#tom!peter parker x gender neutral reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rowniebow · 11 months

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Fic where Peter and reader are already dating and Peter is distant because of his obvious job which leaves reader hurt and angry and starts becoming distant and detached with Peter which causes Peter to get mad and then they fight and peter blurts out “are you cheating on me?” Which causes reader to get furious and start yelling which catches peter off guard and reader leaves, can take the story where you want past this. sorry if this is long and confusing or doesn’t make sense (Tom or andrews pete but you can do Tom if it really matters) ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

it can be okay | tom!peter parker x gn!reader

pairings: tom!peter parker x gn!reader

cw: littol bit o angst but not much

word count: 3.4k+

an: went with tom's because i've yet to write abt his peter but i feel like he was left with so much turmoil after no way home, his peter fits well with this prompt...... ANYWAY thank you so much for requesting and i apologize for my absence, esp if u were waiting around for this ! i appreciate you, please stay safe! sry 4 long an

masterlist

⭒

you felt an arm wrap around your waist. warmth and pressure spread over your back. you flipped around to wrap your own arms around the man that had climbed into bed with you.

"sorry," his breath found its way to your ear and pulled the hair on your spine up. his quiet whisper held gravel in the smooth concrete of his voice. "did i wake you up?"

"yeah, i'm glad."

"oh, good. i'm glad i woke you, too. get more time to hear your voice."

you hummed, sleep fighting your coherent words.

"how was your day?"

"it was fine. i missed you for our movie night."

petter stuttered out several different sounds, none of them making any real words.

your eyebrows twitched at his struggle.

"i-i'm so sorry, sweetheart, i completely forgot. i-i-i-i got so caught up with homework i didn't even think... it's that stupid biology class! i always have so much reading to do for it.

"yeah, it's okay," you moved closer to him, desperate for as much of his warmth as possible. "school is more important than movies! let me know next time, though."

"of course," he kissed the top of your head. he lingered with an exaggerated 'mwah'. "i'm so sorry, sweetheart."

you hummed and slurred out a reassurance.

"go back to sleep now, sweets."

and it was okay.

⭒⭒

everything was so much louder when he wasn’t around.

the fridge’s song sung by instruments of kinetic energy hummed at the back of your head. the calm air against the glass window was practically visible with how loud it was. the dust that settled on the marble kitchen countertops and sunk it’s way into the fabric of your couch crunched and stretched the fibers of the masses. you couldn’t seem to turn the television up much higher than seven (you hoped the number might bring you luck to bring the man home).

sure, he’s missed nights that were supposed to be set aside for you two and his favorite star wars films. yes, you’ve noticed how he’s missed more than a few fairly important tests for his classes, causing him to fail (he was beginning to fall fairly far behind in his degree, but you weren’t going to comment on that. not yet, anyway).

but, he’d yet to miss out on a date.

he had yet to leave you waiting at your favorite shitty twenty-four hour diner in the middle of new york that was a forty minute walk from your apartment.

you wouldn’t deny to anyone other than peter that it bothered you a bit. your lip was raw and crumbs from a sad, newly empty plate of fries dusted your nicest clothes that you had put on just for him. your eyes wore heavy bags from how late you stayed up in hope that maybe he was just running a bit late.

however, when a bit late had become two in the morning, you gave up hope on that.

you looked outside at the nearly visible air and listened to the chill of the early morning crack at your window after you arrived back at your empty apartment at nearly three in the morning. you listened to the distant wind against the quickly moving vehicles. you listened to the retreating caw from a bird that didn’t sound like any you’d heard before. you listened to the dust float through the air and the television hum despite it being off. you listened to the deafening silence of the room and your mind.

cold three in the morning apartment air hit the back of your throat as you brought as much of the toxic oxygen into your lungs as you possibly could, and released it to be filtered and given to some other poor abandoned soul.

it was okay.

you understood his forgetful habits. you understood why he slept in and took so many naps. he has a lot on his plate. juggling school, and work, and the family issues that he’s mentioned from time to time.

it is okay.

maybe next time.

⭒⭒⭒

waking up alone after a warm night with peter seemed to hurt more than the missing arrangements.

the apartment's chill leaked under the blankets and burned your skin until you awoke. the emptiness of the space next to you in your bed was a sad physical representation of the emptiness in your gut.

the hole in your stomach that you awake with absorbs all the cereal you eat and leaves you feeling hungry for the rest of the day. it absorbs your joy and hope. it absorbs the warmth in your body (and especially in your smile).

your days are filled with sighs when you wake up with the hole of peter. with those deep exhales, you hope to breath out whatever haunts your stomach.

it sticks with you until the end of the day when you fall asleep alone. peter will climb in after you in the depths of the night and the ocean of your sheets. he'll whisper sweet nothings into your ear. he'll apologize if need be. he'll pepper you with kisses and hold you close.

and you'll be okay.

then he'll do it all over again.

⭒⭒⭒⭒

it just so happened to be next time.

he promised to make the last time up to you and promised to see you the next friday night for dinner.

so there you sat, leg bouncing under the table at a restaurant that was all too fancy for your taste but peter had insisted on.

you were on your third glass of an odd color wine (that really didn’t even taste good) and you were nearing the second hour of waiting.

