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clarks-letterman · 1 year

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lost in reality | perv!peter parker x gender-neutral!reader

a/n — this is not what i usually post! there was going to be more smut but i didn't know how far to go with it, so if anyone wants to see something more extended, let me know! (Peter is a bit of a perv in this but i tried to make him get his comeuppance) gender-neutral, i think

warnings — smut! 18+, some brief facefucking, gore (sorta mild, but don't read if you don't like it!)

summary — Peter uses the reality stone to practice his pickup skills. With such a powerful device at his disposal, what could go wrong?

words — 3.7k

~~~

A mesh of red and blue ambled to the quarters of the Avenger's compound. No rush nor worry affected Peter as he kept one foot light over the other, heading into each step, furthering him down the hallway. It was another neighborhood saved and another day where he would be free from the thoughts of letting his powers go to waste, and his life could finally regress into normalcy for the start of the new day. While he had a kick in his step from how smoothly the night had gone—and how much his mentor acknowledged the fact—Peter felt the need for something a little more caffeinated to help him instead.

As Peter returned from his latest venture, taking no rush to get to his room, you were on your way out of the resident android's room. In your hand, a pad of Stark Industries-branded notepad paper with all but one of the Avengers' coffee orders scribbled down filled it. You would not be in Vision's room with the question of coffee being the reason, something he was physically incapable of drinking, but Wanda frequented the room, and it was likely that she was in there. You were right to assume that, and now, you planned to check the door just further down the hall to see if Peter was around.

It turned out that you did not need to go far; the bright colors of his suit caught your eye the second you stepped out into the corridor. Anything resembling Peter's mood of being on top of the world was gone, and so was that little kick that pushed him further—you could almost see him lose it in his eyes once he saw you, even from afar. You approached him with one thing on your mind, the pen and paper used to record everyone's order at the ready.

"He-," he cleared his throat before lowering the pitch of his voice, "Hey."

There was an awkward silence between the following words until you reminded him by tapping your pen to the side of the notepad to draw his attention to it and speaking up, "Your order?"

"What?" He was already blowing it. Peter glanced down to his red-spandex feet and then back to you, his voice returning to its natural pitch, "Oh, yeah, uh—"

Peter paused. He realized he did not know what he wanted, and while you found the evident attempt to appear cool somewhat endearing, you could have already been heading out to get coffee for everyone by now. Almost by reflex, you started to tap the pen against the nearly completed list of coffee orders ranging from simple menu items to oddly specific modifications to non-existent drinks. And in seconds, the pen slipped from your grasp and unceremoniously landed on the laminate of the hallway floor.

"Shit," you reached down to grab the ballpoint, but Peter stopped you.

"I'll get it."

He attempted to bend over, only to find his hand stuck to the wall. Peter quickly stood straight, subtly tugging his hand away from the wall without tearing a new hand-shaped hole in the plaster and paint. In his panic, Peter's hand stuck itself to the wall, and no matter how hard he tried to pull away from it, his hand wouldn't budge. That left you to get the dropped pen, reaching for it without the trouble of spider-centric powers messing with you.

You looked to Peter, scribbling down his name next to Tony's order, "I'll just get you what Tony gets and leave you alone with your hand. See you later, Peter."

With that, Peter was left alone and sufficiently embarrassed as you strode down the hall, and, finally, his hand let him free once you were gone. He scuttled to his room in a bout of shame and locked the door, heading to his mirror with a plan to practice asking you out. It was a simple mirror resting on the opposite side of the wall that had betrayed him, even if it was an inanimate object that could neither sway nor influence his spider abilities. He planned on using the reflective rectangular sheet as a stand-in for you but decided to change himself into something that didn't remind him of the awkward encounter he had moments ago.

Now, he stared at himself in the length of the full-body mirror, dressed in a tee sporting Midtown's gold and navy-blue colors and a simple pair of beige cargo pants. It was more on your level, casual clothes that were unlike the striking symbolism of his superhero suit. Peter hoped it would make him feel more comfortable talking to you, as he wouldn't discern the need to be perfect in everything he does around you. He could be Peter.

The first words he spoke to himself in the mirror were natural, not meant to sound broody or cool. It was how he usually talked: voice cracks and diffidence-galore, "Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to swing me to get coffee with you?"

Peter realized his slip-up and started the question over again.

"Oh my God, that's so funny that you get coffee!" He placed a hand over his chest with a fake smile to match, "I love caffeine and wanted to know if you would drink me. I mean, drink it with me?"

“Hey, I was just in the neighborhood—saving it, and all. Coffee, you-me? Then, we could come back here for. . .” He paused, knowing that he could never be that smug with you—he could barely get his powers to work! How would the Parker-Charm not blow up on ignition? “Okay, dial it back, Pete.”

"I'm hopeless," Peter let his head fall, staring at the floor. He could hardly watch himself fumble in the mirror, but the glint of a red sheen in the mirror pulled him back—the reality stone, sitting on one of the few bookshelves resting against the walls of his room. This one housed various meticulously assembled Star Wars-themed Lego sets, and the stone quickly became an amenity on the set of Boba Fett's Starship. Could he use it for this, of all things? If he did use it, it would only be for a couple of minutes. For practice, he told himself.

Many people would probably ask why a teenager would have one of the most mighty pieces of rock sitting on a shelf in his bedroom, and well, Peter wouldn't know the answer himself as to why he was allowed to keep it. According to Tony, he was a good kid, and the rest of the team knew he wouldn't use it for anything malicious, like obliterating half of all human existence. So, it was a souvenir, a relic that Peter never utilized for anything apart from letting it be some seriously cool decor and a piece he constantly bragged about to his only two friends.

He turned away from the mirror, retrieved the stone from its entrapment in the plastic bricks, and returned to his full-length reflection. The jagged edges dug into the soft inside of his palm in retaliation to the pressure as he squeezed it with a closed fist. With a single thought—one that held details of nearly everything about you—a soft ring of smoke formed a couple of feet away from him on the carpet. His heart thrummed as it quickly moved upward, revealing your form as it went. After a few moments, the puff of smoke faded as it rounded your head, topping off the manifested version of yourself.

Nothing could compare to the real you, but this was close.

The imagined version of you standing before Peter looked like the spitting image of you, almost to the point where, if dressed the same, it would be impossible to tell the two of you apart. Almost. But, there was one thing that let Peter tell the visually deceitful version of you apart from the real one: he couldn't hear a heartbeat. He figured that, while you looked the same on the outside, the inside was missing a few vital features of the real you.

Regardless, Peter struggled to remember that information since your lesser interpretation was still stunning enough to make his heart sink into the never-ending pit in his stomach. His feelings got the better of him, and Peter started his practice in err from the moment he opened his mouth.

He held the stone tight, waving his other hand to you, "Hey—hi, do you know who I am?"

"Yeah, you're Peter." You stated it as if he should have known that already, and he noted it. From what he could tell, you had at least some part of the memory of your actual self, so maybe this version of you could provide an accurate reaction to asking you to get coffee with him.

"Okay, cool. Cool. Yeah, that's. . . cool," Peter trailed.

"Why do you keep saying cool?"

The only problem was that you were real. Unduly real. Down to the slightest mannerisms that anyone but Peter would be able to catch when they spent time with you, and with your stunning looks and perfect quirks brought about by the stone, Peter could remember everything about you. He could hardly hear the absence of your heartbeat from his' sonority, ultimately distracting himself from his original intent.

"So, what did you wanna ask me?"

"You. . . you ask a lot of questions. But, I wanted to know if you could—"

Peter was finally going to get the words out, albeit to someone who was only pretending to be you. He wouldn't have to worry about finishing that project he procrastinated on—this would be his big success of the day. But his web-shooter had gone off erroneously across the room, spraying against the walls and pouring onto the floor from its canister. He jumped away from the source and nearly dropped the stone in the process.

Peter's mind was fleeting, even his rehearsal was going wrong, and he immediately thought of an old trick for speaking to people that he hadn't needed since a young age—he imagined you in your underwear. He didn't mean for it to happen, but if he thought it, the stone made it a reality for as long as he held the little rock. He watched as a red puff of smoke took your clothes into the air, vanishing from your body in less than a second. Underneath, a simple pair of boxer briefs clung to your nether region. Maybe it wasn’t all about the practice to Peter. His mind had thought of this, so it couldn't be that bad to indulge in it.

"Could you come over here?" He asked, throat dry. He needed to feel you to confirm he had not gone completely insane from one too many hits on the head. Peter defeatedly took a few steps to his bed, sitting down on the edge of it. "Please?"

His heart pounded with each step you took, accepting his wish to draw near. Peter could not help but watch your vulnerability follow ostensibly close behind. In just one beat, you stood directly in front of him. He watched your knees rise and fall on either side of his legs as you sat on his thighs. Peter felt the warmth of your presence, the surprising weight of you on his hairless and sinewy thighs, even if you were empty inside.

Peter was bristling, brown eyes wandering over your exposed form. His body felt immovable, no matter how much he wished to drop the stone and watch you vanish. His head was the only thing not to freeze, the rest of his body turning into a well-sculpted monolith. His jaw moved with a bit of tension, "I didn't ask you to do it like this."

"No, but you thought it."

"How did you. . . ?"

"You thought that, too."

Peter realized that he was practically having a conversation with himself, just through the guise of your face. The details became more apparent; the color of your eyes, the set of your mouth, and the same smile lines appeared as he thought about its utter perfection. He connected that now, asking you to come closer only worsened his issue. Your presence over his prominent bulge made it push the limits of its cotton confines. Slowly, his marble arm broke from his reserved mold, and an empty hand cupped your cheek the same way he had always thought about doing it. He would use both, but one was occupied with creating his living dream. Then his hand slid away and around to the back of your neck, your hair brushing his chewed fingernails and overly scraped knuckles.

He knew that guiding you into the kiss was redundant as he could think about it, but this was far more passionate. As he brought you close, the thought of your smell and the feeling of hot breath joining in concordant timing against each other's skin started to fill his head. At the touch of your lips to his, Peter kissed like someone who had nothing to lose. Like he didn't have the responsibility of seeming to have it all together placed foremost. Like he could be a needy and desperate mess for more than a passing swing around New York. Only now, and only because of you.

His impetuous thinking decided that taking care of his problem now would mean that he could resolve everything else later. He needed to take care of it now; it was the only thought running through his head. Desire.

Breaking away, Peter silently commanded you to slide off your boxers and get on your knees. He caught a glimpse of you as you followed his direction, surprised by how his mind subconsciously filled in the gaps for everything he had never seen.

Your hands worked in a way that left their presence unknown until they were hooked into the band of his boxers, easily tugging down on the well-worn stitching to free Peter's springy dick. He watched your eyes ogle it and how you took it into your hand without a second thought, and while he filled your hand well, he couldn't help but think about his inadequacy. He had seen his teammates' sizes after sharing training sessions with them. Not that he was looking on purpose, but mostly out of insecurity. Peter already paled in comparison to the heights and builds of the others, and while he was far from small, they didn't make him look all that great. Peter started to wonder if the stone affected him in the same way it did you.

With a single thought, he decided to test it. He watched his shaft grow bigger and chub up with a thicker girth. Your hand could barely wrap around it as it had with his true size. It felt like an innocuous veneer to gaining the confidence that he never had. As a result, he was eager to get you on him and make you squirm like one of the criminals he spun webs around.

In seconds, your lips formed an imperfect circle and took the head of the arachnid, and the rest of him, as if it were nothing. Your lips brushed his decent smattering of hair around the base of his cock without convulsion. This version of you had a throat that fit around him like a cock-sleeve, hugging his girth without any of the need for restraint.

"No gag reflex? This is better than any toy I ever made."

Peter's hands found their way back to the rear of your head, controlling the pace at which you took him for his own pleasure. The sheer feeling of something far better than lubed-up rubber made him go wild.

At a certain point, he couldn't remember when his mind started to break reality further than he thought until he was suddenly yanked back to it. Peter started to feel effervescent guilt towards his actions. This is what he wanted, but not how he wanted to get it. Quickly, Peter felt the heavy weight on his chest return, the need to right himself by putting an end to this. He hated that he changed himself to impress something that wasn't even you. He wondered what his mentor would think, what you would think, or how you would react. A small shift inside him sent that weight toward his hand, the one he held the stone in, and it went from its dormant glim keeping the illusion alive to a bright shine, creating something new.

"Get off, get off, please," Peter asked, thinking the words in his head as hard as he could to free himself from his twisted fantasy. You let his stiff, unrelieved dick pop out of your mouth and got off your knees.

"What's wrong, Peter?" He had thought that, too. What was wrong with him?

He could barely stand to face you, but he needed to acknowledge you to make you leave. When he did work up the nerve to look in your direction, the guilt glared back at him. He felt like a creepy monster for even thinking it was a good idea to give in to his urges. The feeling overtook him so much that he didn't even realize your gradual change.

