imagine peter watching you trying to fit it in your mouth, and him tensing a little after you take him deeper than before.
I see a chance to write virgin!Peter and I take it. 18+
"Y-You don't have to....have to do this," Peter stuttered, "O-only if you want to."
You smiled, brushing the stray hairs that had fallen over his forehead, "Peter, I want to."
You appreciated that your boyfriend placed zero pressure on you when it came to getting physical. It wasn't that Peter didn't want you. Quite the opposite. But given his lack of experience....it was best to take things slow.
Like right now, you were slowly palming the bulge in his pants to prepare him. Because apparently, somehow, Peter Parker had never received a blow job before.
You had to fix that. It was your duty to right that wrong that the universe had somehow allowed.
"Oh. O-okay," He said, his breathing shaking. You moved yourself down on the bed, situating yourself between Peter's long legs.
"If you want to stop, just let me know, okay?" You told him. Peter nodded his head. It wasn't the first time you two were exploring each other's bodies. Last week you gave him a handjob and he was pretty sure he saw God.
You pushed his shirt up, exposing him stomach. You leaned over and pressed gentle kisses across his stomach and hips. Your touch was light as a feather as your lips ghosted over the faded scars.
It was nice to show his body a different kind of affection. You wanted to drown him in affection, make it something he was used to, something he thought he deserved.
Your fingers hooked around the waistband of his boxers, pulling it down to free his cock. It wasn't your first time seeing it, but the sight still left you breathless.
You looked up at Peter, who was already gripping the bedsheets in anticipation. He nodded his head, signaling for you to continue.
Your mouth moved down, gently nipping the top of his thighs, getting closer and closer. Your fingers traced up his shaft, all the way to the reddened tip.
Gently, you swiped your thumb across the small slit, spreading the precum. The action elicited a moan out of Peter.
"S-Sorry," He began, his face turning red.
"It's okay," You leaned down to lick up from the base of his cock to the tip, "You're supposed to enjoy it, Pete."
"Fuck" Peter whined, his back already arching.
You lowered your mouth onto his cock, start at the tip. As much as you wanted this, you were mindful that this was his first time. Therefore, it was best to not....blow his mind right away.
You slowly lowered your mouth further down on his cock, trying to help him adjust to the new sensation. You looked up to check in on him and your thighs clenched at the sight. His hands were still gripping the bedsheets with an iron fist, his head thrown back as whimpers escaped from his mouth.
You wanted that image seared into your brain.
You brought one hand up, wrapping it around the base of his cock. Your eyes darted up again, only to find Peter staring back at you. You were pretty sure you could see stars in those beautiful brown eyes.
You sunk your mouth lower, his cock almost reaching the back of your throat. You felt his thighs tense up, his hands reaching down for your hair.
All of a sudden, you felt his cock reach the back of your throat. A moan escaped your mouth because fuck, Peter just thrusted into you.
"S-Sorry! I'm so sorry!" Peter began to ramble, pulling himself out of your mouth, "Did I hurt you?"
You held back a chuckle, because it was truly sweet and so Peter that he was apologizing for enjoying his first ever blow job.
"It's fine," you paused, "In fact.....it was really hot. You should do it again."
You began to lean back down, your mouth getting closer to his cock.
"But if....," you didn't know it was possible for him to turn that red, "If I.....I'll....y'know...in your mouth."
"Peter, that's the whole point." There was still a lot he had to learn. You were more than happy, in fact, you were thankful that you got to be the one to teach him.
"Huh?" He acted as if you just revealed the long-lost clue to a puzzle he had spent years trying to solve.
"I want you to come in my mouth." Sometimes it was better to be blunt with Peter.
"O-oh," was all he could get out.
You fought back a grin as his cock pushed past your lips. Making Peter Parker speechless was not an easy task. You couldn't wait to see what happened when he came inside your mouth.
never have i ever seen another person write peter as beautifully as you do 😩 im obssesed!!!! can we get more drunk + clingy tasm peter whenever u get the chance 🙏🏼
thank u! + tysm for ur request <3
You're a little bit tipsy. This is fine, except Peter is wasted.
You're trying to put your hand up to hail a cab and Peter keeps pulling it back down to hold it. Both hands in yours, Peter wobbles beside you on the wet sidewalk, useless in his state but making up for it in an adorable fashion.
"You smell nice," he says, face leaning heavily into your chest, fingers squeezing yours. "I loooooove this perfume."
"That's good, you got it for me," you tell him, resigning yourself to being a human lamppost for the time being.
"I know," he replies. "'Cos you used to wear it when we first met, and I had to go around like five places to find it again. They sprayed so much perfume on me I smelled like a department store for a week."
You laugh, your chest burning; you've never heard that story before.
"You could've asked me."
He shakes his head into your jacket before standing at his full height, eyes darkening, expression mischievous.
"It was a surprise," he whispers like it's a secret.
Something goes all soft on his face and he lets go of your hands. You think, good, maybe I can hail a cab now. Peter doesn't let you, as he's only let go of your hands so he can throw his arms around your shoulders and pull your face into his chest roughly, mumbling as he rubs his cheek into the top of your head.
"You're the love of my life," he says quietly. His intoxication gives his words a heavy weighting, love sounding all jumped up and emphasised.
You wonder if there's steam coming out of your ears, you're so hot. "You're mine," you tell him seriously, hands crawling up his sides, across his back.
"Yeah?" he asks.
Peter seems pleased with this. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, a sigh or a hiccup or something that sounds exuberantly pleased as he squeezes you half to death.
"I'm so lucky." His hands are grasping at you like you're falling out of his arms.
"Peter, shush," you beg.
"Whatever, loser," he says cheerily. "You wanna go get some pizza?"
"I wanna go home."
"After pizza, babe, c'mon."
You're maybe a bit more tipsy than you originally thought because suddenly being the responsible one feels boring, and the drunken love of your life wants pizza.
"Yeah, okay. Can we get stuffed crust?"
Peter pulls back and kisses you, a little wonky but the thought counts. He tastes like a mini bar. "We can get everything you want, my darling. My sweetheart, my angel, my baby, my…"
He calls you sweet pet names all the way to the pizza place.
secrets over ice-cream
A/N : found this forgotten in my drafts. Hope you like this. Let me know what you think.
Summary : your baby girl finds out her daddy is spiderman.
Pairing : Dad! Peter Parker x Reader
Warnings : fluff
“Then the princess pushed her magical sword through the heart of the evil dragon, defeating it and saved her kingdom.” Peter finishes the story and shuts the book close.
“Yay!” May claps in joy. “Daddy, are monsters real?”
“No, buttercup.” He smiles, his hand reaching out to gently brush away a strand of hair falling over her eyes. And even if they were real, daddy will always protect you.”
“But what if they are too many?” She asks.
“Then I'll call my friend Spiderman and he will fight with them.” He assures her.
“Daddy, I want to meet Spiderman. Do you think he will be my friend too?”
“Sure. You're my sweet little princess. Anybody would want to be your friend.”
“I'm going to show him my toys.” She yawns. “and then we will have a tea party.”
“Ok I'll talk to him but now it's time for you to sleep.” He tugs her into her fluffy pink unicorn blanket.
“Night, night daddy. Love you.” She mumbles as her eyes flutter close, heavy with sleep.
“Love you too my buttercup. Sweet dreams.” Peter places a kiss on the top of her head before shutting off the bedside lamp and leaving her room.
You were in the kitchen taking out the clean and dry dishes from the dishwasher to put them on the rack. “Is she asleep?”
“Yeah,” He reaches out to take the dishes from your hand. “Here let me help.”
“You're the best.” You smile at your husband. Sometimes it’s hard to believe it's already been seven years you've been married to each other, seven years filled with love and happiness. And then five years ago you were blessed with your baby girl completing your little family.
“May said she wants to have a tea party with Spiderman.” He turns to face you.
“Mmhmm” You step closer, your hands reaching up to circle around his neck as Peter wraps his arms around your waist. “Then you should make your daughter's wish come true Spiderman.”
“Maybe on her birthday.” He chuckles.
“But what happens when she asks, where did her daddy go?” Peter falls silent. Before the birth of May together you had decided to keep his superhero life a secret from her until she’s old enough to understand and also she could live her life like a normal kid.
“You know you'll have to tell her the truth some day.”
“Yeah but not anytime soon.” Just then his phone beeps with an alert from the NYPD about an armed gang robbery happening in midtown. “I've to go.”
You nod in understanding. “Be careful.”
“I will.” He places a gentle kiss on your lips and hurries towards the open window. “Don't stay up for me.” He says and swings away.
May wakes up in the middle of the night to a faint noise. She sits up brushing her hair away from her face and looks around her. Another rustling sound comes from the outside. The monsters have come. She needs to protect mommy and daddy and warn them about the monsters. And being the brave girl she was, May grabs her trusty companion, Miss buttons the bear and climbs out of her bed tiptoeing out of her room.
It's dark in the living room as she carefully makes her way to her parents' room. Just then the window near the fire escape slides up.
Oh no the monster is trying to get inside through the window. She runs to hide behind the couch. She peeks from her hiding spot but instead of a scary monster she watches Spiderman step inside her house. Relief washes over her face, maybe Spiderman knew monsters were coming to get them so he came to shoo them away. But he doesn't know all the secret places in her home where the monster could be hiding. She should help him catch it and just as she steps out from behind the couch Spiderman takes his mask off. May freezes at her spot to find her dad under the mask.
“Daddy?” May's small voice startled Peter who quickly switches on the lights of the room to find his five year old daughter standing near the couch, eyes wide with shock.
“May, what are you doing up so late?”
“I hear noise. Monsters come for you and mommy. I try to protect you.” she answers innocently.
“Aww you're so brave, buttercup.” He walks up to her and picks her up in his arms. “But it was just me. I'm sorry I woke you up.”
“Daddy, are you Spiderman?” May asks, running her small hand over his spandex suit with awe. Never in his life Peter thought he would be caught by his own daughter sneaking into the house as Spiderman.
“Yes, sweetheart.” He smiles but May's brows draw into a frown. “Are you not happy?”
“I'm mad at you.”
“Why baby?” Peter’s voice is full of concern.
“Why didn't you tell me you are Spiderman?” she huffs making him know how annoyed she is to be kept in the dark about her daddy’s little secret.
“Because you're small and you wouldn't understand.”
May grabs his head and leans in touching her head to his as she tries to look at him with serious eyes but she looks adorable every time she does that. “Daddy, I'm a big girl now. I can tie my own shoes.”
“Ok, ok I'm sorry.” Peter chuckles. “I won't hide anything from you. Now what do I need to do to make my little princess less mad at me?”
“I want ice cream.” You girl may be little but she is smarter than her age. May knows you she’s not allowed to have ice cream after dinner and she’s not going to let this opportunity go.
“Now?” Peter asks.
“Yes.” she confirms firmly.
“Ok but don't tell your mom.” He walks to the kitchen with May in his arms and grabs a bowl and spoon before opening the refrigerator, taking the tub out to scoop some ice cream into the bowl.
He then sits with her on the couch and watches her happily dig into her ice cream.
“How is it?”
“Yummy!” She says and holds out a spoon full of ice cream for him. “For you.”
“Thank you, lovebug.”
“What's all the noise?” You walk out of your room seeing the living room lights on.
“Mommy, look! Daddy is Spiderman!” May squeals with chocolate smeared over her mouth.
“Oh, is he?” You fake gasp with surprise.
“Guess I can never hide anything from you two.” Peter remarks.
“Because we're smart and you are a little dumb.”
“Hey!” Peter protests, pretending to be offended as May giggles.
“I'm going to tell all my friends that my daddy is Spiderman.” May chirps, licking her spoon clean.
“No, baby you cannot say this to anyone.” You say quickly.
“But why, mommy?” She pouts out her bottom lip. “Yesterday at school Billy was telling everybody about his Spiderman pencil box and lunchbox and that Spiderman gave them to him. I knew he was lying.” She grumbles. “Billy is a bad boy. He always disturbs the class, you would never give him anything I have to tell everybody the truth.”
You and Peter exchange glances before he turns to May. “Ok buttercup, listen to me.” he speaks softly. “I understand you are excited to know that I'm Spiderman and if I were you I would have also wanted to shout out to the whole world about it. But somebody once told me with great power comes great responsibility.” he pauses as the memory of the last dying words of aunt May flashes through his mind. “And if you tell everyone I'm Spiderman then all the bad people I fight will try to hurt you and your mommy. I don't want my favorite girls to be in danger. You understand?”
“Yes, daddy.” May nods.
“Good girl then promise me you would keep this a secret.” He holds his little finger out and May wraps hers pinky around his.
“Pinky promise.” She promises with a huge smile.
Reblogs are appreciated ❤
Taglist + moots
@bleh-bleh-blehs @osterfieldshollandgirl @starcoadrienette2 @spideyth @allthisfortommy @thenoddingbunny-blog @itstaskeen @dummiesshort @tutuabby28 @dramaholic18 @thehumanistsdiary @majo240820 @heyafellows @justafangirlduh @moniffazictress11 @parkerpeterparker2004 @ladykxxx08 @joselyn001 @deepika-padukone @miraclesoflove @kayasholland @marvel-ousness @roseke @spideyspeaches @stxfxniexreads @lovely-blackinnon @white-wolf1940 @quacksonholland @chai-parker @webmeupspiderdaddy @lovehollandy12 @whoeveniskendall @pxkajesus @msmimimerton @hollandsobrien @prancerrparkerr @december16-1991 @namoreno @moonchild-s-blog @cloudyfeel @blankspaceblankday @myescapesism @lolooo22 @marajillana @jinjarah @raajali3 @sanaz1dlol @bunnyweasley23 @holy-macncheese-balls
Sfw : @loverstyless
Peter Parker : @honeyteanocoffee @tomhollandlol @blahblahblah-boo
Steve: Peter, it’s been ten minutes since I sent Y/N to scout the corridor. Go find Them.
Steve: Why do I feel like I just sent the lamb after the lion?
For spicy!Spidey weekend, could I just request a smutty blurb that’s also really soft & fluffy? Like just really loving and nice but also sexy haha
I love soft sex with our sweet Peter 🌻 18+
Peter is lost in you. The feeling of your body underneath his sends him spiralling into a high he could, before he met you, not have ever imagined. The small, breathy moans you make each time he thrusts his hips forward only serve to push him closer to the absolute bliss that is letting go and losing himself completely in you.
Yet, as your warm core clenches around him, Peter knows he’s entirely found in you as well. You fit him perfectly, like your body was made to be the puzzle piece that snapped everything perfectly into place.
Caught up in his high, in his unrelenting pace, Peter only just notices that you’ve got quiet underneath him. He looks down, sees the way you’re biting your lip hard enough to leave an impression; the way your hands, bound at the wrists as they are, twitch involuntarily; and the way the tears stream down your perfect cheeks from underneath lashes that hide your eyes from him.
Peter slows his pace, releases his bruising grip on you thighs and lowers your legs from his shoulders. When he brushes a thumb over your cheek, your eyes flutter open and it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, an entirely fucked out expression on your pretty face. Peter almost smiles. But first he leans down to kiss your forehead.
“You okay, baby?”
You nod once, slowly, licking your lips. “S’just felt so good,” you confess, “Almost forgot to breathe.”
Peter chuckles, lowering himself onto his elbows so he’s hovering over you, his cock still buried deep inside you. At the movement, your fingers twitch again. “You’re such a good girl,” Peter praises, earning a whimper from you, another tear rolling down your cheek. “Let’s slow down for a bit, yeah?”
Again, you nod, but Peter feels you shift your thighs to wrap around his waist. “Just wanna keep you inside me,” you murmur, trapping him between your legs. Peter grins and kisses your forehead again, letting his body fall over yours, holding his weight in his knees so as not to hurt you.
“My pretty girl wants to keep my cock warm?”
The corners of your lips twitch up into a smirk that Peter kisses into content smile. Blissfully you nod and Peter is more than happy to lay there, inside you, over you, and completely yours.
To Serve a King
Sequel to To Bend the Knee
Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, abuse of power, mentions of violence, blood kink, crying kink/dacriphylia, humiliation, oral. My tags are not exhaustive, proceed at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your brother is killed by rebels and you’re forced to flee the realm, but is your escape any better than staying? (Medieval AU)
Characters: king!Peter Parker
Note: Have a happy weekend <3
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like Prince Charming loves mirrors. Take care. 💖
Peter fixes his jacket as you lean against the end of the bed, holding closed the ruin of your bodice. His boots scuff on the floor as he rolls his shoulders and sighs, pushing straight the circlet around his brow. You mop your nose with the back of your hand as you watch him through puffy eyes. Your body is fiery with shame and agony.
“Don’t be unhappy, my queen,” he nears and bends to look you in the face, “I have conceded to your safekeeping. All you have to do is wear a crown and smile for the people.”
You avert your gaze and bite your lip as you tamp down another sob.
He chuckles and tickles your cheek, “I must go make arrangements for our marriage. The joining of two kingdoms is much ado.” He pulls his hand back and holds it before you, “princess.”
You shakily take his fingers and lean forward to kiss his rings. Pleased, he draws away and you hang your head as you listen to his steps.
“I’ll have your maid come and–”
“N-no,” you say abruptly, “please, your majesty, I will…” you hold back a whimper as you get your feet under you and use the bedpost to get yourself up, “see to myself.”
“Good girl,” he taunts as he nears the door, “tomorrow, you will present yourself to sign the formal betrothal, yes?”
“Yes, your majesty,” you keep your arm across your chest as the silk droops.
He grins and leaves you at last. You stagger back and your bottom hits the bed, sending torment through your muscles. You slump forward and slip your hand between your legs and groan. You don’t know if the physical pain is worse than that in your soul.
As old as you are, you were naive to think that you would receive any favour without cost. You are a princess without a kingdom, so you are vulnerable to the whims of the world. A victim to the callousness of your own kind.
His savagery is hard to fathom. How rough he was. All those years, you knew him as a sweet boy, as a young man with beaming eyes, not another spoiled and spiteful fiend like your brother. The way he held you down, the force behind each mean thrust, his scornful words.
Then you recall his reports of your brother’s fate. Without his head, or innards, and his skin, his body was left to be picked apart by scavengers. You think of what should happen to you; of the same attack you just withstood tenfold over, by strange dirty, angry men, with a worser end.
You stand, shakily and go to the looking glass. Before, you noticed how the road left you looking weary and worn, a few lines beside your eyes and around your mouth, a shallow wrinkle in your forehead, now, all more noticeable in that moment. You should be thankful that a king is still willing to marry the decrepit princess.
Your blood stains your cheek and down your neck, some droplets dried on the canary silk and your shift. You cannot let Callista see, she is too young, she’s survived too much. When she returns, you will be as you were, with good news to share. That she will be safe.
You strip away the shorn layers and wash yourself from the basin with cold water. As you wipe your cunt, you bite your hand to keep from crying out. Your bones hurt as much as your flesh. You can feel him then, ramming into you without relent. Your legs tremble and you grasp the wall to keep from keeling over.
The bleeding subsides though the bite mark is inflamed and tender. You add a linen square beneath the fresh shift and pull a robe around you, tying the belt tight. You bundle the stained clothing and hide it away in the chest of drawers. You will have it burned by a servant when you can.
You pace, restless, knowing you cannot sleep though you are tired. You stop and stare down at the stringy seed still across the floor. You take another rag and wipe it up, scrubbing until the cloth begins to tear, until your fingers are raw. You stop yourself and toss the linen in the hearth.
