#peter parker fluff
cute lil request: sometimes i just can’t stop kissing your stupid face
the morning sun | peter parker
ah this is so soft :") was listening to watch you sleep by girl in red !! this drabble is completely inspired by the song ?? thank you for requesting <333 beta read by the lovely @selfcarecap !! honestly, wouldn't have posted this one if it weren't for her :")
prompt: “sometimes i just can't stop kissing your stupid face.”
word count: 1.5k
warnings: established relationship, it's a little sad, but fluff makes up for it <3
love language masterlist (requests are open)
you woke up to the morning sun shining on his skin.
the white, paper thin curtains fluttered along with the cool breeze, doing little to nothing to obstruct the streams of sun rays from pouring into the room through the window. the cold settled in the room, despite the warm sunlight glowing on your pale, white cotton bedsheets.
the chill blanketed you, kissing the apples of your cheek, biting into your skin harshly when you inhaled the morning air. the clock ticked, only minutes away from buzzing with an alarm, yet you wished to crawl away under the blankets to shield yourself from the cold, fall into a deep slumber with your responsibilities long forgotten but your gaze was fixated on the boy sleeping next to you.
he looked beautiful under the morning sun.
his bare back gleamed under the sun, the waistband of his sweatpants peaking over the blankets pooling around his waist. you were tempted to reach out for him, write your name on his naked back, but the fear that he might fade away like a cruel mirage held you back.
a figment of your imagination — that's all he was. you were convinced, he was a missing piece you've woven into your sleepy haze, here to complete your picture, complete you. you missed him. it's barely been a couple hours since you had him in your arms, yet you missed him. you wished it was him near you, holding you instead but he didn't pick up your calls. he didn't return home last night.
you held your breath when he stirred...his eyes twitched but remained shut, the tranquility of the morning undisturbed. he pressed his nose further into the plush pillow, his messy eyebrow hidden under the unruly set of your curls that you've been pestering him to get cut for the past couple days. his lip was busted, tiny scars splattered across his skin that weren't there the last time you saw him. he breathed deeply, the arm loosely thrown over your waist under the blanket tightening its hold over you—
he was here.
you've lost the count of the sleepless nights you've endured for peter parker.
he texted that he would be home before you returned from work, he didn't show. it didn't worry you, but when your calls went straight to voicemail, your texts left unanswered, you couldn't swallow down the fear twisting your heart into knots. amidst the panic, the cries, the fear you fell asleep with your phone clutched to your chest hoping he'd call back.
instead he climbed into your bed while you were asleep without a word, an explanation. he was nestled by your side, while your mind spun numbing thoughts of where he might be, what might have happened to him.
the anger boiled in your blood, burned in your eyes but as quickly as it was accumulated, it disintegrated into thin air because he was here.
he was okay.
“to love him is to lose your mind” may had told you. but you didn't understand the weight of her words until he stumbled into your room through your window, bleeding and gasping for air in a tattered red and blue suit you couldn't bear to look at.
it haunted you, the fear that you'd lose him clawed at your heart when you were awake, chased you in your nightmares. it had a hard grip on you, one that only tightened and tightened with time. he's a walking red flag, his kisses, his honey eyes, the sweet voice, that smile, it all screams abort, abort, abort but you stuck around.
he was going to break your heart in the worst way possible, but you've fallen in love — in too deep to walk away.
with a humph he absent-mindedly reached for the blankets. you were quick to pull it up to his neck, protecting him from the cold. your hand stayed on the end of the blanket before it tentatively reached for his hair. you pushed it up, the soft curls brushed against your skin. he breathed, reassuring you of his presence.
hesitantly your hand trailed up to his cheeks, your thumb brushing against the apple of his cheek. the cuts littered on his rosy cheeks, a bitter reminder of the cruel world waiting for him, but he was safe - he was safe under the blankets, he was safe with you.
you would spend forever under the blankets, with him in your arms as you watch him sleep if you could.
watching him sleep never bored you. you knew him like the back of your hand, yet mapping the expanse of his skin under the morning sun was similar to the bliss of turning pages of an old back, reminiscing the words you've loved for years and years.
you twisted your arms around him, holding him close. his heart thudding against his chest, his shallow breaths calming your soul. it's the rare moments of peace amidst the chaos of your life that reminded you why you stuck around. loving someone with a hero complex and absolutely no self preservation was hard. it was stupid. it was fucked up.
but you've never been one to make smart decisions.
your hand trailed down from his freckles to his neck, the bruises you left on his collarbone were barely visible but the urge to kiss him bubbled up. you propped yourself up on your elbow, pressing a chaste kiss on his collarbone, lips brushing against the bruise. his skin was warm, a faint scent of your peach lotion that he secretly used when you were away lingered.
he puffed out a breath when you nuzzled in the crook of his neck, lips peppering kisses up the column of his throat. he whined when you pulled away, his eyes fluttering as your hand trailed down his bare chest, leg hiking up his waist as you pressed yourself against him, basking in the warmth radiating off him. giggling, you leaned down to kiss his jaw, thumb brushing against the cut on his lip.
“baby,” he whined, his hands reaching for your hips.
he squeezed your waist when you trailed your lips to the corner of his mouth, beginning to pull away but he was quick to catch your lips in a sweet kiss.
warmth blossomed in your chest, sparks igniting as his hand trailed up from your hips, holding the back of your neck delicately as he parted his lips. his sweet lips were dizzying, haze twisted around you, dousing you in love.
his lips were impossibly soft against your own, his hold was cautious - afraid he might break the frail serenity of the moment. it didn't hold lust, he kissed you with no intention of it leading to something more. it was tender, it was delicate, it was love.
you pulled away, breathless, palm splayed on his bare chest, blanket twisted around your tangled limbs. with a shy smile you glanced at him, the fluttering wings of the butterflies in your belly were so loud, you wondered if he could hear them too. “good morning, baby.”
“mhmm, best morning.” his honeyed eyes sparkled under the morning sun, his freckles more prominent from the close proximity. his swollen lips twitched — he smiled.
the fear that held your heart hostage melted away. the worries, the anger, the hurt, all disintegrated into thin air. he was here, with you. he was smiling and you were utterly, completely, madly and insanely in love with him.
a smug smile made its way to his lips, he broke the silence that hung in the air when he raised an eyebrow at you, “were you watching me sleep?”
you couldn't help but mirror his smile, nibbling on your bottom lip as you shrugged, “mhmm, you drool in your sleep.”
his eyes grew wide, heat rushing to his cheeks as he slapped a hand over his mouth. his smug demeanor dropped and he grew shy under your gaze, like a schoolboy horrified after he embarrassed himself in front of the girl he liked.
he huffed, not quite meeting your gaze, “no, i don't!”
you giggled, prying his hand away from his mouth before you kissed his lips again. your heart brimmed with love when he reached up to capture your lips in a kiss but you pulled away, peppering kisses on the side of his face.
“you're being cute," he eyed you when you trailed your lips down to his earlobe and whined when your teeth grazed the sweet spot on his neck, “why are you being so cute? i can't handle it.”
you smiled — he had no idea about your fears, your anger, your resentment. you could lose him in a blink of an eye. he could be in your arms one moment and six feet under the next. but you couldn't let the fear control you, you had to let go. live for the moments of love, like now. you wanted to be with him every waking moment, in his nightmares, in his daydreams, in his final moments. but you couldn't, so you'd settle for a couple kisses under the morning sun, letting your worries slip away, his lips the only bliss known to you before you had to start the day and be apart from him.
you kissed his lips, a small smile playing on your lips, “sometimes i just can't stop kissing your stupid face.”
I hope you liked it! re-blogs and feedback is appreciated, masterlist + taglist can be found in bio! thank you for reading!
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stuck with me | peter parker
summary ↠ you were just searching for his phone to let may know he’d be crashing at yours...you didn’t expect to find a letter addressed to you.
genre ↠ best friends to lovers | college!au | slight angst | fluff
warnings ↠ slight description of pain (on pete’s part), the word ‘kms’ being used (😭) a shit ton of feels
word count ↠ 5.5k
a/n ↠ another lengthy fic...no clue i had it in me sdfghjk but here we are!! and if any ya’ll find the little reference (something peter directly said) from hoco i put in just the beginning you’re a g :’) ++ huge thanks to @parkerpeter24 for being my beta, and my biggest cheerleader on this :’) i listened to the neighborhood’s stuck with me while writing this!! one of my huge inspo’s for this fic :’) super excited to share this fic with ya’ll and i only hope you enjoy!! ♡ feedback is appreciated <3
New York is bustling below you. Cars honking, crickets chirping, loud chatter, the various apartment lights twinkling from across you—it’s the norm amongst the city that never sleeps. It’s a rough borough, but hey, it’s home.
You’re rushing to finish your assignments, soft tunes of The Neighborhood resonate into your ear, as the sky slowly bleeds from hues of orange, and red to a darker blue, the bright moon shining through the dark clouds, a signal of night falling over the polluted skies of your hometown. It’s peaceful.
Your focus is pulled away when the window to your room squeaks slightly as it slides up. The familiar colors of red and blue spandex come into your view, and instantly—obviously—you know who it is.
It’s your beloved best friend Peter Parker.
“Hey,” He greets. His voice is breathy, it’s heavy, akin to something burdened with pain. Your eyes immediately catch the way he limps over to you, taking off his mask and letting his unruly hair free of their confines inside. He throws it on your bed carelessly and slips down beside your study desk, taking off his bulky backpack and setting it aside.
“You’re hurt,” You say. You’ve cut straight to the chase, feeling anxiety bubble in the pit of your stomach. You can’t see his injuries, but with the way his demeanor is solemn—shoulders deflated, and very clearly fatigued, the under of his eyes sporting dark circles, caused by his lack of sleep—you can tell it was a rough patrol. His left eye is slightly swollen, covered in hues of purple and blues, indicating a black eye, the only contusion in sight.
“You should’ve seen the other guy,” He spiels. It’s the same response as always—you’ve heard it numerous times and it never fails to bubble up anger in you—you didn’t care about anyone else, you cared about him. You cared about Peter, and how he was bruised and tattered every night and yet, he still continued to patrol the dark and dangerous street’s of Queens every night.
“I have no interest in the other guy, Peter,” You grit through your teeth. You quickly get up from your spot to grab the first aid kit, which presents it’s uses more for Peter than you. You only hear Peter sigh.
“It’s nothing to worry about though...I’m fine,” He voices, his tone crescendos to low octaves—a thing that often happens whenever he’d throw a white lie at you.
“Just tell me what happened please? You return, a rather concerned expression plastered on your face. Peter runs a hand down his face in an attempt to wipe away the precipitation from a long night in a skin tight spandex away, all the while readying himself for the onslaught of your questions.
You take notice of his sweaty curls and decide to turn on the air conditioner to provide some relief, which Peter appreciates and shows it through a mild quirk of his lips.
“I got nicked by, um, a knife—well, knives, and y’know the usual punches.” He responds. Despite avoiding your gaze, he already knows that you’re looking at him with probably a slack jaw, and the extremely familiar look of worry that suffuses every corner of your face.
“Did I hear knives? Knives as plural?” You regurgitate his words. He’s been through worse—way, way worse. Hell, he died and came back to life after fighting a genocidal purple alien. But you can’t suppress the antagonizing fear that rises to the surface when you learn he’s hurt.
“Y/N...I’m fine, you know I’ve been through worse,” He responds, putting your veiled thoughts into words. As if sometimes, he knows you better than you do yourself.
“I know, I just...I don’t like seeing you hurt, you know that,” You reply, sympathy lacing your face as your eyes stay on him. Peter nods. It’s also a silent way to let you know that he knows, he knows how you hold him close to your heart—platonically, he thinks, even though he’d want it to mean something more—and how distress rises instantly in you when take in his battered form. He hates seeing the frown on your face, he only hopes to turn it upside down, and most of the time he succeeds with some pop reference.
“Can I, uh, get some ice? For the black eye?” He motions to his bruised eye, curling his lips into his thin smile.
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” You answer and leave your room to grab an ice pack that you always keep handy—Peter uses it more than you do. You also grab a pack of Doritos for him to snack on, it’s not the best option for a dinner but it’ll have to do.
You walk back into your room and your eyes fall on Peter—who’s naked. Well, partially naked, he’s got his boxers on still, as his million dollar suit lays in a heap beside him, and he seems almost content as he’s sprawled on your bed, half of him hanging off the edge of your bed. You’ve seen him like this quite a few times, but seeing his muscular torso clenching as he takes deep breaths, and his muscular arms on display never fails to bring about flutters in you, a blush clambering up to your cheeks in no time. You snap yourself out of your thoughts, he’s your best friend, you shouldn’t think about him this way—and you’re sure it won’t be reciprocated if he ever found out, so you keep it hidden in the depths of your heart.
“Here,” You break him out of his reverie, his eyes heavy with tiredness—he’d almost fallen asleep before you woke him up. Peter extends his hand as you drop the ice pack on his palm and he immediately presses it on his eye.
“Thanks,” He expresses his gratitude, a gentle hiss escaping his mouth as the coolness of the pack comes in contact with his skin. You nod and sit down beside him and grab your first aid kit. You finally get to see the damage on his skin, he’s got lacerations littering his arms, blood around them—thankfully they aren’t that deep, and seem treatable enough given your basic knowledge on how to treat wounds. The multi million suit probably protected Peter’s skin from any grievous damage.
“Oh Pete...” You murmur lowly to yourself. Your heart twangs seeing him in this state, but it’s something you’re getting used to—that doesn’t mean that you don’t feel the anxiety bubbling in you every time. Peter’s super hearing is put into play when his ears catch your words, and he silently grabs your hand in his warm and comforting one, squeezing it gently.
“I’ll be okay, Y/N, super healing, remember?” He reminds you. It provides you some comfort, but the thought that he had to go through feeling all the pain makes bile rise to your throat. You only nod in response and open up your first aid kit—which is starting to look more like a high end medical kit, containing endless rolls of bandages, gauze pads, a plethora of ointments for every injury Peter could possibly end up with, and even bruising creams. You grab a sterile gauze pad to clean around any dirt around the knife wound, before following up with basic aid for the lacerations.
“Easy there, Doc,” Peter winces, as you accidentally press a little too deep on his wound. You apologize, and continue with cleaning the rest of them up as well.
Comfortable silence surrounds you two, save for the heavy sighs Peter occasionally releases and the relief laced sighs you let out after you finish tending to a wound.
Soon, Peter ends up with bandages across his arms, lying contentedly on your comfortable mattress he’s grown so familiar with.
You take away the ice pack that’s still resting on his eye and fish out the ointment for his blackened eye. Peter opens his eyes to take a peek at what you’re doing. His breath hitches as he sees you leaning closer to him—closer to his face. His lips.
For a moment he thinks you’re going to kiss him. That you’re finally about to press your heavenly lips against his, and his fantasy of kissing you would be turned into a euphoric reality. His heartbeat quickens, and he can smell small traces of your perfume. It seems as if you’re in slow motion as your face moves closer, hovering over him, his heart threatening to burst out of his rib cage. His lips pucker up slightly—unconsciously—and this is it.
He’ll finally know what it feels like to satisfy that gnawing desire to have his lips on yours, moving in sync.
But his brows furrow when he sees that you’re holding a cotton pad with some sort of ointment on it, close to his eye.
“Close your eyes,” You tell him.
Peter’s hope dissipates. He realizes that you’re just providing aid to his bruised eye and nothing more. He flutters his eyes close as you directed, internally chastising himself for letting his hope soar to the high skies. The softness of the cotton meets his skin mixed with the coolness of the salve as you gently dab it around the area of his eye.
And soon enough you’re pulling away from him.
“All good,” You assure him with a smile—the very same smile that buckles Peter’s knees and makes him weak.
You dispose of the pad and take a shaky breath, trying to ground yourself down.
Whenever you’re in close proximity to Peter everything seems to be closing in around you two. You’re filled with utter happiness around him—his presence is jovial.
It’s also a shit ton of unwelcomed flutters.
You don’t know when and how you fell for Peter and his boyish charms, or his radiant smile or his unruly mop of brown hair, or his lovable personality.
It came as easy as wind, smooth and lovely. And akin to the wind, like two sides of a coin, it was also unfavorable and unpleasant sometimes. Having been caught up in a dilemma of either finally admitting your true feelings for him, or keep it simply platonic, had been distressful. You didn’t want to ruin the deeply cherished friendship between you and Peter Parker.
You’ve known him practically your entire life—you’re his best friend, and he’s yours.
Your role expands to that of a personal nurse’s as well on nights like these.
He’s seen you through your ups and downs, and you’ve been there for him whenever he needed you. Although sometimes he won’t admit he needs comfort from someone familiar—you specifically—but you’d always just know. It’s your own personal superpower.
“Thanks for taking care of me, you’re the best, Y/N,” He thanks you, the everlasting gentle smile present on his lips. You nod in response.
“Anytime, gotta make sure, pretty Parker’s in tip top shape,” You say. There’s a hint of cheekiness in your tone and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Peter, and neither does your coy compliment. You called him pretty. Warmth spreads across his cheeks like a wildfire.
“Thanks, yeah, he’s okay now,” He responds and tears his gaze away from you, in an attempt to mask his wildly flamed cheeks.
“Good. And here, I got you some Dorito’s,” You say and tear the packet open, offering it to Peter. He shoots you a smile, mischief lacing its ends, as he opens his mouth wide, waiting for you to feed him.
“I’m hurt, y’know, can’t move,” He fakes a wince, and for a moment you almost believe him, but the small giggle that slips past his lips lets you know he was joking.
“You’re a drama queen, you know that?” You huff, but feed him a piece of the triangular chip and Peter almost instantly devours it.
“Oh, c’mon you love me,” He replies smoothly.
Panic seeps in your body at his words.
There’s no way he knows. Granted all the lovestruck glances you give him, and the way he’s the only one on the receiving end of your affection; daily kisses on his cheek, which he always returns happily, and his warm hugs—the kind of affection that just...doesn’t exist between a pair of strictly best friends. You never thought he’d notice the yearning looks you throw him every day.
“Or else you wouldn’t have me as your best friend still,” Peter snaps you out of your reverie and you release a breath of...relief?
You’d like him to know of your true feelings but at the same time you don’t. It’s a little rough in your corner.
“Y—Yeah, obviously,” You manage to answer him. Peter doesn’t notice the way you fiddle with your fingers; tugging at them, twiddling your thumbs.
It’s palpable your trance still has you in hold, with the way your mind is reeling from the almost shock. You’ve gone quiet.
“Oh, uh, also didn’t you need some help with your Chem assignment?” Peter asks, breaking the silence, and your previously forgotten task strikes back.
“Oh, shit, yeah, I’ll just grab it.” You reply and quickly scurry off the bed, glad he brought up the topic. Taking a hold of your assignment you settle back down beside him. “I just need help with some of the questions, I’ve got the rest down,” You tell him, flipping through the pages, looking through the red marked questions.
“Shoot,” He replies, accompanied with a finger gun motion which makes you snort.
You’re soon rambling off questions, Peter verbally telling you the steps on how to solve the questions as he’s too tired to do them himself. You’re pointing out how every single thing frustrates you about the questions and you want nothing more than to drop out and go live in a cottage with ten cats, which earns a chuckle from Peter.
“And that’s the last one, and the most tough,” You say, twirling your pen in your fingers as you wait for a reply from Peter.
