#tasm!peter parker x you

[parkerpeter24]

quiet temptations

pairing ➳ tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

word count ➳ 2.3k

warnings ➳ SMUT. characters are 18+ and MINORS DNI. this contains depictions of fingering, oral (m recieving). fluff, peter being sweet but also horny-

summary ➳ you’re awfully quiet but peter can’t seem to take that.

“is everything alright?” peter mumbled as he laid beside you. your back was to him, his arm wrapped around you, “you’re not talking.”

the bed you were laying on was warm, a thin blanket over the sheets because you got extra cold during the winters and a quilt that covered you and peter both. your fingers danced against the wall adjacent to the bed, feeling the cold plaster contrasting peter’s own fingertips that danced on your waist, under your sweatshirt.

“you gonna talk?” he placed a kiss on your hair that was loosely tucked behind your ear, making it fall over your eyes. chuckling when he heard you groan and push the lock of hair back in its original place, “so.. no?”

you sighed softly.

“that’s alright.” peter responded, feeling as if he was just talking to himself now, “we don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.”

the sound of your hum was accompanied by peter’s hand gliding under your sweatshirt and caressing your stomach. he was careful, as if you were made up of glass, watching out for any signs of refusal on your face but your features looked solemn, unchanging.

he sighed, not being able to hold in his concern, “alright, just nod if everything is okay…”

he waited for you and surely you did nod after a few seconds, making peter’s worries dissipate.

“what’s gotten you so quiet?” he tried to get you to talk, his fingers taking a detour from trailing upwards, making contact with the elastic hem of your sweatpants– which originally belonged to him, “‘cause one way or another, i’m gonna hear that pretty voice.”

you felt your face heat up but peter still didn’t notice any change in your expression. if he couldn’t see the blinking of your eyes and sense changing breathing pattern, he’d have assumed you were asleep.

“at least tell me you want this.” he mumbled into your neck, pressing his lips against your exposed skin.

“yeah.” you mumbled and peter wasted no time in sliding his hand under the fabric of your lower, arm holding your body against him. you let out a soft breath as his fingers travelled lower. his middle finger slid your panties to the side before making contact with the skin. he pressed soft kisses to your neck before his nimble finger delved into your folds.

a leg pressed between both of yours, parting your thighs as he nestled a warm hand against your sex.

you let out a soft sound, clutching onto the quilt. his finger sank deeper until he found the earliest bit of your arousal and pulled it out, wanting to spread the wetness everywhere.

his finger travelled up to your clit, circling around it and you bit your lip when he fucked it back into you, knuckle deep. he groaned softly, loving the way your muscles almost clenched his finger.

he repeated his actions a few more times until you couldn’t hold back the soft needy moans that he beyond waited to hear. you felt his teeth sink into the skin of your neck before he sucked that spot, soothing the sting from the bite.

you moaned when he curled his finger, trying to search for a spot that would make your sounds louder. his finger dipped into you inch by inch every time, showing he was in no hurry.

peter’s arm was strongly keeping you pressed against himself as you started to arch your back. he could tell you were getting needy but he wished to hear something from you– even though he was loving the musical moans you were letting out.

he pressed his ring finger into the mix, adding it when he pumped them into you the next time. his face pressed further into your hair when you tried to get away. he could tell you needed more– you were writhing, trying to grind your hips into his already hard cock– but he kept going at the slowest pace he could. one brush of his fingers against your most intimate spot and your lips parted in a loud gasp.

you tried to arch your back which only led to peter’s arm pressing harder against your abdomen. his lips were pressed together, letting out soft hums which accompanied each one of your moans as if encouraging you.

he pulled out both his fingers, fucking in again and then back out and in again until it became a faster rhythm. squelching sounds filled the mostly silent room as his leg parted yours even further.

peter rolled his fingers into you continuously, the heel of his palm nudging against your clit which had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, “pete-” you gasped, “m-more.”

the desperation in your voice made peter grind into your ass. his fingers fucked you faster, holding your legs apart, curling them into you just right until you were jutting your hips, chasing your high.

“good girl.” peter mumbled, “keep it up, baby.”

his fingers moved continuously in and out of you. he could tell you were close with the way you clenched his fingers, however before the coil in your abdomen burst, his fingers pulled out of you, a soft wet sound following it– completely opposite to the loud whine that left your mouth.

“oh my god- why’d you stop?!”

“now you wanna talk?” he mumbled into your hair.

you felt your cheeks heating up further than they were. you hid your face into the pillow, but peter wasn’t letting that happen. he tugged at your chin with his free hand, “oh, baby. trust me, i want you to cum.”

you whined, biting your lip softly at his dirty words. you wondered if peter came prepared for this because no other day would you have expected such filthy words escaping his lips. he’d never done so before in all the times you two were intimate.

he turned you around gently, slowly pressing his forehead against yours as he brought up his fingers to his own lips, sucking them clean. he moaned at the taste as his tongue swirled around the digits, sending a wave of shivers up your spine and arousal to your core.

the second his fingers were released from between his soft, warm lips, your own pair replaced them, tasting remnants of yourself on his lips. you moaned softly, pressing your chest up against his.

“want you.” you breathed out heavily.

peter only shook his head, “not until you tell me what’s with the silence.”

“huh-” your brows pulled together in confusion, “you’re really not gonna-”

“first you tell me what happened.” he pecked your lips once, twice, and a few more times.

you sighed, pursing your lips as you tried to formulate what to say to him– or rather how.

when peter saw you struggle, opening your mouth and then closing it, he brushed a thumb against your cheek, “it’s okay, you should take your time.”

you nodded, feeling the warmth of his hand transfer to your cheek as your eyes met. his chocolate brown eyes swam with what you could identify as pure adoration.

“until then…” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss you.

soft at first, it escalated when he brushed his tongue past your lips, quickly finding yours in a slow yet passionate dance. peter pressed you against the mattress, handling the covers to stay over your bodies.

he wasted no time in moving his lips to your neck, hands going to hold your thighs apart as his thumb now brushed against your clothed thigh, kneading gently as his teeth nipped at your collarbone.

you gasped softly, letting him do as he pleased with you. as you held the back of his head with one hand, the soft, brunette sea of hair engulfed your fingers.

peter moved his hands to the hem of your sweatshirt, wasting no time in sliding it up past your chest, careful enough that you weren’t exposed to the coldness of the room. he dived under the quilt, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, the other being knead in the palm of his fingers.

you gasped as peter’s tongue flicked the bundle of nerves, your stomach flush against his torso.

you could feel his lips curl into a smirk before he switched, rolling your sensitive left nipple between his slender fingers as he licked and pulled the right one in his mouth.

you were getting fidgety, squirming under peter as he felt your grip tighten on his locks, not enough to hurt. he moaned against your skin, placing a few kisses right under your breast, moving lower, now seeming in a hurry.

“pete-” you almost pleaded, finding your voice breathy.

his hands travelled under the pair of sweatpants, making quick work of sliding them down as he traced your thighs, down to your knees before you felt the material slide off you.

you lifted the quilt slightly, just wanting to get a glimpse of peter. the few rays of light that touched him weren’t fast enough to warn you as his lips pressed to the wet patch over your panties. you gasped and threw your head back.

you felt peter’s hot breath and the muffled sound of his moan from under the blanket. he pushed your thighs apart, diving deeper as his nose pressed against your clit, the fabric thick enough to make you grit your teeth, wanting his lips and tongue on you.

maybe peter heard the clenching of your teeth or the way that your hand found home in the tufts of his hair again but he was eagerly pushing down the material past your legs throwing it down to the floor.

you felt peter’s forearms lift your thighs as he shuffled closer to your core, licking up a bold stripe across your folds. your back arched but peter’s grip was keeping you against him.

for a moment you heard him groan as he retracted, “what’s wrong?” you breathed out, supporting yourself up on your elbows.

you almost laughed when his hand creeped out from under the quilt, holding his fogged up glasses out for you to take. with a chuckle, you held the frame between your fingers, quickly placing them to the bedside table.

as you laid your back against the bed, peter was quick to wrap his lips around your clit. you let out a moan as he licked and sucked on the bundle of nerves.

he held onto your thighs, keeping you firm against his lips as he explored the very intimate part of you. his tongue darted out, poking at your entrance, but not giving you enough time to notice that as he slid the muscle deeper against your walls.

you moaned, pressing a hand over your mouth to muffle the lewdest sound you’ve ever made. the bridge of his nose poked against your clit and peter only pressed deeper as his tongue delved in and out of you. it seemed as if he would see no tomorrow if he stopped making out with your dripping hole.

you arched your back, “pete- oh god-”

you felt him hum against you, sending your jaw drop open as you finally felt the pleasure crash all over your body. your toes curled and eyes rolled to the back of your head. you could swear this was the hardest you’d ever come before as goosebumps covered your arms.

you let out a sigh as peter helped you ride out your high, keeping up his ministrations. finally stopping, he placed a soft kiss over your clit, sending your body flinching at the action.

when peter climbed out from under the blanket, surely he looked like he needed to clean up. his chin dripping with your arousal and forehead all sweaty from being so long under the warm quilt.

“you need to wash your face.” you chuckled, brushing back a few locks of hair that were sticking to his forehead.

“and you need to tell me what’s wrong.” he mumbled and you sat up, adjusting your sweatshirt back down.

“it’s nothing-”

“and don’t you dare say it’s nothing.” he sat up as well, beside you, wiping mouth with the sleeve of his shirt– that thing was going in the washing machine the second this conversation was over.

