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#mcu peter parker x y/n
bitchyycapricorn · 11 months
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Sticky
MCU!Peter Parker x Reader
Masterlist
Wordcount: 2.4K
Synopsis: Peter Parker loves to play with fun gadgets he finds around the Stark tower. Especially when it comes from an alien space ship. Which is exactly how you end up completely pressed to the ceiling of Peters room without knowing when you’ll come down.
Warnings: Smut!! Oral (f receiving), P in V, language, probably disappointing Mr. Stark
AN: lightly edited
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Peter bursts through his bedroom door at the speed of light. “Y/N! Y/N!” Peter shouts, his eyes scanning his room for any signs of life. You peak your head out from under the covers, a small smile forming on your tired face.
“Hey Peter,” you mumble sleepily, snuggling your head into Peter’s pillow. “You’re home from Stark Towers already?” You hum groggily.
Peter shuffles over to his bed, plopping down next to your curled-up figure. “Mr. Stark helped me design new web shooters and-and I wanted to show you them,” Peter beams. A soft smile spreads across your face as you watch Peter shuffle around inside the black bag he brought home.
“Ah, damnit.” Peter mumbles pulling out some sort of gun filled with lava pink liquid. “I brought home the wrong bag. This is the anti gravity stick gun.” Peter frowns.
Your eyes shoot open wide, the aspect of an anti gravity sticky gun intriguing you. “Did you say anti gravity? Your smile widens as you sit up fully to take a look at the gun in Peter’s hand.
“Yeah, but we can’t you know…use it.” Peter laughs as he goes to put the gun back in the bag. Your hand is quick to stop his, wrestling the gun out of his grip. “Y/N/N, no, we can’t,” Peter pleas with you. “If Mr. Stark find out he’ll have my suit!” His words mean nothing to you in this moment, you’re too busy examining the cool piece of alien tech that Peter “accidentally” brought home.
“There’s no way you ‘accidentally’ brought this home, you were totally messing around with Tony’s gadgets again weren’t you!” A smirk tugs at your lips as you continue to examine the bright pink liquid.
Peter groans, throwing himself back on the bed. “Okay! So I got sticky fingers and was messing with some of Mr. Stark’s stuff. But I really did accidentally bring it home! I had two identical bags, one with the anti-gravity gun and the other with my webshooter upgrades. Bruce just walked into the lab and I got scared and threw the gun back into the bag and without thinking took off with the wrong bag…” Peter babbles.
“Wicked,” you grin, pointing the gun at Peter. “So if I shoot you with this…”
“No no, I shot a flowerpot to the ceiling and it was still stuck up there when I left, I was playing with the gun for over an hour.” He replies sternly.
You let out a small laugh “Oh, so I’m definitely sticking your sticky ass to the ceiling.” You’re still pointing the gun at Peter when he goes to take it back from you. As you wrestle for the gun, a beam of light shoots out of it and the next thing you know you’re on Peter’s ceiling.
“Y/N!” Peter squeaks. Your whole body is pressed up into the ceiling, limbs completely frozen. Arms and legs both slightly spread out. “Um, shit what do we do?” Peter looks at the gun again as if there will be directions written on the outside explaining how to reverse the effects.
“I feel like I’m not even allowed to be mad,’ You let out a laugh, looking down at a panicking Peter. “This is actually really cool, I feel so firm.”
“Y/N, this is not the time to be messing around, we need to get you down.” Peter’s face is pale and sweaty as he examines your body being pressed against his ceiling by some weird alien magic. His eyes wander from how silly your hair looks fluffing out, down to how nice your figure looks, completely trapped and unable to move. Peter tries pushing the thought away, hating his sudden urge to crawl up on the ceiling with you and experience what its like to make you scream while you’re stuck. That’s when it hits him, “I’m coming up with you, I’ll see if I can pry you off the ceiling okay?”
You scrunch your face up at his words, not liking that he’s making you come down already. “Come on Peter, this is so cool. See if you can move my limbs into different positions first.” Peter disappears from your view for a moment before he’s hovering… below you?
“Why do you insist on making things difficult by messing around?”
“Because.” You state simply. Peter rolls his eyes, gently tugging at your arm. Your arm easily swings forward before quickly being pulled back to the ceiling. “Whoa, do that again it felt weird. I feel like my whole body is ten times more sensitive right now.”
Peter pulls your arm again, it comes forward before reattaching to the ceiling, his mind racing from your words. He can’t help but wonder if your whole body is more sensitive. “We need to get you down now.” He urges, knowing that if you’re up here any longer he won’t be able to help himself. It was always a fantasy of his to fuck you on the ceiling, or high up on a wall. He just never trusted himself enough to go through with it. But now that you were already up here, he couldn’t help but feel the urge to start fucking you senseless.
“Peter, earth to Peter Parker,” you coo, trying to get your boyfriends attention.
Peter blinks, refocusing his gaze onto yours, “sorry, sorry I was just thinking.” His face flushes red as he begins to crawl down to your legs.
“You couldn’t have been normal and gone around my body? You had to crawl over me didn’t you?” You ask, watching has Peter’s body hovers over yours on his way down to try and unstick your feet permanently. “Your dick is in my face, and it’s hard.” You mumble, a blush spreading across your face now.
“S-shit sorry!” Peter tries to move out of your face by backing up, only to find he’s made it worse by dropping his hips too low and smacking you in the face with his boner.
Your body begins to shake with laughter, “Ow, I just got a face full of sweatpants dick.”
Peter freezes, hoping down from the ceiling completely. “I don’t think I’m getting you down.” He admits, his face was a brighter red than before as he looks up at you.
You let out a small hum, looking down at your embarrassed boyfriend. “Well, you got any ideas how we can pass the time?”
“I won’t admit anything.” Peter replies, quickly adverting his gaze.
“That made absolutely no sense dork, do you have any ideas or not?”
“None that I’m willing to admit.” He continues to avoid your gaze, focusing only on the closet door.
“You should come up here and fuck me then,” you tease, eyeing his still obvious boner.
Peter’s face goes pale, looking up at you again. “Does the gun give you the ability to read minds too?”
A laugh erupts from your chest a you goto shake your head ‘no,’ only to realize you can’t. “No Peter, I can’t read minds but I can read the message your massive boner sent me while it was in my face.”
“That’s not funny, you scared me. I thought you could tell what I was thinking and that you’d start yelling at me for thinking about how good your boobs look in such a dire situation.” Peter pauses, realizing he just admitted exactly what he didn’t want you to know. “Never mind, don’t listen to me ever again.”
“You think my boobs look good?” You beam.
“Stop.” Peter warns, feeling his blush return.
“Oh my god Parker, just get up here and fuck me.” You groan. Peter hesitates for a moment before giving you a small nod and jumping up onto the ceiling. He starts at your legs, repositioning them so your feet are pressing against the ceiling while your knees are bent. Once he’s got you properly repositioned, you feel him crawling between your legs. “Peter…what are you doing?” You can feel his hands grabbing onto your pajama shorts.
“Fucking you, like you asked so kindly.” A smirk settles on Peters face as he rips your pajama shorts down the middle seam, watching as they fall off your body and to the ground.
“Peter!” You cry, looking down at your now torn shorts.
“Well I had to get them off you!” Peter defends, slowly ripping your underwear off you as well. You let out a gasp as the cool air hits your heat, feeling your whole body flush under Peters warm touch, “Tank-top is next.” He smirks, tearing open the fabric to reveal your bare chest. The cold air washes over your, making you shiver as much as the magic would let you. Peter grabs your wrists, guiding your arms so they’re pinned above your head. “Is this what you want pretty girl?” He hums against your neck. His lips slowly leaving a trail of kisses down your body.
You let out a sharp moan “Y-yes,” his lips causing you to completely forget about your torn cloths on the ground. He continues to kiss down your neck until he reaches your tits. His right hand gently creasing the swell of your breast making you let out another moan. Leaning down, Peter brought your hard nipple into his mouth. Another moan escapes your lips as you fight to press your chest into Peters face, but with no success. You’re completely stuck, unable to move. Peter smirks against your boob at the attempt, continuing to swirl his tongue around your extremely sensitive nipple. “Fuck Peter,” you groan, wanting more than anything to run your fingers through his soft brown curls. Peter switches over to your other tit, giving the other nipple some attention as well.
The room fills with your soft moans as Peter kisses his way down your body and to your hot cunt. He pulls away for a moment, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before dragging his bottom lip down your thigh and back to your aching cunt. His head dips between your legs as you feel his tongue slowly slipping between your folds. The tip of his tongue makes contact with your clit, gently swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves causing you to let out a throaty moan. Peter’s arms slide around your thighs, pulling your body closer ever so slightly as he continues to eat you out. His face buried in your soft cunt, lick and sucking on your swollen clit.
A knot begins to form in your stomach within a few seconds and your realize just how sensitive your body really feels. The feeling of Peters mouth pleasuring you makes your body a shaking mess against the ceiling. Your limbs feel like they’re on fire as pleasure courses through your whole body. Pressing your head against the ceiling as hard as you could, you feel your orgasm wash over you. A sharp cry escapes your lips, your whole body convulsing from your release.
Peter slowly comes up from your cunt, a smile plastered on his face. “I see someone enjoyed that a little too much.” He teases, placing a soft kiss to your lips. You let out a small groan in response, your whole body still pulsating. You keep your eyes on Peter as he begins to strip from his sweatpants and white T-shirt. His abs flexing as he miraculously manages to strip while still on the ceiling.
“Look at my sticky boy,” you giggle as you admire the way the light makes his abs appear to glow.
Peter grins, crawling over, well under, your body and positioning his hips between your thighs. “I’m about to make you real sticky.” You raise your eyebrow at his comment, noticing the cheeky grin on his face. “You ready?” He asks, his hand slipping between your bodies to position himself.
“Mhm,” you hum, feeling Peter slides into you slowly. The sensation of Peter thrusting up into you is completely foreign and completely surreal. Your body bounces ever so slightly up against the ceiling and you feel as though you could fall at any moment.
Yet, your body stays put, allowing for Peter’s hips to snap up into yours. His thrusts are sloppy and deep, feeling out your new position. A sigh escapes your lips as Peter leans up to kiss along your neck.
“How does this feel baby?” He whispers softly in your ear.
A shiver runs down your spine, all of your muscles contracting at the hot breath on your ear and neck. “It feels so good Peter,” you moan softly, desperately wishing you could wrap your arms around his neck. Peter gives you a warm smile, kissing your cheek as his pace speeds up. His thrusts becoming more even and deep, fucking you straight up and into the cold ceiling.
“Wanna see a trick?”
“Trick?” You laugh, watching as Peter detaches his hands from the ceiling, leaving him on just his knees. He looks up at you with a smirk, gripping onto your thighs as he continues to fuck you at an inhuman speed. His nails digging into your soft skin as he hangs upside down thrusting into you.
You close your eyes, letting out a string of moans, loving the way he feels deep inside of you. “Fuck Peter, I’m close again.” You felt like you were on fire, your whole body overly sensitive to Peter’s touch and rough thrusts.
“Do it then” Peter grunts, his cock sliding in and out of you even harder. You push your head up into the ceiling, mouth falling open as another wave of intense pleasure hits you, throwing you completely over the edge. A scream escapes your lips followed by Peters name as you come down from your high.
Peter lets out a deep moan, throwing his body back up so his hands were once again sticking to the wall. You could feel his cock twitching inside of you, thrusting deeper and deeper before pulling out quickly. Hot spurts of cum shooting out and falling back down onto Peter’s stomach and chest.
“Fucking gravity,” Peter groans.
You burst out laughing at Peter’s scrunched up face. “I told you that you were my sticky boy.” You tease. Peter grumbles something under his breath and you let out another laugh.
Your eyes widen only seconds later when you notice you suddenly feel heavier than normal. Your body detaches from the ceiling sending both you and Peter tumbling down onto his bed. “Great now I’m sticky too,” you groan.
Peter smirks, “Told you I’d get you sticky.”