“would you like to order yet, sir?” the waiter asked for the fifth time that night.

perhaps it was the alcohol that brought a sting to your eyes when you checked the time on your phone. but you smiled and shook your head and asked for the check instead.

looking at the number on the check, you nearly sobbed at how much three glasses of wine cost you. but you sighed and gave an eighty percent tip anyway as reparations for the waiter having to pity you all night. you almost sobbed, again, when you could hear a couple that had gotten there after you comment to one another about how long you’d been there.

cheeks warm with embarrassment, you made your way back to your apartment. the chill of the late night spring mildly helped cool you down.

the pity in the waiter's eyes and the couple's comments haunted you all the way home. only when you undressed into your sleep clothes and climbed under the covers could you manage to excuse peter's actions.

peter must have simply gotten caught up in homework. he must have just fallen asleep.

it's okay.

perhaps he got the days mixed up and forgot it was friday. or he got his hours for work wrong and he ended up having to work.

it is okay.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

you truly didn’t mean to lean away from his kiss when peter tried to wish you goodbye that evening.

but you did.

you leaned away as if it were a stranger that was trying to kiss you. you truly didn’t mean to. you also knew that you truly felt as though it was a stranger trying to kiss you, though.

you knew it hurt him. quite honestly it hurt you, too. whether it was the pain in his features that hurt you or the fact that you felt that way.

either way, your actions hurt the both of you, and you knew you should apologize. you nearly did right then and there.

"are you cheating on me?" the quiet whispers of words that he choked out hit you like lightning. the frown in his lips and the way he avoided your eyes made your heart crack before you could process the words he spoke. his broken voice distracted you from the content it delivered.

you felt your eyebrows pull together at first. you felt the apology creep in your throat and nearly spill out.

his hurt was a new language for you to learn. it forced you to think over each word and remember the meaning of it similar to how you did in spanish class in high school.

and as the syllables set in and your brain wrapped itself through the vowels and consonants, you scoffed. maybe even laughed.

did he really just say that? did he truly feel like he had the nerve to say that?

"am i cheating on you?" a glare made itself comfortable in your features.

it's not okay.

"...no?" peter’s stuttered, hesitant disagreement made his regret in his words clear. but how could you just brush over his accusation?

"peter parker, i should be asking you that question."

"wha-what do you mean?"

"you're the one who's hardly fucking here. you’re the one that’s left me waiting until the morning for you to come around. you’re the one who ‘forgets’ anytime we agree to hang out.”

it is not okay.

“i-i didn’t-,”

“‘you didn’t’ what? remember? show up?”

his silence was as loud as it is when he’s gone.

“where are you all day, peter?”

“where are you at night?”

fucking

“where are you right now. are you even here?”

loud.

“get out.”

“what? no - no, please, y/n, you gotta trust me on this.”

nothing is okay.

“i trusted you to be here!”

“i know, and i’m so sorry, but - ah - i can’t tell you. you just-just gotta trust me!”

“no, peter!”

“please, i’ll make it up to you, i swear!”

“you’ve had plenty of chances for that.”

“c’mon, y/n,”

“no! even if you’re not cheating on me, you obviously don’t have time for me!”

“i’ll make time for you,”

“you really should have already been doing that.”

“i’ll make more time for you!”

“you don’t get more time in a day, and you’re not getting anymore from me, parker. christ- are you going to leave?"

"no! y/n, please, let me make this right, i-i can't lose you, too."

"fuck. i will leave then, jesus!"

"what?"

you slipped your shoes on, ignoring his words.

peter called your name as you opened the door.

"goodnight, peter."

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

you stayed at your parents house for a couple nights then came back to your empty apartment. the silence wasn't as loud as it normally was, but the intensity of the emptiness, both in the apartment and in the pit of your stomach, made up for the lack of overbearing volume.

you went about your life for two whole weeks with that emptiness haunting you. not a word from peter. about anything.

you went to your classes, studied in your room, went to work, came back and went to sleep: the college dream.

you hardly even noticed two weeks had passed with the way you had just been floating through the days.

with your mind blank without the joy and excitement of peter parker in your life, you filled it with the words from your humanities textbook to prepare for a final.

the jiggling of your apartment doorknob cut through the sound of the words in your head. your eyes immediately went wide. the air became thick as you heard the door squeak open slowly but surely.

your breath was stuck in your throat, but you found it in you to pick up your heavy textbook to toss if you needed.

you listened to the door creek shut and click closed.

perhaps someone just mistook your apartment for their own? maybe a new neighbor who's mixing it up? you're sure it's just a simple mistake and not some horrible, evil, scary, stronger-than-you criminal who wants to steal the little bits of items you have. certainly they won't murder you brutally, or kidnap you and sell you.

certainly not, right?

your mind ran wild with what-if's and dangers of the situation. what else was there to do in the face of danger, though? hide under your blankets and hope they don't come in?

no, you'd at least like to look death in the face before you go.

that didn't stop your racing heart and shaking hands, of course.

so you crept around your door frame and down the small hall that lead to your tiny living room. you could hear the person rattling through your pots and pans.

you stood behind the corner, telling yourself it'd be fine.

you can do it. just go and ask what's going on. you're sure this is probably just some huge mix up.

"hah!" you huffed as you turn the corner and toss the heavy book at the person.

they immediately turn around and catch the flying pages. your heart drops to your stomach. your only weapon failed.

"y/n? i didn't know you were home!"

your heart manages to repair itself in your chest as the voice and face process in your mind. "peter?" you practically shriek. "what are you doing here?" a breath (that you were fully aware you had been holding) left your lungs, your hands finding their way to cover your face from the stress.

"i-i-i didn't know you'd be home, i'm sorry,"

"so you sneak into my apartment when i'm not home?" the glare you sent him reminded him how snappy you get when you're upset.

"no, no, no, no, no-!"

your questioning glare had him pause his denial.

"well, yes,"

you groaned.

"but listen!"

"i don't want to listen to you when you just broke into my house, peter!"

"well, the door was open-,"

another groan.

"okay, yeah, i can...see...that..."

"leave, peter!"

"wait, wait, wait! okay, listen," he took a deep breath. "i can explain myself-,"

"which part: when you forgot about me constantly or when you broke into my house?"

"all of it! i can explain and i just want you to know that i haven't been telling you for your own safety."

