare in awe.

“Bun?”

Oh shit, you were staring.

“N-no Pete it’s okay. I’m good for now.” you smiled, a heat rising to your cheeks as you forced yourself to stare back down at your tattered notebook filled with scribbles and numbers you had no clue what to do with.

It was better than looking at his fingers and getting caught again.

Anything was.

“Alright pretty but you let me know if you want one okay? Your asshole of a father won't find out, if that's what you're worried about.” he chuckled softly, throwing you a wink as he toyed with the drug, a cat with its dinner.

Of course that's what you were worried about. You were the minister's daughter, a holy saint if there ever was one. The good girl, your father's little angel.

We have a reputation to uphold Y/L/N. Don't mess it up, or there'll be consequences. Big ones.

You had followed his words as he did with passages in that dog-eared bible of his, the rosemary beads sprawled out as a bookmark for his pages.

So, how in the world did Peter Parker- the boy wrapped in sin your father warned you about, end up as your best friend, the man you trusted with your life? You didn't know, but you were thankful for it.

It made you laugh every time Peter offered you a smoke, he knew your answer had never changed, yet he always offered anyways. He was sweet that way. It was different with weed, you supposed.

You were always terrified your father would be able to see right through you, be able to sniff the drugs on you like a hound dog. You made excuses for booze.

Your father provided red wine during Sunday services, the blood of the lord for all to taste, cannibalism in its cleanest, purest form. Counting on two hands the number of times you and Peter had snuck into the old, gothic church your father managed, getting drunk off the wine in the wooden pews under the stained glass windows was impossible.

You watched as Peter leaned his guitar against the windowsill, grabbing a lighter from his other pocket, the snake tattoos curled and wrapped along his finger seeming to hiss at you in the dim light of your room.

“Peter?” you called, making his head snap up, the fire from his light diminishing as fast as it came. “C-can I light it for you?” you asked shyly, watching as that boyish grin that you loved so much came to his face, dimples appearing as he took you in, realizing you were serious.

“You wanna be an angel and help me out eh?” he teased, making you nod frantically.

Angel.

The words alone had your toes curling in your thigh-high socks you knew Peter adored, his fingers always seeming to toy with the little black bows whenever he got the chance. He towered over you even more than he already did as he stood, making his way over to where your body was lounging on the ruffled white sheets.

“Dad’s not home ya know. I forgot about that.” you tugged on your inner cheek, watching as Peter dropped to his knees before you, like a devil about to spread its wings.

Begging for mercy before you.

“Does that mean you do wanna hit then?” he asked, blunt between his teeth as your thumb flicked the flame to life, watching the blues and oranges crackle as you lit his joint.

“Don’t know how.” you shrugged, watching as he exhaled, the sweet sickly smell of weed filling your senses as he exhaled.

“We can try something if you want bunny. D’trust me?” You nodded, eager to obey his commands. He smiled, rings cold against your chin as he grabbed it lightly, the pads of his fingers slightly calloused from the strings.

“Say ahh bunny.” You opened your mouth widely, the smoke he had inhaled floating into your mouth as he exhaled, fogging up your lungs. He was so close you could hear the thud of his heartbeat, could feel the soft heat rolling off him in waves to soothe you in a gentle embrace.

“Atta girl!” he laughed as you felt the sticky taste coat the back of your throat, mouth turning dry as the Saraha.

“Peter this tastes like shit.” you groaned, coughing and sputtering as he gently slapped your arm. “No swearing. Or else I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.” he teased, making you burst out in laughter as he rolled onto the bed, smooshing your lower half with his bodyweight- making you groan as his head lolled.

You felt your skin warm to the touch with how close he was to you, your legs parted slightly so he could wedge his way between them and rest on you.

“I gotta do my homework silly.” you smiled as he took another puff, his eyes turning a fair shade of red as he watched the smoke slither upwards.

“I can be your study buddy if ya want.”

“I’d get no work done if you were my study buddy. You distract me too much.” you teased, giggling as his hand reached over to tickle your thigh gently. “We’d make such a great team. We could be on the mathletes together bunny.”

You rolled your eyes at his sly commentary, a hand slipping through the soft, messy tumbles of his hair as he sighed in happiness. Nails began to scratch his scalp soothingly, and his chest began to rumble- purring like a cat as you tended to him.

Just as you wanted.

The curtains rustled in the breeze that snaked through the cracked window goosebumps appearing on your bare skin as the papes blew. You looked out through the glass, scoping out the graves that surrounded your house.

You could map out the entire cemetery as you had lived in this old, creaking house your entire life- could picture every little twisted path and old rusting benches that were scattered. It was peaceful here, the only real company consisted of the ghosts and Peter when he came over to visit.

Your father was never really present, too busy with the works of the church than his own flesh and blood.

It was an easy silence between the two of you, one you enjoyed immensely. It was different than the other silences you had dealt with in your lifetime- long and uncomfortable. With Peter, they were pleasant and easy, a place where you could be in your own thoughts and not feel bad about it.

You were lost in them now, as you looked down at him.

He’s never looked so beautiful. How did I get so lucky- to score him as my best friend?

Continuing your head scratches, you let your head lull against the headboard, closing your eyes to tune out the world. He continued to smoke, hand resting on your thigh with each inhale.

“You got somewhere I can put this angel?” he asked, hand waving as he gestured to the stump of the blunt, the weed diminishing. You hadn't realized how much time had passed, the hands on the clock hoping forward since the last time you had looked over at them.

“Over there is fine.” you pointed to the little dish on the dresser you had left for him whenever he was over, degrading it whenever your father returned home.

You didn't comment on how much Peter had smoked, just as you didn't comment on how much whisky your father drank whenever he got mad.

You didn't care enough.

He shuffled up, puffing the remainder towards you, the smoke cascading around your cheeks, tickling your eyelashes as the old bed creaked.

“You’re such a doll, you know that?” You smiled.

“Maybe. It's not like you tell me allll the time or anything.” you teased, poking fun at how sweet he was to you. No one was as ever kind to you as Peter was. It made your insides tingle, made your skin all sensitive to the touch.

He smiled that cheeky grin that drove you wild, tapping the ash into the dish before he crushed it with his fingers, rings glittering in the soft candlelight. Your homework was long forgotten at this point, your attention solely focused on the beautiful angel of a man that stood before you at the foot of your bed.

“Hi.” you waved to him, his hand raising to wave back from across the room.

“Hi bunny.”

“Cmere.” you insisted, and he smirked as he crawled onto the bed, the look in his eye hungry as he took you in. You looked at him now, really looked at him as his strong arms slid to each side of you, caging you in his hold.

He was black and blue, the beautiful melancholy shades in between. The way he loved was different than anything you had experienced before. It was scary, a freefall into the depths of the icy water you were scared to tread. But it was numbing- the way he cared.

A soft and sweet energy, that pricked you gently like pins and needles. His breath was warm as he refused to break eye contact and you wanted to shrink into the depths of the mattress as you felt yourself cave.

“I bet you taste so good.” he confessed softly, his words making you shudder with delight.

You knew where this was going. It was heading down the old beaten path the two of you had stumbled down so many times, when you were both drunk off sin in the walls of the church.

You liked it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah angel. Mmm god I think about tasting you all the time, your skin, your lips, your fingertips..” he trailed off, head dropping down to your chest, rubbing his nose against the skin of your collarbone.

You felt your hips wriggle, wetness seeping into your panties. “What do you think they taste like?” you sighed as his teeth gently grazed you, biting into your flesh to mark it as his own.

“Like cinnamon n sugar. So. Fuckin. Sweet.” he kissed your neck between each word as you gigged softly, his plump lips making you squirm.

“You’re so addicting baby. The things I wanna do to you…” he smirked, licking a stipe where your silky nightgown dipped, revealing the slight curve of your breasts.

Heels were dug into the ruffled sheets, the sound of your books falling to the hardwood below echoed as the strong breeze brushed you again. No amount of wind could chill the fire that was burning in your veins right now.

“But we can’t do them. Cause we’re best friends.” you pouted, running your fingers along the back of his neck, curving them around to trace each vein that pulsed as he shivered.

“Who says?” he whispered, like he was in a trance, and you felt your dress being pushed up, up, up to pool around your waist, your stomach exposed as his head dipped down towards it.

“Best friends do everything together bunny. Don't you think about me like I think about you?” he asked mischievously and you nodded frantically.

“Mmm sometimes.”

“Cause I think about you alll the time. Think about how good you’d be for me when I’m strokin my dick.” he confessed, shuffling down to trail kisses across your stomach, your legs spreading wider as he found his home between them.

“Y-yeah?” you whimpered, heart beating so fast you heard the blood racing in your ears, his voice sounding distant. It was hard to focus, but at the same time it was hard to focus on anything but him.

The human body was a funny thing, sometimes. How yours could bend and contract to his will at the whisper of his voice, at the touch of his skin.