“it’s… just… exams and stuff. you know how anxious i get.” you sighed.

“i know… but you don’t have to! there’s still a week left before-”

“okay, that may seem like a long time but trust me, it’s not.” you looked up at him, meeting the brown eyes that held concern, “i’m sorry, i… i was just overwhelmed. didn’t feel like talking.” you almost pouted, making peter pull you against his chest as he hugged you. you in turn wrapped your arms around his waist.

“trust me, i know how stressful exams can be. but it’s nothing you haven’t been through before.” he placed a soft kiss against your hair, making you hug him even tighter, “you got this, beautiful.”

“yeah, yeah, yeah. easy for you to say.”

he chuckled, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you’re like, i don’t know, the smartest guy of our whole generation.” you mumbled against his shoulder.

peter shrugged at that comment, “hey, even i watch youtube videos for help sometimes.”

“yeah, but you grasp every concept so quickly, like you don’t even have to try.” you looked up at him, blinking when you realised how that must have sounded, “...that was supposed to be a compliment.”

“you’re adorable.” peter chuckled, “how about we study together? i’ll make a time table; and don’t worry, it’s not going to be super chaotic, just a simple time table; and we can figure it out together. how’s that sound?”

you smiled at him, feeling your heart swell at the amount of his care, “sounds perfect.”

his smile mirrored yours, “thanks for telling me.”

you gave him a grin.

“now since i told you, can we fuc-”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

masterlist

#tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #peter parker #tasm peter smut #peter parker smut #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter smut #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm spiderman

[bruisedboys]

peter parker and “is that my shirt?” prompt would be so cute!

congrats on 6k

thank u angel! hope u like this!! join the celebration

tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

Peter’s missed you so much he actually feels kind of sick. He’s practically buzzing as he unlocks the apartment door and lugs his suitcase inside.

“Angel?”

There’s a loud and very cute squeal from down the hall. Rapid footsteps, and then you appear in your pyjamas, beaming bright as the sun, looking like the prettiest thing Peter’s ever seen.

“Peter!” You squeal, a ball of excitement. “Baby. Oh my gosh.” You cross the room and throw your arms around his neck. Peter laughs, his chest flooding with warmth, and hugs you back twice as strong.

“Hi, honey,” he says, lovelorn. You smell amazing. You look like an angel. You’re squeezing him to death. He’s missed you so much he could cry. “Holy moly, I missed you so much.”

You giggle, turn your face into the side of his head and drag your nose along his jaw. “I missed you more,” you say, lips hot on his skin.

A shiver runs down Peter’s spine. He’s only had you back for a half a minute and you’ve already got him shivering? Typical. “Impossible,” he tell you. He runs his hands down your back and up again as if to prove to himself you’re really there.

You laugh and pull back, bouncing on your toes, to look him in the eye. You’re so, so beautiful. Somehow prettier than when he left you, which seemed impossible but apparently isn’t, not for you.

You reach up and push a lock of hair from his eyes. Peter’s hypnotised. He doesn’t get how one girl can be so achingly lovely, so pretty and so sweet, but you manage it. He slides his hands down to your waist, feeling like he might explode if he doesn’t touch every inch of you. It’s then that he recognises the familiar fabric of your shirt. He looks down.

“Hey, is that my shirt?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. He nudges you backwards with his hips to get a better look. It is his shirt. His favourite one, which he didn’t pack for his trip because it suspiciously went missing the day before he left. “It is!” He exclaims, pinching at your side. “You had it this whole time?”

You giggle at his prodding, and try twisting yourself out of the way. Peter keeps a firm grip on you, hand spread over your ribs, his glare full of accusatory heat.

“I’m sorry!” You say, giggling like an idiot when he pinches you some more. “I missed you, okay? Is that such a crime?”

Peter makes a face at you but his heart’s soaring. “Well, if you count theft as crime then yeah, I would say so.”

You huff. “You’re so dramatic!”

“I’m dramatic?” Peter feigns offence, pulling his head back incredulously. “You’re the one who stole my—!”

Your lips land on his before he can finish his sentence. His words are lost to your mouth. You push up into the kiss, fervent and hot. Your fingers curl into his collar and brush over the column of his throat, and Peter forgets everything else. He kisses you back just as hard, one arm hooked around your waist and the other bent between your chests to hold your jaw.

“Never mind,” he says between kisses. “You can keep the shirt, baby.”

You laugh against his mouth.

#★ mal writes! #mal’s 6k! #6k celly blurbs #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker blurb #peter parker imagine #peter parker drabble #tasm peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #tasm!peter parker #tasm x reader #tasm!peter #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm x you #tasm spiderman #tasm x y/n #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter parker blurb #tasm!peter parker drabble #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker oneshot

[silkscream]

angel unaware

ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader

ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.

ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)

ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k

ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3

ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!

The spider bit you first.

It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.

In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.

You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.

But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.

You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.

Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.

Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.

"You. You just–"

"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.

It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.

The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.

Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.

He’s the only one who gets it, of course.

He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know.  "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.

"What do you mean?"

"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"

"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"

He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"

You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.

"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.

Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.

"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.

"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.

"Comes from my fingertips."

"No fucking way. You gotta show me."

"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.

"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.

You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.

"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.

"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."

"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.

You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.

"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"

"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.

"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.

He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.

____

He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.

But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.

Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.

"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.

"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.

"And yet you’re here."

"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.

"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.

"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.

"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."

Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.

"Am I a good patient?"

"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.

"What, I don’t get a treat?"

"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.

It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.

"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.

You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."

"Rabbit."

You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.

"What, Pete?"

"Why don’t you patrol with me?"

"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.

"It’s better when you’re around."

"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.

"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."

"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."

"I think she’s right, though."

You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.

He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."

"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."

"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.

"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."

He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.

____

You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.

You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.

It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.

Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.

Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.

He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.

The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.

Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.

You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.

He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.

"Still as indecisive as ever."

"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.

"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.

"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"

He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.

"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.

"And you love it."

More than you’d ever know.

You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.

When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.

The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.

It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.  

"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.

____

You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.

You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.

No, that feels too selfish to say.

But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.

You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.

Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.

"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"

Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.  

____

January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.

You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.

Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.

Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.

And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.

It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.

Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.

"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."

God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.

"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.

The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.

He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.

Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.

Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.

But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.

He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.

You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.

As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.

"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"

He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.

Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.

"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.

"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."

"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."

"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."

"Hey!"

Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.

"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."

Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.

"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.

"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.

"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."

You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.

"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"

"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"

"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"

Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."

You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?

You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.

____

The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.

It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.

He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.

But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.

"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"

Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.

"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.

The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.

Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.

"Hey, you."

"Hey."

Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.

You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.

"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.

"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," she nods incessantly.

"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.

"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."

It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.

You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.

"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.

"Since when do you drink so much?"

"It’s a party," he shrugs.

"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."

"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."

Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.

Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.

"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.

"What do you mean?"

"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."

You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."

"Seriously?"

You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.

"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."

You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.

A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.

"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.

"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."

You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.

"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.

You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.

____

You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.

"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.

"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.

Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.

"Dude!"

"What? I’m turned around!"

Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.

His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.

"Idiot."

"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."

"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"

"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.

"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"

"‘m fine. You go home."

"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"

Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"

He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.

"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."

Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.

"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"

You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.

It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.

"Yeah, I’ll take him home."

____

"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.

"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.

"Not if you were with me."

"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."

"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"

You sigh. "No, he’s not."

"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.

"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.

He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.

"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"

"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.

"‘m not gonna puke."

"I think you might, Peter."

He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.

Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."

You sigh.

"I should get going–"

"Can you stay for a little?"

Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.

"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.

"You didn’t."

"You were gonna go home with Cam."

"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Like a chore."

"Not like a chore."

"Yeah, okay."

He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.

Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.

You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.

His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.

Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.

He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.

You close your eyes.

"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.

"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.

You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.

"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."

"What?"

"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."

"What am I doing?"

Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.

"You’re with MJ."

"I… I know."

Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.

"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.

"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.

"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.

He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.

____

It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.

You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.

But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.

It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he’s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.

Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.

"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.

"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.

"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."

"I’m fine, Em." A lie.

It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.

He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.

____

Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.

He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.

Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.

He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.

After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.

"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.

"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.

Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.

In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.

When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.

He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.

Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?

The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.

The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.

An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.

"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."

He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.

He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.

"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.

"Peter. You’re hurt."

"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"

"You’re fucking limping."

You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.

Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.

A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.

"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.

You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.

A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.

Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.

"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."

He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.

When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.

"C’mere."

It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.

You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.

There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.

You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.

"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."

"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."

As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?

It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.

"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.

"For what?"

"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."

"‘m not all that good, Peter."

But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.

"I’m sorry for not being around."

"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."

He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.

"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.

"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."

"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."

"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.

"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."

You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.

____

Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.

After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.

You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.

Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.

"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.

You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.

So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”

You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.

"Less overwhelming?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."

I missed you.

Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.

"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.

"You get what?"

"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."

We. We. We.

"There are cows upstate," you snort.

"You know what I mean."

"We can do a road trip."

"You can’t drive."

"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.

He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.

"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.

"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."

"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."

You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.

There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.

You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.

So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.

"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.

"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.

You mock him, of course.

"English, yeah?"

He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.

"We broke up."

You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?

"Shit. You really fumbled, then."

"Shut up," he laughs.

"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.

"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."

"Classic MJ."

"Yeah."

"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.

"I’m not a piece of meat."’

You click your tongue.