"what the fuck are you talking about?"

"just-just come with me."

"where?"

"it's a surprise!" his apologetic smile willed you to trust him.

you stared at him. his waves framed his face - his hair seemed to grow a lot in the last two weeks. his eyes were a whirlpool that sucked you in.

"jesus, peter." you shook your head, but found some shoes and a jacket to slip on anyway. the bright smile on peter's face made you want to forget about everything.

you followed him down the stairs to the quiet, three in the morning college town streets on a tuesday.

"how far away is it?" you asked. your eyes followed a plane as it blinked through the sky.

"kind of far," he moved in front of you to block your path. "but," he sung his vowel. "i know a quicker way to get there!"

"do we need to take the subway-?" you looked around, only for peter to wrap an arm around your waist. "what-?"

"it's going to be a little scary but you gotta trust me."

"what are you doing, pete?"

"you gotta hold on okay?" he guided your arms around his neck. "trust me, okay?" his sweet enchanting smile encouraged you to trust him despite everything. that didn't stop the groove between your brows from forming, though.

"what-?"

and you were in the air. screaming, obviously. you could hear his reassurance and apologies, willing you to keep holding on.

after several minutes of being in the air and coming to the consensus that you wouldn't fall even if you tried with peter's death grip on you, you took a glance around at your setting.

the street was far below you. cars and lights from down below smiled up and laughed at your fear. apartments on the thirtieth floors were eye level but passed so fast that you couldn't see who resided in them.

"isn't it nice?" peter whispered. he was your only lifeline; the only thing keeping you from falling to your death. "it's so peaceful up here." his quiet words didn't calm your racing heart or sooth your stressed features, but it brought you to stay present until your feet hit the solid ground again.

your legs shook you until your knees met the surface you stood on.

"sorry-,"

"what was that, parker?" you sparse breath made your voice come out as merely a squeak but peter knew all too well that you would be screaming at the top of your lungs if you could.

"it- well- i- uhm," the wind helped you push yourself off of your knees and back to sitting like a normal person rather than someone who thought their feet wouldn't ever touch the ground again. "i'm not really sure how to say this i-i-,"

"peter, i swear to god-,"

"i'm spider-man!" you looked up at his avoiding eyes that were as wide as yours. as if he couldn't believe he actually said that.

"excuse me?" you said after several moments of silence passed.

"i-i'm spider-man," his quiet voice was nearly drowned out by the blowing wind.

you laughed.

his eye brows came together in frustration. "why are you laughing?"

"you're not spider-man."

"i just swung us to the top of central park tower and you're going to deny that i'm spider-man?"

your smile slowly faded as you noticed where you were. that he was right. you were among the stars, the moon within inches of your fingers. the street glowed up at you, laughing once more. the usual honking screams from the cars could not be heard from how high you were. all you could hear was the growl of the wind and peter's shy voice.

"oh my god,"

"no-no, don't freak out!"

"i'm not freaking out, i never freak out. you're just spider-man and that's a thing and we're on top of the central park tower and i could totally fall right now but i'm not freaking out."

you were freaking out.

"doesn't spider-man have webs or something?"

peter stuck out his hand, and a white web came tumbling out after your hand that rested on the ground you still sat on. he tugged at the string that stuck itself to your hand and pulled you up with it. you stumbled into him, his hands steadying your shaking.

"that's insane."

"i know, and i'm so sorry. between juggling school and work and this, it's really difficult to keep track of everything. this doesn't have a schedule and gets in the way of you a lot more than i'd like it to."

"i-i guess i get why you didn't tell me."

a breath left through peter's lips. "i-i put together this as an apology, though." he motioned behind you to yet another thing you didn't notice throughout the stress of it all.

a blanket laid out with food from your favorite take out place scattered all over it. small electric candles flickered around the setting providing as the only light that wasn't coming from the city down below along with his laptop that was glowing and set up to browse through netflix for something to watch.

"i'm really sorry. i'm sorry i'm never there. i'm sorry it's taken me so long to see you again. i'm most of all sorry that i can't change it."

your eyes met his once again.

"if how i am is too much for you, i completely understand. you deserve someone who will treat you as good as you deserve and who will show up. but i want you to know that i miss you, and love you, and i will keep trying so hard to show up."

"you love me?"

"i-i-," peter's sure eyes suddenly fell to the floor and his hands found the back of his neck. "i mean, yeah," he stuttered. "but like it's okay, like, i get it, you know? i don't-,"

all the fears of being at the top of the central park tower and dating spider-man and what it means to date spider-man left you mind. all you could think about was how much you really did love peter despite his absent habits. maybe even more so now that you knew this huge secret and what that secret told about him as a person.

so you kissed him.

the heavenly feeling of his lips was something you didn't know you missed as much as you did. as soon as your lips met, tears pricked themselves at your eyes but you refused to let them fall.

you were okay.

peter was okay.

you were both okay.

it was all okay.

⭒ taglist ⭒

@fadedver @1ischai @djmalik52 @garlicforthewin @cryinked @armand0alg0 @softboi14

please dm me if you would like to be taken off of the taglist

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mlm-writer · 7 months

Text

Test Ride Pt. 2 (Peter Parker x Android!Reader)

Pairing: Peter Parker (TH ver.) x Android Reader (with a robovagina) Rating: Explicit Words: 1189 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 10 - Robotfucking Note: A sequel to a piece I did for kinktober 2020. Reader is a robot and has no gender. Last time reader got a robopenis and I thought it only fair to give reader a robovagina this time. Reader's chest is unmentioned. Tags: robotfucking, unnecessary use of fancy words to make it more sci-fi, at least I don't put 'quantum' in front of everything to make it science, dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, safeword ignored(?), robot tentacles as restraints, vibrating pussy, nipple play and software/hardware updates gone ' wrong'

A new HUD interface greeted you as you booted up after your last upgrade. Your physical statistics and environmental parameters were found in new places, but that mattered little. Your optics activated after a short delay, visual input now also available to you. Your creator stood before you, his lips moving, but you received no audio input. “Audio module connection failed,” you replied to whatever he said. You saw him curse, or at least that was your best prediction of what his expression conveyed. He motioned your head down. You bent at the hips, allowed him to unplug and reconnect your audio modules.

