#tasm fanfic

[mayfieldss]

Lessons in chemistry - Peter Parker

Synopsis: Your best friend Peter tries to teach you how to skateboard, but distractions occur.

AN: it's one in the morning, and I gave in to the delusions. They have taken me in as one of their own, and they said they would let me go if i posted this.

"You gotta trust me, okay?" Peter's got one foot on the skateboard, holding it steady as you stand a fair distance away, hesitant and unsure why you agreed to this particular day.

Peter had offered to teach you to skateboard, and while the offer seemed perfectly reasonable and fun at the time, being here now was an entirely different story. You were beyond clumsy and hopeless when it came to learning new things. Peter knew this, yet he seemed so certain you could do this one activity.

"I don't think this is a good idea, Peter." You're squinting as the sun beats down at you, and the concrete you stand on currently seems far too menacing to learn to skate on. Peter had originally offered to start you out on grass, but to do that you would have had to go somewhere more public to find some, being in new york and all, and you weren't fond of embarrassing yourself in front of more than just Peter.

"Just c'mere." Peter is waving you over to him, and the gentle smile on his lips is enough to bribe you closer.

"Okay, now give me your hands."

You do as you're told, and he gives your hands an encouraging squeeze.

"I'm holding the board steady. It shouldn't go anywhere when you get on, okay?" He's trying to make you feel better, but the anxiety within you picks apart his words.

"It shouldn't, but it might." You mumble, eyes down on the board, glaring harshly at its existence.

"Can you just trust me madame pessimism?" There's a humorous sigh that falls from him as you get up the courage to step on the board, and when you do, it seems okay.

"See? There you go. The first step is done." Peter squeezes your hand again, and you wobble a little on the board despite Peter keeping it from rolling away.

"Well, this was fun. Time to go home now." It comes off as a joke, but you're more than serious as Peter shakes his head.

"Give it a chance."

You look up at him, and you're oddly close. With your hands in his, it's almost as though you're about to dance under the old overpass at which you stand. "Okay, Parker, I trust you." You mean it, but that doesn't mean you're at all comfortable with what you're about to do. Part of you wishes you'd stayed home, while the other is glad to be here with Peter.

"I'm gonna take my foot away from the board now, okay? It's gonna roll a little, but I got you so don't worry."

"I'm worrying Peter."

He laughs. A beautiful laugh and a wonderful smile accompanying it before he begins the fated count down. "On three, one, two–" he lets the board free, and you don't move much, being on flat ground and all, but still the slight adjustment freaks you out just a little. Again, you sway on the board, and Peter holds you steady.

"I hate this so much." You whine, unable to contain the true depth of your feelings. The situation is so far out of your comfort zone that it feels as though your skin is crawling with you inside it.

"Well, it's not like I can tell or anything. I mean, you look like you're having a great time. You know, with the tense shoulders and genuine panic in your eyes, I would have assumed you were having fun or something." his sarcasm does little to ease you, but it's so truly Peter. So authentic to his person that you can almost imagine yourself standing on flat ground beside him, rather than supported by the wheels of his old and flimsy skateboard.

"Let's just get this over with." You try for a smile, but it's hard to do, every muscle in your body preoccupied with trying to stay as still as possible.

"We're gonna try and move now, just a little."

"Fuck."

"Yeah," Peter laughs "fuck."

And just like that, you're rolling along, heart beating quickly as Peter sends encouragements. You're stable for a few moments before you get into your head and feel yourself tilting backward. Letting go of his hands, you rush to grasp Peter's shoulders, his hands falling to your waist as he pulls you toward him and off the board.

"Woah, okay, that was a good first attempt."

You're gripping him tight, too tight, as the board rolls away from you both. Peter will go get it later, but for now he's with you.

"I almost died." You mutter, a death grip on Peter's jacket.

"You were fine." Peter chuckles, pulling you in for a hug. You accept it, despite the fact you're slightly upset with him for making you do this. And when you pull back, squinting up at him you lose all the stress from before.

Peter loses himself entirely, thinking things nowhere near the topic of skateboarding and closer to the topic of kissing.

"You did great... really great." Peter insists one hand running down your back as he tries to stop the thoughts racing through his head. He'd always liked you, as more than a friend. He'd always wanted to wake up beside you, hold your hand, take you to prom. He'd always wanted you.

He clears his throat, and you look away from him, almost disappointed.

"You want to try again?" He asks, trying to get back on track. You shake your head and look back to him, and in your eyes, he sees something different. A sort of confidence.

"What do I get if I do?" You're teasing him. He thinks you are, at least, but the mischief you're offering is tempting.

"What do you want?"

"A dinner date, somewhere where there's pasta." You answer, so sure of yourself, and Peter's brain freezes up.

"A date as in a date or...?" He sounds so stupid like this, and he realizes just how close he still is to you. Where his hands are placed softly on your hips and where your fingers hold fast to his shoulders.

"Whatever you want it to be, Peter. Now, if we have a deal, I would like to try again." You look to the direction the skateboard had gone and see it paused a small distance away, but you don't get to retrieve it. Before you can, Peter's hand comes up to your face, fingers placed gently on your jaw to turn your gaze back his way.

It's not what you expect from him, and in honesty, it's not what Peter expects from himself either but he leans in closer, pausing just long enough for you to pull away if you want to.

"Do it." You whisper, your breath brushing over his lips, as if painting the grin that spreads onto his face.

The kiss is gentle, his nose bumping awkwardly with yours as he leans closer, closing the gap. He can feel the heat in your cheeks when he places his hands there, thumb brushing over the skin as he breathes you in. Your fingers grip his shoulders harder now, moving up toward his neck to hold him closer, and there's something about the way you move with him so perfectly that makes him think this can't possibly be real. But it is, and when he pulls back for air, he examines your features, hoping for your reaction. You speak first, before he can.

"That was weird," you say, breaking his heart a little. "But in a good way. I'd like to try it again sometime, if that's okay with you?" You mend the break easily, and soon he's grinning again, one hand finding it's way into your hair.

"It's definitely okay with me." Peter mumbles, eyes drifting back down to your lips in anticipation.

"Should I book a time with your secretary for our next appointment?" Your head tilts to the side as you watch every expression that crosses his face. He's beautiful, definitely, and his heart is yours.

"As a matter of fact, I have an hour or two free right now. I was skateboarding with this girl I really like, but I think her mind is wandering elsewhere."

You smack him hard on the arm, but before you can remark anything back, he's kissing you again, sending you into a blissful silence.

You're learning very little about skateboarding, but it seems your time is well spent anyway. Peter doesn't care how long he's here for, and he'll forget his skateboard under the overpass in favor of walking you home. He'll hold your hand the whole way there and kiss you goodbye on the doorstep before he leaves. He'll have everything he's ever wanted by the end of the day, skateboard or not, and that's more than okay with him.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @heliads @candywh0r3 @hiya-itsamber @s00buwu

MARVEL GENERAL: @5kyyyy

TASM PETER PARKER: @arignipanja574 @winter-soldier-vibes

#peter parker #tasm peter parker #tasm #tasm fanfiction #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fic #andrew garfield #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm fanfic #tasm imagine #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot #peter parker fluff #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter imagines #tasm peter x you #andrew garfield fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction

[the-kr8tor]

Reporting for duty Captain!

A tasm Peter Parker request for a shy reader who likes Peter but backs out when she wants to talk to him or- OR, (more like and) a reader with w rizz who's known Peter since forever and ever. Who has the same interest in photography as he does?? Works in a photo store??

Cook chef!

*gasp* a peter parker request?! Got you, my love 🫡 happy to oblige.

Pairing: TASM! Peter Parker x fem! Reader/ TASM! Spider-Man x fem! Reader

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mentions, Love struck Peter, Fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Peter doesn't need to ask around campus for you, he already knows where you are, a perk of knowing you since grade school. He evens his breathing when he finally reaches the worn out doors.

The bells jingle as he enters the old store, yellowed wallpaper greeting him and drab shelves lined with rolls of films, the vintage cameras make up for the boringness of the gray shelves. Ancient posters of movies lined the walls, a time capsule of the early eighties. It's silent inside, no other customer than him.

His sneakers squeak on the linoleum as he walks towards the cashier, expecting to see your smile, your hands occupied with whatever book you're currently (hating) reading. He finds it empty.

Peter's spidey senses don't tingle so he can relax knowing that you're in the back of the store. He jumps over the counter effortlessly thanks to his abilities. Knocking on the door, he hears the muffled sound of your speaker.

“Y/N?”

“In here, Pete—! Wait!!” With a creak, Peter opens the door without skipping a beat. The light from the store filters through the dark room, white covering and filtering out all the red. “No! Close it quick!”

“Oh shit!” He shuts it quickly behind him, too fast and harder than he thought, the wood almost cracks at the sheer force. Wincing, you both mirror each other's expression.

“Pete…” you sigh, closing the distance to check the door, you can't afford to lose a chunk of your paycheck for repairs. But you don't blame him, it's hard to stay mad at Peter especially when he's looking so apologetic at you, almost like a kicked puppy. “You got too excited to see me huh?”

He shuts his eyes with a smile, head falling down, chin atop his chest. He looks exasperated but he did it to hide the blush on his cheeks, hoping that if you manage to glimpse it you'd think it's from the red light.

This won't do, you thought. You missed him too much today just for him to hide his face from you. To remedy the feeling, you grasp his cheek, thumb gently placed right under his eye.

“There you are webhead,” your voice is saccharine, the ruby light bouncing off your face, illuminating your features perfectly. Peter thought he'd melt right on the spot. “Missed me?” In truth, you're the one who misses him most.

He wants to say yes without a second thought but knowing you, you're already aware of his answer. Even though you refuse to acknowledge it. Under all the teasing exterior there's shyness underneath it all, with just one flirty comment thrown your way you'd probably collapse.

Peter finally meets your smiling eyes and for a moment you're the only thing that matters.

With classes and spiderman responsibilities, hanging out with you has been scarce, he needed a fix right away, that's why he came sprinting towards the store immediately after a three hour class and after swinging across town to your favorite deli with his wind swept hair and shirt that definitely needs ironing.

“Not really.” A lie, an awful lie on his part.

“Aww,” you dramatically clutch at your chest, hand leaving his skin to his dismay. “Hear that? You just broke my heart, Parker.”

“D’you even have one?”

“Hey!” You playfully punch his shoulder. “You're the one who ruined my pictures.”

His eyes flick towards the clothesline filled with pictures that just screams ‘you.’ “I can see from here that they're not ruined.”

You click your tongue, hands on your hips, you walk back towards the table. “What are you doing here then, webhead?” Lowering the volume of your speaker, you decide to shut it off when his voice is a much better alternative.

“I feel like I should be offended by that.” Peter stands beside you, hip to hip, arm brushing along yours.

Placing his hand on the small of your back casually, he loops his thumb around your belt loop, pressing softly on your skin. He's done this a hundred times during your friendship but it never fails to wake up the butterflies in your stomach.

“I've called you that numerous times.” Holding the tongs, you carefully place the developed photo in the chemical mixture in the basin, eyes watching the picture pop up slowly.

“Stop being mean, I've come bearing gifts from the deli you like.” His voice is quiet, soft just for you.

“The one that's on the upper west side? Peter, that's really far away.”

“I don't mind, that's what web swinging is for right?”

You scrunch up your nose, Peter has the best seat in the house while he admires your expression.

“And here I thought it was for fighting crime.” You chuckle, pushing the paper further down in the basin. His deep chuckle stops abruptly at the sight in front of him.

Peter's own smiling face greets him and your charisma cracks.

“Oh” you manage to let out with your dry mouth.

You can hear him shudder a breath next to you. The picture is framed perfectly, his face centered in the middle amongst the crowd, zoomed in more like. You clearly avoided having other people in the frame, your main subject was him and him alone.

“...Good picture.” He slaps himself mentally.

“Yep, one of my best, I think.” You say quietly, too quietly. Clearing your throat, you avoid his eyes, “why don't you ready the food? Outside, please?”

Peter shakes himself awake. His skin feels like lava, there's a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Hands clammy, he nods wordlessly. He awkwardly pats your back before leaving your side.

Walking towards the exit, your back turned towards him, shoulders slouched and tensed. He turns towards you before exiting, “looks like you missed me more, sweetheart.” He's called you that millions of times, all filled with more affection than the last but this one, oh this one he added with so much love that it could stop your heart.

And you think it has.

Peter hears you squeak, a sound he hasn't heard you make since high school when he asked you to dance during the winter formal.

You whirl around, catching sight of his Parker smile, charm oozing out of him that's already gone before you could admire him in the crimson light.

He leaves, shutting the door quickly. Laying his sweaty forehead on the door, he tightly closes his eyes again, feeling like a lightning just struck him and adrenaline coursing through his veins, needing to swing off the extra energy.

Blowing hot air, he takes his clammy hands off the doorknob to take out the food he bought, grinning through it like a mad man.

Meanwhile, you clutch the table with a grip, heart threatening to jump out of your chest, heat in your cheeks as the photo of Peter smiles at you.

Laughing to yourself, you take out his picture to clip it on the clothesline next to the other pictures. You have no idea what to say to him once you leave the room, or do you just stay in the dark room forever? Either way, you're absolutely fucked.

#request done #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x fem!reader #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm imagine #tasm fanfic #tasm x reader #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker fluff #spiderman x reader #spiderman x fem! reader #cw food mention #fanfic #the kr8tor's creations

[venusianelf]

Game of Passion

Pairing: Frat/Fuckboy! TASM! Peter Parker x Fuckgirl! F! Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Being the two people on your college campus with the biggest reputations for sleeping around, it was inevitable for you two to run into each other.

