petalparker

[petalparker]

peters nerdy side>>>> can we get more hot nerdy peter pretty pleaseeeee

nerdy peter makes me feral.

Peter Parker was finally rewarded for all the shit he deals with. 

A teen, who was a silent walker in school, but a near lethal hero at night, one that has to deal with more stress and traumas than any other kid at seventeen. Night after night, his spirit being broken down a little more each bad guy he’s put away. 

Queens see a hero that keeps the streets clean. 

Sometimes, all Peter could see was someone’s dad, or husband, or son he was putting away. 

All that bullshit he’s been dealt, the bullshit about power and responsibility, was washed away when he finally got something good, something he really thought he deserved. 

He got you, and that’s why he’ll stop at nothing to keep you. 

“You got yourself a good one, parker. Don’t fuck it all up with your nerdy shit, pretty girls hate that.”

Was it dumb to listen to Flash of all people? Maybe. 

Does he know more about girls and has a better track record at keeping them? Yes. 

But of course, just like how you were the one to approach him, ask him out, kiss him first and ask for him to be your boyfriend, he should’ve trusted you. Could you really blame him though, not totally trusting he can have a purely good thing with no consequences? 

He couldn’t, that’s why it shocked him when you made it clear you only wanted him. 

You wanted Peter Parker, however he came. Science facts, nerdy hobbies, tirades and all. 

—---------------------

Have you ever built up an idea of who someone was in your head, and when you date the other shoe drops and they’re nothing like you thought? 

That was you with Peter Parker. 

He was adorably perfect, noticing him when sharing a history class. Peter sat three seats up from you on the left, perfect position for you to watch his habits. The shake in his leg, tapping pencils on his desk, blowing a breath every time someone answered incorrectly, sitting up and leaning over his desk when something catches his attention, chewing his bottom lip while going over notes, poking his tongue out when he takes a test. 

Peter Parker was the constant subject on your mind, starting in history and causing you to look for him in other classes, you only shared one more, typing class. He was three rows behind you, there wasn’t a good way to look at him, instead having to rely on his quiet murmurs when the teacher stands behind his computer. 

After two weeks of pining you couldn’t stand it, stomping over to his table at lunch you sit down right next to him. His friends paused at your sudden and aggressive entrance. 

“Hi. We haven’t really talked but we share typing and history. For two weeks straight I’ve been watching you and I can’t get you out of my head, and I would really, really like to go on a date with you.” 

You can see it on his face, how he goes from shock to excitement, then as he looks you over his face falls. He thinks you’re fucking with him, you don’t know how to make him believe it’s real. 

“Here,” you pull at your backpack and rip the front pocket open, you pull a sharpie out and with a slight tremble you grab his arm, pushing his sleeve up you uncap the marker with your teeth. Scribbling your number onto his skin, “think about it, let me know.” 

Before you lose your steam you scramble to stand and grab your bag, “okay, that’s all. Um,” you nod at his friends, silence deafening as everyone at the table takes in the scenario. “Thank you, and… enjoy lunch?” Cringing, you turn to leave, whispering an ‘oh my god,’ to yourself while pressing a hand to your cheek. 

Peter is sure in that moment you were a hundred percent serious and you just mortified yourself, spilling your guts and being met with nothing.

 Six steps away he calls out, “yes!” 

You pause, then turn, “what?” 

“Yes! I’ll go on a date with you.” 

Oh, that’s a new feeling. It felt like your heart had wings, your stomach felt like you were on a rollercoaster, flutters everywhere. You couldn’t even try to play it cool, the guy you’ve been crazy about just as interested and curious as you were. A toothy smile overtook your face, eyes lit up. 

Taking a few steps closer, you felt giddy. 

“Really? You will?” 

Peter’s smile matched yours, he laughed through his answer, he can’t believe you actually like him that much. “Yeah.” Biting your bottom lip you pull it together, “cool, text me and we’ll plan something?” 

“You got it.” 

Nodding you walk off, Peter’s riding on a high like never has. He’s never had such a pretty girl like you like him, want him, notice him. He felt like he’s been rewarded, that he does deserve a good thing. 

Flash scoffs when you sit back at your table, immediately talking and watching faces gasp and squeal. 

“You got yourself a good one, parker. Don’t fuck it all up with your nerdy shit, pretty girls hate that.”

The last thing he wants to do, before he even gets you, is send you off. So, he listens and promises to be someone that should be with a girl like you, someone that isn’t really him. 

—---------------------

You figured it was first date nerves. 

That or just the fact you’ve never been alone with each other, especially under the guise of a date. It wasn’t like he was weird, but he was off. The person you watched in class was goofy, using his body to express himself, confident when speaking because he could back every word up. 

This Peter was quiet, guarded and almost… boring. 

You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, he just had some jitters. Maybe if you kissed him it would settle him, you could prove that you liked him and he had nothing to be nervous about. Trying to look past his awkwardness you took the night as it was, wishing he was making you laugh like he had in class, or wishing he would ramble on in a story like you’ve watched him do with his friends at lunch or at his locker. 

It may have been different than you thought but he’d come around after a date or two surly, you’d kiss him and after another few dates he’ll open up and be his true self. It was hope, but you were riding on it. 

Peter ended the night by walking you home, conversation slowly dwindling as you approached closer, falling flat when you were  in front of the building. Waiting for a moment you looked at his mouth, he made no reaction, you hadn’t expected him to sweep you off your feet but to not offer anything made you feel unsure. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

It was obvious from the look on his face that he wasn’t expecting anything in the slightest, but he licked his bottom lip and nodded softly, “yeah,” leaning in you wait for a moment, he makes no move, he has to be extremely nervous, no other option. You kissed him, you pressed into him and grabbed his face, his hands gently hovered and you pulled away. 

Maybe he just pitied you, just agreed because you put him on the spot. 

“Um, you know if you didn’t want-” 

“Can we do this again, please?” 

And just because he asked, and because it seemed like he realized he acted off and he wanted another chance, and because you really do believe in first date jitters, you say yes. 

—--------------

The first time you went over to his house his room was oddly clean, empty spaces on his bookshelf and shelves, almost like he’d put things away. Eyeing a bin by his closet you walked closer, “you collect comics?” Hoping you wouldn’t find, but still opening the top and starting to look through the ones on top. 

Peter took a deep breath, “as a kid, kinda stupid now, don’t you think?” 

You furrow your eyebrows and shake your head, looking back down at the comic in your hand. You thought when you started dating he’d open up more, instead he got more closed off. 

Clearing your throat you place the comics back in, in the exact same order and putting the lid back on. “No, I don’t think they’re stupid. I was hoping you had some new ones I could catch up on, but if you think they’re stupid now I guess I’ll have to get ‘em myself.” 

If he had known you like comics he would’ve never said that. It’s his fault for leaving them out, he should’ve put them away like everything else that screamed ‘nerd alert’. 

“I didn’t mean they’re stupid, just you know… collecting them as an adult… is.. weird?” 

The lamest excuse you’ve ever heard, but you keep your patience. It hasn't even been two weeks, he’ll come around. You know it. 

—------

Surprising Peter with a hug he budged against your weight before supporting you, talking to a friend while he wrapped his arms around your back. Picking up on pieces of the conversation you nudge your head up, interested in his words. 

The Peter you like, the one that’s animated and rambling, moving his hands across your back as he talks. You place a kiss at the bottom of his neck, “whatcha talking about?”  It sounded like a new program that was going to change the future of computer engineering, when you questioned he blew you off. “Nothing important.” 

You had tried, you tried to be kind and patient and understanding but he just wasn’t who you wanted. You wanted that person, the person that’s excited about new technology and collected comic books. 

Peter closed off when you asked, guarded back up, you wished it could’ve been different. Maybe one day he’d open up more, you didn’t want anything but his true self. 

You gave it a month before you had to accept that Peter Parker wasn’t the person you thought he was, today, you had to accept that you were breaking up with Peter Parker. Pulling away you grab his arm, silently telling him to look at you. 

“Can I come over later?” 

“Yeah, of course. Wanna come with me after school?” 

“Sure,” you wondered if he could see through your smile. It doesn’t seem like it, he leans down and gives you a quick kiss, you pull away and back away through the halls. 

He has no idea what’s coming. 

—------------

Gently pushing Peter’s shoulders down to coax him into sitting on the edge of his bed, you grin politely when he follows instruction. Dragging his desk chair to sit in front of him you pause to think about what you were going to say, clearing your throat you begin. 

“So, I like you a lot, and I’ve enjoyed having you as my boyfriend for the past month-” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrow, he holds his hand up, “enjoyed? Are you breaking up with me?” 

You bite your lip and nod solemnly, “I’m sorry, Peter.” 

The silence is unsettling, you look away from him, his figures deflated and his mind races. 

“Why?” 

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out you shrug, “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Peter. But, uh, you’re just… not what I thought you’d be like.” 

How could you not like him? He’s done everything right. He was the perfect suitor, he acted like the typical non nerd male. The kind of all american guy every girl wanted. 

“I don’t… what does that mean?” 

You laugh, “I have a type, and you’re not it. I like nerds, like, straight up goofy, funny guys that know something about everything and collect comic books and get excited at new, humanity altering technology. I thought you were that guy, but I guess not.” 

Oh my god. 

He’s fucked it all up, he was dumb enough to believe you wanted something else. 

He can show you he’s a nerd, he’s been one his entire goddamn life, he’s about to nerd olympics the hell out of you. 

Peter jumps from his seat so quickly it startles you, his hands come down on the armrests of your chair, the seat tilting backwards as he pushes his weight towards you. 

“I’m the biggest nerd you’ll ever meet.” 

Your seat jostles when he lets go and opens his closet, pulling out a box he sets it on his bed. 

“This is everything I put away when we started dating,” he turns with three rubik’s cubes, each one in various sizes. “,these are my rubik’s cubes, I can finish the standard in forty three seconds, the six by six took me about thirty minutes and this baby?” he bounced the biggest one in his hold, “, this is a twenty one by twenty one, it took me about three hours.” 

Peter dropped them to the bed and continued, “and this is my national championship trophy for chess club,” he shoves it in your face before he keeps digging, a small picture frames come next, “this is when I won the states most innovative science fair project,” frantic digging, “, this is a figurine of my favorite video game,” two large disc sets next, “lord of the rings and star wars,” 

He spins around, flying past your body where he picks up his comic book container, “remember when I was late to our date last week? I was getting these,” three new additions of an old comic you had just started to pick up, “, and currently?” Peter moved to his desk, tapping on his keyboard until his screen woke up, code covered the screen, he pointed between the monitor and a notebook, “I’m learning to read binary code.” 

You felt like the grinch because your heart grew the times the size, adoration blossomed, you could feel your chest crack and glow. The Peter you wanted, the person you thought he was from the start, was real and in front of you. 

This was who he was, so why was he hiding it? 

“Why did you hide that from me? Peter, that’s like, the entire reason I wanted to date you. I liked who you were, then you turned into someone else.” 

Peter rested against his desk and sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I figured a pretty girl like you wouldn’t want some nerdy guy, it might be cute at first but when I’m stoked about something I read on wikipedia and make it my thing for a day and talk your ear off about it, you’re gonna wish you had a boyfriend that just watches sport clips for fun.”

That’s the point you were trying to make, “that’s what I want! I was literally dumping you because you weren’t that.” 

“Well, I am that. So there’s no point in breaking up, right?” 

You hum and spin in his chair, “I dunno… you dragged me along for a month, hiding yourself from me, making me question everything. I mean, you have a lot to make up for, parker.” 

“C’mere,” you’re not given an option, he reaches forward and pulls the chair towards him and pulls you from the seat, flopping himself down and tugging you into his lap. Your stomach clenches, this was the confident Peter you wanted, it was confidence in himself. 

His pointer finger taps on the monitor, “you read binary from right to left, and you separate them into groups of eight. Now the key is knowing that each one and zero mean-” 

Your mouth on his, cutting his words off with a kiss, you held his face tightly, never wanting him to separate from you. Caught off guard he froze for a moment, then wrapped his hands around your middle. Pressing into him, separating for air but giving small pecks. 

“Baby,” kiss, “, I’m sorry,” kiss, “, I shut,” kiss, “, you out,” kiss, “I didn’t,” kiss, “, know it meant,” kiss, “, so much,” kiss, “, to you,” kiss. 

“You’re so much smarter than me,” a chaste kiss, “it’s so hot,” you look into his eyes, he’s flushed out and breathing harshly. “You’re so hot,” another kiss, Peter feels like the room is spinning, he’s never felt so wanted, so needed, the way you can’t stop kissing him, how tight you’re holding him to you, how blown your pupils are, the way you’re gulping him like water. 

“I mean if you,” he grunts when you kiss down his neck, biting into his collarbone. “, if you want, I could show you how quick I can solve my rubik’s cube.” Your hands drag up his hair, gripping and tilting his head away, better access to nibble and lick the skin. “Or, recite the first seventy nine numbers of pi.” 

Attention caught, “you know the first seventy nine numbers of pi?” 

“Mm hmm, I could also tell you” a whimper,  “, all the elements. Want me to start rattling them off?” 

Kissing the middle of his throat you hum, “I’d rather you take your pants off.” 

For the first time in Peter Parker’s life, memorizing the periodic table got him laid. 

#that's MY man #i love him so much #c; peter <3 #fic rec; peter parker

[petalparker]

okay i’m awake time to write for my silly little phone spiders

#c; miles!

[petalparker]

Drunk! Peter and he’s all over reader telling her how he wants to marry her and being handsy lol

hi I hope this okay <3

"I like gardenias," Peter declares, drunk as a skunk and climbing all over you. 

You're never letting him go out with his friends again, you decide, brushing the hair out of your sloshed boyfriend's eyes. "Me too," you say. 

"Yeah?" he looks exceedingly pleased by this, more pleased than he has any reason to be. He smells like wine coolers. 

"Sure. They're pretty." 

"And lily of the valley," he adds. "Sweatpeas, jasmine. Oh! Astilbe." 

"You've lost me," you say. 

Peter wrinkles his nose and works his way further still into your lap, hands at your waist. You roll your eyes at his face, tucked against your chest, very obvious in its position. 

"That's fair. We'll ditch the astilbe. Astrantia instead?" 

"Baby, what is an astrantia?" you ask, fingers in his hair.

Each time you stroke his hair back from his face his eyes close, like a puppy. It's adorable. He might be drunk and a little messy right now, but he's still your boy. You'd die for this idiot.

"A flower?" he asks, squinting up at you. "I'm talking about a bouquet." 

"Oh," you say. 

You're distracted from asking why he's discussing bouquets with you at 2AM on the living room sofa when you should both be sleeping by his hands catching yours where it cards through his hair.

He sits up to kiss your fingers, your wrist, small pecks that turn open mouthed that turn nibbling, little wet nips running a course to the sleeve of your T-shirt. He grumbles at being stopped short. You're giggling quietly, endeared and adorned by his affections; you feel like the prettiest girl on earth, covered in his tiny kisses. 

"Red velvet?" he asks suddenly, encouraging you to lie back.

"Are you hungry?" you ask, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

"What? No." He sounds frustrated. "Do you like red velvet?" 

"Why are you asking?" 

"For the cake," he says, as if this is obvious. You realise Peter is having a conversation without you and elect to ignore his drunken woes, pulling his face down so you can hug him against your shoulder. 

"Maybe we should go to bed, hot stuff." 

"Are you kidding? We have so many decisions to make." 

"They can definitely wait until the morning, baby," you say warmly. 

He starts running his hands over your chest, your arm, your chest again. He doesn't touch anywhere important without asking, a gentleman even now, but the longing in his eyes makes you wish he would sober up for proper kisses. 

"They can't wait," he insists. "These are so important. We need to talk about them."  

You sigh dramatically, feeling very sorry for yourself, long suffering and tired. "Can we talk about them in bed, Peter?" 

"No, you'll distract me." 

"I'll be too busy sleeping." He pouts. You burst into laughter. "Babe! It's so late, I waited up for you so we could fall asleep together and you waylaid me with hickeys and a game of twenty questions!" You plead your case.

It's Peter's turn to sigh, though his is more of an indignant groan. "This isn't twenty questions, woman!" You raise your eyebrows, dying of laughter on the inside, and he amends, "My beloved. It's not twenty questions." 

"What is it, then?" 

He smirks at you, hands on either side of you and his knee between your thighs. You suddenly remember how tall he is and how stern he can be when he's not obliterated by cheap booze. 

He leans down to whisper in your ear. "I'm gonna marry you." 

"Get off of me," you say, rolling your eyes. 

"I'm gonna marry the fuck out of you, and then I'm gonna fuck the marry out of you, and we're gonna have centerpieces made up of a thousand white gardenias and asta- astrav- astantrias!" 

"And this has to happen tonight?" you ask, playing along, a feeling of white hot and reverential love blossoming from the centre of your chest. 

"If you don't mind!" he almost shouts. 

"I want vanilla cake," you say steadily, quietly, reaching your hands up to pinch his red cheeks.

His eyes are wide but he's calmer now he's realised you're on his side. "Good choice," he says, blinking. "What frosting? Buttercream, right? Fondant is for losers." 

You giggle until you can't breathe. He drops his head down into your chest, hugs your ribs so tight it aches. You can feel his smile even through your sleep shirt. 

#the cutest! #HE'S SOOO ARGGGGGHHHH #i wanna squish his cheeks #fic rec; peter parker

[petalparker]

Orbitational Pull

peter is disastrously bad at talking about how he feels. friends to lovers!

NOTE: tysm @gotkindabored for helping me post this, and also being all-around lovely! pls go easy on me, im VERY rusty :)

“Hey you,”

She hears it from the familiar corner of her bedroom, one that she’s used to. He sounds hoarse and out of breath, and his suit is slick with rainwater. She looks beautiful, of course. There isn’t a moment of the day she doesn’t steal his breath.

“Peter,” she says, voice low and careful, but even still- he can hear the honey-sweet affection his name is spoken through, “You’re early tonight, huh?”

He cracks a smile, and looks her over- he can’t help it.

He fell on her fire escape, one night. Her crappy college apartment, a shared place with her own room. It was months ago, feels like decades now. Of course, he knew who she was before that night. He knew she was the kind girl, who smiled at him every time she passed him in the hallways. He’s had a crush on her since was ten, when she offered him a chocolate bar the day after Halloween, when Aunt May had just packed a granola bar.

Keep reading

[petalparker]

— SECRETS AND SKATEPARKS.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader

summary: you have a sneaking suspicion about your best friend and will apparently go to any lengths to prove yourself right.

warnings: mentions of violence/bruises, kissing, basically just a bunch of pg13 fluff, friends to lovers au.

author’s note: very much enjoying the andrew garfield spiderman love recently (don’t know where you all were 9 years ago but that’s not my business) so here’s a fic for my favourite spidey! i don’t think i’ve written for marvel in over a year and my writing is kinda rusty, but enjoy nonetheless!! ♡

“I wonder what Spider-Man looks like,” you absentmindedly mumble, scribbling down the answer to the Calculus question you were working on.

This piques your best friend Peter’s interest and his gaze quickly shoots from his own homework to you. “What, why? Wh-why does that, uh, matter?”

“No, I’m just saying, y’know?” You shrug, not thinking anything of it until you catch his expression. His head is tilted in confusion and he resembles a lost puppy with curiosity painted plain as day on his face.

God, why does your best friend have to be so cute. Okay, maybe a slightly inappropriate thought to be having, but it’s not like you’re hurting anyone! Other than yourself, that is, by not having your feelings returned. Collateral damage.

“He’s, like, super strong right?” you ask, turning back to your homework. Mostly to avoid looking at Peter, but also because you aren’t quite as good at calculus as him. He hums in answer, prompting you to continue. “Which means he’s probably super ripped. And if he’s super ripped, he’s gotta be like…”

You trail off, thinking he gets where you’re going. But when you look at him again, his brows are furrowed and you can’t help chuckling. “Spider-Man is probably really hot.”

Peter chokes on air.

Keep reading

#tasm peter really does have that hot skater boy thing going on for him 🥵 #but aaaaa best friends to lovers always has me in a chokehold #the PINING! #fic rec; peter parker

[petalparker]

omg ahhh if you’re still doing the kiss prompts, 75!!! short!reader and tall peter absolutely wrecks me

From [this] A Hundred Different Kisses prompt list.

75: standing on your tippy toes, frustrated you can't reach your lover's lips

A/N: I’m writing this as a tall girl. I have no idea what it’s like to be short. I imagine you’re all tiny and feisty though like a chihuahua to compensate for your lack of height. 