"Oh, right, you’re an insect."

"Hey, so are you!"

____

You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.

Or maybe it’s the wine talking.

It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.

It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.

You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.

Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots

If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.

He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.

Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.

His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.

Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.

Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.

“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."

"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.

"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"

Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."

Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.

By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.

"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.

"You're already in my room."

Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.

Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.

"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.

"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."

"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.

"I'd like to see you try, angel."

It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.

It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.

Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.

Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.

He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.

His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.

"Wha--"

"Fuck."

"What is it?" He frowns.

"I owe Ned twenty bucks."

"What?"

"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."

"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”

“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”

“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.

“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,” you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.

“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”

He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.

You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.

“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”

A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.

“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.

“You are.”

Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.

He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.

You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.

A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.

“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”

Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.

“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”

He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.

You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.

You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.

“What do you wanna do?”

“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.

“Tell me about it, Spidey.”

“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”

There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.

“You want it that bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.

You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.

He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.

“You want me to go slow?”

“Of course not.”

You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.

Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.

“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."

Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.

“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.

“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”

You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.

You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.

Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.

“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.

“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”

You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.

“Pete.”

“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”

“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”

He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.

He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.

It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.

“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.

Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.

“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”

Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.

Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.

He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.

“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.

“Yes, angel?”

“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”

He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.

“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.

“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”

He laughs and it sounds like heaven.

“You said you loved me,” you tell him.

“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”

You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.

“I love you, too.”

You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”

“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.

“You’re cute.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How come you call me angel now?”

Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.

“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”

Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.

“I have a proposition.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.

“Okay. What is it?”

“We should use our webs next time.”

He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.

“Deal.”

tagging mutuals: @meliapis​ @cutetomholland​ @userholland​ @sparklingsin​ @tomdutch​ @userholland​ @vendettaparker​ @selfcarecap @simplykenni​ @uhlxis​ @cordiformity​ @sapphicsoie​ @seolaseoul​ @honeyspidey​ @logangarfield​ @justapurrcat​ @arachine​ @cocoamoonmalfoy​ @ohcaptains​ @aniqua

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #spiderman x reader #mcu!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x you #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #peter parker x you

[madwcman]

hi! Can I request tasm! Peter w a f!short! reader who is always climbing on counters to reach stuff when he is not home? Him worrying about the bruises on her knees and catching her on the act

thank u in advance!

a/n: thank you for requesting!! ♡

pairing: tasm! peter x short! reader

“sweetheart, what are you doing?” you turn to your unimpressed boyfriend. his arms are folded over his chest and he has his eyebrows raised at you in question. you’ve been caught.

you were currently on your kitchen counter trying to grab a glass.

“nothing!” you quickly climb down from your kitchen counter, with a nervous smile. “we’ve talked about this,” he states firmly. and he’s right you and peter have had plenty of talks about you climbing on the counters. but it’s not your fault! you can’t reach things in your home, you usually ask peter to get things for you but when he leaves you resort to climbing.

“i know- but it’s not my fault!” you defend yourself, you walk over to peter and wrap your arms around him. “i know it’s not, but you need to be careful, i don’t want you hurting yourself.” he melts into your hug and kisses your head. “well what do you suggest i do?” you look up to your boyfriend for answers. “grow taller.”

#tasm!peter parker #tasm peter parker #peter parker #tasm! peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter fluff #tasm peter fluff #peter parker fluff #tasm! peter fluff #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm peter x y/n #tasm peter x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #kiyahs requests₊˚౨ৎ ˖

[luveline]

Can I request just Peter and shy!reader cuddling and stuff after a long day (after r having a long day or after peters spidey stuff whichever) ❤️

thank you for your request! tasm!peter parker x fem!reader, 1k

It feels like Peter's been gone for a long, long time when he finally comes home. Hair whipped every which way from swinging, his cheeks kissed by cold, nose bitten and pink, he drops his keys by the door and sweeps you up into his impossibly strong arms. 

You'd usually laugh at the sudden weightlessness, but his touch summons a lump in your throat, the thrumming feeling of missing him alive and in your hands. You work them around his shoulders. 

"You had a bad day?" he asks. You don't know how he knows, but he does. 

"I just needed to see you," you say, embarrassed by the strength of your feelings. 

Peter walks you backwards and you do laugh, then, the rigidness of your emotion warmed into softness by his arms around you and his easy smile. Peter dunks you down onto your L-shaped couch so you're flat on your back with your legs propped up and isn't shy about laying on top of you, the firm muscle of his thigh slotting between your softer ones, his hands moving to frame your face. 

He holds your cheeks for a second, decides he actually can't deal with the weight of his bag still on his shoulders or the jacket that haphazardly hides his suit and shrugs both off, and then holds your face again. 

"You're warm," he says. 

"You're cold," you say, turning your cheek into his hand, your head smushed up against the couch cushions. 

You close your eyes as he gets comfortable, content to spend long, slow minutes in the sanctuary of his arms, knowing he'll let you stay here however long you need to. You think you could commit to the couch for the remainder of your life and Peter would spend the rest of his days bringing you trinkets and offering to give you sponge baths. It's a preposterous thought based on an absolute truth; Peter would do anything for you. You'd do anything for him. 

You curl your arms around the broad, muscled stretch of his back, fingertips tripping over the wrinkles in his shirt, nose sniffing indulgently at his hair. 

"I needed to see you, too," he says into your neck. He speaks quietly, but not for the sake of any concerns. There's no need for privacy, and no shame in the admission. "Day's perfect now."

It's such a him thing to say. 

After another handful of quiet minutes, Peter works it around so he's the one being weighed down, squeezing between you and the couch armrest and easing you effortlessly onto his chest. You throw a leg over his thigh, curl an arm around his waist. He's not as cold anymore, but you rub his arm in a steadying back and forth until you've made your way to his fingers. They're still pretty cold —you pull his hand to your mouth and blow warm air at his fingertips until they're pink rather than blue.

Peter noses your hairline affectionately. "You're quiet today. More than usual," he says. "Should I be concerned?" 

"No," you murmur, rubbing his knuckles against your forehead for no good reason. It feels nice. After less than half a second, he does it of his own accord. 

Peter pushes your head back gently and starts to kiss you. Your forehead from end to end, the bridge of your nose, the tip. You shiver happily at the feeling and tilt your chin up for a proper kiss, though that happiness quickly melds to embarrassment when he laughs against your lips. I know what you want, his laugh says.

And even though he's right, even though it's obvious, it's raw to be caught wanting. He knows how much you want him in any and all capacity, and that's scary. 

You'd pull away if you thought Peter didn't know how you felt; you trust him completely. He can kiss you sick, for all you care. 

Peter doesn't kiss you for long, resting his forehead against your jaw, hand at the back of your neck to hold you where he wants you.

"Put your head back," he murmurs, faux-thoughtful, "I wanna give you a better kiss." 

"You want to give me a bruise," you murmur back. 

He dips in to kiss your neck softly. "Not true," he says, his bottom lip tickling you as he exhales. 

You lean back and raise your shoulder to push him away. You trust him, you love him, but if he gives you a hickey tonight you won't be able to look at him without a hot flush. You're too tired for anything amorous. 

Peter doesn't hold it against you. If anything, he does the opposite, rubbing your aching shoulders with a big, flat palm, like he's saying sorry. It's unnecessary. 

"I love you," you say. 

"I know," he says, giving you a short pat between shoulder blades. "Not as much as I love you, though, don't get it twisted." 

"I'm not getting anything twisted." 

"No?" Peter pulls you up his chest and turns his head so you can look at each other comfortably, no craned necks up or down. "Feels like you are. You think you love me more, which is scientifically improbable." 

"I didn't say that." 

"It felt like you said that." 

"I didn't say that." You glare at one another. The glares don't last long. 

You dive in for another hug, Peter tightening his grip around your waist, forearms up your back and locking you in. "This is nice," you say. 

"For you. My arm is dead." 

You giggle and shift further on top of him to alleviate the pressure on his arm. He groans like you're his very worst ailment, but when he kisses your head it's so tender you'd bet money that it left a mark, a physical actualisation of his affection. 

"Better?" he asks. 

You know what he's asking without further explanation. Do you feel better now? 

You nod against his neck, thinking you might just fall asleep in his arms. 

#peter parker #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!peter x you #tasm fic #tasm!peter x reader #the amazing spider man 2 #the amazing spider man #tasm peter parker #tasm #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker imagine

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

What about Peter having a crush on reader but he can never properly talk to her, until reader gets saved by spider man like twice and in the third time she kisses him and Peter's all happy and excited at first until he realises she only like spiderman not Peter Parker and he's all sad and he visits her place as spidey and they talk and he tries kiss her and she's like no it was a mistake and I didn't mean it and I already like this other guy and he's like who??? And she's like oh this boy with me at school and Peter being Peter apologises and decides to help her ask the boy out while being a the sweet sad puppy he is and the next day he's all mopey at school and avoids reader until she corners and asks him out and he's like omg she was talking about me

.....can I please have chocolate now? 🥺🥺🥺

- yours truly

a/n: okay, i hope you don’t mind, i tweaked it a little so that he doesn’t find out the truth at school but at her apartment when he visits him

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist 

“Wait,” you pressed a palm to the hero’s chest and pushed him back slightly. He’d pulled up his mask just enough for his soft lips to be unobscured before he’d locked them with your own, “this–, uhm…” you averted your gaze and shook your head lightly as to rid yourself of the hazy sensation the taste of his kisses bloomed, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“What?” he leaned back a bit next to you on your bed.