“Mmm yeah. You make me wanna do such bad bad things. But you’re too sweet for that.”

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

“Peter-”

“Can I tase you? Please? Just a lil lick, I swear.”

You moaned at his words alone. How did they sound so sweet, so innocent when there was so much filth behind them? You could never say no to him.

Never.

“Please.” you urged, the chill breeze making you tremble as he removed your thong, your knees bent slightly over his shoulders. It happened in a blur, time seeming to jump and snap back again as he had you under his thumb, hanging onto every word he said.

The first lick sent you into overdrive, body shifting up gears as you crude out his name- hands tugging at his strands of hair as if they were reins. The faint scent of weed trickled through your nose, blemishing your skin and sweat as it trickled.

You couldn't think. Couldn't move, couldn't speak.

You and Peter had fooled around before but this…this was new territory. And it felt good. A lick turned into a taste as you heard him growl, tongue stroking through your sensitive folds again.

“You- you said just a taste-” you panted out, hips thrusting against him as he chuckled.

“I lied. You should've known.” he teased, eyes meeting yours again- stare so intense you had to look away.

It was frightening- the eye contact. It was an endless void, a freefall you weren't sure if you'd have a hand to catch you. It was filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, a haziness that made you feel sluggish, like you had drank too much cheap booze, and smoked too many cigarettes.

You were as breathless as the summer's night outside as he dived back in, malnourished and needy as he devoured you. His lips suctioned around your clit, sucking it sweetly as you wethered and moaned.

“So so sweet…” he murmured. You felt yourself snap under him as his tongue pushed you over the edge, releasing onto his face as you cried out. His hands tightened their grip around the barricade of your thighs, chin gleaming with your juices as your body shuddered from the aftershocks.

“That's a girl. My sweet sweet angel.” he sang out, shuffling up to kiss your lips gently, the taste of yourself staining your mouth. You savored his affections, wrapping your arms around his neck, desperate for something to cling to.

You were scared to let him go, scared he would leave you vulnerable and open like all the others. He sensed your hesitation, rolling over to the side of you, nuzzling his head into your neck as you continued to hold him close.

“Was I good?” you asked meekly, your biggest fear not being enough for him.

He just smiled.

“More than good. The best.” he whispered, kissing your skin. You exhaled a sigh of relief, tension seeping from your bones as you cradled him.

You heard an owl coo out from the branches of the old oak tree that scratched your house, the wind howling against the old siding. You basked in the emptiness of the room, no one here but the two of you and the peeling posters that peered down at you from the walls.

He wasn't leaving you. He wasn't embarrassed or ashamed and he was staying with you. He wanted to do this.

It was hard to think about, hard to wrap your head around it as you had been so shameful of your desires towards him for so long. The old wooden cross that was hung above your bed seemed almost mocking as it reflected in your vanity mirror, a symbol of overcoming sin now with a meaning diminished.

“You awake?” you asked Peter softly, ripping your eyes from the wood, knowing your father's words would haunt you the longer you were left to your own avail.

There were so many responses you wanted to spew out to him.

God loves you- but not enough to save you.

But you didn’t, to save yourself the abuse of his wrath.

“Mmm.” he mumbled sleepy, the weed putting him a place of serenity and calm as he synced his breathing with yours. “Did you want me to return the favor?” you mumbled, feeling bad he didn't get the same opportunity you did.

He just shook his head. “Another time angel. Let me just… lie with you. I like when I just get to be with you like this.” he yawned, bed creaking as he slung his arm around your waist to pull you closer.

“Okay. Whatever you want.”

Silence.

You sighed, flexing your feet, then pointing your toes. The red polish glimmered as the shadows of the wax dripping off the candles bounced off the walls, the smell of the incessant to “hide” the weed smelling of sandalwood.

A truck rumbled in the distance, its tires rolling against the gravel. Peter sat up, eyes flickering to the headlights that beamed towards the house, making you feel anxious as you clung to the bedsheet.

Was your father home early? He wasn't supposed to be home until tomorrow night, and you knew if he walked in on you and Peter- you’d never hear the end of it.

“Is he home?” Peter shook his head as he moved towards the window, and you readjusted your nightgown. His hair was messy and rumpled as he stood, hands resting on the windowsill as he peered down.

A grin was on his face as he turned back to face you, your heartbeat slowing its dangerous pace with an exhale.

He wasn't home. Or else Peter wouldn't be smiling.

“Well? Who the hell is at my house at-” Your eyes flickered back to the clock. “Eleven at night?”

Peter just shrugged, a cheeky look on his face as he walked towards the bedroom door, grip on the brass handle tightening as he swung it wide open.

You heard the front door open, two familiar voices echoing from down the hallway.

Bucky and Steve.

“Look who decided to pay us a visit!” Peter laughed, making you shake your head with a smile.

Look who decided to visit indeed.

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mayfieldss · 4 months

Text

Lessons in chemistry - Peter Parker

Synopsis: Your best friend Peter tries to teach you how to skateboard, but distractions occur.

AN: it's one in the morning, and I gave in to the delusions. They have taken me in as one of their own, and they said they would let me go if i posted this.

"You gotta trust me, okay?" Peter's got one foot on the skateboard, holding it steady as you stand a fair distance away, hesitant and unsure why you agreed to this particular day.

Peter had offered to teach you to skateboard, and while the offer seemed perfectly reasonable and fun at the time, being here now was an entirely different story. You were beyond clumsy and hopeless when it came to learning new things. Peter knew this, yet he seemed so certain you could do this one activity.

"I don't think this is a good idea, Peter." You're squinting as the sun beats down at you, and the concrete you stand on currently seems far too menacing to learn to skate on. Peter had originally offered to start you out on grass, but to do that you would have had to go somewhere more public to find some, being in new york and all, and you weren't fond of embarrassing yourself in front of more than just Peter.

"Just c'mere." Peter is waving you over to him, and the gentle smile on his lips is enough to bribe you closer.

"Okay, now give me your hands."

You do as you're told, and he gives your hands an encouraging squeeze.

"I'm holding the board steady. It shouldn't go anywhere when you get on, okay?" He's trying to make you feel better, but the anxiety within you picks apart his words.

"It shouldn't, but it might." You mumble, eyes down on the board, glaring harshly at its existence.

"Can you just trust me madame pessimism?" There's a humorous sigh that falls from him as you get up the courage to step on the board, and when you do, it seems okay.

"See? There you go. The first step is done." Peter squeezes your hand again, and you wobble a little on the board despite Peter keeping it from rolling away.

"Well, this was fun. Time to go home now." It comes off as a joke, but you're more than serious as Peter shakes his head.

"Give it a chance."

You look up at him, and you're oddly close. With your hands in his, it's almost as though you're about to dance under the old overpass at which you stand. "Okay, Parker, I trust you." You mean it, but that doesn't mean you're at all comfortable with what you're about to do. Part of you wishes you'd stayed home, while the other is glad to be here with Peter.

"I'm gonna take my foot away from the board now, okay? It's gonna roll a little, but I got you so don't worry."

"I'm worrying Peter."

He laughs. A beautiful laugh and a wonderful smile accompanying it before he begins the fated count down. "On three, one, two–" he lets the board free, and you don't move much, being on flat ground and all, but still the slight adjustment freaks you out just a little. Again, you sway on the board, and Peter holds you steady.

"I hate this so much." You whine, unable to contain the true depth of your feelings. The situation is so far out of your comfort zone that it feels as though your skin is crawling with you inside it.

"Well, it's not like I can tell or anything. I mean, you look like you're having a great time. You know, with the tense shoulders and genuine panic in your eyes, I would have assumed you were having fun or something." his sarcasm does little to ease you, but it's so truly Peter. So authentic to his person that you can almost imagine yourself standing on flat ground beside him, rather than supported by the wheels of his old and flimsy skateboard.

"Let's just get this over with." You try for a smile, but it's hard to do, every muscle in your body preoccupied with trying to stay as still as possible.

"We're gonna try and move now, just a little."

"Fuck."

"Yeah," Peter laughs "fuck."

And just like that, you're rolling along, heart beating quickly as Peter sends encouragements. You're stable for a few moments before you get into your head and feel yourself tilting backward. Letting go of his hands, you rush to grasp Peter's shoulders, his hands falling to your waist as he pulls you toward him and off the board.

"Woah, okay, that was a good first attempt."

You're gripping him tight, too tight, as the board rolls away from you both. Peter will go get it later, but for now he's with you.

"I almost died." You mutter, a death grip on Peter's jacket.

"You were fine." Peter chuckles, pulling you in for a hug. You accept it, despite the fact you're slightly upset with him for making you do this. And when you pull back, squinting up at him you lose all the stress from before.

Peter loses himself entirely, thinking things nowhere near the topic of skateboarding and closer to the topic of kissing.