You sit at the table, the smell of the food sickening. You cover the plates and brace the table. Silent but for the crackle of the fire and the nightbirds winging outside. You stare at the front of your robe.
Could he have truly put a child in you? Are you not too old? And if you do not quicken, what then? What if you have nothing to offer him but yourself? Should he tire of you, what would become of you? Queen or not, kings have never found much trouble in disposing of worthless women.
Callista helps you into the gown of red. You figure it’s best to wear Peter’s colours for your next encounter, a formal one. She’s happy since you told her you would remain in Arache and that the king even offered himself as suitor. Her relief was enough to keep your despair beneath the surface.
“I knew the king would love you, your highness,” Callista trills, “how could he not love a princess?”
“Cal, please,” you chide softly, “today, I shall only sign the betrothal, there are as many dissolved betrothals as fruitful marriages.”
“Oh, but your highness, every servant already knows of it, they all gossip and say the king is in a rare mood, most joyful,” she explains as she fetches you a belt of painted leather, “they say, while he is a man of good humour, he often falls into pensiveness. That he thinks overly much.”
“You should not repeat gossip,” you say, “it is not always true.”
A knock interrupts her girlish protests and she goes to answer the door. A servant offers a wooden box carved with the spiderwebs of Arache. Callista takes it graciously and returns to you.
“It is from the king,” she says, fingering the wax seal on the curled parchment attached to the box, “he is so sweet, your highness, yet you insist he does not love you.”
“We hardly know each other,” you detach the scroll and sit before the looking glass.
You break the seal, the eight-legged creature stamped into it distorting. You uncurl the small scrap and read quietly, grateful that Callista hasn’t her letters.
‘Princess, while I prefer you in nothing but this gift, you might present yourself decently this day in proper attire. Your king.’
His implications are clear and you hide away the scroll in the drawer. Callista teeters eagerly on her feet, fingers wiggling as she longs to unveil the contents of the box.
“What does the king say?” she asks.
“He looks forward to our meeting today,” you lie easily and turn to the table.
You twist the clasp and open the lid slowly. Within, a diadem of silver and amethyst, wrought in a familiar pattern. You stare at it, unmoving.
“It’s so beautiful,” Callista sings but you remain speechless, “your highness?”
“I…” you blink, “I once had an ornament like this before, when I was younger but… it was lost during travel.”
“The king must remember,” she chimes, “so he had it crafted for you.”
“Must,” you reach for it and lift it daintily. You turn it and see behind the biggest stone, the mark of your father’s smith. Was it that very journey to Arache that you lost it? You can’t recall. “Here.”
You hand over the diadem and she moves behind you to palace it on your head, the teardrop amethyst resting above your brow.
In that moment, you see the girl you were those years ago. You wonder what your life would’ve been if you had said yes then. Would Peter have been a kinder lover? Perhaps, it is your doing that he has grown so vicious.
“Your highness,” Callista says breathily, “you look so wonderful.”
You smile, but it’s not true. “We mustn’t let our hopes precede us, I am a deal older than the king and he must consider that. He will have time to reverse his decision.”
“You doubt yourself but you are a princess and your looks are still intact,” she assures you, “how can the prince not be entirely consumed by you?”
You mean, how can he not consume me entirely? You think but do not say it. Let her have her innocence, let her cling to all that you’ve lost, what was taken from you so violently.
“My slippers,” you request, “I would not keep the king waiting, it would be most unseemly.”
You sit at the long table, faced by Peter and his lords; Marquess Stark, Duke Osborn, Earl Leeds, and Earl Morales. Those four men were the same that rode into the yard with the king the day before. They sit, stoic, men of business as you have no other representation but yourself. You wonder how they can justify a betrothal to a princess without a realm.
“Your highness,” Stark addresses you after the reading of the contract, “do you understand the terms as laid out in this bond?”
He is the eldest and the most prestigious among the lords. His dark hair is shocked with grey at his temples and some silver strands in his trimmed beard. His voice betrays a figure of stature and stricture.
“I do, my lord,” you reply, “I understand that once the turmoil in my lands is quelled, that they will be ceded to Arache as a secondary seat.”
“And do you agree to these conditions?” he prompts.
“I do, my lord,” you respond as your eyes move with another’s; it’s not the first time you’ve noticed Osborn’s attention on Callista, the small girl against the wall behind you.
“And your majesty,” the Marquess declares to the king, “do you accept this compact as lawful and sanctified by the Lord?”
“I do,” Peter’s cheek twitches in satisfaction.
“Very well, as we have come to an agreement, we ask now that the parties conclude this contract by applying their signature and seal to the record.”
The document is first presented to Peter. You watch Lord Harry as his brilliant eyes gleam over your head and he grins. You squint at him until he sees your observation and resumes his distant detachment. You do not trust any of these men but him least of all.
Peter sprinkles sand over his signature then takes the stamp handed to him as a servant approaches with a warmed pot of wax in crimson. He presses his mark into the cooling liquid and resigns the stamp. The contact is then turned to you as the same tools are brought to your side of the table, though your seal is set in the bold cerulean of your homeland.
You surprise yourself by keeping your composure. You hand over the stamp and fold your hands on the oaken table top. The king rises, as his lords do the same, and you last. They bow their heads as the contract is swept away by the marquess.
“Lords, I will not keep you any longer, the travel ahead of us will require rest and preparation,” the king says, “so you may disperse and prepare for our imminent departure.”
“Your majesty,” the lords utter almost in unison.
You wait as they leave. It is only the king’s groom and Callista left behind. The council chamber is airy and quiet. Peter watches you as he stands across from you. He plants his hands on the table as he smirks.
“Marlon, take the maid to the princess’s room to ready for the morrow’s journey,” Peter orders, “and send in the soldier.”
You gesture to Callista as the groom moves around the table, she pauses and comes close. You whisper to her, “lock the door.”
She nods and you let her go. You hope she doesn’t forget as you worry for Osborn lingering in expectation of her retreat. Peter sits and motions for you to do the same.
It is a moment before another enters and the king bids for the doors to be closed behind Dunstan.
“Your majesty,” he greets Peter but seems bothered by your presence, hesitating to address you with, “your highness.”
“Sir Duncan,” Peter rises and nears Dunstan, clapping his shoulder. He is not corrected in his misspoken address. “Please, sit, we have much to discuss.”
“I… yes, your majesty,” he looks at you then quickly averts his eyes guiltily.
“The betrothal is set,” Peter crosses his arms as he leans against the table, close to Dunstan, “and I have you to thank for it. You delivered the princess safely, spared her a bitter fate, and so it is to you that a great debt is owed.”
“I only served as I swore to,” Dunstan shifts and clears his throat.
“Ah, but you do require a price as any would, yes?” Peter suggests, “tell me what you want and you will have it.”
Dunstan is silent. He likely didn’t expect you to be present for the negotiation of your own worth. Nor did you. The barter of a princess like a sack of grain. All his good deeds bared before you as selfish labours.
“Come,” Peter pushes himself away from the table, taking long strides around Dunstan’s seat, his hand on his belt, “tell me; perhaps some gold, some land… perhaps a title. Wouldn’t you agree that are princess is worth quite a fee?”
Dunstan rubs his freshly-shaved chin. His eyes spark and his mouth slants. The king comes to stand behind his chair, ringed fingers resting on the high back.
“I wouldn’t complain for–” the soldier begins but sputters as his words are muted by the sudden flash of silver sinking into his neck.
You scream as the king twists the dagger and rips it out, a flood of blood pouring from the gaping hole. Dunstan covers the wound with his hand and chokes as he spits up more red and falls forward against the table, the strength seeping from him as he spasm and the sickly gurgle underline your shrieking.
Peter laughs as he pulls back the chair and Dunstan’s body falls to the floor heavily, leaving a puddle of blood on the table, dripping over the edge. You clasp your hands over your mouth as you hold back another shout. Peter admires the blade, red with death, before his eyes narrow on you.
“You don’t think I have to buy you, princess?” he goads, “you’re already mine.”
You grip the arms of the chair as your lips quivers. You stand as you gape at the blood on the table, “how– why would you do that?”
“Why? For you, princess. Do you think I should let some lowly mercenary insult you? To think there is any price in gold which could meet your worth,” he turns the dagger in his hand, blood on his knuckles as he nears you.
You stand still, focusing on the sharp point of the knife. You wince as he presses it your cheek. He runs it lightly down to your chin and angles your back against the table.
He grabs your throat with his other hand and you wriggle until he squeezes. He pushes you down over the table as he bends over you, pressing his forehead to yours, the knife hovering just above his fingers.
“I don’t get a thank you? That I defended your honour? That I avenged that fool’s deceit?” he snarls and pulls the knife away as you lightly touch his sleeve, trembling as his grip has you wheezing.
He raises the knife and you cry out, closing your eyes as you ready for the descent. He plunges it into the wood beside your head and you sob, body constricting beneath his as he laughs. He lets the blade stand as you open your eyes and glance over at the golden spider wrapped around the handle.
He pushes his bloodied hand over your lips and forces his fingers into your mouth. You nearly gang at the taste as his grasp moves to frame your jaw. He shoves his fingers in and out, as if he’s fucking your mouth as his eyes bore into yours.
“So,” he pushes his knee against your skirt and then his other, parting your legs around him as he withdraws his fingers, “princess, how grateful are you for my valiant favour?”
“V-very,” you stammer, “thank you, your majesty, I–”
“Shhh,” he pulls you away from the table and your feet hit the floor hard. He spins you and grabs the back of your neck, shoving your face to the wood. “I don’t ask for your flowery words, only for a similar gesture.”
He yanks at your skirts and heaps them above your ass, slapping you hard you squeak. You spread your fingers across the oak. You aren’t even disgusted with him, only that you are so weak. He pushes the front of his trousers against you and wiggles his hips.
“I don’t know how I made it through that ridiculous conference,” he growls, “when all I could think of was this.”
You take a deep breath and bow your head against the table. His hand tickles you as he feels along his breeches and plucks them open. You shiver as he frees himself, rubbing between your cheeks as he groans. He kneads your ass as he rocks, teasing himself as he bunches the back of your skirts in his fist.
He guides his tip down to your cunt, prodding at you tauntingly as you twitch, tensing as you try to brace for his intrusion. He laughs as he senses your fear. He pokes against your entrance and inches in, just a little. Your nails dig into the carved wood as he bends over you, hooking his arm around your middle.
He pulls you up and sinks to his hilt. You gasp as you stand on tiptoes and he nuzzles the crook of your neck. He reaches to dislodge the knife from the table and brings the edge to your throat, forcing your head up as he thrust his hips. You grab his wrist, unthinkingly, fearing the bite of the silver.
“I can feel you quaking around me,” he snarls as he lifts his head and nibbles your ear, “is that fear or desire?”
You whine as your eyes well, teardrops spilling in hot beads and landing on his hand as he holds the knife firm to your neck. He grunts as he tilts into you, hitting your hips against the table as another snicker rattles in his throat.
“I think you like this, princess,” he sneers, “hm?” He turns the knife and you wince as he pokes it down to your bodice, slipping it between your cleavage. “You like to bleed for me, don’t you?”
He cuts between your breasts, not deep, but enough to split the skin. The blood rises hotly as he drags the knife from beneath the fabric.
His other hand latches onto your shoulder and forces your back down so your chest hits the table. He hums as your cheek chafes on the wood and you see him lick the length of the blade from the corner of your eye. He snaps his hips so you yelp and traces the dagger over your laces.
“It’s all you, princess,” he spins the point of the dagger on the small of your back, “show me you’re grateful.”
You close your eyes and turn your face down. You pull your hands back to brace the table and push back into him. He lets the knife drift away from you and slaps your ass as he groans. You lean forward and push yourself back again, sliding along his length. He pinches your ass and smacks it again.
“Oh, princess,” he rasps, “look at you.”
You clamp your lips together as your tears trickle onto the table. You just want it to be over, to do whatever you need to, to end it. His hand wraps around your hip and he leads your motion, slamming you back harder as you find a rhythm. His other hand rests on your back, the blade flat to your dress as he urges you on.
His voice rises as you murmur into the wood. You pant as you work at keeping your body moving, muscles burning with the effort. He growls and throws the knife to bounce over the table. He stills you as he squeezes your hip and bends over you once more. His other hand delves beneath your pelvis and along your folds.
You exclaim as a tingle turns to a zing and lights your core. You gulp as he rubs your bud, rolling his fingertips as he rocks into you from behind. His hot breath crawls over your scalp as he puffs into your short hair, flesh clapping as fabric brushes together.
“See, princess, I can be benevolent,” he purrs as his fingers flick quickly along your cunt, “isn’t that nice? Aren’t I nice?”
You gurgle, speechless. The sensation brewing in your loins is unlike anything you’ve felt before. The fullness of him inside of you and the frantic swirling of his fingertips mingle and flow over you like a tide. You shudder and gasp, letting out an inhuman whine as it peaks in a vibrant bloom of pleasure.
Your body spasms against his and you slap the table, reaching back with one hand to cling to his jacket. Senseless, you long for him to be deeper in you, to devour you whole. Your hand falls away limp as the spark dissipates, leaving you breathless and wilting.
Quickly, the shame adds to the heat of your delight and chases it away. Peter keeps on, fucking you against the wood so the wood knocks against you harshly. He keeps his finger flush to your bud as he bucks eagerly, his voice droning until he meets his climax. He crashes into you as hard as he can and holds himself deep as he twitches and spills his seed into you.
He groans as he stills, purring into your hair as he cloyingly rolls his hips, “another fine gift for you, my princess.”
You inhale and let it out slowly, “thank… you…” you eke out.
He laughs and jerks against you hard, “it is entirely my pleasure, princess.”
The road to Spinne, the capital, is only a few days by horse. You’re afforded the first day in a carriage just ahead of the luggage train, then Peter insists you dress in the lilac silk tailored for you and the amethyst diadem for your arrival in the city.
The welcome of the people surprises you as you expected little as an exile. The king rides at your side, dressed in the colour of your kingdom, a rich blue, and gold at his brow. He sits straight and bids you do the same. He makes a show of reining close and kissing your hand as you near the gates of the castle.
You give a smile, a display of your own. It will not do to show your true emotion. You must uphold Peter’s facade for your own good, for that of Callista, and even your realm. Arachne may be the only ally that remains to you.
“Princess,” Peter comes to you as a groom helps you dismount, “I must say farewell until the end of your seclusion, as tradition requires.”
“Seclusion?” you wonder.
“It is a custom of all queens who marry into the royal bloodline, that you retreat until the altar,” he explains, “but you needn’t fear, it will only be some days as the occasion is nearly arranged and you may have your maid.”
You don’t show the relief that swells in your chest. Some time without him, without the threat of him, merely, is enough to hearten you. You keep your face placid.
“Some days? How long precisely, your majesty?” you ask.
He smirks, “are you so keen to have me as your husband?”
You swallow and look down, “I am only curious for how long I need to hide away, your majesty.”
“Three days,” he answers, “but I might… find a way to secret us a rendezvous.”
“Three days is not very long,” you assure him and reach for his hand. You bend and kiss his rings, “your majesty.”
His brows twitch as you straighten. He seems almost pleased. You fight to keep your mask in place. He takes your hand and puts it to his chest as he steps close.
“Find your maid and go,” he says quietly, “or I might not be able to resist for longer.”
You acquiesce and search for Callista in the rush. She’s been quite taken with the whole affair, dreamy but devoted to her tasks. Her optimism keeps your cynicism from casting you into despair. She will be good company for those days of waiting, the last before your vows are said, before your life is truly and utterly his.
The days are fleeting, like sand they slip between your fingers, as if they never even happened. The whirlwind of the capital sweeps away any respite and so you sit beside your new husband before your new people at a feast of celebration. Though for you, it is a day of mourning.
The lords, Norman and Harry Osborn, Anthony Stark, Miles Morales, Ned Leeds, and Otto Octavius make a show of presenting you and the king with rich gifts. For fertility, for peace, for victory, for love… They make their declaration as they present the meaningless trinkets. And their, wives, their daughters, cousins, siblings fill the hall with gaiety and drunkenness.
“Wife,” Peter relishes the title, as he says it often, “let us dance and celebrate our union… a lifetime ahead of us.”
You glance at him. There’s a tint in his eye, an angle in his jaw, you know it is not a request. And you are a bride, you should at least act joyful. You take his hand as he stands.
He guides you down from the royal dais decorated in azure and scarlet for the joining of your houses, and those already entwined in dancing, move aside to let you through. The pairs around you wait with unabashed gazes as the king guides you into step with the music.
You hold your head high, as your old madam bid you as a child, when she put a book on your head and kept her cane ready to rap on your knees.
You turn with him as the music lulls your audience back to their partners. Peter is graceful but you feel out of discipline, some years since your last feast. A pattern that is ingrained in your head despite that life drifting further and further by the day. What remains is the question, how did it come to this?
“My beautiful wife,” Peter intones, “I cannot help but praise you. How delightful you are. Immaculate, elegant, divine. I find it hard to contain myself. All those years of longing and I have you at last. All those lonely days.”
You hold back your spite, you twirl with him, keep in time with his movement. His sweet words do not align with the man you truly know him to be. The depravity of his desires. Is this a show for you or those around you?
“See how my people welcome you, how they cherish you, and how my kingdom shall recover your own, that we should bleed for you, my queen,” he draws you close with those last words, “all that I’ve given you, that I will give for you. My dearest, you do not understand all that I’ve done and will do to have you.
“Your majesty,” you breathe, “I am ever grateful for all you’ve gifted me. Every favour… I stand here, your queen, beholden entirely to you–”
“That you do speak such sweet words,” he purrs, “that I almost believe but I know that it will not be long before you see how you need me. How you’ve always needed me. That no other can ever be worthy of you but I.”
His eyes rove down your figure and he gives a lewd squeeze to your bottom as he pulls you flush to him, “how I should wish to strip you bare and have you at this very moment among all these people, watching.”
“Your majesty,” you protest gently, “I am flattered–”
“Come,” he ignores you and tugs on your hand, “any longer and I might make ruin of you upon this very spot.”
He drags you past those spinning and stomping to the music, themselves hypnotised by the flutes and drumming. The tumult rises with their laughter and singing, their clapping and leaping. Their figures smear in colours around you. The heat of the crowd pricks at your neck and draws sweat over your brow as your feet fall clumsily in Peter’s stead.
The cool air of the corridor soothes you as he leads you out of the hall. The hubbub of celebration roars as he quickly smothers your mouth and traps you against the stone wall. You grasp his shoulders as he gropes you through your skirt, kneading your thigh hungrily.
“Peter,” you say and hold your breath, recalling the last time you used his name. He does nothing as his lips peck at your cheek, “not here, please–”
“Shhhh,” hushes you and claps a hand over your mouth, “be a good wife.”
He leans down and grabs your leg, hiking it up over his hip as he yanks your skirt up. You murmur into his palm as he pushes your head against the wall. His hand sneaks below your shift and rubs between your folds, rousing you as he rolls over your clit. You hiss as he slides further, spreading the slickness around as he nips at your neck.
He rescinds his hand and snakes it between you. He shoves his breeches down with a grunt, lip curling at the struggle. He presses against you, pinning you as he spreads your lips with two fingers and tilts up against your cunt. He impales you slowly as the tension drains from his face.