At first, it was your face. The pleasureful expression turned into a sour one, eyebrows funneling together and your upper lip upturned. But, the features of your face pressed forward as if they were made of putty and someone was trying to claw their way out. They stretched out and ballooned until they burst, leaving you headless. Your body went without a head for a few seconds before the more seasoned details of his mentor formed in your absence.

He kept his hand flat, wicking it away from his body and the rest of his arm with the hope that the stone would fall off, but his powers had already made that choice for him. Then, he thought of his suit, his web-shooters, and the communicator that could signal Tony. If he drew attention to the issue, it would resolve itself, but could he successfully explain everything as if it were the typical morning paper arriving at the doorstep? He could try, or at the very least, lie. But that would never solve this issue, though, not in the long run.

Peter formed a mental map of the fastest route to his closet in his head and decided that his backup web-shooters might be strong enough to hold the illusion down and give him time to pry the stone from his nonreciprocating palm. He turned, locking eyes with the monster as it started changing again.

Peter looked on in horror, the stone shining its brightest and shading the monster in terrifying red like a stop sign you see at the last minute when your heart sinks at the thought of being crushed. The soft tear of wet, stretching flesh and its stringy reformation flushed his ears as the beast before him grew. The harsh snap and sound of bones splintering from the fattening weight pierced his sensitive ears; nothing new to him at this point in his life, but he had never heard so many cracks and gushing wounds. Yet, through all the bodily changes, Peter never broke his stare with the amalgamation of his worst thoughts. Its eyes never left him, either. The cold and frighteningly dead stare of non-existent emotion didn't phase him until he heard a heartbeat, one that he believed came from the creature itself.

However, it wasn't the monster's—it was yours, heavy-thudded blood-pumping. The real you and your usually pleasant voice calling for his response. From the other side of the door, he heard you pleading for him to answer and affirm that he was okay. He figured that you must have overheard his distress and the ensuing raucous.

Peter reached for the stone but stopped. Everything was gone. His suit still sat in a messy pile on the floor, but the webbing was gone from the walls. The stain on the carpet was no longer there, and his pants were the only thing absent from his body, but nothing left the confines of his boxers. Had all of it really been in his head?

He quickly answered the door without any precaution, seeing your face still intact.

"Hey, I got you something different than Tony's. I was in line and remembered when you drank out of his cup by mistake and spat it all over the counter. Are you okay? I thought I heard a girl screaming."

“Thank you, and it wasn't a. . . never mind. Do you want to come in and hang?”

“Yeah! But get some pants on first, Spidey. I can't have my thoughts get to me.”

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alltoowelltom · 2 years

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Who'd You Rather

tom holland x reader

summary: if there's one thing Ellen is known for, it's exposing secret relationships

a/n: this was written so quickly and not proof-read. also, i picked Ellen because if anyone would do this, it would be her lol

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

July 2019

"So Y/N, are you currently dating anyone?" asks Ellen, taking a sip from her mug.

You shake your head.

"Not currently, no."

Ellen nods.

"Well, please don't worry anymore. We're going to help you find someone in a little game we like to call Who'd You Rather?"

"Oh God," you laugh, twisting slightly in your seat to glare at your manager for agreeing to this who laughed and poked her tongue out at you.

"So all you need to do is look at the photos I show you and pick between these two options, alright?"

"Okay, if you insist." you roll your eyes, facing the large screen.

"I do. So to start off, Timothee Chalamet or Dylan O'Brien?"

"Oh, wow," you laugh. "Starting off strong. Well, I was an absolute hoe for Maze Runner when it came out so I have to pick Dylan. Plus, I know Timothee better so it would be kinda awkward if I chose him."

The picture of Timothee fades away and is replaced by a new photo.

"Dylan O'Brien or Harry Styles?"

"Harry fucking Styles." you say without hesitation and the audience cheers. Ellen nods.

"Harry Styles or Florence Pugh?"

You bury your head in your hands.

"How could you ask me that, Ellen? That's like asking someone to pick between cookie dough and mint chip ice cream! Impossible."

Ellen mimes tapping at her watch and tuts at you.

"Time's ticking, Y/N. Make your choice."

You sigh.

"It's absolutely Florence then. Sorry, Harry."

"Florence pugh or Chris Evans?" Ellen asks.

"Flo."

Ellen's eyes gleam as she quickly reads the next pair of names, rubbing her hands together in a comically evil fashion.

"Florence Pugh or Tom Holland?"

You slide down on your chair, laughing and covering your face with your hands.

"Ellen!" you shriek. "I've just come off my second movie co-starring with Tom and he's literally my best friend. You can't ask me this!"

Ellen grins.

"Florence Pugh or Tom Holland?" she repeats.

You pout at the camera.

"Flo, I am so sorry. Please still be my friend. I pick Tom."

The crowd roars in approval and you wave a hand at them, laughing.

"Shhhh, guys."

"Tom Holland or Jake Gyllenhaal?" asks Ellen.

"Tom Holland."

"Tom Holland or Hailee Steinfeld?"

"Tom Holland."

"Tom Holland or Niall Horan?"

You hesitate, biting your lip as Tom's frozen grin stares down at you from the photo.

"I…fuck. Tom?" you say, almost as a question.

"So it's Tom?" Ellen grins. "Speak now or forever hold your peace."

You nod, sitting up straight and crossing your legs.

"It's Tom."

Ellen stares straight into the camera as an assistant signals an upcoming ad break. She rests one hand on your shoulder as she addresses the audience.

"Tom Holland, you'd better act quickly. Y/N is currently sitting by her phone, waiting for your call. Don't mess this up."

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

April 2021

You relax into the plush cushion of the chair on Ellen's set once again. You are paying attention, sort of. You nod and laugh in all the right places, offering stories and jokes when needed but your mind is miles away. Ellen can pick up on this and she shifts in her seat.

"Y/N." she says, holding eye contact. "Can I have your phone please?"

Your eyes widen as you reach into the pocket of your oversized blazer, following her request and placing the unlocked device in Ellen's waiting hand.

"I wonder," she says out loud, "who we can get to answer your call?"

"Oh God," you laugh, covering your face. "If no one picks up I'll be so embarrassed."

"The Watermelon Man?" Ellen questions, reading off of the screen. "Shall we call the Watermelon Man, whoever that is?"

You cover your face, laughing.

"Jesus. If Harry Styles doesn't pick up I think I'll throw myself off a cliff."

The phone rings three times before a voice rings out from a noisy background.

"Y/N! How are you?" laughs Harry. "This is a surprise, I have to admit."

"Harry!" you call out, before he can say anything else. "Ellen's hijacked my phone and started ringing people, I'm so sorry."

"Oh, she has?" Harry asks mischievously. "I'll make sure not to mention anything about our upcoming collaboration then…" he trails off and you can practically hear him winking through the phone as he hangs up.

"That absolute fucker," you laugh, rolling your eyes at his spoiler as Ellen is already scrolling through your contacts list again.

"Oh!" she exclaims, eyes bright. "Y/N, I thought you told us you weren't dating anyone? May I ask who 'My Darling 💖' is?"

You freeze on the spot, mouth drying out as you blink at Ellen, desperately trying to jump start your brain into snatching the phone back. You glance over at your manager who is sat stock still, just as shocked as you are.

The phone rings five times and you breathe a sigh of relief. It's 3AM in London right now, he's not going to pick up.

Just as you've collected your heart off of the floor and smoothed your hair down, ready to make a self deprecating joke about this mystery person not picking up, there's a pause and the a collective gasp from the audience as the phone connects.

"Hello my love, is everything alright?" asks Tom in his groggy, raspy morning voice.

Ellen's jaw hits the floor so quickly you're shocked it doesn't fall off entirely.

tysm for reading! reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

part 2

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thewriterg · 1 year

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♡︎𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬♡︎

pairing(s): Tom Holland x Gn!reader, Tom Holland x acting!reader,

summary: You and your boyfriend Tom don’t get a lot of alone time when it comes to public outings especially when It comes to the press. But Tom will alway step the extra mile to make you happy

word count: 1.2k+

warning(s): Fluff, kisses, concerned Tom for like two seconds, pet names, Tom worshiping the ground you walk on, and language

A/n:—GIFs; @perccyjacksonn @cutetomholland — The wait is over… let the games begin!

“Are you sure you got everything love?” Tom questioned as he began to put on his seatbelt across his chest before looking over at your groggy state it was early hours of the morning and to confirm it 4:37am read on the touch screen radio

“I’m pretty sure” You mumbled and Tom couldn’t help but let a small smile slip onto his face re-caping the morning you both had

You’d barely open your eyes more than a squint and Tom had no problem helping you with morning routine such as putting one of his hoodies over your tank top that wouldn’t be much use to In the chilly morning or slipping your legs into your sweatpants. He was pretty sure the only thing you did by yourself that morning was using the bathroom and brushing your teeth

Tom didn’t hesitate to put a hand on your thigh rubbing his thumb back and forth while pulling out of your driveway and onto the inactive roads he wanted to spend as much time away from the public eye as he could with you before you both had to get back to work

You and Tom both had many interviews to get to with your roles as Sierra Hardy ‘Black Cat’ and Peter Parker ‘Spider-Man’ and after New Years sometime early February you would begin your press tour along with the honor of getting your own movie as Black Cat. The news was concealed to a tea. The only people who knew were the producers and yourself along with Tom

The Brit couldn’t be anymore proud of you then he was you had deserved every portion of the exposure you were receiving and more to gain. All the late nights, early mornings, sweat, tears, and bruises because like himself you were stubborn and didn’t want a stunt devil unless you absolutely needed one and still then you wanted to at least test the theory of needing one

The first four months of your soon to be New Year would be booked to a tea paparazzi and just about every news station in the states would be on you both like leeches especially with the reveal of your movie being announced sometime in March

Tom would always step the extra mile for you you were deity in his eyes and he simply worshiped the ground you walked on and he never let you or anyone forget that either. Not that they would anyway the comments to come especially with all of the interviews were predictable as ever

‘I want someone to look at me the way Tom looks at Y/n’

‘They Just called me single in fifty different languages’

‘When is it my turn!?’

‘Dear universe, I seen what you can do for other people and-’

‘If I don’t have what they have I don’t want it’

If he were being honest he didn’t mind the comments they were nice to see even if they did get old after a while

Tom let a small smile grace it’s way on his face as the sun began to rise the clock read 5:52am he looked over at you as you began to stir you would be waking up soon and it was perfect timing since Tom had just took exit from the highway for a much needed break the small town wasn’t far another two hours at most

You awoke with a yawn blinking the sleep out of your eye beginning to stretch in your seat as Tom pulled into a Starbucks parking lot

“Well good morning duchess” Tom greeted while you produced a smile leaning halfway over the arm rest while the brunette happily closed to distance giving you peck before going at your lips one more time

“Well good morning to me” You smirked while Tom couldn’t help but laugh at your antics as he pulled into the drive through ordering you both breakfast and coffee yours very necessarily large might I add before parking in the semi empty parking lot

“Tommy you know I can’t force myself to eat this early” You frowned once you checked the brown paper bag to see two egg and cheese English muffins

“Well my love you will today, I let you slide with ‘accidentally’ forgetting dinner yesterday which was a one time thing might I add so I need you to eat. Even if it’s just a half please?” You sighed heavily at the look on your lovers face you couldn’t say no to the puppy eyes even if you tried

So while rolling your eyes you pulled back the paper wrapping taking a bite out of the lukewarm sandwich before turning to look at Tom with a sarcastic smile

“Are you Happy?”

“Very.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that began to grace your lips you were with the love of your life surrounded by love and holiday spirit you couldn’t ask for much more in the moment being

💌💌💌💌

You and Toms fingers locked with in each other as the remains of snow that began to melt crunched under your matching boots the view of all different kind of pine trees around you some were small and tall bright and dull it was just a sight to see a d feeling to experience with someone you love

“I feel like a kid in a candy store” You stated smiling so big your cheeks started to hurt while Tom just stared at you you with pure admiration in his eyes

“Well darling you shouldn’t dangle candy in children’s faces let’s pick one out” The brunette had smiled back at you with such an excitement in his tone that it added fuel to your own burning fire

So there you both were in matching flannels and cowboy boots picking out your first real Christmas tree together away from the paparazzi and your busy lives you felt like a normal couple doing what normal couples do without being interrupted with a thousand flashing lights in your face

You and Tom were giggling and goofing off like school girls before you finally found it your perfect tree it wasn’t too unnecessarily big and it was anything but small it was perfect

“I want you to know that your killing every bug that crawls out that tree lovely” You smirked while the brunette just chuckled shaking his head as one of the farmers helped you load the tree on top of your car

“That is one along many more sacrifices im willing to make for you duchess” Tom responded before leaning into your lips as they smashed together you both smiled into the kiss like grinning idiots

Tom couldn’t be more grateful than to share the holiday season with You by his side as long as he had you he could bare just about anything to come his way

You were his duchess after all.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x yn #tom holland x gender neutral reader #the avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x you #gn!reader #fluff #romance #i love you #thewriterg

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nightlytom · 1 year

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Where you and Tom spread the horrible news what happened in Turkey and regions on your socials and donate also money to help.

This a not an usual fanfic, please read and try to help🙏🏽

Words: 350

It was around 9 in the morning when you heard the devastating news about what happened in Turkey/ Türkiye. You had your second bite from your breakfast, that your boyfriend Tom Holland had made for you two, when you saw it on social media.