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TAGLIST
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welovelouisandbucky · 3 months
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Me: *gets periods* *sighs*
Also me: *searches x reader period fics on Tumblr/ao3*
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miela · 7 months
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They're besties, your honor.
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sacharinee · 10 months
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hi m!!! what do you think about bf!pete getting his wisdom teeth out? and the reader taking care of him?? hed be so funny lmao xxD
-🧸
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pairing: bf!peter parker x reader w/c: 750 a/n: hi anon!! thnk u for requesting i had sm fun writing this! :)
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you’re sat at the dentist's office, cooped up in those uncomfortable chairs while you anxiously waited for your boyfriend’s surgery to finish.  
when peter ranted and moaned nonstop over his constant toothache, may decided enough was enough, and took it upon herself to set an appointment for her nephew. he wasn’t too keen on the idea. peter wasn’t afraid of anything ninety-nine percent of the time. dentists, however, wasn’t one of them. 
“can’t you stay here with me?” 
“stay? baby, no they’re gonna be drilling in your teeth.”
“but i-”
“and it’s gonna be bloody and nasty and i don’t wanna have to see all that.”
you turn towards him, only to come face to face with the boy’s horrified look, his eyes are wide and skin pale, mouth open in shock. you cringe at your response.
“but,” you stand, “you’re gonna do amazing, you’re gonna sit here and let the dentist do his magic.” you smile and lean down to plant a sweet kiss on his forehead.
“y/n/n, wait but-” you drop his hand on the way out, “bye, love you baby! be good!”
“y/n!”
two hours later swing by when a woman in navy scrubs comes to get you, announcing that peter is out of surgery. 
you knew that he would be high out of his mind on laughing gas, you just didn’t think it would be this bad. 
when you enter, the dentist is off to the side, looking over charts, packing a care bag for his patient.
peter’s head lulls towards your touch on his shoulder and slowly blinks at your presence. 
“hi baby, how you feeling?” you give him a beaming smile.
your boyfriend does his best to muster the same grin, but the amount of gauze in his mouth makes his rosy cheeks puff out, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth.
peter takes a moment to stare at you, “woaahh” he languidly slurs his words, “you’re so pretty.” 
you giggle at the comment when the boy gasps in horror, “wait, wait, i have a girlfriend, and she’s-” he looks up at you worriedly and slaps his forehead, “i’m in trouble.”
you can’t help but let out a laugh, he’s so dopey. 
your fingers touch the bottom of his chin gently and lift his head, “i’m your girlfriend, silly.” 
a loud gasp escapes peter as his face turns ecstatic, “get out!” you giggle at his reaction, the dentist glances over at you two and offers an admiring smile.
“so do we have sex?”
the awkward silence in the room kills you. 
your face blushes, as you shake your head and clear your throat, “peter, no.”
“no?!” he sighs in disappointment, “aw man.” your boyfriend pouts at the floor, “what have i been doing with my life.”
“oh my god, pete,” when the dentist turns away, you whisper and offer him a shrug, “sometimes we do.”
the delight on his face returns and his eyes go wide, “really?!”
the boy seriously has no filter.
as you’re packing his things, peter pauses and pokes his cheeks, “wait y/n,” he pauses, “my face kinda feels weird.”
you look around and hand him a mirror from the counter, “oh my god…” peter gingerly touches his face as you kneel down at him, “what’s wrong, baby?”
“my face… it’s so fat!” he’s got tears in his eyes and whining with a jutted bottom lip, “y/n,” sniffle. “will-” sniffle. “will you still love me if my face is so fat?” 
you roll your eyes and smile at his antics, “of course, i would.”
he seems pleased with your answer because he’s back to smiling. you go back to packing his things. “hey, mr dentist,” he woozily slurs, the gauze is practically spilling out his mouth, “d’you know i’m spider-man?”
you mentally facepalm at his obliviousness and mutter, “jesus christ.”
you turn to the older man who’s chuckling at his mental state and shrug, “he also thinks he’s luke skywalker from star wars.”
“but i am!-” “okay bug boy, lets go.”
“where we going?”
“home, sweetie.”
he gasps eagerly and raises his eyebrows at you, “to have sex?”
“oh my god.”
soon after the dentist explains and hands you everything he needs to recover, you guide peter to the car. 
he’s extremely dramatic. 
he’s got his hands around your shoulders, dragging himself on the floor, acting like he can’t walk - which he definitely can.
“peter, i know you can walk. c’mon help me out,” you beg.
“no, i can’t" he moans, "carry me,” he demands.
“what? no,”
“why not?”
“because you’re too heavy.”
and he’s crying all over again, “i knew it! you hate me 'cause you think my face is too fat!”
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parkerpeter24 · 9 months
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HIII i am begging can you write a Peter Parker x reader one shot where peter and reader are married and have a toddler and maybe the avengers team find out PLISSSS ANS TYYYY 🫶🫶🫶
baby 🥺
pairing ➳ peter parker x reader
requests are open (but i barely write stuff)
masterlist
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“what is he doing on the ceiling?!” kate yelled as soon as you entered the lobby, searching for your little toddler ben. you rubbed your eyes as you approached a very baffled kate, “your child is on the ceiling! how are you so calm?!”
“it’s 7 in the morning.” you winced as you looked at ben, him giving you an excited look and extended his arm towards you, making you do the same, “come on, benny, come to mama.”
and he did so as, un-sticking himself from the wall as he perfectly landed in your arms.
your two year old was way better at this than peter when he had started out as spider-man. his hand kept getting stuck to different places and after a bunch of ripped t-shirts and a couple of haircuts, you bought him rubber gloves. however, that didn’t work either.
as your little boy nestled against your chest, you looked over to kate who still had surprise written all over her face, “he’s spider-man’s child.” you explained simply.
“but- what if he fell down?”
“oh, he wouldn’t. he’s way too smart for that, aren’t you, benny?” you booped his nose and he gave you a grin.
“yes, mommy.”
you and peter had kept your relationship secret for a couple of years, at least from peter’s superhero gang. so it didn’t come off as a surprise when the avengers found out that you two had a one year old. they were very disappointed in you two for not telling this big a thing but the second they saw ben’s cute little face and his smile, you were forgiven and everyone was happy.
when you agreed to move into the avenger’s tower, tony was more than excited. he added a bunch of toys to the huge playroom that was originally built for morgan.
you were surprised to see that thor was the most attached to your baby. he spent time with him and thursdays were reserved to thor and ben taking a tour of the city. you trusted thor, however you had only allowed this after ben turned two, which was only a few weeks ago.
whenever natasha was around, she would tell ben all kinds of stories about how she kicked bad people’s butts so that little kids could sleep peacefully at night and ben would adore those “tales” even though they were real.
“next time you find him on a ceiling, just show him a cookie, he’ll come right down.” you told kate as you patted ben’s back, gently lulling him back to sleep.
“if you say so.” kate replied, chuckling as she watched you for a minute, “you should get some more sleep too, you look tired.”
“he refused to sleep last night because tony let him have extra ice-cream.” you rolled your eyes.
you noticed ben had fallen asleep, already drooling over the material of your t-shirt as you carried him back to his crib, placing him securely under his blanket before you made your way to your own bed. your husband, peter was still fast asleep. you laid down on the bed, peter already pulling you closer as if it was a reflex. you felt his arm relax against you, his head resting close to your shoulder and soon you felt the soft caress of sleep take over.
the bedside clock showed 10:34 as time when your eyes opened again. the room was empty, peter and ben both gone. you quickly freshened up before making your way out of the room and into the main gathering area once again.
only this time you were greeted with everyone sitting around and laughing as steve held his shield on his lap with ben sitting on top of it.
“hey, babe.” peter was the first one they greeted you as he placed a kiss on your cheek and dragged you in the middle of whatever was happening.
“uh, what’s happening?” you asked, looking around.
“your child is stuck to cap’s shield.” tony said, an almost proud smile spread over his face to which steve gave him a glare.
“guess who inspired it.” natasha rolled her eyes at her two friends, however a small smile remained on her face at the little banter going on.
just then kate ran into the room, holding a cookie in her hand as she handed it to steve, “got it!”
“come on, kid.” steve said, waving around the cookie in the air in front of him. ben’s eyes lit up and steve smiled, “it’s yours if you leave the shield.”
however, cap’s efforts failed as ben reached out one hand to grab the sweet but didn’t move a bit to release his shield.
“i bribed him good.” tony shrugged as he sipped on his black coffee.
you watched the whole scene unfold, amused to say the least. you noticed peter snickering as he stood beside you. you smacked his chest lightly, “you think this is funny? go get your child.”
“and forget the spider-bike mr stark promised me? never.”
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peter and reader literally js making out and being adorable !
i kinda got carried away w this one so it’s a little bit ✨spicier✨ than intended-
!!! 18+ (MDI) !!!
content warnings — a really steamy make–out with Peter, sexual content, teasing.
✨masterlist✨.
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1.2k.
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The emptiness of Peter’s apartment carried his voice through the echoes, making the space feel that much bigger as you sunk into his couch. His Aunt May had gone out with some friends for the evening, making some suggesting jokes and comments that made you and Peter blush, even long after she’d left.
All the lights were off in the apartment, excluding the lamp behind Peter’s closed bedroom door, and the colorful glow of the television seated in front of you. You and your boyfriend were cuddled on his couch, entranced by George Lucas’s galactic storytelling. Your head had previously been resting on his shoulder, but due to Peter’s current geeky–tangent, you sat up to listen to him better.
“He used to make lightsaber sounds when they were practicing, and he’d have no idea.” Peter was quite expressive when he explained little Star–Wars facts to you. There was something about the way his eyes lit up, and he’d use his arms to guide the sentence.
You bit the inside of your cheek, hiding your amusement as best as possible whilst you listened. Your entire focus was set to him, but the passion he had for these movies never ceased to entertain you. The two of you had been dating for roughly five months, and from the little mental list you were creating of your favorite Peter things, these conversations were one of your top picks.
Peter’s eyes kept flickering back and forth from you to the movie screen, glowing happily as he went on with his vent about Revenge of the Sith, more importantly, Ewan McGregor. “He had been so used to making the effects when he was younger, that when they’d film their battle scenes, Ewan made the sound effects out of habit.”
As much as you had been paying attention to his words, your thread of thought was more occupied with the enthusiasm laced in his voice. The timid dimples that threatened to say hello in the midst of his smile, the ecstatic gesture of his hands, and the glistening tint of excitement that strung within your eye contact. You’d been so entranced by his little geek–out, you almost forgot to respond.
Your grin grew a little, despite every Star–Wars related response fleeting from your brain. You let the first thought you could muster slip through your lips. “You’re adorable.” You probably could’ve given a more thorough and engaged response, but seeing the red that flooded Peter’s expression made it all the more worth it.
Peter looked at you for a moment, completely flustered. He was off guard at the fact that ‘you’re adorable’ was your only response to his Star–Wars tangent. His lips parted a few times to speak, but his words failed every time. “Shut up..”
Carefully, you slid yourself closer to him beneath your shared throw blanket, looking up at him. Your head shook in response as you placed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “No.” You replied between kisses, placing a few more across his face. “I need to tell you how sweet and adorable you are...” Sooner than later, your lips found their way to his, connecting in such a sickly sweet way.
The kiss you shared seemed to ease the nerves that accompanied the blush on his face. You could feel the warmth of his fingers trace your upper thighs, pulling one across his legs so you could straddle his lap. You loved the feeling of your lips piecing together; the upper, then the lower, and the way your bodies fit together just as perfectly. It was intoxicating.
“I need to tell you how sweet and adorable you are..” Peter spoke, breathless between your kisses. His voice hummed lower than before, rasping in the back of his throat. Even though he’d just been particularly focused on the movie, his mind now went to other places. Just the thought of your intimacy, mixed with the way his hands kneaded the plush of your hips, sent a thrilling sensation straight down to your lower stomach.
Eyes shut, you were the one to first part from the kiss. “But we’re talking about you, Peter.” You lulled, feeling the way his lips chased after yours to stall your argument. You tucked your head away from his, your left thumb pressing itself on his lips as a barrier. You took the opportunity to cradle his face with your right hand in the process.