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption, Weed Consumption, Swearing, Rough Sex (Spanking, Slapping, Choking, Degradation), Unprotected Sex (Use protection irl please), A couple uses of Y/N, Probably OOC! Peter, Reader and Peter are implied to be kind of assholes to their ex flings

Word Count: ~3,800

A/N: First fanfic I’ve written in a long while, and it’s smut of course lol. Might write more parts to this, not sure yet.

!!By clicking read more you are agreeing you are 18+!!

It hadn’t taken long for the rumors to spread about Peter Parker, all the girls would fawn over him and if they were lucky got to sleep with him, although never more than once. Similarly, it hadn’t taken long for rumors about you to spread. You had most of the men and women on campus wrapped around your finger. Even your best friend was desperate for more of you. You continually would laugh her suggestions off unless it made you potentially look more desirable for your new hit mark. In which case you’d kiss her dizzy and promptly drop her with a faux innocent smile as your newest hit would make their way over to you. Sure, you cared about her but you had promised yourself no feelings for anyone, even her. So you stuck to your rule of one and done.

Of course, from things you’d heard you had grown curious about Peter. Though you were more an attract than a chase kind of girlie. So sure you’d attend parties you knew he’d be at, hell even the ones out of the frat house he resided in. You’d caught a few glimpses of him before but other than a passing glance neither of you made a move. You had thought tonight would be no exception. 

You sat in your dorm room with your best friend as you both prepared for your night out at Parker’s frat house. “Come onnn Y/N, what’s it going to take for you to kiss me again?” She whined as she watched intently as you applied your makeup. You chuckled at her desperation before looking at her in the mirror. “I’ll kiss you again if the situation arises where it’s useful,” You tease as she huffs and rolls her eyes. “No fun,” She replies as she opens her phone and responds to some of her messages. “Uh-huh sure, you’ll live,” You replied returning your focus back on your makeup. Feeling satisfied with it you grabbed your setting spray and generously mist yourself before adjusting your hair to frame your face better.

“What do you think?” You asked as you turned to your best friend. She gave you a look over in your dress and whistled appreciatively. “You look delicious, wish I was the lucky hit tonight,” She replied as you laughed and rolled your eyes. “Another day maybe,” You replied with a wink at her and watched as she promptly blushed before turning back to her phone to avoid your gaze. “Seems a good enough time to head over, you ready?” She asked as she stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles of her dress from laying on your bed. “Sure am,” You replied as you grabbed your purse and phone.

As you entered the frat party you felt the hungry gazes of many partygoers on you, smiling to yourself you held your best friend's wrist in your grasp as you led her and yourself to the drinks. You gave a flirty smile to the boy pouring you two drinks as you recalled the time you had hooked up with him. He hadn’t been half bad and seemed gentlemanly but that wasn’t really your type. You thanked him for the drinks before you continued pulling your best friend outside to watch some of the partygoers play beer pong and other silly games. 

You chatted with her as you sipped your drink and surveyed the potential hits. Although as you did you felt the gaze of someone on you before turning to where you had felt it originate, locking gazes with one infamous Peter Parker. You noted his fluffy blond hair as you watched as his eyes raked over your body. You gave him an inviting smile before turning to your best friend to try to play hard to get. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he handed his drink to one of his friends and walked over to you, leaving whatever poor girl had previously been chatting with him alone. 

You looked up at him in faux surprise as he approached you. Your best friend paused her conversation to look between you to two before excusing herself as she usually did. “Y/N, right?” He asked as you nodded in reply. “Peter, right?” You mirrored as he nodded in return. “Seen you around here a few times,” He replied as you smiled and took a sip of your drink. “I do my best to get out,” You responded after a moment and he raised an eyebrow. “I think you mean get around,” He teased as you rolled your eyes. “As if you don’t do the same,” You taunted and clicked his tongue in response as he put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You got me there,” He replied as he looked you over.

“You smoke?” He asked as you raised an eyebrow. “I do,” You replied unsure of if he had meant nicotine or weed, not that it really mattered. He nodded in response. “Care to join me then?” He asked as you contemplated it for a moment. “Sure, why not,” You replied as you watched a smirk play on his lips at your response. “Follow me then,” He said as he grabbed your wrist and guided you through the party crowd upstairs. You had been upstairs before during some of your other hook-ups but it felt somehow different to be heading to Peter’s room.

He opened the door and gestured for you to head in, obliging, you entered and moved to sit on his bed. “This your usual way of getting girls into your bed?” You teased with a raised eyebrow as he scoffed at your comment. He entered after you and closed the door and locking it. “Not usually,” He replied as he rifled through his stash and began rolling a joint for you two. You noted the distinct smell of weed as you got your answer to your earlier question. “Oh? Am I special then?” You joked as he chuckled in response. “If it makes you feel better then sure,” He replied before finishing rolling the joint and taking a seat next to you on the bed. You rolled your eyes at his comment.

He offered you the joint which you happily took and placed between your lips as he held a lighter up and lit it for you. Taking a drag you breathed in it, pleasantly surprised at the higher quality of it. “Not bad,” You commented as you passed it to him. He chuckled at your response. “What? Did you expect me to smoke shit weed?” He taunted and took a hit as you shoved him slightly with your elbow. “A little, yeah,” You replied with a laugh as he gave you a playful glare. He placed a hand over his heart with mock hurt in his eyes. “Ow,” He teased as you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, gimme that back,” You replied as you went to grab the joint from him. He raised an eyebrow at that before pulling it up over your head, out of your reach. You glared at him before trying to grab it. 

As you made your move to grab it, he focused on the way you had to lean closer to him. His free hand moved to your hip as he pulled you into his lap. With his readjustment of you, you managed to grab the joint. Pulling it to your lips with a satisfied smirk. You took a hit but otherwise gave no indication of the effect being in his lap had on you. He watched as you breathed in the smoke, as you were about to blow it out he leaned forward and captured your lips. You gasped in surprise at his actions before feeling the open-mouthed kiss he placed on your lips. Realizing his intentions, you blew the smoke into his mouth as you two kissed. His hand that was not on your hip was quick to join the other. His grip squeezing your hips tightly as he kissed you hungrily. You felt your head dizzy as you grew breathless from the kiss.

When he pulled back to part from you, you both panted as his forehead rested on yours. One of his hands quickly moved to your hand that was holding the joint before grabbing it and placing it in an ashtray nearby. “Hey! I wasn’t done with that,” You huffed as he chuckled at your response. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He teased as your eyes widened slightly in surprise at his words. You quickly recovered as you swatted at his chest. “No, you’re just a jerk,” You argued as he raised an eyebrow at you. “I’m the jerk?” He questioned as you glared at him and nodded. He chuckled before running his free hand through his hair. “I’ll show what a jerk looks like princess,” He replied, and before you could fully process his words he had pushed you onto the bed with your face down and ass up. You squeaked in surprise as he manhandled you. 

You craned your head back to glare at him. “You treat all your women like objects?” You taunted before squeaking again as you felt his hand collide with your ass as he spanked you. “No, just little sluts like you,” He replied as you bit back a moan from his degrading words. His gaze was trained on your face though and his eyebrow raised as he watched you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Figures you’d like that,” He teased as his hands hiked up the bottom of your dress before rubbing circles on where he had spanked you. You shook your head to try to fight back the blush that coated your cheeks. “No- No, I don’t,” You replied trying to deny your interest in his mean words. 

He tilted his head at that, and you moaned out in surprise as you felt his fingers prod at your entrance through your panties. “No? Your body seems to say differently,” He teased before looking down at where his hands touched you. He groaned at the sight of your drenched panties as he continued teasing you with his fingers. “You’re fucking soaked,” He muttered as his gaze was transfixed on how easily you had wet his fingers through your panties. Shoving your panties to the side he swore under his breath as he saw your glistening pussy. 

His digits had you trembling under his touch as he collected some of your wetness of his fingers before moving to circle your clit. He looked up at you as he watched you face twist in pleasure as your eyes shut at his contact. “Sh- Shit! Fuck, just like that,” You moaned out as he chuckled. You opened your eyes to glare at him with that but quickly yelped when he slapped your pussy. “Don’t take an attitude with me whore,” He growled as you nodded back at him with tears pricking your eyes. “Ah! Okay okay!” You conceded as he watched you almost predatorily. You began wiggling as his hand stayed cupping your sex but not touching you more than that. His eyes glanced down at you grinding yourself into his hand before he looked up at your face again.

You whined as you felt the loss of his warmth as he pulled his hand back. “You want more? Then ask nicely,” He replied with almost a stern edge to his voice. Your eyes focused on him as you mentally fought yourself over it. You knew he wouldn’t let it go if you said please but you also didn’t want him to stop. Shutting your eyes you decided to say it regardless. “Please Peter, touch me, please,” You begged as he tsk’d at you. You opened your eyes and took in his disapproving expression as he looked at you. “You can do better than that,” He replied as you pouted at his words. “C’mon, Peter please!” You whined before you yelped as he spanked your ass once again. “Okay okay! Please, you can do whatever you want to me just please touch me!” You begged as his eyes darkened at your words.  “That’s more like it,” He groaned before moving his fingers to your slit again.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt him touch you again. His fingers made expert circles over your clit as you started trembling again as little moans and whimpers left your lips. He worked you up before his fingers moved down from your clit to your entrance as whined at the loss of contact on your clit. Although your disappointment was quickly washed away as you felt his tongue lick a stripe through your slit. Two of his fingers pressed into your entrance as he moved to suck on your clit. You moaned at the intrusion before shoving your face in his pillows to attempt to muffle yourself. 

He sucked on your clit like a man starved as his fingers pressed further and further into you. Before long he began curling them trying to find the soft spongy spot inside of you. Your hips mindlessly jumped as he found the spot. You could feel him smirk against you as he continued hitting it over and over as you felt the coil in your stomach grow tighter and tighter. Your hands bunched up the sheets beneath you as you felt yourself draw closer and closer. “M’ gonna cum,” You whimpered as you turned your head to the side to make sure you were audible. “C’mon cum on my fingers princess,” He encouraged as he pulled back slightly before sucking on your clit with renewed vigor. You bit your lip hard as you cried out and your vision blacked out as white-hot pleasure coursed through you.

You shook as he fucked through your orgasm. As you came down, your hips attempted to jump away from his touch in overstimulation which he chuckled at as he pulled back from you. He flipped you over easily so you were on your back as you looked up at him dazedly and sated. “Look at you, one orgasm and all that sass is gone,” He cooed condescendingly as you blushed and rolled your head to the side to avoid his gaze. He tsk’d in response and grabbed your jaw with his clean and pulled you to look at him again before tapping his fingers that were covered in your juices to your lips. “Open up,” He commanded before your lips fell open in silent obedience. His fingers pressed against your tongue as you sucked on them and cleaned your slick off his digits. “Atta girl,” He groaned. 

Once his fingers were clean, he pulled them out of your mouth as you whined sightly at the loss. He chuckled at that. “Don’t worry princess, we’re not done yet,” He replied. He got to work pulling your dress over your head as you leaned up slightly to help him. Once off, he threw it somewhere across the room as his gaze fixated on your tits. One of his hands moved to circle your nipple as he moved to suck your other nipple into his mouth. His tongue lapped over it as he sucked, your back arching off his mattress as you gasped. Once he was satisfied he let go with a pop before kissing slightly above your tits as he sucked a hickey onto you. 

Normally, you were against most marks anyone wanted to leave on you but his teeth and lips on you had you gasping and whining for more instead. He smirked as he pulled back to admire his work on your chest before leaning down to add more. As he did, you didn’t notice his free hand moving to unzip his jeans and push them down. He pushed his boxers down enough for his cock to spring free and began pumping it as finished littering hickeys along your chest. When he pulled back, your eyes focused on his cock. It wasn’t too long where it would hurt you but it definitely was bigger than average and a bit girthier too. You sucked in a breath as you watched him pump himself and the weeping head of his cock as his pre-cum drooled out of his slit. 

He smirked at your doe-like eyes. “Like what you see?” He teased as your gaze quickly looked up to his eyes. You nodded needily at his question as he chuckled at your enthusiasm. “Need it, please please, Peter, please!” You begged for him without prompting causing him to bite his lip to bite back a groan at your neediness. He clicked his tongue in response. “Well since you asked so nicely,” He replied as he moved to settle between your thighs. He glanced down between you two before glancing over at the drawer of his bedside table. “Can you grab a condom for me princess?” He asked as you blinked up at him dazedly. “M’ on the pill,” You mumbled as he groaned at the implication. “You clean?” He asked as you nodded at his question. “Fuck, fine,” He replied as he lined the tip up with your entrance. 

He swiped it around a bit to gather some of your slick against him before he slowly pushed into you. You moaned and gasped out as your arms went to brace yourself on his forearms, nails digging into him. “Shit, you need to relax,” He muttered as he felt you squeeze the tip of him. He wet his fingers in his mouth before moving to circle your clit with them. You mewled at the touch but he felt you relax as he did. He continued his circles as he pushed further into you. You gasped and trembled under him as you felt fuller and fuller. Getting impatient, he gave a hard thrust up into you as he pushed him to be fully sheathed in you. You squeaked as he did your eyes shutting in the process. He stopped his touch on your clit as you whined. “Open your eyes,” He ordered but you kept your eyes closed as you tried to focus on the feeling of him filling you up so sweetly. 