[TASM!Peter Parker x Reader]

You had spent the evening studying in the library for your upcoming finals. The sun had set and your eyes were tired from staring at your textbooks all afternoon. It was becoming more obvious with each passing day that you probably needed glasses. The strain on your eyes was getting worse. You’d have to remember to make an eye appointment some time. You rubbed your hands over them and gave a soft sigh. 

“Tired?” A familiar voice floated over your shoulder. 

Your lips curled into a smile and you turned to greet Peter. He bent down and kissed the top of your head. 

“Exhausted.” You started to pack up your belongings into you bag. “Is it 7 already?” 

“On the dot.” Peter was always promptly on time when it came to picking you up. The boy loved to walk you home. He said it was to keep you safe from all the creeps in the world but, you had been living in the city all your life, you could handle yourself. The switch blade in your pocket and pepper spray in your bag were proof of that. Peter liked to refer to you as being “tiny but deadly”. You knew he just wanted to walk you everywhere because he wanted to spend as much time with you as possible. 

He took your bag from your hand and slung it over his shoulder. He also refused to let you carry anything. You had given up that fight long ago. 

“You ready?” He asked, holding out his hand for you to take. 

You happily linked fingers with him and walked into the cool, evening air. 

“Do you think I’ll look cute with glasses?” You asked him as you lazily swung your hands back and forth. 

Peter nodded, “Oh, absolutely. The cutest. Imagine a little mouse with tiny glasses. That’ll be what you look like.” 

You stopped walking and pulled your hand out of his to cross your arms, giving him a pout, “Why does it have to a be mouse?” 

He gave you a smirk and raised his eyebrows at you, “You know exactly why.” 

“How dare you make fun of my height! I’ll fight you.” You held up your fists and jumped around, throwing fake punches at him. “Come on, Parker. Put ‘em up.” 

“See? The cutest, tiniest, little mouse I have ever seen.” He placed a hand out and held on to the top of your head, easily holding you arms length while you attempted to swing punches at him. “Your arms can’t even reach.” 

“I am not short!” You shouted up at him. 

“Well, you’re certainly in denial, that’s for sure.” He licked his lips and gave you a teasing smile, releasing his palm from your head and letting you tumble forward into him. “If you’re not that short than I dare you to try to kiss me right now. I won’t move. I’m going to stand here, look straight ahead, and see if you can do it.” 

Peter straightened up, his feet flat on the ground, and his shoulders rolled back as he stared straight ahead. This would be easy. You kiss him all the time. 

You stood on your tippy toes and leaned up. Your neck stretched out as far as it could and you tried to kiss him. It quickly became apparent that your lips could only reach to under his jaw. 

You tried again. 

Still nothing. 

You started to get frustrated. You hadn’t realized how much Peter had to actually bend down to kiss you. The poor guy was going to develop serious back issues. You gave a little jump, landing a kiss on his chin, and falling back onto your feet with a huff. 

“Okay...maybe...just maybe, I might be shorter than average.” 

“Like a little mouse,” he gave you a smile. “Say it. Say, I’m tiny like a little, cute mouse and my boyfriend is always right.” 

“Now you’re really pushing it,” you gave him an unimpressed look. 

Peter giggled and easily picked you up. You instantly wrapped your legs around his waist and came perfectly face to face with him. His eyes lit up when they met yours. 

“I think you’d look really beautiful with or without glasses,” he said. “Now finish what you started and kiss me.”

#noooooo this is so cute and for what #my cheeks hurts from smiling so much 😭 #tasm peter is such a cheeky shit #why is that so attractive #aaaaaa #fic rec; peter parker

[petalparker]

puppy dog eyes

pairing : tasm!peter parker x reader

pov : third person pov , she/her pronouns

word count : 1.2k

warning(s) : fluff, mention of sex like once

notes : this is my first lil peter blurb on tumblr! enjoy!

* gif not mine , creds to owner

it was early. too early for the sound of her alarm to be playing as loud as it was. she woke up for the sixth time that morning, and sighed as she rolled over to put it on snooze yet again.

peter groaned from beside her and rolled her way, letting his arm drop heavily across her waist.

"please just shut it off, love," he slurred. "we’re both so tired, just stay home."

she whined, being reminded that she did eventually have to get out of bed.

"i wish i could," she whispered, letting her eyes drift shut as peter’s hand slipped under her shirt to drag his fingertips along her stomach. "but i have to go to school, i have a presentation today."

"i’ve missed you so much, angel, can't you do the presentation another day?" her mumbled against her skin, lips brushing the back of her neck. she wriggled under his arm and turned over to face him, bringing a hand up to his cheek and kissing him softly.

"i’ve missed you, too, peter. so much. but i have to go in today, i don't have a choice."

peter had come home from swinging around 1am last night, wide awake with adrenaline. because of this, neither of them got to sleep until around 3 in the morning, so her 7am alarm was a very unwelcome interruption.

"no," he said, his eyes still closed but the hint of a smirk evident in the corner of his mouth. "you’re staying in bed with me." he tightened the arm encircling her waist so they were plastered together, front to front.

"peter," she whined, half-heartedly trying to push away from him. "let gooooo."

"never," he murmured, wrapping his other arm around her back and pulling her impossibly closer, burying his face in her neck.

a breathless sigh escaped her lips as she let her eyes fall shut again. this was heaven to both of them, wrapped up safe and warm in peter’s arms after sleepless nights.

she felt the tendrils of sleep start to curl around her, threatening to pull her back under, when her alarm went off again. peter released her so she could make the obnoxious noise stop, and this time she actually looked at the time before putting her phone back on the nightstand. she had less than an hour to get to school and she wasn't even dressed yet.

she groaned again in annoyance and started to lift her tired body out of bed. peter grabbed her arm before her feet even touched the floor, and with more strength than someone who was supposedly half-asleep, he yanked her back into bed and into his arms. "don’t go.”

“baby, c’mon. i love you, but i’m gonna be late…”

“sucks doesn’t it,” he half grinned.

“seriously, peter. i have to go,” she said, craning her neck to look down at her boyfriend. he looked peaceful, but she had to go.

she reached down under the covers & poked her unsuspecting lover sharply in the ribs. he yelped, eyes popping open in surprise.

"ouch - hey!" while his guard was down, she was able to squirm out of his grasp and roll off the bed, somehow managing to land on her feet and walk over to the bathroom with some of her dignity still intact.

as she was walking away, peter leaned across the mattress and lazily propped himself up on his elbow. "baby, no, come back," he said pitifully, his voice still raspy with sleep as he reached out after her. her heart threatened to break at his longing tone.

"when i get back from classes this afternoon we can cuddle..." she said, shedding her pajamas and putting on underwear, shoving her legs into a pair of jeans.

"we always go right to sleep when i get back. we have lots of cuddling to make up for," he said. she pulled one of his sweaters over her head and walked back out into the bedroom to see him sprawled out diagonally across their shared bed with his head towards the foot of the mattress. "and, y'know... lots of other making up to do..." he trailed off suggestively, bringing her thoughts back to the night before.

okay, so maybe adrenaline wasn't the only thing that kept them up late. she tried to ignore the slow burn in the pit of her stomach that made itself apparent at the thought of how peter had taken care of her last night. he looked up at her pleadingly with those big brown eyes, still a little puffy from sleep and looking absolutely angelic. she stood at the foot of the bed and shifted her weight, putting a hand on her hip. he was unbelievable.

“c’mon, peter, don't give me that puppy dog face. how am i supposed to say no to that?"

"you’re not supposed to," he said, blinking up at her innocently. her resolve started to crumble, but a glance at the clock set her back into motion. she walked over to the ensuite bathroom so she could finish getting ready.

"i’m going to school, peter," she said over her shoulder.

"noooo," he whined. she heard him roll over in the bed again. "please, angel, at least let me look at you a little longer." she huffed indignantly, grabbing her makeup bag off the bathroom counter and taking it out into the bedroom.

"you’re lucky i love you," she said, lowering herself to the ground to sit in front of the full length mirror on peter’s side of the bed, setting her makeup bag on the floor.

"yeah, yeah, i know," he said, making her giggle.

she was putting on eyeliner when she heard a thud on the floor behind her. she looked over her shoulder and saw peter on his hands and knees, hair in every direction as he crawled towards her across the floor.

"what are you doing?" she asked, pencil poised in midair. she watched as he silently crawled up next to her and lowered his head into her lap.

"i just wanna be close to you for a little longer before you leave," he said lowly, his eyes falling shut again as he nestled into his position.

fuck. her heart squeezed in her chest at the simplicity and sincerity of his explanation. sometimes she forgets that being apart was just as hard for her as it was for him; even though he was busy saving the world, he still ached like she did every day to spend time together. looking down at him nearly asleep in her lap, she lost all willpower and put her eyeliner pencil back in its place in her bag. screw it, i’ll just tell my teacher i was sick or something.

"hey, pete..." she coaxed gently, rubbing her hand back and forth over his shoulder. he stirred a little and hummed quietly to let her know he was listening. "i’m gonna stay with you today."

he smiled smugly, his eyes remaining closed. "yay."

“you wanna go back to bed?”

"no, here's good." she rolled her eyes and dragged her fingers through his messy hair.

“you’re a giant baby,” she teased.

“but i’m your baby.”

“yeah. and i’m yours.

find me other places!

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[petalparker]

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎, 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓?

summary: one bed, two friends. do i have to explain?

masterlist.

andrew!peter parker x reader

or could be tom!peter parker x reader :))

(up for interpretation)

warnings: fluff, little bit spicy ;)), friends to lovers, you and peter being cuties omg, lots of swearing, one bed wink wink? adorable-ness, kissing, PETERS A HUGGER OKAY

don’t steal any of my work, thanks!

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𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐃. Of course Aunt May noticed. The woman raised Peter for the majority of his life, she knew the kid like the back of her hand. Peter was never one to tell secrets to people, he was more of a reserved person; so when one day he ran home at the age of 9 screaming he was in love with the girl who spared him a rubber in Science, the woman was shocked.

That day, he had rambled for an ongoing 26 minutes before May had asked for the name in question. Peter let it slip without thinking of the continuous teasing May would give her nephew for years to come, he was so lost in the art that was you that none of that mattered, not one bit.

Four days after he first fell in love with you, he sucked up his fears and spoke to you once again. He sat behind you in Maths, his head forever buried in the desk to block out your refreshing scent in worry he would only fall more in love; if that was possible at this point.

He remembered that day so well, the day he wished he could redo. He had tapped your shoulder cautiously after ten minutes of procrastinating a simple act for attention. When your head turned to face him, all rehearsed lines Peter wanted to say to you had flown straight out of his head. His throat dried in an instant, eyes doe and cheeks burning with passion. He barely recollected that you had asked if he was okay, Peter’s heart thudded and nodded his head rapidly, feeling his hair bounce with the move.

He swallowed all that was worried and opened his mouth to politely ask: “Would you like to go for ice cream after school?” After many stutters interrupted his question. He remembers your smile so well, your dimples prominent as your cheeks grew rosy pink. You had nodded and agreed with zero hesitations.

Peter had run home, crashing into Aunt May as Peter sprinted through the house. May questioned his rush in concern, Peter responding with her name in mantra hoping she’d understand as he couldn’t not waste any time that wasn’t dedicated to you. After the day out, Peter went for the kiss. Only to be hugged.

Hugged! What the fuck! An embrace? An act of a friendly gesture! (That’s what WikiHow had told Peter anyway.) There was no chance Peter could have you now. So for the next 5 years of his life, you and Peter had been the definition of best friends; much to his dismay.

That’s where we end up now, present day: Peter sat in a booth with Gwen, the two of them peeking over the high rise chairs as the two glared at you laughing at something your douchebag date had said.

What a dickhead. Look at him, his perfect white teeth, that stupid red and white jersey hung over his shoulders, his perfectly curled hair all girls fawned over. Peter could do that, of course he could do that. So why didn’t you pick him? This guy; he’s a phony, an idiot, a stupid fucking- Wait are you wearing Peter’s sweater?

“Is she wearing your sweater?” Gwen had nudged him in time with his thoughts. Peter’s eyes stayed trained on you; how beautiful you were. You took his breath away even years later, you had that much of an effect on him. Every time you looked in his eyes, he wanted you in more ways than one; He wanted you to be in his arms, to feel all that was pleasurable because of him and no one else. And you in his sweater, God- He wanted you more than ever. That childhood crush grew into a more mature, desperate affectionate of lust for what was all of you.

“Peter?” Gwen’s voice snapped him from his mind running on passion. His chest heaving with small pants leaving his plump lips, “Yeah, she is.” A wide smile spread onto Gwen’s face, “So, she’s wearing your sweater on a date with another man?” She paused and looked at him with her mouth agape and eyes wide with joy. “And you’re still tell me she doesn’t feel the same?”

Peter rolled his eyes and slumped back into the seat, “No, Gwen, you say that and then I’m gonna get my hopes up!” His hands dragged down against his tired face, his words elongating into groans and sighs of helplessness. The blonde slid into her seat beside her best friend, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him and he wailed on about the love of his life.

Her hand patted his back in mocking sympathy. “I say that and I’m true.” Her brows raised along with herself, she leaned her body over the chairs again to see how you were doing; only to find you long gone, date too, nowhere to be seen.

Her arms flapped around, hitting Peter rapidly as panic grew unsettlingly on her features. Peter’s head perked up at the limp hand whacking his cheekbone, a moan of pain and annoyance slipping from his mouth. “What? What?” His eyes settled on Gwen’s anxiety ridden face, reciprocating her actions and looking ahead to where her face concerns.

The two empty chairs sent a wave of sickness down Peter’s throat to land abruptly in his stomach. The usual questions ran through the overflowing mind of Peter Parker. Had she left with him? That guy couldn’t do shit to what Peter’s got. Had she fallen for his charms? Fall for my fucking charms, Y/N. Was he-

“Peter, Peter! The phone, the phone!” Gwen’s hands hurriedly searched through Peter’s backpack as she heard the all too well ‘Spiderman Theme Song’ play rather loudly and distorted on his smashed phone. His hands snatched the phone from Gwen’s hands, her face now beet red from the embarrassment of not herself, but her friend.

Peter didn’t have time to process who was calling as his mind was set on shutting off the theme song as many guests were already staring at the two panicking in the small booth. “Hello? Hello?” His voice cracked in humiliation from the sounds of uptight guests quietly chuckling away sipping their expensive ass wine, cutlery dug deeply into the meat they payed an entire Peter Parker wallet full for.

“Hey, Pete.” Your soft voice rung so angelically through his head. The sound of your sigh at the end sent Peter’s mind into a frenzy, a rapid shake of the head and squeezed shut eyes did the job of knocking it right out the other side. Gwen looked at Peter quizzically, wondering who was at the phone. All suspicions were confirmed when Peter did a love heart at his chest and a silent expression of puppy dog eyes before rushing to your response.

“Hey, Y/N. Everything okay?” He snapped back into ‘best friend’ mode for you. Mind reeling from the status of The love of your life’s best friend!“Yeah, yeah. I’m- I’m okay.” You’re voice sounded uncertain, pitch waving as he recognised you did when you lie.

A sigh through your nose rung through the speaker of his phone. “That was a lie,” A breathy laugh fell from your shivering lips. “I’m not doing great, that date was a total bust. Mind swinging up?” Peter heart leaped in your want for him. You needed him, (more or less wanted him, but this is Peter’s mind remember again.) not that stupid jock. Him.

Gwen punched Peter’s shoulder to respond as her ear was pressed against the other side of the phone. “Yeah! Of course I’ll pick you up! Be right there!” Your brows furrowed, “But I didn’t say where I-“ Peter had unintentionally cut you off as he knew you were waiting outside, he was too lost in calls that were asking for him that he didn’t even process your words.

He was perched on top of the building, waiting a couple minutes as Gwen said to make the meeting look more natural than he was stalking you. He watched as you tapped your foot on the wet pavement, arms slithered around yourself as rain toppled down onto your beautiful physique, straightening your once curled hair. Your dress was soaked into your thighs, the temperature treating your thin black tights not so well.

After a long, suffering 30 seconds; Peter gave in and leaped down to your level, taking you by surprise and stumbling backwards before Peter’s arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you into his chest. Your hands gripped into his shoulders, feeling the Spiderman suit fabric under your fingertips, slowly circling the bumps on the suit.

“That was quick,” You gasped as he not-so-subtly tugged your body closer to his, feeling his hips connect to yours as he mumbled some nonsense about that it was his ‘Peter tingle’. “Favour: I need to stay at yours tonight, Dad’s out and I’m not gunna lie, a little scared of staying on my own” The smile that made Peter swoon etched across your smooth skin, eyes dripping with love and hints for what he was oblivious to.

Peter’s hands smoothed across the small of your back, “That’s fine, Y/N. It’ll be a blast from the past.” You could practically see the expression he was holding behind the mask: eyes soft and lip between his teeth, cheeks red and eyebrows upturned.

The two of you swung back to the house you loved oh-so dearly, the place you found the most comfort at outside your own. Aunt May waddled out on hearing an arrival, a smirk hidden behind the fork full of food as she watched Peter walk on in with his hands glued to your waist.

“Hey lovers!” She spoke with a high pitched greet, watching with amusement as you and Peter spilt away from each other; Peter hitting into the painting and nearly knocking it off the wall. She giggled and put her fork down, “Sorry about that! You two look close, Y/N did you know that when Peter was 10, he planned out the whole wedding between you two-“

“May! Please!” Peter’s eyes widened, a thick layer of blush cover the two of you as May laughed on the spot. “Anyway,” He continued awkwardly. “Y/N’s staying here tonight so I’m gunna get the spare bed from the attic.” Peter said before making his way to the steps, only to be stopped by May’s arms and a smug smile of satisfaction.

“Beds no longer there, looks like your gonna have to share! See ya!” Was all that left her mouth before the ping of the microwave took top priority.

You and Peter stood there for a moment, unsure of how to actively say the their crush that they were willing to sleep together. Well, not together together! Just a mutual friend sleeping with friend, a normal hug session, it’s normal! Friends cuddle too, right?

And that’s where you two ended up, both led under the cover in Peter’s bed, on your backs and staring up to the ceiling with a good space between the two of you. It was so awkward. Peter had accidentally brushed against your hand an hour ago and was still a fumbling mess, eyes wide and body hot.

You struggled to get comfy. In actuality, all you wanted was Peter’s muscled arms wrapped around your waist; not wrapped around himself and his shaking body. You had opened your mouth to talk many times, yet nothing left your lips until now. “Hey, friends can share a bed and not be awkward.”

“Right.” Peter turned his head in your direction. “See we aren’t boning right now, we can handle it.” He shrugged along with you as the two of you mocked all your emotions.

“Right! Movies really can be deceiving!” You sounded almost offended.

“It’s so cliché! Like so what if I’m sharing the bed with the woman I love, that doesn’t mean we’re gunna start making out!”

“What?”

Out of the many time Peter had screwed up, this is the top of the list.

“You love me?” You voiced waved.

“No.” Peter panicked.

“So you don’t like me?”

“No.”

Peter’s eyes widened and freaked as he just said- it was all a big fucking mess.

“Okay, okay.” Peter turned his body to face you, hair spread against his pillow and lips chapped from bitting them nervously. Your eyes were blown and filled with what could only be described as hopeful, hopeful for what he let slip out.

Peter’s hand shakily moved a piece of your hair behind your ear and admired your beauty, afraid it would be his last.

“Y/N I love you. So much.”

“Every time I see you, I swear my heart stops. During these years with you nothing more than a best friend, felt like torture. I watched you fall for others which only made my heart yearn for you more, for your love. For your patience, for everything that was ever good about you, Y/N. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve ever needed. You’re so much to me, so much to Spiderman. I can’t believe I let you be my friend for this long when we know we’re much more than that, more than what the world allowed us.”

You felt yourself slipping into the depth of his words. Body catching on the passion poured into his words, hands caressing the love he held out for you to touch so delicately in his watch.

“Peter,” Your nose bumped against his. “I love you more than anything.” Was all he allowed to leave your lips before his caught your own. His hands soothed your cheeks as his lips moulded with your own. A kiss that could only be described as perfect, poetic almost; the love that smothered the passion was more than either could ask for, an act of love displayed for beautifully a director would be jealous. Peter poured his heart and soul into the palm of your hands, leaving you with all of him to snap his heart in two or mend it more than one could wish; picking the latter left both breathless, desperation on their fingertips as the two grew closer in more ways than one.

The term ‘Friends’ was no longer relevant in the presence of you and Peter, love was all that crossed that path.