Once the cables reconnected, you could hear Peter clearly. “Please, don’t be ruined, please don’t be ruined,” he muttered to himself.

“All modules operational,” you informed him. He jumped at your voice, but let out a sigh of relief right after. “Awaiting command,” you added. As per usual after an update, Peter started poking and prodding your frame, confirming your sensory input was still operational. When he was done testing your basic functions, he dragged you to his bed.

“Program D.O.M. version V, please,” he spoke nervously. You detected an increase in heart rate and blood flow to the genitals. You confirmed the break command, as it was standard protocol, before you could execute the D.O.M. program. Once the safety protocols were satisfied, you had your digits on Peter’s clothes. You unbuttoned his flannel, revealing his pale chest underneath. There was minor bruising, but a quick scan revealed no serious injuries that were contraindications to the program. You pushed him onto the bed and started running your tongue over his chest, paying extra attention to his nipples.

Peter whimpered as you played with his chest, artificial tongue and teeth taking turns with your digits pinching his sensitive nubs. You kept track of his arousal, only stopping your onslaught once his involuntary noises got a little louder. You sat up, retracting your pelvic panel and rubbing your wet hole over Peter’s crotch. He whined as you slowly soaked through his jeans and underwear, until he could feel your wetness on his cock through his clothes. “Please, I need to be inside you,” Peter eventually moaned, his mind tethering on the edge of madness.

He was hard underneath you, so you deemed him ready for the next stage. With superhuman deftness, you removed his clothes until he was naked on the bed. His cock protruded from his body, the tip red and leaking. You wrapped a servo around his rod, stroking slowly as to tease him. When he started thrusting into the tightness, you placed your other servo on his hip, your mechanical strength counteracting his. He was forced to only take what you gave, which was exactly what he programmed you to give. It was not enough to get him even remotely close to orgasm, but the build-up was perfect to make him start begging. Once the begging got frequent enough, you proceeded on to the next stage; you mounted him, letting his cock slide into your wet and soft hole. Peter moaned, his eyes rolling back as you rode him at a decent pace. “Please, give me more, I’ve been good. I will be even better, I swear.”

His moans filled the room. You took his dick all the way inside and paused on top of him. “I will grant you more. However, unpermitted orgasms will be reciprocated with punishment.” He nodded, promising he would not cum. You decreased the elasticity of your inner walls, giving him a tighter squeeze as you proceeded to ride him. Your movements were quicker than before, fully intending to make him cum without permission. Peter was moaning to the ceiling, eyes squeezed closed sometimes and other times wide open. His mouth stayed wide open, tongue peeking over his lower lip.

Just as predicted, your inner sensors detected his cum painting your inner workings. You rode him until the spurts seized. Then you planted yourself firmly on him. Tendrils extended from your body and wrapped around his appendages. “You have disobeyed my orders,” you stated as you held him down and turned on the vibrations of your inner walls. Peter wailed as his sensitive cock was forced to endure the intense vibrations. He writhed against your restraints, but not even his super strength could remove you. Just like he had begged you before to fuck him, he was now begging for your mercy. You bent your upper body, putting a servo around his throat. You put a little pressure on the blood vessels below his jaw. Tears poured down Peter’s eyes as you forced a second orgasm out of him. You detected more cum inside you as he cried out.

After his second orgasm, you ran a scan on him, the analysis showing that he had enough. You removed your servo from his throat and turned off the stimulation or at least… attempted to. “Error: deprecated code, V-module unresponsive.” You stated, your tendrils no longer retracting and your hole vibrating on and on.

“What?” Peter exclaimed, clearly in panic. You ran a diagnostic check, your hole trying to reboot by first ramping the vibrations all the way up, so it could be brought down again. Peter screamed during the process, his brain unable to process the stimulation.

The tactic worked fine, but the module got stuck again at the same level of vibrations you started at. “Tendril module interfering with V-module. Attempting tendril reboot.” Peter did not perceive a word you said. As the tendrils rebooted, they lifted up a little, Peter’s body now hanging in the air except for his pelvis, where you still sat, vibrating his cock.

Peter cried, feeling like his brain had melted away from the intense pleasure. “Stark! Stark!” He screamed the break command. You tried to terminate the program immediately, but the backlog of reboots and diagnostic checks made it impossible. Your creator, against your predictions, came again, barely a drop of cum leaving him. He kept screaming, trying to get through to you. Just after his third orgasm, you regained control of the tendrils. In a flash, they were retracted and you uncoupled the module for now.

Peter’s cock was gradually turning limp inside of you. The poor boy was hoarse from screaming. Without the tendrils, you regained full control, the vibrations stopping instantly. “Thank you, thank you,” Peter whispered over and over as you lifted your frame off him.

“Program D.O.M. paused,” you stated, “do you wish to continue after a delay or shall I proceed with aftercare protocols?”

Peter laid starfish-style on the bed. His chest was heaving. He could use some aftercare, but it was hard to trust you right now. “Terminate the program all together,” he groaned, “initiate shutdown.” A second later, he was met with the sound of your vents shutting down and your pelvic plate closing to protect what was behind it. He was left in silence. As far as updates went, it still wasn’t as bad as that time Windows went from XP to Vista. He counted it as a win.