After a few minutes the only sound that reaches your ears is Peter’s soft snores.
The serene sight of him sleeping makes your lips curl into a smile. He looks peaceful. The crease that seemed to have taken permanent residence between his brows seemed to disappear, as he sleeps there soundly. You can’t help but admire the freckles that adorn his face.
They’re one of your favourite things about him. They look absolutely ethereal scattered around his nose—crooked from how many times he’s broken it while in midst of his ‘crime fighting duties,’ as he says. His thin, pink, tender looking, inviting lips that you wanted to kiss so badly, and have often dreamt about. His muscular arms, you imagine yourself safe and sound in them, it’s the ultimate fantasy. He’s everything you could ever need.
You quickly tear your eyes away from his face, snapping yourself out of your musings, feeling your cheeks heat up.
You gather your study material, deciding to put it away and work on it later, seeing as it was Friday, and you’d have plenty of time to finish your coursework.
Before going to bed, finishing up your day, you decide to inform May about Peter’s whereabouts, knowing she’s a worry wart when it comes to Peter. It’s admirable really, her love for the brunette. You extend your hand and grab a hold of his bulky bag, and drag it towards you. Unzipping the bag, you dig through the backpack racking around—various pieces of paper scattered inside carelessly, and many pens just laying inside—for his phone, until you quickly grasp the device. It’s screen sports many cracks, and scratches, it almost makes you grimace. You also accidentally grab an envelope with it. Confusion floods you when you see it addressed to you. There was no actual address of the sender or the receiver, it just had your name writing on the front. The messy scrawl of a handwriting was familiar on the vintage style envelope. Setting Peter’s phone aside, you decide to open the letter. After all, it was addressed to you. Your curiosity gets the best of you.
The edges of the envelope are rough against your fingers, and you could see the faint shimmer of the purple color of the glue stick it was probably used to seal it with.
You grasp the paper inside, and pull it out, unfolding the paper, you’re fairly surprised to see it addressed to you...from Peter.
You don’t know if you should go any further. You’d be invading Peter’s privacy if you did. You didn’t want to betray him like that. It would stay in your consciousness for far too long.
Shaking your head, you quickly fold the letter back into its original form. Just as you’re about to slip it back into the envelope, your curiosity strikes once again. You’re internally battling with your emotions.
Chewing your bottom lip, you silently mull over your options. You could either leave the letter as it was, or open it, and see the contents written inside it.
You click your tongue. Fuck it, you decide and once again quickly and carefully tear open the envelope.
Taking a deep breath, your eyes fall on the words stringed together on the paper.
This is silly of me to do, but Ned said this would help, so I guess I’m doing this. So, Y/N, I like you. Pretty sure I’m in love with you. But I’m not gonna tell you that obviously. Because you’re my best friend. I’m also pretty sure that I’m not supposed to dream about kissing you, or taking you out on a date too, but what you don’t know won't hurt you. Sometimes I stare at you in class. NOT in a creepy way...just in like a ‘you’re super pretty way’ because I can’t say that to your face, it might make things awkward. I also want to kiss you first thing in the morning when I see you walking to class, maybe we could go hand in hand to class. And when classes are over we could go to Central park and enjoy the autumn breeze, and drink coffee from the same to-go cup. And also have some cotton candy, and then go back to my place and watch a movie, and cuddle? You’d be super nice to cuddle with. I love your vanilla perfume that you always wear, so you’d be super nice to cuddle with. Although the smell would probably make me hungry. But then maybe we could order pizza and talk the whole night away—or kiss? This is all some fantasy though I guess, because it’s not gonna come true.
Plus, this is useless. Ned told me to write you a love letter but never give it to you. He got the idea from some movie he watched with Betty. And what’s the point right? You’ll never see this. I would throw this letter away so you have absolutely no chance of seeing it, ever, but I don’t want to waste paper. Guess, I’ll just have to guard this paper because boy I would be dropping out of school and running away if you ever came across this. God forbid you somehow do. I would KMS.
You’re sure your heart has stopped beating. Your eyes seem to be out of focus, your vision blurry. You can’t quite put into words what you feel. Shock, happiness, relief, it was a blend of plethora of emotions. You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that your fondness and adoration was requited.
Your eyes fall upon the sleeping figure on your bed, and you’re not sure what to do.
Peter’s phone pings from beside you, the screen lighting up. A message from May asking where he was. His lockscreen was a picture of him and Tony Stark. It was one of his favourite pictures. Peter’s smile reached the ends of his eyes in the picture, his radiant smile naturally has your lips curling.
You unlock his phone—his password being the day he was recruited as an official member of the Avengers. Such a dork, you think. He told you the code way back when you two decided to order pizza one night, using his phone because yours was dead. The everlasting grin on his face was contagious as he told you the meaning behind the digits. It unlocks with a click.
His home screen takes you by surprise.
A selfie of you and Peter, stares back at you. You still remember when he took it. It was late December, and it snowed heavily. The picture was taken right after Peter dragged you outside in the biting cold for a snowball fight. Both of your faces were covered with small pieces of snow, your tongue was sticking out, Peter mirroring your expression. His pale cheeks red as a cause of the nipping cold. You didn’t know that was his wallpaper.
It made you feel giddy.
You shake it off when Peter’s phone pings yet again. It was a text from May, asking for his safety. You quickly tap away at the phone, telling her he’s safe and crashed at yours. May seems to be satisfied, as she sends a thumbs up emoji. And with that, you put his phone away, and sink to the floor, grasping the letter once again.
You run your thumb over the ink, your skin skimming past the word ‘love’ and that silly, incessant feeling of hopeless love comes rushing back. Your eyes don’t leave Peter’s knocked out figure.
It all feels fictitious. Like the letter is something your lovestruck brain made up. It isn’t real and you’re just dreaming.
The empty spot beside him is inviting but you decide to sleep on the couch, feeling guilty about having read something private of Peter’s—something he obviously wanted to keep hidden from you. Usually you and Peter would be fine with sharing the bed without much thought. You’d always wake up with your legs and arms tangled. The gesture was something that naturally just happened in your sleeping state. It was a form of comfort for both of you—it was similar to being in paradise. You’d both be a blushing mess in the morning, but none of you ever interjected the idea, so it became a sort of thing between you two. But tonight it was different. You’d became aware of his feelings. You get up from the floor and grab a blanket, draping it over Peter’s body. Carefully you slip a pillow from under Peter’s arm, and a blanket for yourselves, mindful not to wake him up and make your way out your room.
You give Peter a wistful look before leaving your own room, and you only hope you can fall asleep tonight, and not let any more thoughts of your current predicament cloud your mind.
Thankfully, you slip into slumber soon enough once settled on your small couch—although you yearn for Peter’s comforting hold, the flimsy blanket will have to do.
Shards of young golden light pour in through the window, hitting Peter directly on the eyelids. His eyes flutter open, and he’s greeted by the harsh sunlight. He turns around with an annoyed huff, shielding himself from the bright light, as he tries to catch a few more minutes of sleep, but fails once he realizes your arms aren’t around him like they usually are, and one pillow from your side is missing too. His heart twangs, and sleep absconds him, his senses waking up. Peter sits up, rubbing his slightly puffy eyes as his gaze scans the room—there’s no trace of you around.
Grabbing himself a pair of his spare clothes from your closet, he dresses up, and searches for his phone, which he finds by your study desk, plugged in, charging. Internally he thanks you, and rushes to grab it.
He opens it, and the first thing he sees is a text from you.
y/n <3: i left for work, and there’s pancake mix in the third cabinet if you’re in the mood for breakfast.
Your text is curt and seems dry. Usually there would be an emoticon accompanying it, but Peter decides not to think much of it. Maybe you were in a hurry.
Peter unplugs his phone, and gathers his stuff—his suit, mainly, and his webshooters. He crams it all in his backpack, and suddenly a vintage looking envelope, resting on your desk, right beside your study material, catches his attention. It’s familiar.
It’s his love letter, the very same letter he wrote his love confession on, the one he’s never expected you to come across—resting on the wood, the envelope seal was torn off and that meant only one thing.
Peter’s phone slips from his grasp, falling to the floor with a thud as panic seeps through him in waves, and he almost feels as if he’ll collapse.
A part of him feels that it’s for the better. You finally know, and a burden has been unloaded off his chest. But the other part is clouding his head with numerous thoughts—none of them good. There’s too many what if scenarios in his head for him to be feeling fine about the situation.
You’re his best friend and that’s how it was supposed to stay.
He knows you harbour feelings for him too, he’s heard how your heartbeat increases near him sometimes, but you’ve never made a move, and that’s something that makes Peter’s hopes of having a bond deeper and further than just platonic, with you, withers away.
He fell for you far too quickly than he realized. He was head over heels for you. You made him feel at ease when anyone else failed to. You knew him better than he knew himself. He loved you, and your flaws. Everything that made you, you, Peter loved. He cherished you beyond words. You were his anchor. The person that kept him going. And he fell for you hook, line and sinker.
You never leave him alone after a rough night, knowing he needed the comfort. And yet today, you’re gone.
He can’t help but think that it’s the doing of his goddamned letter.
He wishes he never weaved those words onto the page. He wishes he kept those close to him. Shrouded in the limits of his heart and out of your reach.
Peter starts to feel constricted in the confines of your home. The smell of your perfume wafting through the air, only enhanced because of his dialed senses do little to help him.
After a long day of work, you’re collapsing on your bed. You’re exhausted, physically and mentally.
He’s soon rushing out of your quaint apartment—the letter clutched in his hand, crumpled, as if removing it from your home, would also remove it from your memories. He rushes to his apartment, clueless about his next steps.
You grab your phone, deciding to open any texts you’ve received while on your shift, and instantly your phone’s screen is showing a few texts—one from your mom, one from your dad, and one from Peter.
You’d been dreading him the whole day.
It’s an unfamiliar feeling. It’s the first time you’re not eager to see him, and the thought of interaction with the curly brunette makes anxiety bubble in the pit of your stomach.
Being his is something you’ve craved since middle school. But now the fact that your feelings are returned and that there is room for a romantic connection—it’s the last thing that’s occupying your mind. The thought of your relationship not working out, and ultimately failing when Peter realises that this was all a mistake—that he just liked someone doting on him. It makes your heart crumble to the floor.
And the crippling remorse of having violated Peter’s privacy with that letter, looms over you like a shadow. It’s truly too much and you’re conflicted.
Deciding to finally open Peter’s text after avoiding it for long, you click on his contact.
petey <3: Hey, Y/N. I know you saw the letter, and I’m so sorry. I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. It would suck, but if that’s what you want I respect that.
Your heart pangs at that. You never want to lose someone as lovely, compassionate, and kind as Peter. He’s one of the best people who’s ever shown up in your life, and made it all the more better.
And you really don’t want him to drift away and leave everything you two had, behind as memories of a good time.
Your waterline blurs, hot tears threatening to cross the threshold and fall past your eyes, sooner than you realise, until they freely cascade down your face. You really don’t want to let go of the magnificent person, that is Peter Parker.
Patterned knocks at your window, alert you of a presence, and you quickly wipe at your eyes, already knowing who you’d find perched on your window sill.
You open your window, and like he always does, Peter comes crawling in, and instinctively tosses away his mask.
“Hey,” He says, octaves low, as if he’s afraid.
You don’t make eye contact with him—you’re positive if you do, you’ll cry a river.
You only nod, and take a seat on the edge of your bed. You’re being closed off, and Peter takes notice. He can’t blame you, he himself doesn’t know how to bring the elephant in the room to light. He takes a seat beside you, maintaining a safe distance. You’re both sitting in the thick, tense silence, until you cut through it.
“I’m sorry,” You express. “I shouldn’t have read that letter.” You add, your voice small—regret lacing its ends.
“It’s um, okay, yeah,” He replies. He’s nervously tapping his foot on the floor, thumbs drumming against his thighs.
Both of you are once again shrouded by uncomfortable silence. Caught up in a predicament none of you have ever been in, it’s a little tough to tackle the situation.
“We can uh—we can forget it, put it behind us if you want,” You suggest with a heavy heart.
“No!” He bounces back rather loud, almost shocking you. “No,” He repeats calmly this time. “Um, I—look, you already know what I feel for you, Y/N…” He starts, his eyes like brown pebbles smoothed by flowing water of a stream, boring into yours, holding millions of colors in them. He sucks in a breath and finally presents the question that’s been lingering in his head. “What do you feel for me?”
Your eyes flicker down to his lips before you’re tearing your gaze away faster than anything, and Peter’s emotions are a mixture of anticipation, hope and even a slight ache in his heart—he doesn’t know what to expect.
He can see the gears turning in your head, until you finally face him. An unreadable expression on your face, and you finally croak out, your voice weak. “Peter…I feel—I feel so much for you.”
There are tears brimming your eyes, and Peter’s chest tightens.
“Y/N…” He murmurs. He moves closer to you, cupping your cheeks in his large, glove clad, palm the heat radiating onto your cheeks.
“I love the way you geek out about Lego’s like a dork,” You begin, eliciting a small ghost of a smile from Peter. “I love how kind you are, I love the drive you have to protect the little guy,” You say. A chuckle escaping from both yours and Peter’s mouth. “I love how you make me feel,” You add. You’re gazing deep into his eyes, and he’s looking back right into yours. There’s so much emotion swimming in your eyes—just the way you’re looking at him, and how you’re opening yourself up to him is enough to make him feel weak, and as if he’s the luckiest person on earth. Peter leans his forehead against yours, and your eyes instantly flutter shut, and a tear manages to escape, Peter’s quick to wipe away the droplet.
“W—What do I make you feel?” He asks, voice soft—coaxing almost.
“Happy…like I’m the luckiest girl alive...you make me feel loved.”
Peter’s soft lips, almost silken, crash onto yours.
Your whole body tingles at the unexpected yet welcomed gesture. Your hands go around his neck to anchor yourself. You could feel the gentle tickle of his breath beneath your nose, as you basked in the feeling of his lips. Sparks ignite in your body, unlike any feeling before. He evoked sensations that made liquid lightning shoot along your veins.
Your scent was dizzying in the best way possible. And it made Peter want to cling to you even moreso. His insistent mouth invades yours—he simply can’t get enough of the way your lips taste, so much flavor on your lips, and he wants to keep diving deeper. He wishes to get lost in your lungs.
Until he has to rise to the surface to kill that need to breathe—and you do too.
“What if this doesn’t work out?” You murmur, just as your lips detach. Your hold on him is just as tight as it was when your lips were locked. Peter caresses your cheek, his forehead still in contact with yours.
“We’ll be okay. More than.” He replies confidently.
“You think?” You return. Your lips tug into a grin you can’t hold back anymore, your heart thumping wildly, flutters surrounding you in circles. Peter’s lips match your radiant grin—possibly even brighter, and he seems just as overjoyed.
“Yeah. You’re stuck with me.”
all © to celestialholland. do not repost my content (fics, divider, header) anywhere.
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pairing: peter parker x fem!reader
synopsis: peter makes the morning after unforgettable.
word count: 0.5k
warnings: mentions of sex, kinda suggestive?
a/n: this is the cutest thing i've written i want to vomit :p pretend morning breath does not exist here p.s. cocky peter is the loml <33
waking up to the sound of a car horn blaring couldn't phase you this morning. and as you flutter your eyes open, you find yourself tangled up in your sheets with peter, who was currently sound asleep. a glimmer of sunlight streams through the curtains, illuminating peter's chestnut curls. light purple bruises strewn across his neck serve as an instant reminder of what happened the night before.
your suited boyfriend had stumbled through your window in the late hours of the night. the only words that could fall from his mouth were those reminding you of how he could not stop thinking of you while on patrol. and after many insistent and heated kisses, you and peter decided to give in to your desires for the first time since you started dating.
and now, the morning after, you lay clad in one of the many sweaters he's left, staring at your snoozing lover.
"take a picture, yeah?" peter's lightly chukles as he pulls you to his chest. slightly startled at his sudden consciousness, you look up to find his eyes sleepily gazing at you. a sheepish grin plays upon your lips as memories of his tenderness flood through your mind.
you begin to pepper feathery kisses over his chest, wanting to subtly thank him for last night. peter’s hands, once planted on your waist, now slide down to softly squeeze your bum.
"what do you want to do today, baby?" you now burrow your face further into his chest, flustered under his words.
"mmm," your voice muffled, "stay here?"
pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, he responds with, "sounds good."
wanting to stare at your boyfriend a little longer, you decide to pull away to prop your head up with your arm. and for the first time since last night, you make proper eye contact with your darling boy. a shit-eating grin slowly forms on peter's face. you couldn't help but follow his stupid action.
he slowly takes in his view, a familiar keenness filling peter's eyes. "what're you thinking about, pete?
"i only dreamed of calling you mine just a couple months ago," he starts, "and now you're laying here in my clothes, totally fucked."
"peter!" you groan, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment.
"c'mere." his hands come up to pull you toward him once again. his fingertips slide up to the middle of you back, drawing patterns into your warm skin. this alone makes you arch into him.
"yanno, you're kinda sweet when you're half asleep."
scattering delicate kisses across your neck, he mumbles, "mhm, i'm always sweet." his breath fanning over your skin drives you crazy.
quickly growing tired of the teasing, you push peter back down, into the mattress. swinging your leg over the boy, you straddle his lap. you bend down, stopping just before reaching his lips, "i love you." but before he could get a word out, your lips are already on his. a pleasant warmth washing over you as the kiss grows hungry. teeth almost clashing as he grabs for your ass.
"fuck, baby." peter whines.
after a couple more moans from both you and pete, you slow down, now softly pecking at his lips.
"god, you're beautiful." he murmurs against your lips. flustered once again, you bury your face in the crook of his neck.
"so," he sighs, "how was last night?", asking as nonchalantly as he could.
you swear you could hear the smugness on his face.
"i don't remember. remind me again, parker?"
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this is me requesting for the first time but maybe going like to a haunted house with peter like wearing a couples costume but none of you have confessed and it leads to a confession<3 i hope this made sense 😭
warnings: swearing, a little suggestiveness, and a lot of outer banks references
a/n: hehe i’m super happy with how this came out and i hope you are too!! i know i’m taking forever to get through these requests but i promise i’m working on them y’all please enjoy this one in the meantime <3
“guys, i’m fucking freezing out here,” you whine, teeth chattering and arms crossed over your chest. “i wonder why,” mj deadpans in reference to your costume.
your friend group decided to be the pogues for halloween this year, and you’re sarah cameron. in hindsight, a sleeveless crop top and skinny jeans weren’t the best choice coverage-wise.
you rub your exposed arms as you wait on line for the haunted house mj dragged everyone to. she refused to dress up unless you all did something she wanted in return, so here you are.
“you know what they say, em. go big or go home,” you defend. mj smugly adjusts the collar of her graphic tee — she’s supposed to be pope. “well, i’ll go home then. i don’t stick to the status quo.”
she saunters over to ned, currently jj, which gives peter the opportunity to steal her spot.
he comes up behind you with a squeeze at your shoulders to announce his presence. his warm palms feel nice against your cold skin, really nice.
“woah, you are freezing,” he confirms, thumbs running across your shoulder blades. “i could help with that.”
peter is grinning one of his toothy grins when you look at him, and you instantly grin back.