And to say, after last night: Peter forever thanked May for binning that spare bed.

i HATE this lmao i tried so?? leave requests so i can stop this bad train of thought help

taglist (let’s bet i’ll defo miss someone, sorry if its you i’ll tag you after if you let me know :))

@bionic-donut @lizzieann143 @fangirling-throughlife @druigss @bunkybarnesbxtch @captainbarness @wnters @phoenix27xoxo @luckypogue @snowfrostedfox @thatweirdbigirl @secretjeon @sage-bun @andrewgarfieldsbae @forever-and-more @bunnietoof @tired-ass-show-girl @dsl1999 @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @tinktohispan @urthereasonimleaving @simp4fictionmen @1-800-drugged @captainquake42 @maggiethemotherbitch @marianthephantoms @mobiusismyfav @arabellelancastersstuff @chenellearose @secretsicanthideanymore @uglyasswoman @vx-vexedvixen @lia-andari @lover1307 @mssrs-padfoot @jasemaja @cyanide-mustard @evasmlp @karltoshaw @caswinchester2000 @tsukishimawhore @weasleytwinscumslut @flymeaway-karasuno @morgane-stark @panicatwakanda @krishavania @lavendersfairy @jessica2008 @ancailinaerach @softmullet @jemimah-b99 @elarasstardust @fxnfandxmmp4 @moo-b1tch @wolfstcr @lizzieandjosiesalz

as you can see i cant tag some of you I DONT KNOW WHY IM SORRY :(

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#AAAAA this is so cute #peter and gwen as bffs is the content i didn't know i needed #gwen is the ultimate wing woman #and peter??? being??? a??? simp??? #he's so in love with her it's pathetic but also really cute? #he's got it bad bad #when they married he's totally going to pull out a binder #i mean since 10 years old peter?! #so cute aaaa #fic rec; peter parker

[petalparker]

black widows and other spiders

tasm!peter x avenger!reader

summary: when steve asked you to deal with the Loki mess, you didn't expect the god of mischief to cast you into a different universe altogether. Luckily, you have some help. [ a very special appearance by a very special someone :) ]

"Aw c'mon, I was just about to enjoy some quiet," Spiderman said, stepping out of the shadows.

"I'm not an enemy," you replied, quite calmly for someone who was handcuffed to the wall by literal webs.

"You sure about that? You just tried to stab me two seconds ago."

"That was hardly my fault," you shot back. "You sneaked up on me in a dark alley! If I really wanted to stab you, you'd already be bleeding. "

"Wow, I'm so scared. Who are you again?"

You hesitated. Should you tell him or figure out everything on your own? Thinking back, you remembered how the Peter from your earth was basically a walking encyclopedia. If this one had access to labs too, you could easily create a way back to your own earth.

For that to work, you needed to convince him that there were multiple universes and that you were from a totally different one.

Fun.

"I don't wanna know," Peter said finally. "You're taking too much time to think and I'd rather be home eating spaghetti."

"You're not going to get these off me?" you asked, nodding towards the webs.

He shrugged. "You still suspicious so just to be safe, you know?"

"That's not very nice of you Peter," you said just as he walked away, making him halt. Even with his mask on, you could sense his surprise.

When he turned, he was surprised yet again.

In that split second, you had somehow made the webs disappear and were standing quite amusedly, hands folded and an eyebrow raised.

"Now I'm a little bit scared," he admitted, his voice curious.

* * *

Back at his apartment, you groaned even before he let you in.

"What?"

"Aunt May isn't here, is she?" you asked, frowning. "She gives the best hugs. I could use one right now."

"She's at her friend's for the weekend," he said. "How the hell do you even know—?"

"I told you this seven times already. I'm from a different universe."

"And I told you seven times that I'm having a hard time believing it, but that's not what I meant. How do you know she's not in the apartment even before entering?"

"Perks of being a widow," you sighed, walking in after him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry—"

"Not that kind of widow, dumbass."

He watched as you plopped down on the couch, turning on the TV with as much finesse as you could. Even though your gaze was shrewd and calculating, he felt something inside him flutter when you looked his way. You looked so intimidatingly beautiful. He always liked girls and guys who were a little bit out of his league.

"Are you gonna stare or do I get that spaghetti?"

"Right!" he rubbed the back of his neck, lost as ever. He instantly hunted down a bowl, spilling questions all the while. "So I'm guessing you're some kind of assassin?"

"Used to be," you said casually, changing channels to see if something good was on. "Now I'm part of the Avengers, which I'm guessing you don't have here or otherwise you'd know me already."

"And avengers are...?"

"Protectors of earth, as much as ridiculous as that sounds," you said, chuckling. "You're the friendly neighborhood spiderman. We're the unfriendly intergalactic fighters who need therapy and better life choices."

You put down the remote in frustration, hating how there weren't any of the shows and movies you liked. Peter sat beside you and handed you a bowl.

"Aren't you eating too?" you prodded.

"In a bit," he said, waving it off. "How did you get here then? What happened?"

"Well me and another friend was tracking down Loki, a very troublesome person who is literally jumping through timelines," you explained, knowing fully well that Peter wasn't going to understand anything. You also knew he wouldn't shut up until you answer, so you went on.

"My friend isn't part of the avengers but she's there whenever I need her. Kind of like my best friend actually. Loki knows magic and he hurled me down here before I could complete the assignment."

"Loki knows magic?" he repeated. "Like actual magic?"

"He's also a god."

"A god." He rubbed his forehead. "What even—?"

"I have lots of stories like that," you said, sinking into the cozy feeling of a pretty apartment and friendly company.

Peter stared at you again, unable to understand how your mind worked. Or maybe he just found you pretty too.

"Tell me all of them," he said, his words hardly a whisper.

* * *

The next few days were hazy, kind of like you were trapped in a dream that wasn't even yours. He said you could stay for a while in exchange for telling him all about the multiverse. You didn't think it was possible for someone to be this excited about the concept being real, but here you are.

He gave you the guest room, and you stole all his clothes simply because you had nothing else to wear. You meant it as a "if you're taking me in, I'm gonna annoy the hell out of you" gesture, but he went speechless the first time. Blushing and stammering, he had said something along the lines of "take whatever you want."

In many ways, it was just like being on your own earth. You still fought with monsters and other villains, still had nightmares, still kept an eye around you as if any second you'll be attacked. Peter could see it. Going to bed with a knife under your pillow certainly showed that.

But even then, it was vastly different in its own way. You didn't have anyone to fight along with, but suddenly you were partners with Spiderman, taking down crime one at a time.

You had a home you could go back to, and a friend, one that'd let you pick the movies and pull a blanket over you when you fell asleep watching them.

You felt guilty to feel so at peace. Even after you escaped with Natasha, somedays you felt like the horrors of red room would never fully wash off, no matter how many good deeds you do.

Becoming an Avenger wasn't enough. Seeing the blood of monsters on your hands only reminded you of the murders you committed long ago.

Innocent or not, everyone's blood was cruel red.

Peter, on the other hand, kept you busy enough to not think too much. He demanded details of everything, every small one, which kept you occupied.

* * *

"He can only touch his hammer?" he asked, trying to keep a straight face.

"Kind of?" you answered thoughtfully. "Steve did take it once during a war but Thor said it was too big for him."

He burst into fits of laughter, unable to keep it in.

"What?" you asked, clueless.

"Thor's hammer sounds...kinky."

You threw some popcorn at his face.

* * *

"Who's your favorite avenger?"

"Natasha," you said, sighing. "Even after she died, I had a lot of pressure to be just like her. I can't, but I try."

"Ah, just so you know-" He gently nudged your elbows playfully. "You're my favorite avenger."

* * *

"So Loki's a troublesome god in all universes?"

"And a troublesome crocodile."

"Naturally."

* * *

Once he knew the basics, his energy didn't calm down. If anything, he was more excited and he portrayed this through the only outlet he had — jokes.

* * *

"What do you call Doctor Strange's cousin who can't do magic?"

"Huh?"

"Doctor Normal," he said, giggling.

You sighed in exhaustion.

* * *

"Why did Thor avoid Loki?"

"Please not another jok-"

"He Odin money."

"I'm ready to walk off a cliff," you said, looking to the heavens.

* * *

"Why's Thor's brother great at sneaking around?"

"I don't wanna hear it."

"He's very Loki."

Despite your wishes to keep a straight face, you burst out laughing. Peter's eyes widened, shocked that he actually got a reaction out of you. He looked proud, and his heart melted at the sight of you being you.

"What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

Before he could answer, the T.V went out, along with all other lights. The cautious instincts kicked in and you stood up slowly, knife already out.

You could hear footsteps, which you would have discredited to be a neighbour's if they weren't so silent. Too silent, like a cat ready to pounce.

"Someone's inside," Peter stated the obvious, getting up himself. Before he could get his web-shooters, the light came back on.

You pointed your knife at the intruder while they pointed a gun at Peter, making a very dangerous triangle.

Your hands went slack when you recognized the blonde.

"Yelena?" you called, lowering the knife.

"You know her?" Peter asked, a little too terrified. She didn't break eye contact with him, as if he was still a threat. You didn't like how close she looked to pulling the trigger.

"She was the friend I was telling you about," you explained. "She was helping me with Loki. What are you doing here?"

"Can we talk after all the weapons are lowered?" Peter suggested. If anything, Yelena's grip on the gun tightened.

"He's a friend," you said quickly. "It's okay. He's nice."

"Yeah, I'm Peter Parker. Just like the one from your earth!"

"I don't know who that is," Yelena said stiffly. He looked at you for an explanation.

"She hasn't met all the avengers yet," you answered with your hands on your hips. "Yelena, c'mon, does he look like a monster?"

She slowly put the gun in her holster, her eyes darting between the two of you.

"I was cast into this earth by Loki too," she said angrily. "I was passed out on top of a building for two days before I could track you down. Now here you are, watching Peppa Pig with a scrawny dummy."

"I didn't know you were here," you said, feeling guilt take hold. "You know I wouldn't have abandoned you."

"You wouldn't be the first one." She gritted her teeth, and while fury was the main objective, she came off as hurt, to both you and Peter.

"I'll get some tea," Peter said awkwardly.

"No, we are leaving," Yelena said, nodding towards the door. "Let's go."

"Wait, no—"

"You didn't think you were staying here, did you?" She asked, and you could feel the genuine curiosity behind her question.

"No, but we have a plan."

"We?"

"Peter's going to make us a temp pad like the one in TVA," you interjected before she could kill him with his eyes. "It's almost done. He just needs some kind of special aluminum. He had to call a friend and it'll be here today or tomorrow."

"Then we go back?" she asked firmly.

"We go back," you repeated, sounding less excited than your friend.

"Good, let me go steal some clothes then," she said, going to the door.

"You can take Peter's—"

"I'm not wearing Hello Kitty t-shirts," she snapped, then left, slamming the door behind her.

You looked at Peter apologetically. "Sorry about that I-"

"You're actually leaving," he interrupted, as if being held at gunpoint was the least of his worries. "I mean, I knew you wouldn't stay here forever but, you're leaving. Soon."

"Yeah," you rubbed your elbow, shifting awkwardly. He seemed heartbroken.

So were you, but you had better acting skills to hide it.

* * *

That night, you tried making dinner, knowing what Yelena would love. It was your way of apologizing to her.

She was your friend for as long as you could remember. After Natasha died, you had to hunt her down to see if she was okay. She wasn't, so you stayed with her.

You understood why she was so pissed at Peter. She didn't want to lose you too. For some avengers, you were the replacement for Natasha, but for Yelena, you were just you - that one friend in the red room who'd always say the worst jokes to cheer her up.

You couldn't even think of staying here when she was alone.

* * *

Peter looked absolutely shocked when you placed the macaroni and cheese in front of them.

"I thought you said you can't cook!"

"She can't," Yelena agreed, rolling her eyes. "I make the best macaroni and cheese, this tastes like garbage."

"You haven't tried it yet," you said, rolling your eyes.

"I don't need to taste your food to know it is not food."

You laughed and sat down, serving some into your own bowl.

Peter handed over a spoon while pouring juice into three glasses. His eyebrows were scrunched up in concentration, and you poked the glasses up his nose when it was dangerously close to slipping down. He didn't need glasses, but he wore them because it felt like a part of him he didn't want to let go of yet.

You respected that, and the fact he looked absolutely adorable in them was a plus.

Yelena looked taken back at how effortless you fit into the picture. That slight frown you always had was nowhere to be seen and you were so... peaceful.

"So this temp pad," she began, poking the spoon into the bowl. "How does it work?"

"Just like the one Loki has," Peter said, nodding. "It's in the basement if you wanna go see it after dinner?"

"No," she said quickly, far too quickly. "But it will be complete tomorrow, yes?"

He nodded, looking back at his food, suddenly disinterested.

* * *

Just like his promise, it was all ready the next day. You dreaded going back, but you had to. No matter how tempting it was to lead a semi-happy life, you had responsibilities. You had a past.

"Here you go," Peter handed over the device, not looking directly at you. "This will get you to TVA but you'd have to redirect to your own earth from there."

"Bye, sticky," Yelena said, incredibly bored.

"I'll- I'll see you?" your words were uncertain.

"I hardly doubt that," Peter replied, shaking his head.

You nodded, biting your bottom lip in frustration.

"Thank you for the stories," he said after a while, resisting his urge to give you a hug. Resisting his urge to ask you to stay.

"Can we just go already?" Yelena interrupted.

You were always bad at goodbyes so you didn't give one. Sighing, you pressed the button.

* * *

Nothing happened.

"Wait- what?" Peter took the device, examining the features. "That should have worked, there's a- wait the chip's outdated."

"Really?" you tried not to sound hopeful. "Is it the kind you can't fix?"

"Maybe I can, but it'll take some days."

You smiled, turning to Yelena. "Guess we're staying here for a while after all."

"How wonderful," she said sarcastically.

"I'll go uhm, heat up the pizza?" you asked, practically skipping to the kitchen.

"You know the basement has cameras, right?" Peter asked once he made sure you were out of earshot. "I saw someone going there last night and messing up the temp pad."

Yelena scoffed. "I don't know what you are implying."

"Sure you don't."

She glared at him so he raised his hands in mock-surrender.

"She looks happy here," she said, softening a bit. "Less of a killer and more of a bad cook. I like it. If she's hurt, I'll pull out your organs and feed them to a cat."

"Incredibly specific, but okay." Peter handed her the temp pad, which she took confusedly. "You know, for safekeeping."

Yelena rolled her eyes. But as soon as he turned, she looked at you and then at the device, wondering which chip she should fry next.

————————

join/be removed from taglist here

I took two of the marvel jokes from this website :)

general taglist: @sometandomstuff333 @cuddleluv @luvelyxp @violetrainbow412-blog @third-broparcelicito @wayvjinsol @dinfarrik @oliveoilthoughts @avengers-is-that-a-band @thankyouforanonymity @imabee-oralizard

marvel taglist: @magicalxdaydream @sexysirius @archangelaurii @vx-vexedvixen @junglxqueen @shyposttree @louderfortheback @garfieldssimp @/bex_tk1 @1999yanira @/cinderellacauseshebroke @aleksanderwh0r3 @levylovegood @inu1gf @doodles-bi-tea @tenebrisirae @slutfortasmpeter @wrathspoet @deafeningnightcollection-things @awesomegirl85 @lazysheepperfection @disartrous @triumph-of-form-over-content

andrew!peter taglist (1/4) : @angelcritterz @greekktragedyy @rophelia @littleredjason @geek-and-proud @arabellelancastersstuff @peachyplumsss @riibuns @lemonjane16 @strawberry-cake1 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @lokismidnight @blooo0ooop @plutoneu @livewittykid @melody-ed @dracoismydramaqueen @clean-and-claire @londonbrandcandy @jenoslov @luvwanda @daph-505 @breathinfive @secretsthathauntus @lovelyxtom @/chiliiscereal

#i keep coming back to this aaaa #it's just so soft??? #i love the reader and peter's budding romance #and how neither of them really want to say goodbye but are too noble??? to admit that they want each other to stay #too noble to be selfish #and i love how yelena just sees right through the reader and makes a decision to keep them there? #i'd love to see an expansion on yelena and the reader's friendship #and mayhaps their misadventures with peter 3 as well #fic rec; peter parker

[petalparker]

off the table

pairing: tasm!peter parker x ex!reader

tags: NSFW, breakup angst, sadness, graphic smut, alcohol use, mentions of wounds from a fight, exes, drunk!peter, ex!peter, slight choking

summary: ever since the breakup, peter hasn’t seen you in months. when he drunkenly shows up at your door, the two of you realize that there’s some things that haven’t been addressed.

notes: this fic became longer than i expected so enjoy almost 6k of pining, miscommunication, and smut!!! based off of the song “off the table” by ariana <3

missing out? ➤ my masterlist

Peter Parker doesn’t believe in the right person at the wrong time. He grew up with the knowledge that if someone was right for his heart, then the timing could never be wrong. Everything would fall in line just how it was destined to be, like it was meant to. If one chapter closed in his life, then another one opened. Yet Peter believed in second chances, especially for those he loved. No matter how unsuitable a person could be for him, he always held onto the silver lining that circumstances could become better — that a person could become better and he wouldn’t have to close a chapter.

Peter isn’t ready to close yours.

But you weren’t just a simple chapter to him. You were an entire novel, interwoven with stories and quotes and unspoken dialogue that would live in the wrinkles of his brain. Your love lingered in the cracks of his lips and the insides of his palms from the nights he couldn’t stop touching you, and the nights you couldn’t stop moaning his name against his own mouth.

God, he missed those nights.

Peter could still memorize every mole, freckle, and scar on your body. He could still recite every one of your favorite lines from that rom-com you used to watch together. Everytime your song came on, he found himself singing along to the lyrics as if you never left.

As if you were still together.

He doesn’t know how he got here. The smell of liquor is pungent on his clothes as he sniffles into the air. Peter usually never drank, but there was something about today that made him want to drown his sorrows away in the least responsible manner. Because with great responsibility comes — wait, what was it again?

The right side of Peter’s body harshly collides into the wall with enough impact to create a dent. His footing is messy and he can barely hold himself up as he sways lazily in the hallway to find the familiar apartment.

“Fuck…” Peter murmurs to himself as he hears your laugh echo from outside your door, causing him to clumsily stumble onto his knees. “Get it together, man.”

He pulls himself to his feet, using the ground for leverage before his forehead is leaning against the coolness of the white-colored door as Peter attempts to remember the whole speech he had planned out in the haziness of his mind. With an uncertain hand, he knocks. There isn’t an answer until he decides to knock again, to which he then hears the chirpy sound of your voice shouting ‘coming!’ from the other side, followed by the sharp clacking of heels against the floorboards.

He’s leaning against the wall by the time the door swings open and his breathing becomes ragged at the sight of you.

You, in a sequined dress, something he thought would be too short and flashy for your own liking. You, with your hair up and freshly-done makeup that reminds Peter of all the times you’d gotten dressed up to see him. You, staring at him, as the smile fades from your lips like you’d seen a ghost.

“Y/N.” Peter exhales with a lopsided grin.

“Peter,” You stare at him with wide eyes in disbelief. You stick your head outside of the door to glance at either end of the hallway for anyone else. “What are you doing here?”

He laughs tiredly and runs a heavy hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t like — I couldn't find my way back home and I think I lost my phone somewhere.” He chuckles, pointing at you. “Did I… um, are you gonna leave? I’m sorry, I dunno how I — dunno what I’m doing, Y/N.”

You smell it then — the alcohol. And it makes sense. You’re unsure how to approach him, because you hadn’t seen Peter in several months ever since your breakup halfway through college. He continues to mumble under his breath; the sight of his disheveled appearance makes your heart ache, which only makes you feel sorry for him.

There’s a discoloration of purpled blues and bloody reds by his eyebrow that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Are these bruises? Oh, my god. Peter, I’m gonna call you a cab.” You tug your bottom lip between your teeth. He instantly grabs your wrist before you can turn away from him, then your head snaps to look at him.

“No, no need. Can‘t do hospitals, remember?”

You swallow hard. “Yeah. I remember.”

You don’t miss the way his thumb rubs your skin in the silence.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll go.” Peter starts to lose his footing. Your hands instantly find his shoulders to steady him before he can fall over, sighing as he tries to apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have anyone else — I don’t know… I don’t have anyone else.”

You screw your eyes shut in a mix of pity and frustration.

“Oh, fucking hell. Come inside, Peter.”

You guide his tall frame into the apartment as you shut the door behind you, carefully watching where he walks as you lead him onto the couch. He plops down onto the pillows with a lack of grace, and his eyes glaze over the exposed skin of your thighs.