Your eyes slowly opened to meet Peter’s, fighting a smirk at how desperately he looked at you. You stared at him through your lashes, keeping your face irresistibly close to his. “I’m not going to kiss you until you take the compliment..” You teased, speaking barely above a whisper. You trusted him enough to remove your thumb, not even a little surprised by how eager he was to kiss you again.
It was easy to dodge him, and delectable to feel the light brushing of lips on yours; the urgency and impatience in his breath fanned against your parted lips, driving you just about as crazy as it drove him. The power you held was ravishing. Tension was quick to build between the two of you, binding both of you that much closer together. It took every bone in your body to fight the urge and cave to his need for you. His head craned in closer, doing everything he could to press his lonesome lips back to yours.
Peter tried to find a loophole. His hands grasping at your ass, his lips trailed and teased at your jawline when you’d dodge him. He found it infuriating, but also just as enjoyable. “Fine...” He huffed, smirking lightly. “Thank you.” Peter met your lips hungrily when you kissed him again, as though he’d been deprived of your embrace for years.
The kiss was much rougher than before, fueling the growing need for friction between your thighs. You rocked your hips against his, pressing the ache in your core to his growing erection. A heavy breath caught in your throat, lips parting further at the pressure. It was easy to let the world around you melt away, getting lost in Peter’s touch as his fingers tugged on your hair, and traveled under the thin fabric of your shirt.
Just like that, the jingle of May’s keys fumbling at the door tied you back to the crisp presence of reality. You flew off your boyfriend’s lap, seating yourself beside him like you had been moments prior. Swift movements brought a pillow to hide Peter’s arousal, and just like that, it looked like you two were merely watching a movie together. Well, minus the matching red hues on your cheeks.
May hummed a tune quietly to herself, mirroring the smile you sent her as she walked into the dark apartment. “The girls and I are heading to Jenny’s for the night, but I wanted to grab my Hennessy.” She chimed, strutting into the kitchen like she’d be out in a jiffy. Her attention got caught on the television for a moment, her smiling growing. “Oh! Pete, you found it!” May glanced at you, “Did he tell you that he spent all afternoon looking for his collectors DVD? He was really looking forward to showing it to you.”
You watched the way Peter’s head hit the back of the couch, pressing his palms into his face to try and mask his embarrassment. “May, stop!” He whined, sustaining out the words to emphasize just how flustered he got. His words were muffled through his hands, but you still couldn’t help but find it adorable. He was just too cute. You just had to let the giggles slip through your lips.
Yep, no doubt about it; Peter’s geeky Star–Wars obsession was definitely one of your favorite things about him. That, and your steamy make–out sessions.
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lotus-n-l0ve · 9 months
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𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐞𝐞
— Peter Parker x Stark!Female Reader
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☯ SYNOPSIS : When Peter's girlfriend pays him a little visit in Midtown High School and meets his long time bully, Flash Thompson.
☯ WARNINGS : Au, stark!reader, Peter is barely present in the fic, cursing.
☯ NOTE FROM LOTUS : Hey guys. I have been having such a bad writer's block that I couldn't write anything for past few weeks. I'm writing this to, hopefully, get over my writer's block.
𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 || 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
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The red Saleen S7 car, parked outside of Midtown High School, gaining curious glances from the students and passersby. You wait, sitting on the driver's seat, with your phone in your hand. The past week you were out of the country with your father so you had not seen him for the past seven days and barely got to talk to him.
So when you came back today, you wanted to give him a surprise visit. You came here, all confident, but now you were doubting your choices. Maybe you should just wait till school ends?
Fuck it. You are Y/N Stark, girl. Since when do you get nervous?
You checked yourself last time in the back mirror. Perfect as always. You throw yourself a flying kiss and put on your favourite pair of glasses. The car door opens with a click and you get down. It was not long before you were walking down the halls of Midtown High, making everyone stop what they were doing and gawk at you.
You chuckle in your mind. Of course you loved being the centre of attention. You were Tony Stark's daughter after all. Now there's one problem. You don't know exactly where Peter is. You look around the hall before your eyes fall on a boy, sitting with two girl on each side.
Without any second thoughts, you walk up to him, "Hey, do you know where Peter Parker is?"
Flash tore his eyes from the beautiful girls in his arm to the legs standing in front of him. He raised his eyes to your face. His gaze so disgusting that made you want to throw up.
"Talking to me, angel?" Flash stood up, abandoning the girls.
You roll your eyes at his pathetic attempt of flirting. At least he got the angel part right.
"I asked if you know where Peter Parker is." You deadpan.
"Peter Parker? Oh! You mean penis Parker. What do you need with him? I'm sure I can help you way more than he can." Flash wiggled his eyebrows at you, giving you a suggestive look.
You just stared at him, completely unimpressed and now angered. This pathetic flirt has the audacity to call your baby penis— wait a damn minute. Penis Parker? Something clicked in your mind.
"Are you Flash Thompson?" You ask before you could stop yourself.
Surprise flashed on his face before a smug smirk appeared on his face.
"Wow! I know that I'm famous but not much. Damn!" He said, running a hand through his hair.
You giggle at his ignorance as you take off your glasses. Folding it and keeping it safely in your hand bag, you step towards him, closing the distance between you two.
"Listen here you little shit." The smirk on his fell at your words, "If I ever hear from Peter that even got anywhere near him, I'll kidnap you, shave off your head, leave you on a deserted island and post your disgusting nudes all over the internet."
"Wh—"
"Shut up and listen." Flash gulped with fear, his face covered in sweat. The menacing aura around you looked scarier than the monster under his bed.
You say while jabbing on his forehead with your pointer finger, "Don't think of him, don't look at him, don't walk on his direction, don't breathe on his direction. Don't go anywhere around my boyfriend. Got it, you failed experiment of a chimpanzee?"
"Y-yes, I....um, I-I..... I under-understand." He nodded his head vigorously. Anything to get away from you.
"Good." You back away, giving him space to finally breathe in relief. Fuck! He didn't know Peter's girlfriend was this scary.
"Y/N?" The familiar voice of your boyfriend called from behind and your demeanour changed like lizards change colours.
"Hey, Pete." You walk up, giving him a quick kiss, "let's go, you are skipping class today. I missed you."
You linked your arm with him and started dragging him out of the school. Peter complied with you because he did miss you a lot too and skipping one day was not going to do any harm on him.
"I missed you a lot." Peter smiled down at you.
You left the school, leaving behind a embarrassed Flash. After you two left did Flash realised the crowd of students circling around him in the hallway. And they were chuckling while looking down at his pants?
Flash looked, "FUCK!"
His blue jeans were now dark blue, water spread on the floor around him. He had peed in his pants. His face turned red with anger and embarrassment. He should not have fucked with Peter.
FUCK!
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© 𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐔𝐒-𝐍-𝐋𝟎𝐕𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 — all content rights belongs to LOTUS-N-L0VE. do not plagiarize any works and do not repost or translate onto any other sites.
All the rights and credits of the characters, gifs, songs and pictures used here belongs to their rightful owners.
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silkscream · 1 year
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angel unaware
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ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader
ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.
ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort
ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)
ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k
ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3
ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!
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The spider bit you first.
It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.
In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.
You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.
But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.
You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.
Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.
Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.
"You. You just–"
"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.
It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.
The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.
Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.
He’s the only one who gets it, of course.
He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know.  "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.
"What do you mean?"
"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"
"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"
He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"
You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.
"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.
Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.
"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.
"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.
"Comes from my fingertips."
"No fucking way. You gotta show me."
"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.
"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.
You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.
"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.
"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."
"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.
You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.
"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"
"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.
"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.
He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.
____
He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.
But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.
Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.
"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.
"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.
"And yet you’re here."
"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."
You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.
"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.
"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.
"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."
Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.
"Am I a good patient?"
"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.
"What, I don’t get a treat?"
"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.
He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.
It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.
"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.
You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."
"Rabbit."
You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.
"What, Pete?"
"Why don’t you patrol with me?"
"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.
"It’s better when you’re around."
"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.
"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."
"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."
"I think she’s right, though."
You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.
He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."
"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."
"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.
"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."
He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.
____
You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.
You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.
It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.
Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.
Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.
He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.
The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.
Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.
You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.
He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.
"Still as indecisive as ever."
"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.
"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.
"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"
He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.
"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.
"And you love it."
More than you’d ever know.
You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.
When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.
The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.
It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.  
"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.
____
You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.
You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.
No, that feels too selfish to say.
But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.
You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.
Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.
"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"
Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.  
____
January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.
You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.
Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.
Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.
And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.
It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.
Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.
"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."
God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.
"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.
The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.
He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.
Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.
Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.
But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.
He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.
You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.
As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.
"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.
"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"
He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.
Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.
"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.
"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."
"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."
"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."
"Hey!"
Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.
"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."
Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.
"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.
"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.
"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."
You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.
"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"
"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"
"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"
Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."
You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?
You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.
____
The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.
It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.
He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.
But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.
"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"
"Yeah, sorry."
"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"
Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.
"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.
The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.
Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.
"Hey, you."
"Hey."
Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.
You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.
"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.
"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course," she nods incessantly.
"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.
"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."
It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.
You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.
"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.
"Since when do you drink so much?"
"It’s a party," he shrugs.
"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."
"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."
Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.
Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.
"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.
"What do you mean?"
"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."
You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."
"Seriously?"
You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.
"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."
You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.
A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.
"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.
"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."
You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.
"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.
You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.
____
You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.
He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.
"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.
"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.
Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.
"Dude!"
"What? I’m turned around!"
Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.
His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.
"Idiot."
"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."
"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"
"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.
"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"
"‘m fine. You go home."
"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"
Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"
He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.
"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."
Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.
"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.
"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"
You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.
It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.
"Yeah, I’ll take him home."
____
"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.
"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.
"Not if you were with me."
"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."
"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"
You sigh. "No, he’s not."
"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.
"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.
He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.
"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"
"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.
"‘m not gonna puke."
"I think you might, Peter."
He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.
Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.
"What?"
"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."
You sigh.
"I should get going–"
"Can you stay for a little?"
Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.
"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.
"You didn’t."
"You were gonna go home with Cam."
"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."
"Like a chore."
"Not like a chore."
"Yeah, okay."
He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.
Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.
You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.
His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.
Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.
He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.
You close your eyes.
"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.
"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.
You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.
"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."
"What?"
"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."
"What am I doing?"
Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.
"You’re with MJ."
"I… I know."
Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.
"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.
"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.
"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.
He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.
____
It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.
You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.
But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.
It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he’s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.
Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.
"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.
"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.
"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."
"I’m fine, Em." A lie.
It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.
He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.
____
Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.
He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.
Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.
He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.
After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.
"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.
"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.
Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.
In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.
When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.
He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.
Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?
The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.
The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.
An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.
"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."
He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.
He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.
"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.
"Peter. You’re hurt."
"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"
"You’re fucking limping."
You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.
Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.
A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.
"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.
You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.
A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.
Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.
"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."
He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.
When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.
"C’mere."
It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.
You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.
There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.
You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.
"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."
"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."
As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?
It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.
"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.
"For what?"
"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."
"‘m not all that good, Peter."
But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.
"I’m sorry for not being around."
"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."
He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.
"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.
"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."
"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."
"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.
"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."
You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.
____
Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.
After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.
You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.
Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.
"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.
You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.
So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”
You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.
"Less overwhelming?"
"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."
I missed you.
Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.
"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.
"You get what?"
"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."
We. We. We.
"There are cows upstate," you snort.
"You know what I mean."
"We can do a road trip."
"You can’t drive."
"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.
He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.
"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.
"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."
"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."
You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.
There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.
You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.
So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.
"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.
"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.
You mock him, of course.
"English, yeah?"
He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.
"We broke up."
You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?
"Shit. You really fumbled, then."
"Shut up," he laughs.
"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.
"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."
"Classic MJ."
"Yeah."
"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.
"I’m not a piece of meat."’
You click your tongue.
"Oh, right, you’re an insect."
"Hey, so are you!"