You squeaked in surprise when you felt his palm connect with your cheek. Your eyes opening suddenly at the impact. “There you go,” He groaned as you pouted and rubbed your cheek where he had slapped you. “What? You want me to kiss it better?” He teased as you nodded at his words. He huffed a little but leaned down to place a light kiss on your cheek. A small smile flitted across your face before you felt him roughly pull out and thrust back up into you. An embarrassingly loud moan leaving your lips. His face settled to bury in your neck as he continued the pace. 

His hands moved to push your legs around his hips as he continued thrusting into you. One of his hands moving to draw circles on your clit as you moaned. You felt your body shaking once again as he built you back up to the edge. He pulled back to look down at you as he continued chasing his pleasure. Watching him with half-lidded eyes, you pawed at his free hand to pull it to your throat. He groaned as you settled his palm over your throat. “Fuck, you really are just a little slut, aren’t you?” He commented as you whined at his words. He placed more pressure against your throat at your needy whine, pulling a moan from you.

With the added sensation, you felt your orgasm rushing to you quicker and quicker. “You gonna cum for me princess?” He asked as he felt you clench his dick harder. You nodded frantically in response. “Go on then,” He encouraged as he tightened his grasp on your neck a little more. You choked on a moan as you felt your orgasm blind you with pleasure for a second time. You vaguely registered his groaning and swearing as you pulsed around him. Your limbs tingled with pleasure as the pressure on your throat prolonged your climax. As you came down from it, he moved his hand away from your throat to next to your head as his other hand rested on your hip to pull you closer to him as he chased his release. You mewled at the sensitivity before he leaned down and captured your lips in a messy kiss.

He groaned into your mouth as you felt his dick twitch before feeling him spill into you. He continued fucking you through his climax as you whined and mewled into his mouth. Once he came to a stop, he sighed before pulling out of you. Looking down, he groaned as he watched his seed spill out of you before moving to collapse beside you. You shut your eyes as you focused on calming your breath. You felt his eyes on you as he watched you, you peeked an eye open at him before making an annoyed noise. “What?” You asked before closing your eyes again. “Just making sure you’re still alive,” He chuckled and you mentally rolled your eyes.

“Uh huh, well your dick isn’t that good that it could kill,” You replied feeling more to your normal self. “Could’ve fooled me,” He laughed as you cringed remembering the way you had been so submissive to him a few moments prior. You shook your head at his words before opening your eyes and pushing yourself up on his bed. He watched you curiously as you looked around his room for your dress. Spotting it, you stood up on shaky legs to pick it up, adjusting your underwear which you both had been too caught up in to take off. Slipping the dress over your head and adjusting it to cover what you needed to you, you tsk’d as you saw the hickeys on your chest. 

You shot him a glare. “What?” He asked with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Hickeys? Really?” You asked with a tilt of your head. “You weren’t complaining when it happened,” He replied with a shrug and you rolled your eyes. “Whatever,” You replied. You checked your phone from your purse as he tucked himself away and made himself decent. You glanced back up at him, “Well see you around then,” You said as he nodded with a boyish grin. “Mhm, same time next week?” He teased as you chuckled. “We both know that’s not how this works,” You replied with a shake of your head. He shrugged in response. “True,” He replied as you unlocked his door and opened it. You looked back at him, “See you around Princess Parker,” You giggled as he rolled his eyes. “Last I checked princess was your name,” He replied as you stuck your tongue out at him teasingly before walking out of his room. 

You headed downstairs as you texted your best friend who quickly found you and promptly teased you about the hickeys you couldn’t fully hide. You promised to tell her the full story on the way back to your dorm. As you left though, you couldn’t help but wonder why your cheeks felt warmer at the thought of him.

#peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm! peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #tasm! peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #tasm! peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfic #tasm! peter parker fanfic #marvel fanfic #tasm fanfic #tasm peter parker #peter parker #peter parker smut #tasm! peter parker smut #tasm peter parker smut #peter parker lemon #tasm! peter parker lemon #tasm peter parker lemon #marvel #tasm #marvel x reader #marvel smut #frat! peter parker #frat! tasm! peter parker #frat! tasm peter parker #tasm spiderman #spiderman x reader #frat! peter parker x reader

[ladymercury8]

Too Cute | tasm!Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: It's simple, really - Peter Parker is just too damn cute. [1k]

Warnings: Pure fluff. No spoilers. Just feeding my fantasies.

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Peter Parker was too cute.

Seated at his desk, with his soft whisps of hair sticking out all over the place; the dark gray t-shirt that hugged every curve on his goddamn perfect body; the squint behind his glasses that simply accented his features, magnifying his already large eyes; the flexing of his bicep as he moved his pen rapidly across his notebook; the rhythmic bouncing of his bare foot; the way he would look up, gaze locked on an empty space of his desk, a light bulb striking above his head as he returned to his calculations.

He was too cute for you to resist.

You approached from behind, socks silent against the creaky apartment floorboards. Your hands planted themselves on his broad, tense shoulders as you began pressing against the firm muscle with your fingers. A gentle massage as you peeked at his work.

But Peter didn’t really seem to register your presence. Too lost in his numbers and equations.

You bent down, twisting until you could plant your lips on his long neck. A kiss on his jugular vein, one just next to it, and then another, like little footsteps gradually approaching his Adam’s apple.

“Hey, baby,” Peter finally hummed, extending his left arm absentmindedly in a silent invitation, right arm still scribbling away.

You entered his embrace, sitting on his left thigh as Peter’s arm wound around your waist, holding you up. His fingers toyed with the fabric of your clothes.

Like ivy, your arms curled around his neck. Your kisses started traveling to his jaw, his chin, his cheeks, his ears. His scent was comforting – bergamot and sweet spices and dew-dropped earth. Warmth.

Peter’s mouth gaped opened slightly, his frame relaxed.

“What’s gotten into you, angel?” He spoke softly, eyes falling closed in pleasure.

“Just missed you.”

At those words, Peter dropped his pen, turning his full attention to you. You could see the light reflected in his glasses, and relished in the gentle growl that escaped from the depths of his throat: “Well, I’m all yours then.”

You brought your nose to his, about to lean in but his glasses blocked the way. You were reaching up to pull them off, but Peter beat you to it, flinging them onto the other side of the room. You couldn’t help but giggle, shifting his hair off his forehead.

Peter’s arms encircled your waist, pulling you into him, no inch of space left between you. And then he crashed his lips into yours.

Those soft lips that perpetually came home cut open. Gentle and soft, yet passionate. Heated. A minty aftertaste, blended with Aunt May’s cherry pie which she had brought over. Sweet and sour.

You pulled away suddenly, acting as if moving away from him, “I’m sorry, I don’t wanna distract you.” A small whine escaped from Peter’s lips, and a creased frown emerged on his forehead.

You fully knew what you were doing. For in that instant Peter wrapped his arms beneath your thighs, lifting you up with ease as he stood. Your legs crossed behind his back, and as he hoisted you up you could look down at him, your chest heaving with cheeky breaths. Peter’s eyes were hooded, swoony and dazed, focused on your lips.

He raised his chin upwards, first kissing your bottom lip, enveloping it between his and sucking on it; then crashing against you. A big tsunami wave hitting the rocks of a cliff; a conflagration swept forcefully forwards by a gust of wind.

Peter pushed you against the wall. His hands gripped your body, his chest was flush against your own. It was a kiss like he’d never kissed you before, and like he’d never kiss you again. Passionate and strong, rough yet careful.

You both pulled away, panting for air. You inclined your head backwards, a dry laugh bubbling out from your lips as you took in the sight of your lovesick boy: lips swollen, chest heaving, hair perfectly tousled.

“You good there?” You giggled, stroking a thumb over his eyebrow, cupping his neck with your other hand. His eyes were dopey, intensely and chemically involved.

“Shut up.”

And his lips were once more against your own. You could taste the smile on his face.

Peter Parker was just too damn cute.

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Thank you for reading! x

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[ofbluesandyellows]

Blueberry Wednesday - TASM! Peter Parker / Fem! Reader

Summary: Peter has a new noisy neighbor and he doesn't know how to deal with that -including bright plates and tasty food.

Word count: 2,086

a/n: Hiya! This is a new little thing that came to mind a few days ago, it's so nice to be back to share something with you. Hope you enjoy it let me know if you want to read more :)

Peter had been living in this new apartment for a few months now, the building was nicer than the last, the hot shower worked fine and the electricity didn’t have that buzzing sound that made his migraines unbearable. It was in an okay area and it was close to where he worked.

His life had been monotonous for the same amount of time too, maybe even longer, waking up, shower, coffee, work, lunch, patrol, kick some ass, fix his wounds —when needed—, sleep and back to square one. Peter didn’t feel the need of anything at the moment, Mary Jane had broken up with him for the second time, and even when he was heartbroken, and cried to sleep when he missed her, he was not pushing her to accept him back, he knew it was for the best. Pushing everyone away was the thing he was masterful at. 

But this banging and screeching coming from the floor on top of his was causing his body to flinch every time that mother fucker sound appeared. His jaw clenched, his fist tightened. Peter had given whomever this person was, about an hour to come to their senses but this was enough. He stood up from his bed, leaving his badly sewed spider-man fixed suit splattered on the bed. Heavy steps and the slam of his door didn’t give the owner of the apartment a clue of what was coming for them, so when he banged the door two times, he waited but nothing happened, instead a wave of noise came through of it, as if the air and life were doing it on purpose just to add more stress in him; music the loud kind, instruments clashing against one another as if they had no rhythm to go with.

He banged the door, this time with white knuckles and a fury bubbling in his stomach. Suddenly the music stopped and Peter inhaled, oh, he was so ready to give this person hell, he was even expecting a fight to go down. This didn’t have anything to do with MJ dating another person, of course not, this was about the noise, yeah, that was it.

The door swung open and Peter puffed his chest, but it deflated the second his eyes landed on your frame. 

“Hi!” You said chirpy and jolly, waving a hand. Your hair was messy as if a wind swirl had trapped you and now you had to deal with this new crazy hairdo and a sweaty forehead.

Peter tried, he really did but his eyes betrayed him and went up and down your body, pink shorts, with strawberries, that was something. Your shirt was spotty with breach, it was an Arctic Monkeys one, he liked them. You looked… not as annoying as he expected.

He gulped and inevitably sighed. “Um hello, listen, I came up here to make you stop with the noise but I was not expecting to find you here, so um, yeah sorry. Just would you keep it down?”

All the hot bubbly anger settled down, he was in no way going to fight a girl let alone an adorable looking one.

“Oh, I had no idea, sorry!” You smiled sheepishly. “I just moved in this morning and I was trying to move a few things around because they just left them all scattered and I kind of wanted to— anyway yeah I am so sorry about that.” 

Peter nodded, he caught the pink in your cheeks going brighter the more he stared at you.

“You’re fine, really, maybe I’m just being a little dramatic.” 

Dammit enhanced hearing. 

“I bet you aren’t, I put the music too loud to avoid hearing the screeching myself.” Scratching your cheek you looked at him in the eye and quickly looked away. 

“Well, I live downstairs, do you… er need some help?” Peter looked past you, his eyes landing on the piled boxes and the furniture indeed resting in the center of the room.

“No need, I think I caused enough mayhem,”

“Nonsense, I would be also doing it for myself, if I help you you will finish early, hence I can have silence in my own apartment.” 

After a second you nodded, stepping aside. “Alright then.”

“My name’s Peter Parker by the way, I live literally below you.” His big hand extended, you met his and soon you two were moving furniture around the apartment, the music didn’t sound like noise in Peter’s ears any more, he in fact found out you really liked The Strokes.

The next morning Peter woke up with a banging headache, a brick wall fell over him when he tried to save a dog from a fire down by Little Italy. Only positive thing about his heroic act was that the owner of the dog handed him a little coupon card for free pizzas for the rest of the year at his son’s pizzeria two blocks down. He was definitely using that one.

A soft almost imperceptible knock startled him as he swallowed two ibuprofens with a big gulp of black coffee. The coffee was cold but he couldn’t care less.

As if he wasn't sure the knock had been on his door, he opened it slowly, you couldn’t be too sure anyway. At least his spider senses weren’t skyrocketing, which was always good.

His eyes found emptiness, there was no one at his door, his head popped out, looking to the right then the left and then a sweet smell caught his attention. Syrup-y, vanilla like.

Eyes went to the floor instinctively, right at his feet there was a yellow plate, a baby blue sticky note on the plastic wrapping it. 

His brows furrowed as he squatted down. 

Hi, Peter Parker.

I’m so sorry I disturbed your peace last night, 

take these pancakes as an apology and as a thank you for your help.

Have a good day,

- your noisy top floor neighbor.

Peter felt a flutter in his chest, he hadn’t eaten pancakes in so long, and these looked extremely good. The plastic wrap was forming little condensation drops, so he picked it up, with a smile forming on his lips.

As soon as the wrap was discarded his apartment filled with the smell of sweet homey goodness. Even a little plastic pot of syrup was resting at the side of the pancakes. He looked at them for a good minute, just appreciating the looks of it. 

“Okay…” he mumbled to himself as he grabbed a fork, his cold coffee still half drunk near his left hand.