“Powerful earthquake kills at least 1.500 in Turkey, Syria, Lebanon and across region” And as the seconds you where reading the few words the numbers raised more and more.

You choked on your food, coughing while

Tom runs to your side and helps you to get normal. “Baby, you okay? What happened?” Tom asked while you just showed him the news.

“Oh my god. Poor people. Can we do something about it?” He asked and looked through his own phone for other articles. Most of them showed up in English , as you two were right know at Toms home country.

“There are some places where you can donate clothes, blankets, instant food, baby essentials and more. Look, baby!” You said as you showed him an official site from the Turkish government.

“We can donate money here. We need to share it also on social media, more people need to know about this!”

“Baby, send me the links and donation sites. I’ll text the boys to share the info too, we can’t look away, when people lost their loved ones and homes. We need to stick together and help each other.” Tom said, while making a post for His socials.

“And we can’t forget the animals. They have a lot of strays back there. We need to help them! And poor people, some of the regions can’t get help, because the highway is destroyed too. They can’t reach them by car or transporters. We should donate too, we have so much money and thank god, we are doing great, Tom.”

“Best thing to do, is donate money right now, because that’s the fasted way to help them. This weeks money should just go for donations, don’t you think?” He asked you and you agreed with him. Hugging him tight, because luckily, you where healthy and in a warm home in your boyfriends arms.

These are the following links he and you posted on the socials.

AFAD- TURKISH CIVIL PROTECTION SERVICE https://www.afad.gov.tr/deprem-bagislari

KIZILAY- TURKISH RED CRESCENT https://www.kizilay.org.tr/Bagis/BagisYap/404/pazarcik-depremi-bagisi

SYRIAN ARAB RED CRESCENT https://sarc.sy/home/

#nightlytom #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland x oc #tom holland x gender neutral reader #tom x zendaya #tom x reader #turkey

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mlm-writer · 6 months

Text

Test Ride Pt. 2 (Peter Parker x Android!Reader)

Pairing: Peter Parker (TH ver.) x Android Reader (with a robovagina) Rating: Explicit Words: 1189 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 10 - Robotfucking Note: A sequel to a piece I did for kinktober 2020. Reader is a robot and has no gender. Last time reader got a robopenis and I thought it only fair to give reader a robovagina this time. Reader's chest is unmentioned. Tags: robotfucking, unnecessary use of fancy words to make it more sci-fi, at least I don't put 'quantum' in front of everything to make it science, dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, safeword ignored(?), robot tentacles as restraints, vibrating pussy, nipple play and software/hardware updates gone ' wrong'

A new HUD interface greeted you as you booted up after your last upgrade. Your physical statistics and environmental parameters were found in new places, but that mattered little. Your optics activated after a short delay, visual input now also available to you. Your creator stood before you, his lips moving, but you received no audio input. “Audio module connection failed,” you replied to whatever he said. You saw him curse, or at least that was your best prediction of what his expression conveyed. He motioned your head down. You bent at the hips, allowed him to unplug and reconnect your audio modules.

Once the cables reconnected, you could hear Peter clearly. “Please, don’t be ruined, please don’t be ruined,” he muttered to himself.

“All modules operational,” you informed him. He jumped at your voice, but let out a sigh of relief right after. “Awaiting command,” you added. As per usual after an update, Peter started poking and prodding your frame, confirming your sensory input was still operational. When he was done testing your basic functions, he dragged you to his bed.

“Program D.O.M. version V, please,” he spoke nervously. You detected an increase in heart rate and blood flow to the genitals. You confirmed the break command, as it was standard protocol, before you could execute the D.O.M. program. Once the safety protocols were satisfied, you had your digits on Peter’s clothes. You unbuttoned his flannel, revealing his pale chest underneath. There was minor bruising, but a quick scan revealed no serious injuries that were contraindications to the program. You pushed him onto the bed and started running your tongue over his chest, paying extra attention to his nipples.

Peter whimpered as you played with his chest, artificial tongue and teeth taking turns with your digits pinching his sensitive nubs. You kept track of his arousal, only stopping your onslaught once his involuntary noises got a little louder. You sat up, retracting your pelvic panel and rubbing your wet hole over Peter’s crotch. He whined as you slowly soaked through his jeans and underwear, until he could feel your wetness on his cock through his clothes. “Please, I need to be inside you,” Peter eventually moaned, his mind tethering on the edge of madness.

He was hard underneath you, so you deemed him ready for the next stage. With superhuman deftness, you removed his clothes until he was naked on the bed. His cock protruded from his body, the tip red and leaking. You wrapped a servo around his rod, stroking slowly as to tease him. When he started thrusting into the tightness, you placed your other servo on his hip, your mechanical strength counteracting his. He was forced to only take what you gave, which was exactly what he programmed you to give. It was not enough to get him even remotely close to orgasm, but the build-up was perfect to make him start begging. Once the begging got frequent enough, you proceeded on to the next stage; you mounted him, letting his cock slide into your wet and soft hole. Peter moaned, his eyes rolling back as you rode him at a decent pace. “Please, give me more, I’ve been good. I will be even better, I swear.”

His moans filled the room. You took his dick all the way inside and paused on top of him. “I will grant you more. However, unpermitted orgasms will be reciprocated with punishment.” He nodded, promising he would not cum. You decreased the elasticity of your inner walls, giving him a tighter squeeze as you proceeded to ride him. Your movements were quicker than before, fully intending to make him cum without permission. Peter was moaning to the ceiling, eyes squeezed closed sometimes and other times wide open. His mouth stayed wide open, tongue peeking over his lower lip.

Just as predicted, your inner sensors detected his cum painting your inner workings. You rode him until the spurts seized. Then you planted yourself firmly on him. Tendrils extended from your body and wrapped around his appendages. “You have disobeyed my orders,” you stated as you held him down and turned on the vibrations of your inner walls. Peter wailed as his sensitive cock was forced to endure the intense vibrations. He writhed against your restraints, but not even his super strength could remove you. Just like he had begged you before to fuck him, he was now begging for your mercy. You bent your upper body, putting a servo around his throat. You put a little pressure on the blood vessels below his jaw. Tears poured down Peter’s eyes as you forced a second orgasm out of him. You detected more cum inside you as he cried out.

After his second orgasm, you ran a scan on him, the analysis showing that he had enough. You removed your servo from his throat and turned off the stimulation or at least… attempted to. “Error: deprecated code, V-module unresponsive.” You stated, your tendrils no longer retracting and your hole vibrating on and on.

“What?” Peter exclaimed, clearly in panic. You ran a diagnostic check, your hole trying to reboot by first ramping the vibrations all the way up, so it could be brought down again. Peter screamed during the process, his brain unable to process the stimulation.

The tactic worked fine, but the module got stuck again at the same level of vibrations you started at. “Tendril module interfering with V-module. Attempting tendril reboot.” Peter did not perceive a word you said. As the tendrils rebooted, they lifted up a little, Peter’s body now hanging in the air except for his pelvis, where you still sat, vibrating his cock.

Peter cried, feeling like his brain had melted away from the intense pleasure. “Stark! Stark!” He screamed the break command. You tried to terminate the program immediately, but the backlog of reboots and diagnostic checks made it impossible. Your creator, against your predictions, came again, barely a drop of cum leaving him. He kept screaming, trying to get through to you. Just after his third orgasm, you regained control of the tendrils. In a flash, they were retracted and you uncoupled the module for now.

Peter’s cock was gradually turning limp inside of you. The poor boy was hoarse from screaming. Without the tendrils, you regained full control, the vibrations stopping instantly. “Thank you, thank you,” Peter whispered over and over as you lifted your frame off him.

“Program D.O.M. paused,” you stated, “do you wish to continue after a delay or shall I proceed with aftercare protocols?”

Peter laid starfish-style on the bed. His chest was heaving. He could use some aftercare, but it was hard to trust you right now. “Terminate the program all together,” he groaned, “initiate shutdown.” A second later, he was met with the sound of your vents shutting down and your pelvic plate closing to protect what was behind it. He was left in silence. As far as updates went, it still wasn’t as bad as that time Windows went from XP to Vista. He counted it as a win.

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

Likes do not help exposure!A comment in tags or replies can sustain a writer for months!

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elliexmylove · 2 years

Text

PETER PARKER CUDDLING HEADCANNONS

Pairing: peter parker x GN reader

Warnings: none<3

Note: I made this a few months ago and found it again

•you're obviously the big spoon

•he's a little baby tbh and that's more than okay

•"cuddle me harder."

• "peter I cannot physically get any closer to you, it's impossible."

•breathing in the scent of his shampoo

•his hair is so soft that you just have to touch it, play with it, whatever

•you getting claustrophobic and trying to push him away

•"no what the heck are you doing get back here."

•him reaching his arm around grabbing you and yanking you back him gently

•almost falling asleep but suddenly getting thirsty

•trying to get up without fully waking him

•failing

•"where are you going?" the baby boy lifts his head up sleepily eyes still closed scrunching his face a lil

•"thirsty" not a good enough excuse apparently, better run while you can

•him shooting a web at you and pulling you back to him

•trying to speak but getting shushed

•FINALLY getting comfortable and almost asleep

•"peter I need to pee"

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #headcannons #spiderman #peter parker fluff #x reader #gender neutral imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #tom holland #andrew garfield #tom holland fluff #cuddling headcanons #cuddling #imagines

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borhapparker · 1 year

Note

since your requests are opened... maybe peter parker having a polaroid camera (or a disposable camera) and constantly taking pictures of you both together and some of just you and then compiling it all for you for an occasion or after a fight 🥺🥺🥺 and iDK IT MAKES YOU FALL IN LOVE ALL OVER AGAIN

this is adorable!! (also i'm back hehe)

send requests here! (now accepting stranger things characters!)

buy me a coffee! / request a commission

Peter had always loved photography. It had been a passion passed down from his father, then uncle, and now he held the camera in his hands, having captured memories over decades. He never had a reason to use it other than to fool around while on patrol, until he met you.

You were a work of art to him, something to admire, something to photograph occasionally. He had asked you out after you partnered with him for a photography assignment, a candid of you laughing caught by Peter with a note under that said "Will you be mine?"

Cheesy, you will admit, but you loved it. That was one of the things you loved about Peter, along with his photography skills, it was like having the ultimate significant other. He could capture your good side and compliment it, but also your 'bad side' (as you put it), and still be called beautiful because in his eyes you were.

There was never a time, whether you were on a date with Peter, in class or just studying at your apartment, he always had his camera with him. He never let you see the film or answered your question as to what he was photographing. He always just smiled and shrugged.

Sometimes you thought he was married to the camera, taking it everywhere with him, even if it was just a quick trip to the grocery store. And when it broke that one time he took it on patrol, you made sure to get him a replacement the very next day.

Both of you were calm together, loving and never getting into arguments. But when there was an occasional argument, it was important, and something the two of you had to address.

"Here's the thing, Peter, you can't just schedule a date with me and bail on me last minute. Yes, you may be a superhero, but you still have your life outside the suit."

"Look, babe, I swear it wasn't on purpose. I wasn't even going to bring the suit with me until my senses kicked in." he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, "I wanted to go out with you, I swear, time just got away from me."

"That's not the first time you've used that excuse. Peter, I'm getting sick of this. How are we going to make this work if I'm always going to be second in your life?"

"You are always first on my list, I promise. This is the last time, I promise it won't happen again. We can go again tomorrow, re-do our date, and go out together."

"I don't want a do-over, I wanted the date today. I'm done waiting, Peter. I need someone who wants to be with me no matter the circumstance. How can I be sure that's you?"

"Let me make it up to you, please. Baby, give me another chance."

Walking out of the apartment, your eyes burned, tears pooling and blurring your vision. Wiping away the stray ones, you headed on the bus, taking the route straight home, wanting nothing but to be alone.

Your keychain clinked with the pressure you placed on turning the key as you walked into your apartment, breathing in the comfort of your own home. Locking the door behind you, you made your way to your room, as you opened the door and gasped.

On your bed, and the floor, were countless polaroids, all spread out. Each of them is a different picture of you, some candids and some from a photoshoot, and others of you and Peter together. Tears brimmed your eyes as you picked one up and examined it, recognizing the date immediately before turning the polaroid to verify the date scribbled behind in your handwriting. March 15, 2016

It had been your first date with Peter, one you had actually asked him on as you didn't want to wait anymore for the perfect opportunity to strike up a conversation with the loving nerd in school. You were surprised when he said yes, and even more so when he still showed up at the diner, hair messy and panting like crazy, but he was there.

Picking up another polaroid, you noticed the handwriting on each of the polaroids, your pet names decorated the front trim of the picture. You had fallen for him because of his love of people and photography. He always told you never to look at the film and pocketed it before you were able to see it.

Yet, even with the argument you had with Peter earlier, nothing could stop you from forgiving him in a heartbeat, and maybe even falling for him just a little more.

#skyes writing #ambs writing #peter parker #peter parker blurb #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fic #peter parker x reader #peter parker writing #peter parker x female!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x gender neutral!reader #marvel fics #marvel fanfictions #marvel #tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland writing #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you