—————

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clarks-letterman · 1 year

Text

lost in reality | perv!peter parker x gender-neutral!reader

a/n — this is not what i usually post! there was going to be more smut but i didn't know how far to go with it, so if anyone wants to see something more extended, let me know! (Peter is a bit of a perv in this but i tried to make him get his comeuppance) gender-neutral, i think

warnings — smut! 18+, some brief facefucking, gore (sorta mild, but don't read if you don't like it!)

summary — Peter uses the reality stone to practice his pickup skills. With such a powerful device at his disposal, what could go wrong?

words — 3.7k

~~~

A mesh of red and blue ambled to the quarters of the Avenger's compound. No rush nor worry affected Peter as he kept one foot light over the other, heading into each step, furthering him down the hallway. It was another neighborhood saved and another day where he would be free from the thoughts of letting his powers go to waste, and his life could finally regress into normalcy for the start of the new day. While he had a kick in his step from how smoothly the night had gone—and how much his mentor acknowledged the fact—Peter felt the need for something a little more caffeinated to help him instead.

As Peter returned from his latest venture, taking no rush to get to his room, you were on your way out of the resident android's room. In your hand, a pad of Stark Industries-branded notepad paper with all but one of the Avengers' coffee orders scribbled down filled it. You would not be in Vision's room with the question of coffee being the reason, something he was physically incapable of drinking, but Wanda frequented the room, and it was likely that she was in there. You were right to assume that, and now, you planned to check the door just further down the hall to see if Peter was around.

It turned out that you did not need to go far; the bright colors of his suit caught your eye the second you stepped out into the corridor. Anything resembling Peter's mood of being on top of the world was gone, and so was that little kick that pushed him further—you could almost see him lose it in his eyes once he saw you, even from afar. You approached him with one thing on your mind, the pen and paper used to record everyone's order at the ready.

"He-," he cleared his throat before lowering the pitch of his voice, "Hey."

There was an awkward silence between the following words until you reminded him by tapping your pen to the side of the notepad to draw his attention to it and speaking up, "Your order?"

"What?" He was already blowing it. Peter glanced down to his red-spandex feet and then back to you, his voice returning to its natural pitch, "Oh, yeah, uh—"

Peter paused. He realized he did not know what he wanted, and while you found the evident attempt to appear cool somewhat endearing, you could have already been heading out to get coffee for everyone by now. Almost by reflex, you started to tap the pen against the nearly completed list of coffee orders ranging from simple menu items to oddly specific modifications to non-existent drinks. And in seconds, the pen slipped from your grasp and unceremoniously landed on the laminate of the hallway floor.

"Shit," you reached down to grab the ballpoint, but Peter stopped you.

"I'll get it."

He attempted to bend over, only to find his hand stuck to the wall. Peter quickly stood straight, subtly tugging his hand away from the wall without tearing a new hand-shaped hole in the plaster and paint. In his panic, Peter's hand stuck itself to the wall, and no matter how hard he tried to pull away from it, his hand wouldn't budge. That left you to get the dropped pen, reaching for it without the trouble of spider-centric powers messing with you.

You looked to Peter, scribbling down his name next to Tony's order, "I'll just get you what Tony gets and leave you alone with your hand. See you later, Peter."

With that, Peter was left alone and sufficiently embarrassed as you strode down the hall, and, finally, his hand let him free once you were gone. He scuttled to his room in a bout of shame and locked the door, heading to his mirror with a plan to practice asking you out. It was a simple mirror resting on the opposite side of the wall that had betrayed him, even if it was an inanimate object that could neither sway nor influence his spider abilities. He planned on using the reflective rectangular sheet as a stand-in for you but decided to change himself into something that didn't remind him of the awkward encounter he had moments ago.

Now, he stared at himself in the length of the full-body mirror, dressed in a tee sporting Midtown's gold and navy-blue colors and a simple pair of beige cargo pants. It was more on your level, casual clothes that were unlike the striking symbolism of his superhero suit. Peter hoped it would make him feel more comfortable talking to you, as he wouldn't discern the need to be perfect in everything he does around you. He could be Peter.

The first words he spoke to himself in the mirror were natural, not meant to sound broody or cool. It was how he usually talked: voice cracks and diffidence-galore, "Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to swing me to get coffee with you?"

Peter realized his slip-up and started the question over again.

"Oh my God, that's so funny that you get coffee!" He placed a hand over his chest with a fake smile to match, "I love caffeine and wanted to know if you would drink me. I mean, drink it with me?"

“Hey, I was just in the neighborhood—saving it, and all. Coffee, you-me? Then, we could come back here for. . .” He paused, knowing that he could never be that smug with you—he could barely get his powers to work! How would the Parker-Charm not blow up on ignition? “Okay, dial it back, Pete.”

"I'm hopeless," Peter let his head fall, staring at the floor. He could hardly watch himself fumble in the mirror, but the glint of a red sheen in the mirror pulled him back—the reality stone, sitting on one of the few bookshelves resting against the walls of his room. This one housed various meticulously assembled Star Wars-themed Lego sets, and the stone quickly became an amenity on the set of Boba Fett's Starship. Could he use it for this, of all things? If he did use it, it would only be for a couple of minutes. For practice, he told himself.

Many people would probably ask why a teenager would have one of the most mighty pieces of rock sitting on a shelf in his bedroom, and well, Peter wouldn't know the answer himself as to why he was allowed to keep it. According to Tony, he was a good kid, and the rest of the team knew he wouldn't use it for anything malicious, like obliterating half of all human existence. So, it was a souvenir, a relic that Peter never utilized for anything apart from letting it be some seriously cool decor and a piece he constantly bragged about to his only two friends.