"You did great... really great." Peter insists one hand running down your back as he tries to stop the thoughts racing through his head. He'd always liked you, as more than a friend. He'd always wanted to wake up beside you, hold your hand, take you to prom. He'd always wanted you.

He clears his throat, and you look away from him, almost disappointed.

"You want to try again?" He asks, trying to get back on track. You shake your head and look back to him, and in your eyes, he sees something different. A sort of confidence.

"What do I get if I do?" You're teasing him. He thinks you are, at least, but the mischief you're offering is tempting.

"What do you want?"

"A dinner date, somewhere where there's pasta." You answer, so sure of yourself, and Peter's brain freezes up.

"A date as in a date or...?" He sounds so stupid like this, and he realizes just how close he still is to you. Where his hands are placed softly on your hips and where your fingers hold fast to his shoulders.

"Whatever you want it to be, Peter. Now, if we have a deal, I would like to try again." You look to the direction the skateboard had gone and see it paused a small distance away, but you don't get to retrieve it. Before you can, Peter's hand comes up to your face, fingers placed gently on your jaw to turn your gaze back his way.

It's not what you expect from him, and in honesty, it's not what Peter expects from himself either but he leans in closer, pausing just long enough for you to pull away if you want to.

"Do it." You whisper, your breath brushing over his lips, as if painting the grin that spreads onto his face.

The kiss is gentle, his nose bumping awkwardly with yours as he leans closer, closing the gap. He can feel the heat in your cheeks when he places his hands there, thumb brushing over the skin as he breathes you in. Your fingers grip his shoulders harder now, moving up toward his neck to hold him closer, and there's something about the way you move with him so perfectly that makes him think this can't possibly be real. But it is, and when he pulls back for air, he examines your features, hoping for your reaction. You speak first, before he can.

"That was weird," you say, breaking his heart a little. "But in a good way. I'd like to try it again sometime, if that's okay with you?" You mend the break easily, and soon he's grinning again, one hand finding it's way into your hair.

"It's definitely okay with me." Peter mumbles, eyes drifting back down to your lips in anticipation.

"Should I book a time with your secretary for our next appointment?" Your head tilts to the side as you watch every expression that crosses his face. He's beautiful, definitely, and his heart is yours.

"As a matter of fact, I have an hour or two free right now. I was skateboarding with this girl I really like, but I think her mind is wandering elsewhere."

You smack him hard on the arm, but before you can remark anything back, he's kissing you again, sending you into a blissful silence.

You're learning very little about skateboarding, but it seems your time is well spent anyway. Peter doesn't care how long he's here for, and he'll forget his skateboard under the overpass in favor of walking you home. He'll hold your hand the whole way there and kiss you goodbye on the doorstep before he leaves. He'll have everything he's ever wanted by the end of the day, skateboard or not, and that's more than okay with him.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @heliads @candywh0r3 @hiya-itsamber @s00buwu

MARVEL GENERAL: @5kyyyy

TASM PETER PARKER: @arignipanja574 @winter-soldier-vibes

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seduzist · 5 months

Text

peter parker x fem! reader

cw. smut drabble.

ok but imagine watching a movie with needy!peter, you’re all concentrated but when his hands stops caressing your back and goes a little lower you started to get a little hotter and suspicious.

he is so discreet about it though, he can fully pretend he’s just watching the movie without a care in the word while he’s groping your ass and feel his dick hardening up so much to the point that hurts.

he really wanted to just watch the movie this time like every other couple but everything about you just makes him so horny that he couldn’t help it, your smell, your breath on his neck since you have your head resting on his shoulder, your small hands caressing his abs in such a inocente way, you make him crazy without even trying to.

soon his hand gets under your sweatpants, and this time both of you couldn’t pretend that his touches were innocent anymore, you take your head off of his shoulder to look at him and the next second he’s kissing you, grabbing your leg with his other hand and making you get on top of him.

after a few seconds his hand is already putting your panties to the side, teasing your opening with his fingers, making you shiver and whimper on top of him.

“you’re so wet already.” he smiled cockily, whispering these words against your lips.

you roll your eyes at his stupidity, but start to ride his fingers as soon as he enters you, the tight of your core making him thrust his hips up unconsciously, just as needy for relief as you.

but even with his cock painfully hard, all he could think about was giving you all the pleasure he could with his skilled fingers, curling them up inside you and making your eyes roll back on your head, moans leaving your mouth non-stop while his palm rubbed against your clit.

“i want you to come on my fingers, and then i’m gonna make you ride me all night long, okay, baby?”

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bitchyycapricorn · 1 year

Text

Brooklyn Bridge

Peter Parker x Reader

Masterlist Word Count: 1.3k Synopsis: Peter faces one problem constantly: Aunt May knocking on the door at the absolute worst times. Fed up, Peter decides to simply show you off to the public.

Quote: “Good God, look at you you’re doing such a good job.” Warnings: Smut, public sex, praise kink, usage of slut, language, P in V AN: Obviously with my highlighted quote TikTok has reminded me how much of a praise kink I have. Not edited.

“Oh fuck babe, I’ve missed you so much,” You groan as Peter thrusts into you. Your whole body is on fire at the feeling of Peters lips leaving small kisses on the side of your neck as he pounds into you mercilessly.

“God, “Y/N, you feel so fucking good.” Peter groans as his hand wanders up and down your side, taking in every inch of your body. Peter continues to plant small kiss along your jawline before stopping abruptly at the sound of a knock on his door.

“Peter?” May calls from the other side of the door. “Peter open the door!” Peter groans as he pulls out of you, leaving your body aching for his touch.

“You have to get in the closet,” Peter whispers harshly under his breath, “quick grab your cloths.” You find yourself stumbling out of his bed, scrambling while you pick your discarded cloths up from the ground before making a beeline to Peter’s closet. Even though you now couldn’t see Peter, you could hear him fumbling around while trying to get his cloths on before unlocking the door for May.

“Why do you always keep that door locked Peter?” May stammers as Peter shifts uncomfortably.

“I was trying to get to bed.” He replies slowly, “also I like the privacy.” He admits sheepishly.

May stares up at him for a moment before letting out a sigh. “Yes, alright, well I’m going to bed. I came to tell you goodnight and if you need me make sure it’s an emergency.” Peter nods before giving May a hug and sending her on her way, making sure to tell her goodnight as well.

Peter shut the door, letting out a small groan before or opening up the closet to reveal a disheveled Y/N. You let a smile spread across your lips as you stumble out of Peter’s messy closet. “Well then,” you hum, “Is the mood ruined or…”

“Ruined? What do you think?” Peter mumbles. “Everyone in the world wants to watch us have sex I swear. Constantly needing us, constantly knocking on the door. Might as well just have public sex at this point so people can ask questions without any barriers.”

You let out a small laugh, running your fingers up Peter’s arm. “Public sex huh? Well, maybe let’s keep it tame and go ahead and finish in your bed since May is now asleep.” You suggest, trying to pull Peter with you.

“No.” Peter replies, a smirk forming on his previously solemn face. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”

“Going out? It’s almost 11 at night…” You hesitate as you slip on your pajama shorts and tank top, followed by your jacket.

“Don’t you trust me love?” Peter asks sweetly causing your stomach to erupt with butterflies.

“Of course I trust you,”

+++

“I do NOT trust you!” You shriek as Peter lands on top of the main upper platform on the Brooklyn Bridge. You look down at the cars zooming by below you, feeling your heart drop. “Why the hell are we on the Brooklyn bridge?” You cry, clinging onto Peters warm body.

“Since everyone wants to watch us have sex so bad, thought I’d give them a show.” Peter declares.

“You-You what?” You stammer feeling your cheeks heat up as you stare into your boyfriends masked eyes.

“Hold on to the rail baby,” Peter encourages as he flips you around so your frontside is pressed against the metal railing and you’re staring down at the cars and water below.

“P-peter,” You stutter feeling his cold hand slowly snaking between your spread thighs in order to push your shorts and underwear to the side. His fingers dance across your bare cunt, spreading your wetness in the process.

“Look at my pretty girl, all bent over for me like a little slut.” Peter purrs “Such a good girl aren’t you.” You could now feel his finger slowly entering you, dipping deep into your soaking core.

“Fu-fuck Peter, what if someone sees?” You sputter as your walls close around his slender finger.

His mask brushes against your ear as he whispers “That’s why we’re up her baby, so everyone can watch me fuck you like a slut.” You let out a gasp as his digits thrust in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. “Mmm you like that don’t you?”

You let out a small moan in response, squeezing the railing as his fingers speed up. “Oh god Peter I’m close,” you cry at the feeling of his thumb now toying with your clit.

“Are you now?” Peter hums, smacking your ass as his fingers continue to violently thrust in and out of your heat. “Well then, if you’re so close, cum for me baby. Cum all over my fingers like a good girl.” He praises.