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frostandflamesfanfic · 2 years

Text

couch. (Peter Parker x Reader)

couch. (Rated G)

Request?: No...

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (wrote with Peter 3 in mind, but can be applied to any of our spidey boys)

Word Count: 1.7k+

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, I wrote this while being sleep deprived so there may be typos, Peter being just too gosh darn adorable

Summary: Inspired by "couch" by We Three- The best laid plans always work out right? On one lazy Saturday morning, Peter is contemplating how to start taking the next steps toward your future together. When you remind him how important it is to relax, does he stick with his big plan or learn to sometimes just to go with the flow?

We've got a lot of things to figure out

Like cash the checks and go workout,

But I think I'd rather sit here on the couch

“Peter?” your voice danced its way into the living room of his apartment. “Have you seen my hoodie? I can’t find it anywhere and I need to get to the bank to put in my paycheck.” You stumbled throughout the space, one hand rubbing at your sleep-riddled eyes. To Peter, there wasn’t a more beautiful sight to wake up to. You were dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and one of his old beat up t-shirts. He had lent you a pair of oversized socks, too, because you were complaining about your toes being cold under the covers the night before.

The brown-haired looked up from his spot on the oversized ripped sofa, where he was working on his laptop. He tilted his head to look at you with squinted eyes. The morning sun was streaming through the windows of his apartment in just the right (but also totally wrong and annoying) way. “Good morning to you, too, sweetheart,” he gave you the sweetest tight smile before directing his attention back to the screen. “Have you checked under the bed?”

He was supposed to be editing a series of images he snapped of Spider-Man over the last week. Was he actually doing that? No. He was actually looking up plane tickets to Bali. Why Bali? Because that’s where he wanted to be able to propose to you – the same place your parents met on a volunteer expedition. He had been saving for months. Not just for the trip, but the beautiful silver half-carat diamond ring that was burning a hole through its hiding place in his dresser drawer.

The two of you had been dating for a year or so now, which might seem a bit rushed to some people, but not for you or Peter. You had both seen your fair share of tragedy before you finally crossed paths. He had lost his parents as a child and the love of his life around the end of high school. He needed to start over completely. You lost your parents in a freak accident at a young age, not to mention your fiance merely weeks after beginning your new job at some corrupt company.

When you met on the subway, it almost seemed like the universe was trying to tell you something. There had been no seats left and the two of you were forced to stand face-to-face on opposite sides of the car after a series of delays. Not that Peter was complaining, though. You looked like a vision to him. From the way you anxiously shifted your weight from foot to foot, to the way you bit the middle of your bottom in concentration as you looked at your phone. He wished he would have had the courage right then and there to ask your name. Yet something stopped him.

For a subway ride, it had been a rather bumpy one. You had been pushed forward and fallen against him…twice. Each time you collided, he could feel your heartbeat thudding incredibly hard against his chest. He was surprised to discover that his heartbeat soon matched your rhythm and he gave a subtle grimace at the sweat gathering in his palm. He tried to get himself to talk to you, to even ask your name, but nothing escaped him. By the time you had reached Peter’s stop, he sighed as he ultimately gave up with the internal battle. He had no chance, Peter had assured himself. Then he heard you stammering behind him as he turned to walk toward the door.

“So how many times would I have needed to fall into you before you asked me out?” your voice called out.

It was safe to say Peter didn’t hesitate any more after that.

The next year was a beautiful rollercoaster. Peter had to pinch himself a few times to realize that this was real – you were actually his and he was yours. He didn’t need to worry about pretending to be someone he wasn’t. With you, he could let down his guard. You made him feel safe, loved…at home. He really hoped you would say yes to his proposal. He couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you.

The feeling of an added weight on the couch and something brushing against his arm caused Peter to be snapped from his thoughts. You were snuggling into his side, attempting to rest your chin atop his shoulder to look at his screen. In a panic, Peter minimized the tab and started to play around with a random image in his editing software. His quick thinking- and reflexes- came to the rescue again as you gave a small nod.

“That’s a nice shot,” you mumbled sleepily before yawning again. You rested your head against the side of his arm and smacked your lips like a small child. It always made Peter smile to see you like this. You reminded him of a little kid in this state, but always with this mushy personality.

He leaned over to press a kiss to your forehead before allowing himself to get fixated back on the image in front of him. “Thanks, sweetheart,” Peter answered. “I mean, it is my job right now, so…I hope I’m good at it.”

You gave a hum of agreement and nestled against his sitting frame. Another smile plastered itself against Peter’s lips as you tangled your legs with his. Your nose nudged at the back of his arm and you closed your eyes. “This is nice,” you said, stretching out just a bit more.

Peter nodded and let out his own sound of acknowledgement, expertly adjusting the saturation levels of the image.

We've got a lot of people we should see

And I know that we should get some groceries,

But honestly, I just don't want to leave

“We need cereal,” another mumble into his shirt sleeve. “And milk. And fruit. And eggs…”

A chuckle escaped Peter before he could prevent it. “We,” you had said. Slowly but surely, it wasn’t just his apartment anymore. Your stuff had begun to find its way into random drawers and closets in the space. Your toothbrush sat right next to his own in the bathroom. There was a shared grocery list stuck to his refrigerator with both of your handwriting on it. Even your shampoo was stored in the shower, its sweet vanilla scent flooding the room and making him relax every time he stepped inside. It smelled like you and he couldn’t get enough. He never thought he would be able to share his life with someone like this ever again, but he was beyond grateful he could.

“We can get them from the store on Fifth,” he said now, nodding a bit at the mental note he made to visit the shop. Martha, the shopkeeper, would be happy to see him there. She’d probably pester him about the fact he had yet to make you an honest person, but he honestly didn’t care. “You can take one of my hoodies when we go, if you want.”

You grunted. “Or…” you mumbled. “We could just stay here.” You snuggled closer into his side. “This is pretty perfect right now.”

Cause I'm here and you're there,

Breathin' in my air

Feel it stop, skip a beat

Peter moved his hand to toy with the ends of your hair, making you hum in delight. It was a sound that brought a smile to his face and a warm feeling in his heart. Everything you did was perfect to him and gave him so much joy. He loved how you felt in his arms, how good your hair smells after you get out of a shower…

“Marry me,” he said softly. Peter barely registered the words as they left his mouth, but deep down, he knew it was the right thing to do. This was the moment. Not some big vacation to Bali, nothing overly extravagant. All he needed was you, him, and this couch. The two of you were in your own little world and that was perfect.

“What?” you asked, sitting up ever-so-slightly.

“I want to marry you,” Peter was more confident now. “I want to wake up with you every day, I want to hold your hand in the grocery store. The days you’re having the best time, I want to be there. I want to hold you when you’re crying and having the worst day, tell you it’s okay and things will work out. I want to see you come down the aisle and we both are crying.” The two of you laughed at the last part. “Most of all, I just want to know that for every day for the rest of my life, you’re going to be in it. So please, marry me?”

“Peter…” you breathed out.

That’s when he realized something was missing. Something that was really…really important to this particular moment. “Actually,” he said, standing up suddenly before taking off to the bedroom, “hold on one second. Just…stay there. I have to get something.”

When he came back into the living room, he got down on one knee before you. His dark eyes searched yours as he opened the small velvet box to reveal the sparkling piece of jewelry. “I know it’s only been a year,” he said, “and I really should have had a much better speech planned out, but that’s just it. With you, I don’t have to plan. You make me want to be spontaneous, to be a person that doesn’t have a care in the world. But…I can only be that person with you. So, what do you say?”

You shook your head with a playful expression on your face. “It took you long enough,” you teased, giving him the slightest of nods with the largest of smiles threatening to appear. It was so bright, Peter was afraid he might go blind just looking at it for too long. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

As he slipped the ring on your finger, Peter pressed his lips to yours and nearly melted. You truly were his missing puzzle piece, his better half that he always was going to need. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you and he couldn’t wait to see what forever would hold.

On this couch, in my T

You're wearin' my sweatpants

Without a doubt, not goin' out

Let's stay on the couch

================

Author's Note: I have no self control. I swear, I cannot help myself when I hear a song and get a character scenario stuck in my head. This is the second time this has happened in the last few days, but this is first one I'm posting. I still need to work on the other one! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this little fluff piece with our lovable dork, Peter Parker. I thought this song was just perfect for him, even if it means doing something a bit different than my typical Strange fics.

As usual, if you liked this fic, leave a like, comment, and a cheeky reblog. It helps me out with the lovely algorithm and lets me know what kind of stories you like to see on my blog! And let me know which Peter YOU imagine this story to be about. I'm curious...

Until next time, little sparks! If you want to be added to any of my character taglists, drop me an ask or private message- I promise I'm really not that scary!

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mrs-hollandstan · 1 year

Note

Hey b, so mildly obsessed with your work (and possibly being your friend because you seem cool🥺) anyways idk if you’re taking requests rn it’s cool if you’re not but like I just bought a cute white golf skirt (it makes my waist look snatched and my booty popping 💁🏻‍♀️) and I can’t stop thinking about working at a golf course and tommy being like oh shit 👀 and all the guys are like nah they’re out of your league mate 😂 anyways I hope you have a good day and I like your tattoo!

Thank you, thank you. FYI I kept this one very non-binary/not explicitly gendered so anyone could enjoy ☺️

"Holland!" Harrison finally snaps Tom out of his trance from where he'd been staring at you. He gestures to the green, "Take the damn shot." He grumbles. Tom shakes his head of the thoughts about you, taking the shot which misses the hole by half an inch. He hums as he glances over his shoulder and steps out of the way for Sam,

"You guys got time for a drink after?" He asks. Harrison raises an eyebrow,

"This about Y/N again?" He poses. Tom shrugs,

"No… just could go for a cold one." He murmurs. Harry chuckles,

"Mmhmm. You do know Y/N is out of your league right? They're way too pretty for you." He tells his older brother. Tom rolls his eyes,

"It's not about Y/N." He growls. Harry rolls his eyes,

"Yeah… sure."

"I've got time." Sam mumbles. Harry and Harrison ultimately agree, the four of them finishing their round before heading for the clubhouse. Tom swallows, heart pounding out of his chest as they enter the bar, sitting at a free table in the middle of the room. Tom watches you take drinks onto your tray, delivering them to their table before you approach,

"Hey guys… long time no see. Same as usual?" You pose. They each mumble in agreement or nod as you scribble down on a pad, glancing out at them. Tom swallows as you offer a smile,

"Be right back." When you turn, Tom's eyes slide to the skirt you're wearing. Obviously it's got shorts under it, it's a golf skirt, but Tom can't help but wonder what it would be like if you weren't wearing a tennis skirt, if you were wearing just a normal skirt. He licks his lips as you lean on the bartop, watching your coworker crack open four beers before he sets them on your tray and you turn back towards the boys. Harrison smacks his arm,

"Ask them for their number." He goads. Tom frowns,

"No way, they'd say no."

"No they wouldn't. You're Tom Holland, you're irresistible. Go for it." Before anymore can be said, you lean over and deliver four beers to their group, smiling at them,

"Anything else?" You ask. Harrison glances at Tom, but when nothing pops up, you turn and start away. Harrison gives a good shove to Tom's shoulder before Tom stumbles to a stand. He clears his throat and smoothes over his pole before he starts towards the bar where you've retreated again,

"Uhm… Y/N…" He starts. You turn, smiling up at him,

"Hey Tom, what's up?" He swallows again,

"Nothing, uhm, I-I was just wondering if… maybe I could… get your number? I- I figured we could go see a movie or get dinner sometime soon, just the two of us." He poses. You can tell he's nervous by the way he stares at you. You smile and shrug, turning to scribble on a napkin. You hold it out to him between two fingers and he stares at you for a moment,

"What?" You ask. He shakes his head,

"I just… the boys told me you were out of my league and… I seriously thought it was true." He defends. You smile,

"Really?" He nods,

"Yeah." You shrug,

"What can I say, you're adorable and I'd love to go to dinner and watch you stumble over yourself." You admit, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He scoffs slightly,

"Wow… okay." Turning, he glanced back down at the napkin in his hand. Harrison gapes up at him as he slides in his seat,

"What'd you ask them?" He poses. Tom shrugs,

"I just asked for their number." He murmurs. Harrison reaches put and pats Tom's shoulder,

"Good job mate." Tom nods, glancing out at you, watching you work for a few moments. And he'd never forget that you're the catch, not him.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland x you #my writing #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland x oc #tom holland x nonbinary!reader #tom holland x gender neutral!reader #gender neutral y/n #tom holland blurb #tom holland blurbs

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angelrollseyes · 2 years

Note

I'm in a soft mood lately lol just want to see some characters happy

So maybe a little thing with Peter Parker? Peter promised to go to reader's house for a dinner date but, of course, he's very very late. Finally, he gets there completely ready for a big fight but Reader is nothing but understanding and is happily reheating everything cause they already expected that to happened, he tries to apologize but Reader is simply not mad or disappointed at all, they choose to date a superhero being ready for what that relationship would be like

Dinner Date

Pairing: Peter Parker x gn!reader

Warnings: none I guess other than fluff

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long. I got busy with classes and just finally got time