“It’s not you, I promise, you’re so–… I mean, you’re you. Most of New York would probably kill to get to do, well, this with you. I just–, as good as that felt, it can’t happen again,” sucking in a shaky breath, you revealed, “I kinda like someone else, like really like them. So, this just–, I’m sorry… I can’t…”

As a slow, sombre exhale flowed out past his lips, “oh…” he leaned further away from you, “who–, uhm… who is it?”

“A guy at my school. We have biology together, though I’ve never actually had the courage to talk to him. Every time I try, I just chicken out at the very last second and walk away…”

“What’s his name? Maybe, I don’t know… maybe your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman could play matchmaker or something?”

Blinking back at him, you breathed, “you’d really do that? You’ve already done so much for me.” 

“It’s fine, I wanna help,” he offered you a weak smile, “I just want you to be happy. So, what’s the guy’s name?”

“Peter,” you said wistfully, “Peter Parker.”

Mouth parting slightly in surprise, he looked as if you’d just slapped him clean across his face. 

“He’s got brown hair,” you went on, “and is like probably the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

“Peter Parker?” he repeated, “y-you have a crush on m–, on him?”

“Pretty much since the day I first met him,” you sighed longingly, “I know, you must think I’m pathetic. You throw yourself into danger every day and here I am, too scared to talk to the guy I’m in love with.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker request #peter parker blurb #peter parker fluff #peter parker drabble #spiderman x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #mcu!peter parker x reader #mcu!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker fluff

[forever-rogue]

Spidey Senses

AN | You never fight with Peter, sometimes things change. Luckily, you love your Spider more than anything❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 3.5k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You’re thinking too loudly.”

You remained silent as you gently wiped away the dried blood from the gash on his shoulder. You hadn’t said much to him since he came home but that didn’t stop you from taking care of him. You always took care of him, that had never been a question. 

When you were done patching him all up, you moved to rinse out the blood from the washcloth under the hot water, watching as the water went from crimson to clear. You felt his eyes on you the entire time. 

“I don’t think you want to hear what I’m thinking, Peter,” you caught his eye in the mirror, a heavy frown on your features that caused him to hang his head with a heavy sigh. You turned to leave the bathroom, but he caught your wrist, fingers wrapping delicately onto your soft skin, “Peter. I just want to go to bed. Please.”

“Tell me,” he insisted softly as you closed your eyes and sighed heavily, “whatever it is, just let me hear it.”

“Fine,” you turned around and faced him; Peter could see that your eyes were already wet with unshed tears, “fine - you want to know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking that…you need to slow down, Peter. You keep coming home hurt and it’s only been getting worse lately. I know it’s selfish to say but do you know how hard it is to see you like that? I…you have Miles - New York has Miles. He can handle himself and he can and will ask for help if he needs it. But maybe it’s time to let him do more and you can…just slow down a little. I just want to know that you’re going to come home and that you’re going to come home alive.”

“I am Spider-Man,” his lips were drawn into a harsh line as he narrowed his eyes at you, “I can’t just slow down. And I can’t just leave Miles with everything, he’s still young, and he’s still learning. This is who I am.”

“You were young once too and there was no one around to help,” you reminded him, “and you were okay. He has you and he’s a smart kid; there are things he can handle. I’m not saying that you can’t or shouldn’t be Spider-Man, Pete. I would never say that.”

“Then why are you saying anything?” he stared at the ceiling for a moment before groaning lightly, “you don’t know what it’s like. You don’t get that I can’t just walk away from this.”

“You’re right,” you’d pulled back slightly from the harsh tone in his voice; he’d never talked to you in such a harsh tone before, “I don’t know what it's like. But I do know what it’s like to love you and I know how hard it is to watch you work yourself into the ground - it’s absolutely horrible. It’s just…we’re not getting younger, Pete. We’ve talked about getting married and starting our family - how are we going to do that when you’re gone so often and hurt?”

“You don’t…” he ran his hands over his tired face in exasperation, “I don’t think you realize what you’re asking for. I’m fine. If it’s just because you don’t want to deal with me anymore, just say it.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” you angrily swiped away the tears that rolled down your cheeks, “I love you, Peter. I want a future with you, but I can’t have that if you’re not around for it! Maybe it’s still hard for you to accept that people care about you and only want the best for you. You take care of everyone else, but you have to let people take care of you too.”

“If I needed someone to take care of me, I would say something,” he hissed softly, “I’m fine, everything is fine. If you’ve got such a problem with it then maybe…maybe we shouldn’t be together then.”

Your mouth dropped open from the sheer shock of what he had just said. Something was going on with Peter, even if he wasn’t willing to admit to it. You gnawed on your cheek in order to keep from crying or making any sort of sound. You held up your hands in defeat and walked into the bedroom. Without even thinking about it, you went to the closet and grabbed out a duffle bag and started piling in some clothes, not paying attention to what was getting thrown into the bag. 

“I think I’m going to leave and give you space for a bit. We’re not going to figure anything out right now,” you whispered in a broken tone. Peter’s stomach lurched as he watched you pack; how did things escalate so quickly? He wanted to take it all back; he wished he would rewind the last half hour. 

“Don’t go,” he tried to stop you gently but you shook your head, “honey.”

“I don’t want to fight,” your voice was so gentle that he might not even have heard it if it was not for his enhanced senses. Peter sat down on the edge of the bed and watched you pack, feeling helpless and pathetic. He shouldn’t ever have talked to you that way. He was stupid. Stupid.

“Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, “I’ll see if I can stay with MJ or Harry or something. Don’t worry about it, Peter. It's fine."

He fell into silence as he watched you pack your necessities without any rhyme or reason. You really just wanted to get out of there and away from him; that killed him.

Once your bag was packed, you paused in the doorway and turned to give him one last look. The corner of your mouth pulled up into a sad little smile, but the light never reached your eyes. He gave you a small nod but neither of you said anything. 

He listened to your footsteps as you left the house and got into your car. Peter had really fucked up now.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You wanna tell me why your girlfriend’s been staying with MJ for the past couple of days?” Miles turned his face away and busied himself with fiddling on the sleeve of his suit. He’d noticed that Peter had been in a mood lately and then he saw you at MJ’s when he went to pick something up from her. Miles was a smart kid and it wasn’t long before he put the pieces together. He was just curious - and concerned - about Peter. He’d never seen him down like this before and he hated it, “j-just curious.”

“Miles,” he yanked the mask off his face and leaned against the door. The two of them were on a random rooftop, keeping an eye on things despite the quiet night. He turned to face the younger man and Miles could see how tired and run down he looked, “it’s…been a lot.”

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but you can talk to me Pete,” he nudged his arm and offered him a meek smile. Peter had been there for him for so long and through so many hard times he wanted him to know that he was there for him as well, “but if you ever need someone to talk to…”

“Thanks Miles,” he reached over and gave the boy’s shoulder a squeeze, “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Pete,” Miles hopped onto his feet and crossed his arms over his chest, "I'm going to worry even if you say not to."

"You're a good kid," he offered his protégé a half smile.

"I'm not a kid anymore," Miles huffed in response, "and you're getting old."

He half expected a laugh to come from the older man; instead all he heard was a small huff seemingly in agreement. Peter paused for a moment before meeting Miles' eyes, "that's the problem, isn’t it?”

"Whaddaya mean?" all sorts of bad thoughts crossed his mind. What if Peter was sick? Or something bad happened? What if-

"I know I'm getting older and things are different than they used to be," he leaned his back against the wall before whispering your name, "she brought it up the other day - that I'm not getting any younger and that I should…let go a little bit. I didn't take it well and we got into an argument and I said dumb things I shouldn't have."

"She's not wrong," Miles sat down in front of Peter and shrugged, "I mean it, its the same for me too. She just wants you around more, Pete. She’s put up with your ass for so long now. Have you apologized for what happened?"

 "No," he grimaced, "I haven't. I don't know what to say. I mean, I basically told her we should break up. I didn't mean it."

"Of course you didn't," he snored in amusement, "you're disgustingly in love."

Peter smiled at that; it was true after all. You were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life, he wanted everything with you, "I just don't know what to say. Or even if she'd want to listen. Maybe she's done with me."

"You're so stupid," Miles scoffed as Peter couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped him, "she's not breaking up with you. She's just waiting for you to get your head out of your ass."

"Yeah?" Peter wanted to believe Miles was right, desperately so, because he couldn't imagine a life without you. That was not a life he wanted in any way.

"Parker," the younger spider stood back up and pulled the mask over his face, "get up and let's move. You're getting too pathetic for me."

"Yeah, yeah," he watched as Miles jumped off the roof, moving to follow suit. His body was more tired and stiff today; it was like everything you had lovingly pointed out was slowly coming to light. Peter sighed softly at the thought before concealing his identity again. 

He followed after Miles, a million thoughts swirling in his mind. At the end of it all, they all came back to you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"You've been moping around for days now," MJ wasn't wrong. You'd shown up at her apartment in the late night hours after your fight with Peter and she'd welcomed you without hesitation. Although only small details of what happened had come to light, Mary Jane Watson was a smart woman and had more or less put the pieces together, "are you either going to tell me the whole story or just continue being sad?"

"Shut up," you groaned playfully, throwing the big couch blanket over your face, "its nothing."

"I know you, and Pete, and you're both terrible liars," MJ pulled the blanket away, a knowing little look on her face. You pulled your knees up to your chest and rested your chin on top of them before letting out a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh, “c’mon. What’s wrong?”