His hand slips from your mouth and he clutches your head between his palms. He cradles your skull as he bottoms out and sighs. He ruts as your leg bends around him, your other foot arched to keep from slipping. He runs his thumbs down your temple as he tremors.
“Look at me, my queen,” he snarls, “look at me.”
Your eyes meet his and he grunts. His dark eyes flare and he drops his hand to grab your knee and hold it close. He bends slightly and pulls your other up, lifting you against the stone as he thrusts harder.
You squeal and cling to his shoulders as he pushes your legs further up, hooking his elbows beneath them.
“Touch yourself,” he demands as your lips part, “now.”
You moan but obey. You let your hand drift down and nestle between your legs. His cock brushes against your fingertips as you toy with yourself, shyly at first, but as the pressure builds, you can’t help but speed up.
You dig your nails into the brocade of Peter’s jacket as he buries his head against your shoulder. His hot breath seeps down your chest and he growls as he rocks quicker and quicker. Your legs quake against him as you cum, all noise muted by that from within the feast hall.
He bites you as he chases his peak, spasming as he empties into your cunt, fucking it into you deeper, until its pasted all around your cunt and dripping down him. He stops only as you slip down the wall.
He puts you back on your feet, your legs ready to collapse, and holds you up as he falls out of you. He lets your skirts fall around your sweaty and sticky legs as he admires your breathless afterglow.
He runs his teeth over his lower lip and grabs you suddenly, his hand around the back of your neck. He jerks you away from the wall so you stumble to your knees.
“Clean me up, wife,” he commands, “what a mess you’ve made.”
You peer up at him, your eyes glossy. You knew there would always be a cost, whatever he gave you, whatever he wanted from you, would come with a debt. You think of the voices buzzing from the hall; what if someone should discover you? Best have it done with.
You take him and put him in your mouth. He flinches, oversensitive still, as you tighten your lips around him and sick clean his length in a single stroke. Before you can pull off of him, he forces you back down. You gag as he twitches in your throat and clutches your head.
“Well, you’ve got me wanting again,” he chuckles and thrusts. You claw at his breeches as you choke and he does it again, “come on, wife, we must seal this marriage well.”
He fucks your face meanly as your knees ache on the hard stone, even through the layers of fabric. He rams as deep as he can and stays impaled in your throat, keeping you there as your head throbs. He brings his leg up over your shoulder and forces himself to his base, standing almost over you as he uses your mouth.
He carries on mercilessly, not stopping until his body tenses and he cums down your throat. His cum floods your mouth and bubbles around your lips with your spit. He eases out of you and shudders as he’s left bobbing in the open air.
You fall back on the heel of your hand and use your other to wipe your mouth and hide your strangled coughing.
“Get on your feet,” he grabs your wrist and urges you up, “you should not be on your knees, my queen.” He grips your chin and forces your head up, “you should walk proudly with my seed in your stomach and your womb.”
rainy day inn | p. parker
↬ pairing: nwh!peter & neighbor!fem!reader
↬ genre: friends to lovers, neighbors to lovers, college graduate!y/n, fluff, being sick & one person being pure comfort, (sort of a) fix-it fic
↬ summary: after choosing to make everyone forget who he is, peter is still trying to adjust to his new life. with may gone and mj & ned in massachusetts, he's had to branch out and find new friendships to make. still maintaining his spidey persona, he keeps the city of new york safe everyday and tries to not make past mistakes. everything has been different, almost like a useless re-do he wish he could take back. nevertheless, he finds comfort in you, his neighbor that lives across the hall from him. the citizens of new york may need his help... until you come down with a cold.
↬ word count: 4.3k
↬ warnings: no real warnings. lots of fluff, domestic!peter, corny origin story as to how you met, sad mentions of ned & mj, overwhelming grief, just peter parker trying his best <3 and nwh spoilers!
↬ a/n: a bit of a surprise fic but also my first peter one ! i think this is just a fun thing to write and i had some ideas after nwh so, now i can finally write them lol. but i hope you guys enjoy it and as always, i love feedback & comments! and check out my new biker!tom fic series here ♡
The snow from winter’s past had melted away from the warm day. Sunlight radiates down on all of Midtown, cars driving through leftover black slush clogging the side of the streets or dirty snow piles getting smaller as they slumped next to the street corners. Every New Yorker was happy once the leaves started growing back, the flowers began to bloom from the fresh grass, and the warmth made it bearable to be outside. But with the nice weather, it also came with the early showers. Rainy days in New York were nice, as long as you wore a coat and had an umbrella.
Unlike everyone else in the city who were walking in the parks and going out to shop during the first week of Spring, you had been curled up in your fluffy sheets, fatigued from a common cold and stuffy nose. Not knowing it was going to rain down from your commute to NYU and back to your apartment, you spent the dreadful few hours drenched from the sticky rain and walking in and out of air-conditioned buildings all day, only to come back to your place that had no heat. Just the small portable heater in the corner, but it didn’t do much– similar to your broken radiator.
A humidifier, tv remote and heated blanket had become your close acquaintances. The apartment seemed bigger when you had to roll out of bed to use the bathroom or find something to nibble on in the kitchen, even though there was a tight knot twisting inside your stomach. Used, crinkled tissues filled the small trash bin and around it, and an obnoxious pile of dirty laundry was stuffed into your hamper in the corner of your room.
Life was a mess, but there was nothing you could do about it with the fatigue that weighed on you and how head filled your head felt from how congested you became over the few days of quarantining yourself.
As another rerun of your favorite show played on the TV, three knocks hit against your front door. Groaning, you pouted from having to move from your comfortable position, slowly getting on your feet. The floor beneath you felt like it could shift at any minute, realizing how dehydrated you were as the room spun for a few seconds. Once you regained your balance and vision, you pulled your fleece blanket over your shoulders, pinning it close as you trailed across the apartment.
Holding the knob with the blanket over your head, you slowly turned it until the door cracked and there was your neighbor, Peter Parker. His slightly-gelled curls shined under the warm lighting of the hall, almost a caramel tone to the top of his head.
He smiled, “I figured you needed a pick-me-up.” He said, his hands holding a glass tupperware with ‘Parker’ written on the lid in a thick sharpie.
“You didn’t have to.” You pouted, opening the door wide.
He carefully passed by, “Eh, I could hear you coughing and sneezing from my place, so I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Yeah, I’m still not sure if it was from sitting on the freezing cold subway in soaking wet clothes or just holding the support pole on the bus.” You groaned as you locked the door, then followed him into the kitchen.
He scrunched his cute nose, “Probably a lot of both.” Peter jeered, setting the container on your kitchen counter.
A small smile curled on your lips, as much as you could with how sick you were feeling. You nudge your head against Peter’s shoulder while putting your arm around his waist to give a quick side hug. The fabric of his gray sweatshirt felt soft as you rubbed his back, and he chuckled against your head. He sealed his lips, his arm around your shoulders and his thumb grazing your blanket you were still bundled in like a snowsuit.
“God, sorry, I probably smell. I haven’t had any energy to shower.” You pouted, rubbing your hands down your dry face.
Peter hummed, “Why don’t you shower and I’ll heat this up. Maybe even run to the bakery downstairs and get that nice, french bread you get every other day.”
“Hey.” You pointed at him, “Don’t judge me and my love for that bread. It’s a nice Italian bakery, it’s the only place I know I can get great bread.” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“And that’s why I’ll go get it for you, especially in your time of need.” He jeered.
A heat rose to your cheeks, feeling it slowly spread across your face as you playfully swatted his shoulder before walking to the bathroom. As you turned the knob for hot water, you thought about how you couldn’t have asked for a better next-door neighbor than Peter Parker.
He was not only the nicest person you met, but also incredibly caring and gentle to anyone that crossed paths with him. There was an endearing quality to the brown-haired boy, whether it was the shy smile he randomly gleamed or the freckles scattered along his nose and cheeks.
“Hmm, well, since you mentioned bread, I’ll go shower.” You smiled.
Peter grinned at you before you passed by him, running your hand smoothly along his back. As you headed to the bathroom, he smiled at himself and his heart fluttered. He thought you were the nicest person he had met since everyone had to forget who he was.
He was lonely, and almost felt lost more than he thought he would be. Although Spider-man fulfilled his caring duties of protecting the city, he wasn’t good at making friends in his GED classes or the part-time job he has as a supplemental tutor at the library. Well, until he met you one fateful, but sad, day.
After finding out MJ and Ned had gone off to MIT, there was no connection to be made anymore with them. Peter wasn’t sure how to cope with the sudden loss of his girlfriend and best-friend because of own decision. He tried to embrace this new, second life he made for himself, continuing to hold onto some kind of hope that a person would come along and guide him like his once best-friends and his Aunt May did.
That was until he met you one fateful Sunday afternoon.
He was carrying up groceries from the farmer’s market in his reusable Ikea bags where the thread appeared loose and lightly fringed by the handles. Making an appointment to sign up for his GED classes, he stopped his pace when they saw you sitting outside of your apartment that was adjacent to theirs.
It was the second time you were locked out of your apartment, and barely having money for a proper meal, you couldn’t pay the fee to have another key made. Afraid of your landlord, there you sat in the hall and tried to trace your steps as to where the key could possibly been left. But in the city like New York, it was long gone wherever it may have been dropped and you weren’t surprised if someone had noticed, but not said anything.
“Hey. Everything okay?” Peter asked in his naturally kind tone, his phone still against his ear.
Your head shot his way, “Yeah, I just locked myself out. I lost my key… again.” You trailed, “And I can’t afford to pay for another so, I’m sort of just stuck, I guess.” You sighed.
His lips twisted, “I think I can help you with that.” Peter offered, still a stranger to you.
“Really?” You asked, having a bit of hope as your eyes brightened at him.
“Yeah, yeah. Um, if you could just watch my bags, I’ll go down and talk to him.” Peter kindly offered, setting the heavy bags in front of his apartment door.
You nodded, watching him walk back down the first flight of stairs and smiled from the warmness of his gesture. It was probably one of the more helpful times you had in New York after all these years, making you wonder if there was some catch once he got the key.
Unknowing to you, Peter checked his surroundings before opened the window on the start of the floor below yours. He balanced on the ledge before unveiling his web shooter under his flannel sleeve, whipping a web to a beam at the top of the building in order to lower himself to the first floor.
As he planted his feet to the brick, holding his hand around his strong-coiled web, Peter could see inside the superintendent’s office. He slowly opened the window, carefully moving his body to fit through and land on his feet… well, until he slipped on a newspaper.
Letting out a groan, Peter tried to silence his pain quickly by rolling over to his front side. He shook his head at himself before getting back up, dusting off his flannel and shirt.
“Now, keys… keys…” He trailed, clicking his tongue.
As sleuth as Spider-man was, Peter wasn’t. The drawers in the counter were heavy, they were loud when pushed back in place. The floorboards creaked as if he weighed more than an elephant. Even the tabby cat sitting on the couch meowed every other second, but it was more annoyingly high-pitched than alerting.
“Shh! Shh!” Peter put his finger against his lips as if the cat knew what it meant. He carefully can his hand over the cat’s head, stroking the soft fur then seeing the cat lean up and pur.
As he kept the fluffy cat still, Peter’s eyes scanned the room until he saw the spare keys hanging along the wall on organized hooks. A smile grew on his face, slowly walking up to the wall until he heard footsteps coming toward the door. His hair stood up on the back of his neck before flinging himself to the ceiling, his fingers stuck as he arched his head watching the landlord walk in leisurely.
Whistling, the landlord browsed the room, wandering around as if he forgot what he was looking for as Peter tried to stay behind his view. Just when Peter thought he was in the clear, the cat glanced up at him and began to meow.
He wished he could tell the cat to be quiet, thinking his cover was blown until the landlord swooped the cat under his arm.
“Come here, you.” He cooed, holding the cat under his arm before walking out.
Peter closed in his eyes, sighing in relief before carefully dropping from the ceiling. Quickly swiping the key, he walked toward the window and climbed the wall back up.
You let out a long breath past your lips, blowing your hair away from your face. Doubtful and already upset, you began having doubts Peter would come back. It was a nice gesture, but maybe you should have just-
“I’m back.” He smiled walking toward you.
You furrowed the eyebrows at the key in his hand, “You got it? How?!” You asked in pure amazement.
He nodded, “Don’t worry about that, just make sure to keep this one.”
You glanced at him, still with a warm smile on your face, “Thank you so much… um, what’s your name?”
“Peter. Peter Parker.”
“Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Y/N. You’re like my new hero.”
He blushed a bit, “Hero? No… Just your friendly neighbor.”
The steam opened your nostrils as the heated water covered your body, your muscles loosening around your neck from laying in awkward positions to be comfortable all day and night. You pressed your fingers along the back of your neck, rolling your head as well before actually showering– feeling as if this is what you needed all along and you were just in a rut.
Peter came back from the bakery, unknowingly taking a shortcut from the fire escape to get to the bakery. He cut the loaf into slices at the same time as microwaving the soup. As he continued to cut, Peter tried to remember May’s voice and what she did for him when he was sick.
He would have some of the worst common colds because of his many vigilante adventures, obviously unknown to her at the time. So, she would make him soup, pair it with warm bread and a seltzer if he had a stomach ache.
It made Peter smile thinking about the fond memories rather than crying at how he couldn’t relive them. He had been better at trusting the process of the future unfolding, constantly repeating May’s words.
“You have a gift, Peter…”
The timer loudly beeped, snapping him out of his past. He turned on his heels to open the microwave, opening the door and carefully taking out the bowl with pot holders wrapped on the sides of the glass bowl.
He hissed when the overpowering burn pushed into his fingers, but still placing the bowl carefully on the counter.
In the other room, you rung your hair out and dried it as best as you could. You kept taking deep breaths, inhaling the steam filled in the bathroom and your headache had lifted a bit from simply relaxing.
You quickly put on a comfortable tank top and slipped on soft sweatpants, stretching out your body in front of your window. As you pulled open the curtains, the gloomy day was nice to look at still. While you felt like absolutely shit, there was something peaceful and almost sweet about seeing random strangers walk about their days.
After popping an Advil, you made your way to the livingroom and saw Peter carefully setting the tray of food on the coffee table. You pouted, smiling at him as he set a comfortable floor pillow down as well.
“You know, you didn’t have to.” You trailed, a bit emotional at his care.
There were two slices of your requested bread, as well as a nice bowl of chicken noodle soup. It was nice having someone take care of you after being away from your family for so long, the feeling of homesickness always keeping into your heart even in a city of thousands of people. He radiated a comfort you hadn’t felt in a while.
“I know I didn’t, but I wanted to. How cliche.” He jeered.
Just as you were about to sit down, starved for a hot meal, Peter came back from the kitchen with a small bouquet of your favorite flowers. Already in a mood, you could cry right there. A part of you didn’t think he would remember a detail like what your favorite flowers were, or even the bread. Well, it wasn’t obvious that you were taking mental notes about him too. If you didn’t have this cold, you were going to ask him to go to his favorite ramen place once he was done with his classes. But, this was better.
As you brought the flowers to your nose, you wanted to smell them, but your nose was still a bit stuffed up.
“I wish I could smell them. They’re so beautiful.” You admired, gently running your fingers over the top of the petals.
“I’ll put them in a vase for when you can later.” He offered.
After he took them, you slowly sat down on the soft pillow and began to blow on your soup. Once you cooled it enough, the taste from your throat to belly was relieving. It was just what you needed after feeling sore and sick for the past few hours.
He came back with the flowers in the vase, placing them on the center of the table before sitting next to you. You glanced over at the windows, seeing drabbles of rain start to hit the window and the clouds hide away the sunlight.
“Feeling better?” Peter grinned.
“A lot better already, thank you.” You pouted, leaning your head against his shoulder.
Peter half-smiled, “Don’t mention it. You’ve been working hard lately, feel like I barely saw you.”
You giggled, “You’re one to talk. You’re like a disappearing act somedays. I think I see you in front of our building, but then I don’t. Riddle me that, Parker.”
He thought the way you scrunched your nose was cute, usually shown when teasing him for the smallest things, but it always comforted him. A warmness emulated from your personality, attracting him in his darkest moments. Whenever he reminisced on the past– moments with May, Ned or MJ– a tension formed in his throat, like he couldn’t breathe so much that tears felt involuntarily. But, you reminded him that although they were important to his past, there was a lot to look forward to in his future.
At some points, he’d brought up this MJ girl and you only knew her as an ex. You just didn’t know the context of her true impact on him and how she was another person who could peel back his layers. You’d hope to meet her since he said he had no hard feelings against her, and Peter didn’t know how to explain so he would nod and agree.
“I’m a man that’s needed,” He joked, shrugging as well, “What can I say?”
Some days you’d tease him, saying he must have some superhero ability to get to you.
“You’re like The Flash.” You jeered.
It made Peter’s heart skip a beat, but he gulped, “C’mon, the Flash is so lame. Not a Clark Kent?”
“Well, maybe if I saw you in glasses.”
He chuckled, glaring at your lips but then back into your eyes. There was that split moment you could explain how you felt in a matter of seconds for him, just spewing out until there was no air left in the room. But, you thought that was just it. This was just a split moment before the anxiety and fear creeped into your brain– second guessing your feelings and thankful you kept your mouth shut.
You turned back to your soup, sipping it while it was still hot. You hoped the steam from the soup was making your face this heated rather than your heart skipping beats. Peter longed his glanced before turning back to the TV and didn’t want to mention anything either.
A few minutes passed before your eyes felt heavy and your stomach was tight. Peter offered his soft hoodie after you ate, slipping it over your head and even the same of his roaming cologne was nice.
Just as Peter lightly chuckled at the TV, he turned to you and saw your head tilting to the other side. The sound of the rain was slowly putting you to sleep, soothing the tense headache and tightness of your body.
“Y/N, why don’t you go to bed?”
You hummed, “I’m just resting my eyes.”
“Which is sleeping.” He jeered, but you pouted at him, “C’mon.”
He lifted off his feet, helping you up from the floor. You weren’t sure if it was chills or the cold rain, but you were annoyingly freezing. Peter walked you to your bed, unfolding the sheets to let you sit down. You curled yourself to prevent the cold then Peter pulled the duvet over your whole body, pushing it under your frontside to make sure you were insulated.
“Is that okay?” He whispered.
You responded with a faint nod, your eyes still closed and your face cuddled against the pillow.
Peter brushed your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear then tracing his curled finger along your jaw. Pulling the quilt over your shoulder, he gently tucks it in between your body and the bed before reaching over to plug your phone in to charge. As Peter looked down on you, peacefully asleep, he ran his hand over the top of your head a few times. You unconsciously mumbled, cuddling yourself further into the pillow and fresh sheets and it made him lightly chuckle.
You were and felt protected by him, even if you didn’t know his superhero persona. There was something about Peter that was magnetic. It could have been a lot, his personality, smile, even his sweet laugh. No matter where you were or what situation you were having in the city, Peter would always be a call away. It was pretty remarkable how fast he was, not sure how he does it.
As he leaves your room, Peter takes a second glance at the paper on your desk. He thought it may have been a draft for a term paper, but instead he was shocked to see “Chosen Student Speaker” as the header. Peter lowly chuckled to himself and wasn’t surprised you didn’t tell him, probably already being nervous. But, now he would totally tease you about this.
After cleaning the dishes and cleaning up, Peter sat at your kitchen table and looked at some pictures through his phone. His heart dropped at the photos in his older gallery. Pictures at Midtown with Ned, the Decathlon team and even with May on their late night dinner finds. Perfect memories kept in a digital capsule and only able to remain as the past. As he scrolled to another photo him with MJ and Ned at the donut shop, you strolled out of your bedroom with more color in your skin and cheeks.