Peter firstly dipped his pinky in the syrup and as he sucked on it he couldn’t help to make a sound of pure joy. Pouring the gooey thing over the spongy misshapen circles was making his mouth water and the first bite was like a whole new experience to him. He noticed how the pancakes were soft like he imagined clouds were, then he chewed on something sour his eyes widened, looking down he noticed the very well hidden blueberries.

It was like having a party in his mouth, warm, sugary with a hint of sourness and then all combined, he moaned as his forehead hit the surface of the counter in his kitchen. 

“You have to be kidding me!” 

Peter was a fan of berries in general but there was definitely something in the blueberries that made him extremely happy, it was almost childish, it was probably the memories of his mom adding them to his cereal when he refused to eat something else.

The whole thing disappeared in less than a few minutes. He was both flattered and a bit insulted by you for giving him six pancakes instead of the common amount of three but he was also very grateful, he hadn’t had a breakfast like that since he lived with May, and that had been years ago. This made him feel warm inside, almost loved.

The water of the sink cleaned the remains of the food and he stared at the plate, a big pink smiley face was painted on the center of it, this made him chuckle, one that vanished as quickly as it came. How was he supposed to give you back your plate, he was not good at cooking, well… only if you appreciated instant ramen or mac and cheese coming from a box.

He wasn’t very fond of the idea of returning your plate empty, made him feel ungrateful, even though he had been the one handing you his services, it hadn’t taken much from him to help you anyway, you had been nice and chatty, he even enjoyed being around you, and Peter didn’t enjoy being around many people. 

With a deep sigh he left the cheery plate to dry on the rack, he had to go to work now.

Working for this new lab was something he didn’t expect to feel excited about but being part of the genetics department was probably the best decision they made for him, he could check all kinds of weird things, giving him access to classified information that was also helpful for his arachnid counterpart. 

But just today wasn’t one of those days, his mind kept on drifting to you and your plate and those freaking incredible pancakes. Deep down he thought of finding ways to help you so he could eat those delicious fluffy things at least once more. For now he had to just entertain the idea, soon he focused on options to give you back your stuff without even going knocking at your door.

Because that would be weird? Isn’t it? To knock and give your plate back with a nod and then disappear without a word. It seemed too impolite and somehow Peter wanted to seem like a complete gentleman with you, after all he had been a bit forward last night, he was tired and upset and you were being so noisy but now here he was in a dilemma. 

Lunch felt like a slap, like a bucket of cold water, his sandwich tasted like sandpaper –not that he had tried it but he guessed that’s what it tasted like–not even his favorite drink from the vending machine seemed good enough in comparison to his three Michelin star breakfast. Swinging back home felt a little better than going in the subway, he made a mental note to fix his motorcycle, he didn’t need to deal with the heat of the city when he could drive to work and back and enjoy the breeze.

You know how destiny and coincidences are such a funny thing, Peter decided to take the elevator to his floor instead of just crawling up to his window. He just felt like it, so he stood there waiting until the door clinked sliding open, revealing a figure inside, your sparkly eyes was the first thing he saw.

Peter almost gasped.

“Peter! Hi,”

“Hey! Are you heading out?” duh how are you so smart, Parker? “I mean yeah of course you are, if not you wouldn’t be here.”

You chuckled. “Yes, I just ran out of milk.” Cheeks going pink, Peter smirked.

“Right, well, I won’t get in your way.”

“Okay, see you around.” 

Peter walked in the elevator and just as you walked past him, he held the door open just to see you for a little longer.

“Hey!” he quickly shouted. your hair flipping as you twirled to face him. “Thanks for the pancakes, they were really good, like exceptionally amazing.” 

“Ha, wow no, thank you, I really appreciate what you did for me yesterday, hopefully there won't be more disturbances in the future.” 

“Please, be my guest, if you need something you know where to find me.” 

“Will try not to bother you much but it’s good to know, thanks!” 

Peter was grinning. “By the way, the blueberries were quite the surprise, they’re my favorite.”

Your whole face brightened “Good! You were lucky, then. It was Blueberry Wednesday.”

Chest fluttering and all, Peter saw you wave at him and disappear out the door, his way to his apartment felt light, like all his worries had suddenly evaporated. His apartment seemed cozier too. Kicking off his shoes, he went to grab a glass of water, his eyes finding the happy yellow and pink plate, he almost choked.

“Oh shit! What am I going to do with you?”

Scratching his neck, he really needed an excuse now. He wanted to see you again.

#Peter Parker x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm x female reader #tasm peter parker fic #fluff #fanfiction #tasm fanfic #tasm! peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #andrew garfield peter parker #tags are hard #fluff and nothing but fluff #andrew garfield spiderman #tasm! peter fic #andrew garfield

[psithurista]

approach shift pt. nine

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 4.3k rating: explicit 18+ warnings: Mentions of death, fingering, a quick wristy (lol)

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.

a/n: Last full chapter but there will be an epilogue in the not-too-distant; I'll probably have more notes then. Thank you x

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The back of your head is torturously itchy. 

You try surreptitiously to press your knuckles to the spot, just to relieve the worst of it. The nurse sitting closest to you glances up at you from over the top of her monitor and guiltily, you clasp your hands back down into your lap. 

It smells sour in here, like soft plums left to rot. Whichever industrial cleaner it is this hospital uses, it’s definitely not one anybody’s trying to market for domestic use. It’s probably cheap as fuck, you contemplate, your hand drifting back up towards your head.

“You can go in now,” a new nurse says beside you. You jerk your hand away. “He’s awake. I let him know you’ve been waiting.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say, unpeeling yourself from the plastic waiting room chair. “I won’t be very long. I just wanted to say hi.”

She gives you a mild, distracted okay-that’s-nice-whatever smile and disappears. You push open the door to the room she’d just exited and duck inside. 

It smells far better in here. There’s a vase of opening lilies leaving red pollen-stains on the table in front of the window, and the lavender-powder smell of clean sheets. Doctor Brant is propped up in the bed, frowning hard at the tablet in his hands.

“I hope you aren’t working while you’re meant to be resting,” you say.

He tilts his head down to peer at you over his glasses. “Oh, no. It’s just sudoku. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Doctor. How are you?”

He nods, and sets the tablet aside. “Well, they’ve finally taken me off the oxygen so I expect I’ll be allowed to leave soon. All things considered, a little smoke inhalation injury at my…advanced age could’ve been far worse.” His eyes glint a little bit. “Were you injured?”

You shake your head. “A concussion, but I’m fine. The. He. Um. You know. He got me out, before he went back for you.” 

“You shouldn’t have stayed to look for me.”

You sit gingerly on the very edge of the chair next to the bed. “I thought. I didn’t think he’d made it to you in time. I thought you were both.” Your voice starts to sound weird, so you stop talking.

He folds his hands together over his chest. “It’s strange. I remember the first time I saw him. I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought it must have been a stunt, or an advertisement for something. Silly, really. And yet he’s saved Oscorp from itself more times than it deserved. After Connors and Dillon and that whole terrible disaster with young Harry. It’s too much. There’s no reason for anybody to endanger themselves in that place ever again.” He takes his glasses off and sets them beside the bed. “Which is why I’ve resigned.”

You stare at him. “You. What?”

He smiles at you; the expression a little indulgent. “All those years of work, gone. And for nothing. I’m sure you’ve already heard what happened?”

You have. It’s been all over the news the entire week. First the speculation: was it an attack? Was it political? Was it another disgruntled ex-employee? A competitor? And then, later, the worse, more boring truth: regular old corporate negligence. An undertrained technician who’d tried to prematurely purge a vac test chamber with concentrated oxygen. An alarm system two years overdue for maintenance. And floor upon floor of laboratories filled with dangerous substances, improperly stored.



Nobody else in your department was seriously hurt. But others weren’t so lucky.

“When I started with Norm, it was all about changing the world for the better. And in the end, we’ve helped nobody.” He shakes his head. “If you’ll forgive my language…Fuck Oscorp. I’m ready to start over.”

You grin at him, even though it feels a little watery. “I’m…really happy for you.” And you are. In the brief time you’ve worked under him, his passion has been obvious, but he’s always seemed so bogged down by the minutiae of red tape; appeasing a board of investors with no interest in the importance of his life’s work beyond its potential profitability. 

But it also makes your already-uncertain future with the company even foggier. You’ll need to find someone else willing to offer you a similar graduate position, and you already know you won’t find anything else quite as specialised as the work he’s been doing. 

He takes a sip from the glass of water beside his bed, then sits back with a sigh. “Publicly-funded research is a far less glamorous world than that of private enterprise. We’ll be relying primarily on grant funding and academic support. There won’t be any glass fountains or vertical gardens, I’m afraid.”

You nod sympathetically. “I can imagine. It’ll be a big change.”    His eyebrows draw together at you. “I would understand if your answer is no.”

You blink. “My answer?” you say, like a genius. 

“If so, I would, of course, write you a glowing recommendation. And I have plenty of contacts I could put you in touch with, if you’d prefer that.”

Holy shit. Is he…? “Hold on. Are you offering me a position with you?”

“Well, yes.”

He grunts as you dart in and hug him. “Oh! Yes! I mean, of course! I would love to. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this.”

“Uh.”

You lean back as he smooths his blankets down. “Sorry,” you say, a little sheepish. “That was unprofessional.”

He tries to look stern, but it’s unconvincing. “Well, yes,” he says again. “But I’ll choose to ignore it just this once.”

You stop by to see Bear on your way home. The roller doors in the alley beside the grimy little theatre are propped open so you can see all the half-painted set pieces inside, and there’s a bunch of people dressed all in black gathered around smoking. 

“Are you gonna be home tonight?” you ask, watching her inhale the deli sandwich you’d brought after correctly guessing she hadn’t stopped rehearsing long enough for lunch.

“I can be if you want,” she says, her mouth full of half-chewed food. “But I was kind of planning on staying at a friend’s.”

You press your knuckles absently against the back of your head and leer at her. “Would this friend happen to be the same person who wanted you to move in after one salad date?”

“If you don’t stop scratching your stitches I’m calling the hospital and narcing to your doctor. And yes.”

You make a face. “I’m not even touching them!”

She stuffs the rest of the sandwich in her mouth and wipes her hands on her jeans. “I’m seriously cool not to go, though. It’s totally fine.”

She’s barely left you alone since you got back from the emergency room, even setting alarms and checking up on you throughout the first couple of nights. You know for a fact she’s had to cancel other plans for you—again. You shake your head. “No, go. I kind of want some alone time anyway.” 

It’s another cold, bright afternoon. You walk into the feet of your shadow and spread your fingers beside your body as your arms move, watching them elongating out on the pavement in front of you, lost in thought. You’ve been lost in thought a lot, lately.

You’re just past the end of your block when you catch sight of the figure sitting on the stairs outside your building. Long legs in faded jeans are stretched out and crossed over at the ankles, and there’s duct tape around the toe of one sneaker. You slow to a halt on the sidewalk. A woman behind you huffs with irritation, veering around you, a giant paper grocery bag clutched in her arms.

He looks up from his cracked phone screen as you draw level with your door. His hair is as chaotic as ever, stuck up in every direction, except for at the nape of his neck, where it curls gently around in little flicks. He looks tired. He’s always looked tired, the whole time you’ve known him, but you notice it differently now. Like the holes in his jeans, and the bruise on his jaw, and the angry-sore-looking blisters on his knuckles. 

He smiles a little, jerking you out of your silent staring. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t wanna just show up unannounced. I’ve been trying to call, but,” he holds his phone up, and you shake your head.

“My phone was—”

“Yeah, I figured.”

The wind lifts the edge of your scarf and shivers under the neck of your coat. There’s something sweet in the air; like cinnamon sugar, maybe someone baking from one of the open windows overhead. “Do you want to come inside?”

His expression is soft as he considers you, looking up through his lashes. “Okay.”

Neither of you speak on the trip upstairs. Your hand accidentally brushes his as you reach out for the elevator buttons, and you both pull away, as awkward and over-polite as strangers. 

He stands a respectful distance back as you open your door, and you lead him inside, waving your hand vaguely toward the sofa. “Do you want a drink?”

He folds himself into the seat nearest the window, hunching over and shoving his hands between his knees. A cold drift of sun touches his jaw. “Um, no thanks, it’s cool.”

You sit down beside him, folding your hands across your lap like you’re about to get a class picture taken. 

He chews his lip, runs his thumbs over his burned hands. Outside, a car horn beeps. “It’s not because I didn’t trust you,” he starts. “If you’re wondering. I don’t want you thinking that’s the reason.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “You don’t need to explain.”

“I just want you to know—”

“I know.” You try to smile at him, and it feels a little watery. “I get it. I know why you couldn’t tell me.”

His brows bend together just enough to mark out a pained line. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Really. Don’t be.”

It falls silent in your living room. The little clay pinch pot in the centre of the coffee table Bear had brought home from the artists’ market watches you both watching one another; soft-skinned and tender as nervous newborn things.

“You might die doing this,” you finally point out. “One day. All those times you’ve been hurt. You might…not come home.”

He nods at the floor. “Which is why I couldn’t really ask you to, you know. Waste your time with—” he waves his hands vaguely back and forth between your bodies. “It’s not worth it. And, like, trust me, I would never, ever want to drag you into any of the shit I’m involved with. I didn’t mean to fuck you around so long, knowing you wouldn’t...” He looks back at you, his dark eyes soft. “It was just. The happiest I’ve been in a really long time. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry. It was shitty of me. Selfish.”

You stare at him for a few seconds in stunned disbelief. Then you laugh. You don’t mean to, and his head jerks back, startled. “Are you serious?” you manage.