~~~

Shit, I'm a terrible boyfriend was all that was going through Peter Parker's head as he swung from building to building. He had promised Y/N for a dinner date but he was late. Very very late and he knew that this could be the reason they could have a huge fight tonight. He let out a sigh of relief when he spotted their building and quickly landed on their fire escape, noticing the window open. He opened the window and stepped inside ready for a fight, gaining the attention of Y/N who was sitting on the couch watching TV.

"Oh hey. You're back", Y/N said, a smile on their face.

"I'm so sorry I got late, sweetheart. I was patrolling and then there was this old lady who needed help getting to her house. I completely lost track of time", Peter pulled off his mask and rambled causing a smile of adoration to spread across Y/N's face as they walked towards the kitchen to reheat the food they had made for their dinner date.

"It's okay, Peter. I understand", Y/N said, causing Peter to shake his head.

"It's not okay. I made a promise and I broke it", Peter mumbled.

"No", Y/N chuckled causing a confused look to cross across Peter's face, "You didn't break your promise. We can still have our dinner date".

"But I'm late and you should be angry. Why are you not angry with me?", Peter asked, looking like a kicked puppy.

"Do you want me to be angry?", Y/N asked, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

"No no no", Peter desperately shook his head.

"I'm not angry because I understand. I understand that you may be late sometimes or you might forget things. You have a lot on your plate, thanks to being the friendly neighborhood spiderman. And let's not forget, I chose to date a superhero so I know I have to be ready for what comes along with it", Y/N explained, placing a hand on Peter's cheek making him close his eyes in content.

"You're literally the best. I don't deserve you", Peter said, a lovesick look on his face.

"You deserve the world", Y/N stated, before leaning forwards and kissing Peter, their lips moving in perfect sync as if they were made for each other.

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x gender neutral reader #peter parker x gn!reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman homecoming #spiderman nwh #spiderman far from home #imagines #fluff #peter parker fluff #tom holland

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clarks-letterman · 2 years

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desirable | doctor!peter parker x gn!reader

a/n — the pictures are so mismatched but i don't have a gif and they all work separately for the fic so yeah- mishmosh pishposh motherf*ckers <3 (this is a jokey but veryyy smutty fic i wrote to get out of writers block)

summary — Infatuated by the doctor treating you, you return with feigned sickness.