“Hey,” Peter quickly said, putting his phone down, “How are you feeling now?”
“Better. Very warm and refreshed.” You giggled, spinning around in Peter’s sweatshirt and your cozy bottoms.
Peter chuckled, “Well, I hope you have some energy to explain the paper I saw on your desk.” He raised an eyebrow.
You pondered what he meant until you lightning struck your brain, “Oh. That.”
“You were chosen to speak out of your whole class? Why didn’t you tell me?” He smiled, but you sat next to him at the table.
You shrugged, “It’s corny. It’s just because someone asked me to.”
“It can’t be that bad. You’re just stage fright.”
“Well I’m no poet so, what else do I have to say but to just… congratulate?”
“I’d like to hear it.” Peter trailed, a half-smile painted on his cute face.
“Yeah, c’mon. You need practice.” He teased.
You rolled your eyes in response before huffing, getting up to quickly get your speech paper then coming back to stand in front of him.
“Am I standing up like someone who’s confident?”
Peter smiled, “Of course.”
You cleared your throat, your eyes glancing at your paper.
“Students, Alumni, Parents and others, we are here today to celebrate something monumental. Today, we look forward to the future and feel grateful for the past. For all of those late nights, stressful moments and times we wanted to give up, we all made it here.”
You looked up at Peter who was smiling big already.
“In the city of New York, we have faced many challenges. I think it’s important for our students and everyone to understand that we will always come back together. We are thankful for those who help us in our darkest hours. Whether they’re your family,”
“Or someone else incredibly important that one way or not would unexpectedly enter your life.”
Peter glanced back at you, his eyes becoming glassy.
“Whoever they are, it’s truly special to remember the support– like pillars– that hold you up in tough times. But, of course, we deserve to be able to credit ourselves the most to have gotten through this academic year.”
Although it was a speech for college, Peter could relate in some ways. It’s why it pulled at his heartstrings, like it spoke more for him than he ever could with his words. He sat there, encapsulated in your sentences and trying to hold back his tears.
As you finished, you got yourself to the end with heat brazened against your cheeks. You had to take a deep breath, and Peter just clapped and smiled.
“Beautiful, amazing!” He cheered.
You rolled your eyes, “Stop. It’s just… well, thanks.” You corrected your response.
You sat back down next to him, both of you smiling, but there were tears welling up in his eyes. Peter lowered his head to hide them, but you ran your hand over his curls. The rain continued to pour down outside just as Peter’s tears did when you held him in your arms. It was a hug he craved, and you were more than willing to give it to him.
“I didn’t think it was that bad.” You joked.
Peter stuttered a laugh, wiping his tears. He lifted his head and you pushed his hair back, wiping his tears with your thumbs. You traced them down his chin before holding his face, taking in how tired he looked just through his brown eyes.
“It’ll be alright.” You comforted him.
He nodded, but you pulled him back in for another warm hug. His arms slowly wrapped around your waist, like securing a lock and he sniffled against your chest. Eventually he’d open up, you just waited until that day.
When the afternoon turned to night, the rain slowed down and the traffic outside lightened up. Holding one another, Peter rested his eyes with his arms around you while cuddled in bed. You brushed your nose against his chin, repositioning yourself every few minutes and slowly rubbing his back underneath his t-shirt.
Both of you wern’t sure what you were. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Partners. Best friends? Even neighbors. It all couldn’t be explained in a few short seconds, but moments like this was when those terms didn’t matter. All you needed was one another. It was like knowing there was a reason why you came together. Relating the same pain, the same doubts, even the same leaps of faith.
That was all that mattered and neither of you planned to screw that up. You were each other's new beginnings.
Ahem, excuse me, but I’m gonna need “Fighting to be on to” 🌻 congrats on 1k sweets! You are so incredibly talented and I’m grateful you’re sharing those talents with us here in this corner of the internet! 🌻💛
Play TASM Writing Bingo [here] (If you just stumbled upon this post and this is your first time seeing this, read the rules and check to see if something has already been requested before you ask. Things already requested and in the works: list. Please and thank you!)
Fight To Be On Top
[tasm!peter x fem!reader]
TW: 18+ smut, very light, brief choking in this
A/N: I just finished writing this and immediately said "Oh shit I should have done this between Spidey and Black Cat instead." Next time lol I just think they'd be a good pair to have a dominance fight. I hope this still satisfices your needs anyway @spidervee
It wasn’t uncommon for Peter to pick up on passing conversations people were having. At a big party like this he was bound to get bits of unwanted chatter from all angles. He preferred to stick close to your side at events like this. You had this wonderful ability to dampen all the excess noise around him like his own personal ear muffs. There was something about you that just softened everything. So as Peter pushed through crowds of people, his eyes frantically searched each corner of the room to seek you out. He’d only slipped away for five minutes to sneak off to the bathroom. When he returned, you were no longer where he left you. He pushed through the house of drunk college students in search.
“Peter!” The sickenly sweet voice of Hazel, one of the girls in his photography class, momentarily paused his task.
Peter forced a smile and gave her a short wave, “Hey. How you doin’, Hazel?” His eyes kept scanning over face looking for yours.
“Are you looking for your girlfriend?” She asked.
He nodded, “Yes and you don’t have to pretend like you don’t know her name. Have you seen her?”
Hazel scoffed, “Maybe.” She gave him a flirtatious smirk and swayed her hips closer to him. “I think I saw her upstairs in one of the bedrooms. Why don’t you and I go up there and have a look?”
Peter gave an anxious sigh and took a step back. This wasn’t the first time she had come on to him. She made it very obvious of her intentions much to his discomfort. His smile tightened, “It was nice seeing you, Hazel. I got to go.”
She pouted and clung onto his arm. He could smell the alcohol coming off of her and it was making him feel nauseous.
“Aw, come on. You’re no fun, Peter. Play with me. I’m bored,” she whined.
Peter shook her off his arm and gave her a swift nod, “Yeah…no…I have to go.”
He quickly pushed his way into the kitchen and nearly fell to his knees in relief when he saw you standing by the counter. You had your hand deep into a bowl of chips and had never looked more beautiful in your life. He hurried to your side and buried his face against your neck, arms ensnaring you to him, inhaling your familiar scent and sighing with happiness.
“Missed ‘ou ‘oo,” you mumbled through the chips. You finished your mouthful and gave him a little pat on the top of the head. “We haven’t seen each other in, what, ten minutes?”
He gave a breathy chuckle against your skin and snuggled in closer behind you, “I know it was terrible. I’m never leaving you again.”
“Did some guys try to get you to do a keg stand again? You sealed your fate as a living legend amongst the frat bros last time you did one.” You popped more chips into your mouth and leaned back against his chest.
Peter groaned at the memory, “Never again.” He lowered his voice to whisper in your ear. “I ran into Hazel.”
You let out a loud, overly exaggerated retching noise at the mention of her name, “Gross. Did you know she once asked me if I could invite her to a threesome with us? I got the impression she didn’t actually want me to be a part of the equation though. So, really, she wanted me to invite her to have sex with you.”
Peter laughed, “What did you say?”
“Oh, I told her of course! Go right ahead! I planned it for tonight so you better get ready. She’ll be expecting you later.” You gave him a wink and a cheeky smile.
Peter felt his face heat up into a blush and he playfully pushed you against the counter, “You’re an evil woman. Quick, let’s get out of here before she finds us.”
He grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the kitchen onto the porch. The night air was cool with a pleasant breeze. A string of warm, glowing lights were strung overhead. Peter pulled you to a quiet corner and slipped his hand over your lower back as you rested against his side. You were a few drinks ahead of him but nowhere near as intoxicated as you could be. You’d found your happy spot with enough of a buzz to keep you energetic and smiling without the worry of the effects that might present themselves tomorrow. He knew you’d only want to stay a few more minutes before begging him to take you home so you could finish off the night with just his company. That’s why he led you outside, to help calm everything down and nudge you in that direction. Parties were never much of his thing.
“Shit, man, look at that ass.”
Peter’s ears perked up. It was a large porch that wrapped around nearly half the house. A group of guys were huddled around the opposite end with beers in their hand. The music from inside was loud enough to drown out their conversation from regular ears. He could tell by the way you made no reaction to their statement. It was obvious who they were talking about. It was just the two of you and their group out here and Peter highly doubted they were talking about him. His eyes traveled down your back and legs. From their perspective, they had a perfect view of how beautifully your skin tight dress hugged your curves. The dress stopped right below your butt to show off your gorgeous legs. You had leaned forward against the railing which was only highlighting the plump curve of your ass.
“She’s something else. Look at that body. You think her man will share if we ask nicely?”
They all snickered, having no idea Peter could hear them. By your lack of reaction, he knew you were none the wiser. Otherwise, he knew you would have marched over there to put them all in their place in a matter of seconds. He put a possessive arm around your waist and pulled you closer against him to make it very clear who’s girl you were and that he had no intention of sharing.
One of them took a long swig of his beer and gave a low whistle, “You know what I’d like to do to her?”
Peter held his breath. He was torn. Part of him wanted to beat the shit out of all them and swing you away from their perverted gaze. The other part wanted to listen. He wasn’t sure what came over him but he wanted to know what the man speaking was going to say. It gave him a little flutter of pride knowing they were all impressed by your beauty and couldn’t have you.
“I’d dominate her,” the man continued his statement. “Up against the wall. Her tits hanging out of the dress, my hands wrapped around those ass cheeks, her leg hooked over my waist, and my dick sunk deep inside of that pussy. I’d have her screaming for mercy. She wouldn’t know what hit her.”
Another one spoke up, “Nah, man. You have it all wrong. You got to take her from behind. Then you can grab handfuls of those tits while you pound into her.”
The third guy laughed, “That’s the difference between you two. One’s an ass man and the other a tit guy. Now, if it were me, I’d have her mouth wrapped around my cock and have her take me all the way down that throat.”
Peter had heard more than enough. If he stayed any longer, he was either going to end up smashing their heads into the ground or fucking you right on the porch. Or maybe both. He was a strange mix of possessively angry and furiously horny at what they were saying. He leaned over to press a kiss to your temple, whispering in your ear, “Time to go.”
He dragged you off the porch before you even had a chance to protest.
Once back in the safety of his apartment, Peter finally released the death grip he had on your hand. You yanked your arm away from him with an annoyed expression.
“What the fuck was that about, Peter? I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my friends. You didn’t say a word to me the entire walk home. My hand’s going to be bruised now. What’s gotten into you?” You were too pissed off to notice the large bulge pressed against his pants and nursed your hand to your chest. “That was some bullshit you pulled. There better be a good explanation.”
You let out a delicious gasp as Peter forcefully backed you up into the wall. He pushed himself into your body, letting you feel his erection pressing against your hip. Your eyes widened in surprise and you let out a quiet, “Oh.”
“Oh,” he repeated.
“Oooh,” you nodded with a light giggle. “And now I understand.”
Peter smiled, letting his head dip down to kiss over your neck, between kisses he would murmur against your skin, “I heard a group of guys talking about you.”
Your eyes closed, your head leaning back against the wall to give him better access to your neck, and you let out a small sigh. “Is that so?” You asked.
“Mhm,” he nipped at your flesh. “They were saying terribly, terribly dirty things about you.”
You whined in pleasure at the feeling of his mouth roaming over your skin, “What kind of terrible things?”
Peter smirked and brought his face back up to yours, wanting to look in your eyes as he spoke, “One of them wanted to push you up against a wall, tear your breasts free from your dress-” He slipped the straps off your shoulders and yanked the dress halfway down your stomach to sounds of your surprised gasp. He reached behind your back to unclasp your bra and tossed it onto the floor so your breasts spilled out for his eyes to feast on. “Grab a fist full of your ass-” He slid his hands up your thighs and under the bottom of your dress to grab a handful of your cheeks. “And then fuck you so deep up against the wall.”
If the thought of other men speaking about you like that bothered you, you certainly didn't show it. It was one thing if you heard it happening in the moment. It was entirely something else when Peter was reciting it back in the safety of your bedroom as he mimicked each actions. If anything, it only seemed to excite you more by the way your heart rate was speeding up and the quick, irregular breathing happening in his ear.
“Oh, fuck,” you sighed, having to swallow, and remember to breathe. “Is that all?”
Peter shook his head. His eyes were aflame in lust as he gazed down at you. His voice lowered, “Another responded that he wanted to do something else.” He slid his hands back down your legs and gripped onto your waist. With dizzying speed, he spun you around. He gripped a hand to the back of your hair and bent you over so your ass was pressed tight against his bulge. “He wanted to take you from behind.”
With the fistful of your hair, he pulled you back up, keeping his hips pressed hard into your behind and snaking a hand around to fondle your exposed chest. “He wanted to hold onto your tits while he fucked you raw.”
You practically melted against his chest the second his hand found your breast. He held the weight of them in his palm and brushed his thumb over your nipple. It sprung to life at his touch as he rolled the nub between his fingers. You responded by grinding your ass into his crotch and wiggling your hips over him.
“And what about you?” Your voice was barely anything more than a whisper. “What would you want to do to me, Peter?”
A wicked smile spread across his face and he spun you back around to face him, “Their ideas were decent enough but not what I’m looking for tonight.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and hoisted up. Your legs hooked around his hips while he carried to the bed, effortlessly tossing you top of it. He began to slowly remove his clothes while he talked. “What I want…is to watch you squirm naked under me. I want to hold you down, put my hand around your neck, and fuck you straight into the mattress.”
You let out a little shiver of excitement and shimmied the rest of the dress off your legs. He could see the damp patch soaking into your underwear and quickly finished stripping himself down to nothing. He grabbed your ankle, jerking your body towards him, and peeled the underwear down your legs. You scrambled back to the pillows and laid down. He watched in silent awe as you spread your legs for him. Your hand teased over your pussy, circling your clit, in an invitation.
“Tell me what it made you feel hearing all those men talk about me like that, Peter.” There was a pouty innocence caked into your words as you tried to bait him into showing his more possessive, jealous side.
A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat and he slowly climbed over you, looking like a tiger about to pounce on his prey, “It made me want to bend you over that porch railing and fuck you in front of them so they knew exactly who you belonged to.”
Peter didn’t even wait for a tease or a warm up. The second his hips were close enough to yours, he slipped his cock straight inside of you. You let out a yelp and rolled your hips to meet him, sinking him deeper, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.
“Fuck, Peter,” you whimpered. “Oh god. You feel so good.”
“From the second I heard them talking all I could think about was sliding into you. I couldn’t wait any fucking longer.” He gave you a hungry kiss as your hands ran down his muscular back.
Peter began to dive into your slick heat, feeling you stretch around him, as he pumped his hips. You clung your arms around his neck, fingers digging into his flesh, as he drove in and out. Long, forceful thrusts pounded into you as you arched and writhed under him. You could feel his jealous spite towards those men in every thrust. Your moans quickly filled the room, your insides on fire with an exquisite pleasure. His hand closed possessively over your breast, his fingers rolling the hard tip, as he leaned down to bite your shoulder. You let out a loud yelp at the sudden searing pain and arched your hips to meet the thrust of his thick shaft as it worked itself deep inside your pussy. He was on a mission to prove to himself, to you, and those guys who you belonged to. He was using a lot more strength than usual to pound into you and it was making you feel dizzy.
“Peter,” you breathlessly gasped. “Jesus, Peter.”
You raked your nails down his back in an attempt to alleviate some of the building tension in your stomach. Your moans were turning into full on cries with the intensity of the sensations he was creating.
“Fuck those assholes,” he grunted. His eyes were scrunched close, a hard crease forming in his brow. He was clearly replaying the memory in his head as he fucked you. With a growl, he slammed his hips into you so hard you were afraid he might actually break your pelvis.
“Peter!” You gasped.
If you kept yourself under him, you weren’t sure your body was going to make it to morning. You wrapped a leg around his waist, steadied yourself with one arm, and used the full weight of your body to flip him onto his back. You straddle your legs over his hips and pinned his chest down with your hands. He was too in his own head to be ready for the sudden change of position and his eyes snapped open in shock. He blinked up at you in a confused awestruck, completely freezing in place, worried he had done something wrong. You’d never been one to take control in the bedroom before. He was scared he had gone too far and really hurt you. You usually loved it when he threw you around and took on the dominant, aggressive role. Tonight, you were feeling something different though. You smiled down at him with a devilish grin.
“Now you know how I feel when I’m forced to listen to Hazel gush about how perfect your body is.” You trailed your fingers over his chest. “How she loves when you wear tight shirts because she can see all your muscles under it.” You slid your pussy over the length of his cock, tilting your hips so your clit could get the best angle. “How she loves being alone with you in the dark room and daydreams about riding you right there on the floor while your stupid photos develop.” You raised yourself off of him and held his shaft in your hand. Slowly, you lowered yourself on it, moving a little at a time to really drag it out. “How many times I had to listen to her guess how big she thinks you are based off that one time you wore sweatpants to class.”
Your wet lips spread to wrap around him as you sunk down. You could feel every vein of his shaft and ridge of his head glide along the folds of your womanhood. You bit your bottom lip to repress a moan. Peter stared up at you, completely enamored as his eyes flicked between watching your face and watching his cock disappear inside of you. Your own jealousy imagining Hazel with your boyfriend was too much. You couldn’t keep up your slow, taunting pace anymore. You threw your head back and buried him all the way inside.
Peter let out a groan of pleasure and hissed, a lazy smirk tugging on his lips, “Is someone jealous?”
You huffed in response and rolled your eyes, “No. Not jealous. Fuck off.”
He jerked his hips upwards causing you to gasp, “Is that so? Not even a little, tiny bit jealous at the thought of me and Hazel alone together in the dark room?”
You bit your lip and shook your head, “No.”
“The thought of us, all alone, those red lights setting an eerie mood…and me, none the wiser, as she accidentally bumps her chest against me.”
Your eyes flashed with anger. It sounded as if he was replaying a memory of something that happened. He caught the look of jealousy and sat up with a triumphant smile. His arm hooked around your waist.
“I knew it,” he murmured against your lips, giving you a quick kiss, before flipping you back onto your back.
“Hey!” You tried to protest but he was already fucking you again. One of his hands snaked over your throat and pinned you down, keeping a light pressure there.
Peter smirked, his eyes rolling to a close and his mouth falling open, “I can’t help myself. You feel too good under me, baby.”
You gave a soft cry of pleasure but tried not to let yourself get too distracted by how good he felt inside of you. You wanted to be on top. You wanted to ride him exactly like Hazel said she would if she had the chance.
“Those guys…on the porch…” You choked out the words, Peter’s grip tightening around your neck at the mention of them again. “I bet they would have loved to let me ride them.”
His eyes snapped open in horror but, once he caught the evil glint of your smile, softened to a tease, “Give it your best then, pretty girl.”
You shoved his shoulders and rolled him onto his back. He was a willing participant in the motion and let you take control. If Peter didn’t want to be moved, he wouldn’t have been. He was playing down his strength for your amusement.
You climbed back on top and smiled down at him, “Thank you very much. This is where I belong. Up here, looking down on you like the little peasant that you are.”
He let out a light laugh, staring at you with hearts in his eyes, and shaking his head in disbelief, “Well go right ahead then, my queen. Be my guest. You want control, you have it.”