His eyes are huge. “Uh. Yeah?”

You laugh again. It sounds a little manic. “You’re unbelievable.”

He flushes. “Could you maybe quit laughing at me when I’m trying to—”

“Peter. You saved my fucking life. Twice. Even after I was a total asshole to you. You saved me.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, look, I don’t want you to feel weird about that. Like, it’s totally, one-hundred-percent not a big deal and I never want anybody to feel like—”

“You help people. Strangers. Every day. For nothing. And they aren’t even grateful. The things people write about you.” He hasn’t moved, and you realise you’re talking louder than you need to, considering he’s right in front of you. “You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met,” you tell him, emphatic, needing him to get it. “You’re a good person, Peter. I’m so sorry I didn’t see that before.” Your voice breaks a little and it’s embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as the fact that your vision has gone blurry and your cheeks feel suddenly too hot.

You stop and breathe for a few moments, willing yourself not to cry. He doesn’t say anything, just studies the edge of the rug as though he’s pretending not to notice, and you’re grateful. 

Then, quietly, he takes a breath. “I was going to tell you. Before the fire. I saw May, and she told me she saw you, and that you’d talked, and. I wanted to explain everything.”

You remember the way May had looked that day in the park; her small, sad mouth, and the way she’d spoken slowly like she was choosing each word carefully. “Does she know?”

Peter half-shrugs. “We’ve never talked about it. But, like, I know she knows. And she knows I know she does.” He gives you a little smile. “It’s easier if we both keep pretending we don’t, though.”

“Does anyone else?”

His smile turns tight. “I guess not. Not really.”

“So you’ve been doing this all on your own? The whole time? How?”

He runs his hand back through his hair. “Yeah. Well, I guess I’m pretty good with DIY now, you know? I wasn’t always. I had to learn. Shit went wrong a lot in the beginning. Shit still goes wrong a lot.”

You lean in a little, curling into the cushions. “What’s the hardest part?”

You’re expecting him to say the fear of discovery, or the isolation, or the sheer physical exhaustion. But he wrinkles his nose. “God. The sewing. It’s so hard. And it’s constant. I swear I pop a different seam every day.” His face goes blank for a moment and he looks at you as though a brand new thought has just occurred to him for the first time. “It’s actually really nice. Getting to talk about this.”

“Am I allowed to ask about the outfit?”

He slaps his hands over his face. “You are absolutely fucking not allowed to ask about the outfit.”

Your mouth drops open in outrage. “I wasn’t gonna laugh! I just want to know why—”

“Look, I was going for, like, a velodrome thing. Like for speed and better flexibility and less wind-resistance and then like, anonymity as well, obviously, and originally—”

“What about the, uh, pattern?”

“Yeah, okay, okay, it seemed cool at the time! I was fifteen!”

The thought of Peter as a child, alone, in danger, no doubt even ganglier and nerdier than he is now, sends a fresh pang of sadness through you. You try not to let it show. “Do you eat the webs?”

He stares like you’ve just asked if he’d like to swap heads with you. “What?”

“Certain types of spiders go back and eat their webs after they’re done with them. Like, to replenish the protein they expended making them. Do you ever eat yours?”

The expression on his face is the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. “Uh, no. It’s inorganic. Like, it’s a, like essentially a nylon polymer composite. It’s not edible. I mean, I’ve never tried, but it’s designed to dissolve after a few hours, so I guess if you did really want to eat it, it wouldn’t hurt you…” He trails off, sheepish, looking at you sideways. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Yeah,” you say, unable to stifle your smile any longer. 

He grins and ducks his head. He hasn’t shaved today, you note; there’s a little bit of stubble along his jawline. 

Your chest hurts. Seeing him, being close to him, just like before. It pulls open the ache of missing him, turning it from a bruise into a wound. You know you shouldn’t. You tell yourself not to. But you do it anyway.

“I miss you.” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper. 

He looks so fucking sad. His eyes are huge and pained and so close, and then they dart down to your lips, and you see it; the precise split-second the urge hits him, then the one after as he fights it, and your heart sinks and you’re about to lean back but then his mouth is on yours and it’s soft and it’s warm and unbearably gentle as his hands sweep up to the base of your neck.

It’s not the best kiss you’ve ever had. 

You’re twisted uncomfortably to face him. Your hands lay shocked in your lap, and you’re pretty sure he can hear you attempting not to sniffle too much with your breathing, and you’re so busy worrying about it that you forget to open up to him; his tongue touching the edge of your lips. His fingertips brush the stitches at the back of your head and you flinch, pulling away.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, visibly mortified. 

“It’s okay,” you say. “Didn’t hurt. It’s just sensitive.”

“For kissing you,” he clarifies. “I know we’re not, like…you know. Anymore.”

That hurts. You shake your head. “We could be. We could try.”

“I can’t ask you—"

“No. Don’t do that. What do you want?”

He exhales through his nose and a tiny, pained sound escapes with it. “It’s not that easy—“

“It is. It is that easy. What do you want?”

“You have no idea,” he says, suddenly. “God. You have no fucking idea how bad I want you. I want this. You’re the only thing I. Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes, frustrated. “You just have no idea how bad this could go.”

“I do,” you tell him, gently. “I know exactly how bad it could go. And I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry that happened. It’s so, so fucked up that that happened and I’m so sorry, and I know nothing I can say will ever make any of it any less fucked up, but fucked up things happen. They happen all the time for normal people, too. And fucked up things are going to keep happening and it’s inevitable and it’s part of being alive and that’s why we just need to take that risk every day, and choose to—to try to just be happy in as many stupid fucking hopeless ways as we can anyway, because we deserve to be happy. You deserve to be happy.”

He’s staring at you like he wants to believe you. Like he wants to cry. “You need to know,” he says, reaching his hand out, pulling it back. “I can’t promise you this’ll be okay. If you still wanted…I would try. I would try so, so hard for you. Harder than I’ve ever tried at anything. But I—I still just have no way of knowing that it’ll be okay.“

You smile at him, shaky and sure. “That’s any relationship, Parker.”

This time when he kisses you, you’re ready. Your mouth opens eagerly under his, catching the faint metal-salt of his skin, the dryness where his lips are ever-so-slightly windburnt. 

All the breath leaves your body in a rush. You shove your hands up through his hair, lifting up onto your knees and sliding across his lap until you’re straddling him on the couch. 

He tilts his head back to work his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands sliding up underneath your shirt to find the edges of your bra, and it’s awkward and clumsy and you’re both breathing hard by the time he manages to get your jeans unzipped and his hand cramped into your underwear. 

“Holy shit,” you gasp, half-dizzy from kissing without pause. You almost bite him when his fingers find your clit. “Can you—yeah, like that, oh, my God—"

“Hold on, it’d be better if, let me…” he murmurs, frustrated, and you let out what could only be described as a yelp as he lifts your entire weight up to easily shove your jeans and underwear the rest of the way off your legs before settling you back down over his lap. 

You’re stuck between trying to grind down against the front of his jeans and trying to give him enough space to work his hand back between your legs, ultimately deciding on the latter as he finds your clit again, this time his attentions unhampered by clothing. 

His body hasn’t forgotten yours. It only takes a few moments of searching before he has you melting into the palm of his hand; your bones soft and hot inside you as you roll your eyes closed. It’s easy with him, just like before, but better.

You’re almost close when he eases two fingers inside you, and that’s easy too, so easy, the way you give for him. Your forehead rests against his as your lips come apart; too focused for kissing anymore.

“I missed you,” he breathes, working his wrist. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

You flex your thighs as you rock with the movement of his hand, and that’s when you need to touch him, urgently. It takes a little repositioning before you manage to open his jeans and ease his cock out, wrapping your fingers loosely around him. 

You feel him tense and shudder as you stroke him, too slow to really get him anywhere, too lost in the way his long, firm fingers curl inside you. 

He noses along your jaw, mouthing lazily at your damp skin, his eyes closed, and then he’s there, right where you need him, and you’re clenching and biting down on the sounds trying to escape as you come apart sudden and hard around him.

You’re still loose-limbed and shaky when he pulls his slick fingers free, gently moving your hand out of the way to grasp himself instead. You feel a little guilty; you’d almost forgotten about him straining in front of you, but he doesn’t seem to care as he jerks himself quick and short in his fist. His other hand cups the swell of your ass as he huffs hot breath into your hair, your neck, coming sudden across the inside of your thigh.

You slump your weight against him. 

Neither of you speak for a while. Your hand is curled between your bodies, trapped where it’s warm and you can feel his heart slowing in his chest. He runs his hand absently from your hip to your thigh, then back again.

“Peter,” you murmur.

“Mmm.”

“You do need to promise me one thing, though.”

He moves, just enough that he can look up at you. His cheeks are flushed. “What?”

“We can never. And I mean never. Tell Bear we fucked on her couch.”

His eyes widen in horror. “Oh, my God. She already hates me.”

“I know. But it’s okay, because we’re not gonna tell her.”

“I just don’t know if I can keep that secret; I’m not good at subterfuge, y’know, I’m just not that kinda guy—"

“Yeah, yeah, okay—"

“—and you should see me under pressure; I fold like origami—"

You kiss him again, just to shut him up, and feel his lips curling up against yours. 

Your thighs feel sticky and gross, and you’re starting to get cold, and when you get up you nearly fall over from the cramp in your leg from sitting so awkwardly, but you’re too happy to care in the slightest. 

You stand together in the bathroom, cleaning each other up. Every time his eyes meet yours in the mirror you both smile again, giggling and getting in each other’s way, like idiots.

It takes twice as long as it should to get back out to the couch, and you’re hoping he’ll curl up with you again but then you catch him glancing toward the window. “You need to go,” you say. It’s not really a question.

He hedges. “I kind of do, but…”

You offer him a little smile. “It’s okay. Go.”

He nods. You walk him to the door, where he pauses. He chews at his thumbnail, looking at you sideways again from under his eyelashes.

You watch him for a few seconds, waiting. “What?” you finally say.

He presses his lips together, runs his hand through his hair. “So. It’s probably, like, kind of weird. To ask. At this…uh, juncture.”

He’s nervous, you realise. It’s excruciatingly endearing. You nudge him. “I feel like weird’s kind of our thing.”

He grins. “Yeah. I guess. So. I was gonna ask if you’d like to go out. For dinner. Friday night.”

There’s absolutely no way to prevent the smile slowly pulling at your mouth. “Peter. Are you asking me on a date?”

He laughs, a little self-conscious huff. “Uh, yeah. Like. I mean, I wanted to way sooner. But. I guess I wanna try doing things properly this time. If you want.”

You can think of a thousand different things to say, but most of them are embarrassing, so you settle for keeping it simple. “Yes. Fuck yes. Obviously.”

He blinks. “Oh, okay, awesome, holy shit. Okay. Should we…? I don’t have your new number.”

“Oh, yeah, I need to get yours again too.” You pull your phone out and make a new contact before handing it to him.

He stares at your screen for a second, then he snorts. “You have me in your phone as ‘p.p.’?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Why? What do you have me as?”

He laughs again, quiet, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He hands your phone back. He takes a few steps out the door, then he sticks his hands in his pockets. “So. I’ll see you?”

“You will,” you tell him, watching the way his jaw juts crookedly when he smiles. 

He’s halfway to the elevator, walking backwards, his hands still in his pockets when he calls back to you. “Friday, Miss Jersey.”

You laugh. “Quit disturbing my neighbours.”

You stay there long after he’s gone, leaning against your doorframe, smiling to yourself, aching with stupid, giddy affection.

#peter parker x f!reader #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x f!reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #andrew garfield!spiderman x reader #tasm fanfic #tasm fanfiction #tasm imagine #peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter smut #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter fanfiction

[raven-fucks-around-and-writes]

Super love ig

prompt: "i understand that you want to be supportive and i appreciate that, but is covering the house in pride flag bunting really the way to go?" (X)

word count: 474

A/N: this is rly short and unedited and i literally never write fluff but i was supposed to finish this in june but i never did so. yea 😭

Peter Parker was just so adorable. 

You had brought him to a coffee shop in hopes that the calming environment would somehow make the news go over easier for both of you. His bright smile never faltered once the entire time, he was always happy to be out with you.  

"So, what's up, love?"

"So.. Peter, you know I love you, right?"

 he could tell you were nervous by the way you clasped your hands around your coffee cup, and how your eyes darted around the cafe

"Peter.. I.."

You swallowed heavily and your knees felt like jelly, (even though you were sitting down)

"I think I may be.. trans? I know this is sudden, but I don't really feel female anymore, i know I look like one and maybe act like one, but i just feel masculine"

Silence.

Then his usual smile spread over his face and he reassured you that he loved you, and you knew it would all be okay

———

A couple weeks went by, and everything was perfect. You even went by a new name and pronouns, and of course Peter Parker was always supportive. He even began introducing you as his boyfriend.

but then peter began acting weird.. He seemed like he was keeping you out of the house more often, and he started to make sure he learned what time you were going to be home

It made you begin to wonder if he was changing his mind.. if he was suddenly uncomfortable with you being trans and the thought of that made your heart crumble 

one day, you pulled up to your house from work and saw him standing in your driveway, looking nervous.

"Peter?" you rolled your eyes and stepped out of the car, wanting answers you knew you deserved

Peter softly smiled at you, before being cut off by your frown

"If you're suddenly unhappy, you can just tell me. Peter, I made it specifically clear that I'd understand if you didn't want to be with me after-"

"It's not that at all."