____
You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.
Or maybe it’s the wine talking.
It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.
It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.
You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.
Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots
If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.
He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.
Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.
His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.
Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.
Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.
“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."
"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.
"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"
Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."
Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.
By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.
"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.
"You're already in my room."
Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.
Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.
"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.
"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."
"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.
"I'd like to see you try, angel."
It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.
It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.
Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.
Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.
He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.
His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.
"Wha--"
"Fuck."
"What is it?" He frowns.
"I owe Ned twenty bucks."
"What?"
"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."
"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”
“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”
“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.
“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,” you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.
“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”
He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.
You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.
“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”
“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”
A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.
“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.
“You are.”
Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.
He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.
You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.
A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.
“Please,” you beg.
“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.
“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”
Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.
“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”
He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.
“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”
He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.
You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.
You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.
“What do you wanna do?”
“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.
“Tell me about it, Spidey.”
“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”
“And how exactly will you do that?”
“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”
There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.
“You want it that bad, huh?”
“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.
You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.
He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.
“You want me to go slow?”
“Of course not.”
You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.
Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.
“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."
Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.
“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.
“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”
You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.
You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.
Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.
“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.
“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.
“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”
You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.
“Pete.”
“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”
“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”
He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.
He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.
It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.
“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.
Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.
“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”
Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.
Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.
He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.
“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.
“Yes, angel?”
“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”
He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.
“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.
“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”
“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”
He laughs and it sounds like heaven.
“You said you loved me,” you tell him.
“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”
You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.
“I love you, too.”
You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.
“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”
“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.
“You’re cute.”
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“How come you call me angel now?”
Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.
“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”
Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.
“I have a proposition.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.
“Okay. What is it?”
“We should use our webs next time.”
He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.
“Deal.”
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tagging mutuals: @meliapis​ @cutetomholland​ @userholland​ @sparklingsin​ @tomdutch​ @userholland​ @vendettaparker​ @selfcarecap @simplykenni​ @uhlxis​ @cordiformity​ @sapphicsoie​ @seolaseoul​ @honeyspidey​ @logangarfield​ @justapurrcat​ @arachine​ @cocoamoonmalfoy​ @ohcaptains​ @aniqua
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spider-stark · 1 year
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SPIDER-BOY
Pairing - Peter Parker x Reader
Summary - Thinking he has no chance with y/n as himself, Peter begins approaching them as Spider-Man.
friendly reminder - the best way to support writers on Tumblr is to reblog their work or comment <3:)
// masterlist // send me your thoughts //
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Two months. 
That was how long it had been since Peter first indulged in his ridiculous idea of talking to you under the guise of Spider-Man. Of course he hadn’t meant for it to last this long, promising himself that it was just to help him build his confidence–maybe even learn a bit about what kind of things you liked–so that he could actually ask you out as himself. Unfortunately, though, things hadn’t gone quite as he had planned. 
Spider-Man offered him a type of courage that he just wasn’t able to muster as Peter Parker. Under the cover of his mask he was able to come across as easy-going and flirtatious, never failing to leave your cheeks a deep crimson from the playful banter. Yet, when he did manage to speak to you as plain ole’ Peter, all of that was suddenly lost on him, leaving him a complete and total bumbling mess. As far as he was concerned, Peter Parker had no chance to be what any girl wanted, especially you. But Spider-Man was a different story.
And so he continued to exploit Spider-Man, using the masked hero as a means to continue getting closer to you, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to hide behind his secret identity forever. To be fair, he would rationalize to himself, Spider-Man had taken a lot from him, it was only fair that he got something in return. 
Plus, the interactions had been mostly innocent. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself, opting to ignore the many times that coy attitudes began to border on actual sexual attraction. He tried not to think about those times (though there had been many nights where he purposely let those interactions slip into his mind, reliving them from the privacy of his bedroom), instead just promising himself that he wouldn’t let his romantic escapades as Spidey go too far. 
“So,” your voice filled his ears, his heart skipping a few beats at the sound, “at what point should I start to wonder if you’re stalking me?” 
Peter chuckled at the question, his fingers gripping the railing of the balcony to your apartment, effortlessly hanging from it. “Do you feel like I’m stalking you?” 
“Hm,” you placed a finger against your chin, pretending to be deep in thought, evoking even more laughter from the boy. “Maybe a bit.” 
“Oh yeah? What did I do to give that impression?” 
“Well, to be fair, you’re currently dangling a couple hundred feet in the air off the side of my balcony.” You told him matter-of-factly, gesturing to where he was still hanging from the railing. 
His brows furrowed beneath his mask, an expression that was barely noticeable due to the fabric covering his face. “And that makes me a stalker? I thought you’d find it romantic, a sort of Romeo-and-Juliet moment.” 
“Romeo threw pebbles at her window, he didn’t scale an entire apartment building dressed in spandex.” You reminded him, “But, actually, it’s more so that I don’t remember ever giving you my address.” 
Peter froze for a moment, having not thought about the fact that your previous run-ins with Spider-Man had always been in public spaces–catching you after work or just happening to bump into you on the street while patrolling–never at your home. He only knew where you lived because you had told him, but as Peter Parker, not Spider-Man, when the two of you were assigned to a project together last week. He mentally face-palmed at his own ignorance. 
“Superheroes keep up with where all the pretty girls live. One of the lesser-known parts of the job.” He quipped, hoping that flattery would keep you from thinking too much into it. You only rolled your eyes at the comment, luckily not pressing any further. 
“So what did I do to deserve a surprise Spidey visit this time?” You hummed, leaning back against the cold brick of your apartment building.  
Peter hoisted himself over the edge of the balcony so that he was standing across from you, his arms finally beginning to ache from holding up his bodyweight for so long. “What, I’ve gotta have a reason to stop by and see my favorite civilian?” 
“Civilian?” You snorted. “And here I was thinking you and I were friends.” 
He dramatically placed his hands on either side of his face, feigning shock at your words, “Oh God no! You and me? Friends?” he let his hands fall to his waist, an exaggerated breath leaving his mouth, “No, not at all. I think that would be a conflict of interest.” 
You cocked a brow at him, “How so?” 
“I mean–I just think it would really interfere with our whole superhero slash damsel-in-distress routine, ya know?” 
“Damsel-in-distress?” You gasped incredulously at the claim, though the corners of your mouth were still quirked up in a smile. 
Peter nodded, “Uh, yeah. That’s literally our whole thing, isn’t it? You constantly running into trouble, me swinging in and saving your life.” 
“You haven’t had to save my life once Spider-Boy.” Peter scoffed at the name, acting like he was insulted. 
“Oh c’mon!” Peter dragged the word out, practically whining as he took a fraction of a step towards you, the movement enough to leave only a few inches between the both of you due to how small the balcony was. “You are literally always getting yourself into danger.” 
“Okay,” You crossed your arms over your chest, craning your neck so that you could actually look up at him, the masked vigilante having several inches on you, “give me an example then.” 
Peter rolled his eyes, a gesture only evident by the dramatic way his head moved along with them. He reached a gloved hand to your face, letting his fingertip gently brush against the semi-healed cut along your forehead. “You literally got this by tripping over your own shoes and banging your head against the counter at a coffee shop. Not to mention the fact that you spilled your entire coffee on yourself in the process.” He trailed away from the cut, moving to brush a stray hair behind your ear. He didn’t take his hand away, though, letting it rest against the side of your face. “You are always in danger because you are the danger.” 
Your eyes widened for a moment, so quick that he didn’t even notice the reaction. He was right, you had done that, an unfortunate consequence of being the clumsiest person alive. But, still, his words left you confused; remaining silent for just a moment as you turned them over in your head. When you finally opened your mouth to speak you were cut off by the sound of distant sirens, a groan immediately coming from him, knowing that your interaction would now be cut short. 
His thumb brushed against your cheek, acting as an unnecessary silent apology. 
“Sounds like somebody needs Spider-Man.” You told him as he let his hand fall from your skin, forcing himself to the railing. If he didn’t go now, he wouldn’t leave at all. “You better hurry, it could be one of those pretty girls you keep tabs on.” You shot a teasing grin in his direction, referencing his earlier comment. 
“Ugh, they just never give me a day off.” He joked, swinging his feet over the balcony railing before gripping onto it and allowing himself to once again hang from it. “Try not to trip into anything dangerous until I’m back.” 
He turned his head and reached one hand out, likely to shoot a web at the building across from yours, but hesitated when he heard you speak again, a sudden panic filling his body at your words, “Be safe, Parker.” 
The sirens continued blaring, growing closer with each second, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heart wildly thumping against his chest. “What?” He sounded completely dumbfounded, his head slowly turning back to look at you, only to find you standing with your own finger pointing to the cut he had traced on your forehead, a wide grin on your face. 
“Spider-Man wasn’t there the day that I fell.” You shot a knowing glance in his direction, one that had his cheeks heating up. He had never been more thankful to be wearing a mask, aware that his face was likely beet red. “I asked Peter to meet me there so I could borrow his biology notes.” 
Peter didn’t speak, too stunned by his own stupidity for slipping up and not thinking about how he was there that day as himself, not Spider-Man. This time you were the one to take a step forward and close the gap between you, having to lean down just a bit in order to be face-to-face as he dangled from the railing. 
“You’re a lot more confident in the suit.” You mused, your hands finding the base of his mask, lightly tugging the material up to reveal his face. Even though it was dark out you could still see that he was blushing. “But I prefer you without it.” 
His jaw fell slack, words getting caught in his throat as a million thoughts raced through his mind, though one thought in particular was a lot louder than the rest: I prefer you without it. 
“You should definitely go.” The sirens were now close enough that you could actually see the faint red-and-blue lights a few streets over. He looked in the direction of them but still didn’t make a single move to leave. You seemed to recognize his hesitation, tugging the mask back down over his face. “If you ever remember how to talk then you can come back when you’re done. But ditch the mask.” 
Peter nodded at your words, his eyes remaining glued to you as you straightened back up, turning your back to him to go back inside your apartment–leaving him to go off and be a hero. Once you were inside he couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head as he forced himself to get into motion, swinging in the direction of the police lights. 
Turns out Peter Parker did have a chance.
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could you write something where peter and reader are having a study date, but peter falls asleep and reader just lets him be/tucks him in?? tysm
don’t want to miss a thing.
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synopsis : getting peter to sleep wasn’t going to be as difficult as you’d thought.
pairing : bf!peter parker x reader
wc : 490 +
warnings : none ! super fluffy sleepy!peter is all you need to worry about :) (normal sized text belowww + this is college!peter)
‎‎ masterlist | request | navigation
a/n : hi nonnie !! thank you so so much for this request <3 i actually whipped this one up pretty quickly because of the rush of inspiration your request gave me hehe :) hope you enjoy it !
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it was nearly midnight when you started to notice peter’s eyelids practically begging to fall, his head was inching closer and closer to the surface of your desk. which, admittedly, was somewhat adorable. he’d been like this for the past hour, though it was getting progressively worse every passing minute.
you were in your room, catching up on some studies alongside peter. the boy found every single excuse to be with you, and when you said that you didn’t have time (due to your need to study), he came up with the perfect compromise. a study date.
though, by the time he’d come back from patrolling, it was already 10 pm, and naturally, he was exhausted. but you knew peter, therefore, you knew he was going to put up a fight rather than accepting defeat and falling asleep.
“pete, you look like you’re about to pass out.” you say softly, causing him to whip his head to your direction.
“no, no, no, no. i’m wide awake!” he shoots himself up, making you let out a small laugh, causing the tenseness of his body to disappear. your laugh comforted him.
“i think you need some rest. c’mon, this can wait.” you stood up and gestured for him to go to your bed, but he shakes his head.
“‘m okay, really.” his attempt to assure you was failing, given that he was falling asleep as he said that very sentence.
“you’re so cute when you’re tired.” you smile at him, he returned it with a lazy smile and continued to attempt answering a few practice questions on his worksheet.
“you think so?” he has a smug smirk on his face. gosh. you couldn’t help but giggle.
“just tell me when you wanna call it a day, okay?” you say as you sat back down beside him and continued your work. 