“please,” you laugh out and turn around to face him. “you wouldn’t mind, though?” still smiling, peter shakes his head.
he winds his arms comfortably around your waist, stepping towards you.
“as your john b, not one bit. not as your peter, either.”
did he just call himself yours?
you hum and tug on the bandana tied around peter’s neck. he draws you in so you’re chest to chest, only his is bare. how he manages to stay so toasty while wearing less than you is a mystery.
your hands innocently slide under his barely buttoned floral top. he shivers under your touch, chuckling softly.
“damn. i’m, like, elsa or some shit if i can ice you out,” you joke, pressing your hands flat against his stomach.
peter’s abs clench, and his cheeks turn so rosy that you notice even on the darkly lit street.
“no, no. you’re fine. we just…” he clears his throat, another smile painting his lips. “we’ve never been this close before.”
he’s right. you might cuddle during movie nights or hug when you’ve had bad days, but that doesn’t exactly compare to being flush against each other’s half naked bodies.
just friends is starting to feel a lot like more than friends.
“we’re next, mr and mrs,” ned informs you and peter, gesturing for you to move up in line. “huh?” peter splutters at the same time you choke out a, “what?“
“it’s almost our turn to go in,” ned reiterates obliviously.
because that’s definitely the part you were freaking about.
mj smirks and nudges you both forward, since you’re currently stuck in place. “mr and mrs, as in routledge,” she clarifies on ned’s behalf.
right, your costumes. john b. routledge and sarah cameron.
“totally,” peter scratches the back of his neck. “makes sense,” you quietly agree.
you and peter begin leading the way to the entrance of the haunted house. you’re already missing his warmth, despite the fact that you’ve barely been without it.
“two at a time,” a worker tells you as you reach the entrance. you sneak a glance at peter, who’s already gazing at you.
“uh, we have to split up,” peter relays to ned and mj. “what do you wanna do?” he’s asking everyone, although his eyes are locked with yours. you suck in a breath and boldly link your arm through his. “come with me.”
mj snickers at the exchange, doing the same to ned to mimic you.
“i guess this is fitting. we are jj and pope,” she remarks. “let’s go, leeds.” she nods at you and peter as she passes by you two to head inside, ned wiggling his eyebrows. “catch you on the flip.”
that leaves you and peter alone, and touching, and ready to admit what you haven’t had the courage to until now. the two of you walk off to the side so you can chat freely.
“why me?” peter wonders after a moment. “because you’ll keep me safe from whatever the hell is in there,” you explain lightheartedly, then add on a serious note, “you’re a protector, pete. it’s one of the many things i like about you.”
peter’s hand finds yours and tangles your fingers together, urging you to continue.
“i like everything about you, actually,” you murmur, peter holding your intertwined hands over his heart. “i could say the same, y/n,” he speaks lowly.
you giggle and crane your neck up to him, nudging your nose against his. peter’s other hand cups your cheek gingerly, his eyes practically twinkling.
ned’s shrieking from inside the haunted house interrupts the moment, you and peter bursting into a fit of laughter nevertheless. that’s your cue.
“shall we, mr. routledge?” you prompt peter. he caresses your cheek with a bite of his lip, attempting to suppress yet another smile. “we shall, mrs. routledge.”
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Expression// Peter Parker x Avenger!reader
Summary: For her entire life, Y/n has been thrown into the chaos of what was known as the Avenger’s lives. She was constantly at war with someone, fighting for no good reason. Being thrown into a fit of chaos so much so hound had taken a dump of trauma on her, which was why she shut everyone out. Which was why Peter was determined to claw his way in.
Being an Avenger was tough. Being a teenage Avenger was even worse. Y/n was recruited by Nicky Fury in 2012 when she spiked their energy levels due to the recent use of her powers. She fought against the god of Mischief Loki with the rest of the avengers. She was young. Extremely young. She was thrown into a fit of chaos as a child, and it didn't stop until after the Battle of Sokovia, where everything seemed to settle down for the most part.
Though, years had gone by, there had been new enemies that threatened the state of the world, but they were put to an end rather quickly. Of course, there was still the occasional HYDRA mission, and whatnot.
Over time, there had been new recruits, some failed retirements, and additions to the team, the latest being none other than Spider-Man himself, Peter Parker.
Peter adjusted quickly, he was nice, friendly, outgoing, and incredibly smart. Everyone quickly took a liking to him, and since he was the second youngest on the team, everyone treated him as the baby of the group.
The actual youngest on the team was Y/n, also known as her alto ego, Amethyst. Though, no one ever babied her, or gave her special treatment, simply because she didn't want it.
Being thrown into such chaos at such a young age, as a coping mechanism, Y/n hid away her emotions, never really expressing herself or the way she felt, hiding behind a barrier she was built around herself at all times. And Peter Parker was determined to break that barrier.
"When are they getting back from the mission?" Peter asks, looking at Natasha. Tony had sent out Steve, Y/n, Bucky and Wanda on a small mission to gather intelligence, they were supposed to come back today.
"Soon. Don't get your panties in a twist, Y/n's fine." Natasha teases, grabbing a water from the kitchen. "You know, If I were you, I wouldn't take my chances with her. She isn't exactly the most open person."
"I know, Nat. But I have to try, don't I?" Natasha rolled her eyes.
"I've seen that girl shut down more men then I've killed, it's impressive." Peter sighs, leaning against the counter. "She hates everyone and everything."
"Not me. I'm supposedly her friend. She's said so."
"Peter, her telling you that she hates you a little less then everyone else is not her saying she's your friend." Natasha tells him.
"Hey, it means something." Suddenly, Steve walked into the kitchen, still in his suit. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, and downed it. "Oh, hey, you guys are back. How'd the mission go?"
"It went fine. Y/n went to her room if you want to go say hi." Steve informs him.
"Thanks." Peter nodded before leaving the kitchen, going over to the elevator. He pressed the button, opening up the doors. He stood in the elevator for a few minutes before the doors opened again.
He was determined to get her to go out with him before Stark's Halloween party, which was in two weeks. He went to Y/n's room, and knocked on her door.
"Come in." Y/n called, and he opened the door. She was sitting at her desk, tinkering with something on her suit. "Hey, Parker."
"H-hi. I just wanted to see how the mission went. Are you okay?" Peter asks, walking over to her, and sitting on top of her desk.
"Yeah, I'm fine." She answers. He looked at her suit, and there was a huge rip across the stomach.
"Woah, what happened here?" Peter asks. She shrugs. "Did you get cut on something?"
"No."she was a great liar. She could and has lied to everyone on the team, and they believed her no questions asked, even Fury at some point, but Peter could sense when people were lying,
"You know I can tell when you're lying, right?" She looks at him, an annoyed look at her face. "Let me see."
"Hey, it's me, or Dr. Banner." She sighs, and lifts up her shirt. She had already wrapped the cut.
"See? It's not that bad."
"Jesus Christ, I though you were supposed to be smart." He teases her, looking at the poorly wrapped bandage.
"What's that supposed to mean? I'll heal in a couple hours, it's not a big deal."
"Come on, let me properly wrap this. I know you'll heal, but it could get infected." He grabs her hand, and pulls her up, leading her to the bathroom.
"You're not." He sits her on the counter, grabbing a bandage from her medicine cabinet. "It'll take a minute." He unwraps the first bandage, and grimaces at the cut. "This looks bad."
"I know you will. It still looks bad." He starts to re-wrap the cut, making sure to be careful. He gently grabbed her side, but she flinched back.
"Don't do that!" She hissed, jerking from his hand.
"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" She huffs, crossing her arms. He gives her a slightly confused look, but ignores it, finishing the wrapping. When he touches her side again, she jerks away, and a blush coats her cheeks. He gives her another confused look. "What is it?"
"Nothing. Are you done yet?"
"Almost. If you would hold still, I would be."
"Well, it's not easy when you're-" she cuts herself off, and huffs again.
"When I'm what?" Hd puts two and two together, and smirks. "You wouldn't be ticklish now would you?"
"What? No. I'm not."
"I can tell you're lying." He teases, and grabs her sides. "But on the off chance you're not, maybe I should test it."
"No, no, no," she grabs his hands, trying to pry them off.
"Do you really think you're stronger than me? I've lifted a building off my back, you're not gonna get me off." He lightly squeezed her sides. A smile forms on her face, and she covers her hand with her mouth. "I don't think I've ever seen you smile before. It's cute." He continues to tickle her, and she started giggling, squirming under his touch.
"Okay! Okay, I know you're stronger than me but that doesn't mean you have to be mean about it." She laughs, kicking her feet,'but he presses them down on the counter with his hips.
"I've never seen you like this before." He smiles, loving the way her eyes sparked as she laughed. "And don't call me mean. Say you're sorry and I'll stop."
"Fine! I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He stops, and smirks at her. "I hate you."
"Oh, do you?" He asks, the cocky smirk on his face making her want to slap it off. "You're so cute when you pout." He boops her nose. She rolls her eyes.
"Oh, am I?" He asks, lifting her off the counter, and putting her on the ground. "You need to rest, so the cut'll heal, okay?"
"I have reports to do, and I need to fix my suit, plus Steve needs to do-"
"Screw that, come on, I'll make you soup, and we can put on a movie."
"No. Get out." She shoves him out the door, and locks it. He sighs, leaning against her door.
"Is Y/n coming down for dinner?" Stark asks, looking at Steve and Natasha.
"Probably not. Unless the kid can convince her too. She has reports to do, and I doubt she'd put them off." Steve tells him, grabbing some of the food that was on the table.
"Either way, she needs to eat." Peter walked into the kitchen. Stark gave Natasha a look, who nodded.
"I can bring her some food up." Natasha suggests, and Peter's head instantly perks up.
"I can bring her dinner." Peter offers quickly, and Natasha hides her smirk a bit. She slightly gives Stark a look.
"Are you sure? She can-"
"Of course I'm sure. It'd be no problem at all." Peter grabs one of the bags of takeout, and basically ran over at Y/n's door.
He knocked a few times, and waited patiently. She answered the door, so he knocked again. "Y/n/n? I have dinner for you." He called out, knocking again.
"Go away." He heard faintly.
"It's gonna get cold."
"I said get lost, man!" The door opened, and an angry Y/n appeared. The lights were off in her room, and her bed looked unmade—which was unusual for her considering her room was always clean, and looked un-lived in. She seemed stressed, and overwhelmed, he could sense it. "Leave me the hell alone." She tried to close the door, but he pressed his door in the room, stopping her from shutting it.
"You look upset."
"So...do you want to talk?" He asks, opening the door, and turning on the lights. Once he does, she winces, and turns them off again.
"Please, don't....my senses are just overwhelming right now." She admits, sitting down on her bed. Peter sad down next to her, putting the takeout on the night stand.
"Talk to me."
"I don't want to." She looks away from him. "I just want to be alone."
"You don't have to be." He grabs her hand, and she flinched away from him. "No one should have to be alone. You can talk to me. Please." He lightly grabs her chin, turning her to look at him.
"I'm just...tired. I'm really tired, Peter. I've been fighting my whole life, but most of the time I don't even know what I'm fighting for. I....I can't few emotions anymore. And I'm not saying that because I'm just being dramatic, I-I really can't. I can't feel sad, or angry, or happy, I just feel numb. I cry, but there's no emotion behind it. It's a miserable way to live." She didn't know why she was opening up to him, but either way, it felt nice to get these thoughts off her chest, she felt a little less burdened by them to say them out loud.
"I'm sorry. But, you're not alone. I'll always be here for you. And hey, I've gotten you to smile once." He reminds her.
"That didn't count, I couldn't help it." He frowned.
"You're right. I’m sorry you’re like this." Her eyes suddenly changed, like she had just realized something. She took her hand away from his.
"What?" She asks. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. "You-you're sorry that I'm like this?"
"I didn't mean it like that, it came out wrong-"
"No, I don't think it did." She stood up, and he followed in suit. "You want me to be that broken girl, that loner outsider that you can 'fix' and then sleep with."
"It is. What? Did you think I was just some angsty teenager with daddy issues? I'm a year younger than you, I'm not naive just because i'm young. Now get out." She shoved him out of her room, and slammed the door, making sure the click of the lock was loud and clear.
Peter stood on the other side, his mouth still slightly hanging open.
Bucky—who was walking past her door at the exact wrong moment—stopped, and looked at him. He started chuckling, and Peter turned, glaring at him.
"Let me guess-"
"Barnes, I really don't-"
"You said something stupid-"
"And now she hates you a little bit more than everyone else." With a roll of his eyes, Peter stormed off, going to his own room.
He just blew the one shot he had with the girl he was in love with. What was worse, she thinks he's a total jerk that's only interested in sleeping with her. What could possibly be worse?
A little less than an hour passed, Peter was in the lounge, watching whatever crap was on TV at the moment.
Natasha walked in a moment later, a pointed look on her face as her eyes met the back of Peter's head. "What did you do?" Peter turned around, resting his arm on the back of the couch.
"At this point, I don't even know anymore." Peter answered.
"I just passed Y/n in the hallway. She was crying. I don't think I've ever seen that girl cry before. Not even when she snapped her leg backwards."
"...she was crying?"
"I followed her to the kitchen. Where she threw the food you gave her in the trash can." Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. "I told you not to get too close. I knew you'd both just end up hurting each other."
"I didn't mean to. I didn't. I said something stupid. She opened up to me for like, a second, and I ruined it. How do I fix it?" Natasha walked around the couch, and sat down on one of the chairs.
"Honestly? I don't know. That girl has had a wall built up around her since Ultron. But I am nothing if not observant. A lot of our trainee SHEILD agents have tried asking her out, they all failed. One got her flowers, and she threw them away in front of him.
"How many guys have asked her out?"
"A total of 4. I think they realized she wasn't interested in anyone and they all collectively gave up."
"I think I know what I did wrong." Peter stood up, and walked away from a confused Natasha.
"Don't fuck up worse then you already did!" Peter ran to Y/n's room, knocking on the door.
"Let me in. Please. I just need to talk to you."
"No. Leave me alone."
"I'm not going to do that. Please, I'll stand out here all night." Out of pure frustration, Y/n opened the door, her arms crossed. Her eyes were bloodshot, and it looked like she had been crying for at least an hour.
"What do you want, Parker?"
"I...I wanted to talk."
"We did that before."
"I know." He stepped into her room. Her lights were on, and she had a small candle burning. "What I said was stupid. And I didn't mean it to come out that way. But please, don't feel like I'm only interested in sleeping with you because those others guys were." He grabs her hand, sitting her down on her bed. "I really like you, Y/n/n. I like you a lot."
"You barely know me."
"That's not true. I know you can't stand eating sandwiches without the crust being cut off. I know you hate watching movies, and that you're secretly ticklish." He teases, and a small blush dusts her cheeks.
"I know you have this exterior around you all the time. And I know it must be exhausting. I want you to be able to feel comfortable around me. And I want to help you be able to do that. And I'm sorry that you feel the need to act tough, and strong all the time, I'm sorry that you were thrown into this crazy mess of things so young." She held back tears as he spoke, looking away from him and wiping her eyes.
"Can you close your eyes?"
"Just please." He closes his eyes. She shuts her eyes tightly, letting tears freely fall down her face.
For the first time in a while, she actually felt a wave of sadness washing over her. "Can I open my eyes please?"
"Okay." With his eyes still closed, he wraps his arms around her, letting her head fall into his chest. She slowly wrapped her arms around him, embracing the touch from another living being. Especially one that was so comforting. He softly played with her hair. "I know you're crying. And it's okay." He tells her. "You don't have to hide your emotions from me." She didn't answer him, so he wrapped his arms around her tighter.
It felt nice, reviving touch from someone that wasn't trying to kill her. She never wanted to let go of him again. She never thought she'd feel attraction towards anyone. But she was starting too. Wiping her eyes, she lifted her head up, smiling a bit when she saw Peter's eyes still closed.
"You-you can open them." He opens his eyes.
"Can I kiss you?" Hesitantly, she slowly nods, pressing her lips against his. It felt nice. Felt like something she granted for for a while, yet she didn’t realize it. She never had an intimate relationship before, with anyone. She never had time for friends, or boyfriends, or anyone, and even if she did, she shut them out. Peter was the only one who clawed his way back in.She pulled away after a few seconds, a blush coating her cheeks. “Does this mean you’ll go to the Halloween party with me?”
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Hi, could you maybe do something where Peter finds out that the reader thinks she's ugly and he just doesn't believe her because he has such a huge crush on her? I love your work
thank you! This is a bit of a mess and so random? Whskshsjshsns
Okay say it with me. “I am hot.” Thank you for coming to my ted talk- okay but also, “My looks are the least interesting thing about me.” Okay now you can go on mwah
But pls you do not need any man to think you’re hot for you to actually be hot. buuuuut i guess Peter can give you a little nudge in the right direction <3 because I know you're hot and you deserve to see it too
warnings: idk well insecure!reader (but she doesn’t wanna admit that she cares about how she looks) lmao?, the reader calling herself ug*y and believing it :(
You and Peter are watching some old trashy comedy. It’s a cold Friday afternoon and you didn’t know what else to do.
Currently, in typical 2000s fashion, the conventionally un-attractive character is being made fun of.
“Oh he’s like me,” with a smile, you point at the guy on screen, pausing it for a second.
“In what way?” Peter asks, confusion painted across his face.
“Ugly,” you simply say.
Peter laughs and you press play again.
He looks over at you and realises you’re not laughing. He pauses the film, “Wait. Was that a joke?”
“You’ve seen my face, right?”
“I have. And it’s not ugly at all.”
You roll your eyes, “You don’t have to say that, I wasn’t fishing for compliments, I was just... joking.”
“So saying you’re ugly was a joke? Right?”
“No but.. just forget it,” you sigh at Peter misinterpreting your words. You were simply acknowledging a similarity with a character, not trying to make him think you were looking for compliments.
You press the space key to start the film again but Peter presses it again to stop it.
“No you... you think you’re ugly?”
“Yeah,” you shrug, “But it’s fine. Don’t worry. I’m not defined by my looks. I’m smart, I’m funny, I’m kind, that’s all way more important.”
“Yeah it is, of course it is. But do you think I talked to you first day of college because I thought you were going to be smart and funny and kind?”
“I don’t know, I do think I look approachable,” you frown. You were under the impression you looked nice and friendly.
“Yes, you’re approachable because you’re beautiful. Well, intimidatingly beautiful, but I’ve always been an optimistic guy.”
“I don’t really know where this is going.”
“I just can’t believe you think you’re ug— I don’t even want to say that.”
“I promise I wasn’t fishing for—“
“I know you weren’t. Look, I don’t want to make things awkward between us two but I can’t stand that you think you’re anything other than extremely attractive.
“I’ve had a crush on you since the first time I saw you. And yes, you’re kind and intelligent and funny and that has all made me even more attracted to you but I came up to you and talked to you because I thought you were hot. And I still think you’re hot, you become hotter every time you say something, except for that one word right now, or every time look at me.”
You let his words sink in and look away, “Oh,” you can’t help but smile a little, “Well... thanks.”
“You don’t believe me,” Peter states, sitting up now.
“I do it’s just... surprising. That someone I like would also likes me back even though I’m so ug—”
“Don’t say that about yourself. If you say negative things about yourself you’ll start believing it. Even if it starts as a joke, your subconscious can’t tell the difference. Please, at least stop calling yourself that.