"Then what is it? You've been weird for weeks. I miss you"

"Just come inside and see - It'll make sense"

You rolled your eyes as you followed him into your house and thought "I hope this is worth it"

Inside, the entire house was decorated in various pride flags, mostly the trans one

"Oh my fucking god, Pete, what did you do?"

He smiled his usual dorky smile "I wanted to show you how much I love you! Besides, it wasn't super expensive. Consider it a token of my love, hon"

You look around again, your house a full on blue, pink, white, and rainbow mess.

"I understand that you want to be supportive and i appreciate that, but was covering the house in pride flag bunting really the way to go?" 

reblogs are better than likes, support writers

#tasm #tasm!peter x reader #tasm fanfic #tasm fluff #fluff #trans!reader x peter parker #unedited work lol #short fic #my wribting #male reader x peter parker #marvel #marvel fic #mcu fic #mcu fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic writing

[electrosuite]

bullshit

warnings: swearing

word count: 776

masterlist

Happy couldn’t even begin to describe how you’d felt for the last two weeks.

When you got paired up with the famously smart Peter Parker for a biochemistry project, it was like immediate sparks. You clicked so well that it was like the two of you had known each other your entire lives.

So when he met you at your locker after your project was turned in, you smiled.

“Hey,” you greeted, but he seemed determined to ask you something. He leaned against the locker to your right, his shoulder bracing his body. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets and he couldn’t hold back the look of admiration in his eyes.

“Hypothetically, if you had to pick a restaurant for dinner, what would you say?”

You closed your locker. “Purely hypothetically?”

“Mhm,” he said with a single slow nod.

“Alright, let me think.” You sarcastically placed the pad of your pointer finger against your lower lip and looked down, pretending to ponder his question. “There’s a Greek restaurant on 21st Street, Bel Aire Diner.”

“Okay. Now, again, purely hypothetical, if I was to take you there tonight, would you be in?”

“A hypothetical date?”

“Yep. Purely hypothetical.”

You paused for a few seconds and he raised his eyebrows.

“Well, if any of this were true, I would absolutely say yes.”

He smirked. “Sweet. See you tonight.”

The edges of your mouth crept into a grin as he walked off, a bit more pep in his step.

That was two weeks ago. Now, he was in your bed, the two of you studying for a test in the aforementioned biochemistry class. He was leaned against your headboard with a couple of pillows behind him. You were sitting up with your hip next to his.

The test was on enzymes, or at least that’s what you were trying to discuss.

But the conversation had turned personal. Peter had been trying to get to know every little thing about you, and vice versa. He loved hearing you talk about your life and was always as interested as he could possibly be. And you usually loved the questions.

Until now.

“Have you ever been with anyone else?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Now can we get back to-”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” Another head shake. “Oh, that’s bullshit.”

His response caught you off guard, and you raised your eyebrows.

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

“I mean bullshit. You’re way too beautiful to have not kissed anyone.”

“Well, you’re wrong. I’ve never kissed anyone.”

“Not even on the cheek?”

“No one I’m not related to.” He was astounded. And it translated into his expression. “You don’t have to look at me like that,” you awkwardly chuckled. “You’re making me feel like a weirdo.”

“No, you’re not a weirdo.” He sat up, his face now less than a foot from yours. “Can I ask why?”

You shrugged. “No one’s ever really been interested in me, I guess.”

“See, I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

He scanned your face, his eyes settling on your lips for a second more than the rest of your features.

“Have you seen yourself?” You nodded. “You sure?”

You scoffed. “I think so.”

He reached up and slowly pushed your hair behind your left ear. You could feel your skin heating up and your breath became a bit shaky, your heart rate picking up.

He gently pulled your face closer, connecting your foreheads. You’d never so much as held hands with someone of the opposite sex, so this was new.

And then, in an instant, your lips were together. It wasn’t anything like you’d ever expected — it was better. So much better. Maybe it was because of the adrenaline coursing through your veins, or maybe Peter was a great kisser.

Either way, you felt like you were floating. And you never wanted it to end. So when the kiss was over, you processed for a moment before pulling him back in. Your hand found its way to where his neck and the back of his head meet, your thumb resting in front of his ear.

You kissed for a few more seconds before he pulled back, both of you out of breath.

“Wow,” you giggled, your hand slowly resting on top of his thigh. You sat back a bit and smiled, which made him chuckle.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm.”

“You sure?” You knew he was poking fun at you, but you knew it wasn’t in a mean way.

“I’m so sure.”

He leaned in for another quick kiss before he began flipping through flashcards again. Meanwhile, your cheeks were red hot.

#* #*fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #peter parker #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker oneshot #peter parker imagine #andrew garfield fluff #andrew garfield fanfic #andrew garfield fanfiction #tasm fanfic #tasm fanfiction #peter parker fluff #spider-man x reader fluff #peter parker x reader fluff #tasm #the amazing spider-man

[thatblackravenclaw]

Wake up call

a/n: i’ve honestly been working on this one for a while and i’m not mad at it. this is how i spend my class time and i’m proud. you can picture whichever Peter you want. i just had Andrew’s Peter in my mind when i wrote this.

Blog Details | Let’s take a trip

Peter Parker x fem!reader

word count: 1.04k 

warning(s): fluff, smut with a side of plot, oral (m receiving), reader is drunk at the beginning, not proofread

.

.

.

I take another shot. The vodka tastes like water. I swig the bottle. Fuck it. I hold the phone to my ear. The ringing is amusing in my drunken state. I start dancing before I hear the line pick up.

“Hello?” God his voice. It sends shivers down my spine. I wish he knew I liked him.

“I’m in love with you Peter Parker.” Yeah I guess that works too.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“You’re drunk.” My words clearly slurred.

“Yeah, alright, I’m on my way over.” Then the line disconnects.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I glance around my apartment. Beer cans litter the floor. Four Locos here and there. I lost my glasses long ago. Good riddance. After the fifteenth shot, my vision became blurry. My top is gone as well. Fuck.

By the time he knocks on my door, you’re able to see the floor and the only proof of drinking is the near empty bottle of Grey Goose on my coffee table. I stumble over to the door and open it to be faced with the most handsome man to walk the Earth.

“Hi Peter!”

“Oh my gosh you’re shirtless,” He sighs and pushes me back inside the door while having me in an embrace.

“Peter, I love you so much and I just wish you liked me over Betty even though she’s so kind and totally gorgeous.”

“Babe,” My heart rate picks up at the pet name, “What’s that on your hand?”

I look down at my hands in a hurry in case it was vomit or something but come up with nothing. I flip my hands palm down and find my ring finger glistening.

“Whoa, when did that get there?”

I sink deeper into him although he is still trying to get me to… wherever. I thought it was the couch, but we just passed it. We continue our walk until we reach the platform that leads up to my bed.

“Okay babe, I’m gonna pick you up now.”

My lips have turned to mush so I just nod my head and open my arms. He sweeps me up and it’s like we teleported. The cushion of my bed is a welcoming feeling as I sink into my many pillows. He stands tall in front of me and starts chuckling before composing himself.

“I’ll be right back, bug.”

“Wait,” I yell before he takes more steps, “I don’t know how this ring got here, but I swear I swear I love you more than anything on this Earth.”

“I feel the same way, bug. That’s why I proposed. Now please let me get your drunk kit. He suppresses a smile, but I wouldn’t dare. It grows wider with each passing second. He continues on to the kitchen while I fondly stare at my hand.

“We’re gonna get married.” A mix of excitement and disbelief in my tone. Sobriety suddenly fast approaching.

He comes back not even a minute later with water and snacks.

“How are we feeling? Any nausea? Do we need to make a bathroom stop before bed?”

“I wanna sleep. Lay with me.”

I shimmy off my shorts and kick them off the side of the bed. I hear his shuffling on the other side of the bed, but I gave up on fighting the shutting of my eyes. The last thing I feel is his arms wrapped around my waist.

.          .          .

The sun rays stream through my curtains and fills the room. I raise the blanket over my head to protect me from the harsh chill that has now taken over my apartment. I open my eyes and wait to adjust to the darkness. I sigh and accept that I eventually have to get up. When I emerge from Mt. Comforter, I’m met with Pete’s sleeping face. He looks so peaceful. Let’s ruin that.

“Peter,” poke.

Pete,” poke poke. I receive a grumble in response.

“Peter, I’m naked.” He peeks one eye open to look at me and recloses them.

“Liar.” He mumbles before turning on his back.

I shuffle on top of him and straddle his hips and gently kiss over his neck and down to his clavicle. His hands gravitate to my hips.

“Thought you were sleeping?”

“I am.”

“Mhm.”

My fingers wrap around the band of his boxers while moving my lips down his chest. I stop right above his navel. I shuffle down and bring his boxers down. His semi-hard dick lays against his abdomen. His breath hitches at the sudden exposure. I lick up the side of his shaft and before taking the tip into my mouth. A low “fuck” escapes his lips. I gradually take him deeper and deeper until I can feel all of him in my throat I constrict around him and one of his hands reaches down to my cheek. I look up at him to the best of my ability. He’s sitting up, leaning on his elbows. His eyes full blown with lust as his lips are slightly gaped. He wipes away my tear with his thumb and moves to hold my hair into a makeshift ponytail. He slightly guides me up his shaft. Slick starts to slip through my folds, and I can’t help but squeeze my thighs with want.

“You look so pretty like this.” I moan at the praise.

I ease his head to my tongue and lick the oozing cum from the slit. I kiss down his shaft and begin to suck on his balls while stroking his dick. I feel him twitch in my palm, signaling his impending orgasm.

“Please, baby.” His voice short of a whisper with a moan stuck in his throat.

“Please what Peter? Need you to use your big boy words.” My clit throbs at his whimpers. My panties are pretty much soiled as they’re beyond wet from me absent-mindedly humping the air.

“Can I cum please?”

“Such good manners. Yes, you can cum.” I put my mouth back over the tip and let him spill all over my tongue.

His head hits the pillow as I swallow all of his cum.

“So,” there’s a pregnant pause, “breakfast?” He looks up at me and smirks.

“Sure,” I’m suddenly in his place and his arms are wrapped around my thighs.

.

.

.

Peter (Andrew) Masterlist | Peter (Tom) Masterlist | New York City

#peter parker #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #peter 3 #tasm fanfiction #tasm fanfic #tasm #tasm andrew garfield #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x fem!reader

[ajvocals43]

By Day & Night (Masterlist)

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, violence, trauma, and general angst (idk all the things, Im sorry), slight swearing 

Summary: A cemetery is not the ideal place for a meet cute. And yet, here I am. Y/n Stark has just lost her father and things don't seem like they could get much worse. Spending her days numb and alone, she never expects to meet a tall stranger across the way that seems to understand her hurt like no one she's met before. He's funny and caring and genuinely a nice guy. But he has secrets. Somehow she can tell he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and she can't help but want to share it. But it's not that simple. When an invention of her father's comes to light, things take a turn. Suddenly Y/n has powers that she has no idea what to do with, and a nemesis that is both infuriating and charming. And yet at the same time, she can't help but feel drawn to the masked stranger as he challenges her in a way she never has been before. Secrets. Superheroes. Love. Hurt. Her two sides are warring and there's no telling how this ends.

Author’s Note: This story takes place in the TASM universe, not the MCU. Howard Stark never became famous in this world, which is how this is possible. Enjoy! 

Part 1 

Part 2

Account Masterlist 

#peter parker #andrew garfield peter parker #peter my beloved #peter parker fanfic #Andrew!Peter #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #tasm fanfiction #tasm fanfic #tasm spiderman #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm fic #the amazing spider man #theamazingspidermanxreader #peter parker angst #spiderman angst #fluff #the amazing spiderman #spiderman

[eevylynn]

Unwritten spideydevil fic that's been living in my head for a month

Matthew Jonathan Murdock is the Tasm verse variant of MCU Matthew Michael Murdock

Most of the Daredevil series happens in this verse too; "the incident" references Electro destroying the power grid though, not the plot of Avengers

Before No Way Home, Peter 3 and Matt were friends with benefits that teamed up occasionally, both being human disaster manwhores who were afraid of commitment due to losing a lot of people

Returning to his universe, Peter called Matt to help him get back to the mainland because he found himself stuck on his own Liberty Island. Matt called in a favor with an old client and brought clothes that Peter had previously left at his apartment. He even called May as soon as he heard from Peter (because that's how in each other's lives yet in denial they are) to let her know that Peter wasn't dead on a rooftop

Peter unloaded the details of NWH once they got back to Matt's apartment where Matt then insisted Peter get some rest since he had been up for 48+ hrs and he didn't want him swinging through a building or something

Queue sexual tension

Anyway, at some point within the next few months, Peter found a 13 yr old Miles Morales with powers (figure out details of bite later) and took him under his wing

Between NWH and Miles, Peter worked on healing his inner demons and getting his life back on track, including finishing his doctorate

Then SURPRISE

Peter entered his apartment after patrol one night to his spider senses going off

At first glance, he doesn't see anything...until he goes into his room to see a baby carrier with a sleeping 2 month old, a duffle bag, and a letter from Black Cat

In it she explained that she never wanted to be a mother, but she couldn't go through with ending the pregnancy even after scheduling an appointment to do so. The letter explained a few more things including the fact that she'd been hiding on a nearby rooftop with an eye line to his bedroom window to make sure he got to Baby Girl safely. Family medical info and a birth certificate were also included.