words — 2.9k

warnings — SMUT! 18+, throat-fucking, blowjobs, sexy peter parker

~~~

The office was stuffy, or maybe it was your throat swelling, with a scratch that only stuck out when you tried to speak. You scheduled an appointment within an older practice run by renowned Doctor Bruce Banner, who you had little confidence in since he could hardly understand things about his own body. Not that you would discredit someone of his intelligence, but he struggled to control his body at levels of extreme emotion, and dealing with any sickness is never something calm to bear through. He prevailed on your previous visits; that was the only reason you remained slumped against the wall of the waiting room chairs, fighting congestion and an endlessly parched thirst.

After a little while, a nurse in lime green scrubs called your name, prompting you to stand, and followed her into one of the few patient rooms once she checked your height, weight, blood pressure, and temperature. On your first visit, you were surprised to learn about the scarcity of rooms, only to realize that their sizes were far more massive than what would be required for a human-sized head specialist. The bed you sat on, paper crinkling on even the most trivial shift of your body, took up only a fraction of the room it occupied. The other side of the room had a desk and a chair that faced the wall, both oversized to fit Banner's frame but made the computer, keyboard, and mouse sitting atop it look like little playthings. To the left of the bed were a sink, a few hanging otoscopes to check your ears, and some other things you didn't recognize. To your right was the door the nurse walked out of, and no less than five minutes passed before a doctor with a deeper shade of green scrubs entered.

It was a pleasant surprise to learn that your doctor would not be the Hulk himself but a younger male in hulk-green scrubs who had only recently started working for Doctor Banner. Banner was nice but not always careful, especially with his large, discolored fingers. You were happy that he wouldn't be the one to lay a hand on your throat since he could probably crush your larynx with the jerk of a sneeze. Your new doctor didn't seem as friendly as the big guy, though, seized in a look of shock—possibly embarrassment—as he laid eyes on you, then fumbled with his clipboard. It almost fell to the ground but miraculously clung to the tips of his fingers, and he caught the board. He kept his head low and buried, busying himself with your information, hushedly repeating it aloud.

The doctor's face was pale aside from the flush of ignominy, possibly from the same bug you contracted somewhere around New York, though you figured he happened to not get enough sun. Judging by how he carried himself and the awkward chipperness in his voice, you suspected the latter. Yet he filled out his scrubs rather nicely, tautly stretching over his chest and struggling to hide his bulk for someone potentially sun-appalled. It was like he chose a size down from his typical day apparel to tempt his patients, to keep them engaged with whatever boring medical jargon he was most likely to spew out after giving them a diagnosis. You had to admit, it worked.

His short, chocolate curls looked like they had been on the receiving end of many pushbacks with a shaky hand as if he was excessively nervous. He had a simple complexion, easy on the eyes with warm brown hues that challenged the depth of rich soil. His nametag coruscated in the light; black, blocky lettering printed across the laminate—Dr.Parker.

Silence loomed over the room, only backing away when you let out a few sputtered hacks from the back of your throat. A simple coughing fit to others, but it felt like a raging war broke out for the millionth time today on your sore inner muscles. That's when he looked up.

"Sorry I didn't introduce myself. Doctor Parker, and you must be . . ." he hesitated momentarily, scanning the clipboard again—was he that forgetful? His index finger followed the pages of your file before halting, and he spoke your name without his eyes leaving the inky letters. The way it rolled off his tongue felt different than how other people said it, like the set of his mouth was meant to twist and twitch with every syllable. "And a sore throat today, huh? That's gotta hurt."

"Kind of," you said, being courteous about how it hurt to swallow and that it felt like someone was constantly ramming something stiff and sharp down your throat each time you tried to eat the softest foods on the shelf. Doctor Parker moved over to the chair, taking a seat in it. You watched how the backing of the chair reached halfway up to the back of his head when he finally got comfortable in the seat, looking more like an excessively sized dog bed, significantly passing his spread legs. He took ahold of the mouse that filled out his hand—appearing to be more than a handful—and clicked open a few programs until he entered an alterable document. It was complete with information about your previous visits.

"What symptoms have you been dealing with?" he asked, hands resting on the keys underneath the monitor, his beautiful face illuminated by the blank, white screen. You told him about the troubles this illness brought but kept it brief to save your throat the pain later. After you relayed everything to him, his intent ears never missing a slurred or misspoken word, he moved on to diagnosing you.

He got out of the comically-sized chair and drew near. Cold hands met your warmed, overheated skin. "Definitely swollen," he muttered. Only a few words slipped from his mouth since he entered the room, and you hadn't even learned his first name, yet you happily listened and waited for more of his spoken thoughts. If your throat was back to normal, how he held it would have been much more evocative. Was he aware of the effect he had on his patients?

At first, his hands were gentle, like a deer carefully watching its step on an uneven meadow, but they had a growing bite as he started to press into your swollen lymph nodes. The force elicited a painful noise past your lips and a harsh "Ow."

His hands backed away immediately, retreating safely to his sides, and that's when he looked up to your face. You were sure it flushed at his worried glance and not from the sickness.

"Sorry, it's my first day on the job," he half-heartedly apologized.

"Really?" you asked skeptically. Maybe that was why you never saw Doctor Parker before now; he was new.

"No."

"Nervous?" your throat rasped.

His cracked lips stretched, hiding any anxiety he took out on them and forming a brief smile, "Yeah, uh, something like that."

The doctor refrained from putting his hands on you for the rest of the visit, asking you how the infection made you feel and what you noticed during the past few days of dealing with it. He concluded it to be tonsilitis and prescribed a healthy dose of antibiotics that would hopefully kill the infection thriving in your throat. They did their job and had you feeling better within a few days.

From the view of your bathroom mirror, opaque-white lights cast visibility over your throat. The pain was gone, but the handsome doctor's touch never left, his pale hands turning a true translucent as you felt the ghost of them linger. You needed to go back for the resolution, but finding a reason to return would be difficult.

. . .

"Back again so soon? Guess you missed me," Doctor Parker remarked as he came through the door, realizing that you sat on the table in the same position as last time. "Still sick?"

You nodded, rebuffing words out of fear that the first one to slip out would sound unscratched by your throat, harmonious and smooth.

"Did it get worse?" You nodded again. "Okay, huh, open up for me? Sorry, please." The doctor heard how it sounded out loud and took the opportunity to make banter with himself where you couldn't. His hand rose and followed your jaw, his thumb glossing over your chin as the rest nearly missed his touch from the last time. With your mouth open, the tip of his flashlight clicked, and out came the light pouring into the darkness. "You sure the medication didn't work? Still feels scratchy?"

You nodded—again. His hands slid down, two fingers on either side of your throat, feeling around for swelling and unwanted masses. Unfortunately, his touch didn't last long, as he pulled away with a look of certainty.

"I've seen enough. I'll call in for a prescription of antibiotics to kill that lie you're committed to."

Your voice slipped, mistakenly asking in a less husky tone, "What do you mean?"

He pushed the chair away from the desk, the tip of his toe sweeping the ground to swivel him around. "I don't want to catch a case of lying, but I don't think I could because you're not sick."

You let your voice return to normal, no longer feigning malady, "How could you tell?"

He stood, leaning against the tall desk. He folded his arms over his scrubs and scrunched the forest green cotton and rayon, "Your throat's gone down, and, obviously, I prescribed the right thing. Top of my class and all. Why did you do it?"

You trapped yourself in here, and there was nothing else to say but the truth, "I . . . think you're hot?"

"Wow, that's a new one—and a relief. Usually, the patients I see more than once have made-up names and appendages I can't even describe—you'd have to be there! And they always try to . . .kill me."

"What?"

"Hey, don't spin this around on me. I'm the one asking questions, here," he mirrored, uncomfortably shifting away from the desk. "How could you make it up to me?"

The question lingered like the newly raised hand to his chin to signify the thoughts running through his head. Your head started to conjure ideas of what exactly he would do. Doctor Parker didn't seem mad when he learned about the reason behind this contrived visit, but maybe it was how he handled things. He kept calm and probably already called security or would ask you to leave, from what you could assume.

After a few moments of deliberation, he dropped his arms by his sides, "I think the best thing to do, is to give you a taste of your own medicine, yeah?"

With his elbows bent, his hands dug up the hem of his shirt and to the waistband stretching over his flat stomach. The hulk-green elastic slid up to the thenars of his hands with nowhere to go but down, thanks to the pressure he applied, the band easily giving way to reveal his partly defined Adonis belt. It was prominent, but the lines looked as if they were lightly sketched on what was otherwise a perfect sculpture.

"What are you doing?" you had to ask as if it wasn't obvious. His thumbs showed through the outline of his pants and a thicker, more pronounced, and lengthier silhouette just further down. You knew what he wanted; he only had to say it.

"Doing what you want, playing doctor and patient. Today's checkup involves a laryngoscopy—throat examination, if that was too confusing," he spoke as if he was in control but still had the consideration that his soft-leaning look won you over with on your first visit. This time, you saw his hardened and more defined side as he finally let his pants drop to his knees. No underwear. He was confident in a way where other people wouldn't know unless they were close to him.

His cock stood tall, and his balls hung low with enough to push the limits of whatever it entered and was sure to create enough of a smack with each passionate hip-rock. Lengthy enough to reach all the right places, but not enough to go where it didn't belong. A couple of tugs with his right hand later proved the second half of that untrue as he grew even more excited.

"You're gonna have to lay back," he waded near you, half-pulled-down pants restricting his steps so far. With a single hand, he maneuvered you with impossible strength, only ceasing his hold when you were on your back, head titled over the foot of the examination bed. The table paper's end crinkled in your ears.

The fluorescent tubes casting light from above were shadowed by his figure stepping into the frame of your flipped world view. His smooth and defined thighs blocked your peripherals. In only seconds, the dry head of his cock was at your gated lips. He hastily spoke, teasing, "Say, ahh. I'll make it nice and sore, just like you need."

Your lips brushed it as they parted, "Aren't you supposed to make me feel better?"

"This is for me since you wasted my time. Don't worry, it'll only hurt a little," he left you with that, suddenly entering your mouth, lips conforming to the girth.

Your tongue felt the topside of his cock; the small ridge where the wide tip ended, and the length and all of its scattered veins began. It was tasteless, bland, and made even more uninteresting since the doctor took his sweet time. The only thing that saved it and provided excitement were the soft noises he made. He had been talkative up until now, but you still knew how he felt. His moans were enough to discern it. He spewed out hushed 'ohs' and pants, which seemed odd as he was less than halfway in your mouth. That was enough to tell he enjoyed it so far, but you wondered about the distance that far away could be. When he didn't have to guide himself into you anymore, the hand holding his hefty length moved to grip the table—tightly. You could have sworn you heard the metal creaking with the pressure.

His cock snaked forward, earning a sharp gluck once he reached your throat. Then, you convulsed, body shaking at the unnatural mass invading your mouth, lips sputtering around him. He sneered in delight, his own set of lips breaking the set of his face to form a smile. His slow pace stopped when a light tracing of hair grazed your chin, balls low enough to brush your nose. Your throat jutted, his head showing from the outside as a small peak in the middle, made more apparent by how your head was titled back.

Slowly, it began to sink and rise as he started to rock his hips. He started to pick up a pace, burying himself until there was nothing left to hide and reeling it back moments later to rest just short of your lips. Every now and then, he would make you swallow his cock for longer than a few seconds, causing welled-up spit to pour from your mouth and onto him and your face. At a certain point, he broke his rhythm, withdrawing all of himself from your wet encasement. Slicked in spit, his gorgeous length glistened in the fluorescent white.

"Feel good?" You could hardly stutter it out, jaw aching at the corners.

"Yeah, it feels great. Nothing wrong with it so far, but I'd like to consider a re-evaluation."

Familiarity washed over you, the same feeling as moments before returning with more wants. More needs. To your surprise, the hand on the examination table keeping his thrusts steady now rested around your throat. The doctor yearned to feel himself piercing you, putting his breath-taking looks into a literal sense. And he did; your throat unwillingly bulged with his deeply buried cock. An unregulated series of appearing and disappearing beneath his palm and wet noises coming from your spit-filled cavern.

After a few more globs of spit well up and spill from your mouth—making all the noises that were expected along with it—the doctor needily stated that he was "going to come." No less than a second later, warm white poured down your throat with no other option except to be swallowed.

The doctor pulled away, a mixture of release and slobber slicking his cock. He waded to the sink, reaching for a few paper towels from the dispenser to wipe himself off.

You sat up, wiping a hand over your mouth and nose to clear off some of his sticky come and your spit, "What about me?"

"What about you?" He laughed at the end of his return. Once he had fixed himself up to act as if the past twenty minutes had never happened, he went to the computer and took a seat on the oversized chair, like last time.