“I mean I know you don’t need me telling you that you’re beautiful, we all have our insecurities and I don’t want to tell you what to feel but... I can’t believe you’re questioning my taste in women.”
“What do you mean?” you pull your eyebrows together, still trying to believe that he actually likes you.
“I like the hottest woman I’ve ever seen, and you’re calling her this negative word. It’s insulting,” he says it with a look that lets you know he’s not really thinking about how this is making him feel. He cares about how you feel.
You try to hide your growing smile but you can’t, “Sorry to burst your bubble but she’s not as hot as you seem to think—“
He interrupts you by (gently) grabbing your face, his fingers on your jaw, thumb by your chin and he angles your face so you’re looking him straight in the eyes. “Please. Don’t talk about her like that. Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
You’re silent for a moment, not knowing what to say so you decide to keep up your act, “Aw. Does that hurt your feelings?”
“Yes, actually. I know looks aren’t everything. And if you don’t care about how you look that’s okay. But we can’t have you walking around thinking you’re unattractive.”
You still don’t agree with him, but you can’t think straight when he’s so close, his hand still on your face. You catch him looking at your lips and you realise your own eyes wandering down to look at his.
You lean up and give him a short kiss.
“I guess I...” you pull away, “I’m cute,” you make a face right after, “No, that still doesn’t sound right.”
He licks his lips and you see he’s still processing that you just kissed him and suddenly you can’t tell if it’s good or bad.
“Sorry,” you say.
“For what?” He smiles.
“I just told you I like you. You just fulfilled a wish I’ve had for months. I don’t know why you’re apologising.”
“Okay. I like you too by the way.” You said it earlier but you think he was too busy calling you hot to properly realise.
He grins and this time you let yourself smile too, but you suddenly feel shy and can’t look at him anymore.
“Should we uh...” your finger is already resting on your keyboard, about to press play.
“Yeah just.. I don’t want to overstep or anything. I know some people don’t care about how they look and it’s okay if you don’t agree with me about being the hottest woman I know, and don’t get me wrong you’re so much more than just hot.
“And I’d still like you even if you weren’t as attractive because you have an amazing personality and that’s what matters. It’s okay if you’re neutral about the way you look, but actively saying those negative things about you can’t be good for your self esteem. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I just don’t want you to suffer.”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t let a man tell me what to do anyway,” you grin, rolling your eyes, “I know you have good intentions.”
“Yeah,” he says, thinking while silence settles between you for a bit.
“I don’t have to bring it up anymore because I don’t want you to think that that’s all I care about. You might not agree but I think you’re beautiful. I’m not saying it matters greatly but it’s simply a fact to me that I like how you look.”
“God, if you keep saying that I look good I might start believing it.”
The crinkles return to his eyes as he smiles again, “I might let it slip once or twice a day then. Or an hour. You’re hot. Oops, sorry.”
You giggle, lightly slapping his arm “Stop.”
“I bet you’ve never seen how pretty you look when you smile like that. And I bet you’d agree with me if you could see.”
Your eyes find his, “C’mere.” You take his chin between your fingers and kiss him again, letting your lips linger on his for a bit while your heart beats wildly in your chest. “Thank you,” you say, noticing how you feel better after Peter’s motivating words.
“I think you’re quite cute too by the way,” you tell him.
“Too?” He teases, “So you’re starting to see what I’m talking about huh?”
“Shut up,” you laugh, slapping his chest this time. You happen to look into the mirror across your room and see your own smile. “Maybe I am”, you whisper.
Peter holds your hand as you finally watch the film and you can’t help but replay Peter’s words in your head every time you smile. You’re already starting to feel a little bit better about yourself.
if i had a dollar for every time they paused or continued the film—
(gotta do some positive affirmations now so my brain knows it was just fiction and I don’t actually believe anything the reader says about herself hskshskjs)
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The Multiverse of Thieves | p.p.
Pairing: Peter Parker x reader
Summary: you and Peter are going undercover during a mission. Everything is going well, until you get through a Portal by chance and meet another version of Peter.
Warnings: spoilers from the Uncharted trailer, established relationship, comedy, plot twist
A/N: blame this on the Uncharted trailer. That’s all. Hope that you like it. Let me know if you want a part 2! Enjoy 🌙
“I don’t understand why I have to be the FBI agent. I just… I don’t like this suit, it makes me uncomfortable,” Peter whined in the headset.
“Peter, you literally wear the Spider-Man suit all the time. Why does this normal black suit bothers you?” You ask him annoyed across the room.
“I don’t know… it’s black and it’s so hot in here, I hate it”.
You roll your eyes.
“Well, don’t think about it. We’re undercover. Don’t make this mission blow up again or Cap will kill us, this time,” you warn him.
“You didn’t have to clean up all of the Avengers’ Tower, though,” he replies, looking around for the target.
“Because I didn’t blow up the mission, you did! But still, Cap scolded me too. I don’t like being scolded,” you pout, lowering your voice while you’re saying the last sentence.
“Fine,” he sighs. “Hey, that’s him!”
You run, moving around the room silently as Nat taught you. You have to catch the guy before it’s too late, then you will just have to wait for Cap and the others outside. Tonight, a romantic dinner with Peter is waiting for you at your favorite New York restaurant. After weeks, the two of you will finally have a night to spend with each other without spy issues, Avengers problems or aliens trouble.
That’s what you think, before you jump onto him. You arrest the guy, handcuffing him. Peter is right behind you and he’s wearing his suit again. You hear him screaming your name, but you don’t really understand why. That’s when an incredible amount of light eats you alive.
You wake up, sweat cold running down your spine. This is not your room at the Avengers Tower. It seems so strange. It’s not a hospital room either, fortunately. Some clothes are discarded on a chair, while the desk is full of maps. You look around, but you don’t see anything that could remind you of Peter or the Avengers. Maybe the guy kidnapped you, but you don’t even remember anything about falling asleep or being taken away. But the light… Loki told about the existence of Portals, but you had never crossed one. Until now.
“Oh, you’re awake!” Somebody says, looking at you with a brief smile on their face.
You turned to look at him.
“Woah!” You exclaimed, almost screaming. That guy looked exactly like Peter.
“Hey, in my defense, I found you in my bed this morning. I wasn’t drunk last night, so I don’t really understand how a stranger was in my bed. I mean, I’m not complaining, but… who are you? And how did you enter in my apartment?” He asks.
“Look Peter, maybe I traveled in time and in this future you don’t know me anymore, but I’m Y/N. We dated some time ago,” you say. “But you don’t really seem very older, though”.
“Thanks, I guess. I don’t know what you’re talking about, because I didn’t meet a Y/N in my life. Until now, of course. But please, enlighten me on something: who’s Peter?” He asks you, confused.
You furrow your brows.
“What do you mean? What’s your name?”
His smile widens, while he offers you his hand.
“I’m Nathan. Nathan Drake. Nice to meet you”.
This time, Cap is definitely gonna kill you.
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Just an AU of Peter Parker and his immortal boyfriend
TW: death, but it never sticks
WITCH!PETER PARKER X IMMOTAL!READER
This is short but it made me happy yo (based on a fan art I now can’t find)
“Are you sure about this?” Asked Peter as he looked at his boyfriend, sprawled out on the floor. His shirt was off and his arms were spread, candles placed around his body.
Being a witch with an immortal boyfriend has its perks, he thought as he looked down at Y/N.
The boy on the floor eagerly nodded. Wax dripped from the candle in Peters hand and onto his chest; he grinned as he hissed at the feeling. “I’ll be fine, Parker,” he said with a glint in his eye.
Peter took several deep breaths before plunging his knife into his chest. It didn’t take long for Y/N to die. He gasped as the cool blade touched his skin and smiled, his eyes shutting as the life left his body.
Peter pulled out the knife and muttered the incantation. He let the magic surround him as he competed the ritual. The candles all went out and Peter relit them one by one.
Once he was done, Peter reached for Y/N’s hand. “C’mon,” he whispered as he waited for his boyfriends hand to become warm again. “Come back to me.”
A gasp suddenly filled the room and Y/N sat up. His body shook momentarily and he ripped his hand away from Peters. It always took him a minute to come back properly; his skin was always a little sensitive after coming back from the freaking dead.
After a minute Y/N stopped shaking. He looked at his boyfriend and opened his arms wide. Peter collapsed into him, pressing his head against his bare chest. “Did it work?” Y/N whispered and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
Nodding, Peter touched the scar on Y/N’s chest. He had several around the same place, signifying how many times his life had been taken.
Ever since Y/N had found out Peter was a witch he had offered his immortal body for sacrificial rituals. With Halloween approaching so rapidly, Peter had placed several protection spells on the apartment, using Y/N as the sacrifice each time.
“How long is it going to hold?” He asked and pulled a hoodie over his head.
Peter shrugged his shoulders and blew out all of the candles. He leaned back against his hands and threw his head back. “It’s strong, but I don’t know if it will hold over Halloween. I’ve never felt energy this strong before.”
Halloween was a dangerous time for people like Y/N and Peter. There were other beings much like them who felt safe to be themselves on Halloween night. Fights broke out between them as they clashed and very few were able to quench their thirst for blood as they walked with humans.
There were some beings that only came out at Halloween. Peter has no idea what they were, he’d only seen them creeping up the side of his apartment building for the last three Halloween’s. They were why he did his protection spells.
Y/N grabbed Peters hand and pulled him to his feet. He took him over to the window and they looked out across the city. And the spooky decorations strung up on people’s front doors and in their windows, the pumpkins on their doorsteps.
As it did every Halloween, the city looked amazing. Y/N cupped Peters cheeks and kissed him as they looked down at the city.
There were so many dangers out there, dangers the rest of the world couldn’t understand. With Halloween approaching it would only get worse.
Both held the other tight, determined to keep the other safe this Halloween.
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Hey bestie do you know any good soulmate aus (peter or tom) thank you
hey - her are some for you <3
Sleigh Ride - @ohholyfanfics
Warm, Tingly Feeling - @mendespideys
Bloom (Series) - @duskholland
Hold You Forever - @devotion
Sunset Lovers - @duskholland
Falling, With Eyes Wide Open - @hazofmyheart
My Youth Is Yours - @waitimcomingtoo
Learn To Be Lonely (Series) - @cali-holland
Soulmate (Series) - @spiderboytotherescue
Not Like This - @angelic-holland
Meant To Be - @mcumendes
* I Only Feel You - @stuckonspidey
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dress ✧ peter parker
PETER PARKER X FEM!READER
summary: you and peter being in love, thats all.
word count: 1K
warnings: suggestive themes, making out in a closet, peter doesnt know a thing about harry potter, fluff.
a/n: slightly inspired by taylor swift's dress . and i know this is kinda short but its sweet- so yeah. enjoy <3
gif not mine!!
our secret moments in a crowded room
they've got no idea about me and you
there is an indentation in the shape of you
made your mark on me, a golden tattoo.
The cold against your back is what you felt when Peter pushed you into the small closet that was adjacent to the room your father was holding a party in.
Peter gazed at you from across the room, his eyes showed nothing but awe. You smiled at him slowly, before turning away to Wanda and Bruce. You weren't listening to them at all, your mind was only filled with the thoughts of Peter. Your smile widened.
Peter was feeling the same. Well, also a little in awe of the God of Thunder in front of him, but that's besides the point. He was grinning like an idiot.
The others, including Wanda and Bruce and Thor, were confused as to why you (and Peter) were smiling so hard, but didn't utter a word about it.
A few minutes later, Peter found you near the bar, swirling your drink ever so lightly. His eyes lit up right when he saw you. You looked amazing. And Peter couldn't get enough.
"Hello, Ms. Stark," he winked playfully.
"Hello, Mr. Parker," you smirked at his actions.
"I wanted to show you something, may I?" He asked and you raised your eyebrows at him. He put his hand in front of you and you took it in yours.
And here you ended up against a metal shelf as a bottle of bleach bumped your head and fell to the ground with a clutter.
"Ow," you grimaced.
"Oh, lovey, I'm sorry," Peter still couldn't help but smile as he rubbed the top of your head.
"You can kiss it better," you smiled at him. And he does as he's told.
He kisses you immediately, hands finding yours, interlocking them at your sides. Peter grinned when you leaned forward for another kiss.
"You... look... beautiful," He pecked your lips between his words.
"You looked beautiful, too," you complimented him back and could still see the blush on his cheeks in the dim lighting of the room.
He leaned forward to kiss you harder, eyelashes fluttering against your cheekbones and noses bumping.
All of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation
My hands are shaking from holding back from you (ah, ah, ah)
All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting
My hands are shaking from holding back from all this (ha, ha, ha, ha)
He grabbed onto your waist, not wasting another minute. You sighed into the kiss when you felt the pads of his thumbs rub slow and relaxing circles on the small of your back.
Peter's heartbeat raised a tenfold with every kiss. He gives you a last slow, wet kiss then starts to trail to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut for just a second when you realise anyone could come in, especially your dad, since they were right there, in the next room.
A pleasured whimper spilled from your lips and caused something to snap in Peter, he gripped on your hips tightly while sucking a purple patch -which your father won't be very fond of- on your neck. His right hand intertwined with yours in a loving manner.
Say my name and everything just stops
I don't want you like a best friend
Only bought this dress so you could take it off
Take it off (ha, ha, ha)
"Pete," you whispered his name and all it did was spur on his actions. Peter moved back to your lips and ran his tongue over your bottom lip. You didn't hesitate. When his tongue entered your mouth, all he tasted was the alcohol on your tongue. You tugged on his hair and he groaned. "W-we should go, everyone's still there. They might be wondering where we are."
"But Y/N," Peter whined and pouted. "You look so good in this dress, and I need kisses."
"Thank you, Pete and later, I promise," You pecked his lips once more before you took your intertwined hands and led out of the small room. You detached your fingers as soon as you reached everyone's sight.
Inescapable, I'm not even gonna try
And if I get burned, at least we were electrified
I'm spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we're both drunk
Everyone thinks that they know us, but they know nothing about-
"They could've seen us!" You exclaimed while chuckling lightly.
"It's okay, lovey, they were drunk... and too distracted in the karaoke," your boyfriend giggles as you turn around to slap his chest, resulting in the wine from your glass spilling lightly into the soapy water.
"Whoops," you grinned, Peter grabs your jaw gently and kisses the tip of your nose making you smile wider.
"I love you," he said, eyes only filled with fondness and adoration.
"Not more than me," you peck him on the lips as he scoffed.
"Mm, not possible," he says, pretending to think. "I love you more than Peter Pettigrew loves Sirius Black."
"Pete.." you giggled as he hummed. "That's Remus... not Peter," you couldn't help the fit of laughter that escaped your lips as Peter's lips formed an 'o' shape.
"I tried," he shrugged.
"I know, but I still love you more," you turned your gaze away from him and sipped your wine.
"As if, not possible," he scoffed and mimicked your actions.
There is an indentation
In the shape of you
(Only bought this dress so you could take it off)
You made your mark on me, golden tattoo
(Only bought this dress so you could take it off.)
Peter and your love was new, exciting. You don't know if it was the thrill of how it would be to love someone or it is love. All you know is that it makes you feel like the happiest person alive.
And now all you could think about is him, him and him. Now, you just need to figure out what your father would think about that.
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─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Summary ⤞ Peter is having a tough night. You worry and he comes to you for your warmth and loving comfort.
Genre ⤞ Relationship implied | a bit of angst |fluff |
Warnings ⤞ Mentions of blood and cuts, angst but just the right amount of fluff
Word count ⤞ ?? I don’t know someone help how I can see it lmao
A/n ⤞So sorry this is short but I’m still new to this app and just felt kind of down at the moment. Hope this is good enough to read. Love you all!🍒❤️
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The time on the clock struck 12:30. It was as if it was taunting you. Peter was supposed to be home almost 2 hours ago. His patrol seems to be taking a hell lot longer than usual. Maybe he got caught up picking up something or just had a late dinner.
Yea that’s it. Your leg bounced on the couch repeatedly until it was becoming sore from all the movement. You pulled through your hair for what felt like the 30th time tonight. The tv was on for some background noise but honestly, you kept it on in case any breaking news would show up.
You shook your head, you shouldn’t be thinking about stuff like that. Peter promised he would come back and he will soon. Soon turned to be much later until the clock hit 1:59 and there was a thump on the balcony of your apartment. Rushing towards the window to open it your face grimaced and your eyes showed sorrow for seeing the state peter was in.
His signature red and blue suit ripped in some parts, wounds of all sizes which some were bleeding tremendously, and poor peters face; how you wish you can wipe that far off look in his dull eyes. “Oh petey..” You grabbed his arm and brought him inside. Gripping his side to make sure he doesn’t fall or pass out. You sat him down on the porcelain toilet seat.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Not even a response. Nodding gently; it was one of those moments. No words were exchange as you helped him out of his suit and cleaned him up. The occasional grunt and hiss from Peter was almost like a breath for you. He’s alive and here with you: but he’s not really here.
After cleaning up you asked “Are you hungry Pete? I can order a pizza if you are.” He solemnly shook his head no. You sat him on your guys shared bed and stood in front of him. Cupping his face gently you examined it closely. His beautiful brown eyes had a shadow, almost like a storm was brewing in them.
You stroked his cheek. “Your ok. Everything’s going to be ok.” At that Peter finally looked into your eyes. His starting to shine and build up with tears. He finally moved to grip you hard as he sobbed into your neck. “I’m sorry..I’m sorry” was all he could say. Your not sure why he was apologizing but it was probably not meant towards you.
You laid him down on the bed as he sobbed. Stroking his soft curls with your nails you felt him shiver slightly. After what seemed like forever his sobs turned to soft hiccups and hefty breathing. His arms still having a vice grip on your waist. You kept on massaging his head until he whispered “I love you Y/n..”
It was quiet enough that you almost didn’t catch it. Smiling softly you kissed his forehead and laid yours against it. “I love you too Peter, so much.” He didn’t say anything afterwards but if the ghost of a smile on his lips told you it was enough. You’ll wait for when he is ready to tell you
No matter what happened out there Peter knows he will always have his Y/n to protect him. You make all those terrible images and thoughts go even for just a moment.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Please do not repost my content anywhere. Thank you for reading!
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peter parker x stark!reader
warnings: scaring people but not a big scare, marshmallows and donuts, mentions of food, mentions of making out, one curse word, little to no plot, cliche peter.
summary: you and peter feed each other the desserts you have.
type: two-shot, can be a standalone, part 2 of the “midnight snack” series, fluff, 600+ words.
a/n: got this idea eating marshmallows on the stairs again while thinking about donuts.
peter yawned, stretching his arms above his head. he rubbed his eyes, scratching the back of his head.
he looked at his bedside, checking the time. it was midnight, 12:30am to be exact. he sniffed, throwing the blankets off his body and he put his slippers on and he got one of his web shooters, wrapping it around his wrist and he covered it with his sleeve. he cracked his knuckles before slipping out of the room.
he headed for the kitchen in the compound, not thinking straight as he didn’t notice the open lights. he went over to the refrigerator, grabbing a box of donuts and setting it on the counter.
“hey, spider-man,” you greeted, scaring the shit out of him. he jumped back, pointing his wrist at you who was sitting on the counter. he looked at you, sleep still evident in his features but now that you surprised him, it was slowly being replaced by a smile.