Throwing your head back onto his shoulder you allow your body to let go, convulsing as your orgasm washes over your whole body.

“Good girl,” Peter groans, slowly pulling his soaking fingers out of you. Your hands continue to squeeze the railing while you desperately try and catch your breath. Behind you you could hear Peter unzipping his jeans, shuffling as he removes his hard dick from its restraints. “Ready pretty girl?” Peter grunts as he lines himself up behind you. You nod, forgetting about the cars below you entirely.

Peter helps to bend you over slightly more, before grabbing yours hips and sliding into you with ease. “Oh fuck,” Peter moans as he bottoms out. “You feel so fucking good baby.” Peter slowly pulls out of you before pushing back in repeatedly. Your legs began to shake as Peter speeds up his movement, pushing deeper into you each time.

Small moans and cries escape your lips as you’re thrusted against the metal railing repeatedly. “Peter fuck” you cry. “God, oh, Peter.” Your whimpers fill the air as Peter drills into you without mercy, enjoying the feeling of your clenched cunt squeezing his throbbing cock.

“Good god, look at you you’re doing such a good job.” Peter praises, hands gripping your ass roughly. Your legs were shaking as Peter hammers into you from behind. Each thrust feeling deeper than the last, pushing you closer to your second orgasm. “Such a pretty little slut. Taking my cock so good in front of everyone.” Peters voice and hands felt hypnotic. The way he’s roughly grabbing your hips as he guides your body up and down his thick cock with every thrust.

“Peter-“ you moan, never wanting Peter to stop. “K-keep going please,” you whine.

Peter lets out a grunt, feeling himself getting closer to the edge. Your body capturing his attention as it knocks against the railing the deeper he pushes into you. “Shit-“ Peter mutters as his orgasm begins to creep up even more. “I’m close.”

You let out another string of moans knowing you’re close as well. You feel as one of Peters hands snakes around your front side, slowly rubbing your clit and adding to the pleasure. Throwing your head back you can feel your muscles begging to contract as a wave of adrenaline and pleasure washes over you. “Fuck Peter,” you groan as you finish around his cock.

Letting out a loud moan Peter releases inside of you, overwhelmed by the feeling of you squeezing around him as you ride out the last of your own orgasm.

Peter slowly pulls out and you can feel the hot cum slowly running down your bare thighs. Your body still shaking from the events just moments ago.

“You alright baby?” Peter whispers as his arms wrap around your disheveled figure. Planting soft kisses to your shoulder as he rubs your upper arms.

“I’m good, that was, that was amazing,” you reply, leaning back into his warm body.

“Good, I’m glad you enjoyed it as much as I did. Now let’s get you home and cleaned up hm?” He hums, turning you around so you’re facing him. You nod, allowing Peter to embrace you once more.

You look around at your surroundings for a moment, admiring the beauty of the city from so high up. “Hey Peter,” you whisper, “how many people do you think recorded us?”

Peter let out a small laugh before realizing you were right. “Oh fu-“

+++

TAGLIST @noakrootje

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alwritey-aphrodite · 26 days

Note

“it’s your turn to do the dishes.” “let’s get a divorce.” “we aren’t married yet, my love.” “well we sure as hell aren’t getting married now.”

from the prompts 🥴🤭

Ok reader and Peter are parents in this, and if you’re not into that I will happily write another version for you!!!

Typically, there’s an even distribution of work between you and Peter in your apartment. If one of you vacuums, the other does laundry. If one of you does bath time with your daughter, the other does storytime. It’s easy to switch off so the tasks don’t seem too daunting, too repetitive, and it normally works like a charm, but for some reason, both you and Peter absolutely dread doing the dishes.

Before Charlie May was born, takeout was a frequent staple for the two of you because of the convenience, and even though you’re still young enough that takeout every night seems like a trendy lifestyle choice, it’s not the most nutritious practice to raise your daughter. It’s been hard for the both of you, making changes in your daily life in the hopes of doing right by Charlie, hoping that no one will comment on your parenting abilities or your age or Charlie’s wellbeing.

Cooking fun and tasty and nutritious meals hasn’t been a problem, and Peter is surprisingly skilled in the kitchen, but dishes are a fight every night.

“It’s your turn to do the dishes,” Charlie tells her dad as she sits perched on the countertop, legs swinging and her cheeks rounding in a smile as you squeeze her knee. She loves her dad, and sometimes she acts exactly like him, but she’s always been your little partner in crime. He likes to pretend to be put out by it, but you know that Peter grins behind your back at your scheming and your daughter’s delighted giggles.

“Let’s get a divorce,” Peter says with a sigh, turning towards you to lean an elbow against the counter. Charlie thinks this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard, laughing so hard you need to support her waist in case she tips over with the force of her giggles, even though you’re not entirely certain she knows what the word divorce means. Your daughter’s joy is so infectious that Peter’s faux-serious expression only lasts a second before he’s grinning over at you.

“We’re not married yet,” you remind him, even extending your bare ring finger to emphasize your point. The two of you have discussed your life plans in length, both before and after the surprise arrival of your daughter, and neither of you feel rushed to get married, wanting to wait until Charlie’s a little older and you’re both a bit more financially stable and maybe spending less time swinging above the city. Neither of you truly mind, but in your theatrical fights for the sake of your daughter, it’s nice to have a little pretend-leverage.

“Well, we’re definitely not getting married now,” Peter replies, all exasperation and sorrow as Charlie launches herself towards him, tiny body shaking with the force of her laughter. Peter’s reflexes have made parenting easier in many different ways, but his deftness in catching your daughter every time she launches herself at him never ceases to amaze you.

It takes you a second too long to realize that Peter has carried your daughter out of the kitchen, leaving you all alone to tackle the dishes. Just as you go to call out for them to return, Peter shouts out instead.

“Can’t help, my arms are all full of baby!” And Charlie thinks this is the funniest phrase that has ever left her father’s mouth, her laughing ringing through the apartment and you can’t help it when you smile at the noise, even as you turn on the tap to get started with the dishes. You really don’t mind doing them, and it was your turn anyway, but you’re already plotting your revenge and planning out how to get your partner in crime back on your side.

#tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm fanfiction #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker

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moonstruckme · 1 month

Note

hiiii !!! i hope ur having a good day :) i was wondering if u would like writing smth with tasm peter or remus x reader where reader has some specific exams that r very important for her (peter/remus doesnt have them) and shes just so anxious about it and has a lot of academic anxiety overall and isnt good at talking about it and peter or remus just comforts her and stuff? sorry if u dont like it tho u dont have to do it !! :)

Thanks for requesting ml!

cw: academic anxiety

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Peter’s not sure if you’ve realized how dark it is outside. He comes back from dinner with his Aunt May to find you in the exact same spot he left you, the bright light from your laptop beaming onto your face and making your features look severe and ghoulish. It’s the only light in the apartment.

“Hey,” you say dimly.

“Hey.” Peter stoops over the back of the couch, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and smooching your cheek. He squints into the glaring white of the practice questions on your screen. “How’s it going?”

You hum, noncommittal.

“Mm.” Peter squeezes your shoulders sympathetically, then gets up to grab the leftovers he’s brought from May’s. “Did you get something to eat?”

“Yeah,” you say distantly, clicking something.

“Really?” He turns to look around. There’s no evidence of cooking, no takeout containers on the coffee table, no dishes in the sink. It’s not that Peter doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t. “What’d you have?”

“Sounds great, babe.”

He blinks. “Huh? I asked what you ate.”

“Yeah,” you scroll a bit, clicking to the next page, “I’m sure May loved that.”

A laugh startles out of him, and that’s what gets your attention. You look up, bemused.

“Sweetheart.” Peter looks at you meaningfully, a smile still tempting his lips. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You shake your head. “No. Why?”

“Because I brought you leftovers,” he says, going to the microwave and popping them in. “But when I asked a second ago, you said yes.”

“Oh.” Peter punches a minute into the microwave, and when the buzzing starts he looks over at you. You’re looking a bit embarrassed, but your gaze is already migrating back towards your laptop. “Sorry, I’m not great at splitting my focus.”

“That’s okay.” He crosses the room to you, sitting on the coffee table so your knees are bracketed by his. “You’ve been studying for a long time today, huh?”

Really, you’ve been studying for an ungodly amount of time every day for the past few weeks. It had started manageable, an hour a day to help prepare for this big exam you’ve got coming up, but as the date of the test grew closer Peter could sense you becoming almost frantic. You steadily increased your study time in what seems to him like a fruitless quest to become one hundred percent prepared by the time of the exam. These last few days, you’ve hardly let your laptop out of your sight. He’s convinced you must be dreaming of practice questions.

You nod, looking exhausted. Peter reaches forward to rub a thumb under your eye. It’s tinged slightly red, and he’s willing to bet it burns from staring at your screen for so long.