You pad towards the bathroom, rummaging for the first aid kit that you hadn’t used ever since Peter had lived here. There’s a distance in your gaze as you return to the living room, setting bandages and towels on the coffee table before you’re kneeling in front of Peter.

He then sees that the apartment looks different. Any trace of himself was obviously gone, replaced with pictures of people he couldn’t recognize and replaced with stuff that he doesn’t remember buying for you. The whiteboard on the fridge that Peter used to write notes for you is now filled with a schedule, reminding him that his presence was causing a disturbance to the peaceful night you were going to have.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you.”

“Leg.” You motion, holding his calf as you pull his shoe off.

“You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Other one.”

“Why are you all dressed up?”

“Peter, I need you to put your leg up.”

“You look so pretty. Is it a date? Are you still…” He huffed with a short laugh. “… are you dating again?”

You chase the frown off of your face with a shake of your head, trying to level your patience. “It’s my birthday tomorrow, Peter.” Realization flashes across his features. You interrupt before he can speak. “I was headed out for drinks with friends. I’m not dating anyone.”

“Oh.” He scratches his nose. “Right, yeah.”

You shrug. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

You set his shoes aside and sit by him on the couch, taking the first aid kit into your lap as Peter gazes at you longingly. “S’okay, didn’t wanna go out anyways.” Your knee brushes against his thigh as you survey the blossoming bruises on his face. Your fingers ever-so-slightly twitch as you reach for him. “May I? My hands are clean. Just wanna put a bandage over it.”

“Don’t need to ask me.”

You gingerly tilt his head back with a hum, “I do.”

“You always asked.” Peter sucks in a breath as you dab at the small cuts with a gauze pad. “Every time I was hurt after patrol and needed you, you’d ask. As if you hadn’t touched me before.” He studies the flicker of nostalgia on your face. He talks as if the words are meant for himself more than you. “No other person cared for me like you did.”

In a sick way, him being here feels like home again.

Guilt sinks into you as you turn away from him. You and Peter never had a proper conversation about what happened between you two. People grow apart. People lose interest. People find somebody else. But none of that ever happened, and the reasons for your break-up were never addressed which is what made his comment sting harder than it should have.

You pat a warm towel against his cheeks and neck, wiping away the sweat and the stench of the bar from his skin. With steady hands, you rip the small band-aid open, placing it over the surface wounds on his eyebrow.

“What kind of trouble did you get yourself into, spidey?” The timbre of your voice is gentle as you look at him, eyes wandering over his face in sympathy.

He shifts in his seat. “Just some assholes who drank too much.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Peter chuckles at your remark, head lolling to the side. “Is that what you think of me right now? Asshole who drank too much?”

“Maybe just the ‘drank too much’ part.”

“Personally, I was hoping you’d say I’m an asshole.” He scoffs, cradling his own cheek.

A sad smile falls upon your lips as you gaze at him. “Hm, why’s that?”

“Would be easier to know you have some semblance of hatred for me.”

The declaration feels like a punch in the stomach, and you find yourself at a loss for words when Peter’s fingers nudge against your hand. You close your eyes when you feel his pinky curl against yours. Unable to look at him, you sit forward on your elbows, hunching over in your lap.

“You’re drunk, Pete.”

The nickname makes him weak.

“Tell me you hate me.” He leans over to you, his breath fanning over your shoulder. You feel tears prickle in your eyes. “Please, Y/N.”

Your voice is muffled as you cover your face. “I don’t hate you.”

“I want you to.”

“I couldn’t — I couldn’t possibly hate you.” You cross your arms over your chest. He lingers over your back. He wants to kiss the softness of your skin, to remember how you tasted, how your body reacted to him and him only. But Peter knows better than to chase the old life that you had shared together. “Nothing you do is worth hating.” You can feel him inhale your perfume, and you don’t move when his chin settles in the curve of your shoulder.

The action is one of longing, one that tells you that Peter hadn’t stumbled at your door for no reason, one that whispers ‘I miss you, do you miss me?’ in every language, and every iteration of each wordless apology that refuses to leave him.

A sob rustles through the air.

“We were so good together, and you left.” The boy whispers brokenly. “I loved you and you left.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What about this is supposed to be fair?”

“I left because I loved you too much.” Peter feels the drunkenness fade from his body at the sight of tears on your face, heightening his powered senses. “I loved you more than I loved myself. I loved you to the point that I’d actually allow you to destroy yourself as Spider-Man, because I know I couldn’t stop you. What kind of person does that?” You sit up, interlocking your hands behind your neck as an overwhelming wave of emotion hits. “How could I just — just stand there and support you knowing that you could be gone at any moment? That it would ruin me and I’d be okay with it because you would be doing the very thing you loved to do?”

The space under Peter’s eyes is stained with tear tracks, sniffling loudly at your thoughts. “Is that not what love is?”

“To watch a person ruin themselves?”

His eyelashes flutter against your jawline as he leans into your neck. “To be so selfless, that you’d put someone’s happiness over your own, even if that meant losing them.” He trembles. “Y/N, I wish you’d talked to me.”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” You feel the clenching of his jaw. “Suppose it’s different now, yeah?”

“It’s never different with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll always love you. I never stopped.” He finally presses a chaste kiss of longing to your clavicle. “You were my girl.”

You hold back tears. “Is this really you talking?” Peter notices the sputter of your chest, your throat threatening to let a sob wrack through your body.

He turns you towards him, letting his hand dip down just above your hip. Your distressed eyes search his face for an answer as your bottom lip quivers in visible heartache. He takes your hand in his free one, kissing the pads of your fingers before he places them over his heart. “This is me sober.” He kisses them again. “This is me in love.” Another kiss. “This is yours.” He runs your hand over his chest, up his neck and then his cheek with wet lashes. “I am yours. Everything I am is yours. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Your lip juts out in anguish when Peter’s tears fall against your skin. You shudder. “I think you should go.”

He’s all over you. His scent. His eyes.

“I’ll never love anyone the same way I love you.”

You feel like you’re suffocating under the colossal weight of his poetry.

“Peter, I can’t do this tonight.”

You’re moving to get up, until his arms wrap around your legs. He keeps you there — unable to move, stagnant, and unchanged like you had no choice but to endure this. His head rests against your abdomen while you fight to stand straight, refusing to give in.

But it’s so difficult.

It feels like betrayal as you watch him cry into the material of your dress, whispering chants of ‘don’t go’ in the same manner as a broken record. You hold your chin up high, ignoring how empathetic tears of your own trail down your face at the sounds of his whimpering.

“Y/N.” He hisses through teeth. “Y/N, please.”

The crack of his voice injures your conscience.

“I tried for you.”

Peter’s hands cup the backside of your thighs as his words stumble over each other in a hurry. “So try again with me.”

Your hands subconsciously entangle in his hair before you slowly bend down to plant a wistful kiss to the top of his head — more of a sob than a kiss, but Peter feels relief at the sensation of your lips on his body anyhow. Your fingers knot through the chestnut strands as they drift past the nape of his neck.

His hair smells like your old shampoo.

“Oh, Pete.” You sigh, allowing him to pull you into his arms. His hands are large against the curvature of your back, and he’s feverishly grasping at your skin under the touch of you.

The crushing embrace is one of love and yearning, but there’s an underlying heat in the way Peter takes you into his lap. Your arms are slung around his neck as his face buries itself beside your ear. The hitching of his breath reminds you that this is real — that you’re in his arms and he still loves you in a way that such words cannot describe.

“It’s not like this with anyone else.” He whispers, causing the wetness of his lips to transfer onto your skin. The peak of his nose drags against your cheek as his breath ghosts over you.

“Peter…” The name heeds as a warning when his lips come dangerously near yours. His eyes dance across your features; his heart shrivels at the sight of your cries and the shaking in your arms.

“Why are you scared?”

“If you kiss me, I’m afraid I’ll tell you all the things I never got to tell you.” You whimper when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You can tell me anything you want.” He speaks breathily as his lips follow along your jaw. “Tell me you miss me.” Kiss. “Tell me you hate me.” Kiss. “Tell me you need me, or you don’t.” Kiss. “Tell me you love me, Y/N. You can say anything and nothing will change.”

Peter gazes up at you. His eyes are glassy, and the loving brown hue of them is suddenly darker than you remember. You shake your head at him without a word, unable to talk with how your throat bubbles in rehashed misery. The brunette leans into you as you gently cradle the side of his face. You hesitate, and he catches it. His forehead presses up against yours. “You don’t need to do anything unless you want to.”

Peter’s comment causes a tear to slip out from the corner of your eye. A whine eases between your lips as you pull him closer towards you until your noses are touching.

He surveys your next move.

He prays you aren’t ready to close this chapter.

Peter loses any and all sound of mind when your lips clash against his. It’s hurried and messy, teeth bumping into each other with a clicking noise, accidental moans escaping your mouths. His hand softly holds you by the neck, while the other travels to the suppleness of your bottom to hold you up.

Your breathing is noisy, and Peter feels like he’s burning up a fever when you bite at his bottom lip. He doesn’t hide the aching groan that leaves him.

Nothing about the kiss is smooth.

Nothing about the way Peter touches you is innocent.

He’s completely sober at this moment. Any ounce of alcohol left in his system has faded as a result of how his body functions, and because Peter really wants to make the effort to remember this — you. He wants to savor every bite, every moan, every whisper of his name, every drop of you and every tear that leaves your eyes.

“I haven’t…” You pull away from him for relief. “… you know… in months.” Your tone is shy. The embarrassed blush on your cheeks makes Peter weak in the knees.

Peter nods in understanding. “Neither have I.” He plants a kiss on your sternum. “It’s okay.”

Your gaze doesn't leave him when his hand reaches around to hold your ponytail. He takes the band around your hair, gently tugging it out of place while being careful not to hurt you. He slips it around his wrist as messy strands fall around your face, cascading and framing each detail of you.

He runs his fingers through your part, humming at the way you shut your eyes. He sits forward and wraps your legs around his waist before he stands effortlessly; Peter’s strength makes you feel miniscule in his grasp until his lips find yours again and suddenly you can feel the fire within you growing.

Like second nature, Peter navigates your bodies to your bedroom, hoping that it is the same as it once was. The room is dark, and neither of you care for lights when Peter tenderly lays you out on the bed.

His lips leave yours and now he stands over your body.

You admire his face.

“Are your bruises okay?” The whisper melts into the heavy silence.

“Bruises have never stopped me when it comes to you.” He runs his hands down your legs before he’s kneeling on the floorboards, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. He rids you of your heels, softly kissing the tops of your feet as he makes his way up your legs. “God, you’re perfect.” His mouth is wet on your skin and the saliva glistens in the shadows.

“Pete…”

“I need you, Y/N,” He whispers, fingers kneading at the flesh of your thighs, “Christ, all of you.” His nails are digging into you. His grip is rougher.

“Stop teasing.” You nudge him with your foot.

“Oh, baby, it’s not teasing.” Your eyes meet his brown ones in the dark as he slowly hikes your dress up your stomach, revealing your underwear. His laugh comes out as a scoff. You instantly pick up on the way his voice shifts to a lower tone, accenting his words as he takes off his sweater. “I can show you what teasing is if you want.”

Fuck.

“I missed you.” You confess. “I missed this.”

“Keep talking to me.” His breaths are ragged as he kisses the skin around your core. He’s pulling your knees apart, nibbling on the insides of your thighs as his chest hits the frame of the bed. “Work for it, Y/N.”

“Haven’t been touched like this. In a while.” You sit up on your forearms to watch Peter’s reaction. “Haven’t touched myself since we were together.”

He moans sinfully at the remark, moving to sit beside you with an amused chuckle until he’s pulling you into his lap again. His chest is flush against your back as he spreads your legs for you.

The mirror across the room is enough to tell you what he’s thinking.

“Is this what you were afraid to tell me?” His nose buries into your hair. He’s exhaling into your skin, jaw slack as he helps you push your panties down your thighs. You can only nod as you study your reflections in the glass. “That you can’t get off without me?” You let your head fall against his shoulder, sucking a mark on his neck. His throat flexes at the motion. “What do you want me to do with you?”

“Finger me, Peter.” You breathe out, caressing his jaw. Your lipstick stains his chin. “Please.”

His finger dips down between your folds. A mocking chuckle leaves him as you sigh at the feeling of him touching you. He toys with your clit, rubbing gentle circles against the nub.

“Just as beautiful as the day I met you.” He gazes longingly at your desperate state in the mirror, spurred on by the visual of your head thrown back in helpless desire. “Look at yourself. So needy, aren’t you?” The tip of his finger prods at your entrance. “Fuck, Y/N.” His other hand wraps around your throat, pressing on your pulse point.

His middle finger enters you, slowly curling inside you until he’s pumping the digit in and out of you. You can hear the sounds of your wetness accumulating around your folds, and it’s even dirtier now that Peter can see it in the mirror. His jaw hangs open in a ‘O’ as you shut your eyes, sighing against him as he adds another finger to fill you.

“Oh, Peter…” You whine, nearly closing your legs at the sudden feeling. You use your own fingers to touch your clit, moaning as the heel of Peter’s palm presses against your mound. “Fucking… god, it feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

Peter’s erection strains against the denim of his jeans, and you use your free hand to reach behind you to grasp him through the material. He moans raspily at the touch, eyebrows furrowing in satisfaction.

“Take your pants off.” You mutter into his lips as you eye him through heavy lashes. The ache between your thighs doesn’t go unnoticed, but getting Peter off was just as pleasurable as his fingers inside of you.

He smirks, “Yes, ma’am.”

You crawl off his lap, laying on your stomach as he rids himself of his underwear and jeans. You rest your chin in the palm of your hand as you watch him, licking your lips when his cock comes to view. He scoots closer to you, letting you take control as you wrap a fist around his length. Your dress rides up your backside, giving Peter a chance to gaze at the curve of your ass as your legs cross innocently in the air. His nostrils flare into a deep inhale as you take him into your mouth, suctioning your lips around his tip.

He controls the urge to snap his hips into you, wanting to bask in the feeling of you sucking him off. Your lips pepper the underside of his cock; your stare never leaves him as you peer up doe-eyed and trusting.

“So big,” You mumble before your head bobs down and takes him fully into your mouth.

“Jeez, Y/N.” Peter can see the outline of his tip from the bulge in your cheek, and he chuckles shakily when your hand splays out onto his stomach as you squeeze your lips around him. “God, fuck, y-your mouth…” He’s throbbing and his voice comes out broken and needy. “Oh, baby, so good.”

Baby.

The pet name makes you clench your thighs together.

A string of saliva connects your lips to his cock when you pull off for air, nearly gasping as your throat opens up again. There’s tears in your eyes from the way his girth filled your mouth. Peter doesn’t hesitate to wipe them away from your face, cooing softly as your mascara stains your skin.

“I got you, Y/N. I got you.” He shushes you, rubbing your back as you cough. “Hey, don’t tire yourself.”

You rest your cheek against him, lazily pumping his length in your hand as you shake your head. “I’m sorry, wanna make you cum.”

“I’ll cum when you do.”

You chuckle in reminiscence. “Always a giver, Pete.”

“Well, only for you.”

“Hm, really?” You pump him at a slow pace. He hisses audibly with a wordless nod of his head. You can see the yearning on his face. “I want you inside me. Would you give me that?”

“I’ll give you anything you want, Y/N.”

You sit up on your knees, hand leaving the warmth of his cock as you grab onto his shoulders. Your lips drag down his face, capturing his mouth into a clumsy kiss that causes your limbs to tangle with one another. He carefully rolls you back onto the bed so that he’s on top, and he takes advantage of the moment to slip your body out of your dress.

Peter caresses your bare tits, burying his face in the valley of your breasts as he leaves a trail of hickies across your chest. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, his other fingers rubbing your clit between the mess of your bodies.

“Tell me where you want me again.” His dilated eyes search yours hungrily while he grinds against you, awed by how your face contorts into pleasure. “Inside you?” You nod rapidly. “Stretch you out? Are you sure you can take me?”

“I’ve taken it before.”

He grins. “Good girl.” Peter runs his length down your folds, teasing your entrance with newfound patience that rattles you. You shut your eyes to focus on your breathing, until anxious thoughts make their way into your brain.

“Peter, wait.”

The boy stops immediately.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is soft with concern. He worriedly cups your face. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

Your eyelids open reluctantly. With a rough gulp, you blink weakly at him. “If we have sex, what does this make us?”

He opens his mouth, yet nothing comes of it. You see the reality of the situation fall upon his features.

“Can’t I just have you for tonight?”

You feel a rush of tears approach. “And what about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, if you’d let me.” He kisses your nose. “And then the next day. And the day after. A week from now. A month.” His fingertips ghost over your ribs. “Take me back anytime you want, whenever you want. No matter how long it takes, I’m yours.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“You’re alright?” Peter pushes your hair back.

“Mhm, yeah.”

“Say yes for me, baby.”

“Yes, Pete.”

He looks at you one more time before his gaze shifts between your legs. Carefully, he pushes into you. You hold back a groan as your body adjusts to him. The sting hurts in a good way, and the aching of your core continues to build as Peter’s pelvis touches yours.

“Is this good?” He leans over, one hand on the bed while the other holds the back of your head. You moan in approval. “Can I move? Is that okay?”

“Y-Yes, thank you.” You hold his waist, mouth falling ajar as he pulls his cock back and thrusts in again. “Holy fuck, Peter.”

“Tell me if it hurts.”

“No, it feels good.” You bite his shoulder. “It feels so good.”

His strokes quicken, and Peter can’t take his eyes off of you when you moan wanton into his mouth. He does the same, teeth clashing against yours as your body jolts at his thrusts. He pushes your knees to your chest, pounding deeper inside you.

“Y/N, god.” He huffs, head hurting at the overwhelming feeling of you clenching around him. “You’re so tight.”

“It’s yours.” You smile at him.

“Say it, Y/N. All of it.”

“My pussy is yours.”

“Oh. Oh, baby.” His skin slaps against the back of your thighs. In the darkness, you see the sweat trail down his forehead and the need for release is written all over his face. “Fuck, Y/N, feels so good when it’s you.”

Peter’s eyes remind you that you can trust him.

“Hey, I love you.” You kiss the corner of his lips. “Look at me.”

He glances up at you to reassure himself that your words are real. “Again. Do that again.”

“I love you.”

“Say my name.”

“Peter, I love you.” He moans blissfully. It’s loud and gruff, but the sound reminds you of all the nights from before. The pit in your stomach finally drops when Peter grips you by the throat, thrusting into you rougher than before. “I’m gonna… baby, I’m gonna cum.”

“C-Can I cum inside you?” He pleads as you grip onto his wrists.

“Please.”

The choked statement of desire sends him over the edge, and the bedroom is filled with a song of your moans and grunts as you cum around his cock. Peter follows quickly, unable to fathom the sensation of you squeezing around him like you wouldn’t ever let him go. A whimper escapes him as he finishes and lets his body collapse on top of yours.

“Holy shit.” He laughs against your neck, peeling his fingers away from the stickiness of your skin. “Are you okay?” You nod with a satisfied expression, motioning for him to pull out.

The ache in your core is replaced with emptiness from the lack of Peter, and he hums apologies as his cum begins to leak onto your bedsheets. “S’okay.” You assure him, arms reaching for his tall frame as he finally lays beside you.

“Y/N...” He turns to you.

You wave him off sleepily. “Peter, we’ll talk in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Promise when I wake up you’ll be here, yeah?”

“As long as we don’t end up yelling at each other.”

You laugh at his comment, but part of you is fearful. “Peter, I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll be here.” He kisses your cheek without second thought, inhaling the scent of himself on your skin. “Promise.”

-

The chirping of birds draws you out of your sleep. The sunlight is bright, yet the bed feels oddly cold. Your throat feels sore, and there’s an unmistakable smattering of familiar fingerprints on your body as you open your eyes.

Peter.

Your hand instinctively reaches for the space beside you.

“Peter?”

The side of his bed is empty. The duvet is pulled away messily, but the indent of his body is still clear as day in the mattress. Your pillowcases smell of him and sex, and you frown at the lack of his presence. Reluctantly, you get up, ignoring the soreness between your thighs when your feet touch the hardwood floor. You slip on the nearest shirt, shivering from the cool air with a frown on your lips.

He promised. He fucking promised.

You feel the build-up of tears in your eyes as you step into the hallway.

Disappointment. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal?

There’s a humming that comes from the kitchen.

“Peter?”

Silence. Then, a loud clatter.

“In here!”

The raspiness of his voice puts you at ease. Your shoulders relax at the familiar sound, and you level the pace of your breathing as you head into the other room. Peter stands by the stove, an apron around his sculpted chest as he focuses on the pan in front of him.