“y/n! baby,” he drawled, dropping his arm to his side and he walked over to you and stood between your legs. you giggled, carding your fingers through his soft hair.
“nightmare?” you asked and he took your wrist, holding your palm to the side of his face and he kissed the inside of your wrist and your palm.
“now, that would just be cliche, don’t you think?” he asked you cheekily, his smile widening tenfold when he saw you playfully roll your eyes, a smile plastered on your face.
“stop that,” you chuckled, rubbing his cheek with your thumb. “‘just wanted to know if you were alright.”
“i am. but im even better now that you’re here.” he shared and you cocked an eyebrow.
“who’s being cliche now?” you teased and he laughed, leaning his forehead against yours.
“okay, fine, you win.” peter gave in and you giggled, nudging your nose with his. you leaned in, your lips ghosting his and he was two seconds away from closing his eyes when he saw you reach something to the right and he felt something fluffy on his lips.
he felt your thumb and pointer finger grab his chin and open his mouth and he felt you feed him something. he chewed, looking at you curiously. when he swallowed, he squeezed your thighs, making you squeal.
“making me eat marshmallows when we were just about to make out? seriously?” he asked jokingly and you nodded.
“mhmm. you just looked so beautiful,” you mumbled, kissing his neck, then his jaw, then his cheek, then you tried to kiss his lips. you then felt something touch your lips but you opened your mouth, biting it.
“seriously? don’t get me wrong, i love donuts but i was just gonna kiss you.” you complained but you saw his face and you knew what he was going to say before he was even gonna say it.
“mhmm. you just looked so beautiful,” he shot back, laughing in success when he felt you push his chest so he stumbled back.
“you’re so mean,” you pouted, taking another marshmallow and popping it into your mouth, taking another one and you held it out for him. he walked back over to you, grabbing the donut you bit and he offered it to you.
you both took a bite of each other’s food. you chewed and so did he, one hand on your waist and another on his donut. this continued on for quite some time until you saw a white-colored powder surrounding his lips.
you pointed to your own lips. “you have something on your face.” you said, but he wiped the wrong side of his mouth. an idea formed in your head and you smirked, your arms going around his neck. “let me help.”
your lips touched his, leaning deeper and deeper into the kiss as it progressed. you pulled back and examined his lips and you nodded your head in satisfaction. “there. all good.”
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Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader
Synopsis: Tony finds Peter’s box of condoms and confronts you
“Do either of you want to explain this?”
To punctuate his sentence, Tony slammed a small box of condoms down on the table in front of you. You immediately recognized the packaging and looked at Peter in fear. Peter looked just as scared, but gave your knee a squeeze to assure you that he had it handled.
“Um,” he gulped, “it’s a box of-“
“I know what it’s a box of.” Tony cut him off. “Actually, I knew what it used to be a box of. But for some reason…”
Tony dumped the box over and all but two condoms fell out. Your eyes somehow went even wider as the situation somehow got even worse. You knew it couldn’t be a good thing when Tony called you and Peter into the living room, you just never imagined it would be this bad.
“It’s empty.” He continued. “Can either of you heathens tell me why it’s empty?”
Peter turned bright red and looked at the ground, so you knew you had to step up. You looked between Tony and Peter before sheepishly raising your hand.
“Yes, Y/n?” Tony let out a long sigh.
“Because someone used all the-“
“I know why it’s empty!” He cut you off. “But who emptied it? Hm? Who’s been using these? Hm, Peter?”
You and Peter exchanged a look as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. You profusely shook your head and he nodded to show he understood.
“That’s not mine.” Peter weakly lifted a finger and pointed at the box.
“This isn’t yours?” Tony raised his eyebrow.
“I’m holding it for a friend?” Peter said, but it came out as more of a question.
“Oh, yeah?” Tony played along. “Which friend? Ned?”
“Yes.” You jumped in. “It’s Ned’s.”
“Okay.” Tony humored you. “And who is Ned having sex with?”
“Psh.” Peter scoffed. “More like who isn’t Ned having sex with?”
“Classic Ned.” You agreed.
“Oh really? So if I called his mother-“
“Don’t do that!” Peter panicked.
“Why not? She should know if her son is sexually active.”
“Fine. It’s not Ned’s.” Peter admitted. “It’s mine.”
“So you’ve been having sex?” Tony folded his arms and gave Peter a stern look. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head as he tried to think of something to say.
You, on the other hand, were not much help.
“You’ve been having sex?” You gasped over dramatically and looked at Peter. Peter glared at you, completely unamused, so you looked away.
“I’m sorry.” You mumbled.
Tony impatiently tapped his foot as he shifted his angry gaze between you and Peter. Peter sighed and rubbed his face before looking up to face Tony.
“Yes, Mr. Stark.” He said finally. “I’ve- we’ve been having sex.”
“And you didn’t tell me? Neither of you told me?” Tony looked between the two of you with disappointment.
“Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t hear us by now.” You tried to lighten the mood, but all you got were unamused glares from Peter and Tony.
“I’m sorry.” You mumbled and looked away.
“I can’t believe this.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re too young to be having sex. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Oh, he knows what he’s doing.” You cheekily nudged Peter. Tony and Peter looked at you with wide eyes, letting you know you did not help the situation.
“I’m gonna shut up.” You announced.
“Good choice.” Tony agreed. “I’m calling your mother.”
“Please don’t do that!” You exclaimed. “She’ll sew my cervix shut with one of those sewing kits that you keep in an old tin cookie container.”
“That was such a visual.” Peter cringed.
“Fine then.” Tony shrugged. “I’ll call your father.”
“Don’t do that. That’s even worse.” You panicked. “I know my dad and he will literally kill Peter. He’s one of those “anything you do to my daughter, I’ll do to you” type of dads.”
“Oh my God.” Peter looked at you in fear. “Anything I do to his daughter, he’s gonna do to me?”
“That’s what he always says.” You shrugged helplessly.
“So he’s gonna fuck me??” Peter’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Mr, Stark, you can’t tell him. Please. He’s so hairy and gross.”
“So true.” You nodded along as Peter freaked out.
“Y/n’s dad is not gonna- Jesus Christ.” Tony rubbed his temples and tried to stay calm. “See, this is why you two shouldn’t be having sex. You’re way too immature.”
“Am not.” You huffed.
“How did you even find those?” Peter realized. He had been so sure that two socks was enough to conceal them in his drawer.
“You left the wrappers in every bathroom in the house.” Tony said like it was obvious. “And you two are the only ones on floor three. So when I found a wrapper lying on my beautiful red carpet, I got a little suspicious.”
“Hey, at least you found condoms instead of a pregnancy test.” You smiled weakly. “You should be happy that we’re being safe.”
“I should be happy that the earths mightiest dumb asses are fornicating under my roof?” Tony challenged your.
“Fornicating?” You and Peter mumbled in unison.
“Having sex!” Tony yelled. “It means having sex! How are you doing the action without knowing the word?”
“Well who says fornication?” You scoffed. “This isn’t the the 1800s, Mr. Stark. You knew Peter and I have been together for a long time. We’re having sex and being safe. It’s normal.”
“In no world is it normal for anybody to be having sex with Peter Parker.” Tony said as he picked up the box. “I’m confiscating these. No more sex for you two.”
“No more safe sex for us two.” You corrected. “If we have a boy, should we name him Tony?”
“Hilarious, honey. Are we gonna ignore what Mr. Stark just said about me?” Peter asked as he looked between the two of you.
“Fine.” Tony grumbled and handed you the box. “But think about what I said. If you’re gonna be having sex, please be mature about it. Respect each other bodies and feelings and boundaries and whatnot.”
“Psh. We are so mature.” You said as you took Peters hand and stood up. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have some things to discuss.”
Peter let you drag him out of the room, still insulted from what Tony had said. Once you were out of earshot of Tony, you pulled Peter aside.
“Should we tell him what we really used the condoms for?” You whispered to Peter.
“No.” He whispered back. “It’s too embarrassing to tell him we were blowing them up and tying shrimp to them so they could float into the sky and then rain down onto unsuspecting pedestrians below. Let’s just let him think we’re having sex.”
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your mess | p.p
summary: peter got drunk at flash's party and you have to take care of him.
word count: 6.2k
warnings: talks of sex (like a lot, when I say a lot I mean a lot), smutty scenes, underage drinking, kisses get heated, peter almost mentally scars tony.
notes: it's an alternative version of my other fanfiction: drunk mess!! i won't be posting anything until next year (yeah, not even blurbs). so happy holidays and I'll come back with something I've been planning for a long time ;)
"Fucking hell." You groaned, your eyes fluttering open at the shrill ringing of your phone, pushing yourself up on your elbows as you turned to reach it.
Your fingers brushed against the cool surface of your night stand, an annoyed huff escaping your lips as you grab a hold of your phone, squinting at the sharp light of the bright screen.
You rolled your eyes as MJ's name flashed on the screen with a picture that you took of her when you went to Europe a few years ago. You quickly accepted the call, pressing the phone to your ear.
"What?" You rubbed your eyes as you sat up, annoyance seeping from your words as you pushed your back against the headboard, clutching the blankets close to your chest as a shiver shot up your spine.
“Hi Y/n—?” MJ called out, you winced, pushing the phone away from your ear. You could still clearly hear the howls, the loud music and the cheerful screams from the other side.“—yeah? Hello? Sorry, there is—fuck, you need to pick your mess up."
"You know, your boyfriend?" MJ said. You bit your bottom lip, a frown settling on your face. "I—yeah. He's drunk. Like drunk drunk."
"Peter is drunk?" Your eyes widened as the words left your mouth, still trying to process the information. You quickly pushed off your blankets, setting your feet down on the floor. You hissed at the cold touch of the marble floor as you switched on the light.
"Yeah, blame the college friends." MJ grumbled. "But that's not the point. You need to pick him up. I can't deal with him anymore."
"Aww, you are such a good friend." You muttered, rolling your eyes as your fingers gripped your hair roughly, trying to tame the mess.
"I love him, alright?" She retorted, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. "But I don't appreciate him trying to grope and kiss my boyfriend."
"Apparently," You heard Flash mumble from the other side, a cry of protest leaving MJ's lips which was drowned out by the noise. "He is very horny when he is drunk. MJ's words not mine."
"Yeah. I'll be there. Just–just keep him away from people." You reached for the handle of your closet, pulling out a jacket from the top rack. You bit your lip as you glanced down at yourself, regretting falling asleep in the dress you wore today. It was already cold enough. "Especially, like any girl or guy. Just–take care of him okay?"
"Yeah, don't worry." Flash reassured you. "Peter is doing that himself, he just shooed a girl away because she wasn't you."
"He shooed a girl away?"
MJ chuckled. "Yeah, he did, the look on her face was to fucking die for–wait, Peter, no—"
And she hung up.
"Fucking idiot." You muttered to yourself as you pocketed your car keys, putting on your shoes. "Just had to get his ass drunk, didn't he?" You shut your door behind yourself, zipping up your jacket as you crossed the distance between your room and the front door. "Asshole."
"It's late." You jerked your head around at your dad's voice. Your hand stilling on the doorknob. "Where to?"
You inhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over your face. "Going to pick Peter up from a party."
"He's at a party?" He glanced at his watch. "It's late–you didn't go?"
"No," you shook your head, your fingers fiddling with the hem of the skirt of your dress, "wasn't in the mood. but, he got drunk so I have to pick him up now–isn't it impossible for him to get drunk or something?"
"Well," Tony shrugged. "Not impossible, not if he had a lot to drink."
"I am going to kill him." You replied flatly, opening the door.
"Easy there," He chuckled, holding up his hand. "Don't yell at the poor kid when he's drunk."
"I am not going to do that. I'll just text May after I get him home."
"That's evil." He gasped.
"Yep," You let out a dry laugh. "I'll go pick him up."
Tony nodded. "Yeah, I want to see him. You've been hoarding all of my Peter time."
"Your Peter time?" You rolled your eyes at him. "He's my boyfriend, dad!"
Tony laughed, leaning against the wall. "Get the kid home."
Nodding your head, you made your way downstairs, getting into the car. You regretted not going along with him to Flash's party. He had insisted on you coming with him. He didn't want to go alone. And he couldn't not go because he promised Harry.
Still, you didn't think he'd get drunk. Not that you minded, you were just grateful that he had his friends there to take care of him. It might as well be a nice 'college experience' as your dad put it when you and Peter started college.
You've gotten drunk a lot while you were with him. And he was always the designated driver, he always stayed sober so he could take care of you which you appreciated. So, you were happy he was finally letting loose and having fun.
A part of you couldn't wait to see how he acted when he was drunk.
You pulled in the driveway of Flash's house. You locked the door, quickly making your way inside the house. Your heart thumped in your chest at the speed of light, the music pounding in your ears.
“Hey–" You glanced at MJ, your eyes growing wide at the sight. Her hair a mess, sticking to her face and neck, her mascara smeared near the edges of her eyes. You sighed, clutching your jacket tighter around yourself as she waved at you. "Hi!"
You pushed through the crowd, rolling your eyes as you bumped into sweaty bodies, mumbling a couple of 'sorry's and 'excuse me's as you walked over to MJ, her arm slung over the white railing of the stairs.
"Where is he–?" You eyed her, knitting your brows in confusion as she offered you a dazed smile, her fingers combing through her hair roughly. "What happened to you?"
"Nothing." She laughed nervously, fixing her black jacket, crossing her arms over her chest as she shrugged. "Why do you ask?"
"You look like a mess." You replied flatly. "Anyway, where is he?"
"I may have...lost him."
"I am sorry, okay?" She held up her hand, wiping her smudged lipstick from her chin absent-mindedly. "I got busy."
"What the fuck were you doing–?"
"MJ!" Flash appeared, his hands clutching the railings on the top of the staircase. He eyed MJ with annoyance, cocking his brow at her as she shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "Did you just have sex?" He gritted through his teeth, his face twisting with disgust. "In my room?"
MJ looked up, letting out an annoyed huff. "We were just—"
"Not even the guest room—"
"Harry was already in your room and–"
"Harry, you disgusting bitch." Flash took a deep breath, glancing at you but then turning his attention to MJ. "Fuck you, MJ. Where is he?"
"I don't know." She shrugged. "He went to look for Peter."
"And, where is he?" You asked.
Flash looked down at you, letting go off the railing, his hand falling limp by his side. "I saw him near the kitchen, like, an hour ago."
"Yeah, go." MJ cracked a smile, glancing at the living room. "Make sure he isn't whoring around."
“God, MJ. Don’t say that about my boyfriend.”
You made it to the kitchen, shivering at the cool breeze as you glanced at the open glass doors, leading outside to the outdoor pool. You whipped your head around as you heard a loud cheer only to find a couple of people gathered near the kitchen. Peter was sitting on the stool, leaning back against the counter, two bottles of beer dangling from his hands.
"Yes, I can drink this–" he took a sip from the beer bottle, letting out a sigh as he pushed the empty bottle in Harry's hand who was standing beside him, "–and more." He nodded towards the other beer bottle.
Your breath got caught in your throat as a girl leaned towards him, her hair tickling his face as he tried to push it off.
"You know," She purred, pressing her hand on his shoulder. "You look really hot while—"
"No." Peter pushed off her hand, not ever bothering to look at her. He brushed off her hair from his shoulder. "Shoo."
Harry winced, covering his mouth to muffle his laughter as a guy leaned towards Peter, completely enamored by the bottle of beer.
"Man, you should be dead, or like, alcohol poisoning." He shook his head, adjusting his cap. "Or some shit like that. How are you doing that?"
"I just have a higher alcohol tolerance than most–" His eyes lit up as he caught your eyes, a smile spreading across his lips as he held up his hands, making a grabbing motion with his fingers. "Baby!"
You rolled your eyes, walking over to him as you shot Harry a glare. You quickly slipped off your jacket as you eyed his thin shirt, he wasn't even shivering but it was fucking cold.
"You shouldn't be drinking so much." You snatched the bottle from his hands, ignoring his cry of protest as you set the bottle down on the counter. You touched his cheek, pushing his curls back from his forehead. "God, you're cold. Where is your jacket–peter!"
You yelped as he pulled you down on his lap, leaning back on the stool as your hands came up to his chest, gripping his thin shirt as you peered up at him. His hand holding onto your waist, holding you close to him.
"You look so pretty." He whispered as his calloused fingers caressed your cheeks, your cheeks warming as he leaned closer, his curls falling on his forehead. "So pretty for me."
"Y-yeah." You pushed his hand off, glancing at Harry who wiggled his eyebrows, nodding at you. You rolled your eyes, clutching your jacket to your chest. "It's cold, Pete. Take my jacket—"
"Shots, guys." A girl walked in, several glasses of shots on a tray as she offered them.
She raised the tray towards you and you shook your head, offering her a polite smile and she shrugged, turning away.
"I'll take one." Peter said, taking the glass. Before you could protest he brought the glass to your lips and finished the liquid in a matter of seconds. The crowd cheered and you looked at your boyfriend, stunned.
“Are you okay?” You asked as you took the glass from him, wiping the remaining liquid from his lips. "You've never drunk so much before."
“I am fine, y/n." He giggled, his hand sliding up your bare thigh, making you shiver in his arms. He brought his lips to your ear, kissing your neck softly as his hand traveled up, touching your inner thigh. “I am having fun.”
“Peter.” You closed your legs, trapping his hand in between your thighs as you looked around, hoping that nobody noticed. But that would be impossible considering you're literally sitting in the middle of a small crowd. You quickly covered your lap with the jacket, shooting him a glare. "You're drunk."
“I am not." He mumbled, pressing a sloppy kiss on your neck as his hand jerked up. You hissed as his cold watch rubbed against your thigh.
“You're really drunk." You pointed out, nodding at the beer bottles and he breathed out a laugh.
"You know I can't get drunk–
“But you are–”
“If I was drunk would I be doing this?" He chuckled against your lips, pressing his fingers against the edges of your panties and you gasped, pulling his hand out.
"Not what I thought but that's exactly what you would do if you were drunk. Which you are." You said, interlocking your fingers together as he whined. "I've never seen you be this forward with me." You giggled. "What did you do to my shy peter?"
He hummed in response, kissing your cheek. "Let me touch you, baby."
"We're in public for fuck's sake."
"If you both are done fucking on the stool," a girl, the same girl who was flirting with peter appeared, rolling her eyes. "I need a drink, care to move aside?"
“Okay." You slipped off from his lap, taking his hand, helping him stand up as he let out an annoyed huff, glancing back at the beer bottles. "We’re going home now.”
He whined, tugging at your skirt.
“You are drunk, babe. I don’t want you to get sick." You rubbed circles on the back of his hand with your thumb. "Please?"
“Fine” He pouted, slipping on your jacket, hugging it close to him as he glanced back. “Bye, guys.”
You inhaled sharply, turning to Harry. "Flash is looking for you. It's late, are you going to stay?"
"Yeah, probably." He glanced at his watch. "I'll have to help Flash with cleaning up after it's all over."
"Don't worry about her, I'll drop her off soon." He said, nodding at Peter. "Get his ass home."
"He's a mess." You laughed, kissing his cheek.
"A horny mess." Harry chuckled.
"Your mess, though." Peter kissed your neck and you patted his head.
"Yeah, my mess."
"Cool, take him home, I guess." The girl from before shrugged, sipping on a solo cup as you rolled your eyes, smiling politely at her anyways.