As he tapped away at the keyboard, he informed you about the changes to your medical file, "I'll put myself as your Primary Care Physician from now on, but Doctor Banner might want to see you soon. I think he'll have a new stress reliever."

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marvel-potter-1d-korea · 1 year

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Hi guys! I'm just here to tell you that if you guys have any requests for one shots or imagines of Marvel characters or actors, Harry Potter characters then I'll do my best to fulfill them.

The ask should contain the character, the theme of what you want it to be(it can be general or specific, i don't mind), whether you want it to be any specific reader and I'll try my best!!

I have a lot of time on my hands and i need something to pass the time 🥲

I can do Mafia au and soulmate au, i do fluff and angst. No smut. So yea I guess that's it.

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milspillz · 1 year

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SHATTERED GLASS

MCU!Peter Parker x GN!Reader

fluff, angst

summary: After stressing over your emotions and your future, you find yourself venting to your local superhero, who just so happens to be an excellent listener.

“I guess I was running from something,”

The eyes of Y/N were almost soulless as they stared into the depths of their coffee. The liquid released an intoxicating smell of warmth and comfort, topped with a satisfactory taste. The bitterness of the coffee blended well with the small sugar cubes that were added in by the lonesome teen, the perfect blend as they preferred it.

Their fingertip trailed around the rim of the cup, thoughts racing like a galloping horse. A sun’s light shined on Y/N’s face, illuminating their serene features that seemed so melancholy. A frown, almost permanent, on their face. A furrowed brow. A slouched posture.

The future was arriving too soon, in their eyes. Only if they had some sort of time machine to stop it all from coming so quickly. They had no plan whatsoever for their future, alas leaving them hopeless. What added to the bitterness of their life was their practically hopeless romance they had trapped themselves into.

Peter Parker. A simple, young boy in their classes. He was smart, achieved good grades and was overall a nice guy. It was no surprise after a few encounters with Peter that Y/N started feeling the butterflies towards him. It first started when they would be way too nervous to even talk to Peter, which surprised the boy. He was usually the nervous one in this scenario. Then, Y/N found themselves admiring every aspect of Peter. The feelings only grew more once they had become good friends.

So, what was it about the boy that was making Y/N so gloomy?

It was the way he looked at her. Michelle Jones, another classmate of Y/N’s. She was known for being sarcastic and witty, to which earned Y/N’s respect. Y/N certainly didn’t hate or dislike MJ one bit, but couldn’t deny the urge to cry every time they saw how Peter reacted around her. His cheeks would flush tulip pink, he would stutter over his words, and his eyes wouldn’t be able to leave her figure.

It was no surprise that one day Y/N simply just-

SMASH!

The sound of glass shattering alerted Y/N, their eyes simply widening. A man, tangled in web, laid squirming on their table. Y/N furrowed their eyebrows, staring down at the coffee that fell on the floor. They may have been sidetracking but they were certain that they were going to drink that. They stared down into their lap, shattered glass leaving small cuts on their exposed skin. Blood slowly trickled down their legs and arms, but not enough to seek immediate medical attention.

Soon enough, the slightly well-known vigilante swung into the café. He briskly webbed the criminal once more, swinging him towards the many police officers who were parked outside of a bank. The masked spider sighed, crouching down on the table the criminal once laid. His eyesight turned, only to see a very familiar face.

Y/N L/N.

Peter Parker felt his cheeks flush at the sight of the teen, however concern slowly rising as he analysed their soulless body. Everyone else who was in the café had ran out to stay out of danger. All except for them. He had no idea what to do, but simply stare at Y/N.

“You owe me a coffee,” they simply stated, staring at the Spider boy. Spider-Man tilted his head, his body turning towards Y/N. They pointed at the shattered white mug with coffee stains on one side of each piece of ceramic debris, with a small puddle of coffee laying on the wooden tiled floor.

“I guess I do,” Spider-Man simply replied as he jumped down from the table. He held out a hand, to which Y/N accepted. He pulled them up out of their seat, helping them to move away from all the glass on the floor.

“Y-You’re bleeding.” Spider-Man stated as he rubbed his thumb onto one of the cuts on Y/N’s arm. They simply stared and chuckled.

“It’s a simple scratch, Spider-Man. I’ll be fine.” They reassured the vigilante. He sighed, placing a hand on their shoulder in relief. Peter hated seeing the reason Y/N was hurt was because of him. He knew he’d have to buy them a bunch of cups of coffee just to make up for it.

“Let me take you home.”

Spider-Man noticed Y/N’s dull expression as they swung through the city. Heck, they didn’t even question how Spider-Man knew Y/N’s address anyways as they arrived at their destination.

“Spider-Man, can I ask you something?” Y/N asked, tilting their head slightly as they were placed down inside their room. Spider-Man simply took in the details of the room before nodding his head.

“Uh, sure.” he smiled underneath the mask, only to realise they couldn’t see it.

“What do I do if I have feelings for someone, but they like someone else?” Y/N asked, sitting down on their bed. Their head hung low, meanwhile Spider-Man analysed their forlorn state.

“That depends. A-Are you okay, though?” Peter asked, worried for his friend. He couldn’t deny that he had romantic feelings for Y/N, some he was scared to admit. He didn’t want to hurt Y/N, getting them involved in his superhero life. But then again he didn’t want to lie to them, so he was in a bit of a pickle.

“No, I don’t think so.” Y/N felt their eyes prick with tears, while Spider-Man sat down on their bed next to them. He gently wrapped an arm around their shoulder, bringing them into a side embrace.

“Why her and not me? Am I not good enough?” Y/N asked, crying into their hands. They hadn’t fully cracked down like this, and to be frank, in front of a superhero was nothing less of embarrassing. But they couldn’t help it. They needed to get it off their shoulders.

“Of course you’re good enough. You’d have to be dumber than dumb to realise that.” Spider-Man reassured. “You’re talented, smart, caring and kind. And if whoever your stressing over can’t see that, then they missed out.”

Y/N had no idea why, but the stranger’s words were oddly comforting.

“Thank you, Spider-Man.” Y/N smiled at the masked teen. He smiled back, but nodded so Y/N didn’t think he was just staring at them.

“Who is it anyways, out of pure curiosity?” Spider-Man sheepishly asked, rubbing his neck. Y/N leaned back onto their bed, wondering if they should tell this superhero who the boy of their dreams was. There was no harm in doing so, right?

“A boy I’m friends with, Peter Parker.”

Hearing his name roll of their lips made his heart skip a beat.

“P-Peter Parker?”

“Mhm,” Y/N hummed, slightly analysing the vigilante. Their eyes widened slightly before their mouth turned to a smirk. They sat up, rubbing a hand on the hero’s chest.

“W-What are you doing?” Spider-Man asked the teen, his flustered state obvious as ever.

“Don’t be so nervous Spider-Man, I’m checking for glass shards.” Y/N replied, pulling a piece of glass from the boy’s chest. He exhaled, staring at the glass piece in Y/N’s hands.

“You should tell him.” He simply stated, staring at the teen. The superhero stood up, heading back towards the window he entered from. “I’m sure he’d like to hear that.” Y/N nodded their head, flicking the glass shard into their bin.

“Then I will,” Y/N smiled. “I won’t lose hope.” Spider-Man nodded his head, placing one leg out of the window while grabbing a hold of the window glass itself. “Remind me that I owe you a coffee.” Spider-Man stated as he pointed at Y/N with every word.

“Then I’ll remind you tomorrow when I tell you how much I love you.”

“I was running back to you.”

#marvel #x reader #x y/n #spiderman #spiderman x y/n #tom holland #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #mcu spiderman #gender neutral y/n #fluff

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your-average-goblin · 2 years

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Pancakes, flannels and Henry Cavill

Peter Parker x GN! Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Using of pet names: doll, bunny

Disclaimer: You can imagine any portrayal of Peter for this fic! Also, I take requests! If you have any leave them down below! Please just keep in mind that I don't write smut! <3

***

The sun woke you up gently, it peeked through your blinds, a pleasant reminder that you had to wake up and give the world your all, once again.

You rolled to the other side of the bed, expecting to be met by your boyfriend's sleeping form, much to your surprise, the bed was empty.

You got up and looked around, empty bedroom, open window, open wardrobe with clothes hanging on the doors of it. Peter had woken up before you. Early bird catches the worm, you s'ppose.

You made your way towards the kitchen where you saw your boyfriend. He was making coffee.

"Mornin'." he said looking at you, "I woke up earlier, thought I'd make you breakfast and coffee."

Peter pointed at a plate of pancakes covered with chocolate syrup and strawberries that sat on your kitchen table.

"You made that for me?" you asked in disbelief, the sweet gesture melting your heart, "Did you make yourself some too?"

"Nah, I'll just drink my coffee. M'not that hungry." he said.

You walked over to your boyfriend and gave him a big hug, before looking up at him and saying, "You gotta eat, dumbass, you can't just survive on caffeine."

"Watch me, bunny." Peter teased, kissing the top of your head.

"Peter! Please eat." you whined.

"Hey, quit your whinin', okay? Can't take it this early in the morning."

You grabbed your boyfriend's hand and dragged him over to the table.

"Sit." you commanded, making Peter roll his eyes.

He sat down, you sitting on the chair next to him. You cut a piece of pancake along with a strawberry and picked it up with your fork.

"Now open up, bug boy." you said.

"What am I? Five years old? You wanna do the choo choo train as well?" he asked, mocking the fact that you wanted to feed him.

"Shh! Less talking, more eating." you told him, taking the fork to your boyfriend's mouth.

Peter opened his mouth and ate the bite of food you gave him, after that, he sighed and said: "You'll kill me one of these days."

"Aw! I love you too, Peter!" you exclaimed, teasing your boyfriend.

"Okay, now you eat, I'll go take a shower."

"Nonono! You're staying here and eating with me, I'll have a bite, then you'll have a bite."

"But then there'll be less food for you." Peter said, frowning.

"Don't worry about it, there's plenty for both of us."

Peter smiled at you and placed a hand on your leg. "You're the best lover ever, doll."

"I try my best." you said, beginning to eat.

"Y/n, is that my flannel?" Peter asked, knowing the answer already.

After a small pause you said, "Y'know, these are really good pancakes."

"You haven't answered my question." Peter pressed, a smirk on his face.

"What question? You asked me something?" you told him, playing dumb.

Peter laughed, "You're impossible, did you know?"

"Hey, in my defense your flannels are soft and they smell great, okay?"

"Mm, understandable."

***

After you and Peter finished the pancakes you guys ended up cuddling on the couch while watching "The Witcher".

"Y'know, if I didn't already know I'm pansexual I'd consider Henry Cavill my gay awakening." your boyfriend said.

"He's a fine lookin' man." you agreed with him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Peter said, clearly offended.

"What? I just agreed with you!" you defended yourself.

"You can't just say other men are attractive in my presence! I'm fragile!"

"Awh, my baby's sensitive, isn't he?" you asked, mocking your boyfriend.

You looked at him and gave him a light and sweet kiss, before pulling away and saying, "Don't worry, handsome boy, I only love you."

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loverforfanfiction · 2 years

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Gif imagines series [ tell me if you want a part 2 ]

Being married to peter parker would include

[Imagine your race and gender] your wedding

The night he purposed

Your house

Your kids

Now but not least your best moment's [ your race and gender]

The perfect family

#tom holland x reader #peter parker x plus size reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker #avengers x plus size reader #avengers x fem!reader #avengers x male reader #avengers x black!reader #marvel x gender neutral reader #marvel x reader #marvel x black!reader #marvel fic

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bi-disaster-yn · 1 year

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About You

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Reader can’t help but feel they are missing someone and also feels a real connection to Spider Man but can’t explain why. (Inspired by About You by The 1975).

Set after the events in No Way Home! As always, Peter is aged up to be in his early-mid twenties.

A/N: SO basically all of my fave artists; The 1975, Taylor Swift and PVRIS brought out new music within days of each other so expect a few fics inspired by their songs! P.S this is my petition to be your favourite Peter writer.

Reader has no gender specifications and so can be read as any gender with any pronouns. I typically hate the usage of ‘Y/N’ and try to avoid it but it kinda had to be done here.

There’s something about you

That now I can’t remember

It’s the same damn thing

That made my heart surrender

And I miss you on the train

I miss you in the morning

I never know what to think about

I think about you

The strain on your eyes was getting more unbearable as blinking felt like razor cuts on your eyelids, yet you couldn’t pull away. An evening spent in the compound computer lab typing up mission reports became a full on research mission into the elusive Spider Man.

It had gotten dark outside hours ago but you hadn’t been able to peel yourself away to turn the light on. Instead, you sat in the darkness, being illuminated by the various Daily Bugle videos tearing down the subject of your research.

Your fascination with Spider Man was odd. In recent times, you had felt like something or someone was missing. There was a void in your chest which only seemed to heal at the mere mention of the vigilante with the ability to shoot webs from his wrists.

It vexed you that no one in the compound had asked him to join the avengers at the battle with Thanos - nor did they think to get his information or even run a simple background check on him. He had specific skills and was invaluable in that fight, they would definitely need him again someday.

Likewise, he had leant before Tony as he died, clearly torn apart by it. Yet no one seemed to know who he was. Clearly, he was important so none of this made sense.

Although, being fixated on Spider Man went deeper than you considering he’d be an asset to the Avengers. Watching his movements always put fuzzy flashbacks in your brain of a sweet brunette man. All you could make out was brown curls and a smile on a distorted face but it brought you immense comfort. The blurred visions included his laugh and holding his hand. Sometimes they were a bit more detailed and he’d be laying on your chest as you rubbed his back. Yet, despite giving yourself headaches by try to force yourself to remember, the face was never quite decipherable.