“You found it.”

“Found what? Also, you’re welcome for — for the cooking by the way.” He gestures at you with a spatula, wagging it at you jokingly.

“You found my apron.” You approach him with short strides, wrapping your arms around yourself as you snap out of your trance. “And thanks. Sorry. I thought…”

“You thought I left?” He glances at you with raised brows. “Have at least a little faith in me.”

“Sorry. I just — you know me, overthinker.”

You notice then that the apartment looks different. There’s stringy cobweb garlands on the ceiling, connected to the little hanging lamp above your dining table.

A long banner made of web that reads ‘Happy Birthday!’ sits above your front door.

Oh.

Peter takes advantage of your silence, coming to hold you by your waist as you stare dumbfounded at the decorations.

The room doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

“Happy birthday, by the way.” He kisses your shoulders, cradling your face in his hands as he bumps his nose against yours.

“Peter…”

“I know, I didn’t have to.”

“But why…” You puff your cheeks.

“It’s the least I could do since I ruined your girls’ night.” He clears his throat. “And for having sex with you.” He looks away in embarrassment, gazing at the ceiling as if he was talking to himself. “When clearly we’re exes.”

You squeeze his side as you blurt out, “I wanna try again with you.”

“You know, it’s completely fine if you wanted a one time thing like…” Peter still doesn’t meet your stare, clearly unaware that you’re even talking to him. “I mean, I had fun and — and I know I said some stuff and — like I was pretty sober for most of it so you know if I rehashed things…”

“Pete.”

“And I’m sorry for being such a shitty ex like…” You press a hand over his chest, hoping to catch his attention. “I didn’t show up just to have sex or — or hookup.”

“Peter.”

“I’m serious that I want you back—“

You shake his shoulders. “Peter Parker, will you just listen to me?”

He finds your eyes in the chaos of his words. “Sorry.”

“I want you, too.” You purse your lips. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you how I felt instead of running away. I was just scared.”

“If anything, I’m the one who should be running away.” Peter rests his chin on top of your head, embracing you against his chest. “Every second I spend with you…”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” You smile sadly. “I know what I got myself into.”

He ignores the pang in his heart at the thought of losing you again, but in worse conditions. “I meant it when I said I love you. With you, it’s — it’s different.” He takes your jaw, pulling your face up to look at him. “I like it here with you.”

You grin against his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Is it just me or is something burning?”

“Fuck, sorry!”

Peter supposed that maybe your chapter together did end at one point. He supposed that maybe it was time for those old pages to be tucked away, for the whole novel of poetry and conversations to turn over into memories and merely live in the cracks of his heart where it could never be opened again. But Peter realizes that there was a reason your relationship ended — to make room for another book, another chapter, a sequel.

Maybe you were always the right person and it was always the right timing. Maybe the two of you just needed to rewrite your story.

Peter knows to finish a book before starting another one.

He can’t wait to see what this new novel holds.

-

#the angst? immaculate #the pining? magnificent #peter's desperation is just so profound and aaaaa #y/n better be giving him hugs and kisses rn >:<< #fic rec; peter parker

[petalparker]

defending andrew garfield's spiderman on the internet isn't enough. i need a gun

[petalparker]

TASM!Peter Parker x GN!Reader

Expensive Camera Lens UNEDITED

DONT REPOST MY STUFF PLS

best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, accidentally faked death?

summary: peter has no doubts that keeping his “double life” from you, his best friend, was what was best for you. but when an unexpected fire in peter’s apartment building causes a little friction in your day, will peter still feel like this lie is in your best interest?

words: 3136

warnings: mentions of death (no actual death), fire, and collapsed buildings

A/N: NOT MY GIF obviously. this trope is honestly one of my favorite day dream scenarios, i use it every time. ive never been able to articulate it into a fanfic, but i feel like this one does it a little justice. plus i love andrew garfield. ALSO i’m 99.9% this fic is gender neutral, lmk if i accidentally slipped up somewhere. TY ENJOY

Peter wanted to tell you. More than you would ever know.

Every night, he sat awake in his bed, dreaming of a life where you knew him as both Peter and Spider-man. He could swing around the city with you on his hip. He’d be able to spill all the juicy and gory details of his latest crime bust, tease you endlessly as you’d no doubt coddle even his smallest injuries, and generally bask in the attention you’d give him knowing he was your friendly neighborhood Spider-man.

And everything about that life made it seem like a no-brainer, if it weren’t for the feeling he felt deep inside his gut.

Not quite his spidey-sense. Not quite as strong and intense, and nothing that made him feel as on edge. This felt more like a Peter-sense. More subtle, but more nerve-wracking. Like a lurking darkness over his psyche.

It told him that you were safer not knowing.

He’d never have to risk you being taken by a bad guy in hopes of getting information about him. He’d never have to watch your face contort in fear when you realize how much danger he was in. He’d never have to put you through what he went through.

And ever since he’d made the unspoken decision to keep his secret from you, he’d always felt like it had been the correct choice.

He’d quickly realize how wrong he’d been.

It had been a pretty quiet day up until then. You didn’t have any classes at the junior college you attended for the day, so you’d retreated into Peter’s small New York flat for the rest of the afternoon, like you almost always did.

You told him that it was because his air conditioning worked better than yours.

But he’d personally fixed your air conditioning unit last summer when you wouldn’t stop complaining about your good-for-nothing landlord. He knew for a fact your air conditioner ran just as smoothly as his did (if not smoother. He couldn’t have his best friend deal with the summer heat with a crappy AC, could he?).

Still, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t mind.

That’s just how you two had always been. Stitched at the hip since grade school, friends since before forever. Whether or not there was something more? Well, that’s a territory Peter never let himself explore.

He’d had a huge crush on you once middle school began, but in an effort to protect your life long relationship from his stupid feelings, he shoved them aside. He hasn’t opened that door since, but sometimes he thinks about what could’ve been if he had.

You were laying on his bedroom floor, scribbling something into a journal you kept for one of your classes while he sat on the bed and edited some photos on his laptop. Or… he pretended to edit photos on his laptop, while he hopelessly stared at you scribble away.

He did that a lot, in the least creepy way possible.

He liked quiet days like these. Just your presence was enough to satisfy his want for you (though not completely, obviously). It enhanced his urge to want to protect you from virtually everything, and made him infinitely grateful that you’d befriended the guy with the superpowers who could actually keep you safe.

And he was infinitely grateful that said guy was him.

He was about to suggest that you both head down to the corner store for some snacks, maybe watch a movie when you get back, but he couldn’t get the words out. Instead, he heard a piercing alarm begin blasting throughout the building.

You perked your head up, turning to look at him with the same confused look on your face as he felt himself adorn.

“Is that… the fire alarm?” You asked suddenly, sitting up onto your knees and listening to the alarm closely. It was no doubt the fire alarm, an old sounding whoop of the ancient apartment building that likely had never had to even use the advanced alarm system.

You both sat in silence for a moment, the loud screech filling the room to the brim.

“Do we.. evacuate?” You asked with a chuckle, staring up at Peter with the same mischievous eyes he’s loved since he met you. He shrugged back at you, grinning sweetly as you casually propped yourself up and went to grab your things. He grabbed his own back, packing only the essentials.

It was a very casual situation in general. The both of you, and a few other tenants, began to file comfortably down the stairwell and into the lobby, taking your time to chat and discuss the event as you did. Most of Peter’s neighbors seemed to think this was some false alarm. Maybe a punk kid pulled it as a joke.

As you emerged into the lobby, the excitement began to pick up. Firefighters flooded past your group in heavy gear. Police and staff began urgently ushering people out of the building and ordering them across the street.

“Guess I should have grabbed my expensive lens before we left.” Peter quipped half heartedly as you exited the building, joining a large crowd of people across the street who’d gathered to watch the commotion, hollers and shouts heard from practically every direction.

You both spun quickly to see what exactly this commotion was, staring directly up the eight floor apartment building in immediate awe.

The sixth floor, four floors directly above Peter’s own apartment, was littered with flames. Smoke poured out of broken windows going all the way up to the eighth floor. And it became painfully obvious that the hollers and shouts were coming from the tenants stuck in the building.

Frantic hands waving from the seventh and eighth floors, words that melted together that sounded like a blatant cry for help.

Peter knew this was a situation for Spider-man.

“Stay here. I’m gonna go grab that lens before the fire gets worse.” Peter lied to you quickly, not waiting around to hear your response. He felt your hands grab onto his wrist urgently, but he quickly lost you in the crowd. You definitely be mad at him later, and he’d definitely have to make it up to you somehow.

In the chaos, it was easy to slip back up the stairs and onto the second floor. It was almost eerie how quiet his floor could be when there was such chaos only four floors above him.

He did go back into his apartment, but only to change into his suit before crawling out of his bedroom window. He may have also grabbed his expensive camera lens and tucked it under a nearby rain gutter to retrieve later.

Though rare, Peter knew very well how to navigate fires as Spider-man.

The fire department was much more willing to work with Spider-man than the police were, which made his job ten times easier. He spoke with some fire fighters in the lobby before devising their plan.

Because the fire had cut off any safe entry into the seventh and eighth floors, they’d need Spider-man to get in there and lower the civilians down via web to the nearest fire escape. The fire department would do the rest.

The procedure was easy. Women and children first, of which there were twelve. Most mothers could carry their younger children with them as Spider-man lowered them onto the fourth floor fire escape, where a fire fighter was waiting to grab them and lead them down.

Then the men, who were either way too embarrassed to be receiving an escort from Spider-man, or were too old to recognize the fire beginning to grow around them.

Overall, it was a successful day of saving, if not inconvenient for Peter. He didn’t want to think about the repairs that would have to be made, and how long it might be before he gets full control of his apartment again.

He dropped back to the front of the building to get a view of the damage. While the fire department had managed a lot in the little time, the fire was still managing to spread to the fifth and eighth floors respectively. Even then, he felt pleased with his job well done.

Maybe too pleased, like he was forgetting something.

“-eter?! Peter?! Excuse me! Excuse me.”

A tense hand fell onto Peter’s suited shoulder, but he didn’t need to turn to know exactly who it was.

“Spider-man?” Your voice asked meekly. “My.. my friend, Peter, he went back inside! He’s an idiot and he’s…” Your panicked words trailed off as you stared back up at the fire, the light reflecting in your eyes beautifully. He noticed traces of threatening tears in your eyes, and he began to feel incredibly bad for not revealing himself to you right then and there.

“I don’t know where he is.” You whispered, mostly to yourself, your teeth tugging your lip anxiously between them. Peter didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t exactly say “Hey! Don’t worry, it’s me, Peter! I’m safe!” In front of half the neighborhood, but he very well couldn’t leave you like this either.

He figured his best option was to go back into the building, ditch the suit, and emerge before you started to think he was really in any danger. Maybe he could say Spider-man found him before hopping off to a nearby robbery. So he nodded to you with intent, barely managing to muster up any words of comfort for you as he moved to run back into the building.

But maybe he’d waited too long to decide. Maybe the universe was punishing him for lying to you in the first place. Maybe Peter hadn’t thought this all through. Because the moment he stepped towards the building, it had begun to collapse.

The stand-alone apartment building’s sixth floor began to crumble, falling deeper into the fifth, then the fourth. The damage zig-zagged across the somehow-still-standing building. It creaked and moaned for a moment, and troops of fire fighters began pooling out of the lobby.

Then, in one solid moment, the third and second floor crunched. It reminded Peter of a soda can, and he winced at the thought of his apartments disrepair.

Your blood curdling scream snapped him back into reality. It stabbed him right through the chest, a sound he’d never wanted to think about hearing with his own ears, much less with enhanced senses. It reverberated throughout his mind millions of times, bouncing off of his brain with powerful elasticity. He could hear your heartbeat, smell your tears, feel the vibration of your sobs; and it killed him.

On instinct, his arms flew around your torso before your could even begin fling yourself towards the fire. He wasn’t even sure if where you stood, directly across the street, was safe anymore. Spider-man pulled you further away from the building as you fought with terrified ferocity.

“He’s in there! Peter! Peter’s in there! We have to go get him!” You screamed, slapping and kicking at the superhero as you watched the building settle in its knee crushed state. Bricks and dust fell into the street. It took a lot more strength than anticipated to keep you grounded.

“He isn’t- no-“ Peter tried to explain, but there was only so much he could do. People began to look, gasps littered the crowd. Muttering things about how sad it was, how horrible she must feel, how painful it must be.

I’m right here! He wanted to scream. Stop fighting me, I’m right here!

He should have told you. He should never have lied to you. Because right now, in this moment, you believed him to be dead. This was the ultimate hurt, and he had done it to you. It was his fault. His fault. His fault.

He grabbed your waist firmly, turning you towards him as much as you’d allow him to. He gave up on trying to speak to you, your screams wouldn’t allow them to be heard. Your eyes never left the burning building, your hands never stopped reaching out for the phantom of your best friend. “Peter!” you repeated.

Holding you tight, Peter flicked his wrist, and swept you up into the air.

This isn’t how he imagined your first swing through New York. First off, there wasn’t supposed to be this much screaming, you weren’t supposed to be thrashing against him, and you weren’t supposed to be sobbing his name. He wanted you to laugh, to hide your face in his shoulder when the height got too much, maybe shout his name in playful warning before he put you down.

He didn’t even care what building he landed on, just settling for one far enough away from the new helicopters and ground footage.

“Take me back!” You screamed the moment your feet hit the ground. Your face was wet, likely from both sweat and tears. You made a show of tearing yourself away from him immediately, stumbling to the nearest wall with shivering sobs. He felt the hatred you felt for him, for Spider-man, and he took an immediate stride forward to explain himself.

“You left him! You left him, you’re supposed to save him!”

“Please, just-“

“Go back! Save him! Please!”

“Listen to me, I’m-“

“You monster! I hate you! Save him! Save Peter, please!”

“You don’t understand!”

“You killed him! Peter is dead and it’s your fault! He’s dead, he’s dead-“

“No he’s not, he’s-“

“You didn’t save him!”

His patience had already worn excruciatingly thin. He shouted your name with an intensity he’d never heard from himself before, tugging the mask off in one swift motion and letting it fling itself halfway across the rooftop.

For a moment, it was just panting breaths. Peter’s chest heaving with adrenaline, and yours compensating for the tears that had halted from your eyes. Huge glittery for eyes stared back at him with an unreadable expression.

Once the moment crew cold and awkward, Peter started to apologize. It’s never clear how to apologize for something like this, and he still didn’t have the words to articulate how truly sorry he felt. He just opened his mouth and hoped the right words would flow out.

But for the second time that day, the words never managed to escape. Instead, his lips were smothered with your own, engulfing him in warm desperation that he accepted happily.

Peter had imagined this kiss in every way possible. He’d imagined it in the rain, in the snow, in his bed, in your bed. He’d imagined it upside down, side ways, upside down again. Every instance he’d every tried imagining it in, he never managed to encapsulate the raw emotion of this specific moment. The emotion that sent shivers down his spine and into his fingertips.

He savored how your fingers felt in his hair. God, your fingers, in his hair. He could faint. He let his hands find your waist just enough to pull your closer to him while he walked you back into the wall. His ears were burning red with the realization that this was actually happening, and he felt more giddy than a kid on christmas.

You tugged his hair in desperation, and he had to keep himself from crumbling to the ground. You were a phenomenal kisser, too, like he always knew you would be. You tugged him closer just to dive back into him, following the motion like a wave, and it mesmerized him. He kept his presence solids against you, trying desperately to make up for the fear you’d felt for him seconds earlier.

He would’ve stayed there for eternities if he hadn’t suddenly tasted the salt water tears return from your eyes, and the realization of what had just happened pulled him away from you.

“Peter.” You whispered, practically trembling, chasing his lips. He looked into your eyes briefly, hoping to gain an understanding of how you were feeling before saying anything. Per usual, he didn’t anticipate your next move. Instead, you settled back against the wall and stared.

Suddenly, a slap, right across his cheek. It turned his head so fast he felt a knot for in his neck, and he hissed deeply.

“Ow.” He furrowed his brow, his gloved hand immediately coming up to cup the cheek that was beginning to glow a brilliant red. He looked back up at you again, ready to ask what the hell that was for, before quieting at your face.

“I thought you were dead.” You scolded. He could hear more threatening cries behind your voice, and he wanted to do everything in his power to prevent them from happening. He grabbed your hands and squeezed.

“I’m sorry.”

You pursed your lips and nodded. Whether or not that was an accepted apology was to be determined, you expression still unreadable. Another beat of silence passed, then your frown turned deeper.

“And you’re Spider-man.” You said it like you had only just realized it. You were examining his suit with perplexity behind your eyes, a hand seemed to subconsciously reach out to trace the shiny web details on the red fabric. He swore he could see that small flint of mischief in your eyes once again.

“I am.” He said, apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept it from you.” It’s all he could think of saying at the moment. No other words felt worthy of being apart of this conversation.

You nodded again, looking back up into his eyes.

“You’re gonna need somewhere to stay.”

Peter stared back at you with a matching intensity, one that reflected the kiss from only moments prior. He didn’t even take time to think about his demolished apartment.

“Yeah.” He breathed shallowly.

You took another step forward, nervously glancing back down to the lips you’d just devoured. He hoped to any god out there that you were considering having seconds.

“You could..” A hushed tone washed over you as you pulled his hands back to your waist, “… stay with me.”

You looked up at him through your lashes, something that drove him crazy. The heartbeat in his chest told him that this offer was more than just a sleepover.

He nodded. “I’ve wanted to stay with you for a long time.” He said in a hushed tone, nudging your nose with his.

In the midst of your second kiss, Peter swore he heard you whisper a faint “me too” against his lips before surrendering into the moment. If that was the case, it was something he’d definitely dive into later.

For now, it was the consequences of Peter’s actions. He knew he’d never lie to you again, but it’d be a sin to say he felt any regret in the way you kissed him after that.

Over and over again.

#the angst in this is ✨ immaculate ✨ #but with a happy ending ofc #fic rec; peter parker

[petalparker]

NWH SPOILERS hi! i tried requesting but it said it didn’t go threw; so if it did and i requested it twice so so sorry about that ahah. but i really love your writing style and i heard your requests are open and i would love for you to write this! so basically it’s tasm!spiderman x reader where instead of dying from falling from the clock tower she ends up in the nwh universe threw the portals and meets nwh!spiderman where he tries to help her and see if she can go back to her universe. and tasm!spiderman and the reader have a really heartfelt moment when he comes threw the portal because he had thought he had lost her forever :)

Home Again (TASM! Peter Parker x Reader)

(a/n) Bear with me, as I sat and wrote this in the past hour waiting for my classes to start. Will I give this a little follow-up fic? Who even knows. Will I ever be able to just write stand-alone fics? Maybe someday.

Warnings: Mentions of death slight angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 1551

You’d been in this world for years. Since 2014, if you remembered correctly. You tried your best to adjust, but things never really felt right.

Maybe it was the lack of closure. Maybe it was the burn scars on your back and sides that you saw every time you changed your shirt. Maybe it was the subtle differences in historical events you could never quite remember. Maybe it was because even though you had found Peter Parker again, he still wasn’t the same.

This year had been particularly difficult for you. Yes, you had to adjust to half the population’s sudden return five years after their very traumatic disappearance, and you had lost Tony Stark, the man whose care you had been placed into years ago. You weren’t close, per se, he put a roof over your head and helped you continue your education. But by far the most difficult thing was the fact that now? You had been in this universe for a decade. It had officially been eleven years since you fell into the basement of the Sanctum Sanctorum. It had been eleven years since a bald woman who was only referred to as “The Ancient One” had merely hummed to herself and said you were ten years too early. No matter how many times you asked, she refused to say what you were early for.

All she bothered to explain was that you were no longer in your home universe.

So for years, you adjusted. It was difficult, but around two years in, Tony Stark called you up and asked you to help look after “the kid.” Your heart leaped when you heard his name, only to sink again when you found it wasn’t who you hoped it would be. But that didn’t keep you from taking care of him. And it didn’t keep you from crying in the years he had blipped, or being over the moon when he returned. You told yourself that you had to be thankful to have at least one Peter back.

But then things began to feel off.

When Peter fought a strange man with robot arms on the bridge, he told you and Strange how he wasn’t “this guy’s Peter.” Norman Ozborn showed up at May’s soup kitchen and explained how this wasn’t where he was from. But the thing that really put you on edge was the appearance of a dinosaur-looking creature who spoke with a British accent and went by the name ‘Curtis Conners.’