“You ready for a break?” he asks.

You nod with a sigh, shutting your laptop screen. The microwave beeps, and Peter sets a hand on your leg to tell you to stay sitting while he gets it. The plate is warm in his hands. You inhale the steam as he passes it to you, eyes shutting contentedly.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe May did her brussel sprouts and I didn’t even show.”

“She missed you,” Peter admits, “but she got that you had to study.”

“Thanks,” you tell him, situating the plate on your lap and skewering a brussel sprout onto your fork.

The first few bites go down greedily, but soon you slow your pace. Peter sits while you eat in silence. This reticence is unusual for you, but he knows there’s any number of things it could be attributed to; hunger or exhaustion are at the top of that list. Still, there’s a look in your eyes that tells him you’ve gone somewhere else.

“Hey,” he says, and you turn. “You wanna talk about it?”

You give him a puzzled look, hand coming up to cover your full mouth. “About what?”

“About the test,” Peter replies patiently. He sets a hand on your shoulder, rubbing at your tensed muscles. “You’re flipping out, pretty girl.”

You scoff, but it’s weak and you know it. “I am not flipping out,” you say.

Peter could point to about a dozen things which indicate that you’re wrong, but he’s not trying to argue with you. “It’s okay if you are,” he says instead, wincing when his thumb digs into a sensitive knot in your shoulder and you flinch. “Sorry. Just, I know this is a big deal for you.”

“It is a big deal,” you agree, looking down at your plate as you chase another brussel sprout, “but I’m fine. It’s normal to get nervous about big exams.”

“Just because it’s normal doesn’t mean you have to deal with it,” he tells you.

You don’t respond, maintaining your quiet even after Peter sees you swallow. He squints, ducking his head to look you in the eye. It’s obvious by the way you avoid him that you hear the faults in your own logic. You start to worry you lip.

“I’m not trying to criticize you,” he says gently, thumbing it from between your teeth. “I just want you to tell me what you need. Do you want to talk about it? Or we could talk about something else, or watch a movie or something.” He juts further into your eyeline, and this time you look back at him. His thumb drops down to your chin. “Let me help, bub.”

You look suddenly cracked open. More vulnerable than he’s seen you in awhile, and for a second Peter worries you might cry. “Can we watch a movie?” you ask.

“Yeah.” Relief makes the word breathy. He punctuates it with a kiss to your forehead. “That sounds great. You wanna cuddle too?”

You nod and eat some more of your dinner. “I might fall asleep,” you warn.

Peter grins. He always teases you for falling asleep during movies, but secretly he loves it. There’s something intrinsically peaceful about holding you against him, warm and heavy, while he watches, only to fill you in on what had happened to every character when you wake up and start asking questions.

“I think you’ve earned it,” he says.

You shrug like you don’t disagree, and set to finishing off your brussel sprouts while Peter gets up to make popcorn. You do fall asleep, not even ten minutes into the movie. Peter pulls you closer to him and watches the rest with his cheek resting atop your head

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bettysupremacy · 6 months

Note

heyyy. I saw you saying you would write for tasm peter and because it’s officially autumn I would love to request him giving reader his sweater and loving on her idk maybe after their second or third date or establish relationship, what ever you like better<3 :))

Hi! Sorry I didn’t get to this sooner, this past month has been hectic for me. I hope u like!! <3

The rollercoaster in front of you swishes past quickly, blowing cold air towards you and Peter. He flinches, shaking with the chills that raise on his covered arms. He takes a moment to look at you. Your arms are not covered. It’s early October, chilly in the morning and less so during the day, you hadn’t thought the need for a jacket.

“Are you cold?” He asks suddenly.

You startle. “What?”

“You’re shivering,” He laughs, and then frowning. “babe.”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.” He drags, though there’s a small smile on his face.

“I’m serious!” You laugh. “I’m good!”

You share a look, pointed and faux serious. He tugs at his sweater gently raising his eyebrows in question. You shake your head no and he pulls it up anyways, dragging along the nice fabric of his tee shirt. His stomach shows slightly, just long enough for you to catch a sliver of skin, and the wind to nip it meanly. He tugs it over his head roughly, messing up his hair. It’s not like he needed it, his spider senses regulating his body like a heat lamp, but he has the decency to shiver a little when you look his way.

The sweater is thick, and nice. Peter got it from a gift shop a few years ago, so not of the highest quality, but the graphic pattern of yarn makes you smile anyways. It’s warm like a hug, engulfing you thickly as he pulls it over your head.

“Better?” He asks.

You smile, fiddling with the sleeve. You’re definitely still cold, the warmth of his sweater failing to reach your legs, but still. You have the decency to play warm. “Yeah.”

“I knew it!” He pulls you into him, wrapping his arm around your back so he can rub some friction into your arm. “You don’t have to suffer.” He kisses your temple. “‘Specially not in silence.”

You and him have shared 1, 2, maybe three kisses, but this one feels more intimate, more personal. It’s not on the lips, sure, but it tingles as his lips leave your skin. Pulling back, his eye rake over you.

“Sorry.” You murmur.

“Don’t be sorry,” His eyes scrunch as he looks back up up to your eyes. “What’re you sorry for silly?”

You pause, settling with a shrug. You don’t really know.

“See.” He breathes through his nose. “And it’s not like I wouldn’t kill to see this.”

“You don’t have to kill to see me.”

“I would.”

“That’s silly.”

“I don’t think it is.”

You breathe out heavily, fighting a shy smile. You’re way past the shy phase, but still. Sometimes it peeks through.

“Peter would kill to see me.”

“He would.”

“In an old Spider-man sweater?”

The smile on his face is an inside joke, something you can’t decipher. “My most favorite sweater.”

“Take a picture.” You laugh.

He reaches for the camera around his neck. “Good idea.”

“No,” You murmur with a smile, reaching for his camera. Your eyes flit to the people around you. “no, stop, I was kidding.”

He pulls away from you. “Let me get a photo.”

“Stop,” you giggle breathlessly and hushed as your hands come up to push his down. “I wasn’t serious.”

“But I was.” He smiles. You scoff, tugging him closer to the moving line.

“I can’t stand couples.” Somebody groans behind you.

#spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x you #tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fluff #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fic #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fic #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter fluff #tasm fanfiction

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literaila · 6 months

Note

hey v ! what about peter and reader getting ready to go somewhere and after reader puts on some red lipstick peter can't stop kissing her ?

lipstick

warnings: ugh, peter

“how many times have you done that?”

peter is standing behind you, leaning against the wall, probably ruining your focus, or your makeup, or your sanity. he’s probably staring just to mess with you.

you refrain from smiling in the mirror. wipe a smudge with your nail. “i don’t know, peter,” you meet his eyes, and his nefarious smirk. “how many times have you watched me do it?”

“i got lost somewhere around the first time.”

you laugh at him, crumbling the napkin you’ve been using, now filled with kiss marks, and turning it around so you can throw it at peter. “are you sick?” you ask him.

instead of answering, he licks his lip and unfolds the napkin, staring at the red marks, creases and tireless efforts arranged in a messy pattern. “this is like art.”

“why are you acting like you’ve never seen anyone wear lipstick before?”

“what?” he asks, hand to his chest. “i cant watch you get ready? i’m banned from being in the bathroom when you are?”

“yes, and yes.”

it does not escape your notice when peter tucks the napkin into his pocket for safekeeping.

he shrugs. “i don’t mind breaking the rules.”

you scoff at him and pat his shoulder as you walk past him through the doorway. “i would’ve locked you out if i knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“weird? how am i being weird?”

“you were lurking. you’re still lurking.”

“i’m talking to my girlfriend. that’s part of our contract.”

“you’re following me.”

peter smiles. “well, i like you.”

you roll your eyes, almost—almost—smiling when you feel his arms wrap around your waist. “please don’t make me argue about your stalker like tendencies.”

“we don’t have to argue,” peter says, kissing the space beneath your ear. his breath is hot.

“i need to put my shoes on, peter.”

he smiles, his teeth clashing against your skin like a dreadful reminder. some type of jumpscare—minus the fact that you merely lean into him, sans jumping. “we can spare fifteen minutes.”

“how can you be thinking about anything besides the fact that we’re already late to meet may?”

he nibbles on the skin by your collarbone, then licks it, as reprieve. “it must be the lipstick.”

“you’ve literally seen me with lipstick before. i wore some on our first date.”

“‘s probably why i like it so much.”

his lips are needy as they crawl around your skin. his hands are stationary, but they pose their own threat as they lurk.

“peter, we have to go.”

“i’m not known for my punctuality,” he spins you around, his lips curled in mischief, “you know.”

“i’m aware.”

you refuse to indulge him. your brows furrow, your hands held in the air—just so you can avoid accidentally touching him. purposefully.

“then why are you so worried?” peter asks, kissing your cheek.