He turned away from the mirror, retrieved the stone from its entrapment in the plastic bricks, and returned to his full-length reflection. The jagged edges dug into the soft inside of his palm in retaliation to the pressure as he squeezed it with a closed fist. With a single thought—one that held details of nearly everything about you—a soft ring of smoke formed a couple of feet away from him on the carpet. His heart thrummed as it quickly moved upward, revealing your form as it went. After a few moments, the puff of smoke faded as it rounded your head, topping off the manifested version of yourself.

Nothing could compare to the real you, but this was close.

The imagined version of you standing before Peter looked like the spitting image of you, almost to the point where, if dressed the same, it would be impossible to tell the two of you apart. Almost. But, there was one thing that let Peter tell the visually deceitful version of you apart from the real one: he couldn't hear a heartbeat. He figured that, while you looked the same on the outside, the inside was missing a few vital features of the real you.

Regardless, Peter struggled to remember that information since your lesser interpretation was still stunning enough to make his heart sink into the never-ending pit in his stomach. His feelings got the better of him, and Peter started his practice in err from the moment he opened his mouth.

He held the stone tight, waving his other hand to you, "Hey—hi, do you know who I am?"

"Yeah, you're Peter." You stated it as if he should have known that already, and he noted it. From what he could tell, you had at least some part of the memory of your actual self, so maybe this version of you could provide an accurate reaction to asking you to get coffee with him.

"Okay, cool. Cool. Yeah, that's. . . cool," Peter trailed.

"Why do you keep saying cool?"

The only problem was that you were real. Unduly real. Down to the slightest mannerisms that anyone but Peter would be able to catch when they spent time with you, and with your stunning looks and perfect quirks brought about by the stone, Peter could remember everything about you. He could hardly hear the absence of your heartbeat from his' sonority, ultimately distracting himself from his original intent.

"So, what did you wanna ask me?"

"You. . . you ask a lot of questions. But, I wanted to know if you could—"

Peter was finally going to get the words out, albeit to someone who was only pretending to be you. He wouldn't have to worry about finishing that project he procrastinated on—this would be his big success of the day. But his web-shooter had gone off erroneously across the room, spraying against the walls and pouring onto the floor from its canister. He jumped away from the source and nearly dropped the stone in the process.

Peter's mind was fleeting, even his rehearsal was going wrong, and he immediately thought of an old trick for speaking to people that he hadn't needed since a young age—he imagined you in your underwear. He didn't mean for it to happen, but if he thought it, the stone made it a reality for as long as he held the little rock. He watched as a red puff of smoke took your clothes into the air, vanishing from your body in less than a second. Underneath, a simple pair of boxer briefs clung to your nether region. Maybe it wasn’t all about the practice to Peter. His mind had thought of this, so it couldn't be that bad to indulge in it.

"Could you come over here?" He asked, throat dry. He needed to feel you to confirm he had not gone completely insane from one too many hits on the head. Peter defeatedly took a few steps to his bed, sitting down on the edge of it. "Please?"

His heart pounded with each step you took, accepting his wish to draw near. Peter could not help but watch your vulnerability follow ostensibly close behind. In just one beat, you stood directly in front of him. He watched your knees rise and fall on either side of his legs as you sat on his thighs. Peter felt the warmth of your presence, the surprising weight of you on his hairless and sinewy thighs, even if you were empty inside.

Peter was bristling, brown eyes wandering over your exposed form. His body felt immovable, no matter how much he wished to drop the stone and watch you vanish. His head was the only thing not to freeze, the rest of his body turning into a well-sculpted monolith. His jaw moved with a bit of tension, "I didn't ask you to do it like this."

"No, but you thought it."

"How did you. . . ?"

"You thought that, too."

Peter realized that he was practically having a conversation with himself, just through the guise of your face. The details became more apparent; the color of your eyes, the set of your mouth, and the same smile lines appeared as he thought about its utter perfection. He connected that now, asking you to come closer only worsened his issue. Your presence over his prominent bulge made it push the limits of its cotton confines. Slowly, his marble arm broke from his reserved mold, and an empty hand cupped your cheek the same way he had always thought about doing it. He would use both, but one was occupied with creating his living dream. Then his hand slid away and around to the back of your neck, your hair brushing his chewed fingernails and overly scraped knuckles.

He knew that guiding you into the kiss was redundant as he could think about it, but this was far more passionate. As he brought you close, the thought of your smell and the feeling of hot breath joining in concordant timing against each other's skin started to fill his head. At the touch of your lips to his, Peter kissed like someone who had nothing to lose. Like he didn't have the responsibility of seeming to have it all together placed foremost. Like he could be a needy and desperate mess for more than a passing swing around New York. Only now, and only because of you.

His impetuous thinking decided that taking care of his problem now would mean that he could resolve everything else later. He needed to take care of it now; it was the only thought running through his head. Desire.

Breaking away, Peter silently commanded you to slide off your boxers and get on your knees. He caught a glimpse of you as you followed his direction, surprised by how his mind subconsciously filled in the gaps for everything he had never seen.

Your hands worked in a way that left their presence unknown until they were hooked into the band of his boxers, easily tugging down on the well-worn stitching to free Peter's springy dick. He watched your eyes ogle it and how you took it into your hand without a second thought, and while he filled your hand well, he couldn't help but think about his inadequacy. He had seen his teammates' sizes after sharing training sessions with them. Not that he was looking on purpose, but mostly out of insecurity. Peter already paled in comparison to the heights and builds of the others, and while he was far from small, they didn't make him look all that great. Peter started to wonder if the stone affected him in the same way it did you.