“talk to me? tell me about your day, that’ll help keep me up.” he asks, keeping himself focused on his work.
“oh! okay then! well, after class, while you were out, i ended up coming over and talking to may, and she showed me a bunch of your baby photos, which, might i say, were so cute.” peter sat closer to you, and you thought nothing of it as you continued talking.
“mhm…” his responses became increasingly incoherent as you continued talking about what aunt may had told you. he was falling asleep before he began to realize it.
“so then, i asked may- oh, you’re asleep.” your voice starts with its normal volume and you quiet down as you realize.
 oh.
he’d found a comfortable spot on your shoulder as you were talking and slowly began to drift off. you observed a small, barely there smile that he had as he slept. his arms were rested around your waist and his face was buried into the crook of you neck. he was finally relaxed.
you found it increasingly difficult to move at all, in fear of him waking up, so you decided that it’d be good for you to get some rest as well.
you press a soft kiss on his cheek (and you may or may not have taken a quick photo of him for your wallpaper) before resting your head gently on his, but you felt him move ever so slightly, so you lift your head up, and so did he.
all he did was smile at you, and you did the same, right before he rubbed his eyes and rested himself onto your shoulder yet again.
work could wait, this, however, couldn’t.
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a/n : thank you for reading loves !!!! requests are open, as per usual, pls just be patient w me, feel free to reblog as it is very important to support writers &lt;3
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thyme-in-a-bubble · 11 months
Note
can you make a peter parker smut where he gets a 89% on his math final and he needs to js take it out on the reader 🤩🤩
A/N: ops, I finished writing this before the clock even struck 6 in the morning... idk how to explain, I have the circadian rhythm of an 80-year-old tbh.
∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽
masterlist | join my taglist 
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“Not that I’m complaining,” you panted, lazily running your fingers along the dewy spine of the man sprawled out on top of you, “but what was all of that? Where did it come from?”
Shifting his face on the swell of your tits, parting the heat of your bosom from his cheek, he glanced up at you with weary eyes and reluctantly uttered, “I got a 89% on my math final…”
“89?” you cocked a brow, not taking into account who it was you were talking to, “but that’s such a good grade.”
“Yeah, but not for me and especially not in math,” you detected the heated tears threatening to come to fruition, “I’ve never gotten below a 92, period, but that’s usually in things that I suck at, not math, never math,” his hold on you tightened as he lowered his head back down, staring intensely at the chipped spot on the wall beside your bed. 
Eyes locked on the crown of his head, you helplessly uttered just above a whisper, “I’m sorry Peter. I’m really sorry,” feeling your naked body being to tremble beneath his in empathy, “fuck… I don’t know what to do to make you feel better…”
Feeling the spent hardness, that never quite disappeared, press against your inner thigh with a cautious grind of his hips, he peeked up at you once more and suggested, “round two?” actually withdrawing a faint giggle within you from the heart-breaking smirk on his lips, “just let me fuck you till I forget, even if it just slips away for a second, please, let me have this, let me have you…”
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© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 
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bitchyycapricorn · 10 months
Text
Almost There
Peter Parker x Ghost!Reader
Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Wordcount: 1.9k
Synopsis: Peter enters his apartment that night expecting to find an empty bed. But instead, he comes face to face with your transparent glowing figure.
Warnings: Fluff, Angst, mentions of needles and injuries, showering with cloths on, mentions of death, mentions of afterlife but no specific religion.
AN: All events of FFH and NWH didn’t happen. Not edited.
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It was not until late that night that Peter was once again creeping through the window of his apartment, beat up and bleeding worse than usual. His chest had taken a nasty gash, one that was far too deep for him to heal naturally without any help. So as he stumbled into his dark room the only thing on his mind was the first aid kit Aunt May kept under the bathroom sink.
“You are hurt,” Your voice drifted through the room, seemingly coming from all directions before you appeared on Peter’s bed once again. Peter’s head snapped towards you, eyes fixating on you luminous figure. “Peter, do you need help?”
“Help?” The word felt weird as it came out of his mouth. He had never asked anyone for help after a nasty night, not even May. He paused a moment, leaning on his desk as he tries to catch his breath. “Are you able to help me?”
You nod and get up from your place on the bed. You make your way over to Peter, hoping to take a better look at his wounds since you vaguely remember helping your mother stitch up those who got injured during street fights and could not pay to go to the hospital. “May I see it? The cut on your chest.”
Peter’s eyes lock on yours as the feeling of sudden anxiety washes over him. Despite being a super hero, he doesn’t exactly strip in front of girls and flaunt his muscles. “Uh, isn’t that a bit, personal?” Peter asks, trying to avoid making eye contact with the ghost.
“Peter you are bleeding, you will die if we don’t get you properly cleaned and stitched up.” Your voice is soft, soothing even. You now stand directly in front of Peter, you hand slowly reaching out to examine the wound. He is almost positive your hand will go right through him but it doesn’t. Instead he watches as your hand goes solid, like it did last night when you were playing with the sheets.
His brows scrunch slightly in confusion, “How do you do that? Just make your hands appear I mean.”
You shrug, still fiddling with his suit, checking around the very bloody fabric. “I don’t know, It is like moving my hands or my legs. I just know and my body listens.” You confess, unsure how to answer beyond that. “You are very injured, I need to clean the wound.” You declare, nodding at Peter to strip once again. “Go on, take the costume off and meet me in the bathroom. I will clean you up there.” And with that, you were walking straight through the wall in Peter’s room and into the bathroom.
Peter watched for a moment unsure on whether or not he should follow. Eventually, he reluctantly let his legs carry him out of his room and into the bathroom where he found you waiting for him with the first aid kit laid out on the sink. You turned to face him, eyes once again skimming his body, hinting that the suit had to go. “Do I really need to-“
“Please just remove the suit. You will make things so much easier if you just took the stupid suit off.” Peter eyes you cautiously, surprised that you actually raised your voice at him.
You turn to face him once more, trying to get a better look at his wound. A gasp escaped your lips as he fully stands back up. The size of the gash stretches from the middle of his chest down to his left hip. You quickly turn around, walking over to the shower and turning it on. You make your way back to the skink, checking to make sure you have hydrogen peroxide and ethanol alcohol before facing Peter once more.
You nod towards the running water, “Get in the shower, I will help clean you to prevent infection.”
“Whoa, I know you’re technically dead but you want me to just strip in front of you? I’ve never been naked in front of a girl before! Except for May, but that was before she learned how to knock!” Peter rambled, as he slowly backed away from you.
You roll your eyes, moving towards Peter anyways. “My mother was a home nurse. She would often help hose down patients in the shower. Now take your suit off, leave your underwear on, and get in that shower.” You demand, pulling him back into the middle of the bathroom.
Peter stares at you for a moment, he can still feel the deep cut on his chest bleeding and he admittedly feels pretty weak. Letting out a sigh, Peter removes his suit, laying it down on the counter. “Okay now what?” He mumbles, avoiding your eyes.
“Shower.” You state simply, grabbing his hand and dragging him under the water. Your hands slowly work your way up and down his sweaty and dirt caked body, scrubbing off any and all bacteria in the process. Peter couldn’t help but admire your determined face, the way your eyebrows pinched together when you focused on cleaning him up. Your hands felt nice as they worked, doing a great job cleaning him up. Yet at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel weird that only your hands were there. The rest of you was still just a prominently transparent figure. It was odd to him the way that water ran right through you. Along with the fact that he could see a fuzzy and distorted looking shampoo bottle right through your middle section.
Peter continues to watch you work, allowing you to rinse him off before shutting off the shower and leading him back into the humid bathroom where you have him sit on the counter. “Why are you doing this?” He asks, genuinely curious as to why you’re so inclined to help him after only knowing each other for about a day.
“You’re hurt, and it’s always been my dream to be a nurse. Since I’m dead, er well, only half alive, this is the closest I’ll get to helping someone.” You reply as you begin to apply the alcohol soaked pad gently to his wound. “Also, I quite like you so far. You let me lay with you despite us being strangers. It hasn’t been easy since my little friend left.”
Peter gives you a small smile, “Right, the little boy who used to live here. What was his name?”
You let out a soft sigh, wishing the young boy wasn’t burned into your mind the way he was. “Elijah,” you say finally, your fingers faltering for just a moment. “But I’d call him Eli for short.”
“You said they left because he was seeing things?”
You nod, grabbing a needle and thread from the kit. “It was my fault they left. He began drawing picture of me at school, telling teachers I was his big sister. He…he was an only child.” You slowly began to sew up the gash, trying your best to go quick so it wouldn’t hurt him too much.
Peter winced at the feeling, nodding his head at your story. “I’m really sorry, Eli left. You know it isn’t your fault, right? I mean, you couldn’t have know that he’d go and tell people or that his parents would move.” Peter offered, gritting his teeth at the pain of the needle.
“No, I didn’t. But I’m still the reason regardless.” You finished the stitch, looking back up into Peter’s eyes. “It’s okay though, you’re here now.” You give him a soft smile, stepping away from his body, giving him room to leave.
Peter hopped off the counter, examining his stitches in the mirror. “Thank you for fixing me. Oh, and also for revealing yourself.”
You let out a small chuckle, “Yeah, I realize seeing me must’ve been a bit shocking. Given you and your aunt have only been moved in for about a month now. Why you here anyways?”
“Well, I moved here for MIT and Aunt May got a raise so we thought it would be nice to move to a safer neighborhood where I go to school.” Peter laughs, realizing the slight irony.
You smile, pushing your hair out of your still ghostly face. “Don’t you like, sneak out and fight crime every night or something?”
“Yeah, Spider-man, your friendly neighborhood superhero!” He beams.
A giggle involuntarily erupts from your throat, “You’re such a dork!”
“And you can actually talk normally.” Peter shoots back. You cock an eyebrow at him, causing his face to flush red. “You sounded so sophisticated before, thought you from the 1800s or something.”
A smile spreads across your face and you look down embarrassed, “No, not from the 1800s. Promise I’m not that old. Since I’m half dead I still age.”
“Really? So how old are you then?” He asks, suddenly intrigued.
“We’ll let’s see,” you hum, trying to recall everything. “I died when I was 11, that was what, 8 years ago?”
“You’re 19?”
“That sounds right.” You nod, letting out a small huff. “And you Spider-Man?”
He’s caught off guard by the question being flipped, “Oh, just turned 20.”
“You’re still living with your aunt ?” You tease, poking his chest lightly.
“I’m in college!” He defends as he throws his hands up. “Also, don’t talk to me about living with my aunt! You’re technically living with her too!”
You roll your eyes, letting another laugh escape your lips. “I guess you got me there bug boy.”
Peter smiles, looking you up and down. “You never did answer my question about why you no longer sound so sophisticated.”
“You didn’t ask it as a question, you stated it. And it’s because I get nervous around people and I freeze up.” You admit, looking over at the still wet shower.
“You get nervous? You’ve watched me strip twice now, got in the shower with me, slept next to me, oh and sewed my chest up.” He looks at you in disbelief, motioning to his practically naked body to prove his point.
“Yeah well, I’m assertive. But still nervous. I don’t know! I just want to go to bed. Let’s go.” You stutter, stepping back through the wall and disappearing.
Peter shuffles to grab his suit, exiting the bathroom and making his way back into his room. “Unfair advantage.” He deadpans, looking over to where you’re already laying on his sheets.
“Hurry up, I want to sleep so when I wake up I’m back in the other world.” You mumble. Closing your eyes as Peter changes into his pajamas.
You feel the bed dip before you hear his voice again. “Other world?” He whispers, shuffling closer to your now fully solid body. You feel his arm slowly wrap around you as he pulls you into his warm body.
“Yes, it is a lovely place. It’s like earth but clean. I live in a small cottage, and just a ways down the road is the city. Where you can buy food and go to the carnival. It’s a place without work, where everything simply runs on its own.” You whisper back, snuggling closer to Peter. “I don’t know why I can’t stay, at least why I don’t get to stay permanently. There are a few of us like that. Bound to walk the earth for 12 out of the 24 hours. That is why I’m gone when you wake. I go back to the other side.”