Strange had told you to stay away from the Sanctorum the second these people began to show up, but at the mention of Doctor Conners you pounded on the Sanctorum’s door until one of his assistants let you in. You stormed to the basement where Peter said they were. Unlike MJ and Ned, you weren’t afraid of the monster in the corner. Instead, you walked right up to his prison and looked him dead in the eye.

“I remember you,” he hissed, smug grin on his face, “Weren’t you the girl that-”

“Shut up. How did you get here.” Your voice was flatter and harsher than you had ever spoken before, and you found you had even surprised yourself by how bold you sounded.

“Actually, it’s kind of my fault,” Peter began from the corner, “See I sort of-”

“What did you do, Peter?” You looked to him and then back at Conners, trying to piece things together. At the realization of what was happening, your eyes went wide and you mumbled to yourself, “The multiverse…”

“Wait, how do you know about the multiverse?” Mj asked, her arms crossed, “We never said anything about the multiverse. How do you know Dino in the corner over there-”

“The lizard.” Both you and Conners corrected her.

“That’s what I’m saying,” She pointed to the two of you, “What are you hiding from us?”

You simply stood there, looking over at the other cells, faces you couldn’t quite recognize, “Are there more out there?”

“Yes.” Peter answered.

“Then we need to find them. All of them.”

You sat in the corner behind the computer tracking anomalies, refusing to answer MJ's insistent suspicions or Ned’s torrent of questions. In fact, you hardly looked up from the computer until a new cell was filled.

“(y/n)! Look! Do you know who that is?” Ned pointed to the man in construction gear, clearly confused.

Your brow furrowed and, after a moment, your heart sank.

“Yes.

“How?” Ned cried, “There’s no way. Like, you’re from this universe, right? And-”

“Hey…you’re that girl,” your jaw clenched at the sound of Max’s voice, “Yeah, I remember you. You fell off the clock tower, didn’t you? Right into that-”

“Stop.” You commanded quietly, but he didn’t listen.

“How come you’re not de-”

“I said stop!” You screamed. This caught the attention of everyone there. Even Conners seemed to jump at your harsh tone.

You turned back to Ned and MJ, “We need to go find Peter. He’s not responding. He could need help.”

“Or the reception down here is just shit,” MJ shrugged.

“We could try my Lola’s place?” Ned offered, “She likes (y/n), so how could she say no to us?”

The three of you packed up your things and piled into your car.

You had been sitting in Ned’s apartment for hours. The news of Aunt May’s death, seeing Max and Doc Conners, Peter not responding, the multiverse slowly splitting open, it all began to weigh too heavy on your mind. You did the only thing you could do as the three of you say around the kitchen table; you excused yourself.

Locking the door to the bathroom behind you, you fell to your knees. There was no point denying the ache in your heart any longer; the hope you held was stupid. Peter wouldn’t be coming back to you. You had been telling yourself to move on for ten years, and you weren’t going to let yourself live whatever life it was you now had waiting for someone that wouldn’t come.

But Conners was back. And Max was back. Hell, the whole multiverse was opening. What if this was the moment you would see him again?

And what if it wasn’t?

You stood up and wiped the tears from your eyes. You turned on the faucet and let the cold water run through your fingers before splashing it on your face. Ned’s Lola screamed.

Ned’s Lola screamed.

Ned was shouting. MJ Was shouting.

Someone else was shouting, a man. He had a deeper voice. It wasn’t Peter's, it was someone else’s. But the shouting didn’t stop. Something was horribly wrong. You grabbed a hairbrush off the bathroom counter and bolted out the door. You took off running towards the kitchen and chucked the brush as hard as you could towards the new figure in the room without even bothering to see who it was.

He held out his hand and caught it without looking.

“- oh but it works on hair brushes? How do I know you’re not just some barber?” MJ accused the figure.

“I feel like this should prove your point even more because I didn’t even know this was coming at me and-” He froze, looking at where the brush had come from only to see you standing there, mouth wide open.

He didn’t exactly look older, but he no longer looked like the awkward highschool boy you had fallen head over heels for. He looked like a man. A very tired, very confused, yet undeniably handsome man. His hair was messy from yanking off his mask, which now lay on the floor.

“Peter…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. He didn’t move. He didn’t say anything, no one did. The silence was only broken by the clattering noise of the hair brush hitting the floor.

“It can’t be- You’re not-,” He stood there for a minute, stumbling over what to say, “Where I’m from, there was a girl and she looked…just like you. And she-”

“Fell off the ledge of the clock tower because Harry dropped me. And then there was an explosion as I was falling. But I didn’t die, I passed through a portal instead and that’s how I got here.”

“Oh my god it’s you,” Peter tripped across the room, holding his arms out and yanking you to him, “Oh my god, (y/n) it’s you. You’re alive,” he mumbled into your shoulder as he squeezed you so tight you could barely breathe. Slowly he sank to the floor, refusing to let you go from his arms, “I thought you died. I thought you were gone forever. I thought-”

“-I’d never get to see you again,” You whispered at the same time. A weak laugh escaped your lips, and you could feel his tears seeping through your thin t-shirt, “I’m here Pete, it’s ok. I’m alright.”

He pulled you back, holding your face in his hands carefully, “I love you. I love you so much. And I know I never got to tell you but I’m telling you now not a day has gone by where I don’t kick myself for never telling you and I’m so, so sorry and-”

“Peter,” You smiled, wiping a tear from his cheek, “I love you too.”

(a/n) tada!!!!!! I hope you enjoyed :D friendly reminder that you are valued and loved and you also gotta drink water okthankyouuu.

#the chokehold fics with this premise have on me #fic rec; peter parker

[petalparker]

to build a home (1)

pairing: tasm!peter parker x witch!reader

tags: angst and fluff, avenger!reader, mentions of stephen strange and wanda maximoff, mcu x tasm crossover, cursing, sadness ensures

summary: you prefer this peter parker’s universe over yours and you want to stay with this peter more than anything. but yet, his love for you and your magic could only go so far in the depths of the multiverse.

note: another series!!!! ty to the anon who gave me this idea! in this fic, the whole “forgetting peter parker” thing doesn’t really exist bc my fragile mind can’t write such a thing!! i apologize for any loopholes in advance <3 happy reading! enjoy chapter 1 :)

missing out? ➤ [my masterlist] - [series playlist]

There’s a constant ringing inside your head. The sound is unwavering and tumultuous — an overwhelming sensation that reminds you of a ticking time bomb. Time. You want nothing to do with it. It is your greatest enemy, and yet simultaneously, a beloved acquaintance. Time is everything and nothing all at once, but it doesn’t exist.

It doesn’t exist as you sit in front of Peter. Not the Peter Parker you knew, but the Peter Parker you loved.

When Stephen Strange had abruptly contacted you about a spell gone wrong, you were confused as to why you were the person he decided to go to when the issue was admittedly much bigger than your abilities could handle. You were concerned that he had even thought about you. Any appearance from you was deemed rare after the events of the Blip. And following that, you had resigned your post as an Avenger, deciding that you wanted to be on your own because working in a team had always brought you bad luck.

And it did.

You knew that Strange had a plethora of individuals who could be of better assistance to his situation with the young Peter Parker — such as Wanda Maximoff, who like you, had also been born with unexplainable forces of magic. She was someone you envied, yet looked up to. Someone who was exactly like you, but better in skill. Her magic was stronger, it was refined. She was smarter, older, wiser. Or so you thought. Apparently, Wanda’s whereabouts were unknown and in fact, Strange theorized that she had gone completely rogue. He suggested that you were his second choice, to which you turned down his plea out of pettiness. You had lived in Wanda’s shadow plenty enough. He had offended you, as if you hadn’t harnessed the same chaos magic as your older predecessor. Although you were weaker, and could only recreate half of Wanda’s extensive mythical capabilities, Strange and the young Peter Parker needed you. You couldn’t say no, especially when you and the boy had bonded in your time as an Avenger.

You had no idea what you had gotten yourself into.

There wasn’t just one Peter who needed your help, but three. Three different versions of Spider-Man — of Peter Parker. To make it easier for your bearings, you thought of them as brothers. And out of all the three, the middle brother had caught your attention the most.

His kind and soft brown eyes. His mesmerized gaze. His questions about your magic and questions about you.

An instant connection across universes.

You found yourself in love with a Peter that you knew nothing about. And you found yourself inevitably following Wanda’s cursed footsteps once those brown eyes vanished from your life.

Because who wouldn’t be a fool for love?

You had spent weeks studying Wanda’s magic after hearing rumors about her situation in Westview. You had dug through recovered files of the Scarlet Witch from the Avengers’ compound, studying runes and dead languages while grasping at invisible straws. It felt like you were running in circles, as if you were chasing a ghost. Peter’s ghost, or whatever you knew of him. Every lead you had was a bust, and everytime you felt Peter within your reach, you found yourself straying further away from him. On the nights you wanted to give Peter up, the image of his smile and the texture of his lips had given you reasons not to.

You had doubted your own magic immensely, until you found him again. You couldn’t fathom that your debilitating anguish had shattered through the cosmic barriers of reality — like Peter had been living behind a mirror of your world all along. The universe that you had resided in yesterday was a cloud of smoke that disappeared in front of your eyes, and you found yourself in a different New York belonging to someone you loved.

You couldn’t explain how it happened, but it did. Your heart was always stronger than your mind. And for once, you were thankful that your magic was simply a carbon copy of Wanda Maximoff.

A lone hero.

The ringing in your ears comes to a halt when Peter’s voice pulls you back to him. The flame of the melting candle on the table swishes as you look up from your reflection in the wine glass.

“Y/N,” He chuckles, reaching for your hand across the clothed table. You blink rapidly at your surroundings, remembering that you’re here with Peter and far from there. “I asked if you wanted another glass.” He gestures. “Probably not the best idea given you just… blacked-out in front of me — hey, are you listening?”

“What?” You sigh shakily, pressing your fingers to your temple. Peter’s jaw tenses at the motion; he knowingly squeezes your hand with his. You apologize through stumbling words and Peter merely shakes his head at you.

His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper as if he’s scared that someone is listening to him. His lips are pursed together in worry. “Are you hearing it again?”

“A lot more than usual.” You nod with a gulp, using your free hand to bring the glass of wine to your mouth. You take a generous sip, earning a look from Peter. “I’m sorry. It’s just… sometimes I hear Stephen.”

“Stephen? Like talking to you?” Peter grows concerned and a frown emerges upon him. “I thought he’d left us alone.”

“I thought a lot of people left us alone, Peter.” An uncomfortable silence fills the air. The restaurant feels almost empty, as if you and Peter were the only two who existed. You see the cogs in his brain turn as he looks off into the distance. “Hey.” You squeeze his hand in a similar fashion, assuring him with confidence. “He can’t get to us. Stephen can’t — I’m just stronger, okay?”

“I know you are.” His trusting eyes meet yours, and he plants a chaste kiss to your wrist as he raises it to his lips. “My girlfriend is so strong, not even a cool flying wizard could get her.”

“Well, I’m also a flying wizard.”

“Yeah, but not really.”

You scoff lightly, kicking his shin gently underneath the table. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You can’t fly.” Peter casually laughs, stabbing at his pasta with a fork.

“I mean, I can — well, I can hover.”

“That’s not the same as flying.” He gestures at you with narrowed eyes. “You know how penguins are birds? And birds are supposed to fly but penguins can’t?” He continues through a mouthful of fettuccine. “You’re like a penguin.”

Your mouth falls open. You lean forward in the chair with feigned offense. “You did not just call me a penguin. I am nothing like a penguin!”

“Yeah, you are.” He chuckles heartily. The sound is prettier than the soft piano in the background. “Little flightless bird.” His eyes meet yours in the dim light as your fingertips trace the cracks of his skin. You flick your wrist slightly, conjuring miniscule gold fireworks in the palm of his hand as he watches it in awe. “So beautiful.”

Peter never could wrap his mind around your magic. He knew that superhuman powers like his had to exist, but yours — yours was on a different other-worldly scale. He found you incredible, human or not. When he first laid eyes on you, he couldn’t help but notice how tragically breathtaking you were. The sadness glazing over your eyes, like an emptiness lingered inside you. He knew that feeling all too well. And he connected with you in minutes — the lightest of touches, the pounding of his heart whenever you were out of sight, the sweltering warmth in his chest as he admitted that he felt something for you; no matter how ridiculous it sounded, he figured that if he’d never see you again, he’d tell you how amazing you were. Maybe it was so easy to fall in love because you knew him somehow (or at least, another version of him in your world), but he soon recognized that you treated the youngest Spider-Man differently. You cared for that version of Peter, but you didn’t look at him with the same longing gaze. And whenever Peter was in trouble, it wasn’t the younger one you seemed to search for.

It was him.

Peter chivalrously holds the door open for you as you exit the restaurant, hurriedly stepping onto the cobblestone walkway as rain begins to sprinkle from the sky. The exchange of youthful laughter between you and Peter echoes through empty streets as an umbrella produces itself in your hand, and you take advantage of the rain to run away from him.

“Y/N!” He shouts, laughing as he chases after you. Web spurts out from the wristwatch underneath his sleeve, and you yelp as the sticky substance pulls you into his arms. You’re flesh against his chest, breathing heavily and wide-eyed as you stare up at him.

“Classic move, tiger.”

“Oh, shut it.” He whispers.

The umbrella disappears into yellow dust in your hand as he pulls you closer, and you smile against Peter’s lips as rain pours over the two of you. He laughs, blinking away the water from his eyes. You put your empty hands to use, slinging your arms behind Peter’s neck as you stand on the tips of your toes. Your hair becomes wet, sticking to your cheeks and your forehead. You feel the coolness of his breath against your mouth, and he licks at his lips as your eyes flicker up to him. The hue of the streetlights dance over his delicate features, highlighting the roughness of his skin and the healing bruises near his jaw.

His thumb runs across your bottom lip, then traces the shape of your cupid’s bow. The same digit travels up your face, running across the blemishes on your cheeks and ghosting around your shut eyelids.

You feel his gentle mouth against yours. He cranes his neck to kiss you, loosening his jaw as your tongue bumps into his. You giggle into him, and Peter takes it as an invitation to deepen the kiss. His hand rubs soothingly across your back, clutching at the fabric of your coat while his other one cradles your face.

Everytime Peter kisses you, he thinks of it as his last. It scares him, as if one day he’ll reach out to touch you and you’ll become nothing but dust.

But your lips on his reminds him that this is real. You are real, just as much as he is to you.

You pull away slightly, letting the button of your nose squish against his cheek before you look shyly at the ground. There’s a honk behind you, and Peter immediately ushers you to the side as a cab passes by.

You both squint through the drops of rain as the taxi disappears into the fog. Peter takes the moment to wrap his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head. There’s a certain softness to his embrace, and you hum in satisfaction as his body envelops yours.

“You’re all I need, you know that Y/N?” His voice rumbles through his chest and vibrates against you. “Just you.”

His words riddle through your bones.

And you feel him climbing inside your heart.

“I love you, Peter.”

He kisses your temple. “I love you, too.” His grip doesn’t waver, but his hand reaches for yours. “Let’s go home.”

You don’t tell him that the ringing in your head reappears when his fingers intertwine with yours. And you don’t tell him that you hear Strange in the back of your mind calling out your name. You ignore the guilt that looms over your head.

You convince yourself that you aren’t a bad person. How could you be? What is so inherently evil about living in a place that was full of love and life and Peter? What is so bad about abandoning a universe that was nothing but cruel, for a universe that showed you how to live again?

If Strange could risk the world for Peter Parker, then how come you couldn’t either?

Was it so wrong to be consumed by love?

Love. It’s all around you as Peter shuts the door to your home (He always assumed that you had bought the house through compulsion and your magic, meaning your moral compass wasn’t completely perfect. But that also didn’t mean you were any sorts of awful — Peter had been helping you realize that in your time spent together). The home is well-decorated, with picture frames on walls and little trinkets atop of the television console. The coffee table is messy; there’s a few crochet hooks and tangled threads resting in a pile because Peter wanted to take up crocheting after seeing someone wear a really cool hat on the street. In all honesty, he sucked at it since his sticky fingers would always interfere with the looping part. It’s a small one-story house with an open kitchen and a round dining table that you and Peter never really used, oftentimes resorting to cereal or bagels on the brown couch.

Peter busies himself in the kitchen, washing a few dishes before you decide to sit on the counter beside him. You poke at his arm, earning a funny look from your boyfriend. “Look at you, all domestic and shit.” You laugh, bringing your knees up to your chest as you lean your head against the kitchen cabinet. “Itsy bitsy spider.”

“Call me that again and I'll burn you at the stake.” He raises his eyebrows at you, and you chuckle loudly at the inside joke between the pair of you. You rest your chin on your forearms, gazing in fondness as Peter dries his hands with a towel. When he’s done, he holds his arms out, and you wrap yourself around him as he carries you to the living room. “Don’t think I’ll patrol tonight.” He mumbles into your hair, brushing it away from your face as you rest your head in his lap. You look up at him, blissfully purring as he combs through your locks. “Seems quiet today. Think I’ll just spend it with you. My beautiful, beautiful Y/N.”

He pecks your forehead, and you capture his lips into a kiss before he fully pulls away. “You’re sure? If you need to go, then…”

“No, no.” He shushes you. “Spider-Man is the least of my priorities right now.”

You smile, because you’ve never been a priority to anyone except Peter. You lay there, closing your eyes at the feeling of his fingers massaging your scalp. It feels serene in the orange-hue light of the standing lamp, and it’s almost as if you can feel Peter’s heart bursting from his chest as you fall asleep in his lap.

Closing your eyes was a mistake.

The world spins into darkness, and suddenly, you find yourself falling through the ground. It feels neverending, as if you’re being dragged under a tide that won’t stop pulling you with it. The floors are endless, and there’s a drumming in the distance that gets closer and closer as you fall farther down. Before you hit the ground, a yellow cloud of dust swarms you, then you’re trapped inside a room. Everything turns into mirrors and you can only see yourself. With every turn of your head, your reflection only stares back at you – lifeless and unwilling. It’s you, but at the same time it isn’t. This version of you is dressed in your old suit made by the Avengers– the muted yellow leather, the gold decals of your chestplate, the long hooded cloak that would billow dramatically in the wind as it swam over your corset – she was exactly you, but the look on her face was void of emotion. You can’t help but run your hands down your sides and over your neck, wondering which of the two of you are real.

“Where am I?” SIlence. You spin around on your heels. “Where am I?!”

You deliver a blow to the mirror with your fist, thinking that it would crack under impact. Instead, it warbles and distorts the image of you, just for it to reappear and continue to stare back at you with those same empty eyes. She doesn’t answer, but to your surprise, she walks away. You call out into the abyss once more, but your voice never leaves your throat. Then, your reflection dissipates into mist; you see another variation of yourself with your Peter. That version of you feels more familiar. Her clothes are normal, and so is his. Her smile is genuine, and she’s reaching to kiss him. But her lips never meet him and the glass of the mirrors begin to crack audibly. There’s no escape as the shards of glass begin to fly around, and the ringing in your ears is louder than it has ever been. Your skin stings as the sharp ends bite at your cheeks, slicing just above bone.

“Peter!” You can’t hear yourself, but you can feel the shredding of your vocal chords as you let out a shrill scream. “Peter! Where are you?”

You can’t feel him. The room falls apart completely, and you float into the darkness beneath you. It’s pitch black, and there's soft music that plays from a far distance. Your thoughts only race with Peter’s whereabouts. You can’t feel him. Where is he? Your eyes well up with tears, and your vision becomes spotty as the dark room lights up in a blinding orange glow. You fall to your knees, hoping that the abyss would just eat you alive – but you don’t sink, you don’t plummet, and it feels as if gravity has stopped.

There’s a hand on your shoulder, and you whip your head around at the motion.

“Y/N.” Stephen Strange breathes out your name. His eyes are narrowed, and you can’t tell if he’s even real. “I’ve been trying to find you.”

“No.” You rip his hand away from you. And tears prickle at your waterline as you feel the warmth of his skin. “Stephen… come on.”

He’s reaching for you. In his eyes, you see desperation; it was the same look he had when he asked for help before. “This is an abuse of your powers. You – you have no idea what damage this… what you have caused. Y/N, just come home. Please.”

You step back, curling into yourself. He’s real. God, he’s fucking real.

You shake your head frantically at him, baring your palms toward him. Your hands radiate with a luminescent yellow, and tiny sparks begin to emit as you swirl them together in a pattern. Your laugh is bitter, and it sends a chill down Strange’s spine. “I’m not coming with you.”