“Pete and I had a fight and it got a little heated,” you confessed, “he came home hurt and I was upset and it just…turned out all wrong. I told him that I hated seeing him hurt and that I thought maybe he should consider slowing down his…duties a little bit. He didn’t take it well.”

“I’m sure it was just the moment,” she always had this calming aura around her and you already felt a tiny bit better, “it’s not like Pete to argue or…be mean.”

“I know,” you could count the number of times the two of you had what you would consider an actual argument on one hand, “I think it just went a little far and I’d thought it was best to give him some distance. He…umm, and I know he didn’t mean it but he said that if I wasn’t okay with him being Spider-Man then maybe we should break up.”

“He actually said that?” her brow furrowed as you nodded meekly, “that’s not like him…but you know he didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” you sure hoped it was true anyway, “it’s just because I care about him, you know? We’ve talked about maybe starting to grow our family and I just wonder how he’s going to handle everything he normally does on top of having a baby. Plus, I hate seeing him get hurt and so exhausted all the time. I don’t want to take anything away from him, I just want him. I want him home and safe and cared for. And I hate the idea that he thinks I’d ever want him to stop being Spider-Man.”

“If he has any sense he’ll know that,” the redhead promised, “it might just take a minute for him to catch up. He is a man after all.”

At that you laughed, a full and true laugh that you hadn’t experienced in what felt like ever. You’d give Peter his space, but you hoped that at the end of the day he would come home to you, or rather, you would go home to him. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You almost jumped out of your seat at the kitchen table when you heard the loud and heavy knocking at the door. Scrambling out of the chair you darted to the door and peeked into the hallway to see who was at the door. To your surprise, you found a very anxious Peter Parker standing there. Your heart skipped a few beats as you hesitated on whether or not to open the door.

“I know you’re there,” he said softly, “I can hear your heartbeat.”

"What are you doing here, Peter?" You kept the mostly shut, leaving just enough room for you to poke your head out. It had been almost a week since you'd seen him and he didn't look much better than when you'd left. Your expression softened, any residual anger melting away. You could never stay mad at him.

"I wanted to talk to you," he almost choked on his words as he allowed himself to steal a peek at you, "and I want you to come home."

Home. The house that was one May Parker's was now his - yours. Together you had taken the good old memories and made even more of your own. You loved it there, and you loved it even more with Peter. 

“I think we should talk before we make any decisions,” part of you wanted to jump into his arms and squeeze the life out of him and kiss him and everything, but you didn’t. Instead you opened the door a little wider and motioned for him to come inside; MJ was out but you figured she wouldn’t care.

“I love you,” he blurted out before he even stepped inside, his cheeks turning a subtle shade of pink. Your mouth opened in surprise but you couldn’t deny the fact that it warmed your heart. There were still bits and pieces of the boy you’d fallen in love with so many times under there. 

“I love you too, Pete,” you motioned for him to follow you as you walked into the living room, taking a seat on the couch across from him. He sat down slowly, hesitantly, trying to get a read on you. But you had your best poker face on and weren’t showing your cards in the slightest, “you know that no matter what, I’ll always love you.”

His shoulders shagged with relief at your revelation; not that he had really doubted that but sometimes reassurance was needed. He nervously played with his hands, trying to gather his words; he had so much to say but wasn’t sure if he could manage to get it all out. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and you reached over to give his hands a small squeeze. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered, “just talk to me.”

“I’m sorry for how I acted that night,” he whispered, “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I didn’t mean it when I said I thought that maybe we should break up. I don’t want to break up - I want you.”

“I hope you know that I never want anything but the very best for you,” he closed his eyes and nodded gently. Of course he knew that, you’d never given any reason to doubt that, “I never wanted to upset you, Pete.”

“I know,” he swallowed, a thick lump welling up in his throat, “I’ve always known that. It’s just that…I don’t know if I can just slow down and leave Spider-Man behind.”

“Peter,” you moved closer to him, your voice so soft and gentle that it almost made him cry, “slowing down doesn’t mean you’re leaving Spider-Man behind. You’re always going to be Spider-Man, nothing is going to change that. But it’s okay to let go a little and trust that Miles will be there for the city. And maybe some else in the future, maybe a whole gang of spiders. But you’ve been doing this for a long time, Peter. You deserve to rest too, you know.”

He looked up at you, teary-eyed and you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him, hugging onto him tightly; had the hug been reversed he would have probably crushed you but you wanted him to know how much you loved him, “I’m sorry.”

He melted into your arms, nuzzling his face into your neck, his breathing growing ragged. You rubbed his back soothingly, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear. His tears soaked into the cotton of your shirt but it didn’t matter at all to you -  all you wanted was for him to know he was loved and safe. 

After a while of holding him you pulled yourself out of his tight grasp and took his face in your hands, brushing away the drying tears on his face, “hey, it’s alright. I’ve got you. I’m not forcing you to do anything, I’m just giving you my opinion of what I’m seeing. Ultimately, it’s up to you, Pete. But you have to take care of yourself too. Will you at least try that? If not for you, I’ll be selfish and ask you to do it for me.”

“I will,” he turned his face so he could place a kiss into the palm of your hand, “I do want to marry you a-and start our family. Like we’ve always talked about.”

The way your eyes lit up was enough to indicate to him that whatever decisions he made or steps he took to make that future a reality would be worth it. You were worth it. You leaned in and kissed him tenderly, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” he promised, “I think you’re right about what you said and I think deep down I’ve known it too. It’s just so hard to admit it in a way.”

“It’s not saying goodbye,” you reminded him, “it’s just slowing down a little bit and taking moments for yourself.”

“I’ll work on it,” he decided it was a vow that he was going to keep it, “but if I’m ever an idiot, just remind me that I’m an idiot.”

“I have no problem with that,” you grinned excitedly, “my sweet Spider.”

“And I’m sorry,” he ran his hands up and down your sides, squeezing them gently, “really. For the things I said and how I acted. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that at you.”

“Apology accepted,” you took his hands in yours and held them tightly in turn, “thank you.”

“Will you come home?” he was nervous to ask but all he wanted was for you to be back home with him; it felt so strange and foreign without, “I-I understand if you don’t want right now but-”

“Of course,” you cut him off with a finger to his lips, “I want to come home. Plus, I think MJ will be glad to get rid of me moping around all the time. I missed you a lot, Pete.”

“I missed you so much,” he crushed you to his chest, causing you to laugh softly, “I can’t wait to have you back. I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“Me too, Pete,” you burrowed yourself into his warm body as much as you could. You were already home. Peter would always be your home, “I love you, Spidey. My Spidey."

That made him beam brighter than the sun, “I love you too, honey.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker #andrew!peter x reader #andrew!peter #andrew!peter x you #andrew garfield

[styleswithaseaview]

tasm! Peter just kissing reader any chance he gets, like she comes home with groceries? kiss. she wakes up next to him? kiss. its like Peter has an addiction haha

here you go! i love writing for peter so send more. this is kind of short but cute i think | fem!reader, 0.6k words

It’s hard to tell whether it’s still too early to be up or stretching into the late morning. Your eyes are bleary with sleep, and open gradually; the light streaming in from your apartment windows, though soft and warm, feels blinding.

As soon as your eyes open you see Peter, lying opposite to you. He’s staring at you, intensely focusing on your face, and his arm, you now notice, is tucked under your side. If it was anyone else you’d be worried about hurting them, but it would be very hard for you to hurt Peter. You’re well aware that he’s not invincible - have patched up too many scratches and wounds to be that delusional - but being Spiderman has its perks. 

“Hi,” you say quietly, clearing your throat.

“Was waiting for you to wake up so I could kiss you.” Peter’s voice is thick with morning. Gravelly. Deep. It’s very attractive, but you don’t tell him that. You just smile at his tenderness and try to squeeze closer, bury your head in his chest. He doesn’t let you, reaching his free arm to gently push your chin up with his fingers. He forces you into eye contact, locking his honey-brown gaze on you before he lets it drop down to your lips. You nod just barely in silent permission, and he leans in to give you a warm, sweet kiss. It’s a while before you break away, but Peter’s not done; he peppers the entire area around and on your mouth with tiny little kisses, showering you with affection. You preen at the praise and don’t try to push him away, waiting until he stops. When he does, he’s the one to bury his head into your chest, nuzzling into you. 

“We need to get up, Pete. Have to go get groceries,” you say into his hair, and he groans in response. 

“Don’t want to…” he trails off, but rolls over onto the other side of the bed to put on his glasses. 

“You can stay here if you want. We only need a few things, I don’t mind going on my own.” He hums in response.

“I should probably go for a run or something. Need to get out of the house,” he says, running his hands through his hair and getting up to put clothes on. You do the same, and soon you’re both about to leave the house. “Kiss before you go?” he pleads, and you can’t help but oblige. He leans in to kiss you, a small peck but full of love nonetheless. 

You go off on your respective errands. Yours is a quick walk to the grocery store (where you spend more time than expected, courtesy of shopping on an empty stomach). Peter goes for a run, just a brief one to burn some morning energy. He comes back before you do, hopping in the shower. He gets out right as you arrive home. 

“I’m home, Pete! Sorry, got distracted. They had a sale on your favorite bagels, so I had to get some, then I figured you needed more-”

You’re cut off by Peter appearing into the entryway and immediately pressing a kiss to your lips. You’re startled but reciprocate, pulling away only to rest your forehead against his. He’s only halfway dressed, and you still have a bagful of groceries in your hand.