You settled back to where you had started, slipping his cock back inside your warmth. Any bit of lighthearted teasing disappeared the second he entered you. He just felt too good stretching out your walls to think about anything other than pleasuring yourself. The burning passion returned with a fiery heat. You pushed back against him and he moved to meet you. You slowly began to move as one as you found your rhythm. Your hips rolled over him and you tossed your hair back behind you, your back arching, as you let the waves of electricity flow through you.
Peter feasted his eyes up at you. You looked nothing short of stunning up there. The glow from the city streets poured in through the window to cast moving lights around the dark room. His eyes moved to take in all of you, starting with your beautiful face, lost in the moment of pleasure, and ending with your perfect pussy stretched over his cock. His hands moved up, dragging nails lightly along your skin, to capture those full breasts bouncing with each thrust. His rough thumbs brushed over your nipples, eliciting a sweet moan, and pinching them between his fingers.
Your thrusting hips were becoming more desperate. Peter rose to meet you, sitting up to pull you against him, and crashed his lips over yours. Your tongues danced around each other, moaning into each other's mouths, and hands tugging at fistfuls of hair. You felt so full with him buried so deep inside of you. Waves of ecstasy and passion beyond reason. You felt like you were rushing to the finish line and would die if you didn’t cross.
Peter felt his own urgency meeting yours. He was always so good at matching himself with you. He knew when to hold off and when to push harder. Now was the time to push harder. He growled and thrust into you, your bodies now slamming together in a desperate crescendo you could both feel building deep within. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and your forehead rested against his sweaty one.
“I’m so close,” you managed to get out.
He gasped and nodded, “I know, baby. Almost there.”
“Cum inside of me. I want you inside of me, Pete.” You hide your face against his shoulder. Even though you were on birth control, you tried to avoid having him finish inside you as often as you could. It wasn't an everyday occurrence he got the gift of the go ahead. Tonight, you couldn’t help it. You needed all of him. You needed him to fill you.
Peter whimpered at the thought and gripped his arms tighter around your hips to hold you steadily in place against him. Your cries of passion matched his lower, throaty groans as your hot cunt clamped down on his throbbing cock. You could feel every muscle tightening in his body in anticipation of what was coming. You cried out in an uncontrollable release. He could feel you tightening like a vice on his cock as his own release tore through him. Peter pulled your hips down tight against his body to pump load after load of his thick cum into you. You felt his warm seed fill you, the feeling still a little unfamiliar, but sending you straight into another wave of orgasm. Your body shook uncontrollably as Peter held you tightly to him. You whimpered and whined, as the pleasure was almost too much to handle, and collapsed against his chest. You were both gasping for breath.
Peter grazed the tips of his fingers up and down your back and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. You clung to him, eyes closed, not able to do much else while he enjoyed the feeling of your skin under his hands. He slowly softened inside you and gently slid out, taking along much of his dripping semen with him. You felt both a little dizzy and at peace. It was a nice place to be. A soft smile tugged at the corner of your lips and you nudged your head against his to get him to look up at you. Peter lifted his head and pressed his forehead to yours, his sleepy eyes staring back at you with such love, and you shared a soft kiss.
“Don’t ever fuck, Hazel.” You mumbled with a little smile.
Peter laughed and kissed you again, “Don’t ever fuck three drunk guys at a party. You’re too good for them. You're too good for everyone. Even me.”
“You’re lucky I put up with you then.”
He smiled, head over heels in love with you, “The luckiest.”
the morning sun || p.p
prompt: “sometimes i just can’t stop kissing your stupid face.”
word count: 1.5k
warnings: established relationship, gets a lil sad :( but the fluff is enough, trust me!
note: hi!! I disappeared a month :D I'm sorry! I'm in the middle of my exams... I was not planning on coming back until my exams got over but... I missed posting :( so here is the repost of this bittersweet one shot !! and my exams are getting over next week, so I'll be more active from the start of june <3 enjoy !!
you woke up to the morning sun shining on his skin.
the white, paper thin curtains billowing 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 littering his skin that weren't there the last time you saw him. he inhaled deeply, the arm loosely thrown over your waist under the blanket tightening its hold over you —
you've lost the count of the sleepless nights you've endured for peter parker.
he texted that he'd be home before you return 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 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's here.
“to love him is to lose your mind.” may told you over a cup of coffee around the beginning of your relationship with him. but you didn't understand the weight of her words until he stumbled on your doorsteps, bleeding and gasping for breath in a tattered red and blue suit that 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 yet 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.
your hand trailed down to his cheek, brushing your thumb 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 like 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 thuds, he's shallow breaths calming your soul. it's the rare moments of peace amidst the chaos of your life that reminds you why you stuck around. loving someone with a hero complex with 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 his freckles to his neck, the bruises you left on his collarbone two nights ago were barely visible but the urge to kiss him bubbled up. you prop 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 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.”
“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, breaking 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 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. he 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 again.
you kissed his lips, a small smile playing on your lips, “sometimes i just can't stop kissing your stupid face.”
hope you liked it !! reblogs and feedback are appreciated! masterlist + taglist is in my bio!
permanent taglist: @peterficrecs @runawaywithmyghost @holland-styles @mymarvelmasterlistblog @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @peter-parkers-gf @lilmschild @kayasholland @prettyboykaspbrak @lowkey-holland @haroldpotterson @usergarfields @aqtkookie @ginasellsbooks @haileygarciasunshine @aayaissaa @also-fangirlinsweden @decafcoffew @perfect-peter @prettysbliss @astrobub @alltoogay @prancerrparkerr @tanakaslastbraincell @xoxabs88xox @levylovegood @inas-thing @peterparkoure @crybabyddl @parkeromanoff @jenoslov @imobsessedzs @black-rose-29 @yeetzel @kassey @ericareyesmylove @avengers-hamiltrash @queen-of-no1 @helpimhavingacry-sis
peter parker taglist:@vendettaparker @justapurrcat [ @saturnpeter ] [ @httphollands ] @namoreno @rqmanoff @agirlwithotherideas @bumblebuzz @clara-licht @buckys-little-hoe @ascybous @blankspaceblankday [ @voidmalfoy ] @caitlynmarty @spideyspeaches @tomsirishgirlx [ @nina-drinks-tea23 ] @y-napotat @white-wolf1940 @mathletemadison @letsfly-andbe-free [ @pastelbabygirl19 ] @nearlydanger9 @ladykxxx08 @angelreyesisdaddy04 [ @xdarknessinlightx ] @itscaminow @alina02 @andreagf956 @iconicjk @adayasgeorgia @simp-for-fictional-people @onceuponameli @bab-ilicious @nocturnalms @couuuchpotatoo @petesrparker @chewymoustachio @angeliquekalampoka @hallecarey1 @thehumanistsdiary @disaster-rose @sarahfortin6201 @lauramacch @hahahalolthx @sophi54 @parkerpeter24 [ @flashoe ] @hawkscobra @ouralcohol @alice-solo @turtletaylor98 @kitk4400 @mischeifparker @biancamannoo @rottenstyx @shiptheship
Got Nothing But Good intentions- Chapter 1: Big Red Binder
pairings: college!tasm!peter parker x fem!reader!
warnings: not too much, just world building, fluff, establishing relationship, mentions of bruises [on peter from his spidey activities], reader is a little shy! but still very 'sassy', reader has hair that can be clipped back!
By no means were you and Peter Parker friends. No. You were acquaintances of sorts.
You sat next to each other during biology lectures, Peter always closest to the door and you on the inside. When you got in class he’d always give you a nod and you’d always wave, and sometimes if you were feeling particularly bubbly, you’d mutter ‘hey, Peter.’
His name had been revealed by your professor one time after she called on him. The problem was he couldn’t figure out the answer because he was falling asleep on himself. That’s really what started this if you were honest.
To save him from the embarrassment you flashed him your notebook, and he smiled, rattling off the answer to her.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, cheeks aflame as he realised he didn’t know your name. Stupidly, you never supplied it but nodded and smiled back at him softly. That was the last time you spoke to him
He walked in class after you one week, lip busted and eye semi swollen. He didn’t say anything and you never asked, but that was when he began truly sleeping through the classes.
It went on like that for weeks, Peter sleeping through biology class, but somehow always managing to pass the tests.
However, when you notice the bruises becoming brighter some days and then darkening up in different spots, your eyebrows bunched together, and you felt tears well up in your eyes. You wanted to know what was happening, but waking up the tired boy would be devastating; especially when he came to class looking like that.
So, you decided that you’d start taking notes on your laptop, and insert drawings and such after so that you could get them to him for the classes that he slept through.
You stayed up nights in a row, doing your own work and making your drawings as detailed and comprehensive as possible so that you could print multiple copies for Peter.
A week later, you had an entire binder full of work for Peter. Everything was as detailed and as simplified as you could make it, and after debating all morning, you took the binder with you to your last class of the day, hoping Peter would be there.
The boy in question came into class eyes droopy, his grey sweatshirt swamped his body, almost as a shield and as he passed your desk, you gave him a soft smile that had his eyes widening a little before he gave you a small wave and took his seat. There were patches of reds and purples along the sliver of cheek you saw before he turned away from you; and you felt your heart sink just a little.
As soon as your professor started teaching, Peter’s head was resting on his pile of books, cheeks squished against the cool surface of the books, and you counted five minutes before soft snores were coming from Peter.
You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you began taking notes from the class, typing as fast as you could. You were focused on getting all the main information of what your professor was saying, listening intently to the clarifications of the formulae and when and how to use them and before you knew it class was done.
Everyone around you packed up their books, but Peter seemed to be in a deeper sleep than ever, not even stirring at the sounds of chairs scraping the floor. You hesitated then as you stood, debating on waking him up or just leaving the binder for him.
Before you could talk yourself out of it; you were in front of his desk, staring at him. He looked so peaceful asleep, soft snores coming from him as you walked a little closer to him. You worried your bottom lip as your hand was resting gently on his shoulder and shaking him.
“Peter?” you whispered, shaking his shoulder with a little more pressure to rouse him. “Peter, class is over.”
He woke then, lips pouted and eyes squinted as they followed your arm to your face, as it dropped from his shoulder.
Despite himself, his tired eyes raked over you, from the curls escaping your claw clip, your glasses, the soft smile on your face and your outfit. Peter had never seen anyone look cute in a green and grey chequered sweater vest, but you made it work; especially with the tennis skirt and your short boots.
It was as his eyes met yours again that he noticed one of your hands close to your chest, cuddling a binder to your body.
“S-sorry. Been a long week.” his voice was thick of sleep and exhaustion to your ears and your smile faltered just a little as you noticed the gravity of the bruises you had seen before.
Shaking your head, you responded, “S’alright. I have something for you, but it’s not creepy. I swear.”
Peter’s eyes narrow, nodding slowly and you smile brighter then. He can’t help the way his heart speeds up at all.
“It’s notes. From the semester.” you explain as you thrust the binder towards him. “It’s all yours, got annotations and everything.” you say sweetly and Peter’s tongue tied.
“Thanks, but why did you do that? I have my own notes,” he says after a while, but his confession makes your shoulders deflate a little, eyebrows drawing together in the saddest expression Peter had ever seen.
“Okay, maybe they’re not the best notes.” he amends, hand reaching for yours unconsciously as you place the binder on his desk.
“I hope these are better.” you shrug, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder with your free hand.
“Do I get to know that name of the girl that’s gone out of her way for me?” he asks, thumb rubbing a soothing pattern on the back of your hand, before he stops himself with a sheepish smile.
“Maybe I’ll add that to the notes from today for you.” you say with a cheeky grin and Peter huffs a laugh before nodding.
He lets your hand go almost reluctantly, and when he does you just nod and mutter softly, ‘see ya.’ before you’re off and out the door; leaving Peter sitting in his chair and flipping through the big red binder, smiling as he goes through the notes- eyes skimming the ‘key’ you added for the colours you coded some of the notes in.
“She’s fucking adorable.”
can I have Peter Parker 82 from the 100kisses list please?
82. whispering ''i love you'' in-between kisses
send a number from this list and I'll write a blurb
You hated when Peter was going on missions. Every time he left, a part of you was scared he’ll never return. Peter would always reassure you and promise that he'll be back, but there's always fatalities in battle.
It was late in the evening and you were standing outside the compound as the Avengers packed the Quinjet for their mission. Peter had his backpack on his shoulders, all packed and ready for his trip. His arms were wrapped around you, hugging you tight.
''I’m gonna miss you.''
''I’m gonna miss you more.''
''Alright! Enough with the smooching and the emotional goodbyes, we’ll be gone for three days,'' Sam said, walking past you two and rolling his eyes. ''Don't be so dramatic.''
You bit your tongue, about to hit him with a witty comeback that would make him regret saying something, but decided against it. It wasn’t worth wasting the five minutes you had left with Peter.
''I love you,'' Peter whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, right before kissing you sweetly.
You smiled into the kiss, keeping it PG to not get another round of teasing from Sam and Bucky. They were the worse.
''I love you more.''
You kissed him again.
Peter shook his head, pulling back. ''I love you to the Death Star and more.''
A soft chuckle left your lips. He is such a nerd.
Okay I have only one thought..
Peter saying, “Now, be a good girl and open your mouth.”
CAIT HELLO also god damn this....did things to me. 18+ also very Dom!Peter
You looked over into the living room as you poured a glass of wine.
How was it that after years of being together, he still made you weak in the knees?
Sometimes you wondered if he did it on purpose. He knew what drove you wild. The glasses, the rolled up sleeves, the stage of his facial hair that between stubble and a beard. The way his tongue stuck out as he concentrated on reading the formulas his students had written down.
He shouldn't be that attractive. And yet he was and boy, did you want him.
Peter peered out over his glasses, a small smirk appearing as he made eye contact with you briefly, before going back to the exams he was grading.
"It's impolite to stare Bug," He said, never taking his eyes off the paper.
"I can smell ya all the way over here. If you want something," He looked up at you, a gleam in his eyes, "Just come over and ask nicely."
You walked over to the couch, standing in between his legs.
"You know what to do, don't play innocent with me," Peter ordered.
You got down on your knees, now at eye level with the growing bulge in his pants.
"I....I wanna touch you, please," You asked, remembering to look him in the eyes.
"Have you been good?" Peter asked, slowly taking off his glasses. You nodded your head eagerly.
"Show me then."
You stood up, still on your knees. Your hands reached down to the hem of your dress. You pulled it up, proving you had remembered his rule about undergarments (unlike yesterday, which your ass was still sore from that punishment).
Peter leaned over, a devilish grin on his face.
"Show me how wet you are."
A hand snaked down to your core. You let out a gasp as you felt your fingers trace along your slit. While maintaining eye contact, you slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just so.
You curled your fingers in and out of you, hoping he would enjoy the show. What you really wanted to do was beg for him to fuck you, to let you suck his cock, something.
But you knew better. You had to earn it.
You fought off a whine as you pulled your fingers out, bringing them up so Peter could see.
"Someone's really wet," He muttered, inspecting your wet fingers. He gently grabbed your wrist, bringing the two fingers up to his mouth.
Your thighs clenched as he sucked your arousal off your fingers. Once he was done, he let go of your hand, his own hands quickly moving to unbutton his pants.
"Please," You began, desperate to touch him.
"Be patient," He said sternly, which caused you to shut your mouth. You were so close to getting what you wanted, what had been denied yesterday as part of your punishment.
Peter pulled his cock out, the tip red and already leaking precum.
"Now," He smirked, "Be a good girl and open your mouth."
can I request shy reader who doesn’t really know how to say I love you and really wants to but she’s anxious and awkward and Peter says it all the time and she’s afraid that she’s not living up to his expectations?
that’s a lot but I’m just really feeling like I could use some Peter comfort after a long day of attempting to handle my feelings and live up to what i think other people deserve from me (which is way more than reality)
love you jade, all your fics make me feel so seen and not alone. they made me okay with a lot of things I’m super insecure about, mentally and physically and gives me a lot of comfort <3
hi I’m sorry I went a little low on the comfort part but I promise Peter is very understanding lmao ! ILY anon and I’m so happy to have you, please know the only persons expectations u need to live upto are ur own (and even then its not too high stales as long as ur happy)))!
"I love you," Peter says.
You smile and reach for his wrist, rubbing your thumb over the fine hairs there. You hope it says I love you back but somehow you know it's not the same. You want to say it aloud; you do love him, you just can't make yourself. The words feel foreign.
Ever patient, Peter pulls you towards him and dots a quick kiss in your hair.
"Alright, see you later honeybee," he says warmly. You let his wrist go slowly as he pulls away, watching his back retreat up the steps of the ESU library.
It's about two minutes before you realise you're still standing there.
It doesn't feel fair. You know that you love him, and maybe he knows that you do – but he deserves to be told. Of course he does. You start up the steps before you've formulated a plan, through the double doors, up a flight of stairs to the quiet computer lab.
Peter's thankfully right by the door. There's not many people, only one without headphones. You clear your throat and Peter looks up. He's pleased and then concerned.
"Everything okay?" he asks quickly. "Y/N?"
You didn't plan ahead. You stand there in the doorway, take a hesitant step toward him. Breathing too fast to be casual.
"Peter," you say, very quietly.
"Yeah, what is it?" he asks.
He holds his hands out, twisting his chair towards you. You falter. If he gets his hands on you you're ability to speak will diminish by at least fifty percent and you need all guns blazing for this one.
"You're freaking me out," he says.
"I have to tell you," you start, and then stop. You worry you sound like you're gonna break up with him. Or that you have a secret family. It's awful. It doesn't sound like a proclamation of love. "Uh, I mean. Okay, I'll start again. I want to tell you, and I find it so hard but that's not because you don't make it easy to… to love you." You're mumbling, looking anywhere but his face. The last sentence is a slip up, you don't mean to say it like that.
You take a shuddering breath. Your hands are shaking you're so nervous, so awkward, so afraid of embarrassing yourself that you've managed it thrice.
You step into the reach of his hands and glance around to make sure no one's listening to your display of ineptitude.
Peter takes your forearms into his hands, slides them down until he's clutching your elbows.
You chance a glance at his face, find his lips determined in a flat line but his eyes betray his amusement, his fondness.
"I love you." You feel sorry for how strange it sounds.
"I know that," he whispers. He smiles so wide you think he might split his lip. His lips press together again like he's trying to contain himself, looking up at you with bright eyes. "C'mon, I know. Don't have to work yourself up so much over that."
"No, I do, 'cos you always tell me and I never tell you, and you should know because you're the best thing in my whole world," you whisper, incensed; angry with yourself in the depth of his kindness.
"Honey," he says softly, "you're fine. You don't have to force yourself." Then, with a huge smirk, "It is awesome to be told, of course, but I already knew. So don't worry about it."
You reach down to hug him and he receives you eagerly, a bone crushing, excited hug. Suddenly, the adrenaline of telling him hits you. "I love you," you tell him again.
His arms crush you impossibly tighter. "I love you too. You're your own worst enemy, you know that? Don't stress so much."
You let out an annoyed, grievous sigh, mouth pressed to his cheek.
"You come all the way up here to tell me that? Or, let me guess, you want to practice linear equations with me?" he asks teasingly as you pull away, wagging his eyebrows.
"No…" you moan, digging your face back into his neck. He chuckles and pats your back.
"Poor girl. They get easier, I swear,” he says gently. You're not sure if he means proclamations of love or linear equations, but both feel like a lie.
Peter Parker find out his gf is also a superhero?
Steezy, my love, you come up with the best shit.