Aunt May gets a lovely surprise of Peter with a baby strapped to his chest at 6 in the morning

Peter eventually goes to Nelson, Murdock, and Page for legal help since they are the only lawyers he knows and trusts even though he knows they technically don't do family law.

#peter parker #tasm peter parker #matt murdock #daredevil #spider-man #tasm fanfic #peter parker x matt murdock #tasm peter parker × matt murdock #andrew garfield peter parker #spiderdevil #spideydevil #miles morales #mayday parker

[the-kr8tor]

The-kr8tor's Masterlist- TASM Peter Parker

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms and copy/ pasted on any AI software*

Support banner by @cafekitsune

Peter has a crush on his best friend

#the kr8tor's creations #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader #masterlist #tasm peter parker masterlist #tasm imagines #tasm x reader #tasm fanfic

[andrewrenaissance]

so um like if anyone wants to discuss some andrew/peter/remus ideas or concepts.... I am all ears

because i am, in fact, back on my adrew shit

renaissance indeed

#andrew garfield fic #peter parker fic #remus lupin fic #andrew garfield smut #andrew garfield concepts #tasm fanfic #tasm fic #what do i even tag these #anyway

[ladymercury8]

Celestial Beings | tasm!Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: There's a reason why Peter Parker can't keep his eyes off of you. [0.6k]

Warnings: Pure fluff. No spoilers.

❃❃❃❃❃

When Peter Parker asked you out on a date, although it certainly wasn’t your first one with him, it definitely was not what you had in mind.

“PETER!“ You screamed, gripping onto the fabric of his suit, bunching it tightly into fists.

You hid your face in his neck, not letting go for dear life, not daring to open your eyes as he flew across the city, propelling you through skyscrapers and buildings with each web he cast.

“It’s alright!” Peter couldn’t help but chuckle, holding you closer, tighter.

And even when he landed on some random rooftop, you didn’t dare release him. Your eyes were glued shut, still feeling vertigo.

“Solid ground, baby,” Peter rubbed your back, pulling his mask over his head.

You peeked one eye open, and noticing he was right launched yourself away from him.

“You’re insane!” You cried out, smoothing down your clothes and hair, staggering. “You said this was a date!”

“This is a date!” Peter laughed, approaching you slowly, hand held out in invitation.

“On a parking lot?!” You gestured around, for you were indeed on a rooftop parking lot.

Peter looked at you softly, eyes shining. “Have you looked around?”

And it was only then that you noticed you were high up off the ground. Really high. Skyscraper high, in the middle of New York City. The city of lights, the city that never sleeps, whatever you could call it. Against the pitch-black expanse of night, the lights of a myriad buildings shone brightly. The headlights of cars now as small as ants; an endless expanse of shimmering constructions towering above.

And you were at the top with Peter. Like royalty.

“It’s one of the highest points in Manhattan that’s actually safe,” Peter commented, walking up behind you, arms wounding around your waist as he placed his chin on your shoulder. “Unless you want to climb the pointy tip of the Empire State Building, or the Chrysler building, y’know, just throwing it out there.”

You slapped him playfully, gaze never leaving the panoramic sight. “It’s beautiful,” you spoke softly, not daring to break the magic.

Peter pressed his lips to your neck, his hair tickling your ear as he inhaled the sweetness of your perfume. His large hand surrounded your own, caressing your knuckles with his thumb.

“Don’t couples look at the stars on dates?” He mumbled softly.

You glanced upwards, then giggled. “Peter, this is New York. There are no stars. Just fucking pollution.”

“I can see one.”

You twisted your head to see where he was looking. But when you did, Peter was just looking straight back at you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you shook your head as your face flushed. His mouth spread into a cheeky grin.

“Aww, you’re bushing!”

All you could do to silence him was bring your lips to his own. Softly, with a cloud-like gentleness. You twirled around in his embrace, hands encircling around his neck, clasped at the nape.

And when your foreheads met, noses nudging against each other, you looked into the depths of his dark brown eyes and saw tiny sparkles, like glitter. Like a dark nebula, sparkling with blinking little golden stars.

“Although that’s really an understatement,” Peter continued with his train of thoughts, as if he had been speaking the entire time. “You’re not just a star. I mean, you’re as hot as a star – y’know, cause they’re flaming balls of hydrogen and helium. Not that you’re physically hot, more metaphorically. But you’re kinda like the center of the galaxy. We’re all just running ‘round you.” His head swayed softly as he demonstrated large circles.

“Like the sun?” You giggled.

“Yeah, but you can’t look at the sun, can you?” Peter whispered, thumbs dancing on your hips. “And I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of you.”

❃❃❃❃❃

Thank you for reading! x

#Lady writes #tasm #tasm!Peter Parker #Peter Parker #tasm imagine #tasm!Peter Parker imagine #tasm!Peter Parker x Reader #tasm Peter Parker x Reader #Andrew Garfield #tasm Peter Parker #tasm!Spiderman x Reader #tasm x reader #Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker x Reader #Peter Parker fanfiction #Peter Parker fic #Peter Parker fanfic #tasm fanfic #Spiderman imagine #Spiderman fanfic

[unorganisedbookshelf]

ayyy my first fanfic on ao3 has over 400 hits that’s so cool (here - tasm)

#tasm #tasm fanfic #ao3

[psithurista]

approach shift pt. eight

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 4.6k rating: explicit 18+ warnings: Mentions of death, canon-typical violence, depiction of anxiety responses.

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.

series masterlist

Saturday morning rises blue and cold, and you with it.

You sit blearily upright in bed for too long, wrapped in the covers against the chill as you flick through pictures from last night.

It’s all blurred teeth and disembodied limbs draped in pearl-beaded candy bracelets. There are a lot of people you don’t recognise, but Chris looks deliriously happy, which you figure is the main thing. You feel a fresh pang of guilt for making Bear miss it.

You get to the end of the new posts and start from the beginning again, your eyes glazing past ads for vitamin subscription services and monogrammed phone cases.

You’ll message him today, you tell yourself, yawning, shivering. You just need to work up to it. You don’t want to get the words wrong. Or the tone. Or the timing.

You drag yourself out of bed and shuffle around the apartment wrapped in your comforter, padded like a glass ornament against the world.

You make coffee for yourself and Bear, pouring hers into a vacuum flask to keep hot for when she wakes up. You clean out the grinder—properly, with the little brush it came with, not just shaking it out over the trash, then decide to rearrange the filters into a neat stack so they aren’t all crumpled in the corner.

You’re wiping inside the now-empty drawer when Bear’s door flies open. You catch a glimpse of her as she passes, pillow-creased and frazzled. “I’m so late,” she moans, stumbling into her shoes.

“We didn’t even go out last night; how do you always manage to do this?”

She shrugs, throwing her phone in her bag. “It’s a talent.” You hand her the vacuum flask, and she gasps. “You’re an angel. See you tonight.”

“See you,” you say, watching her go.

Now you’ve taken everything out of the drawers, you figure it’s probably worth doing the same for the rest of the cabinets. You can reorganise everything and actually get a system in place for all the utensils.

It’ll feel good; an easy accomplishment, one you can use to bolster your confidence and sense of capability while trying to decide what to say to Peter.

You put on some music and settle into the rhythm of the task, creating ordered stacks on every surface in the apartment. You unearth the embarrassing ‘STEMing hot stuff!’ mug you’d forgotten about; a joke birthday present from Bear last year.

The morning drips away into afternoon as you hum and sway your way around the apartment. The constant, easy activity keeps you feeling warm and purposeful; it feels so clear, so unconfusing and undemanding on your heart to lift, dust, stack, straighten. You pull all your clothes out of your closet and sort them, finding a jacket you’d forgotten you had and a pair of sneakers with holes in the sides you’d been meaning to throw away.

Once the apartment is vacuumed yet again, couch and all, you light a candle and sit down on the floor to sort the mess of papers and books under the coffee table you’d been meaning to get to. You’d been saving the candle—for what, you aren’t sure anymore—and now the scent of it fills the apartment; sweet and rich. Your stomach growls loudly and you pause, looking at your phone for the first time.

You blink. That can’t be the right time. But it is. Because then Bear’s keys are jingling in the door, and you realise it’s gotten cold again, and you can’t see out the windows anymore because they’ve become black rectangles mirroring the spotless apartment and your own startled face back at you.

“Holy shit,” she says. “It smells like Pine-Sol in here.”

You look up at her vaguely sheepishly as though she’s caught you doing something you shouldn’t be. “Yeah. I, um, did a little cleaning.”

“A little?” She side-eyes you. “This reminds me of that time you procrastinated for like two weeks contesting that bullshit score you got, when you were too nervous to ask about it.”

“I’m not procrastinating,” you say, affronted.

She stares at you.

“I’m not,” you say.

It’s not like you’ve been intentionally avoiding the message you need to send. You just needed to clear your head first. And the apartment really was overdue for a good clean.

“All our dish rags have been colour-coded,” she observes, her head inside a cupboard.

You keep busy for the rest of the night, taking the world’s longest shower, and then using every single skincare product you can find in the back of the bathroom drawers, including the sample sachets Bear had shoved back there.

Bathed and moisturised and dressed in your softest pajamas, you sit on the edge of your bed and glare at your phone.

Should you be casual about it? Apologetic? Blunt?

You’re overthinking it. Just keep it simple.

hey parker hope you’re doing okay. can i come by? i miss

hey peter. i was thinking and i just really want to apologise for losing my shit at you that night after may’s birthday. but i just think it’s kind of shitty how you

peter, i’m so, so sorry. why didn’t you tell me about

You groan and toss your phone into the pillows piled at the head of your bed. You’re tired. Too tired to think about any of this. You hadn’t realised until now how much the day had taken out of you, but now you’re feeling all that scrubbing in your forearms.

Tomorrow, you think, burrowing down into the warmth of your bed. Tomorrow. —————

Bear drags you out of the apartment the moment you wake up. First to walk laps around the greenmarket, then to what feels like every used bookstore in the city.

You trail her through stacks of shabby Penguins turned spine-out in varying shades of faded orange while she tells you about the girl she’s only just started messaging who may or may not be hinting for her to move in with her already, and try not to look too devastated at the prospect.

“It probably won’t happen though,” she says, frowning at the back of a hardcover Magritte print book. “It’s just something she’s been dropping into conversation and, like, I can’t tell if it’s still a joke or not. Hey, we should go get a matcha.”

By the time you make it home that afternoon, you’re full and happy and barely miserable at all. You curl lazily into the couch while Bear starts on a stir-fry, scrolling through your phone. You’d set up a news alert months ago for Oscorp, back when the dream of working there was still just that, and now you skim through the day’s notifications.

There’s a quarterly financial profile, and a glowing article about one of the company’s recent charitable endeavours; providing water filtration systems to flood-ravaged parts of Papua New Guinea.

You only read the first few lines of it, wondering a little grimly how much PR paid for it to be published. You should probably delete the alert; you’re sick of thinking about work on the weekends. But then, just as you’re about to scroll away, something catches your eye.

'SIX YEARS ON: Has anything changed? Advocates for workplace reform have raised concerns Oscorp hasn’t done enough to meet its court-mandated commitment to transform management of company operations following the release of details from its most recent external review. The damning report comes only weeks after the anniversary of the death of Oscorp intern Gwen Stacy, who has been remembered by a company spokesperson as a “brilliant scientific mind sadly taken far too soon.”

The incident garnered a storm of public interest after allegations Oscorp had attempted to conceal details surrounding then-chairman Harry Osborn’s involvement in the events leading up to Stacy’s death. Unnamed Oscorp sources claimed Osborn was working under the influence of an unreleased drug which had not yet been approved for trials.

While the coroner’s report ruled the death as accidental, Stacy’s family have previously spoken to news outlets asserting the view that Oscorp’s failure to control access to untested pharmaceutical samples led to the tragic event. They did not respond to requests for comment.'

There’s a picture of a girl underneath the article; blonde and freckled and grinning toothily from behind a beakerful of clear liquid. She has the hugest, greenest eyes you’ve ever seen.

You read it three times before you put your phone down and stare at your feet for a few seconds, listening to the sound of your heart pushing blood around inside your head. Then, you pick your phone back up, open a new browser window, and start typing. —————

It’s colder inside than it was outside.

You unclasp your hands from between your knees, shivery and restless, and lean back from the desk to hug yourself, wrapping your arms tight around your body.

Gary’s cheeks are even redder than usual, bright with windburn; redder than his hair and the raw-looking skin around his eyes. He has a half-eaten almond croissant in his hand and there are crumbs all over the front of his coat.

Your leg bounces under your desk while he absently unwinds his scarf from around his neck, first in one direction, then, realising he’s just winding it tighter, in the other direction. He sets his satchel down and unclips it, ponderously slow.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen anybody in less of a rush in your entire life.

When he finally sits, you only manage to wait a few more seconds before you’re wheeling yourself in his direction.

“Hi Gary.”

He swivels his chair to face you, his face completely devoid of emotion. “Hello,” he says.

You scoot your chair a little closer. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. That’s good.” You look at each other for a minute. “I like your plant. Is that one of the ones they were giving out from the Wellness Lounge?”

“It’s fake.”

“Well,” you say slowly, “at least they’re trying to branch out.” You continue looking at each other.

He nods solemnly. “That’s funny.”

You give up. “I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions. About Oscorp. You’ve been here a long time, right?”

“I guess. Would you consider seventeen years a long time?” He doesn’t ask it with any apparent sarcasm. You don’t answer, just in case it’s rhetorical.