“Sorry. Can’t help it,” Peter says into your lips, nuzzling your nose with his.  “You’re- you’re fine,” you reply. Truth is, he’s more than fine. You willingly sustain his constant desire, addiction, to kiss you. Little does he know, it’s the best part of your day.

#tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #andrew garfield #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield x you

[flightlessangelwings]

Ktober 2023 Day 25- Mirror Sex

Tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader

Word count- 1.1k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), softness, voyeurism, lot of praise, aftercare, established relationship, no use of y/n

Notes- Oh this was was so fun to write!! And it's another personal favorite of the month as well so I hope y'all like it too!! And I purposefully made it a gn reader too! Prompt list made by me! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is myupdate blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on my new fics!

~

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” Peter’s voice echoed in your ear.

You sat in front of him, your legs parted as he knelt behind you, fucking into you slowly. Peter’s strong grip kept you upright, and you leaned back to feel the warmth and safety of his embrace. As your mouth dropped open from how good he felt rocking into you from this angle, your eyes fluttered shut and you lost yourself in the pleasure that was Peter’s touch.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as you reluctantly blinked your eyes open, but you gasped when you focused and noticed what he wanted you to see. You weren’t sure when he set it up, but a full length mirror sat at the end of the bed, and it framed where the two of you were perfectly. Even in the low light of the room, you saw both your figures clearly.

“That’s it,” he cooed as he thrust into you once, “Look at how beautiful you are.”

You moaned loudly and closed your eyes once more.

“Uh-uh,” Peter gently grabbed your chin and forced you to keep your line of sight on the mirror, “I want you to watch.”

“Peter…” you whined as you blinked your eyes open again. It didn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t move again until you did.

“See?” his tone was low as he kissed the side of your face, “Look how beautiful you are.”

You gasped when he thrust into you once, but harder this time. Your body almost jolted forward if it weren’t for Peter’s strong grip keeping you in place. As much as you wanted to close your eyes and enjoy the feeling of his cock inside you, you knew he would stop if you did. So, you kept them open and trained on his face as he watched you in the mirror.

“That’s it sweetheart,” Peter murmured as he rocked into you at a slow and steady pace.

Skin slapped against skin as both of you locked eyes in the mirror. From that though, you saw the fire that burned within his eyes with every thrust of his hips, and you felt the low mumble from deep in his chest against your back. You saw how his hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat and it only made him more beautiful to you. And then your eyes trailed down both your figures.

Between your legs, you could make out the distinct shape of his cock whenever he pulled out from you. And then it disappeared inside you when he thrust forward again, burying it deep inside you. The added visual made you moan louder as you clung to Peter’s arms.

He gritted his teeth as he felt you clench around him, and then Peter’s eyes followed yours. He watched for a few moments as his cock appeared and then disappeared with his thrusts. Then, he made a low, deep sound you had never heard from him ever before. And it sent a pulse of need right to your core.

“Fuck,” Peter breathed, “Look at us,” he thrust once more, “Look how you fit me so perfectly,” he thrust again, filling you to the brim.

“Yes,” you murmured as your eyes glazed over, “Peter.”

“Look how beautiful you look like this,” he caressed your chin where he still held you while his other arm stayed around your body to pin you against him, “Look how well you take my cock.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned as a chill ran up your spine from Peter’s words.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he cooed.

You dug your nails into his skin, “Peter… Yes…” you moaned, “So good, Pete… I…”

“What is it?” he trailed a line of hot, sweet kisses along your skin, “Tell me,” he said as he met your gaze in the mirror.

“You feel so good,” you whimpered, “And I love watching you fuck me like this.”

“That’s it,” he turned your chin to kiss your lips for a moment, pausing with his cock fully inside you to taste you before he turned you back to the mirror, “I want you to see what I see when I fuck you,” his tone dropped impossibly low, “I want you to fall apart and watch yourself in the mirror.”

“Oh shit,” you cried out as he suddenly picking up his pace, pounding into you with fervor, “Fuck! Peter! Yes!”

“That’s it,” he purred again as he grunted, holding back his own climax.

The look on Peter’s face when his jaw clenched made you let out the most obscene sound and you felt your body heat up and your skin tingle, “Fuck, Peter… You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Cum, sweetheart,” he groaned, “Cum for me.”

“Peter!” you screamed his name as you fought to keep your eyes open as your climax hit. You trembled in his grasp as you came hard, your mouth dropping open to let out all the sounds that Peter loved to hear.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he watched your every expression in the mirror. He saved off his own orgasm for as long as he could, but from the way you looked so delectable in the mirror, he didn’t last long.

With a low groan of his own and your name on his lips, Peter came just as hard, His movements stuttered as he lost control as came deep inside you, filling you up. He too had to fight to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a second of the show the two of you put on for yourselves. Peter savored the gasp you let out as he filled you to the brim, and both of you exhaled sharply when you watched it drip down your legs.

A shiver ran up your spine as you felt both your releases slide down your skin, but you couldn’t move. You didn’t want to anyway, content in Peter’s strong grip. For a moment, neither of you could budge, both too entranced in the other’s eyes in the mirror. You still stayed connected together, and at the same time, your eyes both fell to that connection.

“That was so hot,” you breathed in awe.

Peter grinned widely and kissed your neck, “I told you to trust me,” he murmured in your ear, his eyes ever leaving yours.

“I do trust you, Pete,” you whispered as you broke the connection to turn and kiss him deeply, tasting him once more, “And I love you.”

He smiled against you, “I love you too, sweetheart,” he kissed the tip of your nose before he pulled away, “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart.”

“You always take such good care of me, Peter,” you sighed contently before you let out a gasp as he slowly and carefully pulled out of you,

Peter shot you and apologetic look in the mirror before he gathered you in his arms again, collapsing both of you down onto the bed, “I always will, sweetheart,” he whispered, “I always will.” 

#fawktober2023 #kinktober #writers of tumblr #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter x you #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x you #andrew garfield!peter #tasm andrew garfield #andrew garfield peter parker #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #andrew garfield peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker fanfic #tasm!peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm peter imagines #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker imagine #marvel

[moonstruckme]

hi!

can i request tasm!peter meeting reader after having to do long distance?

if not thats okay! love your writing:)

have a great day<3

Thanks lovely, hope you have a great day as well!

Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 683 words

You don’t just give out copies of the key to your apartment, so when the front door opens you think you’re about to be shot. 

Breath caught in your throat, you freeze in the hallway and say the first deterrent that comes to mind. “I’ve got a gun!” 

The laughter that responds is as familiar as it is cheeky. “No, you don’t,” Peter says. 

“Jesus.” Your heart starts again, and in that split second your feet are already moving. 

Peter opens his arms as you throw yourself at him, taking your weight happily. “Nope, just me,” he quips, his harsh grip at odds with the levity of his voice. 

“Still a bad joke.” Your own voice is thick with fondness. You press your face into his neck, getting your boyfriend as close as you can. “What are you doing here?” 

“I live here.” He gives your upper back an excited squeeze. “You miss me?” 

“Not even,” you mumble into his shoulder. You go ahead and wrap your legs around his waist, and Peter chuckles, starting to walk the both of you towards your couch. “You scared the shit out of me, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe not my best plan.” He collapses downward, and you fold yourself around him more completely, getting comfortable in his lap. You think you’ll just never leave, honestly. “I thought the surprise would be more fun than scary.” 

“I could’ve met you at the airport.” 

“May would’ve killed me.” He palms the back of your neck, lips finding your hairline. “She wanted to pick me up herself, but she’s letting you have me for dinner. I have to be back by ten.” 

You let out a petulant whine. “Why does she get to decide?” 

You adore Peter’s aunt and he knows it, but when you’re having to battle her for custody of your boyfriend all that love goes right out the window. 

“I know,” Peter commiserates. “You’d think after a semester of taking care of myself in another country, I’d be allowed to stay out until at least eleven.” 

You hum, vacating your spot in the juncture of his neck in favor of seeing his face. You pet down the cowlick at the crown of his head, and Peter catches your hand, kissing your palm. A warm thrumming starts up in your chest. It’s similar to the sensation you’d gotten during your evening calls while Peter was abroad (well, your evening, his late night), but more. Better. You’ve missed feeling it like this. 

“How was Hertfordshire?” you ask. 

Peter gives you a look like you’re being silly. “I told you already.” 

“It’s different in person.” 

He smiles, thinking. “Small. Grassy. Cute, but not much to swing off of.” There’d been no vigilante work while Peter did his research abroad. He talked like it was a welcome break, but you could tell he missed it. Something changes in his look, eyes going soft and flirty. “No pretty girls.” 

You bite back a smile. “Let’s not do the women of Hertfordshire a disservice,” you chide.

“Fine.” Peter rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “None of my pretty girl.” 

He lifts his chin and you oblige him, touching your lips to his. It’s a kiss months in the making, and it heats quicker than either of you are expecting. Your heart thunders and throbs to the point of aching. You shuffle closer in Peter’s lap and his hand presses into the small of your back, both of your breathing turning harsh and desperate. 

“Missed you,” he says into your mouth. 

“I missed you more.” 

“Wanna bet?” Peter lifts you off the couch, and his casual strength shouldn’t surprise you anymore but it does. You laugh, again wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Shouldn’t we start to think about dinner?” you ask as he carries you towards your bedroom. 