“i’m not kissing you,” you say, instead of answering.

“you’re not?” peter pouts like a child. he is far too grown.

“no.”

“how come?”

you try to pull away from him, but, shockingly, peter is stronger than you are. your will is weak. “you’re going to smudge my lipstick. i just finished.”

“you have more, don’t you?”

“not the point.”

“what?” he asks, his voice so serious and teasing. “you don’t want to kiss me?”

“no, i do not.”

you look away from him, admiring a wall that has always been there.

“are you sure?” peter asks, ducking so he can catch your eyes again, because he is nothing if not cruel.

you break, pouting. “peter,” you whine, “we’re not going to be late again.”

“i think we are.”

“you can kiss me when we get home later,” you promise, trying again to wiggle out of his grasp.

“that is a terrible compromise.”

“you won’t compromise,” you snap back. “what else am i supposed to do?”

peter grins, tilting his head. “okay. i have an idea. how about i kiss you, and then we leave? you don’t even have to kiss back, even though we’d both prefer it that way.”

“i’ll kiss you,” you mock him. “you’re the worst negotiator i’ve ever met.”

“then how come we haven’t left yet?”

you scowl at him, and he scowls back, but his eyes are alight.

your skin is ravenous with an ache to touch him, he’s so close that kissing him would be nothing—merely breathing, really—but you don’t want to lose this game to peter. and you dont want him to stop looking at you.

he pretends to check a watch. “hmm, it’s getting awfully late.”

“are you british all of the sudden?”

peter grins, biting his lip before he tries to bite you. you lean away. “if you like my accent, all you have to do is say so.”

“i like it when you get out of my way, and stop trying to sabotage me. i like that a lot.”

“no clue what you mean, dear.”

you roll your eyes and manage to cross your arms in his hold.

“i wonder how we could solve this,” peter muses, tapping his finger on your waist. “it’s a big problem.”

“i could leave you behind and have lunch with may myself.”

“that’s one option.”

you roll your eyes again.

“i was thinking something else, though,” peter says, and he’s closer now, but you’re sure that you never saw him move. “something more… proactive.”

“shove it, peter.”

“you don’t even want to hear it?”

you sigh, leaning your chest into him, out of pure delusion. “fine. what?”

peter smiles at you, eyes catching eyes.

the look on his face is soft, delirious. he’s got that look in his eyes, and that smile on his face, and he’s still staring at you like he’s mesmerized by whatever you’re doing.

“what?” you repeat, but softly, like you can’t find your voice in the chest cavity peters taken hold of.

“kiss me,” he says, softly, and it’s really not your fault that his lips are already brushing yours.

and it’s not your fault when you lean in, sighing in relief at the mere feel of him.

you’re almost breathless, from the tiniest of kisses.

but then you kiss peter again, and again, and your hands finally wrap around him—keeping hold of something real in this fake reality—and your voice isn’t your own when you groan at peter for making you do this.

you have evacuated your body. you have lost common sense.

but it doesn’t matter, because kissing peter has always made you forget all of that.

and it still does, when he pulls back, grinning like he’s won. “see?” he says, voice ragged. “it was simple.”

“we’re going to be late and it’s your fault.”

peter laughs, kissing you again, staring at your red lips. “gladly. i’ll take all the blame.”

“and you’re making it up to me later.”

“whatever you say,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

he releases you and watches as you finally put on your shoes.

you don’t think it necessary to mention the red marks on his lips. it’s not like it’s your fault they’re there.

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spider-stark · 1 month

Text

INFINITELY YOU

part one // back at the beginning

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 5.4k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //

The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.

It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.

“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”

God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.

Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”

Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.

With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.

She was dead—Aunt May was dead.

And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.

“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”

You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.

But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.

You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…

Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.

“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”

He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this…

Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.

“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.

“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?

But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”

You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…

You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.

And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her.

She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.

“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”

It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.

They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.

And it still made you angry.

“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.

“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”

He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.

She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”

Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.

“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”

Understand.

If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.

Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.

You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.

At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”

“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”

“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”

Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.

You weren’t used to this.

Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.

“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”

It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.

Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.

You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.

Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.

The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.

It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.

You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…

This was different, somehow.

It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.

It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.

Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.

But Peter wasn’t like other people.

Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.

His eyes couldn't lie, though.

Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.

They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.

“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.

Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.

His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.

“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”

You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”

You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.

Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?

It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.

It wouldn’t bring May back to life.

“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”

Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”

You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.

“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”

You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.

Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.

Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.

But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.

“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”

You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”

He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.

“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”

“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.

Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.

“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”

You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”

“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”

A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”

He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”

His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.

You knew better than to think he meant it.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.

Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.

But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.

You were good at expressing anger, though.

You were very good at expressing anger.

After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.

And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.

By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.

But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.

There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.

Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.

The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.

Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.

It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.

“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.

The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.

Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”

“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”

You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.

“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”

Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.

“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.

His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”

His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.

You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.

The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.

Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.

And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”

For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.

“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”

Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.

Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.

And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.

“I will,” you promised.

Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.

The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.

“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”

He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”

The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”

He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”

“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”

“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.

“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”

“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.

You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”

The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.

“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”

The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.

“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”

Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.

You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.

“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”

“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”

Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.

“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.

Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”

The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.

“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.

Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”

He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.

“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”

Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.

A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.

Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.

“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”

You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”

Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.

“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”

He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.

“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.

You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.

He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”

You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.

“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.

There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.

But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.

Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”

This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.

series masterlist

a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.

if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!

part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st

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ch3rriewine · 7 months

Text

Photo Booth Kissin' {P.P.}

summary: Peter's an awkward loverboy, but he's your awkard loverboy.

warnings: none i think just fluff :3, TASM!Peter Parker x reader hehe, no use of y/n, reader is kinda like super girly w the bows and sparkles idk

a/n: I HAVENT WRITTEN IN MONTHS SORRY here tho!

Peter’s life was boring—peaceful, but boring. Don’t get him wrong; being Spiderman is cool and all, but Peter Parker’s life could use some work. The most exciting thing that has happened to him recently was the time he got two yolks in one egg. Riveting stuff, right?

During another one of his literature classes that he doesn’t know why he took, he spots you. With a bow in your hair and a knit sweater falling over your figure, your head propped on your manicured hand while scribbling notes with the other. You sit in front of him and if Peter squints, he can see the small doodles littering the pages. Before he knows it, the professor announces that the lecture is done for the day. Peter panics; he wants to talk to you before you disappear and turn out to be a dream, but what would he even say? Doesn’t matter anymore since he chases after you to the door.

“Hey,” he says, looking a tad flushed after tripping over someone's water bottle.

“Oh, hi” you respond, your eyes a little widened at the sudden interaction.

“I, uh, I’m Peter” he say, sticks out his hand for you to shake. You take it and tell him your name. He repeats it in his head about a hundred times.

“I just, uhm, wanted to ask about…” he trails off, trying to remember if there were any assignments given. “The essay he said we had to do, yeah. When is it due again?” he hopes to any higher being that there was an essay due soon.

“Ah, yeah, it’s due next Monday” you reply, giving him a tight-lipped smile, ready to go back to your dorm.

“Cool, uhm, thanks! See you around, hopefully” with that, he bolts, leaving you confused and flushed. Hopefully

The cute boy in your class wants to see you around.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

Two days later, Peter sees you again. It’s in the same class, and you’re as pretty as ever. He psyches himself up to sit next to you.

You look up from your laptop when he asks you if he can sit next to you. You nod, of course, and smile. He looks nervous, with fingers tapping on the table and cheeks a little red. It’s cute.

“Have you started on that essay?” you ask, trying to start conversation since it looks like he won’t.

“Huh? What essay? We have an essay?” he turns to face you, eyes wide.

“Yeah, the one you asked me about?” you laugh a little.

“Oh, no, I didn’t” his shoulders slump back down, and you smile at him.

“I didn’t either; I had other work to finish” he stares at you a little; it’s flattering, really. How shy he is around you. He barely knows you, but he’s convinced himself that you’re the greatest thing ever. He also may have looked up your instagram and fallen even harder as he looked at all your posts. Peter now knows what you ate at Thanksgiving 3 years ago.

“Same, I’m in STEM so you could imagine” he says, resting his head onto the table. Sleep deprivation a thing he is well acquainted with, unfortunately.

“STEM, wow, you must be smart then. Why’re you taking a classic lit class then?” Sure, you might’ve slipped in a compliment; it's not a crime to flirt a little. It takes Peter a few seconds to respond as he processes what you said, you think he’s smart.

“Uh, I was going through a phase with classic lit at the time, and I’ve been lazy to drop it. And, uh, I’m not that smart—pretty average actually. Like the most moderate person ever” He’s rambling and kind of lying. He’s doing really well in his other classes.