“I wondered if you know much about what happened with Harry Osborn.”

He looks at you with what might pass for mild suspicion. “It’s classified. You’re not going to put this on the internet, are you?“

You shake your head, giving him a little smile. “Just curious. I happened to get here kinda early this morning and stumbled across a few files while I was working. There are entire pages redacted and it just seemed really weird, so I just wondered what it was all about.”

He shoots a quick glance behind you, then lowers his voice. “Yeah, they really didn’t want any of it getting out. He was messing around with unapproved samples, even testing them on himself. And it did something to him, he went completely nuts. Took one of the interns hostage, then he killed her.”

Your heart rattles jagged and loose in your chest. “Gwen Stacy.”

He nods. There’s powdered sugar in his moustache. “Yep. They ruled it an accident, and that was the official story, but all of us who were working here then heard whispers trickle down about what really happened.”

“But why?”

“Who knows? Like I said, he went completely crazy. I doubt he even knew what he was doing. The facility he’s in? It’s not really a hospital. Or, it’s a maximum security hospital, if you get my drift. That’s why we don’t have the intern program anymore. Only graduate positions. You’re the replacement.”

It feels a little bit like how you imagine swallowing drain cleaner must feel. “The replacement,” you echo weakly. “That’s me.”

He seems to realise then how much he’s said, and he snaps his mouth closed. A beat passes, then he squints. “They made you sign an NDA when you started, right?”

You force a little smile. “Sure did.”

He still doesn’t look completely convinced, but then, it’s hard to tell when his face is about as animated as the plastic succulent on his desk. “Well. Good. I better get to work.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

You awkwardly scoot yourself back to your desk and stare at your reflection in the black monitor for a while. So May had left out a pretty important detail. Losing Harry and Gwen simultaneously hadn’t just been a case of unfortunate timing.

Gary’s confirmed everything you read, but it’s only made you more frustrated. There’s still something huge and obvious missing here that you can’t find in any of the files or reports or news articles, and it’s the thing you’re most confused about, more than whatever Harry Osborn was doing, performing reckless testing on himself.

Namely: what in the fuck was Peter doing there when it happened?

You’re still facing off with yourself when Doctor Brant walks in and you nearly knock all the shit off your desk in your scramble to look busy.

The day can’t pass fast enough.

Nothing seems to go right. The bottle slips out of your hand while you’re trying to refill the autoclave and you end up pouring distilled water all over your shoes. You forget your swipe card when you go downstairs to pick up a box of equipment and have to call security to let you back into your office.

And to top it all off, you’re still having issues with your starting cultures. You’re standing at the bench in the lab, frowning at yet another failed batch, when there’s a strange wheezing hiss from the vents overhead.

You look up.

Of course it’d just be the cherry on top if the air gave out and you ended up passing out from preservative fumes. 

You’re the only one in here at the moment; everyone else is back in the main office, so you carefully replace the lid on your samples and head for the airflow controls.

Which is when the lab plunges into complete darkness.

“Oh, great,” you breathe. You stretch your arms out in front of yourself, groping for walls. “Hello?” you call. “Is anyone else here?”

There’s no answer. You spin around and bump into the cold steel edge of a workbench. Fear trickles into your stomach as you realise you don’t know which way to go. Something smells off, like melting plastic.

The ground rumbles under your feet, and emergency lights flick on in little strips along the floor. Some of the panic leaves your body, and you make it to the doors, slapping your palm hard over the manual release so you can get out.

Everyone in the darkened office is standing around confused and talking loudly at once. A few people have the flashlights on their cells turned on, and you hold your hands out to block the light from your eyes, sidling toward the walls to get away as they all turn to blind you at once.

Doctor Brant‘s face looms out from the shadows of his office doorway looking tense. You make a beeline for him. “What’s going on?” you say, awkwardly falling into step beside him. “Power outage?”

He barely glances at you, striding forward. “So it seems. But the backup should have come on by now.”

You realise then where he’s headed and your mouth drops open. “Oh fuck. The freezers.”

A wry look barely breaks through the worry on his face. “Oh fuck, indeed.”

Some of the samples in those freezers are originals, more than twenty years old. If they warm past a certain temperature…

That’s years of work, gone.

The plastic smell has grown stronger, and there’s the distant sound of an alarm ringing, long and unbroken. A couple of people exchange tense looks as you trail Doctor Brant past them. “Should we be getting out of here?” someone says.

“It’s probably another drill,” someone replies, sounding unconvinced.

“Yeah, but. With the power cut?”

Doctor Brant pauses to look back around the office, his hand on the glass doors leading toward the freezers. “Everybody, please make your way outside. Meet at the assembly point. I’ll be down behind you.”

There’s some half-hearted grumbling about this; it’s a long way down using the evacuation stairs instead of the elevators, but then a low, distant rumble sounds from somewhere underfoot and everybody shuts up. There’s a brief bottleneck at the door as everyone tries to squeeze through it at once.

Your desk is on the other side of the office. You can practically hear the voice of your elementary school teacher in your head: stay calm, forget about your personal belongings, keep up with the group.

But your phone is sitting right in the centre of your desk. It’ll only take you an extra second to grab it.

You shuffle forward gingerly, just to make sure you aren’t about to blind yourself walking into the edge of a shelf in the gloom. Without the extra light from everyone’s phones, it’s even darker than before. Dust motes fall shivering off the lifeless light fixtures overhead as the building vibrates again, harder this time.

You slide your phone off the desk and flip it over so you can stick it into your back pocket, barely glancing at the notification on the screen. Then, the words belatedly registering, you stop. You don’t mean to. You need to get to the stairwell. But you can’t force your body to move.

1 Unread Message from: p.p.

Read it later, you think furiously at yourself. Later, later, later.

But your feet are still rooted to the floor. You need to see what he’s sent. You’ll be quick. Just a glance.

You stand stupid with panic and indecision, neither opening the message nor unrooting your feet. You’re frozen for what feels like a long time, but must only be a couple of seconds.

And then the decision is made for you.

The wall closest to the foyer rushes outward in a tsunami of smoke and insulation, and you hit the edge of your desk hard.

Everything goes black for a couple of seconds. Your eyes are squeezed shut against the grit of dust, and your ears hurt; ringing with burst-out silence. There’s the taste of blood in your mouth from where your teeth snapped shut against the inside of your lip and it feels like you hit your head somewhere on the way down.

When you manage to blink your eyes open again, you’re slumped half-under the desk. Probably a good thing, your shocked brain manages to think; it probably sheltered you from the ceiling panels crashing down. You scramble onto your knees, trying to ignore how unsteady you feel, and peer out.

You can’t see beyond the next row of desks. The smoke is too thick; and it’s too dark to make out much more than the twist of wires hanging from the ceiling where the lights have fallen loose.

“Shit,” you gasp. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

You lean back against the desk and try to think. The smoke is coming from the direction of the stairs to the main foyer, which means you can’t get out that way anymore. If the stairs are even still there.

Is there another way down from this level? Surely there must be. You probe your fingers delicately at the back of your head and wince. You have no idea what happened to your phone, so you’ve got no flashlight.

The lab, you think. There’s another emergency exit through to the other side of the lab. The stairs are behind a firewall.

You manage to get your feet underneath your body and shakily stand. It’s quickly becoming unbearably hot in here without the air working. You tuck your mouth and nose into the crook of your elbow as you pick your way forward. Your hearing is starting to come back a little; just a dull roaring sound and that alarm in the distance, still blaring.

You make it all the way to the lab door before it hits you. Doctor Brant.

You wheel around, squinting through the smoke. Fuck. Could he have made it out with the others? Maybe he’s already gone downstairs and is safe, waiting outside somewhere. You only need to think about it for a second before you know you can’t possibly leave without making sure.

You lurch toward the first of the control doors. “Doctor Brant?” The air burns your throat on the way in, and you cough so hard it feels more like a heave.

The heat is worse over here. You touch your hand to the release and hiss, pulling it back. The metal feels like touching the element on a stovetop.

Maybe you can wrap something around your skin to protect it. You hear what sounds like your name, yelled hoarse, and pause. You can’t tell which direction it came from. “I’m here! Oh, God. Doctor Brant? I’m right here. I’m gonna try to find another way to get you out. Hang on.”

You turn to search for something; a discarded jacket, or scarf from the back of somebody’s chair, and there’s a flicker of movement at the other side of the office. The sight unleashes a fresh screech of alarm in your brain. You duck behind one of the still-standing desks and peer out just in time to catch a shock of bright red swimming out from the haze.

You lean around the side, blinking, trying to make it out. The shape turns, and you see it right as it comes toward you: the panels of blue disturbing the red, the printed black over the chest; the long, sharp legs jointed out from the body. Him. Again.

Your stomach drops out. You seize the pen cup from the top of the desk and throw it as hard as you can, stopping him in his tracks.

“You stay the fuck away from me,” you warn, pointing, stumbling backwards.

“Jesus, stop, fuck—” he splutters, hands outstretched, ducking to dodge as you launch a wireless keyboard at him. You dash behind a pillar and run bent-over toward the maintenance hallway. You don’t know if he saw you, or if he’s following.

You know you should probably stop and consider why you’re actually running away from him when he’s probably only trying to help you. But your heart is going too fast for intelligent thought right now. Like a rabbit, without reason or rationale, fuelled by terror and adrenaline.

You hit a dead end and stop. Can you get to the other exit from here? What about Doctor Brant? Your eyes are burning and you scrub the back of your arm across them to try to clear the smoke. You turn to go back the way you came. But he’s there. And he’s already coming toward you. You let out a strange, retching sob-sound. “No. No, no, please, no, get away.”

He steps forward, angular grey eyes looming up out of the smoke and you wheel away. “Hey, stop, don’t go that way—”

Your lungs are on fire, and your eyes are streaming so badly you can’t tell which way to turn to run. He closes the distance between your bodies and then his hands are on your shoulders.

“Listen. Hey, hey, stop, we don’t have time for this, listen, listen to me.” You’re panicking, blind and overwhelmed and terrified, your heart clawing its way up your throat, trying to shove his hands away.

There’s something wrong with all of this. His voice doesn’t sound like you remember—but it does sound the way you know it’s supposed to, and that makes no sense, and your brain is screaming the explanation at you like a cageful of trapped birds screeching and beating against the inside of your skull, but you’re fighting it too hard to listen.

The floor has started vibrating under your feet again, and everything rumbles and groans; a loud pop of breaking glass audible far too close for comfort, but you don’t stop shoving at him as hard as you can, still twisting, trying to get away.

Then one of his hands is around your waist, pulling you flush against him so you can’t twist away, and another is on your face, pushing back your hair. His voice is back, loud and firm and right in your ear, cutting through the rush of noise, and it’s wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Listen to me. Jersey.”

It falls absolutely silent inside your head. You can still feel the smoke in your eyes, in your mouth, but you’re no longer coughing.

You’re no longer breathing.

He’s still talking, the shape of his lips moving alien through the thin red stretch of his mask. “Just breathe. I’m gonna get you outta here. But you gotta tell me if there’s anyone else in the lab who needs help. Hey. Hey, hey, breathe.”

Your mouth moves on its own. “Doctor Brant. He was in the sample freezer. He was…he…”

“Breathe,” he says again, quiet, and you do. The hands that had been shoving at his chest now press shakily to the shape of his body underneath, and, dazedly, you trace the outline of his collarbones. Your throat burns.

“You. You idiot,” you gasp hoarsely, new tears springing to your eyes. “Peter, you—you, you fucking, you idiot—”

“Yeah, trust me, I know,” he says, wrapping his other arm around your waist, and then the ground disappears from beneath your feet.

You sag your weight against him as he pulls you forward through the smoke. Something shears bright against your face and you tuck down into his chest, both of his arms keeping you tucked away from a sudden blaze of light and heat. There’s a crash from behind you, then another in front, and suddenly beautiful, clean, cold air is rushing at your skin, pulling your hair free.

Broken glass crunches under your feet as they finally meet the ground. The arm around your waist releases you, and he’s gone.

You blink in the bright sun. You’re outside. Then all the noise rushes back in, and there are new arms around you.

“Hey! We got another one, get her out of here…”

“Are you okay?” someone is saying, their safety hat-shadowed face close to yours. 

“Careful of the bleeding. Here, take her,” comes another voice. You can barely hear them under the wail of sirens.

“She’s in shock,” the first person says, and there’s a hand on your arm, pulling you forward, toward the ambulances and fire engines lined up across the street. You look back over your shoulder. They’ve cordoned off the entire block. There’s ash in your mouth, and you nearly stumble.

The person holding you pauses, turning back toward you. “What? Did you say something?” They’re half-shouting to be heard. They’re just a blur, like a stranger in a dream.

You stare at them. It feels like your face is doing something incredibly interesting. Did you say something? The ash is gritty like sand against your teeth, on your tongue.

“I need to get back inside,” you hear yourself saying now, quiet and clear, your voice disconnected from your mouth. You need to get back into the building. You need to.

“What?”

Then you’re shoving at the hand on your arm, twisting out of their grip. Someone shouts out with alarm behind you, and you’re running, clumsily, tripping over rubble as you throw yourself back toward the police barricade blocking the entrance to the building.

“Stop! You can’t go in there!”

You don’t care. You’re not leaving him.

Which is when there’s a shriek of metal overhead. You and everybody else on the street look up just in time to watch every remaining window on the top half of the building explode outward in shards of skin-melting heat.

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