"Yeah, I will." You said firmly, ignoring the pang of jealousy as her eyes raked over your boyfriend who was leaning on you, playing with your hair.
“Fuck, you look so cute when you are jealous.” He giggled, kissing the tip of your nose as you led him to the door.
“I am not jealous.” You grumbled as he stopped in his tracks, pulling you back into his chest, his arms circling around your waist.
He pushed you against the bathroom door, which was right under the staircase. His hands trailed down your arms, making you shudder as you screw your eyes shut. His feather light touch caused warmth to spread under your skin like a wildfire. You reluctantly let out a whimper as his hands pushed past the hem of your skirt, his fingers crawling up your thigh. "So desperate for me," he chuckled, breathing against your neck, making your skin tingle. "all for me, sweetheart?"
You pulled away, wide-eyed, your hands clasped his wrist. He knitted his brows, a frown settling on his face as you press his hand back to his side, shaking your head as you glanced at the door. "We need to go home."
"You're right." He surprisingly complied, licking his lips as he eyed the front door. "You can't give me a blowjob in Flash's dirty bathroom." He wrinkled his nose as he patted the door. "Ew, we can do it when we get home."
"I swear to fucking god." Flash called out, leaning over the railing. "If you have sex in my bathroom–"
"Blowjob." Peter corrected him.
You quickly covered his mouth with your hand, letting out a cry of protest as he licked your palm. You scrunched your face up in disgust as you wiped your hand on his jacket.
“Why are you complaining about me licking your hand?” He cocked an eyebrow at you, “I’ve literally licked your cunt.”
You gasped. “Peter-”
"Whatever filthy shit you're planning to do." He nearly shrieked, waving his hand dismissively. "I'll kill you. I'll kill you dead. Get your horny ass home."
"Right." You muttered, slipping your hand in his as you pulled him out of the house, leaning into him as you shivered in the coolness of the night.
"Aren't you cold?" He asked, nuzzling his face in your neck and you shrugged, kissing his temple.
"I am but–I can't have you get sick so you take the jacket, yeah?" You smiled at him, pulling him to your chest. "You're too annoying when you are sick." You teased, rubbing your arms with your warm hands.
"Am I troubling you?" He asked sincerely, his eyes wide and full of love as he stared down at you when you reached the car. "I am sorry, y/n/n. You didn't need to pick me up. I should be responsible–"
"You're no trouble." You smiled, zipping up his jacket up to his chin. "You're allowed to have fun sometimes. And it's my job to take care of you so shut up." You patted his cheek. "And let me take care of you, okay?"
"Fuck yeah." He breathed out a laugh as he leaned against the door of the car. "Now that we have a car–wanna fuck here?"
You groaned, laughing nonetheless as he wiggled his eyebrows, motioning towards the ground. "Get on your knees, y/n."
"You get in the car, you asshole." You laughed, pushing him aside as you opened the door.
"We can't do it–"
“Why not?” He eyed you, glancing at the backseat of the car. He moved forward, pulling you closer by your wrist.
“I promise you, you'll look like the prettiest little angel with my cock stuffed in your mouth." He whispered, his tongue poking out to lick a stripe up your throat. You resisted the urge to melt in his arms as you tried to pull away from his grip. "Gonna look so fucking delicious with your lips wrapped around my cock."
"Peter." Your cheeks heated up as you pushed him away, motioning towards the car. "Get in, fuck, your being too forward tonight."
"Baby." He caught your wrist, pressing kisses on the back of your hand. "You can take me in the back of the car. I'll let you do anything to me."
“Anything?” You purred, pulling away from him as he nodded eagerly. He brushed the stray hair out of your face as you nibbled your bottom lip as suggestively as you could.
“Anything.” He whimpered against your lips as he pressed himself against you and you let out a soft giggle, your nails scratching the back of his neck lightly.
“You’re going to sit in the car. Shut up and let me drive.” His eyes widened in shock, gasping at your betrayal dramatically as you pushed him in the passenger seat.
He whined, pouting and jutting out his bottom lip, trying his best to look like a kicked puppy. You rolled your eyes, helping him buckle up his seat belt. He sighed and busied yourself in peppering kisses on your neck as you leaned over him.
You pulled away, giving you a stern look and he groaned in annoyance, pulling at the seat belt as your hand brushed against the bulge forming in his jeans by accident. You locked eyes with him and he offered you a cheeky grin.
"Shut up." You shut the door, walking over to your side. You slid inside the driver's seat as he grinned at you.
"I didn't say anything." He mumbled, leaning over to kiss your lips but you pushed him away.
"Fuck off." You dusted the skirt of your dress, starting the car.
“Y/n!" He whined, shifting in his seat as you sighed, eyes trained on the road ahead.
“You don’t want to kiss me anymore.” He let out a puff of air, his eyes almost brimming with tears as you laughed, glancing at him.
“I am driving, sweetheart. I can't–”
Your words get caught in your throat as his hand brushed against your bare thigh. He sucked in a breath, his fingers teasing your skin as he trailed up his fingers to pull the hem of your dress up, ducking to get a look.
"You're even wearing my favorite panties, y/n." He said, wide-eyes, mouth agape in awe. "Let me touch you please–"
You slapped his hand away, adjusting your dress as he gasped, staring at you in disbelief.
“You are not attracted to me anymore.” He scoffed, turning away from you and resting his forehead on the glass window. He sniffed, rubbing his nose as he sunk in his seat, his fingers fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket.
You glanced at him as you pulled in the parking lot of his apartment building. "I am–"
“I don’t turn you on anymore. I get it.” He whimpered, wiping his eyes as you bit your lip to muffle your laughter. You placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder, trying to regain your composure.
“Fuck, Peter." You ruffled his curls, pressing your cold hand against his neck to get his attention. "What am I gonna do with you?”
“Sit on my face?" He suggested and you puffed out a laugh, glancing at him as you giggled, your hand gripping the steering wheel.
"Your dad isn’t home, right?” He glanced out of the window. "Even if he is, we'll just lock the door and I'll stuff your panties in your mouth to keep you quiet."
“You...you can't say things like that, Peter." You breathed, your body growing hot at his words but you suppressed it. "Besides, we're at May's apartment not my dad's."
"And May isn't home." His lips twitched into a smile. "I don't even have to gag you, might do it just for fun, though. Make you taste yourself."
“Shut up!” You inhaled sharply, heat rushing to your cheeks.
“Won’t you like it, pretty girl?" His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer. "Gonna treat you like my good girl. Or if you want, might be your good boy tonight. Whatever my girl wants.”
“And we are here.” You ignored his words, wiping your face as you got out of the car. You jogged over to the other side, wrapping your arm around yourself as you opened the door for him. You laughed as he narrowed his eyes at you, bowing as you beckoned him to get out of the car. “My prince?”
He unfastened his seat belt, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes as he stepped out, shutting the door behind him. “I’d rather be called your slut but you don’t want me anymore.”
You breathed heavily, avoiding his gaze as you licked your chapped lips. You took his hand, leaning against his chest for warmth as you locked the door.
“Y-you're—” You cleared your throat as you stuffed the keys in his hoodie pocket, screwing your eyes shut as he wrapped his arms around you despite his sulking. “I hate you.”
“Calling me your slut gets you wet, baby?” You shook your head, pulling away from him but he pressed himself against you, feeling your curves.“You can call me anything. I’d be your slut if you want me to. I’ll be all yours.”
“God, Peter.” Your voice wavered as you placed a hand on his chest, looking up at him hesitantly as you pressed the button of the elevator. “Keep your voice down, someone might hear you.”
“There you go again!” He snapped at you, annoyed as he leaned back on the wall as he unzipped his hoodie, breathing heavily. “Why don’t you want me anymore?"
“I want ypu, trust me. I do—” You rolled your eyes, stepping into the elevator, pulling him in by his arm.The elevator doors shut with a finalizing thud and you continued. “But I can’t.”
"Why not? Don't I use my...stick right?" He sniffed, dropping his head against the wall. "You want to break up with me because I am not good at sex, don't you?"
"Did you just call your dick...a fucking stick?" You stared at him, flabbergasted at his wording.
“Tell me why we can’t fuck in the elevator?” He ignored your words, peering down at you as you sighed, holding up your hand.
“We just can’t.”
“I’ll let you fuck yourself down on my face." He said, glancing down at your legs. His eyes trailing up to your covered tits, he licked his lips.
“Gonna fuck you with my tongue while you're crying out on top of me." He said, pulling you to him. His hands trailed up your waist, up to your tits. He gave it a quick squeeze, his thumb pressing against the pebbled nipple. "Wanna eat that pussy, baby."
You pulled yourself out of his grip, but not before he dropped a feather light kiss on your neck, knocking all the air out of your lungs. You never saw him be so forward. You had your fair share of good night’s tangled in the sheets but he has never been so…vocal about how he felt. And if you were being honest, this was the hottest thing ever.
The elevator dinged as it opened on the seventh floor and you scurried out, pulling him out by tugging at his jacket. You pulled the keys out of his jeans pocket pushing the key into the lock.
He pressed himself behind you, his large hands pressing your hips back to his as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck as you shivered.
“Are you wet right now, baby?" He whispered, biting your earlobe. He peppered kisses down your neck, biting your sensitive skin.
“You are, aren’t you? If you are not going to touch me, will you touch yourself tonight?" He nibbled on your skin, licking the bruise forming on your skin. "Gonna put on a show for me?"
You quickly pushed the door open, walking in and shutting the door behind him. He pouted as you helped you take off his jacket, you took off your shoes, locking the door.
“We can literally have sex anywhere you want. The living room. Kitchen. The foot of my bed—”
“The foot of your bed?”
“We can try that.” He shrugged and you rolled your eyes.
Peter sighed, his shoulders dropping in defeat as he plopped down on the bed, burying his face in the blanket as his feet dangled from the edge of the bed.
You walked in, a glass of water in your hands. "Hey, sit up."
He craned his neck, smiling softly as he found you standing near the foot of the bed. He pulled himself up, accepting the glass from you with a polite smile. "Thank you, y/n."
"Drink up, sweetheart." You kissed his temple, running your fingers through his curls in order to tame the mess. He hummed leaning in your touch as he brought the glass to his lips, emptying it in a matter of seconds.
He handed you the glass and you placed it near his desk. You kissed his forehead, massaging his scalp with your fingers as he let out a sigh of content. "Feeling good?"
"Fucking euphoric." He moaned, dropping his head against your chest and you laughed, tapping his shoulder.
“Have you ever thought about me tying you to bed with my webs?" He wondered out loud as your eyes widened.
“Fuck, Peter.” You inhaled sharply, averting your eyes from him as he chuckled.
“Yes please. Fuck Peter.” He muttered as you rolled your eyes, wiping his mouth with the back of your hand as he giggled, clutching your hand to his lips and you sighed.
“No. We are not going to have sex tonight.”
"Please?" His pout flattered as you shook your head, patting his cheek.
“Come on.” You said as you walked over to the closet, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and shirt from the top rack. You placed the clothes down on the bed beside him. “Go get changed.”
“I can’t.” He muttered, stubborn.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t get changed by myself.” He nibbled on his bottom lip, trying his best to maintain his innocent composure and you narrowed your eyes at him.
“You aren't that drunk–”
“I can’t take care of myself. Please take my clothes off.” He pleaded, a mischievous glint in his eyes that you tried your best to ignore as he raised his hands, making it easy for you to slip off his shirt. You pulled the shirt over his head, combing through his messy curls, trying to tame them.
He stretched out his arms, his abs flexing as he dropped back on the bed, his arms spread out.
“Can you not do that?” You spluttered and he raised an eyebrow at you, pointing at his abs, flexing them again much to your liking.
“You can touch them if you want." He offered and you shook your head, getting to your knees in front of him.
“Your loss." He shrugged and you sighed, undoing his shoelaces. You took off his shoes, placing them aside. You pulled off his socks, rolling them up and tossing them in the laundry basket.
"My jeans now." He mumbled and you chuckled, moving in between his legs as your fingers went up to his zipper hesitantly, unzipping his jeans.
"Now we're talking." He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a smug smile plastered on his face. "Such a good girl. Looking like an angel on her knees for me, aren't you?"
You bit your lip, slipping off his jeans, sliding them down his legs as he sighed. "Gonna suck me off, baby?"
"Peter." You stood up to your full height, pulling out his phone and wallet from his pocket and placing them on the bedside table.
"Want me to fuck your face?" He brought his hand down to caress your cheeks, tipping your chin up with his finger. "Make me cum?"
Your cheeks heated up as you pulled away. "For fuck's sake, shut up!"
“But it’s true, Y/n. I want you to make me cum so bad.”
“Please, Y/n. I'm so hard right now.” He pulled him down, over him. He pressed up against you, a groan of pleasure escaping his lips as he rocked his hips against you. You screwed your eyes shut, you could either give into the pleasure of you could–
You pushed yourself off him, falling beside him on the bed as he let out a grunt, frustration coating his features as he turned to you.
“No I can’t, Peter. You’re drunk. I really want to but I don’t want you to regret it.” You mumbled, placing a hand on his cheek.
“But I am not going to. You’re my girlfriend. We can do it.” He reassured you, moving up to kiss your lips but you brought a hand down to his shoulder, squeezing it.
“No." You said, pushing him away gently. "I can’t. I am sorry.”
"I can’t even be mad at you.” He sat up, his fingers running through his hair, tugging at them roughly as he glanced at you. “I know you’re right. How are you such a good person. Can’t you just turn that rational part off and just fuck me?”
“I totally would but-”
“You can’t, I get it. You’re right. You’re so good sometimes I hate you.” He shifted closer to you, pushing stray hair out of your face. He pecked your cheek, dropping his head in the crook of your neck.
“Shut up.” He mumbled under his breath, pulling away from you. You reached for his clothes but he was already crawling over to his side of the bed.
“Wear it–" You started but he shook his head, curling up under the blankets.
“Put on some clothes, babe." You insisted.
"No, I am hot." He grumbled into the pillow, pulling the blanket up to his face.
“It’s a bit chilly-”
“Okay fine.” You raised up your hands in mock defense as you moved over to the end of the bed.
Peter groaned as his phone rang, squinting at the screen as he accepted the call.
"'ello?" He mumbled, the phone held loosely in his hand.
You giggled as you pulled off your dress, folding it neatly and placing it on his desk. You turned to face the mirror, picking up his comb and combing your hair as you turned to Peter who leaned back on the bed.
"Mis'er stark?" He yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he rolled over, his eyes widening as his gaze landed on you.
"How much did you drink, kid?" Tony chuckled from the other side.
"Kid." Tony warned.
"A lot." He confessed, smiling to himself sheepishly as you giggled, your hands reaching back to unclasp your bra. It fell down your shoulders and you caught it, placing it on his desk.
His eyed you, drinking in your half naked body as heat rushed to your cheeks. You covered your tits with your hands, turning away from him teasingly.
"We're going to have a long talk about that." Tony inhaled sharply.
"Yeah." Peter mumbled, his eyes fixated over your body. You chuckled as you slipped on a shirt.
“Is y/n with you? Tony asked. "She didn't take her phone with her."
"Yeah she is. She's looking like an angel, Mr. Stark." He muttered dreamily as you shot him a look, pulling on the sweatpants.
"Yeah?" Tony smiled.
"Yeah." He agreed, his smile widening as you rolled your eyes. "Looking so beautiful like this. God, I love her."
Tony let out a light chuckle in response.
"Looking like a fucking angel in just her panti–"
"Yeah, that's enough!" You quickly pulled the phone from his grip, your eyes widening as you glared at Peter.
You quickly hung up, crawling in the bed with him as he whined.
"What was that?" You said as you slipped inside the blanket, snuggling close to him. He sniffed, placing his head on chest as he wrapped an arm around your waist.
"S'fine, baby." You patted his cheek. He shuffled impossibly closer to you, tucking his head under your chin, his cheek squished against your clothed boobs.
His hand slid up your waist, you sighed, your body melting in the warmth radiating off his body. He brought his hand up to your chest, placing it on your boob. He whined as you slapped it away.
"Let me touch your boobs." He whimpered, rubbing his face in between your boobs as you laughed but shook your head.
"No." You giggled, your fingers threaded in his curls.
"Give me your bra then." He muttered, you cocked an eyebrow at him.
"It's the closest thing to your boobs." He shrugged nonchalantly and you stared at him in disbelief.
“Are you seriou-?”
"Fine." You crawled over to the edge, fetching your bra from his desk and handed it to him.
You chuckled to yourself as he smiled, turning around and snuggling in his pillow, with your bra in his hands. You crawled over to him, kissing his cheeks as you wrapped an arm around his waist.
He groaned as he twisted around in the sheets. His head pounded as he tried to sit up with his back to the headboard for support. He blinked at the red bra bunched up in between his fingers, his brows knitting in confusion.
“Oh, you’re awake.” You said. You were standing near the doorway and he blinked a couple of times at the sharp sunlight. “I’ll get you some Advil.”
You came back with the medicine and a glass of water. He took the medicine as you rubbed his forehead and he rested his head on his shoulder.
“I am never drinking ever again.” He grumbled and you giggled, kissing his forehead.
"Well, not as much as you drunk last night." You pulled his head up, kissing the corner of his mouth. "But you can have a little. In limit, alright?"
He nodded, his gaze falling upon your bra in his hand. His cheeks flushed as he caught you eyeing the bra with a small smile.
"Why do I…?" His blush deepened as he held up the bra, searching your eyes. "Why do I have this?"
You chuckled, "I said you couldn't touch my boobs–"
"And I asked for your bra because it was the closest thing to your boobs." He squinted at you in disbelief. "I can't believe I did that."
"So you remember?"
You laughed, wiping his mouth with the end of your sleeve as he leaned closer to you.
“Thank you for not sleeping with me last night." He glanced at you, his voice small. "Even though I insisted–it wouldn't be right."
“Of course, Pete. You shouldn’t thank me for doing the bare minimum.” You placed a kiss on the crown of your head. “Even though it was hard with everything you were saying.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.” He groaned, his head dropping in his hands.
"You're a whore when you're drunk!" You cracked up, your eyes crinkling as you wheezed. "You said so many dirty things–"
“I know what I said!” He blushed, swatting at your shoulder but you only laughed harder, causing him to crack a smile.
“I didn’t know you had it in you." You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye. "You asked me if you could fuck my face–"
"You asked me to sit on your face–"
"You said I'd look so pretty with your cock stuffed in my mouth, peter." Your hand came up to muffle your giggles as you watched the tips of his ears turn red. "You said you wanted to be my slut–my good boy–"
"You almost told my dad about me being in my panties in front of you–”
"Shut up!" He buried his face in the pillow.
“Every word that came out of your mouth was basically porn." You tapped his butt and he whined. "It was quality porn, though. I am telling you.”
9K notes · View notes
Sunset Lovers || Peter Parker (Soulmate AU)
summary ↠ you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae. ↠ college!soulmate au; gn!reader.
warnings ↠ near-death experience (almost traffic collision; no injuries sustained), minor angst. this is very very fluffy on the whole, though. very soft :’) angst w a happy ending, if you will...
word count ↠ 6k.
a/n ↠ I feel emotional distress for 0.2 seconds and fall back to my 16 year old coping mechanism of fluffy peter parker fic ,,,, :D kinda very happy with how this turned out tbh. I hope you like it :)
++ I don’t like how a lot of soulmate aus are reliant on heteronormative structures and ideals, so I tried really hard to construct this universe in a way that would appeal to any type of person and any form of relationship that might fall under the category of a ‘soulmate’! it’s all world building stuff, but I guess if you’re wondering why I made it more fluid than my previous attempts at this au, that’s why! love is fluid and flexible and I think it’s important to reflect that in fiction!!