“Yeah? I think you’re pretty smart if you’re in STEM. Not everyday a guy is both pretty and smart.” His cheeks turn even redder, if possible, and he makes a sort of out of breath sound. “If you need any help with this class, I’d be happy to give you my notes on the book”

Jesus, you’re gonna kill the poor boy.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

From then on, you sit beside him and throw in some flirty comments while he struggles to reciprocate. It feels too good to be true, how you seem interested in him and how you eagerly talk to him after lectures, even giving hm your number to talk about “class”. He’s waiting for the day you ghost him.

“Hey, would you maybe want to, like, hang out? Like on a date or something? Or just as friends! Actually, yeah, just hang out as friends; forget I said date sorry,“ he flounders, waiting for the rejection. Oh God, he’s just messed up the whole friendship and you’re gonna think that he’s weird and a creep and-

“I’d love to go on a date, Peter,” you smile “I was waiting for you to ask.”

“Oh, great, is Saturday at 3 okay? I’ll meet you outside your building and we could walk to that arcade?” He asks, eyes hopeful.

“Saturday at 3 is great. I love arcades, but you have to help me with the claw machines” For someone so smart and handsome, he doesn’t let himself think people like him.

“See you Saturday, Peter” you tiptoe to kiss his cheek, leaving sticky residue from your sparkly gloss and walk to your next class. He stands in place, a little starstruck and a lot flustered. He leaves the lipgloss there.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

Saturday finally comes, and now it’s your turn to be nervous. You’ve switched outfits countless times, your hair is out of place, and your makeup doesn’t seem to flatter you. You’ve settled on a pretty blue dress with tights to protect you from the small chill. Two little bows clipped into your hair and knit cardigan falling over your shoulders—makeup finally looking presentable enough with maybe a little too much glitter on your eyes, but whatever. Your phone chimes as you’re applying pink sparkly gloss, and your heart skips a beat. He’s here.

You throw your phone and lip gloss in your purse and bolt out the door. You spot him outside your building, as promised. He looks wonderful. Brown sweater and worn-in denim jeans—you can’t believe he’s so shy around you when he looks like that. He finally spots you, and wow, he thinks.

“Hey," he scolds himself for being so casual when he should be whisking you away to Italy, or something. He could’ve at least gotten you flowers.

“Hi, you look great,” you say in front of him, and seeing you up close is making him fall even harder, if possible.

“You look, wow, you’re just, wow” he can’t even believe you’re into him.

“Cmon, I wanna win some plushies,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. He grips your hand harder and laces your fingers.

The walk is calm and the air is starting to get cool. You talk about class and a show you started. Peter listens intently, making mental notes about what you like and don’t like. Your hands stay intwined, and his thumb traces patterns on the back of your hand. He’s gotten more comfortable and less panicky in your presence, so you get to see his personality shine through. He’s incredibly funny. You can’t stop laughing on your way there, and he can’t stop thinking of more things to make you laugh.

The arcade is dark, with flashing lights from every game. Peter goes to buy some tokens, refusing your offer to pay half. Grabbing Peter’s hand and making a beeline for the claw machines, everyone knows they’re rigged, but you don’t care. You eagerly take the tokens and attempt to win the Kuromi plushie. After the 5th? 6th attempt? When the claw has dropped the plushie, you give up.

“Why do they do this to people! It’s false hope!” you whine to Peter as he laughs at your pout.

“Lemme try,” he nudges you over and puts in a token.

You watch with eyebrows furrowed as he wins it on his first attempt.

“What the hell, Peter?” you crouch to pull the plushie from the machine.

“What? Do you not like it?” He faces you, examining the stuffed, is she a rabbit? What animal even is Kuromi?

“I love her; just, how did you win it?” You look up at him incredulously. He must have some weird power that makes him win every claw machine.

“Oh, I don’t know; just position it right?” He laughs, his eyes crinkling in the process. You want to smooth them out with your fingers.

“Thank you!” you’re genuinely really excited over a cheap stuffed toy, not because you really wanted it, but because Peter won it for you. You wrap your arms around his neck in thanks. Peter freezes. He fees like a teenager at how he’s reacting to a hug of all things. He snaps back and hugs you back. You pull away to kiss his cheek. This is the second time you’ve kissed his cheek, and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever get used to it.

“Lets go play games, pretty boy,” pulling away and leaving Peter to gather his brain and follow along.

You watch as he plays Pac-Man; its silly, but you love his face when he’s focused. Brows furrowed and lips in a thin line. He really is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. And he’s infatuated with you! Of all people! You swear half the girls in the class have a crush on him, but he gets nervous around you. You play some air-hockey, which you won (he let you win), and he won you some more plushies and some candy at the infamous claw machines.

When the games get old, the two of you leave the building. The sun is setting at this point, and you’re dreading leaving him.

“Oh, look! There’s a photo booth!” you point, excitedly tugging on his arm. “We should take some pictures.” you drag him into the booth, both of your thighs squished together and his legs at an awkward angle. He feeds the machine a few bucks, and the screen starts to count down.

You put on a sickly sweet smile, scrunching your eyes while Peter smiles big with pearly white teeth on display. The second photo you lean into Peter and he wraps his arm around you, pulling your body close to his. The third photo, you go for it. You grab his face and kiss him. His hands stay in the air as the glitter on your lips transfers to his. You taste like vanilla. You pull away, a little anxious that he didn’t want it. Those thoughts get pushed away when he grabs the sides of your face and kisses you until you can’t think. His hands are warm and big covering your cheeks as his lips move against yours. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck once more and deepen the kiss. Your lips move together in tandem as he strokes your cheeks with his thumbs, the movement comforting.

The fourth photo is blurry, and you walk out with all your lipgloss on Peter’s lips.

#tasm peter parker #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm peter x reader #tasm spiderman #tasm!peter imagine #tasm fanfiction #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter x y/n #peter parker

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spiderfunkz · 6 months

Text

✦ A VELVET NIGHT.

— summary : she might want a kiss, before the end of the song!

— word count : 0,5k

— warnings : tooth-rotting fluff, fem!reader, established relationship, pet names, teasing, peter & r share an apartment together.

a/n : so basically peter takes reader to a concert but in a classic spiderman style. also god knows how many times i've used that summary😛😛

peter got used to the loudness of new york nights, during swings and late night patrols, the noise felt like a rhythm almost. a sort-of familiar melody in his ears.

yes, the constant traffic noise and honking can be annoying at times, but it's nice knowing you're not really alone during the sleepless patrols.

peter recognizes most of the noises. the tune coming from a jazz bar somewhere, the sounds of endless honking from tired workers & the occasional yelling from apartments. but this night, there was music and lights peter had never heard or seen yet.

it was coming from a hidden place, not visible unless you really, really try. it was nicely tucked between a few tall buildings and an old fancy restaurant.

peter peaked from a rooftop, observing the area. the lights and music were coming from a concert down below. a band seemed to be performing as a decent crowd dance and sing all together.

shit, was this the concert you've been talking about for the past weeks? the concert peter wanted to take you, but couldn't find tickets for?

i think it just started, peter whispers.

he spots a couple, resembling you and peter, they seemed so happy, swaying around to the song as they smile so brightly at each other.

peter sighs, swinging away, knowing he should've tried harder to get the tickets even though you've already repeated a million times that it's okay and it's not that big of a deal.

he lands at the shared apartment, specifically by your fire escape. before knocking, he pauses for a moment, observing you all huddled up in bed, reading. then he spots a dress you just got back from the laundry.

peter gets an idea.

knocking on your window, quite aggressively— "y/n! open the window!" he muffles. his spider-man mask in his mouth.

you groan, putting your book down.

"do you not know we have a front door, peter? or do you just prefer looking like a stalker every night knocking on my window?" you unlock.

"yes and yes." he nods, "also, get dressed. quick."

"for what?" you raise your brow.

"just get dressed."

"this sounds like a kidnapping."

peter scoffs, "i can guarantee you i'm not, just- do you remember that concert you've been talking about?"

you nod.

"just get dressed, bub." he repeats.

you look at him, confused and excited. you quickly get dressed, grabbing the leather jacket peter gifted you, "i'm all dressed." you smile.

"perfect, now how would you like to go for a swing again?" he gestures.

landing on the rooftop, peter carefully lets go of your waist as you gain balance. "careful. okay, follow me." he holds your hand, guiding you near the edge of the rooftop.

"there." peter points at the concert, you could hear the music even if it's a bit muffled. the view was wonderful too, it's a bit far, but not too far.

"i'm sorry i couldn't get you a ticket." peter pouts, his spider-man mask nowhere to be seen. "it's okay, peter. this is perfect." you smile, sitting near the edge, admiring the band that's playing.

peter sits beside you, "yeah, but we could've been down there, with the lights and festival stuff."

"so? i'm up here with you, and that's perfect." you kiss his cheek.