“You are being fucking irrational.” He spits out. He mirrors you, activating his powers as well. There’s a safe distance between you and him, but the man knows exactly what you’re capable of. He can’t risk it, knowing that you have the possibility of becoming stronger than him. “Enough, Y/N!”

“I am staying…” You grunt through gritted teeth, pressing the heels of your palms together as a ball of fiery light manifests itself in your hands. “... here.” Your eyes glimmer, and your pupils shift into a milky white for a split second as rage overcomes your body. “With Peter. Leave me the fuck alone, Stephen, or so help me God!” A rune casts over his face. “What? You gonna fight me?”

“If I have to. If you go any further with this — with this Peter.” He hisses. “You don’t belong here, Y/N. You can’t stay no matter how much you use your powers. No matter how much you love him—“

“And what do you know about love, Stephen?”

His face hardens with a scowl.

His hands move rapidly as the runes shift into different shapes, and before he can go further, the ball in your grasp expands as you let out an ear-piercing cry, and an explosion shakes the abyss tremendously.

You wake up as a panting mess in your bedroom with Peter. The curtains by the window are shut, but there’s an unmistakable breeze that passes through the room. You clutch the fabric of the sheets close to your chest, letting it rub against your sweaty skin to remember where you are. Breathlessly, you roll onto your back and find Peter. He sleepily stirs at the movement, and his arm reaches out for you in the darkness of the bedroom.

You can feel him now.

“Hmph, you’re still awake?” He murmurs into the pillow, drool falling from his lip.

“No, baby.” You coo, touching his hair with tearful eyes. “Just… just had a bad dream that’s all.”

His eyes open at the statement. “Bad dream?” He sits up against the headboard when he notices that you’ve been crying. “You wanna talk about it?” You search his eyes desperately, and your whole body trembles until you’re breaking down into his arms. Peter is confused, but doesn’t hesitate to comfort you. He can feel the tears seep through his shirt, and shuts his eyes when your hands claw at him. “Was it about me?”

“It was about everything — about you, about me, about Stephen…” You hiccup. “F-fuck, he was there…” Peter wipes at your nose with his shirt. “He was real, Pete. He was so real and he — I think I’ve fucked up.”

He doesn’t answer, hugging you tighter. He knows what you mean, and he doesn’t feel the need to push you even further down this rabbit hole. He rocks you back and forth until you’re sound asleep in his arms, and he remains awake for the rest of the night. Peter’s mind can’t help but linger at the idea of losing you. As selfish as it sounds, he doesn’t want you to go back home. Even though you have friends and family back there, Peter likes you here — in his arms with your head against his chest. He wants to scream a big ‘fuck you!’ to Stephen and everyone who wants to break the two of you apart. There’s a part of him that knows how wrong this is — to keep you here as if you owed him that. Yet he can’t just let you go. He just can’t. Peter has dealt with too much loss, and he knows that he can’t bear to lose you too.

It would fucking kill him.

In this world, you remained a civilian. You and Peter had a strict agreement about your use of magic in public. This wasn’t your world anymore — there were no Avengers, no aliens coming down to invade Earth, no Thanos, no Ultron. It was like playing pretend, and it felt nice knowing that you could be treated normal for once. You weren’t a science experiment to these people nor a beloved heroine that young women looked up to, you were just yourself — not some mascot for the Avengers.

There was no pressure to be perfect. You could be imperfect here, and you’d still have Peter. And that felt amazing.

In this universe and every other universe in between, you and Peter had built a home together.

And you’d be goddamned if someone took that away from you.

The house fills with sounds from the record player in the living room. There’s a police siren that whirs in the distance, driving past the kitchen window as the bread in your toaster pops up.

Domestic.

Peter has been out the whole morning working for the Bugle, leaving you with the entire house to yourself. You make use of the time to finish a couple chores — making sure his Spider-Man mask is tucked away safely from view, changing out the bedsheets and cleaning the jammed webs in his webshooters. The routine brings a smile to your face. You take his suit out of his backpack, holding it out in front of you. There’s a large tear by the shoulder that makes you frown. With a sigh, you take out your sewing kit and sit by the windowsill in the foyer, stitching the material together. The material of his suit feels like silk under your fingertips, and you run your hand over the spider symbol.

It reminds you of the night you met him.

“An Avenger?”

“Yes.” You blinked slowly at him, as if the answer was obvious. The middle Peter doesn’t continue, mirroring your look of confusion. “What, do you guys not have Avengers? You have Spider-Man but not the Avengers?”

“I don’t even know what that is.” He scoffs through a laugh, shrugging on his labcoat on top of his suit. “They sound… cool, I guess.”

“Well, that’s because they had me.” You smirked cockily, leaning over the table. “Y/N.” You extended a hand out to him.

“Peter.”

“I know.”

He blushed at the familiar statement and his head dipped down, hiding the smile that was forcing itself onto his face. You captured his gaze through the motion, and you found yourself glued to his side the entire time. You studied his mannerisms — not because he was undeniably attractive, but because you wanted to see if this Peter was anything like the youngest Peter Parker.

But you couldn’t hide how beautiful you found him to be: the dimple in his cheek, the moles on his neck and the freckles across his nose that reminded you of constellations.

Peter could feel you staring.

“What, do you not have handsome guys in this world?”

The joke made you speechless, and you bashfully touched your hair as Peter observed you with the same fervor.

“We have handsome guys…” You stepped towards him, bravely smoothing down the collar of his white coat. You couldn’t help but look at the symbol on his chest, and it felt like electricity was running through your fingertips as you had a sudden urge to reach for it. His eyes followed your hands, before they flickered up to meet your gaze.

“Yeah?” His pupils were hopeful.

You bit back a smile. “Just not as handsome as you, Spidey.”

The vivid memory plucks at your heartstrings, and you find yourself grinning at the old interaction. You decide to put the Spider-Man suit back into Peter’s backpack, until something falls out of it and clatters to the floor abruptly.

A little black box.

Curiously, you pick it up and open it.

A ring.

-

#YOU CAN'T JUST END IT WITH THAT WHAT THE FUCK /POS #SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING #aaaa so cute but so angsty as well? #i love how cheeky they are with one another #and the reader is so valid in her feelings #she's been sacrificing for the sake of the world for years on end now #why can't she be selfish just once #her desperation and fear is so well-written #honestly can stephen just fuck off? #praying this one has a happy ending #i can't do another wandavision #PLEASE #fic rec; peter parker

[petalparker]

🤍 Once again, congrats on the milestone. Anyway, you should do the arachnophobia fic idea! It's so adorable!

The Itsy Bitsy Spider

Funnily enough, Peter’s girlfriend has a crippling fear of spiders.

CONTENT: fluff, fem!reader, everyone is 18+

NOTES: I’m afraid of the dark… maybe you could come sleep with me ;)

By every definition of the word, Peter never considered himself a morning person. If anything, he despised mornings, but he could always appreciate the beauty in them.

When the sky took its time waking up along with the rest of the city, Peter became aware of several things almost at once: how the sun rose, painting the sky with hues of lilacs and pinks, golden threads of morning light pouring through the windows of his shared flat that warmed his skin. It brought another day of hopes and aspirations, soon to be fulfilled goals and another day spent with loved ones.

Instinctively, he reached out to the spot beside him, expecting to roll over and be embraced with a warm hug, only to frown when the sheets were cold and his girlfriend out of sight.

With a few bleary blinks, muddled with faint memories of his dream, Peter’s eyes momentarily clenched shut as stretched his limbs, hearing the popping of joints and unravelling knots before he got up with an exasperated sigh.

It was a Saturday morning, and he had no intention of waking up that early, but the bed was cold and empty.

“Peter!”

A strangled plea, desperation, a familiar voice.

A hot flash struck Peter’s body — contrasting with the chill sensation that ran down his spine and collected and pooled deep in his gut.

Jumping out of bed, he grabbed his web-shooters with shaky hands but it felt as if his vision had been disfigured — as if he were staring through a fish-eye lens while attaching them to his wrist.

His chest grew tight and thundered as bile rushed to his throat. Blood rushed into his ears that muffled and encased his head in static noise.

He breathed hard, rushing up to the bedroom door and nearly ripping it off its hinges. Uncertainty bled through every action — the panic coursing through him only amplified the accompanying scream of her name.

Barreling into the living room, his eyes darted to find his girlfriend standing in the centre of the room. Without thought, webs shot out and grabbed her, pulling her back into Peter’s chest before shoving her behind him.

“Where is it? Are you hurt? What happened?” He fired rapidly, arms outstretched wide to broaden his coverage to shield her. His mind reeled into overdrive.

But a second came and went, and the silence prevailed, only for Peter's ragged breath, becoming shorter, sharper, to fill the room.

Hesitantly examining for any trace of the intruder, Peter tossed a look to her, staring into her eyes wide with panic.

“I know you’re scared but you have to tell me. Where did it go?”

Her arm shot up, finger waving mid-air. “Up there!”

About to shoot out another web, Peter paused, blinking in utter disbelief.

Adjacent to them, seated in the far right corner of the wall, unmoving and unthreatening, was a spider — a relatively small one at that. It remained motionless, biding its time in the uncharted territory as its beady eyes leered at them, standing on eight legs.

“Please get it!”

Relaxing and slumping his shoulders, he sighed, licked his lips and burst into a fit of laughter. Peter spun around to cup her face in his hands, slightly shaking her in timing with his speech. “You — argh! I thought something bad happened to you! Don’t. You. Ever. Scare. Me. Like. That!”

But she was preoccupied, focus still stuck on the spider that was now scuffling towards them at a menacing speed that had her wiggling out of his grasp.

“Pete, please!”

He shook his head with a smile and breathless laugh. “You’re scared of the itsy bitsy spider?”

“It’s huge!”

Peter rolled his eyes, gesturing to himself. “You sleep with one every night!”

“Well, my Spidey doesn’t have eight legs and a hundred eyes!” She scoffed as if he was the ridiculous one while pushing him further to the spider. “They’re so ugly! And disgusting — atrocious little creatures!”

“I’m trying really hard not to get offended right now.”

“Can you just kill it already?”

“Kill it?” He exclaimed. “That’s self-murder — suicide!”

Her whining ensued, cowering away as Peter climbed the wall, letting the spider crawl into his hands despite her protest to use a napkin and cup instead.

It was a small common house spider with black and brown fuzz. She no longer bothered with words, only gagging as Peter observed the creature in the palm of his hand. Either way, he found the situation becoming increasingly hilarious as he cracked open the window and let the spider free.

With a yawn, he held out his hand to lead her to the bedroom, yet she refused, sputtering about washing them first.

“Oh come on! You didn’t mind a certain spider’s hands on you last night.”

And with the flattening of her mouth, she rolled her eyes and took his hand. Although reluctantly and with a grimace on her face.

Who knew the beauty of mornings also included capturing spiders?

#this #just this #the smile this put on my face aaaaa #protective peter never fails to have me in a chokehold #fic rec; peter parker

[petalparker]

a matter of time (tasm! peter parker) - series masterlist

summary: peter parker has barely gotten over losing you and getting dragged into another universe where you're still alive and kicking isn't about to help the case. thanks to an ultimatum from stephen strange, peter has just a matter of days to make you realise who he is and what you had, or he faces losing you all over again. he better get to work.

warnings; mentions of loss/death, swearing, no way home spoilers

lmk if u wanna be added to the tag list!

ONE: THE WORLD HAS TURNED AND LEFT ME HERE

TWO: RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

THREE: WHAT'S LEFT OF THE WORLD IF YOU'RE NOT IN IT?

FOUR: TIL FOREVER FALLS APART

FIVE: WHEN WE COLLIDE

#i consider this therapy #fic rec; peter parker

[petalparker]

OOOOOO, I really like your writing and u asked for prompts. So, maybe u could do a really shy!reader or mute!reader with peter? I think that be cute! Or you can do it with tom since u said once that you like writing for tom more :)

secret language

Pairing: Peter Parker x Mute!Reader

Synopsis: a study in the silence that comes when two people understand each other

Masterlist

You sat alone at on a bench on your first day of kindergarten, feeling intimidated by the noise and spectacle of it all. You hugged your backpack to your chest, wishing the day could go faster so you could fo home.

Then he came up to you.

“Hi. I’m Peter.” A curly haired boy pulled the seat out next to you and sat down. You waved at Peter and put your backpack on the table, deciding to give him a chance.

“Do you have a name?” Peter asked, and you nodded your head. You took his hand and laid his palm flat, carefully writing your name with your finger.

“Wait, do it again.” Peter requested, watching your every move intently. You wrote your name again on his palm and he titled his head, staring at his hand like the word would be written there.

“Y/n?” He looked up at you once he figured it out. “Am I saying it right?”

You nodded happily and pointed to yourself before giving him a thumbs up. Peter smiled proudly and looked at his hand again.

“Do you not talk?” He wondered, making you shake your head no.

“That’s okay.” Peter shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t like to talk either.”

Peter began to swing his legs, looking around the classroom in awe before his eyes fell on Aunt May, who was talking to the teacher.

“Is your mommy still here?” He turned to you to ask. You nodded and pointed to your mom, who was laughing with one of the single dads.

“She’s pretty. Her shoes are so tall!” Peter exclaimed as he pointed at her high heels. You laughed silently, smiling to show that you agreed. Peter smiled back at you, several teeth in the front row missing. His smile faded suddenly as he looked down at his lap.

“My parents just died.” He confessed to you. “Uncle Ben said they’re in heaven. I tried to look for Heaven on the map on the subway, but I couldn’t find it. Do you know where it is?”

You shook your head and Peter sighed.

“Me either.” He said, pouring a little as he slumped in his seat. You sat in silence for a moment until you heard a little noise from Peter.

“I miss my mommy.” He said quietly, his voice sounding weak.

Your eyes filled with sympathy for Peter as you stuck your bottom lip out. Peter watched you curiously as you reached out your hand, taking his little one in your own and squeezing it three times. Peter gasped a little, looking up at you with wide eyes as you gave him a gentle smile. It reminded him of what his mother used to do when he was scared, three squeezes to say three words.

I. Love. You.

Aunt May didn’t know about their little ritual, so when Peter squeezed her hand three times as they lowered his mom into the ground, she didn’t squeeze back. It made Peter wonder if anyone would tell him they loved him in the secret language ever again. But here you were, squeezing his hand to let him know it was okay.

“Thank you.” He smiled, his eyes no longer glassy. “I love you too.”

You smiled at him and he noticed that were missing teeth too. Peter pointed to your mouth and laughed before pointing to his own. You both doubled over on the bench (I was over on the bench) in a fit of laughter, as if you had reached the very apex of comedy with missing teeth and gaps in your smiles.

You and Peter spent the day together, communicating though words written on his palm or on a piece of paper. He found it very easy to understand you, even when you didn’t speak. He liked your quiet company far better than the loud children in the class, knocking over blocks and crying over toys. You were different, and Peter liked different.

At the end of the day, Peter saw his family and grabbed your hand, running towards them with you in tow.

“Aunt May! Uncle Ben! I made a friend. She’s a mule.” Peter proudly presented you to his aunt and uncle. You smiled politely at them as they shared a confused look.

“What sweetie?” Aunt May asked as she crouched down a little. In the mean time, your mother had spotted you holding hands with Peter and made her way over.

“Mute. Y/n is a selective mute.” Your mother explained as she came up behind you. “Hi, I’m her mother.”

“Like on a remote!” Peter cheered as the adults shook hands. “Can she come over?”

“Is that alright with her mommy?” Uncle Ben looked at your mother for permission.

“Sure.” Your mother complied. “If you give her a piece of paper, she can write some words down. I’ll give you my number just in case.”

“She doesn’t need paper.” Peter shook his head. “We can already talk, look.”

Peter held you your enjoined hands and squeezed yours three times. You squeezed back, making him grin.

“See? She said she loves me.” He exclaimed, letting your hands drop back to your sides.

“That’s so cute. I was so worried about her making friends. She stopped speaking after her father passed.” Your mother quietly explained to May and Ben.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Peters parents just passed as well.” May said sympathetically while Ben watched the two of you. A complicit smile sat on his lips as he saw his nephew genuinely smile for the first time since his parents died.

“My condolences.” Your mother touched May’s arm kindly.

“Thank you.” May put her hand over your mother’s. “It’s been really difficult for him. It’s been so long since he-“

She was cut off by Peter laughing loudly at something you didn’t say, but conveyed. Tears brimmed in her eyes as you wrote something on Peter’s palm, something that made him light up like the forth of July.

“Since he’s been happy.” She finished.

“Lucky they found each other, huh?” Your mother smiled fondly as she watched you and Peter play, earning a nod from May.

And lucky you were.

Over the next few years, you and Peter developed a secret language entirely comprised of soft touches, expressive looks and squeezes. It was a dialect that only existed between the two of you, and that was how you liked it.

“Welcome, students, to your first day of high school. My name is Mrs. Ingrid, I’ll be your english teacher this year. I’d like us to go around the room and say your name and what you did this summer.”

You looked at Peter with panicked eyes as tired groans echoed around the classroom. It was your very first period of your very first day and you were already freaking out. Peter gave you a gentle smile as he reached across his desk and took your hand, giving it three solid squeezes.

“It’s okay.” He assured you. “I got you.”

“Mr. Parker.” Mrs. Ingrid said suddenly. “Since you’re talking, would you like to go first?”

“O-Okay.” Peter stuttered as he stood up from his desk. “My name is Peter Parker. This summer I watched all the Star Wars movies in a row without breaking to sleep.”

“Thank you for sharing.” She nodded curtly and turned to you, as you were seated next to Peter. “Ms. L/n, you can go next.”

“This is-“ Peter began.

“I believe she can speak for herself.” Mrs. Ingrid snapped, narrowing her eyes at Peter. You looked at Peter with eyes full of guilt as you unintentionally made him get off on the wrong foot with the teacher. You expected Peter to be scared, but his face showed that he was perfectly calm.

“Actually she can’t, ma’am.” Peter said politely. “This is Y/n L/n and she’s mute. She also spent her summer watching the Star Wars movies but she fell asleep sometime between Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith.”

Surprised murmurs swept though the crowd at the mention of the word “mute”. It was something the students hadn’t been exposed to yet and you felt the individual pricks as they sunk their teeth into it. Knowing the pantomime spotlight was being shone on you, you turned to the class and gave a weak smile.

“My apologies.” Mrs. Ingrid said shortly. “I forgot we had a disabled student this year. Thank you, Peter. And welcome Y/n.”

She turned her back to the class to hide the flush of embarrassment as a student called her out, but Peter had more to say.

“It’s not a disability.” He spoke up, shrinking in his seat when everyone’s eyes went to him.

“I’m sorry?” Mrs. Ingrid turned around with an unamused grin.

“Well, Y/n is mute because of an anxiety disorder.” Peter explained. “She physically has the ability to speak, but she mentally feels like she can’t. She doesn’t see it as a disability.”

“Did she tell you that?” Flash, a boy with his name stitched onto the pocket of his shirt, asked from somewhere behind the room, making the whole room laugh at you.

The whole room except Peter

Peter turned around in his seat and glared at Flash, armed and ready to defend you if needed.

“Yes, she did.” Peter stated. “She tells me everything.”

Flash snickered and rolled his eyes as Peter turned around in his seat. Other students continues to gawk at you, as if your mutism could be seen on the outside. Your face flamed red until you felt Peters hand on your shoulder, squeezing it three times to calm you down.

“I apologize, Y/n.” Mrs. Ingrid smiled at you. “Would the next student like to go?”

You walked home once the day had ended with Peter by your side, quietly thinking to yourself as he talked about his science class.

“Anyways.” He paused time catch his breath as he finished his story. “How was your day?”

You looked at him sideways before grabbing his hand and writing an “E” on his palm.

“Come on. English wasn’t that bad.” He insisted, grimacing a little when you glared at him. You made a gesture of a circle before sharply pointing at yourself.

“I know. But I bet everyone had a moment today where they felt like everyone was staring at them.” Peter tried to assure you but you rolled your eyes.

“Tomorrow will be better.” Peter said decidedly. “That Flash kid is so annoying though. How many classes do you have with him?”

You held up three fingers and Peters eyes widened in sympathy.

“Three?” He gasped. I’m so sorry. Hopefully he was just trying to show off for the first day.”

You shrugged a little and pantomimed popping your collar, to which Peter laughed.

“Right?” Peter exclaimed. “Why does he dress like a mobsters son?”

Your shoulders moved up and down as you silently laughed with him, nearing your apartment building now.

“We should do something to celebrate our first day.” Peter decided. “What do you want?”

You looked at him and raised your eyebrows, a smile appearing on his face as he caught your drift.