You couldn’t recall ever seeing this man but still these images felt like memories and the feelings they inspired in you were real. The mystery of him and his supposed importance plagued your mind as you felt you were running endlessly in circles for answers. Whenever your focus wasn’t on a particular mission or other Avengers business, it would always find a way to go back to him.

Biting your thumbnail, you rolled your eyes as the presenter on the Daily Bugle reprimanded Spider Man again. You would have preferred a more complimentary source for your research but this seemed to be the only resource that took anything to do with him.

All of a sudden, the lights switched on in the lab, startling you and leaving you disorientated. Adjusting your eyes, you looked up to see Sam with folded arms and giving you a stern look.

“Crushing on Spider Man again?” He asked with a playful smirk which put you on defence mode.

“Sam, there’s something there! I know there is.” You snapped back grumpily, tired of everyone underestimating Spider Man’s importance and putting down your ideas as obsessive ramblings.

Sam nodded, seemingly different than before. “Oh, I know. That’s why I’m putting you on a mission to recruit him.”

You raised your eyebrow in surprise, so used to having this subject brushed off when you broached it that this all seemed a little too good to be true. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t want to be the kind of captain that puts my team down when they genuinely think something is a lead. You’ve been focussed on this for weeks now. So, go and do it. Go find Spider Man and at least try and bring him in for a conversation. I wanna meet him.”

With this you were leaping out of your chair and throwing your arms - rather unprofessionally - around Sam’s neck. He chuckled in response, lightly patting your back.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” You exclaimed in a rush to get the words out, grateful for your Captain to show some faith in you. “You won’t regret this!”

“I hope not.” He warned. “Now get planning, I want an update in a week.”

***

Finding Spider Man was relatively easy. From your research you managed to work out that he must have some connection with the police department as every time they were alerted to a crime, he seemed to appear. Getting a police radio was also easy, the NYPD couldn’t exactly object to approval from Captain America himself.

A signed warrant from Sam was exchanged for a radio and you waited it out to pick up something so you could intercept your target.

You had selected a late Tuesday night for your recruitment mission and had invited Joaquin Torres along as back-up. All geared up in your mission suit, you sat atop a building waiting for an update on your radio while linked up to Torres on the ground.

“I mean, how do you go from fighting Thanos to waiting for petty crimes to happen?” Joaquin asked you over comms.

“Maybe he had an existential crisis.” You laughed back.

It was bitingly cold and there was a soft crunch in the snow beneath your boots. The wind seemed to howl aggressively around you. Honestly, only idiots would leave the warmth of home on a night like this. Or people on a mission.

Although, the cold seemed to bring with it more hazy visions of the brunette man. You swore you could smell cheap coffee and doughnuts as you thought about the man taking off his scarf to wrap it round you, revealing the ugly Christmas jumper he’d had on underneath which was forest green and emblazoned with a snowman. Suddenly, it didn’t feel so cold anymore.

The radio murmured as a report came through of a robbery a few blocks from where you were. Whilst crime wasn’t actually something an avenger should root for; you couldn’t contain your excitement at the possibility of meeting your favourite superhero.

“Ready to get some robbers, Torres?” You smiled a bit too happily as you launched a zipwire to transport yourself from building to building.

“Well, it’s not what I trained for in the army but I’m up for anything these days.” He responded before stepping on the gas in one of the Compound’s most discreet jeeps.

In the distance, you spied a figure in a red and blue suit making their way towards the bank. You swallowed thickly, feeling as though your heart was threatening to propel itself up into your mouth. After the months of research and the unexplained mystery, this was it.

You managed to land on the roof of the building where he was standing, ready to make his next move. Sensing you immediately, the vigilante turned round to face you and his eye details on his mask comically widened. He stood frozen in front of you, looking down at the webshooters on his wrists before back at you with caution, as though he was reluctant to use them on you.

He recognised you.

“Don’t worry about the robbery, my associate will deal with that. I just want to talk.” You announced and made a step towards him with your hand reached out to shake.

His recoil was automatic as he edged backwards to avoid your touch. A frown painted your features, shocked by his standoffish nature. The intensity of feeling he had given you was so great that you hadn’t considered that he would not automatically reciprocate it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bombard your patrol.” You started, trying to compose yourself and conceal any hint of embarrassment. “I’m an Avenger, and Captain America wants to meet you.”

“Sam Wilson?” He asked in a peculiarly sweet voice; the sound of which triggered the tightening in your chest and produced ringing in your ears. Suddenly, the void in you started to deepen, which only furthered your earlier frustrations. Why was he so important?

“Exactly.” It was the only answer you were capable of producing.

“He’ll be a good Captain America.” Spider Man responded. “But I can’t go back there.”

“Why?” You demanded, becoming impatient with his enigmatic nature. Every single instinct in your body told you to push this, to not let him away without the answers to questions you weren’t quite sure of yet.

In that moment, nothing else mattered except getting to know this masked man.

“I am not gonna be an Avenger again.” He stated with certainty and he continued to edge back, reaching his arm out and you knew what he was planning to do.

The web that was shot from his wrist didn’t make it very far as you lunged forward and brought him to the ground. The wind was clearly knocked out of him but he put his hands on your shoulders to try and push you off and escape. He struggled against you with groans but not with very much force. It was like he was determined not to harm you. All he wanted was to get away from you.

Evidently, he knew you well enough to not want to hurt you. Worryingly, despite how hard you tried, you couldn’t remember him.

“Who are you?!” You yelled at him. Professionalism had fallen by the wayside at this point. No longer on an Avengers mission, you were on a quest for answers about the gap in your soul only he could answer.

His hands were still on your shoulders, keeping you at arm’s length from him as he squirmed beneath you without hurting you. He was entirely capable of it. One shot from his wrist and he could have launched you off of him and have gotten away in seconds. When he didn’t answer your question, you reached up for his mask to pull it off.

Then he said it.

“Y/N, STOP!” He yelled at you. The sound of your name falling from his lips made you wince. Once careful hands became shaky and your tightened chest now felt as though it had been ripped open and left to bleed out in front of him. It was so familiar and intimate but at the same time, felt a million miles away because you couldn’t understand why this would be so significant.

You stared at each other in a stale mate, ready to see who would make the first move. He visibly softened when he saw the tears form in your eyes, ready to fall.

“You know me.” You said eventually, leaning back to sit on your knees next to him. “How do you know my name?"

Spider Man sat up, leaning back on his palms. No longer was he looking round for an escape option. Instead, he appeared conflicted and stuck. His only response was an attempt to start answering your question but eventually giving up and sighing, turning his face to look away from you.

Even though his spidey senses alerted him to your next move, he seemed resigned to his position when you successfully reached over and pulled the mask off. It revealed the brunette man from your memories, except now his face was clear as day. It was him though, and the images of him lying on your chest expanded where he’d look up at you and you’d laugh together over something silly. The sweet man who’d scrunched his face up with laughter in your memory was now reduced to the forlorn one before you.

He was so handsome, but at the same time had a dullness behind his eyes that signified how he carried the weight of the world. The friendly neighbourhood Spider Man with extraordinary abilities was simultaneously so defenceless in your presence.

Tear filled and regretful eyes met yours in a stare that was impossible to break. The man offered a sympathetic but pained smile. There was an overwhelming need deep inside you to reach forward and comfort him. Something told you that he might need it.

“I know you.” You whispered. “I know you but I don’t know where from.”

Immediately, the tears that had been kept back from the brim started to cascade down his face. His face grimaced in unimaginable pain and he hauled his legs to his chest, dipping his head in his knees. Racked with sobs, his whole body shuddered and you contemplated if you had ever seen someone so vulnerable before.

“I think about you all the time, I don’t know why.” You offered but it didn’t seem to help matters. “How do you know me? How do we know each other?”

“I can’t tell you.” He said with a broken voice, still hiding his face from you. “It’s too dangerous.”

“But we clearly mean a lot to each other!” You retaliated. “You could have easily beaten me in that fight and have gotten away by now, but you didn’t. You recognised me as soon as you saw me. Please! I’m so tired of people thinking I’m crazy over this. There’s something about you and I just can’t let it go.”

“You have to.” He replied gruffly, mustering the strength to raise to his feet and retrieving his mask from you. Powerless, you remained rooted to the floor, seemingly unable to stop him as he brushed past your arm and made his way to swing off the building.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

There was something about the way he touched your arm and said your name that sent an electric shock through you. It was as though a part of your brain had been unplugged but now there was power again; switching on the memories that gradually seeped through. It inspired the straightening of your posture and the rolling of your shoulders. You turned round to him, uncertain why but with a desperation in your stomach to say the next thing that came from your lips.

“P-Peter?”

If the world had stopped at that moment, neither of you would have noticed it. The man spun round to meet your eyes again but this time, despite the tears still streaming from his eyes, he had a face full of hope. For too long he had been sitting in the darkness, suffocated by the weight of his own loneliness. But you came along and with you brought a flickering candle, ready to pull him into the light again.

“What did you say?” He whispered, praying and pleading internally that he hadn’t made that up, that his mind wasn’t playing a cruel trick on him. If you’d remembered him, he’d allow himself to come back to you.

“Peter.” You said again with a deep exhale, pointing to your head. “That’s all I keep hearing in my head. Peter Parker… that’s you, isn’t it? You’re my Peter.”

Without warning, Peter lunged towards you and pulled you into a tight embrace. He buried his face in your neck, brushing his lashes along your skin as he squeezed his eyes shut, letting the tears fall against your skin and suit. It felt natural when you put your arms round him and held him close.

His scent, his breathing, the definable features of his face pressed against your neck all pieced together the remaining shards of information that you had been inexplicably robbed of.

“You were mine before. Weren’t you? I lost my memory.” You mumbled to him as you held him close, getting the sense that this was the first time in a long time that he’d been hugged. "You gave me your scarf when I was cold once, and you had that ridiculous Christmas sweater. Remember?"

He winced at the memory you shared, affording himself the opportunity to let you in again. Truthfully, he'd been so terrified about putting you in danger and losing you that he hadn't accustomed himself to the fact that he already had lost you. He was fighting against that which was his current reality.

“I was yours. And you were mine.” He confirmed, letting his hands roam your back as if getting used to your body again. "And I like that sweater!"

“Why has everyone tried to keep us apart?”

“No one remembers me, that was the deal I made with Doctor Strange. No one would remember Peter Parker, it saved the world.” He explained sadly and gave you a squeeze. Although, it wasn’t the full story, you accepted it at face value. Eventually, he’d tell you everything but you had all the time in the world for that. You had just gotten him back and you weren’t going to let him go again.

“That was a stupid deal.” You laughed through a choked sob, running your fingers through his soft brown curls. His contented hum told you that this was something you had done before.

“Yeah, it was.” He laughed, pressing a loving kiss to your cheek which made your stomach flip. “I was really hoping you’d figure it out. I missed you.”

The feeling of his lips on you was something you craved again. You leaned back, letting your fingers tangle in his hair and pulled him in for a deep kiss. His hands planted on your waist and pulled you intently, as though he was trying to mould you both into one person. Lord knows, you might as well be with the connection that you undoubtedly shared.

Closing your eyes, you focused on the way the beating of your heart went into overdrive and how it thumped in your chest so hard he would no doubt feel it where he had pulled your body close to his. You had no idea just how much you had been missing up until now. Earlier theories and memories now contextualised and validated, you began to feel the void in your chest heal and feel full again.

Foreheads met and Peter pressed several pecks to your lips making you both laugh just as you had done in your memory. Your arms wrapped round his neck to achieve as much contact with him as possible, having missed him touching you for so long.

“I knew I was right about you.” You beamed as you pulled back from the kiss, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone lovingly. “I remember it now, Peter.”

Both of you exchanged a sad look in acknowledgement of the time together you’d been robbed of. Whilst the greater good demanded it, there was a particular cruelty in ripping apart two souls so intertwined with each other. Perhaps, the overlap would explain that which kept you so connected to him. Or maybe fate was just on your side.

Either way, you had endured the preview of what existence without each other entailed and neither of you were prepared to go through that again.

“How did you figure it out? I mean, what was it that made you just keep thinking of me?” He asked in a comfortable whisper, having no intention of pulling back from the embrace any time soon. You smiled in response, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“There was just something about you.”

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