*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧
You’re in the college library, staring blankly at an open book, when a warm tingling on your left forearm distracts you from the pages. You’re glad for it, eyes blurry and mind drowsy, willing to take any distraction from the lines of symbols you’re trying to memorise. It’s finals season, and it feels as though the library has become your second home for the last week, your eyes more accustomed to the blank desks than your dorm across campus.
Bunching up the sleeve of your hoodie, you narrow your eyes as you squint at your skin. Gold writing appears, printed to your arm in a shade that’s vibrant against your skin tone. It shimmers slightly as you draw your arm nearer your face.
Where did you go? Are you okay? :(
A tired sigh slips past your lips. It’s as if he can read your mind. You uncap one of your thin-tipped highlighters, and your eyebrows knit together as you write a few words in response.
Library :( I hate studying. Send help please
Wish I could :( What are you studying??
Sit my test for me?
I would, but you refused to write my English paper, so…
I hate you >:(
You don’t hate him. You could never hate him. The man responsible for the scribbles over your forearm is your soulmate, and he means more to you than anyone else in the world.
For as long as written history dates back, tales have been immortalised detailing the endeavours of people connected via the link endearingly dubbed the ‘soul bond’. Most souls are partnered in pairs, but, on occasion, there are cases of more than one person being linked together. Some soulmate bonds are platonic, most romantic, but what remains is a close and fulfilling link between the bonded. Soulmates are tied together because they slot together organically, and though love doesn’t come with the soul bond, it’s easy to grow, easy to nurture. You are whole without your partner, just as you are whole with them, but there’s an undeniable thrill associated with spending your lives together.
The main giveaway that someone is your soulmate is the fact that any word, scribble, or picture sprawled across their skin appears on yours a moment later. Phantom writing announces itself with a gentle tingle, and it remains there until the imagery is removed by your partner. They make their mark on you, and in return, anything you write on your body transfers to them, too.
There are a few rules to the link—some pesky parameters set by the universe to balance the system. Regardless of the colour of pen used to communicate, it always comes out gold, tinged in a tone that varies from person to person depending on the depth of their skin tone. Offensive diagrams and harmful words are censored and appear on your skin skewed. Your face is off-limits, but other than that, your soulmate could choose to write on whatever part of their body they desire, and the message would print onto yours. By far, the most annoying twist to the bond is the fact that certain pieces of information are banned. If you try to communicate anything forbidden, the message goes undelivered, and you’re placed on a writing ban for an entire day. A wide variety of topics are ruled out, from things as broad as your name and location to any specific pieces of information that could allow you to be found. Once you’ve met your soulmate, the rule dissipates, allowing the bonded to communicate freely and easily, as the hurdles are only in place to prevent any cheating of the system. The universe wants you to find your bonds organically, and though most people usually do, the uncertainty beforehand is cruel.
Your soulmate, whoever he is, is very cute. You’d grown your link when you’d turned sixteen, back when you were both in high school. The first thing you’d found scribbled on your hand was a series of chemistry formulae, slightly smudged and completely useless to you, but you’d spent hours staring at the loopy handwriting before replying with your own short message.
Back then, you’d used to spend hours talking every night, running through packet after packet of pens as you’d unravelled your soulmate. You’d worked out that he is a man, attending high school at the same time as you. Through the scattered equations and symbols you’d frequently found yourself covered in, it’d been easy to ascertain he’s into science and maths. You can tell, through short messages alone, that he’s smart. His mind moves fast, fingers even quicker, and it’s always a marvel to watch his words appear on your skin, rising to the surface far faster than you could ever scribble.
You don’t think you’d mind if you met your soulmate and your relationship took the form of platonic adoration. The idea of a perfect best friend, yours for as long as you live, is exciting, thrilling, and often even more fulfilling than a love match. However, there’s always been a small part of you that’s masqueraded as a helpless romantic, and you’d be lying if you said the thought of meeting a romantic partner doesn’t thrill you more than anything else. Sometimes when you lay in bed at night, watching the street lamps paint your walls in shades of burnt amber, you wonder what it’d be like to have your soulmate beside you, curled into your side, or holding your hand beneath the sheets.
Luckily for you, you think your soulmate likes you. Likes you likes you. He’s cute, in a shy, tentative way, but he never fails to drop small compliments into conversations. He memorises everything you’ve said with such clarity that often, you wonder if he’s written down the things you’ve told him. He checks in when you’re silent, gives you space when you need it, never fails to be your number one supporter. It’s cute, but it also makes your heart ache. You want to know him, in real life, want to know his name and be able to touch him, but the stars just haven’t aligned yet.
You’re both nineteen now, both in college. With three years of talking between you, it’s rarer you stay up all night talking in scribbles, smiling at the ceiling. It still happens, but both of you are busy—him especially. Back at the start, there was a period when he’d started vanishing, disappearing for hours and sometimes even days at a time. The change had happened overnight, and it’d puzzled you, but you’re so grateful he’s become more reliant again. He’s still busy—still vanishes most evenings, unresponsive and far away—but he’s yours, and the knowledge that he’s only ever one message away soothes you.
A shallow sigh falls past your lips. As a yawn tugs at your lips, there’s another wave of warmth rippling across your skin.
Are you almost done? You’re tired :(
How do you know I’m tired?
As you wait on a response, you start putting away your things. He’s told you before, but you want to see it again.
Your smileys go really wonky when you’re tired. The eyes are always uneven. It’s cute.
Your heart melts. Instinctively, your fingers curl into fists. Sometimes, he says things so romantic it makes you wonder if he’s even aware that what he’s saying is incredibly endearing. He slots compliments between the lines, applies subtext so minuscule that it’d go undetected to anyone other than you.
Swallowing, you sling your bag over your shoulder.
I’m going home now. Talk soon <3
Be safe! <3 <3 <3 <3
He draws a series of hearts around the final words of warning, and you find your fingertips trailing over the lines as you leave to the library. Outside, it’s late afternoon and darkening, the sun just beginning to set over the city. The cool air of December whips at the tender softness of your cheeks, but the warmth you feel as you touch the words imprinted on your skin makes you feel invincible.
Campus is deserted—eerily so. Craving adventure, you’d purposefully picked the college in New York that it’s rumoured Spider-Man attends, the city’s finest hero. Whether or not he’s actually an enrolled student is disputed, but he’s frequently sighted around campus, and your college has embraced it. There are murals up on the walls and fliers with his mask printed all over them. Your college has claimed him as an unofficial mascot, and you find yourself surrounded by images of his face. It makes you feel a little less lonely as you walk home alone, the streets around you deserted in favour of warm apartments and bustling cafés.
Whistling softly beneath your breath, you find yourself distracted. The sun is setting, and your eyes are easily drawn to the beautiful rays of gold being thrown across the aching city buildings. So wrapped up in your thoughts, you don’t look properly before you try to cross a road, and it’s a mistake that knocks the air from your lungs when you finally glance up at your surroundings.
Everything happens at once: your heart stopping at the sight of an unforeseen bus barreling towards you, the hard screech of brakes against tarmac, the yells of several distant voices. You find yourself frozen, fear keeping you in place like a cold spire, riddling your body utterly immobile. As inertia consumes you, your life flashes before your eyes, memories held in small snapshots that bring a lump to the back of your throat. The amber headlights burn your eyes, and the last thing you know to do is shut them and brace yourself.
Just as you think you’re a goner, there’s a heavy slam into your back. You go tumbling forwards, almost falling, only to find yourself being scooped up a moment later. Shaking, you try to squirm, try to open your eyes, only to feel a strong arm holding your back, pressing you into a figure.
“Stay still,” a kind voice says. “I’ve got you.”
When you open your eyes, a terrified squeak tumbles through your lips. You’re up in the air, flying between buildings, the wind from the speed tousling your hair. You look around desperately only to realise you’re being held, hugged tightly against a figure doused in red and black.
The sight makes your eyes widen, still cold and damp from tears. You try to process it, try to string together the bleary series of events, but even as he places you down on the roof of the campus library, your mind is tied in knots.
“Hey, hey, hey, you don’t look so good. Here… Sit down. It’s okay.”
The hero helps you onto a bench. You collapse into it, wide-eyed and nervous, pulling your knees to your chin immediately. After a moment spent trying to steady your breathing, you find the strength to look up.
“Spider-Man,” you utter, not quite believing the words that exit your mouth. “You saved my life.”
He’s leaning up against the railing, elbows hooked over the metal bannister. With the setting sun behind him, the red panels of his suit are flushed bright scarlet, the black plastic a deep, almost shimmering shade. He’s looking at you, expression obscured by the mask brushed over his face, but the way the white eyes contract and expand as he tilts his head to the side makes you aware that he’s looking at you.
“Are you okay?” he asks. His voice is pitched higher than you’d expected, but it’s full of warm concern.
You swallow. “Yeah.” Your waist feels a little sore from where his arms had tackled you, but now the most prominent thing you feel is embarrassment. “Shit,” you mutter, briefly hiding your face in the crook of your elbow. “I can’t believe the one time I meet Spider-Man is when I almost get slammed by a bus.” You crack a smile, laughing nervously. “This is so embarrassing.”
Spider-Man laughs. It’s gentle and light, and you know he doesn’t mean it maliciously. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he says. He pushes away from the railing and walks nearer, pausing in front of you. Taking the hint, you slide a little further up the bench, leaving the space beside you empty for him to drop into. “Accidents happen. Just, uh… Maybe don’t try walking out into a road without looking again, okay?”
You roll your eyes, tickled by the cheek in his voice. “Thanks for those words of wisdom, Spider-Man,” you say, teasing him slightly, “I’ll be sure to bear them in mind.”
It’s an odd sight: Spider-Man slumped out on the bench beside you. He has his legs crossed, ankle over thigh, arms spread behind the wood. With the setting sun covering your face, it’s as if he’s doused in gold. There’s a warmth in your chest, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from the sun or the man.
“What’s your name?” he asks. He looks back at you.
He releases a small noise from the back of his throat, all chimes and whistles. It draws a large smile to your face.
“That’s a… really nice name,” he replies somewhat awkwardly. His fingers shift down to his arm, padded fingers circling over his wrist. After a moment, he looks back across the skyline. “We’re on top of the college library, by the way,” he adds. “It was the nearest building. Thought you’d appreciate some privacy after… Well, yanno.”
You smile. “Thank you,” you say. “And thank you for saving my life.”
He pulls out the finger guns, clicking his tongue at the same time. “All part of the job, Y/N,” he replies.
Now you’re no longer in fear of your life, your curiosity returns. “Is it true you’re a student here?”
Spider-Man sits up a little straighter. “I can’t say,” he says, and you think he’s frowning. He pauses for a moment before adding, “I like it up here, though.” Extending a hand, he gestures out at the city.
“It’s pretty.” You take a few moments to watch the sunset. It’s almost over now, darkness beginning to dust the skyline. “Peaceful.”
He hums. Side by side, you admire the city. The moment feels special, with warmth held tightly in the centre of your chest. It’s only shattered when Spider-Man releases a short huff before groaning as he stands, stretching his arms above his head as he walks a few paces.
“Well,” he announces, voice quiet, “I needa go. People to see, places to swing.” Spider-Man turns back to look at you, hesitating slightly. “I, uh… I hope you have a good night, Y/N. Stay safe.”
“Thank you!” you call back. You rest crossed-legged on the bench as you watch Spider-Man walk towards the edge of the roof, suit catching glimmers of the setting sun. As he surveys the city, you reach into your bag, pulling out a pen. It’s second nature now to inform your soulmate of anything consequential that happens to you, and you think an audience with Spider-Man might warrant a message.
You’re not gonna believe what just—
You pause halfway through your message when Spider-Man releases a soft noise of surprise. His hand covers his forearm, fingertips rubbing over his suit.
“Are you okay?” you call out, worry flexing your brows.
Distractedly, he shouts back a gentle, “yeah, yeah, yeah. All good, Y/N.” Without looking back at you, he plants a foot on the railing. “Bye!”
Spider-Man swings off before you’ve got even a chance to respond. Sighing softly, you finish off your message.
You’re not gonna believe what just happened! Craziest day ever?!
With the pen capped again, you stand from the bench. After shouldering your bag, you walk to the edge of the rooftop and lean up against the railing. The cityscape beyond is beautiful—lit in dusk shades of deep purple and burnt orange. They’re complemented dangerously by flashing sirens, red and blue, stemming from a disturbance in the distance. When you squint your eyes and lean over the railing, you see the tiny figure of Spider-Man swinging towards the lights.
The smile that curls across your lips is reflexive, and you couldn’t shake it even if you wanted to.
With a final wistful sigh, you turn your back on the city and head back into the library, beginning your walk home for the second time.
*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧
Your soulmate is quiet for a few hours, and it gives you some time to decompress.
Back home, safe and sound, you can’t sit still. You feel rattled. Maybe it’s the stress of your near-death experience or the fact that you’d had the honour of meeting such a well-known hero, but you’re on edge and anxious. It doesn’t help that the news headlines show nothing but scenes of carnage downtown. It seems the hero landed himself in a bit of trouble after swinging away from you, and it’s as if you can feel the ache in your arms as you see blurry video clips of him fighting criminals, followed by snapshots of his suit singed and torn.
With shaky hands and a racing heart, you find yourself analysing your connection with the man. You feel worried—truly worried, more than you would’ve done before—and it’s hard to figure out if it’s some form of survivor’s gratitude or something deeper. After a while, you put it down to the stress and shake it off.
When your soulmate eventually responds, it’s gone midnight, and you’re exhausted. The message you’d printed to your arm had vanished after you’d showered, and when he admits that he’s had a rough day, you decide to keep your encounter to yourself. You’d hate to flex your good fortune on someone when they’re down, and, quite honestly, you’re still too baffled by the whole experience to feel comfortable sharing it yet—even with your soulmate, whom you’d normally tell everything to.
Life continues as usual for a few days. You split your time between your friends and your studies, getting a few of your finals done along the way. On a few occasions, you find yourself drawn back up to the library roof, retracing your steps and spending a while sitting on the bench. It’s hard to explain it, but you feel comfortable up there, surrounded by the city and the memories of such a brief encounter. The rooftop itself is usually fairly bare; besides the bench, there are only a few other features. There are a couple plant pots with wilted plants you’ve taken to watering, some old chairs and a humming power generator tucked out of the way. It’s deliberately unattractive to stop students from stomping all over the library roof, but it’s perfect, and it’s almost like there’s an invisible string tugging you back, over and over again.
One day, about a week after Spider-Man saved your life, you find yourself climbing the eight flights of stairs that lead up to the roof. Your bag is heavy on your shoulders, but there’s a smile on your face. You can feel warm words being written over your arm, the messy scrawl of your soulmate’s handwriting taking hold of your skin again. You don’t look at it yet, continuing to climb the stairs until you break through the door and find yourself on the rooftop.
You’re not alone this time.
There’s a boy.
He’s leaning back against the railing, his bag half-open and thrown on your bench a few feet away. He’s clasping a pen in his fingers, and he’s writing over his arm. In the split second that you’re undetected, you clock the chestnut brown hair and a thick navy hoodie and come to the brief conclusion that he looks unthreatening. When the heavy fire exit door bangs behind you, the man startles. Curious brown eyes join the ensemble, along with pale skin and kind features.
The world… stops. It’s like you’re stuck in place, feet rooted to the hard concrete as the sounds of the city fade out. Tunnel vision shrinks the scene around you until you’re aware of nothing but the man in front of you and the pounding of your heart, painful against your ribcage.
You try to stop staring, but it’s hard. He’s looking at you too, inquisitive eyes roaming around your face, your figure, before settling onto your gaze. He raises his chin almost defiantly before his lips pull into an uncertain smile. He has to be the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life, all sharp jaws and cherry-red lips.
“Hi,” he calls out, voice quiet. It feels familiar, and you find yourself stepping forward, your body finally coaxed back to life. “I, uh… I’m Peter.”
You raise a hand, managing a soft wave. Before trying to reply, you have to swallow down the dryness in your throat.
“Y/N,” you say. He looks at you like he knows you. It’s enough to have you adding, “have we met before?”
Peter shakes his head. A soft blush spreads over his cheeks. “Nah, don’t think so,” he squeaks. He pushes away from the railing and crosses his arms over his chest. “We might’ve met in a class?” he puzzles. “Do you do chem?”
You laugh. “No,” you say immediately. Rocking forward on your feet, you walk closer to him. “I’m not really a science person.”
“Ahhh.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes wide and inquisitive. When you meet his gaze and offer a shy smile, he clears his throat. “O-Oh,” he fumbles. “If you wanna be up here, I can go. I just— was here to watch the sunset.” He springs towards the bench and begins to zip up his bag quickly.
“Oh, no,” you say, “you don’t need to go, Peter. I was, uh… also just coming up here to breathe.” You crack a wry smile. It’d be harder to explain your oddly sentimental attachment to this rooftop and this bench, so you say, instead, “this is the best place to watch the city.”
Peter hums. He tentatively gestures at the bench. “We could, um, watch the city together…? If you want?”
“Okay,” you mumble. You feel antsy, but it’s not uncomfortable. Rather, it’s familiar. It’s exciting. The nerves are like the ones you’d felt like that night with Spider-Man.
There just be something about this rooftop that draws out the frantic pump of your heart.
Peter throws his bag onto the rooftop and sits on the bench. You settle beside him, putting a little space between you both before tilting your head to look at him.
“So,” you say, “what’s your favourite building to look at?”
You talk for a while. A long while. The conversation just sort of… flows. Every gap in discussion is quickly patched by a smooth topic change or small joke, and you find yourself clinging to every word he says. Peter’s cute, and there’s something incredibly disarming about the smooth timbre of his voice. It’s expressive, constantly twisting and dancing in response to the things that you say. When he laughs, it’s like a wheeze, and the skin by his eyes puckers into deep ravines of amusement. You love the sound, and you love how quickly you learn that it only takes a stupid pun or terrible joke to draw it out of him. You learn a lot of things, actually, which is saying something considering he’s always pivoting the conversation back to you. How are you doing, how are your finals going, what do you like to do..? He asks, and he listens, peering across at you with those cavernous brown eyes and an equally soft smile.
The sun sinks, and your heart warms.
You don’t realise how long it’s been until you feel a shiver wrack across your shoulders and look out at the skyline to see it cloaked in darkness. The moon is out, obscured behind wispy clouds, but her light scatters constellations across Peter’s face, his cheeks flushed from the cold and the tip of his nose bright red.
“D’you want me to walk you home?” Peter asks, quickly rubbing his hands over his arms. As he waits for you to reply, he reaches down to grab a floppy hat from his bag. It’s very clearly home-knitted—a garish mix of red and blue that fits very loosely over his head. “It, uh… my aunt made it,” he adds, blushing slightly.
You chuckle. “Nah,” you say, a little reluctant, “I gotta get the subway. So, unless you wanna walk for like… an hour, you probably shouldn’t.”
Peter’s eyes light up. “I get the subway too!”