Peter stares at you in amazement, wishing he could follow you there. “Do you wish you were there permanently?” He asks after a moment.
Your eyes open, locking with his pretty brown ones. “No Peter, I wish I was alive.”
+++
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spider-man-199999 · 10 months
Text
No need to hide it
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gif by @userjoel
pairing: college!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader; Post nwh; not too canon
word count: 6K
warnings: underage drinking for USA citizens; mentions of sex
summary: Peter thought no one remembered him after the spell, however you did, but not for the reasons he was afraid you would. Mostly fluff and slow burn romance.
a/n: I'm a sucker for college!Peter, I literally cannot think about anything else. ANY SCIENCE TALK IS A BUNCH OF BS I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT CHEMISTRY OR SCIENCE.
part2
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"Hey, catch!" you heard a male voice from somewhere behind you, making you turn towards the sound. A brown leather football flew throgh the air, landing in your feet. You picked it up, throwing it back to the shirtless man that was jogging in your direction.
"Thanks!!" He said after he caught it, running off back to whoever the other shirtless dude he was playing with was.
"Yeah no problem..." you muttered under your breath, trying to hide how flustered you were.
It was orientation week at Empire State University.
The weather, apparently, was still warm enough to have people running shirtless around campus, and being the shy, awkward geek you were, it was hard not to get embarrassed by any social interaction, let alone one that included both sport and a half-naked man. Overall, orientation week was going well. You checked out a few classes that sparked some interest, went to the library, the gym, even got completely settled in your dorm room. Things were going smoothly, excluding the fact you hadn't really met anyone new. Most of the people in your classes seemed like they already knew at least one person and stuck to them. Since you were not really the type to go out of your way and approach people, it left you walking around campus alone, sitting in class alone and even eating alone. It wasn't all that bad, just lonely. Your roommate hadn't arrived on campus yet either, so everything felt especially odd to you, like you were invisible to everyone. 
Four days in and the long walks between buildings were already annoying. It was so easy to get lost or distracted on the way between buildings. You didn't know the shortcuts yet, so it was always a hazard whether you would make it to class on time. Miraculously you got there early, and gave yourself a mental praise for that. You didn't expect to actually be in a lab on the first day of class, and were glad you got there on time because there were barely enough lab coats for everyone in the room. You really didn't want to be the freak who wasn't wearing one. You scanned the room as you sat down on one of the desks, secretly praying that this class wouldn't require having a lab partner or work in groups because it was going to make you feel even worse. And as you were stalking the people around you, your eyes landed on someone who looked suspiciously familiar. He wasn't terribly tall, curly brown hair, one backpack over his shoulder, flannel shirt over a plain white t-shirt and regular blue jeans. You could recognise Peter Parker from miles away. You've never felt so terrified and so excited at the same time. You finally knew someone in this university and it had to be him of all people. He never told you he was going to ESU. In his defense, you couldn't really recall ever speaking to him. You used to have the biggest crush on him back in high school, but never gathered the courage to actually chat him up, even if it were about homework. He never got assigned as your partner on a project either (no matter how many times you would fantasize about it), so you just graduated one day and accepted the fact it just wasn't meant to be. 
But now you were presented with the perfect opportunity to actually talk to him and decided to take it. Unfortunately, the class started before you could approach him. You tried your best to keep your focus on the professor, but it seemed as if that was not necessary, he was only going over the main goals of the class and what books you would need. You sneakily looked over Peter from time to time, thinking about what would be best to say to him and not make it awkward. 
The class was over in the blink of an eye, which made your heart beat pick up because you no longer had an excuse to not approach him. There was a line forming around the coat hangers, which you thought was going to be the best way to casually start a conversation. You cut the line when you saw Peter hang up his coat, putting yours next to his and smiling at him. He smiled back when the two of you locked eyes. 
"Hey" you said "Peter Parker, right?"
He looked a bit stunned by your question. First, he was starstruck because the prettiest girl he had ever seen came out of nowhere and greeted him and secondly, she knew his name. And that was not supposed to be like this at all. His mind was rushing and calculating how it were possible. Were you a supervillain from an alternate reality trying to expose him? Or did the spell just not work on you? All of the scenarios seemed very bad for him. 
The way he just sat there and said nothing was making you extremely nervous. It did feel like a terrible idea now that you had done it. 
"We used to take Spanish together in high school." you added, your voice shaking slightly from the anxiety. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, I'm really sorr-"
"Wait Spanish?" he finally said, his theories crumbling down when he realized what was actually going on. You were no supervillain, just an old classmate. Yet, he was sure he would have remembered you. 
"I really don't remember..." he continued, feeling his cheek heat up.
"Oh that's fine, we never really... spoke? Like at all, I sat all the way in the back and no one could make me say a word."
He laughed softly at your words. 
"Wanna discuss this over coffee? If you don't have any other classes?"
"I'm free, so yeah, we could grab a coffee"
20 minutes later the two of you were laughing over how ridiculous you looked in the yearbook. Peter was holding your phone and looking at the photo in which you still had braces on, your eyebrows were so badly drawn on because you thought shaping them with a razor the night before was a good idea. It was not, you shaved off so much from one of them you had to fill it in. And since it was your first ever filling eyebrows in, it was very, very bad.  Also, your hair looked like it was made out of dark matter, because you recently had it dyed black, straightened it and accidentally put a bit too much hair oil on it. You were definitely not having a good time back then, but it was a small price to pay to hear Peter laugh so hard. A 4-month accutane treatment to acne and taking your braces off could really make a person change enough. It was a glow up and Peter could really see it now. 
"Okay now that I've seen that, I actually do remember you! You're the girl that got hit in the head with a basketball while tying her shoes on the bench during gym! Somehow you fell back and got under the benches so I had to pull you out."
"Oh no" you whined, hiding your face in your hands to hide how hard you were blushing. And he was right, that really did happen once, and it was that moment that actually started your little crush on him. You were probably 14 when it happened. You fell under the bleachers and felt so embarrassed that you froze on the spot, feeling like crying. People came running towards you, Peter beating them to it, and pulled you out by the hand. He dusted your shirt off and asked if you were alright. To your teenage mind he came in like a knight in shining armor, and it made you fall for him, very hard. 
''Come on, it wasn't that bad!" he said between laughs, giving your phone back. 
"It was bad, like really bad. How can your only memory of me be my worst moment in high school?''
"If that's your worst moment, you were doing good."
You took a sip from your coffee, your finger tracing the rim of the paper cup once you placed it down on the table. You really were regretting not talking to him in school, he seemed like such a nice person, you would have been good friends. 
"Why did you decide to go to ESU? I thought you had plans to go to MIT with your friends."
"Oh, I didn't get in."
"Yeah, totally sounds believable, Peter Parker, the Stark intern, highest SAT score in our grade, didn't get into MIT" you said sarcastically, shaking your head at him. 
He sighed, looking down at his hands. His leg started bouncing under the table and he suddenly seemed tense. Now it really did feel believable, based on his reaction. 
"Sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"It's okay, honestly I was so sure I would get in too, but I don't think I ended up at a bad place"
"Obviously you didn't, I chose ESU, which makes it the best place ever. And now that I know you're here too, I get double confirmation for that." 
He laughed softly at your words.
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A few weeks later you were actually glad to have to work in pairs in the lab because Peter asked you to be his partner. 
You arrived just before the class started, sitting down at the table and putting your protective goggles on. 
"Sorry" you said as you sat down next to him, taking the empty flask that was sitting in front of him and immediately starting to mix the things you managed to read on the board. 
Peter smiled at you as he watched you, doing his own thing which you didn't pay too much attention to. 
"Roommate problems again?" he asked. 
Being lab partners meant the two of you had to talk regularly, which led to getting closer. You didn't know many people there besides him and your nightmare of a roommate. 
"You have no idea." you sighed, dropping a few droplets into a test tube. The mixture inside started smoking up slightly, you swirled it around until it stopped, passing it to him so he could heat it up. 
"What did she do this time?"
"Locked me in and took both of the keys on her way out. I had to call her to come back and unlock, she was pissed."
"Still don't get how someone can be so rude to you for no reason."
"I don't think she hates me really, she hates the idea of me. Not every 3rd year student is keen on the idea of babysitting a freshmen, I totally get that."
Peter wrote something down in his notebook after the mixture started bubbling up. You looked at it, brows furrowing. 
"What's the temperature?"
"140 F" 
"Peter that's not supposed to happen" you said worried 
"Actually it is, you didn't have the time to read the board and put only half"
"Oh-"
He removed the test tube, letting it cool down.
"It's okay, we'll just multiply it by two."
"Sometimes I wonder what I would do if you weren't here."
"Probably blow up the place."
You rolled your eyes at him before the both of you laughed, continuing your work. You tried being more concentrated now, and for the most part it was working out. Until Peter would roll up his sleeves and expose his forearms. Or when he would take the goggles off to fix his hair. You tried staring as discreetly as possible, but he probably did notice it every time.
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That same night was your first ever frat party. You weren't really a fan of parties, the high school ones you went to were boring but you were hoping that college ones were going to live up to the hype everyone was giving them. Plus, you were trying to make amends with your roommate, and she wanted some alone time with her boyfriend back at your place. The idea of frat boys really turned you off, you had seen more than enough of them in class and around campus. 
The music was booming through the speakers as you entered the house, people were everywhere. You could barely squish through the crowd, it was barely 10 pm and people were already wasted. You really wanted to let loose that night too, so you made it over to the bar and took whatever drink was handed to you first. It was vodka. Tasted bitter and burned down your throat and stomach as you drank it. The stress from university and the complicated relationship with Ruth, your roommate, were really starting to get you. Add your unresolved feelings for Peter to the mix and you really do have a strong enough pressure to make you explode like a time bomb. So, you wanted to take some pressure off by drinking and dancing. No one knew you here anyway so it was relatively easy to just do whatever you wanted. 
Five shots of vodka were already in your system by the first hour. The dance floor was yours to take. A red plastic cup in your hand while you were swaying to the rhythm of the song playing, boys were coming from left and right to dance together. And you did dance with them, probably even made out with one or two as well. It continued for what felt like forever, until 2 am rolled around and you started feeling tired and wasted. And the alcohol in your blood was about to hit you in the worst way possible and make you overthink everything that was going on around you. At that point you were sat on a couch in the trashed living room and some dude was talking to you. His hand was on your knee. You were too preoccupied by your own thoughts to even listen to whatever he had to say.
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Peter hid behind his apartment building on campus, looking around to make sure no one would see him as he took off the spider-man costume. Ever since he went back to no one knowing his identity, he had to sneak around. He couldn't risk any of his roommates seeing him accidentally so he took the costume off outside after patrol, shoved it in his backpack and walked in. If anyone was ever awake and asked where he was, he would say either the library or doing lab work with you. He really did use you as an excuse a lot to his roommates, which gave them all kinds of wrong ideas. He didn't share a bedroom with anyone, which made his life so much easier, but there was a whole other bedroom with two boys in it in his apartment. 
No one was awake when he walked in, throwing his bag on the floor next to his bed. He felt shattered. The whole studying and spider-man business was draining his batteries like never before. Peter lay down on the bed, too tired to even get out of his jeans. He was rapidly drifting into sleep when his phone started ringing. He groaned in annoyance, looking at the screen only to see it were from you. Peter quickly picked it up, any feeling of tiredness leaving his body when he heard you crying on the other side of the phone. 
"Hey, hey, what happened? Are you hurt? Where are you?" he asked, panicked. 
"Ruth locked me out again." you cried on the phone "She left her key in, she was with her boyfriend and they were probably doing the deed and locked themselves and fell asleep."
You babbled really fast, he was trying to understand what you were saying but it was muffled by soft sobs. And you didn't sound sober either. 
"Peter, you fix all of my lab mistakes, please fix this."
He wasn’t sure what to do, especially since he didn’t know where you lived exactly. There weren’t many opinions in this situation, he could either find you and kick the door down so you could get in your place or he could take you in his room and let you sleep there. 