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apocalypse-shuffle · 11 months

Text

PETER PARKER | SPIDER-MAN (tasm)

────────────────────

“Break” (Peter Parker x Fem!Reader)

| You visit Pete to let off some stress and to get out of your own head. He’s more than happy for the distraction.

| NSFW, 18+, minors dni, cockwarming, oral (male receiving), spacing out, in a zoom meeting

| Picture source: Spider-Man: No Way Home (left) and The Amazing Spider-Man 2 (right)

| 1k+ words

You close your laptop only a little harshly, finally done with your work for the day. Now, you could read or do something else to decompress and rest your eyes from the strain of your computer screen, but something is pushing you towards your boyfriend in specific.

You know that - in a shocking twist of events - he’s working on a group project for one of his classes before the deadline and whilst not under threat of death, so you haven’t seen him in a few hours. He’s never rejected your presence as long as you weren’t disruptive though, so? You shrug and walk off towards his room. No harm in testing it out. You feel the tiniest bit deprived of your Peter and you want to give your mind a break anyway.

When you poke your head around the bedroom door he turns to you languidly, no startling and no obvious irritation on his face. Considering he likely heard you traveling towards him you’d take all that as a good sign. You nod to yourself and walk in, carefully clicking the door shut.

He taps his pen absentmindedly against the scarcely filled notebook by his hands.

“What’s up?” his voice is soft and he gives you his usual bright utterly smitten smile that makes you want to die (in a good way). “Class go well?”

You smile just as sappily back at him and revel in the way it makes him soften even more.

“It was alright.” You incline your head as he chuckles. “I could use some of your company though. You know, if it’s not too much to ask?”

“Ooof - I don’t know? My schedule’s pretty packed. I’ll have to check with my assistant to see if there’s any way I can move some things around.” He takes a second to unmute to declare he’s still present, apparently on hold because of complications on somebody else’s end. He beckons you over right afterwards though, grinning. “Well lucky you, Pretty Girl, it seems like I can squeeze you in. You have something to do?”

You shrug, leaning against the door.

“I have four hours to waste, which means I have four hours to relax. If you wanna fuck around some?”

His eyes widen briefly before he starts hurriedly moving things around.

“Oh,” he breathes. He knows exactly how you like to fuck around when your stressed. “Like right now, you mean? Cause I uhh-”

The moment you slip off your shorts Peter’s tongue catches. All he can do after that is look at you wide eyed for the entire time it takes you to cross the room to his desk. He only snaps out of it when you’re kneeling in front of him and running your hands up his thighs.

He makes a choked noise, hand jerking up to cover his mike and pull it away from his mouth even with it already being off. He scrambles to click his camera off a second later too.

“Are you sure?”

He whispers it like a kid with an especially juicy secret about stuff that was only really drama to people below the age of twelve, and you laugh, shrugging.

“I mean if you’re sure then yeah. You’re the one who’s on call right now.” Your lips purse after that as a thought strikes you and you shake your head.

Honestly, that was pretty sound reasoning to not keep going so you switch gears, standing and starting to move for the living room again.

“Or maybe we shouldn’t. I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve seen you sit down to work with those people since the semester started,” you throw over your shoulder.

Peter’s chair squeaks as he pushes it back.

“No no no, get your pretty self back here.”

The telltale thwip of his web-shooters sounds a moment before webbing hits your side and you’re being spun around. The yelp you let out turns quickly into laughter as Peter comes back into view while reeling you in.

“That’s not a very responsible use of your powers, Spider.”

Peter grins, arms circling your lower half, and you wrap your hands around his forearms to stabilize yourself.

“Oh really? You know what I think is irresponsible?”

“What?” you mock softly.

Peter chuckles and the hands on your hips squeeze, pulling you even closer. Pressed flush together he places a short kiss to your lips and you can’t not let out a tiny sigh at that.

“You being a tease when you know I can’t get enough of you.” Peter leans in and kisses you a little longer this time. When he pulls back away his eyes are twinkling and his pupils are a little blown, “Please can you get back on your knees for me? I mean you’ve got your pants off and everything, it'd be a real shame to waste that.”

“A shame. Really?”

Peter nods fully serious at your dubious tone.

“Yeah, worth shedding a few tears over. You want me to cry in front of all these people, Pretty Girl? Cause I will.”

That, that overdramatic lilt to his voice, has you rolling your eyes and sucking your teeth. “Just hurry up and sit down - but know I'm not taking any crap for how low your group participation rating is gonna be.”

Peter’s smile is blinding, “Totally fair,” he nods. A second later he swoops in to kiss you some more, leading you back to his desk without coming up for air and then darting around to move all his stuff around to make room for you.

“Give me a second to finish this module then I’m all yours, K?”

His voice is rushed as he’s looking at you with obvious interest and you nod, you could wait a few extra minutes. Especially considering that you could act annoyed with him all you wanted, but at the end of the day this had been your idea first; he was accommodating you.

You kneel on the carpeted floor, hidden under the desk you’d gifted him after riding the subway with it balanced on your head.

When you’re settled down there you wait maybe five minutes for him to say a portion of his piece before deciding it’d be way more fun to fuck with him a little. You smile up at him, making sure to catch the panic that flashes across his face, before leaning in and ghosting the tip of your nose over where you know his cock is hiding in his shorts.

You make eye contact, “Can I?”

Peter’s leg jumps and the rest of his sentence comes out in a rushed choked up jumble.

That soft needy question you pose is apparently all the incentive he needed to let you start before he’s finished presenting though because in a second he’s reaching his hand back for one of his pillows and dropping it down for you to kneel on. You do so with a small chuckle and a “thank you.”

He’s trembling and giving you the most eager looks in between participating, voice mainly only keeping steady because you’ve stopped trying to distract him. Now you just want him in your mouth, no mischief needed. Though he is still fidgeting; partially because he knows if the inclination struck you you could easily embarrass the hell out of him. All that vigilante shit be damned Spider-man may be ingurigable but Peter’s greatest weakness was you.

You laugh and move to pull his pants down his thighs with his assistance. Once he’s free to your satisfaction you brush the lightest kiss to his happy trail. He sighs, meeting your gaze intermittently as he talks through his turns. In response you trail featherlight kisses down to his cock, which is steadily hardening for your consideration, kiss at his base and then travel down to lick over his balls.

His voice stutters harshly over his next sentence and you smile before pulling away. He gives you this aggrieved desperate look, making as if he’s about to start complaining you, but you wave him off.

“Easy baby,” you mouth right before making him gasp by kissing his tip and then wrapping your lips around his head.

You keep your pace easygoing as Peter stutters and stops over his words; as he trembles against you, dick twitching while you slowly engulf him.

You wring your first moan out of him when you’ve gotten him all the way down your throat, mind steadily blanking on anything other than the weight of him on your tongue and the slight twinge in your jaw, when the back of your throat swallows over his head and you hum happily.

His head drops down and his hand clumsily snaps out to mute his microphone.

“O-oh, oh my god. It’s like you’re trying to kill me -fuck,” he groans.

You barely hear him, have no clue that when he moaned that he nearly did it for everyone to hear. You're just losing yourself in the sensations. The way he pulses in your mouth, the occasional twitch as he struggles not to fuck into your throat, how your jaw feels, the stretch of your lips, and then the drool running clear like polished glass down your chin and dripping onto Peter’s balls.

You sigh, going limp against him when his hand moves to your head. He burrows his fingers into your thick curls to get a firm grip but doesn’t do anything else. You swallow around his cock again in thanks, only in tune with the way it makes him shift against you. In the strangled noise he makes. The fact he’s on call isn’t even a factor any more; just his pleasure and how he feels in your mouth.

Your eyes flutter shut happily as he scratches blunt nails against your scalp.

“God baby,” he gasps and you whine just the tiniest bit, pussy twinging between your legs. Your hands don’t move from their position in your lap though.

Peter’s got you. The thought echoes in your mind nicely as you hand over control. You don’t have to worry about anything else but him.

- - -

Peter curses above your head, completely unregistered by you, and then rushes to get himself excused. You’re making him feel very good and for that you deserve all his attention - and boy does he want to give it. Plus, you dropped so fast that he’s a bit worried about you; it typically took way more coaxing from him to get you so completely out of your own head like this.

He’s extra careful with his movements as he logs off and shuts down his setup, but eyes draw fully to you once he’s done and don’t leave. You were too pretty like this, face relaxed like it only ever was in sleep with your lips stretched to accommodate his girth.

He brushes his free hand over your face when he shifts too much for your liking and you let out an utterly disparaging whine.

“Shh, Pretty Girl, it’s alright. You’re doing so good for me, you know that? I’ve got you I promise,” he grinds forward the smallest bit, moaning when you squeeze down. “So so good.”

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!

I plan on posting spider-verse fics soon but since I’ve been working on this TASM!Spidey one I decided to go ahead and post it first.

Mind any inconsistencies/typos pls! I’ll get to them eventually.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it. this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

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