“We could go to the station… together?”
He nods immediately. The chords of his hat shift in the air. “Yeah,” he agrees, “it can be pretty dangerous out there.”
A short laugh gets lodged in the back of your throat. “Sure can be,” you say, briefly thinking about your encounter from the week before. “I’d like that,” you add. There’s a strange sort of electricity that crackles in the air between you, and it makes carrying eye contact quite tricky.
“Okay.” Peter smiles. “I’d really like that too.”
Your arms and elbows brush as you walk down the bustling streets of New York side by side. You take a couple of detours together, leaning into Peter’s suggestion to stop at a kiosk and grab a warm drink. In return, you drag him into Central Park to see the small market that he claims he’s been too busy to stop by.
Peter is very cute beneath the twinkling festive lights. With refractions of green and red bulbs illuminating his face, he feels multi-dimensional and exciting. You try not to admire him too much, guilt about your soulmate jabbing your ribs every time you get carried away. Despite this, somewhere between watching him fawn over the reindeer in Central Park and being gifted a black and white cookie from one of the market stalls, you decide he’s wonderful. Wonderful, like a friend, wonderful… like something else. You tell yourself that it doesn’t really matter, and you try not to stress yourself out about it because he’s so cute, and the heavy trill of his laughs is enough to dull any thoughts of guilt. You don’t really want to say goodbye to him, but when the heavens open and rain begins to splash the sidewalk, you’re forced underground.
It’s only when you’re on the subway, gazing forlornly out the window, that you realise you never got his number.
Later, when you’re home and sullen, you bring yourself to read the words inked across your skin, lingering from before you stumbled across Peter.
The sunset looks really pretty tonight. Can’t wait until I can watch it with you! <3
*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧
It takes a few days for you to get over the whole situation. In all honesty, even when you eventually forgive yourself for failing to get the guy’s number, you still find yourself trying to make it up. You continue going up to the rooftop, now drawn back for Peter instead of Spider-Man, but finding it equally as bare as it usually was. If anything, it only seems to get colder every night as you become used to seeing the rooftop alone.
In all honesty, you hadn’t expected to see Spider-Man again. You’d buried the encounter in a box entitled ‘weird things that hurt too much to think about’, slotted just beside the warm encounter with Peter from the week before. So it’s incredibly surprising, borderline shocking, to burst up onto the library roof following your last final to see the masked hero sitting on your bench, staring out pensively across the skyline. He hears you the moment you step through the door, reflexes sharp, and if he’s surprised to see you, he doesn’t show it.
“We gotta stop bumping into each other like this!” he calls out, voice light and friendly.
Your brows crease as you walk over to him, releasing a nervous laugh. “What do you mean?” you ask. “I’m not about to be killed.” You pause for a second, feigning shock as you glance around. “Am I?”
Spider-Man goes very quiet for a second. “Oh— y-yeah,” he says, voice lower. “Sorry. I, uh… Yeah. Ignore that.” He takes a second to think before bouncing back, words instilled with enthusiasm. “Y’wanna sit down?”
You nod wordlessly, a lump in your throat. This is Spider-Man, and this time, you don’t have adrenaline to rely on. It’s hard to know what to do and how to act with your brain whirring as slowly as it is. It feels as though you’re on fire as you walk over to the bench, simmering with nerves and something unidentifiable.
A silence settles between you. You rest with your hand on your knee, bouncing as you tap your leg softly against the ground.
“Um… How— how are you, Y/N?” Spider-Man asks, breaking the silence tenderly.
Trying not to get overwhelmed by the knowledge that the vigilante remembers your name, you manage to reply. “I’m doing okay,” you say. “Finished my finals today.” A smile breaks across your face at the words, and it grows when the gloved hero gives a polite clap of his hands.
“Well done,” he says. He presses his elbow into your side very gently. “They go okay?”
“I think so?” you wonder. “They were okay. I’m happy they’re over.” You sit back, slowly feeling your nerves fade away. As your eyes flutter shut, you let the dying rays of the day flitter over your face. “I was really stressed about them.”
Spider-Man hums. “Finals suck,” he agrees. “I finished mine today too.”
“A lot of people did,” you say, thinking about how your soulmate also had his final exam today. “Are you doing anything to celebrate being done?”
He laughs softly. “Nah,” he says before gesturing out at the city. “I got work to do. Are you?”
You shake your head. “No,” you say. You join him in pointing out across the skyline. “Just thought I’d come and watch the sunset—”
“What is that?”
Surprised at the intensity that seeps into his tone, you turn to look at Spider-Man. “What’s what?”
He leans closer, pausing with his gloved hand just beside yours. “Can I— can I touch you?” he asks, voice hoarse.
Spider-Man gently takes your hand in his, bringing it towards his face. He squints at your fingers, examining your hand before poking very gently at the sight of a smiley face drawn along the intersecting line of your thumb and index finger.
“That,” he clarifies, poking it again. He traces it a second later, the latex of his gloves soft against your skin.
“Oh,” you say, laughing slightly. “It’s from my soulmate. He… Well, it’s kinda embarrassing, but we do this thing… When one of us is stressed about something, we leave smiley faces as little reminders to stay cheerful.” You look at the lines fondly. You’d found it during your exam, and the reminder that there was someone in your corner had kept you from despair.
“Holy shit,” Spider-Man mutters. Before you can question it, he drops your hand and tugs off his glove. The shock that you feel in response to seeing the pale skin of the hero fades as he thrusts his hand in your face.
There’s a smiley face on his hand, mirroring the one of yours. The only difference is the colour—where his appears in black pen, yours is illustrated as a golden copy.
“Wait…” you say. Your head hurts. You look between his hand and yours, distracted as Spider-Man rummages through a bag with his free fingers. “Wait, do you think…?”
Is it possible that Spider-Man is your soulmate?
“Maybe,” he mutters. He procures a pen before looking at you. Though the mask obscures him, you can sense the mix of nerves and excitement. You feel it reflected in you. “Y’wanna test?”
You watch as Peter pushes his suit up an arm and starts to write something, the position of his hand preventing you from reading the blocky words. As it turns out, you don’t need to wait long to find out; your own skin begins to tingle, and you gasp as you shove your hoodie out of the way. Sparkling gold clings to your skin. It feels brighter than ever before.
You exhale, then thrust your arm towards the vigilante. “I can’t— believe this. It’s… you…?” Happiness chokes in the back of your throat, and tears reflexively spring to your eyes.
“It’s you,” he repeats, his voice far away. He stills for a second, then clears his throat.
Just as you think you couldn’t get more shocked, Spider-Man reaches up and pulls off his mask. As familiar brown curls reveal themselves to be accompanied with a slightly guilty, very enamoured face, your confusion intensifies.
“Wait— Peter?” Your fingers dig into your temples, your brain moving slowly as you try to comprehend this series of complicated events. “What— H—How—?”
Spider-Man, or Peter, or your soulmate, looks up at you, glassy-eyed and flushed. You reach out towards him, and he links your fingers together, palm against palm, warm and soft. The contact has you sighing. You fall closer, being tugged by his hand until you’re hugging him, your face couched in the gentle juncture of his neck as both of his arms hold you close.
With your eyes closed, you inhale his scent of fresh bubbles and popping candy. Your mind spins as you struggle to unite three separate people into one individual. Not only have you finally found the person you’ve been bound to for three years, but he’s Peter, and Peter is Spider-Man. It’s a lot to take in, but it feels right; his hand on your back feels right, his lips brushing over the top of your head feels right, his soul wrapped around yours feels right.
When you pull back to look at him, you’re laughing.
“We’re so dumb,” you must. Peter quirks an eyebrow, and it’s cute. “I’m dumb. What the hell.” You click your tongue. “Actually, you’re dumb,” you decide. “How did you not— think..?”
Peter’s cheeks blush. “I, uh… I dunno.” He shrugs. “Felt too good to be true, I guess. ‘N I meet a lot of people when I’m working.” A coy smile springs across his lips. “I’m happy, though. Real happy.” Warm hands squeeze your waist. “Been dreaming about this for so long, Y/N, and, honestly… I kinda had a huge crush on you. I felt drawn to you, I guess. That’s why I kept coming back here.”
“Me too.” You can’t stop looking at him. Can’t stop counting his freckles.
“Do you wanna come back to mine?” he asks, voice gentle.
You rest your head against his shoulder, letting your eyelids flutter shut as you hum gently. “In a bit,” you say, “I’d love to. Just…”
You lean up to press a very light, very gentle kiss to the side of his neck. The blush that tickles over his cheeks in response makes your heart skip a beat.
“It’s beautiful out here,” you say, begrudgingly shifting your eyes away from him and back towards the skyline. With your temple resting against his shoulder, you look at the buildings doused in gold. “Do you wanna watch the sunset with me?”
He coos softly. “You’re so cute,” he says breathlessly, then tries to cover the exhalation with a cough that makes you giggle. “Yeah,” he adds. Peter loops an arm around your side and coaxes you closer, a warm hand resting against your side. “There’s nothing I wanna do more than that.”
“I can think of maybe one thing that’d make this better,” you whisper.
Peter raises a brow. “Uh-huh?” He looks at you. Deep eyes flutter down towards your lips before returning to your eyes, false coyness in his expression. “What’s that?”
“I think you know,” you tease. Your tongue skims over your lips as your smile widens.
“I think I do.”
You kiss with the sun setting in the distance. His lips taste like warm honey, and they slot between yours like they were crafted with this goal in mind. One of his hands cups your cheek, and yours move to both his shoulders as your eyes drift shut.
And the sunset may be very beautiful, but nothing rivals the warmth that consumes you as you connect with your soulmate. Nothing compares to the gentle cradle of your face in his palm, nor the dopey lovestruck expression he pulls away from you wearing. Nothing compares to him.
*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ
*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧
:’) well ! that was my annual peter parker fluff fic hfkjdhfdkj. i hope that you liked it! fun fact: i wrote most of this in april but finished it today. it was fun trying to blend it all together :’)
please let me know what you thought!!! rbs appreciated; askbox open! <3
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can i request one where reader falls asleep on peters lap after a mission and peter carrys her into the tower and just takes care of her? just a whole bunch of soft!boyfriend peter:)
warnings: a few little suggestive jokes
a/n: y’all know how i feel about this concept ugh i love peter to pieces :,)
“rough night?” happy muses as you and peter hop into his suv.
the two of you are fresh off a day of crime fighting, and he’s your ride home. although you’re grateful you didn’t have to go beyond the city limits this time, it doesn’t mean the workload was any less. your little dynamic duo took on quite the opponent — one with claws, lasers, all sorts of freaky gadgets.
it’s remarkable that such a specimen was tucked away in queens.
“if you think we look bad, you should see the other guy,” you lightheartedly retort to happy. peter waits for you climb in first, then plops down beside you. “you really should,” he agrees. “y/n had him on his knees by the end… it was awesome.”
happy shoots you a look via the front mirror, peter snaking a comforting arm around your shoulders. his lips pepper your hair in kisses.
“proud of you, baby. you were so good out there,” peter praises you quietly. you hug his torso with your head now resting against his strong arm. “couldn’t have done it without you, though,” you insist, now snuggled up to your loving boyfriend.
the material of his suit scratches your cheek, but you’re too tired to care.
“congrats on the mission, kids. i take it you two are gonna get all lovey-dovey on each other, so…” happy prefaces. “i’ll shut up and drive.”
he pushes a button that brings up the divider between your seats and his, which offers some much needed privacy for you to relax and unwind.
“thanks, happy,” peter chuckles back, feeling your weight on his arm become heavier. his fingers run up and down your shoulder knowingly. “you okay? must be exhausted,” he answers his own question. your response is a long hum, eyelids beginning to droop.
peter pats his thigh with a small smile. “we got a bit of a drive… you should lie down for a while.” you’re not opposed to that. you gaze up at him through squinted eyes. “hm… on you?” leaving a kiss to the side of your head, peter lets his smile grow. “where else?”
“good point,” you murmur and shift away from his arm. “no offense to tony, but leather seats aren’t very inviting.”
happy shouts an i heard that from the driver’s seat, to which you and peter lightly giggle at.
peter watches you settle on his leg, your head in his lap and body curled into itself to fit. either of his hands go to your back and your hair. his gloved fingers carefully begin to stroke your locks at the roots. you grin to yourself, cheek squished against peter’s thigh and arms wrapped around his knee.
he leans forward to give your exposed cheek a tender kiss. “get some rest, sweetheart. you earned it.” “so… so did you,” you almost inaudibly reply. you’re ready to pass out any second, further hiding your face in peter’s leg. “sleep, y/n/n,” peter encourages you once more.
you finally allow your eyes to close, the combination of peter rubbing your back and playing with your hair enough to lull you off to dreamland.
“here we are, home sweet home,” happy announces as you three pull up to avengers tower. he puts the car in park and rolls down the divider to see how you and peter are doing.
you’ve completely crashed, clinging to peter’s leg with your mouth slightly agape and eyebrows furrowed. peter tucks a strand of your hair back and grins at your peaceful form. he never let go of you the whole drive.
happy glances at peter over his shoulder. “she’s out cold, huh?” a smirk pulls at his lips. “let’s get her inside. boss is expecting a full report for the evening.”
peter honestly isn’t in the mood to deal with tony’s obscure and endless questions, and you definitely aren’t either.
“nah, i don’t wanna wake her,” peter decides, keeping his voice low. he brushes the pad of his thumb across your jawline. “could you tell mr. stark we’ll do it in the morning?”
“he’s not gonna like that,” happy warns peter and shrugs a shoulder. “but, what the hell? it’s late. i’ll take the heat for you, say we encountered some traffic.”
peter purses his lips in pleasant surprise. “aw, really? that would be perfect. thank you so much, happy.” happy tuts, spinning back around. “i’m doing it for y/n. come on, off to bed you go.” he pushes open his car door, peter taking the opportunity to roll his eyes.
peter gently eases you to sit up. one of his arms stays around your back, the other now under your thighs so he can carry you into the tower. happy heads over and opens up peter’s door, since both his hands are already full.
following behind happy inside, peter carries you bridal-style to the elevator. happy does the honors of hitting the buttons while peter holds you close.
he finds peter’s attentiveness to you kind of endearing, but he’ll never admit it.
most of the team has already turned in for the night when you reach the main floor. sam and bucky fell asleep watching the cheetah girls, steve is fixing himself a midnight protein shake, and natasha is finishing her weekly catch-up with yelena over facetime.
she yawns practically every other word.
“i got her from here,” peter informs happy, tightening his arms around you for emphasis. the two of them step out of the elevator. “alright. be up bright and early for your debriefing, or we’re all screwed,” happy reminds him and points a finger at your sleeping body.
peter waits until happy is gone to make his official exit. he carries you past the quadruplet of insomniacs and down the hall to your room, where he’ll try his best to help you into bed without disturbing your slumber.
that will be the hard part.
he opens up your door, letting out a sigh of relief that it doesn’t creak, and brings you to your thankfully plushy bed. gently, peter moves a hand up to support your head so he can lay you down.
you unconsciously cuddle your pillow once peter sets your head on it. peter clutches a hand over his heart at the sight.
“so freaking cute,” he whispers to himself, giving you a moment to adjust before he gets you changed.
you’re still in your suit, which happens to be made of skin-tight latex. there’s no way peter is letting you sleep in that.
he doesn’t want to undress you without your consent, so he’ll have to do what he was hoping to avoid and wake you up. you won’t be particularly thrilled.
“y/n?” peter calls your name softly, kneeling next to you on the floor. “y/n, i need you for a sec. c’mon, baby.”
he traces a finger across your eyebrows that stayed knitted together. your lips form a pout.
“i know, i know. it’ll only be for a minute, then you can go right back to sleep,” peter coos and pecks your cheek once again. “gimme one minute.” “no,” you whine, rolling onto your side so you aren’t facing peter. “‘m so tired… leave me alone.”
your arm drapes over your eyes to cover them. peter bites back a smile and sets a hand on your waist.
“i’m just gonna get you in pajamas really quick. is that okay?” he explains, moving you onto your back. you crack open an eye and look up at him in the darkness. “whatever. time starts now.”
peter squeezes your waist affirmatively before making his way to your dresser, where he digs through your pajama drawer with speed. he retrieves an oversized tee and sleep shorts because you can never go wrong with those. padding back over to your bed, peter places the clothes down by the edge.
“you wanna change into these, or do you want me to do it for you?” he checks, already having his guess on what you’re going to say. “you do it, pete,” you confirm and shut your eyes.
with your permission, peter starts to search for a zipper on your suit. he trails a hand along your side and back, but can’t find one. he frowns in confusion.
“how do you take this thing off?” peter wonders. you were about to knock out again, then he spoke. “button,” you say shortly. that only adds to his confusion. “button? what button? you never told me you have a-“
annoyed, you grab peter’s hand and bring it to your stomach. “here! right here.” it’s located on the special symbol your suit dons. peter always wondered what that was doing there.
“like true stark tech,” he remarks, pressing the button to release you from the constricting material.
you shimmy around to get yourself out of the suit, mostly to no avail. your efforts at least earn a laugh from peter. “hang on, baby. let me.”
he tugs the suit where it starts to pool, slowly but surely peeling it off your body at last. seeing it more convenient to sleep commando, you beam at peter and lay back on your pillow.
“mm, goodnight,” you mumble, peter seizing your shoulders to stop you. “wait, wait, wait…” he crouches next to you a second time. “don’t you want your jammies?”
“don’t say jammies,” you playfully chastise, forcing yourself to look at peter. “but, yes. i guess i want them.” “super,” peter nods and reaches for your pajamas. his fingers twist in one of your bra straps.
“can i take this off?” he asks you. you’d make a comment about how much of a gentleman he is, if you had the energy. “be my guest,” you comply. peter easily unhooks your bra and slides the straps down your arms. after you toss it aside, you lift your arms for your shirt.
“impressive,” you tease his skills, unable to resist. “don’t act so surprised,” peter quips, shaking the t-shirt over your head. your hair is a mess when your head emerges from the hole, prompting him to ruffle your disheveled coils.
“we’re almost done, i promise,” peter assures you and goes to gather your shorts. no strategic ways to get them on you come to his mind. “um, you might have to stand up for this.”
you swat them out of his hands instead. “forget the shorts, peter,” you reprimand. “i wanna sleep, and i want you to hold me.” peter stands up, offering you a lopsided smile. “ok, ok. fine. how could i say no?” “you can’t,” you deadpan, laying down for the last and final time. “not to me.”
you pull back the covers for you both to get under, peter slipping out of his suit. he joins you in his boxers and nothing else. you’re never mad about that.
“did so amazing today, y/n/n. ‘m so lucky you’re my partner in crime,” peter hums, you nuzzling your face against his bare chest. his arms hug your waist, lips meeting the top of your head and spreading into a wide grin. you loop your own arms around his middle.
“i feel the same, pete. you’re my better half.”
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any peter cuddle and comfort fics?
hey! here's some for you x
Bad Day Cuddles - @77marvelimagines
Winter Snuggling - @marvelsuperfangirl
Cuddle Buddies - @duskholland
Love (Sweet Love) - @spideymix
Sweet & Sour - @gaymysterio
Here For You - @softspideys
Cupcakes - @peterbenjiparker
Kiss Me More - @celestialholland
Cuddles & Pick-up Lines - @shitty-marvel-fan732
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