"Y-You're-" He stutters, cutting himself off with a stern nod, his fingers brushing through his tousled hair. Frustration oozes off of him as I slide my suit down my arms, a cringed smile appearing on my lips as I wait for him to go on.
When he doesn't, I clear my throat, filling the empty, silent space with words.
"Peter, we've done this already when I found out you were Spiderman, this can't be that shocking." I laugh guiltily, folding my suit in my arms as he scoffs, covering his face with his hands as he mumbles against them.
"Did Mr. Stark put you up to this?" He asks, plopping down onto the bed behind him as my chest deflates, my eyes fluttering shut as I mutter a quiet 'yes'. "Why wouldn't you tell me?" Betrayal laces his voice as I move to sit next to him, abandoning my suit and giving him all of my attention. I knew that this would be a shock to him when he found out but I didn't intend for it to be a surprise on my end too.
"He didn't want me to tell you. He wanted me to just observe and help behind the scenes. Didn't want you to feel like I was taking over o-or that you were being replaced." I take his hand firmly in mine as he sighs, his soft eyes fluttering over to look at me hesitantly.
"The suit is kinda cool." He mutters, reaching past me to take it in his hands, his fingers brushing over the soft material. He looks enamored by the science, science that's similar to the tech that runs through his own suit., his eyes flickering with interest. "I guess it would be kind of cool to have a side kick- ow!" He feigns pain as he dramatically falls back on the bed, clutching his chest as giggles flow from my lips as he yanks me down next to him.
summary: just a little blurb of you two being all lovey
word count: unsure, but it's pretty short
gif not mine !
this is so not proof read, pls don't get on me
it was one of those nights. those messy makeout nights, a movie playing in the background, blanket thrown over you both for comfort. there was nothing sexual about it, simply the two of you enjoying being in each other's space-- indulging in feeling as if it were only the two of you in the whole world.
you loved having peter close to you. you felt him all around you, strong arms holding you, soft hands caressing your hip. he held you as if you were the most delicate being, and still managed to hold you so securely. it was almost as if he let go, you would somehow disappear.
his lips were moving against yours, speaking a thousand i love you's in just a few simple motions.
the more you thought into it, the more you couldn't contain the smiles that slipped through, in between your kisses. and your smile was contagious enough, every now and then a giggle escaped from peter and he moved down to your jawline, peppering kisses there and he got into his thoughts, wondering how someone so perfect could be all his.
peter liked to be possessive in a sense, he loved that you were all his and he was all yours. he loved that he didn't have to worry about his love not being reciprocated. you didn't even have to speak the words; he knew that you loved him just by looking in your eyes.
your shirt had trailed up only slightly, resting just below your bra. you loved the feeling of peter's skin on yours, soft and warm. one hand holding you, one hand resting over your tummy just like he knew you loved. it gave you a sense that sense of comfort that you felt, made you feel safe and grounded. every now and then he brought that hand up to cup under your jaw, thumb softly caressing your cheek — a habit.
your eyes that fluttered open every few seconds to gaze at him as if he were the most beautiful thing in the world — and he was — before leaning back him, having him drown in what was you.
you were laid on your back, knees bent, legs parted just enough to fit peter between and with every few moments that went by you let out a few unintentional sighs of comfort, leaning your side into peters hold more.
and if you two had kissed just long enough, you would have to pull away, lungs burning and begging for air. you hated it, you wished your stupid lungs would let you kiss your boyfriend forever.
"we're gonna have to restart the movie. i kinda wanted to watch this one." you nodded towards the movie neither of you bothered paying attention to. you had planned on watching it all week. another romance movie. you loved romance movies that were simplistic. teenage romance movies. and the directors of said movies always made the movie with the perfect comfort vibe, the aesthetic was enough to make you cry when something so terribly cute happened.
"we will, baby. promise." he nodded, slightly panting.
your heart nearly exploded at the way he spoke to you. so caring, so soft. and the way his voice sounded right now — a raspy whisper, fuck, you could go absolutely feral.
he took the opportunity to snuggle up into you, head resting on your chest just where he could hear your rapid heartbeat. you smiled, running your fingers through his mess of hair.
"your heart is beating so fast." he noted, lips parted in what seemed to be awe.
"i think i get nervous around you still." you confessed.
"nervous? around little old me?" he teased, looking up at you.
"yes, around little old you." you mocked. "you're... pretty." the word seemed to pour out before you could think about it. a slight twinge of embarrassment hit you and you were internally curling up into a ball and throwing yourself out the window. pretty ? really? peter's been called alot of things but pretty just had to be at the bottom of the list.
you didn't realize but this seemed to interest peter. he became curious, pushed up so he was once again at eye level with you. you tried to avoid his eyes. you tried so hard, but they sparkled with emotion. his eyes, so dark yet light, soft yet intense, they were so easy to get lost in and each time you did, you saw him. you say peter for who he was and not what he was, not how smart he was, or that he was spiderman. you saw peter, your peter.
"pretty?" he smirked.
"shut up," you whined, bringing up your hand to cover your face. you expected him to grab it, move it out of the way and tease you some more. instead? he kissed your hand. gently yet steadily. that caught you off guard.
"c'mon, baby. i'm too pretty not to look at." and there it was.
he placed yet another kiss on your hand and before you knew it, there was another... & another. and he wasn't stopping there, dipping his head down to trail kisses up and down your neck. you were laughing uncontrollably, tickled by the kisses. when you finally moved your hand away from your face, he took this as an opportunity to take action on his next target. first he kisses your forehead, then the cute scrunch of your nose, all along your cheekbones and lower and then, he placed one final kiss again on your lips. a warmth exploded within you, feeling so full of love and admiration. he could feel it, feel it in the way you kissed him, in the way you pulled him to you and certainly in the way you reached to intertwine your fingers together.
"you're the pretty one." he whispered.
Good morning spicy sunflower. I love all of your spicy spidey thoughts and I’m happy to pull out one of those old school reflective mirror things, lay out on a sketchy Amazon outdoor lounger, and bask in their glow. But if you’re looking for some inspiration, how about lifeguard Peter?
Tanning them buns today,
Love those beautiful buns miss lizzy and love lifeguard!peter because he gives me lowkey creeper vibes? 🌻 18+ (some stalker-ish behaviours; creepy kinda dark!peter; non-con photos; masturbation)
Peter was bored.
This was nothing new, however, given that his job at the local Y consisted of nothing more than watching—kids splashing around in the shallow end, seniors doing water aerobics, and young people doing laps, scowling to themselves when they didn’t beat their best time.
Sometimes, there were teenagers goofing off and being little assholes, pretending to shove each other in the deep end or fake-drowning. Peter usually just told them off and glared until they left the pool, grumbling and throwing a few middle fingers his way. No big deal. Still boring. But he was doing May a favour by filling in for another employee who’d broken their leg and the pay wasn’t half-bad, supplementing the pathetic sum his graduate program unironically called “funding.”
Today, however, was different.
Part-way through his shift, Peter was watching as usual, trying not to let his mind wander too far from his chair, when his eyes fell upon one of the most stunningly pretty women he’d ever seen. He had to stop himself from staring at her ass, the way it curved and the way soft flesh spilled from the sleek black bathing suit. The roundness of her tits, the hint of her nipples beneath the spandex of her suit—it was enough to drive all thoughts of boredom from his mind. Peter unconsciously licked his lips, mouth dry, his imagination stripping that black swimsuit off her body with his teeth.
You felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as if someone were watching you. Nervously, feeling exposed in your bathing suit, you glanced around and saw no one besides a few mothers with their children in the wading area and the lifeguard in his chair on the far side of the pool. Perhaps it had been his gaze you’d felt—but that was his job, wasn’t it? Still, the thought made your stomach twist a little bit because even in the brief glance you’d given him, you could tell how handsome he was with his sharp jaw and his messy hair and his muscled arms.
Deciding to ignore your discomfort, you settled onto the side of the pool and let your legs dangle in the water. It had been a while since you’d swam—not since high school, when your parents and coaches had worked you to the bone, wanting you to eventually make the Olympics. One near-breakdown and several years later, you’d found yourself wanting to return to the water…this time, on your terms.
As soon as your toes made contact with the pool, a shiver ran up your back. You both loved and hated this place—the swimming pool and all it represented to you. Shaking the thoughts from your head, you slid entirely into the pool, letting yourself be swallowed by the water, the chlorine stinging your eyes as your world turned blue and hazy. Completely submerged, you allowed yourself to float for a moment, then another, keeping yourself there until your lungs were burning and you needed to surface.
You broke the water with a splash, a deep inhale, a laugh. When you glanced over at the lifeguard, he was sitting on the edge of his chair, intently staring at the spot from which you’d just emerged.
It had been three days since Peter had seen her, and not for lack of trying. He showed up to his shift an hour early and hung back to help fold towels just in the hopes of seeing her again.
Because the photos were no longer cutting it.
That he’d managed to snap a few of her in that tight black one piece as she’d climbed out of the pool was nothing short of a miracle. His phone hidden from view as he pretended to crouch over for something, he’d gotten a series of pictures of water rolling over her curves and, his personal favourite, a captured moment of her legs spread as she lifted one out of the water before the other. If he zoomed in enough, Peter liked to imagine he could see the outline of her pussy, but that more his wish than anything else.
Since then, Peter had been looking at those pictures each night in bed, pretending it was her hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him, instead of his own. He imagined it was her palming his balls, thumbing over his slit, getting his cum all over her hands. Once he even pretended his fist was her pussy, tight and warm and just for him.
But he wanted more. Needed it.
And so when he saw her enter the change room five days after their initial encounter, he felt nearly giddy with desire and hoped to whatever god was listening he wouldn’t spring a boner right there, thinking of her slipping out of that pretty floral sundress and into whatever bathing suit she’d brought today.
When you stepped into the brightly lit pool area, your eyes immediately worked to adjust to the bright lights and your nostrils twitched at the smell of chlorine. You’d chosen a cute striped bikini for the day, not intended to do much swimming, instead wanted to just float and think.
As you padded along the damp tiles, you noticed the same lifeguard from your previous visit and gave him a friendly wave that he returned with a smile that made your heart flutter. Hoping you looked as good as you thought you did, you walked past his chair, a little extra swing in your hips, before you sunk right into the deepest part of the water.
If you’d turned around in that moment, you might have seen the lifeguard pulling a sweater over his lap and you might have suspected what he was hiding.
As it was, you didn’t look his way again until you were leaving and he pushed himself up to standing, waving you over.
“I hope this isn’t weird,” he muttered, palming the back of his neck. “But I’d really like to give you my number. You never have to call me, but you can…if you want.”
You felt your cheeks grow warm and smiled, nodding. “Yeah…yeah, definitely. I’d like that…”
“Peter,” he finished your thought with a grin, “I’m Peter.”
imagine TASM!Peter Parker seeing you in MCU!Peter parker’s universe after he’s seen you in his dreams for months and the same has been going on for you
i saw a girl in my dreams, but i don’t remember her name
younger sister!mj, doesnt really follow the now way home movie in the beginning THERE WILL BE A PART 2
gasping and gripping at your sheets, your eyes flying open as you sat up, being woken up again from your dream like this was awful, you hated it but it had been happening for months — the dreams getting stranger and stranger as time went on. at first the dreams would be somewhat normal but you always woke up the same way, in your dream youd fall and feel like you were being sucked into a black hole and then you’d wake up all sweaty and throat dry with a headache.
rubbing your eyes with one hand and trying to fix your tank top so it would sit comfortably. your alarm started to ring, 6:00 AM, of course you had to be woken up right before your alarm goes off, rolling your eyes then turning it off.
your dream started to come back to you, now remembering parts of it. peter parker, not the peter you knew—a different peter, a completely different peter. at first it started off as spiderman, of course you knew peter was spiderman since before you even met peter mj was telling you that she suspected it and being the best big sister you were you listened to everything she had to say and when she turned out to be right you were very very proud of her and pledged not to tell anyone about it.
the dreams kept getting weirder, after three dreams spiderman had taken off his mask and you expected to see your sisters boyfriend but it wasnt him. it was an older man — mid 20s and thats when you noticed the suit was different, like really different. he also looked nothing like your peter, he had introduced himself as peter parker but that couldnt be right.
parts of your dreams faded, you remember telling him he wasnt peter parker and he seemed genuinely confused. you remembered seeing these circle things and a lizard man thing you couldnt explain but it wasnt the weirdest thing youve seen.
trying to shake the weird feeling as you got ready for work.
MJ and you sat at your table, a small on just for the both of you. sipping on your coffee and scrolling on your phone as she typed away on hers. “mj can i talk to you about something?” you asked turning off your phone as she glances at you and then sits hers down as well.
“yeah of course” mj said and leaned closer to you, resting on her elbows.
“i keep having dreams about peter” you admitted, trying to find how to explain it. mj furrowed her brows and pushed her bottom lip out a bit.
“peter? like peter parker?” mj asked, her chin now rested in her palm. you nodded.
“yes, peter but its not our peter —like it’s not here peter it’s a different peter. looks completely different and older and hes still spiderman and he even has a different suit!” you rambled, pointing at the table as you tried to explain. mj tried to follow but she kept getting lost and then asking questions so you had to backtrack.
telling her the things remember from the dream you just had and the older ones.
soon you both left, you now at taking orders at the peter pan donut and pastry shop. blinking the tiredness off and get peter off your mind. your buzzed uncontrollably, at first thinking it was just a text then it buzzed more which made you think it was mj and you took out your phone quickly only to be met with the news, you glanced outside watching people running then looked back at your phone
PETER PARKER IS SPIDERMAN
“what the fuck” you groaned.
Pairing - TASM!Peter Parker x reader
Word count - 1,908
Warnings - fluff (that's literally it)
Summary - Peter decides to take you out on a surprise date
A/N - I return once more with a fic for my beloved Spidey boy I got the inspiration for this fic from the chosen gif so that's fun :). I hope this turned out okay. As per y'all, please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!
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You and Peter hadn’t had a date night in a while. Your schedules always clashed and when it came to evenings you were both too exhausted to even think about going out on a date. That and Peter always patrolled in the evenings and wouldn’t crawl back in your bedroom window until stupid o’clock. You had pretty much accepted that you and Peter wouldn’t have dates unless by some miracle the stars aligned and your schedules lined up perfectly and Peter skipped out on a patrol, although you doubted that would ever happen.
Peter, however, had a plan. He managed to find an evening both you and him would finish work earlier than usual and planned a date on that evening. He figured he could skip his normal patrol that evening and let the police deal with any crime that could happen. Once his plan was in place, he made sure to keep it a secret from you, he wanted to surprise you on the day.
“I’m home sweetheart!” Peter calls through your flat after dropping his bag under the coat rack as he always did. It took you less than a minute to emerge from the living room and wrap your arms around his middle. You were still in your work clothes, evidence you hadn’t been home long.
“Hey, Pete.” You murmur happily into his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you to reciprocate the hug.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” Peter says with a grin as you pull away from the hug, looking up at him curiously.
“What?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, your eyes searching his for an answer.
“I think you missed the key word here, love. It’s a surprise.” Peter teases as you groan, throwing your head back dramatically, making Peter laugh loudly.
“Alright, here’s the plan. Let’s get out of our work stuff and get into some nice clothes and then I’ll take you to your surprise.” Peter says, taking your hand and leading you to the bedroom. Since it was a warm late summer afternoon, Peter opted for a t-shirt and jeans, grabbing a light jacket, and throwing it on as you emerge from the bathroom in a light summer dress, making a smile cross Peter’s face.
“You look beautiful. How did I get so lucky?” Peter questions, crossing to you and resting his hands on your hips, bringing you ever so slightly closer.
“That’s the question of the ages Pete.” You tease before pressing a kiss to his cheek and removing yourself from his grip.
“So where are we going? And are we swinging because I really don’t feel like being swung all over New York.” You ask, crossing to the bedroom door and glancing over your shoulder at your boyfriend.
“I’m still not telling you where we’re going. But no we’re not swinging. Spider-Man isn’t invited tonight.” Peter states, following you out the door and stopping you with a grab of the hand. You turn to look at Peter confused and instead of giving you a vocal answer he crosses to the coat rack and pulls his winter scarf off and holds it up.
“Do you trust me?” He asks, making his way back over to you.
“That depends on what you’re about to do.” You laugh, watching Peter with a raised eyebrow as he sighs jokingly.
“I’m taking you to your surprise. I don’t need you seeing your surprise early so I need to blindfold you and take you there so I can sort everything out.” Peter emphasises, waving the scarf in his hand to exaggerate his point.
“Okay fine, but you better not let me trip or anything.” You groan, reluctantly turning around and letting Peter tie the scarf around your eyes. When you were blindfolded, Peter instructed you to stay put while he grabbed the picnic basket he’d already begun to put together. He had already filled it with food that didn’t need to be in the fridge as well as a blanket and once he had picked it up, he moved back into the kitchen and grabbed the fruit and drinks he’d strategically hidden behind everything else in the fridge and quietly transfer them to the basket before returning to where you were stood, linking your arm with his free one. He carefully led you to the lift and got you in before following behind and pressing the button to take the lift to the bottom floor.
“So far so good baby.” Peter praises with a smile as you scoff.
“We haven’t even left the building, Pete. Tell me this when we’re on the street filled with grumpy New Yorkers.” You joke, making Peter hum in approval as the lift doors open, leading you out of the building and onto the streets of New York.
Peter was brilliant at guiding you along, keeping you out of the way of passers-by and making sure you stuck to his side like glue. It didn’t take long for him to lead you to the park. When Peter found the right spot, he told you to stay put once more and placed the basket by a silver maple tree. He got the blanket out from the basket and laid it out just in front of the tree trunk before approaching you and moving behind you.
“Okay, ready?” His breath tickles your ear as he talks and you nod eagerly, feeling Peter begin to loosen the scarf and move it away from your eyes, allowing you to see where you were and what he’d done. Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped when you realised where you were. This park was somewhere special to you as it was the park the two of you had visited and walked through together when you first started dating and hadn’t had a chance to revisit it in a while. Once you got your bearings you then noticed the blanket and picnic basket as Peter walked over to it, sitting on the blanket, and opening the basket, pulling food out with a smile. It was a simple gesture, but it meant everything to you. You and Peter never needed to spend copious amounts of money on gifts or nights out to prove your love for each other. To you, the simplest of gestures held the most weight in your heart.
“Oh Peter, this is beautiful.” You begin, moving over to the blanket and sitting on it, crossing your legs as Peter hands you a sandwich. You dig into the food happily, savouring each mouthful and admiring the view of the sunset you had.
“Hey, open wide.” You turn to look at Peter who is holding a grape in his hand with a raised eyebrow and once you catch on to what he’s hinting at you shuffle back and open your mouth as he tosses the grape. You manage to catch the grape in your mouth perfectly and hold your arms up in triumph, chewing on the grape as Peter claps.