“Can you tell me where you are?” 
“In front of my dorm?”
“I don’t know where that is, genius”
You continued sobbing at his words, which made him feel even worse. You were very vulnerable and probably scared and he was acting poorly. 
“Okay, okay, sorry, I didn't mean that. Tell me where your dorm is and I’ll come fix it, okay?”
“It’s the one next to the library” 
He hopped out of his bed, rushing towards the building. 
When he got there he saw you sitting on the steps, looking down at your feet. 
"Hey" he said, standing in front of you, his hands in his pockets as he watched you slowly look up to him. Your eyes were red from all the crying and your cheeks were still wet from the tears. Peter sat down next to you with a sigh, the second he did that he could tell you had been drinking. The smell of vodka and cigarettes were all over your clothes. 
"Hi" you muttered back after a while, not really sure what to say or do at this point. 
"So what happened?" he whispered to you, bumping his shoulder into yours
"I got locked out, again" you whispered back, looking at him. He was smiling, a warm, comforting smile that made you feel so incredibly guilty that you called him. 
It made you realize what time it actually was, and that you probably woke him up. It was the middle of the night, and you woke up the closest thing you had to a friend here to help you. You ruined his sleep so he could save you from something you could have probably figured out on your own if you weren’t drunk. 
"Come on" he said, getting up and reaching out his hand to help you up as well. ''Let's get you out of here" 
You took his hand, the tears were welling up in your eyes again as you looked at him. He seemed so tired, yet he came rushing to your rescue. 
He walked in his room, trying to be as quiet as possible. 
"Wow you have a double bed??" you said as you looked around his room.
"Oh, yeah" he said, blushing when he saw the state of it. He didn't really think about making the bed before he left and the bedding looked like scrambled eggs with all the pillows and blankets everywhere. Peter didn’t want to look messing in front of you but it was too late for that.
"Lucky duck" 
Peter was kind enough to take out some clothes for you to sleep in while you showered. It was a spare pair of pajama pants and an old star wars t-shirt. He looked away while you got dressed and helped you into bed after that. 
"I can't thank you enough for this."
"Oh, you can, you can do my calculus homework."
The both of you laughed after that. He grabbed a pillow and a blanket, with the intention of sleeping on the couch. 
"Where are you going?"
"To sleep?"
"Not here?"
"Well, no-.... I-.... Don't want to invade...."
"I feel bad enough about it as it is, please come sleep in your bed, it's big enough" you whined.
Peter stood at the door. He really didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable, or crush you while he slept but at that point he was so shattered that the bed seemed like the best thing that could happen to him. You got up and pulled him towards the bed, grabbing the pillow and blanket with your other hand and throwing them on.
Peter was asleep the second his head hit the pillow, and you followed a minute or two later. It didn't feel as weird to sleep in the same bed as the two of you had anticipated. Maybe the alcohol helped. You were pretty sure that it was, in fact, the alcohol that made you call him, the one that insisted on sharing the bed as well. Sober you would probably be a flustered mess just from the thought of being in Peter's bedroom alone. 
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The second Ruth knew you had somewhere to sleep over, she took advantage of it. It was happening so often that you basically had a schedule when you would sleep over at Peter's. He didn't mind one bit because it was a reason to spend time with you. Plus, you did all your work for classes together, even in classes you or him weren't taking. So by the middle of the semester, you two were practically platonically dating. 
And it made you feel the worst and the best type of ways at the same time. You absolutely loved spending time with him and your feelings were only getting deeper and deeper with each day. Somehow, you still felt like you were taking away the college experience from him. He declined every party opportunity his roommates suggested, he rarely spoke to other girls and if he went out with friends from other classes, he would always make you tag along with them. Everyone thought that if you were not dating, then you were definitely hooking up, no matter how many times you denied it. Truth being told, it was actually kind of weird that you weren't doing either of those. And it got even weirder when someone else started expressing an interest in Peter.
Surprisingly enough, even to yourself, you actually liked going to parties. The alcohol helped you loosen up and talk and since Peter actually had other friends, now you knew some people here and there. You would always find someone to chat with at a party and you learned that socializing wasn't at all as scary as it seemed before. 
Tonight you found yourself at a random party in some basement of the dorm on the other side of campus. You knew that you'd be home late so the arrangements of staying over at Peter's were already made. As you were speaking to someone from your beginner-friendly biology class, a girl approached you. She was tall, way taller than you, had long dark hair and an amazing body. She grabbed your arm and said your name in a questioning tone. You nodded slightly taken aback from the interaction. 
"Can I borrow you for a second?" she asked, turning to the other person in an apologetic smile. 
"Sure."
She pulled you a bit away, still holding your arm right above the elbow. The whole thing was making you tense for some reason. 
"I'm sorry that I asked like this." she said, letting your arm go. "Actually, we've met before, I take calculus with Peter Parker, he brought you over at one of our group study sessions."
"Oh. Right." you did remember her now, but she looked slightly different with heavy makeup on. She definitely looked like one of the it girls on campus and you got the impression that she actually was. 
"So I wanted to ask if you and Peter were a thing?"
Once again you were stunned by a question from her. You looked around for some reason, she was making you feel uneasy. 
"Um, no, we're not."
"Great!" she said with a bright smile. "Do you think he'd be into me? He has this nerdy sex appeal, I actually really want to get with him."
You were blinking in disbelief towards her. This whole thing was really not making you feel well about your situation. She was gorgeous and she wanted to fuck your crush, it was going to end badly for you. You felt something like a ball in your throat that you knew even the gin couldn't wash down. 
"Well, good luck with that." you said, patted her shoulder and walked away before you started crying in front of her.
The whole situation really put you in a bad mood. There was nothing particularly wrong with it, but it managed to burst the bubble you were so peacefully living in. It got you wondering if Peter had his eyes on someone, if he was sleeping around with different girls, if he was going on dates. You kept imagining it, and drinking to try to stop, but nothing seemed to help. You couldn't spend every waking second with him to know, plus he never talked about girls with you. You didn't know who he was texting, or if he were going out with someone and not telling you. You were sure he wasn't because no girlfriend would ever feel okay with some random girl sleeping over as much as you did. Then again, he could be hooking up with someone, you were only sleeping over two or three times a week. 
You were so preoccupied by your worries that you almost didn't pick up your phone when Peter called. He said he finished whatever work he had to do and was going to come to the party and pick you up. It made you even more anxious. 
He walked through the door 15 minutes after the phone call. The whole thing was a sensory overload for him, the music was way too loud, the colors were too flashy, people were everywhere. He was constantly on edge because people were walking a little too close and his reflexes were being triggered. He hated parties. He hated the idea of you liking them even more. With the amount of time the two of you were spending together in the last few months, he grew very attached, he even developed a little crush of his own, but he was too terrified to admit that. Given his background and his secret, he wasn't too sure he wanted to put you through what MJ had gone through. He felt like it would be unfair to lie to you at the same time, it's not something you could hide from the person you're dating. 
People greeted him here and there, giving him brofists and handshakes. Peter really felt like a real frat boy, but he hated the experience. He froze in his tracks when he saw a girl that looked just like you making out with some dude. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, his chest tightened and it felt like someone set his lungs on fire. You were wearing black skinny jeans and a black top, hair was tied in a bun and your tongue was in someone's mouth. Was that why you sounded so weird on the phone? Was that why you waited so long to pick up? Peter was too stunned to even move so he just stood there in shock for a few seconds. He felt a hand on his shoulder, which made him snap out of it, turning his head. He met your eyes when he looked down, giving you a confused look. His head turned back to the other you that was still exchanging saliva with a guy, then back to the actual you. He finally started breathing again. Your outfit was actually nothing like the girl's, you had a long-sleeved light blue dress on that had a v-cut. It made you look really desirable and the way the color mixed so well with the lighting in the room, you looked like you walked straight out of Peter's dreams. He was practically trying to take pictures of you with his eyes for later. 
"What?" you asked as you noticed his stare, looking at your dress for accidental spills or any signs of why he was looking at you like that. 
"Nothing, actually." he said, taking the cup you were holding and finishing whatever was in it. He didn't really care what was in, alcohol had little to no effect on him but he liked to pretend. 
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You expected to go home shortly after Peter's arrival, but things didn't play out that way. The girl that talked to you about him earlier tonight saw the two of you and came over to chat. After 15 minutes of them talking and you awkwardly standing there, holding an empty cup in your hand, you were feeling more annoyed than ever. And pretty drunk too. You were already in a bad mood because of her, and when Peter suggested walking her to her dorm you just felt like crying. Your feet were killing you because of the heels you were wearing and you made sure to inform him but he seemed to have forgotten about that. 
And now, all three of you were walking around campus to get her safely to her room. You were giving them a side eye the whole time while she tried to scoot over closer to him. And when she said she was cold she could offer his flannel, you rolled your eyes so hard you got scared they'd get stuck and not come back. Unfortunately, they did come back and you had to witness him putting his shirt over her shoulders. Once at her dorm, she even had the audacity to kiss his cheek before walking in. It made him blush, and you, you were really about to throw up at that point. It felt like a very weird game of chess, and she had checked you in it. 
"Are you okay?" Peter asked when he saw how you looked. Gorgeous, he thought, but kind of pale and like you would collapse any second. 
"No" you said, your eyes meeting his. You could see the lipstick stain on his skin from the other girl and now you really did feel like throwing up. You were only 3 steps away from him and he made them so fast you felt like he teleported. 
"No, no, Peter, step away" you told him, your hand covering your mouth while you rushed to the nearest trash can and actually threw up. He rushed after you, holding your hair as you did. 
"You didn't look THAT drunk."  he said, patting your back while you were coughing. 
"This is so embarrassing" you cried softly, as if this night wasn't humiliating enough. 
"There, there, I hope you got it all out because I am not changing my sheets for the second time today." 
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"I'm thinking about switching my field of studies." you said, looking at Peter. 
He took his glasses, looking at you in disbelief. He was sat at his desk, trying to solve a math problem while you were lying on his bed, playing on your phone. 
"Chemistry doesn't do it for you anymore?" he asked mockingly.
"No, I just hate spending so much time with you." you replied in the same tone, sticking your tongue out at him. 
It had been a week since the whole party thing. You didn't throw up at his place, but you did have the worst hangover of your life. Peter helped you through it, but didn't pass up an opportunity to make fun of you.
"Then why are you here? I'm sure there's a party somewhere on campus."
"Shut upppp" you groaned, throwing a pillow at him. He caught it mid air and put it on the back of his chair before turning to finish his work. 
It felt like it was too early to sleep but you didn't have anything better to do since Peter was so busy with math. You turned on your side, facing the wall, since you liked sleeping on the side next to the wall, and closed your eyes. You didn't know how long it had been but you were definitely asleep when you got woken up by a knock on the door. You looked up with confusion, half asleep when Peter gave you an apologetic smile and got up from his chair to check who it was. 
He assumed it was one of his roommates that either lost or forgot his key, but he was surprised to open the door to his calculous classmate. 
"Hey, Pete." She said "May I come in?"
"Sure-" he said, letting her in
The girl walked over to the couch and sat down. 
"Remember last week when you gave me this shirt?" 
"I do." he said, only now noticing what she was wearing. It was his flannel, with a belt around her waist.
"Well, I came to return it." she said, unbuttoning it and taking it off. She got up, only in her underwear and walked towards him, handing him the shirt.
Peter was so flustered that he had to stare at his feet the whole time. 
"I think you got the wrong idea here-" he started, squeezing the flannel in his hand.
"About what?" she asked, squatting down in front of him so he could see her, and, well, you know...
Just as he was about to move, the door of his bedroom flew open. You stood there, wearing his shirt as your pajamas, double taking on what you were seeing. You didn't think there would be anything serious happening, but the chatter was disturbing your sleeping attempts and you wanted to check what was going on. But now you were just frozen in your spot, staring at a half-naked girl that was on her knees in front of Peter. Both of their heads turned towards you, staring in the same amount of disbelief. It felt like your worst nightmares had turned into reality. Neither of you knew what to do or what to say and you just stood there in silence, the tension so heavy it could suffocate someone. 