“You read my mind.” He sighed happily and he shifted the weight of his backpack to his other shoulder. “Coffee ice cream and Impractical Jokers it is.”

You put your hands over your heart and made a dreamy expression, to which Peter let out a groan.

“Stop it.” He laughed though a whine. “You’re the only one who thinks Sal is hot.”

You shoved him playfully as you entered the lobby of your building, making a face he knew all too well.

“I’m not having this argument with you again.” He wagged his finger in your face as he pushed the elevator button. You pouted and took his hand, writing out an expletive on his palm.

“Don’t use that tone with me young lady.” Peter feigned a gasp as he held his hand to his chest. You gave him an unamused look as he laughed at his own joke.

“Hey. “ He said suddenly as he took your hand. “Happy first day.”

You reluctantly smiled at his newfound sentimentality and squeezed his hand three times, for for each word.

~

“Mrs. Ingrid.” Flash’s hand shot up one November morning. “When we present the projects tomorrow, can Brian present mine?”

“No, Eugene.” She sighed, a snicker coming from the class as he used his first name. “Every student must do their own presentation.”

“Then how come Y/n doesn’t have to do one?” He asked spitefully, making everyone look at you. You looked to Peter for help, who was already turned in his seat to face Flash.

“You know why she doesn’t.” He said dully, tired of Flash’s unjustified vendetta against you.

“Well I don’t think it’s fair that she gets special treatment.” Flash short back, making some students “ooo” and agree.

“It’s not special treatment. Y/n is mute, Flash. You, on the other hand, have made it very clear that you are not.” Peter sassed, making the class laugh. Flash’s face turned red in embarrassment as he looked around the room for help.

“Selective mute.” He emphasized. “That means she can talk if she wanted to. You said so on the first day, Penis Parker.”

“It’s not like a light switch she can turn on and off, Flash. She doesn’t feel like she has a choice. Leave her alone.” Peter barked, getting up out of his seat now.

“If she wants me to leave her alone, she should tell me herself.” Flash snapped, getting up as well. You looked between the two boys with fearful eyes, tugging on Peters sleeve to get him to back down.

“What’s your problem?” Peter asked angrily. “What are you, jealous because she’s never spoken in this class yet still outperforms you?”

The class laughed at Peters insult, only making Flash angrier.

“I’d like to see how well she’d do without you as her interpreter.” He yelled as he pointed a finger at Peter.

“That’s enough.” Mrs. Ingrid slammed her hands on her desk. “Both of you, sit down. Y/n will be doing a power point presentation. End of discussion.”

“Yeah, that’s enough Eugene.” Peter hissed as he took his seat.

“That’ll be all, Peter.” Mrs. Ingrid narrowed her eyes at your best friend. “If this continues, I’ll have to request that the three of you be separated and put into different classes.”

“Why should Y/n and I be separated just because Flash is a dick?” Peter asked, eyes widened when he realized what he said. The students laughed at the sound of a curse word, even if it was one the uses on a daily. You looked at Peter scornfully and tapped his desk twice, communicating with him to calm down.

“Mr. Parker. I’ll be seeing you in detention.” Mrs. Ingrid stated. “Everyone, take out your textbooks and turn to page 117.”

You put your textbook on your desk and looked at Peter, giving him a sympathetic pout for getting him in trouble. You reached over and took his hand, squeezing it twice to apologize.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He whispered to you. “Detention is a small price to pay for getting to call Flash a dick to his face.”

You squeezed his hand again and tilted your head to the side, making him shake his head at you.

“No, it’s not your fault.” Peter insisted.” It was mine. I interrupted the class, not you. Don’t worry about me.”

You sighed and brushed the side of your nose with your thumb, causing Peter to smile.

“I know.” He said softly. “I always worry about you too.”

~

You found Peter waiting for you at your locker at the end of the school day, bouncing with excitement to tell you a story from his algebra class. You listened intently as you collected your books, linking your arm through his once you were done. You walked past Mrs. Ingrids classroom and heard someone clear their throat, making you both stop in your tracks.

“Going somewhere, Mr. Parker?” She asked as she appeared in the doorway, arms folded and glasses perched on the lower part of her nose bridge.

“Shoot. I forgot I have detention.” Peter groaned before turning to you. “Do you mind waiting?”

You pointed behind you with your thumb and shrugged as Peter chewed his lip nervously.

“Are you sure? What if somebody asks you for directions?” He worried, not liking the idea of you walking home by yourself. You looked at him like he was silly and pointed your finger in both directions, signally that you could just point someone in the right direction of the asked.

“Well what if the directions are really complex?” Peter added, coming up with any excuse he could think of. You made a gesture that Mrs. Ingrid didn’t understand, but seemed to make all the sense in the world to Peter.

“You’re right. You don’t need a babysitter.” He agreed. “Do you want to meet back in my room at 4?”

You nodded and took his books from him so you could drop them off in his room.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” He promised as you took his hand and squeezed it three times.

“I love you too.” He smiled, giving you three squeezes before walking in the direction of the detention room. Mrs. Ingrid watched him until he disappeared around a corner, turning to you once he was gone.

“You and Peter, are you two together?” She questioned, making you shake your head. She smiled a little, looking amused as she took off her glasses and rubbed them on her shirt.

“Someone should tell him that.” She chuckled, sliding her glasses back on her face. You put your hand over your heart and rubbed it in a circle, the first gesture Mrs. Ingrid understood.

“I see.” She nodded. “You have a nice day now, Y/n. Get home safe.”

You smiled in appreciation at her before waving goodbye, walking out the doors of the school and towards your building.

You tucked your thumbs under the straps of your backpack as you walked, taking every precaution to step over the cracks in the sidewalk as you approached them.

“Hey, Hellen Keller, wait up.”

You froze for a moment when you heard Flash’s voice behind you before quickly picking up your pace. Unfortunately, he had the same idea and ran to catch up with you, grabbing your arm and forcing you to turn around when he got there.

“I was talking to you. Are you deaf too now?” He snickered devilishly as you pulled your arm out of his grasp. You kept walking, but he fell into a stride right beside you.

“So how does it work? Can you and Peter read each other’s thoughts? Does he ever think about me?” Flash batted his eyelashes but you ignored him. You swallowed nervously as you began to wish you had just waited for Peter.

“Come on, Y/n. You should take my interest in you as a compliment.” Flash smirked, making you roll your eyes. “I wanna hear you speak.”

Your unbreaking silence woke up something animalistic in Flash, making him grab both your arms and pushing you into a vacant alley. He pressed you against a wall, gripping both your arms so tight, you were sure they’d bruise.

“Didn’t you hear me? Say something.” He bellowed, getting right in your face as he screamed. You turned your face away and grimaced, fidgeting to get out of his grasp.

“Fine.” He laughed in a way that made your blood turn cold. “You don’t want to talk? Then I wanna hear you scream.”

Your eyes widened as he threw you to the ground, your body skidding on the pavement as you moved. He stalked up to you like a Brute, towering over you as you held up a hand.

“Where’s your little boyfriend now?” He asked, raising his fist above your head. A scream ripped through your throat as his fist came down, never making contact with your face. You opened your eyes slowly and saw him wiping his hands, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

“That’s what I thought. See you tomorrow. Can’t wait to see your PowerPoint.” He quipped, spitting on the ground next to you before leaving. Once you were sure he was gone, you sat up. Your hands went to your elbow first, as you felt blood tricking from an open wound. It wasn’t anything serious, just a scrape and a friction burn. Your hands then traveled to your neck, fingers resting over your vocal chords. You hadn’t heard a sound come from your mouth in 10 years, not even a laugh. The scream that came from your mouth was different from screams you’d heard in movies. It was deeper and hollow, as if it came from an animal. Tears stung your eyes as you got up, body aching from hitting the ground. You looked around the corner before continuing your way home, looking over your shoulder every so often out of fear.

You cleaned your elbow up in Peters bathroom, sticking a few Paw Patrol bandaids to the cut as you waiting for him to come home. You ended up falling asleep on his bed, only waking up when he came in a quarter last five.

“Hey sleepy head. I’m sorry I’m late.” He spoke in a hushed tone as he knelt beside his bed. “Mrs. Ingrid made me write on the board 100 times like Bart Simpson. Did you get back okay?”

You nodded as you sat up, slowly opening your sleep heavy eyes. Peter smiled as he smoothed the hair that was sticking up on either side of your part, smile fading when he took a closer look at your face.

“What happened? Have you been crying?” He worried as he cupped your face, turning it slightly to get a better look. Taking a deep breath to brace for Peters reaction, you held out your arm. He caught sight of the bandaids almost instantly, looking at you in disbelief before gently examining your arm.

“Who did this to you?” He demanded as he carefully twisted your arm to see the full extent of the wound. You weakly pantomimed a popped collar, seeing the anger in Peters eyes grow as he understood.

“Fucking Flash.” He stood up abruptly and slammed his hand on his wall. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you walk home alone.”

You got up and went over to him, shaking your head sympathetically.

“I did too have a choice.” He disagreed. “People skip detention all the time. How could I let this happen?” He asked, more so to himself as he sat on the bed. He put his head in his hands, hiding out of the shame he felt. You took a seat beside him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders while resting your head on his body. You tapped his leg four times, making him bring his head out of his heads to shake it.

“It is my fault.” He told you. “I provoked him in English and that’s why he went after you. I should’ve been there. I’m so sorry.”

You pouted and took his chin between your fingers, squeezing his arm twice with your free hand.

“It’s not okay!” He yelled. “He’s been targeting you since day one. I bet he planned this. He’s probably been waiting to get you along. Did he hurt you anywhere else? Oh god, did he touch you?” Peter could barely see past his disgust long enough to get the words, turning a little green as the worst case scenario played in his mind. You frantically shook your head and Peter calmed down just a little.

“He’s lucky. He’d be a dead man if he did.” Peter stated assertively. You tilted your head and gave him a disapproving look that he read in seconds.

“How am I overreacting?” He asked. “You’re hurt! He hurt you! Screw this - I’m gonna kill him.” He got up again and heading towards the door. You sprung up from the bed and threw your arms around him from behind, stopping him in his tracks. You squeezed his tightly, resting your chin on his shoulder as you held him back. He struggled to break out of your grasp until he heard a strangled sound emit from your throat. As distorted and muffled as it was, Peter knew was you were trying to say.

“Stay.”

He hung his head in shame, knowing it scared you when he raised his voice. He put his hands over yours, which had been resting on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, keeping his eyes down. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. You know I worry about you.”

You slowly withdrew your hands and turned him around, taking his face in your hands and making him look at you.

“I know you don’t need me to protect you. Is it wrong that I still want too?” He smiled weakly as he leaned into your palms. You shook your head and moved your hands down to his shoulders, shrugging a little to tell him you didn’t mind.

“I’m walking you home tomorrow.” He promised as he pulled you into a hug. “And everyday for the rest of my life.”

You patted his back four times, making his body shake with laughter.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Sounds good to me too.”

~

You entered Peters room a little over a year later after receiving a frantic text. The text contained exactly one word, “ouchie”, and the rest was gibberish. Peters wise eyes met yours and you smiled at him, smile fading as your eyes trailed down his body. He was clad in nothing but his boxers and one single sock, glistening with sweat from head to toe. Your best friends lean and scrawny body that you has seen hundreds of times since your childhood was replaced with broad shoulders and solid muscle, features that made your face burn all the way to your ears. That wasn’t what shocked you, though. What shocked you was the series of papers, pens, shirts, and granola bars that were sticking to his body as if adhered with glue.

“Whats happening to me?” He screamed, tugging at a Nature Valley bar sticking to his nipple. You held back a laugh when you saw how scared he looked and approached him slowly like a deer in the woods. You reached out a hand but he backed away as if you might burn him.

“Don’t.” He croaked. “You’ll stick too and I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”

You waved your hand in dismissal and reached out again, placing a cool hand on Peters burning cheek. His eyes shut in tranquillity as he leaned into your hand, letting your touch calm him as it had done so many times in the past.

You peeled a shirt off his shoulder and plucked a pencil off his thigh as his breathing slowed down. You cupped his face in your hands and looked at him, wordlessly asking him to tell you what happened.

“I went to Oscorp yesterday and this spider bit me and I woke up really sweaty - and I mean really sweaty - and then I got super hungry so I went ham on granola bars - and I’m talking ape shit Y/n I didn’t even chew I just went feral on those crumbly bitches - and then things kept sticking to me and I don’t know what to do and-“

You acted on a whim and pulled Peters face towards yours, kissing him firmly on the lips. The only noise in the room was the sound of pens and granola bars hitting the ground as they slowly unstuck from his body. Peter places a gentle hand on your face as he kissed you back. You pulled away, feeling his eyelashes tickle your face as his eyes fluttered open.

“And you just kissed me.” He laughed slightly, pace significantly slower now. You gave him a knowing look and shrugged a little, making him laugh.

“You’re right.” He realized. “You didn’t stick.”

You wrapped your arms around Peters neck and pressed your forehead against his, letting silence fill the room as he held you.

“I don’t know what this means. I’m…I’m scared.” He whispered as he nuzzled against you. You shook your head a little, telling him he didn’t have to be scared. Moving your head up to look at you, you took his face between your hands and kissed his lips three times in a row. After the third kiss, a cheeky smile lingered on Peters lips.

“I love you too.” He told you, grinning widely before kissing you again.

~

You laid on Peters chest, a few years out of college now. His shirt was riding up a little, exposing bare skin that served as your canvas. A shy smile made on a home on your face as you traced letters on his skin.

“What was that?” He asked when he felt your touch but couldn’t make out your words. “Say it again.”

You chuckled a little at his phrasing, and he did too. In accordance to his request, you wrote your sentence again, taking your time with the curve of each letter. Peter furrowed his eyebrows a little as he propped himself up on his elbows, a little annoyed with himself for not being able to decipher what you were saying. He prided himself on being fluent in your secret language, so the only possible answer was that whatever you were writing now was something you had never written before.

“Wait, do it again.” He asked, determined to crack the code. You sat up on your elbow as well, looking at him through your lashes as you traced the words again.

“I’m convinced this is gibberish.” Peter shook his head through a chuckle, looking at curiously to see if you were messing with him. You let out a tiny whine as you stuck your bottom lip out, patting his chest twice to tell him to try harder.

“Fine, fine. Try again. But go slowly.”

You sucked in a breath and held your fingernail to his skin, slowly tracing the first word.

“Will?” He asked, grinning when you nodded and continued to write.

“You?” He looked to you for confirmation. “Will you?”

You nodded again, feeling butterflies now and you moved to the next word.

“Many?” He questioned. You shook your head repeatedly, anxious for him to figure it out. You wrote it again and saw it click for him.

“Ohh. Marry.” He smiled, proud of himself for getting it. His eyes met yours and all at once, he understood why he couldn’t figure it out before.

No one fault really, you just never proposed to him before.

“Wait.” His lips curved into a smile as he cupped your chin with his hand.

“Do it again.” He asked, unable to contain his excitement as you repeated your actions.

“One more time.” He pleaded, eyes filling with tears now. “I know what it is, I just want to feel it again.”

You wrote it again, writing it on every exposed part of his body now. You proposed on his arm, his chest, his leg and his bicep, a man excited squeal leaving his throat each time you did it.

“Give me your hand.” He fully sat up now, wrapping his arms around you and taking your hand in his. He opened your hand and flattened your palm, bringing his finger to your skin.

“Y-E-S.” He spelled out loud as he wrote on your palm. “Yes. I will marry you.”

~

Smoothing your dress with a shaking hand, you turned to your mom for last minute adjustments before you walked down the isle. She smiled widely as she touched up your hair, handing you your bouquet once she was satisfied.

“Are you ready?” She asked. “That’s a dumb question. You’ve been ready for this since kindergarten.”

Nodding at your mothers words of encouragements, you nervously clutched your bouquet of sunflowers and roses, yours and Peters favorite flowers.

“You’re so lucky to have found each other.” Your mother smiled fondly as she dusted off your shoulders. “To understand someone the way you do, it’s rare. Your father would be proud.”

Emotion overcame you as you pulled your mother into a hug, thanking her the only way you could for getting you that far. The vamping of the organ signaled to you that it was time to go, all your nervously butterflies turning into petals of excitement. Your mother gave you an assuring smile as she slipped her hand into yours, both of you facing forward now as the doors opened.

Everyone turned to look at you, a welcome gesture this time around, as you made your way down the isle. You made eye contact with Peter, who had a hand clamped over his mouth to hide his emotions. He wiped tears from his eyes as Ned patted his back, silently willing you to come faster down the isle. In his mind, you couldn’t walk fast enough. He was not interested in spending one more minute as just your boyfriend. As you got closer to the alter, you waved at the Avengers who had put on their best suits to attend your big day.

And finally, you made your way to Peter.

You whole life had been about making your way to Peter, and now, dressed in white, you had arrived. You handed your bouquet to your mother and accepted Peters hand to help you step onto the alter. Peter sniffled a little as he took your hands in his, overwhelmed in the moment by your beauty.

The priest began to speak, but you didn’t hear much. All you could focus on was your childhood best friend, soon to be husband. Your palms sweat as the vows approached, an unfamiliar tickle resting in your throat.

“And now, the vows.” The priest handed the baton to you and Peter.

“Sunsets, flowers, and you. Three beautiful things that don’t make any noise. I believe some of the most wonderful things a human being can experience happen in silence. I believe that because of you.” Peters voice cracked momentarily. “I stand before you today as someone who is permanently subscribed to your silence. I look forward to a lifetime of knowing looks and written messages on the palm of my hand. I never knew how much could be said through three simple squeezes of my hand, but it feels like my entire life has happened since the first time you touched me and the last. Though your voice has never fallen on my ears, I’m confident I could identify it anywhere. You and I have created something incredible rare, a silence that only comes when two people truly know each other. And I know you. I am blessed to say I know you. I have never heard you speak, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hear you. I hear you in the early hours of the morning when the birds begin to chirp. I hear you when the blood rushes to my face because you looked at me in a certain way. I hear you when the music swells in my favorite song, and I hear you in every beat of my heart. I won’t tell you I’ll love you until death do us part, because even the jaws of death couldn’t end my love for you. I will just find you in the next life, and the one after that. Nothing could keep me away.”

You touched delicate fingers to your under eyes as you dabbed away tears, squeezing Peters hands three times to thank him for his beautiful words. Now the spotlight had once again returned to you and this time, you were ready.

“Peter.”

Peters eyes widened in astonishment before brimming with tears as your voice fell on his ears for the very first time. It wasn’t perfect after so many years of being unused, but it was yours. That’s what made it Peter’s favorite thing in the world. He bent over and rested his forehead on your enjoyed hands, almost like he was bowing to you. He stayed there for a moment before standing up again, his face full of emotion. You knew he was composed enough for you to continue, so you did.

“I shut my mouth when I was 5 and I didn’t think I was going to open it ever again. But then I met you.” You broke into a smile. You spoke slowly, taking deep breaths every few words. “There is no other way I would want to use my voice than to tell you that I love you. I have always loved you.” You sucked in a deep breath as you got emotional. “My mom worried that I wouldn’t make any friends my first day of school, and I didn’t. I made a partner for life. It is one thing to be loved and another thing to be understood. You give me me both in three small squeezes. I love you, Peter.” You finished, punctuating your vows with three squeezes of his hands.

“I love you too.” He whispered, a steady flow of tears streaming down his face now.

“I love you more.” You said, verbally for the first time.

“Peter Parker, do you take Y/n L/n to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold in sickness and in health, till death do you part?” The priest asked.

“I do.”

“Y/n L/n, do you take Peter Parker to be your lawfully wedded husband? To cherish and honor, for better or for worse?”

“I do.”

“Oh my God.” Peter gushed, making the crowd laugh. Peter was still recovering from the fact that your first word was his name, and now you had said the two sacred words he’d been waiting his whole life to hear.

“By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” The priest smiled. “You may kiss the bride.”

Peter wasted no time in taking your face between his hands and kissing you, smiling with joy into the kiss as you officiated your marriage.

“You did so good baby.” He whispered against your lips as the crowd clapped for you.

“Thank you.” You giggled, proud of yourself for what you did. “I’ve been practicing with my therapist since the proposal.”

“It was amazing. That’s was the greatest surprise anyone’s ever given me. Even if it was just for today, I’m so happy I could hear your voice. I love you so much.” He told you before pulling you into a hug. You rested your head on his shoulder and held him tightly, thanking God that he came up to you that first day of kindergarten.

“I love you too.”

Tag List 🏷

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#no words just tears #fic rec; peter parker