“Alright, your turn.” You say excitedly, grabbing a stalk and removing one grape before returning the small bunch to the container. You hold the fruit in your thumb and index finger as Peter opens his mouth and leans back slightly, supporting himself with his hands. You toss the grape upwards and Peter had to move slightly to the left to catch it, but it still landed successfully in his mouth, and you clapped as he sat up once more. After finishing off most of the food and drink that was packed in the picnic basket, Peter then shuffled back until his back met the tree trunk and he spread his legs and held his arms open, gesturing for you to sit in between his legs which you happily do so. You lean back into his chest and smile as Peter winds his arms around your front. The sun was beginning to disappear over the horizon, and you watched it, enamoured with the beautiful colours that began to paint the sky above. Peter rested his chin on your shoulder gently and watched the sky with you, occasionally turning to press kisses to your cheek and neck. The park was quiet, occasionally people would walk past, and the odd old couple would quietly point to the two of you and whisper about ‘young love’ which Peter relayed to you directly into your ear whenever he heard the hushed whispers. As the sun got replaced by the moon and bright city lights, you and Peter heard the familiar wailing of a siren and against his wishes, his body subconsciously tensed up upon hearing the sirens. You attempted to wiggle out of his hold when you felt him tense up, knowing he’ll be jumping up to go and help out as soon as he could. To your shock, he tightened his grip and pulled you back into his chest again.
“Aren’t you going to help out?” You ask, turning yourself slightly to look at him.
“Nope. Like I said, Spider-Man isn’t invited to this date and the police can survive one night without him.” Peter insists, snuggling his face back into your shoulder as you laugh at the sensation of his hair tickling your neck.
“A date, Parker?” You question jokingly, looking at him as he sits upright a bit, his face heating up at your words.
“Well, I just figured we hadn’t had a date night in a while and-” You cut Peter off with a soft, gentle kiss on the lips, cupping his face in your hands as you turn around to face him fully.
“Baby, this was the perfect surprise date after so long of us not being able to do anything like this. I’m just teasing you.” You assure when you pull away from the kiss, dropping your hands from his face and smiling as Peter leans forward and rests his forehead against yours.
“I’m glad you liked the surprise. It was hard to not tell you about this.” Peter replies, rubbing his nose against yours lightly, both of you grinning like crazy.
“You’re amazing.” You whisper, your lips ghosting over his.
“Well, I am the Amazing Spider-Man.” He boasts quietly, making you roll your eyes.
“I’m not on about him. I’m talking about my Peter Parker.” You say, lifting a hand and running it through his hair.
“Your Peter Parker, huh?” He whispers with a grin, a hint of teasing in his tone.
“Unless you have someone else on the side.” You reply jokingly, pulling away slightly as he shakes his head adamantly.
“I’d never dream of having anyone else, but you love. Now get back here and give me another kiss please.” Peter says, this time it was him taking your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as you shuffle closer once more, connecting your lips once you’re close enough. You never wanted any kiss you shared with Peter to end but you were always forced to pull away when the need for air became too much.
“Wanna go for a walk around the park?” You ask, glancing around the near-empty park and Peter eagerly nods in response, letting you stand up first before following suit, packing everything up and putting it back in the picnic basket before picking it up and offering you his free hand which you take without hesitation.
“Let’s finish the rest of our date, shall we?”
Let’s Have Fun
Summary: You and Peter break into Tony’s Liquor Cabinet and have fun!
Warnings: Alcohol Consumption, Underage Drinking (don’t do it), Swearing, Vomit, High School Musical
“Are you sure about this?” I asked, looking at the brown-haired boy next to me.
“It’s too late to go back now, we’re in too deep,” he said, taking a breath.
“Okay, let’s do it.” I reached out my fist and he fist-bumped me back before turning our attention to the locked cabinet in front of us.
You put the screwdriver into the screws surrounding the locks on Tony’s liquor cabinet. You and Peter were alone in the compound for the weekend, the avengers were gone on what they called “an adult mission” which means there was a possibility there was unsafe material or some extreme stuff. And they were just having your “best interest in mind”.
You had your own best interest in mind as well as the lock dropped from the cabinet. You two were the only minors and didn’t have anyone else to lean on except each other when it came to saving the world and doing chemistry. You often talked about how you felt you were missing out on a lot of things in high school due to your Stark Internship.
One day, Peter and you were sitting on the roof of the compound, talking about life, when Peter brought up the best stupid idea ever.
“Have you ever had alcohol or like gone to a party?” He said, turning his head towards you.
“A couple of times, they weren’t really my thing cause I don’t have too many friends at my school. But I felt if I didn’t go, I would regret it” you said, looking at the sky in the distance.
“Did you? Regret it?” He asked. “I regret not getting drunk enough to forget the night” you responded with a laugh. It was quiet for a bit before the spider boy spoke up.
“Have you ever been drunk before?” he asked while looking at the sky.
“No, you?” You asked, looking at him. “Couple of times with friends, like MJ and Ned at someone’s party. It’s fun. Makes me feel normal and kinda free.” he said, hearing a bit of relief coming off his chest as he said that.
“Like you are just a teenager who makes mistakes, and not a superhero who people look up to,” you responded.
“Exactly,” he said as you heard your phone beep. A message saying ‘adult trip this weekend. You and Pete are on watch duty. Don’t be stupid.’
“For fuck sake.” you groaned, getting up into a seated position.
“What? Another ‘adult’ mission?” the boy asked.
“You got that right. We are on watch duty, again.” you put the phone on the ground as you let out a groan. “God I just want to fuckin life. But I can’t do anything because of Iron Dad controlling my life” referring to the nickname you have Tony. Peter looked at you as an idea popped into his head. “Who said you have to leave to have fun?” you looked at your friend with a confused face.
“Peter Parker, what is going on in your head?” you asked. You and Peter usually did crazy stuff together and always caused trouble. but with the conversation you two just had, You were nervous about what he had in mind.
“Well, you and I are alone at the compound this weekend. So why don’t we get into Tony’s cabinet and have some fun?” he asked.
“ARE YOU INSANE? we can’t do that.” You stood up from your spot as you said that.
“Why not? The two of us are smarter and more technologically advanced than the majority of the Avengers,” he said as he slowly stood up as well. You thought this over in your head. You had the
“Okay, let’s say we do it. How? What’s the plan?”
“Well, you are better with tools and I’m better at technology. So I’ll hack into F.R.I.D.A.Y, have her say that we are doing well, and play the video of us watching that movie from a couple of weeks ago. And you figure out a way to get the lock off of the Liquor cabinet.” You looked at your friend in amazement.
“That’s not too bad Spidey boy, I think we might be able to pull it off.”
“So, you wanna do it?” he asked. There was no doubt in your mind.
“Hell yeah. You only live once, so let's have some fun!”
That conversation led to where you are now. You and Peter stand in front of the liquor cabinet and look at the holy grail collection of liquid gold. “Now what?” you asked the spider boy.
“Well,” he said as he took the Vodka and Tequila out of the cabinet. “We usually start with a stupid drinking game. Do you know any? And grab some lemons and lime from the fridge and cut them up” he asked as he moved towards the island in the kitchen. He sat down the bottles and went to get some cups and shot glasses.
“Promise not to judge?” you asked as you started cutting the fruit. “Y/n, we are way past the judging point.” you saw him grab the salt from the cabinet as well.
“I found this High school musical drinking game and I always wanted to play it.” you blurted out. He looked at you and you couldn't tell if it was excitement or a ‘wtf were you thinking’ face.
“THERE'S A HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL DRINKING GAME? AND YOU ARE TELLING ME NOW?!?!!”
“We haven’t even discussed drinking until a couple days ago!” you argued back at him. You finished the fruit and grabbed a bowl for each to put them in.
“That honestly might be the best invention that anyone came up with” He started to pour some of the tequila into some of the shot glasses. You grabbed some pop out of the fridge as chasers for the two of you as well.
“So you in?” you asked, looking at your friend.
“Let's get our heads in the game!” Peter said with the goofiest grin on his face. You rolled your eyes at him. “Okay, let me pull up the rules,” you said as you grabbed your phone out of your back pocket.
Okay, you do that, but first,” he places down a shot in front of you and hands you a lime, “SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOT!” he said as he jumped up and down. You looked at the glass in front of you then back to your friend.
“Oh god, we’re really doing this aren't we?”
“Hell yeah,” he raised his shot glass “to making mistakes,” he exclaimed. “And living our lives”. You clicked, tapped the glass to the counter, and downed it. You put the lime in your mouth immediately after. “So, how did you like it?”
“Not too bad, better than I thought. The lime helped a lot” you said as you felt the burn in your throat. “Happy to hear. Want a Dirty Shirley for the movie? Then I’ll grab the shot glasses and tequila.” he asked as he got some grenadine out from the cabinet.
“Sounds good” You went ahead into the common room to set up the movie, and get ready for the night. ‘This won’t be too bad, it will be fun’ you thought in your head.
You were right. This was the best decision you ever made.
You and Peter were about Halfway through High School Musical 2 at this point. You of course are doing all the dance numbers. But you gave up on the drinking game halfway through the First movie as you two got pretty drunk really early on.
“Hey y/nnn” you heard Peter call from his couch, “the best song is about to start!” He said pointing to the TV. He wasn’t wrong. Troy and Gabriella's big breakup song ‘Gotta Go my Own Way’ was about to start.
“OMG OMG! Ok, I’ll be gabby you Troy?” You said voice slurred from the alcohol.
“Oh course bestie,” Peter said as you both got up from your respective places on the couch “But one final Shot before we go in,” he said, losing his balance a bit.
“In honor of Troy and Gabriella, the best relationship to ever live.” You said as you cheered your glasses together. You each had a glass of Soda/pop as your chaser that you downed before you went to your respective places in the room.
About halfway through singing this breakup song you started to cry.
“Hey,” Peter said, making his way towards you when he noticed you didn’t sing your part. “Why are you crying? Are you not having fun?”
“TROY AND GABRIELLA BROKE UP!” You screamed and cried at the top of your lung. The screaming sobered Peter up a bit as he sat down next to you and rubbed your back.
“Y/n, you have seen this movie hundreds of times. You know they get back together.” Peter said
“I know but it’s still so sad and they loved each other, she even had a necklace to show her love for him. AND SHE GAVE BACK THE NECKLACE.” You said and you started to hiccup a bit. You ran to the nearest trash can and threw up in there. Peter came over and held your hair as you left everything out of your system. “It’s okay Y/n. Let it out” he said as he rubbed your back.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” You heard a voice behind you say. You turn your head slightly to see the team, which consisted of Tony, Steve, Bucky, Sam, Wanda, and Nat. Tony and Steve looked and saw the empty liquor bottles and were furious. Bucky and Sam slowly started to put things together but slowly. Nat and Wanda's protective instincts came through and rushed over to console you.
“Troy and Gabriella Broke up” you sobbed to them. They all turned their heads to Peter who was clearly drunk, but not as bad as you.
“Okay so we wanted to have fun and get drunk while you were gone cause we felt we didn’t have any fun and only did work and school and so we played high school musical drinking games and now Y/N is sad drunk and crying over Troy and Gabriella,” Peter said as fast as he could. Tony walked over to approach him. He pressed the button that removed his mask. He looked at Peter and you before standing up.
“Not it for dealing with the Drunk Teenagers!” he said as he left the room. Steve looked at the team around him. “Okay, divide and conquer. Nat and Sam, you make sure Peter goes to bed. Bucky and I got Y/n. Wanda, can you do something to make Y/n stop crying please?” He said as he pointed to each team member. Wanda came over to you and kneeled beside you. “Hey sweetie,” she said as she wiped some of the tears that were on your cheek, “I heard you are upset over the breakup.” You leaned back against the marble backing as you nodded next to the garbage can.
“They were perfect together but Troy was an asshole and put his future in basketball over Gabriella. WHO DOES THAT TO HER? SHE SO PRETTY.” you said. The boys looked at you and tried so hard not to laugh. But Wanda sent them a very scary glare that shut them up.
“I know honey, I know.” She said as she ran her fingers through my hair. “How about we head to bed and then watch the rest in the morning okay?” you nodded your head as you felt your eyes get heavy. You felt two arms, one of them kinda cold, lift you up and hauled you over their shoulder. “Troy, is that you?” you asked the muscular men next to you.
“No munchkin, just Steve and bucky.” he said as you got into the elevator. “oh,” you said, kinda disappointed. “Are we going to lava springs? I need to speak to troy.”
“No doll, you are drunk and heading to bed,” Bucky said as the elevator went up. “I don’t wanna.” You wined towards the super Soldiers. “I wanna go to the springs so I can see Troy.” You were tired and about to fall asleep but you had a mission to fulfill.
You reached your floor and you all made your way into your room. Steve pulled back the covers and Bucky laid you down on your bed. You were already in your PJs earlier so there was no need for you to get changed.
“Buckyyyyy,” you said with your eyes closed. “What do you need doll?” He said as he kneeled down beside you. He pushed some hair out of your face.
“Can you come with me to beat up Troy tomorrow? I think that metal arm might help him realize how bad he fucked up.” He laughed before looking back at you. “Sure doll but I need you to do something for me before you fall asleep.” You didn’t even notice Steve go back downstairs to get you water and ibuprofen. He gives it to Bucky, and Bucky nodded thanks before Turing to you. “Can you sit up for me?” You sat up on the bed as Bucky gave you the water and put the pills in your hand.
“Just drink this and take these pills for me, please. It will help you in the morning.” You were too tired to argue so you did it as fast as your drunk body could. “There we go, good job,” Bucky said before you laid back down on the bed.
“I’m tired.” You said as your eyes closed. “Okay sweetie, get some sleep.” You heard Steve say. “Mmm kay. Night St…ucky” you slurred as you let the sleep consume you. The boys looked at you and then at each other.
“Did she just combine our names?” Bucky asked Steve. “I think she did, but she is tired so maybe she didn't even notice it,” Steve said as they exited your room. “But it does have a nice ring to it, stucky.” He said as they made their way to their respective rooms. “Okay, so we both taking care of her tomorrow?” Steve asked before opening the door to his bedroom.
“Oh, I'm not. But you can. Goodnight Steve.” Bucky said quickly before shutting the door in his room. Steve looked at the closed door ahead of him. “Damn you Bucky,” Steve said as he closed his door. He knew he was in for a long day tomorrow.
Lavender and ash
Part 4 of G & C- the omega fratt x alpha reader fic! We are delving into some trauma- both Matt's and the reader's- and we're looking at some good ol' pack bonding and a glimpse into how Hell's Kitchen protects their favourite vigilante- Enjoy <3 The ending is a bit rushed tho-
Tagging the lovely @mysyerious, my wonderful 🐺 anon-
Matthew Michael Murdock hated being an omega. Hated how he grew up thinking he would be a beta like his dad. Hated how he presented, alone and overwhelmed and confused- Hated how he could smell a scent similar to his but unfamiliar- Hated the inner urge to curl up beside someone- hated the fact that people expected him to be a poor, blind omega to be taken care of-
Stick was right- his omegan tendencies were a weakness- and had to be suppressed. Matt had to hide it- mask his scent- mask the discomfort whenever the alpha scents got too overwhelming for his better than average senses. He hated being an omega. He hated himself.
Warm hands. Touching his face? His neck? His hands? Matt instinctively recoiled, especially when the touches neared his neck- somewhere that could be exploited- somewhere an alpha could bite to force their dominance- Stick had made him where a collar when he was teaching him-
Matt couldn’t help but hiss and snarl at the touches- no matter how comforting they were. No matter how safe those hands seemed to be. Safety was an illusion- and Matt knew- he knew those hands would soon turn rough-
“Matt- baby”- a voice cooed, and although his inner omega relaxed at the voice, Matt couldn’t relax- his inner omega was never right- “baby. It’s me. It’s me and Frank and Peter.”
Frank? Peter? And you? He shook his head- trying to make sense of his surroundings.
“Take in a breath, altar boy. What can you smell?”
Lavender. Vanilla. A hint of mint and honey? And the scent of you-
“Lavender, Vanilla- mint and honey?” he took in another shuddering breath- a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Good boy.” Frank’s voice was low and gentle. “What else?”
“Rain”- Matt furrowed his eyebrows. Had it rained?-“and alpha.”
He felt some of the tension leave his body. Oh- it must have all been a dream then. The memories of the orphanage- of Stick and- Although his mind was brought back to the present, his body had yet to catch up. Matt could hear it. Th sound of blood rushing in his ears- the sound of his quick breaths-
“Pretty boy- What can you hear?” Your voice- coaxing and soft. He could hear too much- the sound of rain dripping into the drain a couple blocks away. The sound of a couple arguing three floors down. The sound of several cats fighting in the next building- “Hey. None of that. Focus on this room, alright?”
Matt nodded mutely. Three sets of heart beats, not including his own. Two steady ones and another, slightly faster one. He heard the soft whirring of the fan and the shuffling of fabric as bodies shifted. He could hear the silk rubbing against the cotton of some clothes-
“How about we take turns, Matt?” Peter asked, and Matt tilted his head at him. He could hear the slight stutter in the teen’s heart beat. Right, Peter had enhanced senses too. And so, Matt nodded, smiling slightly when he heard the nearly inaudible sigh of relief.
“I can hear your heartbeats.” Matt said, as he relaxed into the sheets. “Yours, and Frank’s and”- he said your name, relishing in the way both your heart and Frank’s skipped a beat at his words.
“Hmmm. I can hear the drops of rain hitting the window. It’s just a drizzle now though.”
“Silk sheets. I can hear them rubbing against cotton? I think it’s one of Frank’s shitty t-shirts?”
“Fuck you, Murdock.”
Despite his other lover’s rough words, he could hear the smile in his tone. And at your laughter and Peter’s Matt let himself relax fully.
This time, when he felt hands hesitantly hover near his neck and his face, he melted into the touch, purring. He tentatively reached for his inner omega- the one he stubbornly pushed down a minute ago- and allowed it to fully take over, letting his mates- his pack- curl up around him.
Matt felt Frank’s large, warm hand wrap around his waist, and he could feel your head rest on his shoulder. And he could Peter’s nearly feather light touches as the young teen squirmed between him and Frank.
“Do- Do you maybe want to talk about it?” You asked, your voice uncertain and questioning. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Matty- but you were whimpering and hissing in your sleep.”
Matt hesitated. Would you judge him? Would you and Frank think of him as a- as a defective omega? Would he be left alone again? The two of you were accepting of him, sure- but would you still be here if you really knew how deeply his issues ran?
He didn’t know he was clenching his fist until nimble hands- brushed over his knuckles. He could smell the worry in Peter’s vanilla scent, and so, he forcibly unclenched it.
“Red, you don’t-”
“I hate being an omega.” Matt whispered. A nearly silent confession. He could hear the sharp breaths taken by his pack mates. Was he making a mistake? “I’ve always hated it.”
“Why?” Peter asked, and he could feel the young teen’s face rub against the crook of his neck, and he could tell that he was scenting him in a familial way.
“It’s just- the helplessness. The confusion. I should have been a beta. I shouldn’t need affection- I shouldn’t be affected by the strong scents- It’s a weakness- I’m weak-”
“Shut up, Murdock.” Matt flinched slightly at Frank’s angry tone, as well as the soft, sympathetic whine coming from Peter. But what jarred him the worst was your lack of reaction. “Don’t fucking think like that.”
“But it’s true-”
“Matt- do you think I’m weak?”
Surprisingly, it was Peter who cut him off. Peter, who was normally respectful and polite. Peter, who apologised if he ever cut him or you or Frank off-
Matt shook his head instantly. Peter could bench press a truck if he wanted to. And the kid could throw a mean right hook now.
“Do you think Frank is?”
Matt shook his head again. Of course not. Frank took on entire gangs by himself. Hell, the man could walk around with several bullet wounds in him and still win against a gang member-
“Then why do you think you are?”
“Because- Because I’m”- what could he say? Because he was trained to hide his omegan tendencies since he was nine? Because he was brought up next to people who thought of omegas as individuals that were inferior? Because he felt how his inner omega cowered and flinched at even the slightest portrayal of aggressive dominance?