He hums, reluctant. “What time is it?” 

You look to the side to check the clock on your microwave, and he kisses your cheekbone while you do. “Almost seven.” 

Peter hums against your skin, pressing another kiss to the side of your nose. “We’ve got time.”

#tasm!peter parker #tasm!spiderman #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x fem!reader #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x self insert #tasm!peter parker fanfic #tasm!peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker blurb #tasm!peter parker scenario #tasm!peter parker drabble #tasm!peter parker one shot #tasm!peter parker oneshot #the amazing spiderman fanfiction #the amazing spiderman #tasm peter parker #tasm spiderman #the amazing spiderman fandom #the amazing spiderman x reader

[beyondspaceandstars]

"You deserve all the flowers."

Relationship: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader Drabble Summary: Peter brings you flowers every night and you're just not sure why. Word Count: 740 A/N: what?? what??? a new drabble - a FRESHLY written drabble? i got so excited last night when I finally had the motivation/inspiration to write. this is over on the word count for my usual drabbles but it's under 1k so i think it still counts lmao i hope you enjoy!!

Masterlist

You swore one of these days Peter was going to turn your apartment into a full-blown greenhouse. You didn’t know how it started or why he always showed up with flowers but your kitchen was crowded with vases and it was slowly spilling over into your living room.

And now here Peter, still in his Spider-Man suit, was once again entering your apartment through your fire escape window while gripping another bouquet. He brought you daisies this time. They were very fragrant; their scent filled your bedroom immediately.

"Hi, sweetheart," Peter muttered after he pulled off his mask. "I picked these up for you tonight. I hope they’re okay, I don’t think I’ve gotten you daisies in a while."

You couldn’t help but smile as you took the fresh flowers from him. "Thank you, Peter. They’re lovely," you replied. He had most certainly just gotten you daisies last week but you weren’t going to mention it. That bunch was in your kitchen, blooming and bright.

Peter planted a kiss on your cheek before shuffling aside your open textbooks and flopping on his unofficial official side of your bed. You were just finishing up studying for your college midterms when he came in.

You took in Peter’s exhausted form. He didn’t look too beat up, just a bit tired, which put you at ease. You weren’t a stranger to this situation. Peter would come to your apartment following his patrol, flowers in hand, ready to talk about nothing and everything before you both inevitably drifted off to sleep. But you’d never go to bed before the flowers were taken care of. Even though Peter brought you a plethora of them—so much so you were having to seriously get creative with the vases—each one melted your heart. Each one was special and deserved proper attention.

You cared for them because he cared enough to get them. But you never quite understood why it was so consistent. Did other girls want this many flowers?

"What were you working on?" Peter asked as he flipped through one of your textbooks. You watched his eyes skim the page.

"Philosophy," you answered, but it wasn’t like you had to. "I have a midterm coming up."

"Oh, yeah, we’re at that time of the year," he sighed. "Do you want me to quiz you on anything tonight?"

You shook your head and gently pulled the book from his hands. You closed the cover and shut your notebooks all while still coddling the bouquet of daisies. "Peter, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he responded, his voice very level. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, of course," you assured him, "I just wanted to ask about the flowers."

He frowned. "The flowers?"

You nodded as you fiddled with the stems of the daisies. "They’re really beautiful and so thoughtful of you, it’s just…"

"What?" Peter gulped. "Do you not like them?"

"No," you insisted, "no, that’s not it at all. I love them so much. But I’m just curious… Why? Why do you bring me flowers every night?"

Your sweet boyfriend let out a sigh of relief at your question. "That’s what that big build-up was for?" He teased.

Your cheeks grew warm. "My apartment is drowning in flowers, Peter."

"There’s still room," he said with a shrug. "But to answer your question I… I guess it gives me something to focus on, a goal to have at the end of the night. It’s not always crazy out there but there’s been some things that have gotten to me and it’s just part of what keeps me going. I gotta protect the great people of this city and I gotta bring you flowers." Peter sighed. "I love you so much, sweetheart, and you deserve all the flowers."

An ache stabbed its way through your chest. Your grip on the flowers tightened as a tear threatened to spill out. Your reaction felt a little dramatic but your boyfriend’s words were just what you needed to hear.

"Oh, honey…" You nearly cried as you leaned over to place a kiss on his lips. He was also almost crying but still happily reciprocated the affection.

Peter sniffled. "I’m sorry I’ve been drowning you in flowers."

You shook your head and let out a breathy laugh. "I don’t mind anymore. Please drown me in flowers forever, babe."

"Forever," Peter repeated with a smile. "Absolutely. Forever. I can do forever."

#peter parker x you #peter parker one shot #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm peter x you #spiderman x reader #spiderman one shot #spider man x reader #spider man x you #spider man x y/n #marvel one shot #peter parker drabble #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic #writing*

[spiderfunkz]

✧.* NEWSPAPER WRAPPED FLOWERS.

— summary : peter gifts you flowers.

— word count : 0,4k

— warnings : fluff, fem!reader, super cheesy stuff, dumb jokes, a kiss on the cheek, not proofread.

a/n : peter would be the sweetest bf ever!!

the new york nights were loud. so loud and noisy, yet the only thing you can hear at the moment is peter laughing. as if everything else just went silent.

"so like, what's the weirdest valentines gift you ever gotten?" he asked.

peter was explaining that he got a sock with pickles and hearts on it once for valentines day a few years ago.

first dates usually felt awkward. conversations seemed forced and dry, the air felt thick, and one wrong move can spill whatever drink you bought on your date's new white shirt.

but peter made it feel so, easy. maybe it's his cheesy friendly smile, or his chocolate-scented cologne that made you feel so comfortable with him, or maybe it's the fact that you've liked him since middle school.

"the weirdest valentines gift i've ever gotten?" you repeated the question, "yeah." he nodded.

"i've never really gotten a valentines gift, i mean does a note from my mom count?" you say, sipping your milkshake.

"you've never gotten a valentines gift before?" peter gasps, you can't tell if he's seriously shocked or not. "no?" — "not even flowers?" he asks. "no, is it really that big of a deal?" you question. "uh, yes!" he nodded.

"i just can't believe no one has given a pretty girl like you flowers." he says in disbelief.

"what's this?" you ask.

after you mentioned that you've never received flowers before, it has been peter's mission to gift you flowers.

"flowers." peter smiled awkwardly. "you told me no one has ever given you flowers before."

you take the flowers, "you didn't even take the price tag off."

"i wanted to emphasize the massive amount of money i'd spend for you. also, you didn't even thank me yet." peter stood.

"peter it's 25 dollars! that's way too much." you point out, the bouquet was beyond beautiful though. "i'd spend 25 dollars for you any day." he replies.

you smile at him, admiring the bouquet of flowers, your first ever bouquet of flowers. "why is there a bite on one of the leaves?" you question the cartoon-y bite.

"uh, i may or may not have eaten one of the leaves." he rocks back and fourth, hands in his pockets.

"why?"

"because i needed to know if it was real or not."

"so you ate it?"

"i took a little bite."

you stare at him, how can midtown sciences number two be this, unbelievable.

"did it taste real?"

"yeah, i mean it tasted like.. a leaf."

"you're unbelievable." you shook your head.

"i can already tell you're falling in love with me even more now." he makes that cheesy smile again.

"maybe." you give him a kiss on the cheek.

#peter parker #peter parker imagines #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader fluff #peter parker x reader #tasm #tasm imagines #tasm imagine #tasm fluff #tasm x reader #tasm x you #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x you #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker imagines #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter fluff #the amazing spiderman #the amazing spiderman fluff #spiderman

[bruisedboys]

peter parker who always lets you hang off his arm. you’re always holding it to your chest when walking or just standing. letting him do the guiding because you just want to stick to his side. you wrap both your arms around his and just fiddle with his fingers and maybe tug on them when you need his attention. you rest your chin on his shoulder when he’s stopped to talk to someone or when you’ve both sat down. you just have to be near him tbh <3333 and he doesn’t care one bit, he actually hates it when you’re not as close.

aerial why would you do this to me!!! I want to be his clingy gf so bad. also this is really short sorry </3

Peter sometimes finds it hard to breathe when you cling to him like this. You��re so close and your warmth is seeping into him and your perfume smells like honey and flowers and hell, he’s so in love with you he could die.

One of your hands is slotted in his, your fingers having searched for his and found them the moment you’d stepped outside. Your other hand is curled around his elbow, clutching his arm to your chest. Peter thinks it’s cute, how close you want to be to him. How you don’t seem to want to let him go.

“Y/N, honey,” he says with a poorly contained grin. “You okay?”

You look up at him, pretty as ever. Peter’s chest burns at the sight of you.

“Fine,” you say, and you look it. Your smile is bruising.

The breeze has blown a strand of hair across your face. Peter lifts his free arm and pushes the stray lock behind your ear, his hand lingering on your jaw.

“Did you decide what you feel like eating?” He asks slowly. It’s hard to get the words out when his fondness and adoration for you is making his chest tight.

You don’t notice, and besides, you look like you’re feeling an equal amount of fondness for him. “I was thinking Thai,” you say thoughtfully. “But only if you want that too?”

Peter grins. He doesn’t care what he eats, as long as it’s with you. He presses his thumb to the corner of your mouth, then leans down to press a chaste kiss to your wind-bitten lips. “Thai it is.”

Peter and you walk the short distance to the Thai restaurant. You cling to Peter the entire way. He can’t stop smiling. He wants you this close forever, even if it means you’re so close he has to be extra careful not to step on your feet.