"It's not what it looks like." Peter managed to say, holding eye contact with you. 
''I'm so sorry, I didn't know-'' she started, getting up from the floor. 
"I think I'll pretend I dreamt that and go back to sleep." you said, closing the door before anyone could do or say anything else. 
"Peter, I didn't know, she told me you two weren't a thing last week."
He handed her the shirt, not even bothering to look at her. 
"We're not. You can keep this, go home."
She walked to the door, stopping at it to look at his back. 
"I'm really sorry, if I can do anything, tell me." 
"Goodnight."
He knocked gently on the door before walking in. He saw you tucked in the bed, hugging one of the pillows. You weren't really sure what to feel right now and you were trying your best not to cry. It wasn't like the things between you had changed and you had no right to be upset over his personal affairs. Peter sat on the bed next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 
"I know you're not sleeping, can we talk about this?"
"Talk about what?"
"What happened back there."
"There is nothing to talk about."
"I don't want you to get the wrong idea."
You sat up, still hugging the pillow. You pressed the back against the wall, looking directly into his eyes.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why don't you want me to get the wrong idea? Whatever that is supposed to mean."
He looked at his lap, unsure of what to say next. 
"Because I'm not that kind of guy."
"Peter, it's none of my business what you do for fun."
"For fun? You think I do this for fun?"
"You're not doing math for fun, that's for sure."
"Are you always a bitch or is it a defense mechanism?"
"You were the one who wanted me to ''not get the wrong idea'' and suddenly I turned into a bitch?"
"Okay, I overstepped on that one. Nothing happened there, I haven't talked to her or seen her since we left the party together and you threw up."
"Okay, for some reason I believe that, but why should it be concerning me?"
"Stop pretending."
"Excuse me?"
He didn't say anything after that, just pulled your arm so you could get closer to him and kissed you. It happened so fast you couldn't really process it. Once the shock was over, you kissed him back. You probably looked like a teen movie kissing scene, you on your knees and arms while he was sitting, one arm for support and the other one cupping your face as you kissed. 
"I should have done this way sooner." he said after you parted.
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Natasha: y/n and I are having a baby.
Peter: That's gre-
Natasha: *slamming adoption papers on the table* It's you, sign here.
Y/n: *takes out a camera* smile for the camera baby
Natasha: listen to your mother
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sacharinee · 10 months
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pairing: bf!peter x reader
synopsis: peter likes having you close to him. all the time
wc: 630 ish
a/n: surprise! another one oops. im rlly bored can u tell? cuddling prompt with peter. reader is a cheeky and annoying lil shit. one office reference. i saw a tiktok about this a long time ago and thought this would be a cute idea to write about. also does anyone know how cuddling works tho?? if ur laying on ur side, do u just lay on top of the arm ur crushing on? under a pillow? idk lol. anyways i hope u like :D
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there's an ache settling in your right side that wakes you up from your sweet slumber. your head lays atop peter’s soft chest, his steady heartbeat against your ears. it was what lulled you to sleep in the first place. but with peter’s body practically being your own personal heater, the warm air filling the room, and the prominent soreness resting on your side, you began to feel uncomfortable.
“pete,” you whisper.
peter is entirely unfazed. his hold on you is strong. his face is towards you, mouth slightly ajar, letting out the softest of snores and drool out the corner of his mouth. although you love your cuddles with peter, you think he could actually suffocate you in your sleep. the boy loved to sleep, especially on top of you.
your limbs are tangled together. your left leg slung around his waist, arms around his torso, while his buff arms embrace your shoulders protectively.
ever so slightly, you begin to move your leg, retreating it back to your side as you push against his body and establish a more comfortable position. you snuggle further into peter as sleep wins you over once again.
it only lasts for a second when you wake from your boyfriend’s murmurs, he seems to talk in his sleep when he whispers your name. he huffs loudly and smacks his lips a couple of times with his brows furrowed. you feel his warm hand reach for the back of your knee to bring it over his crotch.
a confused look paints your face as you gaze up toward him. he’s asleep as dead. did he really just do that? you almost laugh out loud. his quirky behavior never fails to amuse you and has your stomach going in flips. he just wants you close to him. :(
but you think you’re funny, so you test out that theory one more time, this time blatantly stripping your leg away from him.
this gets a reaction out of peter. he seems to wake when he gusts an impatient breath, “no” and grabs your knee again, forcefully holding it against him.
in disbelief, you’re unable to contain your burst of laughter as you hold yourself up with one arm and stare at him wide-eyed, “what is wrong with you?”
“ph’shhh” peter knits his brows together, his eyes shut tight with a cute pout, as he blindly brings a hand to your face and gently shoves your head back against your pillow.
“peter-” “shut up.” he feels you lick the palm of his hand, “yuck,” but he doesn’t care to move it away from you. it’s only when you swat his hand away and settle back down against him to give him peace of mind. only for a moment, though. you have fun annoying peter, almost like a hobby. he’s halfway asleep when he feels you aggressively snatch your leg away from his hold.
“y/n!” peter groans, “stop it.” this time, your boyfriend pushes you on top of him, your entire body weight lays over his while he keeps a tight grasp on you, making sure to keep your leg over his waist and your head upon his chest.
his irritation riles you up, and you’re giggling through it all.
peter’s not having it though, not at all. he heaves another deep breath through his mouth, with the same grumpy look on his face, “why are you the way you are?”
you gasp, “me?!” “yes, you.”
not done yet, you flick his forehead, “you know, you’re so annoying sometimes, pete.”
he scoffs, “oh yea?”
“yea. a total pain in the-”
peter shoves his hand against your face and into his chest one last time, “ass.”
you decided you’ve had your fun but you’re too delighted to go back to sleep. too delighted to know that the boy you love and cherish always wants to be impossibly close to you all the time, conscious or not.
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parkerpeter24 · 9 months
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please I beg can you write a Peter Parker x reader one shot where the reader gets injured and when Peter visits her in the hospital her heart rate monitor keeps going crazy and he kind of teases her about it and she’s embarrassed but overall it’s fluffy 🙏🙏 maybe some angst because he’s worried and protective when she gets hurt but then it’s fluffy!! the heart rate monitor could expose her crush or just show the effect he has on her if they’re in an established relationship but that’s up to you <3333
omg i love this idea so much 😭
pairing ➳ peter parker x reader
requests are open (but no guarantee of writing-)
masterlist
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the last thing you remembered was the bus hurling towards you. but peter had saved you.
right?
you saw flashes of his costume before you fell unconscious.
to say your friendship with peter was new would be denying the fact that you just started talking to him four months back when you two got paired for a class project. the two of you had mainly bonded over the fact that he was spider-man, obviously after you’d caught him changing into his suit in the music room.
you teased him to no avail over what would have happened if someone like flash walked in on him instead of you.
it was another boring day in queens– just like the one before– or so you thought.
after school, you decided to grab a sandwich from delmar’s. you had become a fan of their subs since peter introduced you to the deli and mr delmar. you took your sandwich and were exiting the shop when you felt the ground shake beneath your legs.
as the glass door slid out of your way, you made an exit, only to notice the commotion and all the noise. your eyes widened as you watched peter– or spider-man– holding a microphone as he spoke to a guy in a big metallic suit that looked like a rhino.
your heart skipped five beats at once as peter swung towards the guy. mr delmar was the one who shook your shoulders, snapping you out of your daze. it was as if you were frozen on the spot. you looked at the man and then back at peter before you were pulled away by mr delmar who ran away from the centre of the event grabbing your arm.
your eyes were focused behind, head turned in the direction of your friend, fighting the gigantic metallic thing. where did the guy even get this?!
when the guy in the big rhino suit stomped, everything from the ground to the buildings around you shook. the police cars were thrown around as peter urged for every citizen to evacuate the area.
the moment his mask eyes met yours, they widened, a sudden panic evident on his face even with the mask on. he swung over to you, his wide eyes meeting yours up close, “what are you doing here?!” he asked, both hands on your shoulders just like mr delmar had done to snap you out of it.
he was quick to pull you into an alleyway, away from the eyes of the rhino guy.
“i-i was getting a sandwich.” you answered, suddenly realising said sandwich wasn’t in your possession anymore, “i lost it…”
“you can’t be- don’t worry about the sandwich, get out of here!” he said, waving his hands around anxiously.
“peter, i’m worried-”
“don’t be. i got it.” he assured. you frowned, clearly not convinced by that.
“but, pete…”
“just go. as soon as this is over, we’ll get a sandwich.” he promised. at least this time you had the adrenaline to blame for making your heart skip a beat.
the two of you then had to part as he escorted you out of the alley, sending you off to the direction opposite to the rhino. you ran as fast as your legs would let you but the bust that rhino threw your way was faster.
and the last thing you heard was peter yelling your name.
your heart was still in your throat when you opened your eyes. you winced at the bright lights. who needed this amount of lights during the daytime. a sound of steady beeps filled your ears as the thumping in your ears subsided.
trying to move was a mistake as you felt the dull pain in the back of your skull. then you noticed it. a hand wrapped around yours, which was resting on the hospital bed.
“hey, hey, you’re okay.” peter’s soft voice fell in your ears as your eyesight slowly adjusted to the lights on the off-white ceilings, “you’re fine.”
“what… what happened?” you asked as your head turned slightly. peter saw your struggle and helped adjust the bed so you could see him better.
“do you remember the fight? with the rhino?” peter’s voice was hesitant.
“yeah… i do.” you said, eyebrows furrowed as he continued.
“y-you were hurt but… spider-man saved you.” he gave you a look of assurance but you could tell he was worried, “you hit your head and the doctors said- they said you might not remember a few things and i thought…”
“i’d forget you?” you finished the sentence he left off and peter nodded hesitantly. your frown deepened, “how could i?”
you wanted to say more but all you could do was squeeze his hand. peter smiled at you and your heart fluttered.
“you okay?” the brunette asked, looking at your heart rate monitor which sped up by a fraction, “it’s normal to be anxious after what happened today, but you’ll be okay.” his voice was worried and you couldn’t help the warm feeling that spread throughout your chest.
did you just get caught by peter. you’d never really acknowledged the heart but peter was quick to read the monitor again as he placed a hand on your shoulder, “y/n, you alright?”
“yes, peter.” you said quickly, “the accident and that big rhino guy, so you know?” you laughed awkwardly, “my head hurts.”
your attempt to change the topic of the conversation became successful as peter nodded, “oh yeah... you were out for a few hours because they put you on painkillers.” he gave you a pursed smile, “might have to stay here a few days.”
“oh?” you asked.
“your parents said they’d bring some necessary stuff so, they must be on their way back now.” peter explained. it took you a few moments to take it all in but then you nodded.
“are you okay though?”
“me? oh, i’m alright.” a soft squeeze to your hand made you realise that peter and you had been holding hands since the moment you opened your eyes and you cussed at yourself for letting your heart speed up at the thought.
peter’s eyes flickered to the heart rate monitor again, “what is it?”
“you’re holding my hand.” you pointed out, feeling your face heat up.
“yeah, but what- oh.” he realised what you were implying and his own cheeks turned a shade of pink, “oh?” not even a second later a smug look overtook peter’s features, “did i do that?”
“i-i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you failed miserably to hide what you’d been trying to all along when the heart rate monitor kept picking up your increased heartbeat, “can we turn this thing off?”
“quite frankly i’m enjoying it.” peter chuckled and you rolled your eyes.
“this is not fair to me!” you tried to sound offended however the smile on your face gave it away.
you two ended up sharing a laugh but as soon as it died down, peter spoke, “you know i think, if i was attached to that ‘thing’, i would have the same reaction.”
“you would?” you raised your eyebrows. it was your turn to give peter a smug look.
peter’s hand made its way over to where it had previously been, holding yours, “maybe after you’re discharged, we can go out, say… get a sandwich?”
you gave him a smile, “it’s a date.”
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