“You’re a hypocrite, Red.” He felt a rough hand brush his cheek. “You can do more shit than I can. And you’re stubborn- If you’re weak, then everyone else is too.”
“He used to make me wear a collar.” Matt breathed out, almost subconsciously, his hand reaching up to brush at the bond marks on his neck. “To help me mask my scent.”
A dead silence. Matt could only hear the whirring of the fan and the erratic heartbeats in the room. And he felt his mouth go dry. Did he do something wrong?
“What?” You hissed out, and Matt could smell your scent sour and smoulder. “Who did what?”
“Bonding areas could be exploited by alphas.” Matt recited, almost absentmindedly. “A collar would have stopped-”
“Jesus Christ- that’s why you wear those shirts right to the last button- Murdock, for fuck’s sake-”
A low, nearly feral growl came from where you were. Matt tilted his head at you when he heard how your breathing was tight and strained.
“But you didn’t make me wear one when you train me to mask it.”
Matt shrugged slightly.
“It’s restricting- and Peter, you know that it’s a past custom. I- I didn’t. I thought it was normal.” Matt hesitated before continuing. “I had just presented. And the nuns weren’t really helpful. So, I thought it was normal.”
He felt you lips graze at the bond mark on his neck. And he could feel your teeth nip down on it lightly before murmuring;
“You’re not weak, Matthew. And you being an omega has nothing to do with your strength.” Matt shuddered momentarily when you pressed soft kisses onto the bond. “And it’s definitely not normal to force people to wear collars- Jesus fucking Christ-”
“Blasphemy-” Matt started, and smiled slightly when he heard the three members of his pack let out small laughs.
“I’ll punch him for you.” You vowed, and Matt could feel Peter and Frank nod- And he also knew that Frank could and probably would shoot Stick. “I’ll punch him so fucking hard.”
He didn’t know why his inner omega was preening and purring with delight at your words.
“This is no place for you, omega.”
Frank snarled lowly when he heard Spector growl from behind him. He however, did not turn around to face the man, despite the heavy, dominant scent of alpha surrounding him.
“Fuck off, Spector.”
Frank carefully aimed the rifle at the gas tanks near the warehouse he found during recon.
Frank’s inner omega hissed and snarled at the commanding tone. He took in a sharp breath and fired. And he smiled as the doors of the warehouse exploded open. Hopefully, that blast killed most of them.
Frank stood up from his crouch and packed his weapons. He had to go to the warehouse to finish off the stragglers- and to steal the money they had. Being the Punisher doesn’t really pay bills, and he wanted to get some new things for the nest-
He shouldered past Spector- but the man gripped his wrist. Frank turned on his heels and punched him. From what you’ve told him, Spector had some weird magic suit that healed him- so he’d be fine. In all actuality, Frank wanted to shoot him, but you would not be happy with that-
“Don’t get in my way Spector. And don’t fucking touch me.”
“I thought you told me that omegas were weak- and they needed to be taken care of, Marc.”
Marc watched as Castle stabbed and shot with brutal efficiency. He didn’t have to interfere- not when the man was slitting throats and breaking noses. There was no trace of the sweet lavender scent in your apartment. Only the scent of heavy gunpowder permeated throughout the warehouse.
“That man- The Punisher, was it?- does not appear to be needing any protecting.”
“Yeah, I can see that Khonshu.”
Logically, Marc knew that Castle could take care of himself. He’s seen the way the man carries himself. But his inner alpha- the alpha that takes control too often didn’t think so. His inner alpha, who he tried controlling and ignoring for most of his life. His inner alpha, who went into overdrive at the smallest thing. He knew from his mother how brutal alphas could get- and his inner alpha knew that too. Which was why he tried to make Castle leave- the warehouse was filled with alphas-
“I told you, Marc- Their omegas can take care of themselves-”
“Yeah, you were right, Steven,” Marc watched, leaning against the railing of the upper floor of the warehouse, as Castle stood in the middle of the bloody mess, cracking his neck.
“If I hadn’t found you first, Marc Spector, he would have made a good avatar. Maybe in another universe.”
Marc decided to ignore the lunar deity, who sat perched atop the railing, observing the bloody man with clear interest.
He nearly flinched at the intensity of the other man’s glare as his dark gaze met his.
“Are you done watching, alpha?” the man sneered, as he hoisted the rifle over his shoulder.
Marc dropped down without another word, his white cape fluttering behind him.
Marc’s inner alpha was confused. This- this was an omega standing in front of him. A bloody, hurt, but dangerous omega. Did he really need his protection?
Maybe his confusion reflected on his scent. Or maybe Castle could see the subconscious change in the way he carried himself. Because the man grunted and gestured for Marc to follow him out.
And as Marc followed, he came across a realisation that maybe- maybe, his inner alpha was wrong to think that all omegas needed protection.
Paregoros, the personified spirit of comfort, has been a constant presence in your life since your memories started. You weren’t really her avatar, as she was less of a deity and more of a spirit, but she was your patron. A reassuring hand on your head. A warm hug when you felt alone. Soft brushing away of your tears.
And you could feel her here now, as familiar, sickening voices called for you from beyond the front door. Her touch- comforting and reassuring, brushing at your head-
You couldn’t even focus on your mates- or Marc or Layla. All you could fixate on was the voices calling for you- loudly- insistently-
“Baby!” Frank’s rough hands grasped at your face as he forced you to look at him. “What’s wrong?”
You were rigid, despite his soft, calming, lavender scent- Your throat was parched- and you couldn’t think- you could feel the involuntary tears spill from your eyes as your body burned-
You could smell the cinnamon of Matt’s scent surround you. And a broken whine escaped you when you felt Frank brush your tears away.
“Alpha.” Matt softly said, his warm hands holding you close to himself. “I can hear them say things- are they-?”
“Paregoros.” You wheezed out, calling for her- for the only comforting presence in your time there. “Please- I can’t-”
Warm, feather light fingers brushed over your eyelids as they fluttered shut, and the last thing you could hear was the panicked calls of your name from your lovers-
Frank felt his heart drop when he saw you go limp in Red’s arms- unresponsive- and scent faint. Whoever those people were outside the apartment, it was clear to both of them that they weren’t welcome here.
On one hand, Frank wanted to slam the door open to fight them- to chase them away. But on the other hand, he wanted to bring you over to the nest to wrap you up in comforting scents-
“I called Marc and Layla.” Red murmured, as he passed on your weight solely onto Frank. “They’ll be here soon. I think they were coming here regardless though.”
Although Frank could hear muffled voices, he couldn’t differentiate what they were saying.
“Can you- Red, do you understand what they’re saying?”
Red pursed his lips as he brushed a lock of your hair away from your closed eyes.
“Yeah.” He said, voice soft. “Yeah, I can.”
“They’re saying that they are owed this. That they’re owed an omega. And that our sweetheart-” he watched as his lover’s lips twisted into a snarl- “if they weren’t an omega, the least they could do is to give them an omega-”
“Marc and Layla are here. Layla’s telling me to get them somewhere safe- preferably somewhere that’s quiet and drenched in the pack’s scents.”
“The nest would work, right?” Frank asked, as he hoisted your limp body in his arms.
Red nodded as he led Frank to your bedroom. Frank laid you down gently on the bed, and made quick work in scenting the blankets and pillows.
You weren’t a conventional alpha. And Frank had always assumed that it was because you were brought up in that way- he didn’t think you had a past making you act in this way. As he laid out the pillows, with his scent, Red’s, and the kid’s, he couldn’t help the low, slightly pained whine escaping his lips. Their alpha, so considerate and so, so comforting- if he had known earlier- if they had known earlier-
The scent of mint and honey invaded his senses. And he snapped his head towards the entrance to the bedroom, and in the corner of his eye, he could see Red do the same.
Spector and Layla. They were standing by the entrance, hesitant. It was an implicit rule that an omega’s nest was only open to those who were given access to it. And the two knew that they weren’t yet trusted.
Frank instinctively growled at them, his body placed protectively in front of your limp form on the bed. Layla slowly placed a couple pieces of clothing on the floor right in front of the entrance to the bedroom and took a couple of steps back, pulling Spector- no, from the slightly hunched form, it was Grant- back with her.
“We thought it might help.” She lowly said, as she glanced back to the front door. “We- we were pack once too. So maybe?”
The woman sounded uncertain- tentative when she asked, as if she were afraid that he and Red would reject their offer. Before he could act though, Red was quick to snatch the bundle of clothes and to plop it on top of you.
At his actions, Frank could see how both alphas relaxed- and how their expressions softened.
“We’ll be in the living room just- just in case,” Spector said, and Frank’s eyes locked with the other man’s, who nodded. Spector’s mint scent was- softer. Sharp, but not sharp enough to completely flood the area he was in.
“Take care of them.” Layla nearly whispered, and in the corner of his eye, he could see Red tilt his head- maybe his lover was sensing the same bittersweetness in her tone. “They’ll need you when they wake up.”
You were leaning against a tree. You tilted your head up to feel the sun against your skin and to see the red, ripe apples hanging from the tree. The grass felt fresh under your palm, and you could feel the bark against your back.
How- how did you get here? You furrowed your eyebrows. You don’t remember coming to this field- The last thing you remember is the worried calls of your name from Matt and Frank-
“It’s been a while since you last called for me, my child.”
A soft voice. Comforting, full of warmth. Familiar. A friend-
“Paregoros,” you breathed out, as you felt an apple drop from the branch onto your lap.
“Yes, child. You’ve said my name before.” The lips on the apple moved as she said those words, her tone slightly amused. “I would have been content not hearing my name fall from your lips again.”
You frowned. Did she- did she not like being your patron? Was she sick of you? The lips on the apple disappeared and you instead felt the branches of the trees curl down to brush at your head.
“Not in that way, child. I merely meant that I hoped you would find comfort in your lovers- your pack- instead of me. I pulled a favour from my mistress, Aphrodite to urge them onto your path-”
“In subtle ways, of course. We aren’t allowed to act on the mortals’ free will. Just the small things. Taking one street over the other. Making their coffee spill. In your case, Matthew stumbling into your particular dumpster.”
“As I was saying, child. Do you not trust your lovers? Do you not trust your pack?”
“I trust them. I trust them with everything.”
“Then why do you not seek comfort in them? Then why do you hurt on your own?”
“I-” your throat felt clogged. You- why didn’t you? You loved them- and you knew they loved you. But-
“You, my dear child, are good at giving comfort. To anyone who truly needs it.” You felt the branches leave you and a warm, ghastly touch replace it. “Yet you are uncertain about accepting it.” She stroked your cheek softly. “You give your heart to people you love, but your trust is harder to give.”
You- you couldn’t help but nod dumbly.
“I am your patron, after all. I know these things, child.” The warm touch pulled away, and you could see a faint glimmer of a woman standing in front of you, her outline golden. “It’s okay to trust. And you know that they won’t leave you for telling them.”
“I- I’ll try. To tell them, that is.”
“That’s all I ask for, child. I am fond of you, and I wish you all the happiness.”
You watched as she started to flicker away.
“Wait- You”- you gulped slightly- “You’ll always be my patron, right? You won’t abandon me?”
“As long as you bring comfort to those around you, my powers are yours.”
“I think they’re waking up.”
That was Peter-
“Matt?” you croaked out, opening your eyes and squinting at the blinding light.
“Oh baby- alpha- Do you know how worried we were?” Frank murmured, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “You collapsed on us-”
Matt’s warm hands were wrapped around your waist as he peppered soft, feather light kisses onto the top of your head, as he curled up, warm body firmly pressed against yours.
Peter sat by the foot of the bed, his legs draped over yours and Frank’s as he scribbled into a notebook with his tongue stuck out.
“Sorry.” You didn’t know what you were apologising for- Was it for bringing those people into their lives? Was it for hiding it from them? What exactly were you sorry for? At Frank’s incredulous expression, you shrank back slightly. “About all that- yeah. Sorry.”
“Sweetheart.” You turned your head to look at Matt. “You have nothing to be sorry for- why would you think that?”
“I- uh”- you fumbled slightly, trying to get your thoughts in order- “I don’t know.”
Both Frank and Matt looked like they wanted to ask questions, but you avoided their gaze. You weren’t ready- you couldn’t tell them now- you had to prepare yourself. Before they opened their mouth to ask though, Peter spoke first.
The young omega was smart- and he caught on very quickly to your subtle mood. Sometimes, he was even quicker than Matt.
“You- you don’t need to tell them? Or us? If you’re not ready.”
“What?” Peter turned to look at the older omega sharply. “They don’t- They waited for you and Matt- Can’t you wait for them too?”
You watched with bated breath as Peter glared at Frank. But soon relaxed when Frank gave him a curt nod.
“It’s okay sweetheart.” Matt crooned, as he affectionately nuzzled into you. “We’re going to be here, and we’ll always be here- We’ll take care of you, alpha.”
Frank grunted in agreement and shuffled closer to you, so that your head was lying on his chest. You relaxed as you heard his heartbeat, steady and calm, against your cheek. Soon enough, you could hear the sound of paper rustling and the tell tale sound of a notebook being thrown on the bed.
“Peter- don’t just go around throwing things onto the floor-”
“Leave him be, altar boy- he can pick it back up tomorrow.”
Peter just laughed at your lovers’ light-hearted bickering as he nearly collapsed onto you, the vanilla scent of the young omega mixing with the cinnamon and lavender- and a hint of mint and honey too?
Nonetheless, you felt at home, surrounded by the scents and the warmth of your pack- And you knew. You knew that somewhere in Olympus, your patron was smiling at you.
It was a well-known fact by the people of Hell’s Kitchen that Daredevil was scentless. Whether he really was, or if it was a way for the people to protect their beloved Devil was unclear.
It was impossible for anyone to not have a scent. Even betas had lingering scents- but the Devil, the Devil was completely scentless- At least, that’s what the rumours said.
But they were wrong. The rumours were oh, so very wrong.
Because the Devil smelt of ash and fire.
Frank’s identity was out in the open. So was his secondary gender. Everyone knew he was an omega. But most didn’t know that he was a mated omega. But- as you sat in the small, enclosed cell, you assumed rumour had gone around about the Punisher having people he cares for.
You could feel it. You could feel the drug circulating through your bloodstream. And you could feel the effects of it settle- you were getting reckless and hot-
You thought you had gotten rid of it- You thought Marc and you and Layla set fire to the warehouse where the only prototype was- But of course something like this would be reinvented and distributed-
They were aiming for Peter- Peter, who was walking you back home, with your bag held in his arms. But you had covered him with your body before the needle could ever reach him. You didn’t want something like this drug influence his future heats- your ruts were already fucked anyway-
You had told Peter to go- and that you could handle this- making sure to let out a calming, protective scent as he ran off- before slumping against the wall. You had heard people talking and swearing but you couldn’t respond to any of it-
And now you were here. Restless and trapped- your inner alpha was snarling and growling up a storm- your inner alpha wanted to rip open the steel door with your bare hands, although you knew that rationally, you couldn’t-
The last time you got jabbed with a similar drug, it took a while for it to properly kick in. But from the look of things now, the drug was either working quicker or it was a more intense one. Either way, you were screwed-
Stuck in your thoughts- you were only brought back to the present by the sound of crashing and shouts- Of the Devil- and of the Punisher-
You felt- you felt conflicted. You were happy they came for you- but you didn’t want them to see you like this- out of control and feral- you knew they both had bad memories of alphas-
Loud footsteps. Approaching closer and closer- you forced yourself in the corner. They wouldn’t see you jump out of the shadows-
Lavender. The scent of lavender- Frank? Your inner alpha stopped growling but it was still tense and defensive.
“Baby.” Frank emerged from beyond the door- blood covering his hands and the vest he had on. “Come on, alpha.”
“Don’t”- you whispered, flinching away when he approached you- “don’t come near me- I don’t want to- the drug- I think’s it’s triggered-”
“I know.” Frank reached for you once more, a bloody palm open for you to take. “I heard it from them- before I killed them.”
Your inner alpha was growling at you to take his hand- to let him whisk you away to somewhere safe- He was one of yours- of course you could take his hand-
“You won’t hurt me, alpha.” His lavender scent wrapped around you, urging you to put your hand in his. And take his hand, you did. “There we are.”
“Let’s get Red and go home, yeah?”
Something fundamentally changed inside him when he got the frantic call from Peter- you were jabbed with something and his inner omega was a hissing, screeching mess- he needed to get to you- So, for once in his life- he did something he thought he’d never do.
He let his inner omega take over.
Matt had hunted after you- his ears and sense of smell fixating on nothing else than you. Although, at the back of his mind, he could hear Frank’s heartbeat and his gunpowder scent following him.
As he fought- hyper aware of the needles they were wielding- he tasted ash on his tongue and smelt the burning of fire.
He could feel the blood welling in his mouth and the sensation of his knuckles bruising, but he couldn’t fully comprehend the pain. He needed to get to you-
Matt didn’t know how he ended up like this, but he was on his knees, surrounded by the unconscious bodies and blood. He spat out the blood welled up in his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“Red”- Matt growled almost instinctively at Frank’s low voice- “Red, it’s alright. They’re alright.”
He heard the sound of footsteps- your footsteps- approach him. He didn’t move away. He let you tilt his head up and he couldn’t help the low rumbling sound in his chest.
“D.” He heard you murmur, as you moved your hands to cradle the back of his head. “D- I’m here. Yeah?”
Matt nodded jerkily- Your touch was hot- feverishly hot- And Matt felt like his skin was burning with your every touch.
“Fuck”- he heard Frank hiss out, as his other lover moved closer to him to pull him up-“secondary scent. The ash- I thought it was just something burning- but of course, it’s you, Red. Only you’d go into a heat right now.”
“Fuck you.” Matt breathed out, as you and he leaned to rest his head on Frank’s shoulder. “’m not going into heat. ‘m just- overwhelmed-”
“Secondary scents are usually triggered by first heats-”
“No, you’re not. Your heat’s triggered- I’m probably in pre-rut- and the only person who’s somewhat not influenced by all this is Frank, so we’ve got to go back home asap to cuddle this out or something.”
Matt nodded but froze when he heard several footsteps nearing the warehouse.
“We’ve got company.” He hissed out, ripping himself away from your touch and Frank’s shoulder. “Four people.”
He could hear Frank grunt and the tell-tale click of a gun’s safety being turned off.
In a tense silence, he waited as the door creaked open- and he was about to launch himself at the approaching people but-
“We knew it- We knew we heard some ruckus here.” The people didn’t smell like guns- and their heartbeats were surprisingly steady. Matt gnashed his teeth and snarled at them, and even he could smell how the ashen scent- his ashen scent permeated throughout the room. “Go on then- Off you go.”
“We don’t want our Devil to get hurt.” A female voice, nonchalant. “You saved my sister from a mugging a couple weeks ago. I’m here to pay back a favour.”
The heavy scent of strawberries- strong and dominant- covered up his ashen one, as well as Frank’s lavender one.
“Go- quickly- before the cops come.”
Matt nodded dumbly as he felt both you and Frank relax slightly.
“I”- Matt licked his lips- “thank you.”
“Well, we’ve got to look out for each other.” A male voice. His scent citrussy and soft. “Now, really- go. I can smell the coming rut and heat- And I’m a beta-”
“Come on, mates”- Matt heard you say, as your fingers wrapped around his wrist- “I think we can leave this to them. Let’s go home.”