With a single thought, he decided to test it. He watched his shaft grow bigger and chub up with a thicker girth. Your hand could barely wrap around it as it had with his true size. It felt like an innocuous veneer to gaining the confidence that he never had. As a result, he was eager to get you on him and make you squirm like one of the criminals he spun webs around.

In seconds, your lips formed an imperfect circle and took the head of the arachnid, and the rest of him, as if it were nothing. Your lips brushed his decent smattering of hair around the base of his cock without convulsion. This version of you had a throat that fit around him like a cock-sleeve, hugging his girth without any of the need for restraint.

"No gag reflex? This is better than any toy I ever made."

Peter's hands found their way back to the rear of your head, controlling the pace at which you took him for his own pleasure. The sheer feeling of something far better than lubed-up rubber made him go wild.

At a certain point, he couldn't remember when his mind started to break reality further than he thought until he was suddenly yanked back to it. Peter started to feel effervescent guilt towards his actions. This is what he wanted, but not how he wanted to get it. Quickly, Peter felt the heavy weight on his chest return, the need to right himself by putting an end to this. He hated that he changed himself to impress something that wasn't even you. He wondered what his mentor would think, what you would think, or how you would react. A small shift inside him sent that weight toward his hand, the one he held the stone in, and it went from its dormant glim keeping the illusion alive to a bright shine, creating something new.

"Get off, get off, please," Peter asked, thinking the words in his head as hard as he could to free himself from his twisted fantasy. You let his stiff, unrelieved dick pop out of your mouth and got off your knees.

"What's wrong, Peter?" He had thought that, too. What was wrong with him?

He could barely stand to face you, but he needed to acknowledge you to make you leave. When he did work up the nerve to look in your direction, the guilt glared back at him. He felt like a creepy monster for even thinking it was a good idea to give in to his urges. The feeling overtook him so much that he didn't even realize your gradual change.

At first, it was your face. The pleasureful expression turned into a sour one, eyebrows funneling together and your upper lip upturned. But, the features of your face pressed forward as if they were made of putty and someone was trying to claw their way out. They stretched out and ballooned until they burst, leaving you headless. Your body went without a head for a few seconds before the more seasoned details of his mentor formed in your absence.

He kept his hand flat, wicking it away from his body and the rest of his arm with the hope that the stone would fall off, but his powers had already made that choice for him. Then, he thought of his suit, his web-shooters, and the communicator that could signal Tony. If he drew attention to the issue, it would resolve itself, but could he successfully explain everything as if it were the typical morning paper arriving at the doorstep? He could try, or at the very least, lie. But that would never solve this issue, though, not in the long run.

Peter formed a mental map of the fastest route to his closet in his head and decided that his backup web-shooters might be strong enough to hold the illusion down and give him time to pry the stone from his nonreciprocating palm. He turned, locking eyes with the monster as it started changing again.

Peter looked on in horror, the stone shining its brightest and shading the monster in terrifying red like a stop sign you see at the last minute when your heart sinks at the thought of being crushed. The soft tear of wet, stretching flesh and its stringy reformation flushed his ears as the beast before him grew. The harsh snap and sound of bones splintering from the fattening weight pierced his sensitive ears; nothing new to him at this point in his life, but he had never heard so many cracks and gushing wounds. Yet, through all the bodily changes, Peter never broke his stare with the amalgamation of his worst thoughts. Its eyes never left him, either. The cold and frighteningly dead stare of non-existent emotion didn't phase him until he heard a heartbeat, one that he believed came from the creature itself.

However, it wasn't the monster's—it was yours, heavy-thudded blood-pumping. The real you and your usually pleasant voice calling for his response. From the other side of the door, he heard you pleading for him to answer and affirm that he was okay. He figured that you must have overheard his distress and the ensuing raucous.

Peter reached for the stone but stopped. Everything was gone. His suit still sat in a messy pile on the floor, but the webbing was gone from the walls. The stain on the carpet was no longer there, and his pants were the only thing absent from his body, but nothing left the confines of his boxers. Had all of it really been in his head?

He quickly answered the door without any precaution, seeing your face still intact.

"Hey, I got you something different than Tony's. I was in line and remembered when you drank out of his cup by mistake and spat it all over the counter. Are you okay? I thought I heard a girl screaming."

“Thank you, and it wasn't a. . . never mind. Do you want to come in and hang?”

“Yeah! But get some pants on first, Spidey. I can't have my thoughts get to me.”

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alltoowelltom · 2 years

Text

Who'd You Rather

tom holland x reader

summary: if there's one thing Ellen is known for, it's exposing secret relationships

a/n: this was written so quickly and not proof-read. also, i picked Ellen because if anyone would do this, it would be her lol

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

July 2019

"So Y/N, are you currently dating anyone?" asks Ellen, taking a sip from her mug.

You shake your head.

"Not currently, no."

Ellen nods.

"Well, please don't worry anymore. We're going to help you find someone in a little game we like to call Who'd You Rather?"

"Oh God," you laugh, twisting slightly in your seat to glare at your manager for agreeing to this who laughed and poked her tongue out at you.

"So all you need to do is look at the photos I show you and pick between these two options, alright?"

"Okay, if you insist." you roll your eyes, facing the large screen.

"I do. So to start off, Timothee Chalamet or Dylan O'Brien?"

"Oh, wow," you laugh. "Starting off strong. Well, I was an absolute hoe for Maze Runner when it came out so I have to pick Dylan. Plus, I know Timothee better so it would be kinda awkward if I chose him."

The picture of Timothee fades away and is replaced by a new photo.