The Thai place is busy tonight. Neither of you mind. You stand in line, so close your shoes press up against each other. You fiddle with Peter’s fingers, trace the lines on his palm, the veins on the inside of his wrist. Peter is putty in your hands. His chest feels like it’s on fire, worse when you press into his side and let your head fall against his shoulder, your weight familiar and soft and warm all at once.

By the time the food comes out, hot and fresh and smelling delicious, Peter’s chest is already so full with fondness for you he’s not sure he can fit anything else in there. He tries his best.

#ღ bugboy #★ mal writes! #𖦹 aerial! #✉️ #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker headcanon #peter parker drabble #peter parker blurb #peter parker headcanons #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter fluff #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter fic #tasm!peter imagine

[madwcman]

saw the post abt requests!! maybe insecure fem!reader and peter just being the best bf in the entire world? no pressure tho!!!!

a/n: sorry this is so late but, thank you for requesting. i hope you enjoy!! don’t be shy and send me a request!

pairing: tasm! peter x reader

you’ve never had a boyfriend before dating peter. and you don’t know how to really act with peter. you two have just started dating so everything is fairly new to you. including kissing. and you’re a little nervous about it. you think you’ve been pretty good at hiding and dodging kissing. key words: you think. peter has definitely noticed. he’s not going to push you into kissing him. but, he is curious why you don’t want to kiss him.

“sweetheart, can i ask you a question?” you turn from the movie you and peter were watching. “yeah, what's up?”

“why won’t you let me kiss you?” peter asks, looking at you curiously. you turn back to the tv. you weren’t expecting peter to ask. you were sure he would ask some day, just not today. “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” peter speaks softly, wrapping his arm around you, bringing you closer to him. you sigh out. you have to tell him.

“promise you won’t laugh?” you look at your boyfriend nervously. peter grins at you, bringing up his pinkie finger. “i promise, i won’t.” you and peters pinkie fingers lock together.

“i’ve never kissed anyone.” you tell him. you wait for him to laugh at you. he never does. “really?” he looks at you confused. and he is how a pretty girl like you, never experienced their first kiss yet.

“yes, it’s embarrassing, i know.” you laugh at yourself, to defuse the embarrassment you’re feeling right now. “it’s not embarrassing, i’m just confused.” you raise your eyebrows up at peter, you’re now feeling confused about his confusion. “why are you confused?”

“why has no one has kissed you yet.” he states simply moving closer to you. then you see something click in peters head, a mischievous smile appears on your boyfriend’s pretty face. “does that mean i’m going to be the first?” he asks confidently, with a smug face, while you smile clearly flustered. “yes.” you admit to your boyfriend. peter smiles and places his hands on your face. “can i kiss you?” he smiles, confident. you let out a small “yes” and he does.

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[astxroiid]

manhattan longing // tasm!peter parker

❥ tender hands, late nights, secrets, falling from great heights.

wc: 1.1k

navigation ✩ new york private life (I) ✩ empire state of mind (II)

Peter Parker never thought a wall looked so good to punch. Sitting backwards on your toilet while you shakily stitch up a gash on his back does that to a man.

The adrenaline from the fall wore off and Peter realized he probably didn't just land on the concrete of the sidewalk.

Plus, the glass you ungraciously pulled from his wound answered any doubt.

Speaking of ungracious, the needle in his back was definitely not forming and sort of straight lines.

Peter clutches the toilet lid like a vice. Knuckles turning white and head feeling light from how long he's been holding his breath.

"Okay, this should be the last one," the tone in your voice makes him feel awful for the pain he's feeling. He can here the sadness in your voice, how bad you feel for hurting him.

You push through his skin, pulling the stitch tight and cutting the string. Peter intakes a breath, attempting to dig his nails into the porcelain he's wrapped himself around.

You set the needle on the counter, both peter and you letting out a long awaited breath. His shoulders slump. You slowly reach up, running a thumb over healed scars, all white and jagged.

"Do you fall on glass often?" Your tone is soft and close to a whisper.

Peter turns his head to the side, looking at you over his shoulder. "No, I...." he pauses, attempting to think of a good excuse. Though, you don't know that. "I used to, uhm, box. Yeah. It was intense."

"Oh," you frown slightly, tilting ur head.

You back up, allowing Peter to stand. He turns to face you, revealing a forgotten scar on his chest.

It's long. It spans from his collar bone diagonally to the bottom of his rib cage and it's almost an inch wide.

"Peter," you whisper. "There's no way you got that boxing."

Peter quickly grabs his shirt off the counter, pulling it over his head. "That one's not, I don't really wanna talk about it."

Shame. Shame and embarrassment crash over you like a cold wave. Why the fuck did i mention it?!

You look down at your hands, digging your nails into the sides of each other. "Sorry, I didn't mean to over step."

"No, nonono, don't be sorry. It's okay," Peter smiles at you and, in one spontaneous moment, he's brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

His heart is pounding in his chest. Fear of pushing a boundary crawling up his body.

Your cheeks are warm and before you know it, your hand is holding his against your face, thumb rubbing his knuckles.

"You're so sweet, Peter Parker."

Fucking kiss her!

You let your fingers trail along his arm, trying to give him a hint he can pick up on.

Fucking kiss me!

It's the perfect time too. God her smile. And her hands, they're so soft, and gentle. Loving in a way he never knew he needed.

"Thank you for fixin' me up," Peter gives a lopsided smile, pulling his hand back to his side.

A cold absence takes hold of where his hand once was.

"Of course," you give a flat smile. "You saved my life. It's the least I can do."

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

You offer Peter to stay the night, again saying it's the least you can do in repayment of his heroic act.

You both end up on the couch, curled up watching tv. Again, seeing a couple embrace and feeling the same longing from the other day.

You move to lay your head on Peter's shoulder, letting his arm wrap around you, and sighing into him. Comfort overtakes your body as you sink further into him, slowly running your hand up and down his forearm.

His heart is pounding in his chest. Nerves shaking his hands and his thoughts. "y/n?"

This is it. I'm finally gonna kiss her.

"Yes?"

And with the sweet, sleepy tone of your voice he feels all his confidence start to fizzle. His brain short-circuits trying to come up with a cover up.

"D'you wanna go to bed?"

"Yeah," you yawn, pushing further into him.

Pete leads you from the living room to your bedroom, making sure to turn all the lights off along the way. He pauses once you reach the bedroom, not sure where to go.

You turn and walk up to him, grinning. You place a hand on his chest, feeling his pulse increase.

Peter has no idea what to do. His heart is in his throat, hands tingling.

You let your hand slide up his torso and to the back of his neck, getting as close as you can to him. Peter gulps, looking from your eyes to your lips then back again.

Time seems to stand still, neither of you breathing nor looking away from each other. You tangle your fingers into the brown curls and the nape of Pete's neck, twirling them.

Finally, you pull Peter down to you fully. You kiss him the intensity of the sun. He immediately reciprocates. Your bodies instantly meld into one. Finding their way to the bed and laying you down on your back.

Peter Parker is hovering above you, smiling like an idiot. The same Peter Parker that you loved way back in ninth grade. You were both fourteen, both idiots. The Peter above you now is the same one that fell off the jungle gym in gym class in second grade and blamed you for distracting him.

All the memories swell in your mind, bubbling into one thought you can't help from leaving your lips.

"I have loved you for a long time, Peter Parker."

Peter's eyes go wide, head tilting towards you. "You, what?"

"Have loved you for a long time. since ninth grade to be exact," you state seriously.

You've said it twice and yet, he still can't process it. You notice and try to help him out. You push him over on his side, moving yourself the same way.

"When we were both fourteen, we went on a school field trip to the Empire State Building. We all got to go to the top, but i was afraid of heights. So, you held my hand and told me-"

"If you fall, I'll fall with you," both of you repeat together. And in a crazy twist of fate, you both did fall together.

"I've loved you ever since then."

Peter grabs you by the back of your head, pulling you in for another kiss. Souls connecting into one like two water drops.

He can't believe it. You. You've loved him from the same moment he loved you, and after all this time, you made it back to each other. Falling harder than ever.

remember: likes are appreciated but comments and reblogs are the desire. Remember they do more for authors and tumblrs than a like ever could.

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[thyme-in-a-bubble]

Hi! I just found out about your blog (aka the best decision ever) and I literally fell in love. So my ask is (whenever you're taking requests btw) a peter parker x reader where the reader's doing the simplest of things and peters just, heart eyes. Thanks a bunch sweets <3333 xoxo

a/n: this is super short, but exactly what i needed to write on a terrible horrible stressful day

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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“Alright, spidey-boy,” curled up in the crook of the sofa, you opened up the food delivery app on your phone, “what do you want for lunch? What do you want?” you repeated with rhythmic goofiness. Eyes ever glued to the screen before your nose and not the man lounging at the other end of the couch, you rocked gently as you scrolled through the options, “what do you want, my baby Peter? Oh!” your eyes then went wide in a slightly childlike manner at the idea your wordplay had suddenly conjured, “Peter, pita! What about that, huh? A little falafel action?” you finally glanced up to catch his eye, fishing for an answer, but not finding the one you sought. Like warm afternoon sun streaming through the windows, a soft and adoring smile crinkled up Peter’s eyes as he simply stared at you, “what?”

“Nothing,” his head shook gently from side to side as his loving gaze continued to pierce your soul, “falafel sounds great.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

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