"Dylan O'Brien or Harry Styles?"

"Harry fucking Styles." you say without hesitation and the audience cheers. Ellen nods.

"Harry Styles or Florence Pugh?"

You bury your head in your hands.

"How could you ask me that, Ellen? That's like asking someone to pick between cookie dough and mint chip ice cream! Impossible."

Ellen mimes tapping at her watch and tuts at you.

"Time's ticking, Y/N. Make your choice."

You sigh.

"It's absolutely Florence then. Sorry, Harry."

"Florence pugh or Chris Evans?" Ellen asks.

"Flo."

Ellen's eyes gleam as she quickly reads the next pair of names, rubbing her hands together in a comically evil fashion.

"Florence Pugh or Tom Holland?"

You slide down on your chair, laughing and covering your face with your hands.

"Ellen!" you shriek. "I've just come off my second movie co-starring with Tom and he's literally my best friend. You can't ask me this!"

Ellen grins.

"Florence Pugh or Tom Holland?" she repeats.

You pout at the camera.

"Flo, I am so sorry. Please still be my friend. I pick Tom."

The crowd roars in approval and you wave a hand at them, laughing.

"Shhhh, guys."

"Tom Holland or Jake Gyllenhaal?" asks Ellen.

"Tom Holland."

"Tom Holland or Hailee Steinfeld?"

"Tom Holland."

"Tom Holland or Niall Horan?"

You hesitate, biting your lip as Tom's frozen grin stares down at you from the photo.

"I…fuck. Tom?" you say, almost as a question.

"So it's Tom?" Ellen grins. "Speak now or forever hold your peace."

You nod, sitting up straight and crossing your legs.

"It's Tom."

Ellen stares straight into the camera as an assistant signals an upcoming ad break. She rests one hand on your shoulder as she addresses the audience.

"Tom Holland, you'd better act quickly. Y/N is currently sitting by her phone, waiting for your call. Don't mess this up."

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

April 2021

You relax into the plush cushion of the chair on Ellen's set once again. You are paying attention, sort of. You nod and laugh in all the right places, offering stories and jokes when needed but your mind is miles away. Ellen can pick up on this and she shifts in her seat.

"Y/N." she says, holding eye contact. "Can I have your phone please?"

Your eyes widen as you reach into the pocket of your oversized blazer, following her request and placing the unlocked device in Ellen's waiting hand.

"I wonder," she says out loud, "who we can get to answer your call?"

"Oh God," you laugh, covering your face. "If no one picks up I'll be so embarrassed."

"The Watermelon Man?" Ellen questions, reading off of the screen. "Shall we call the Watermelon Man, whoever that is?"

You cover your face, laughing.

"Jesus. If Harry Styles doesn't pick up I think I'll throw myself off a cliff."

The phone rings three times before a voice rings out from a noisy background.

"Y/N! How are you?" laughs Harry. "This is a surprise, I have to admit."

"Harry!" you call out, before he can say anything else. "Ellen's hijacked my phone and started ringing people, I'm so sorry."

"Oh, she has?" Harry asks mischievously. "I'll make sure not to mention anything about our upcoming collaboration then…" he trails off and you can practically hear him winking through the phone as he hangs up.

"That absolute fucker," you laugh, rolling your eyes at his spoiler as Ellen is already scrolling through your contacts list again.

"Oh!" she exclaims, eyes bright. "Y/N, I thought you told us you weren't dating anyone? May I ask who 'My Darling 💖' is?"

You freeze on the spot, mouth drying out as you blink at Ellen, desperately trying to jump start your brain into snatching the phone back. You glance over at your manager who is sat stock still, just as shocked as you are.

The phone rings five times and you breathe a sigh of relief. It's 3AM in London right now, he's not going to pick up.

Just as you've collected your heart off of the floor and smoothed your hair down, ready to make a self deprecating joke about this mystery person not picking up, there's a pause and the a collective gasp from the audience as the phone connects.

"Hello my love, is everything alright?" asks Tom in his groggy, raspy morning voice.

Ellen's jaw hits the floor so quickly you're shocked it doesn't fall off entirely.

tysm for reading! reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

part 2

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elliexmylove · 2 years

Text

PETER PARKER CUDDLING HEADCANNONS

Pairing: peter parker x GN reader

Warnings: none<3

Note: I made this a few months ago and found it again

•you're obviously the big spoon

•he's a little baby tbh and that's more than okay

•"cuddle me harder."

• "peter I cannot physically get any closer to you, it's impossible."

•breathing in the scent of his shampoo

•his hair is so soft that you just have to touch it, play with it, whatever

•you getting claustrophobic and trying to push him away

•"no what the heck are you doing get back here."

•him reaching his arm around grabbing you and yanking you back him gently

•almost falling asleep but suddenly getting thirsty

•trying to get up without fully waking him

•failing

•"where are you going?" the baby boy lifts his head up sleepily eyes still closed scrunching his face a lil

•"thirsty" not a good enough excuse apparently, better run while you can

•him shooting a web at you and pulling you back to him

•trying to speak but getting shushed

•FINALLY getting comfortable and almost asleep

•"peter I need to pee"

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #headcannons #spiderman #peter parker fluff #x reader #gender neutral imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #tom holland #andrew garfield #tom holland fluff #cuddling headcanons #cuddling #imagines

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borhapparker · 1 year

Note

since your requests are opened... maybe peter parker having a polaroid camera (or a disposable camera) and constantly taking pictures of you both together and some of just you and then compiling it all for you for an occasion or after a fight 🥺🥺🥺 and iDK IT MAKES YOU FALL IN LOVE ALL OVER AGAIN

this is adorable!! (also i'm back hehe)

send requests here! (now accepting stranger things characters!)

buy me a coffee! / request a commission

Peter had always loved photography. It had been a passion passed down from his father, then uncle, and now he held the camera in his hands, having captured memories over decades. He never had a reason to use it other than to fool around while on patrol, until he met you.

You were a work of art to him, something to admire, something to photograph occasionally. He had asked you out after you partnered with him for a photography assignment, a candid of you laughing caught by Peter with a note under that said "Will you be mine?"

Cheesy, you will admit, but you loved it. That was one of the things you loved about Peter, along with his photography skills, it was like having the ultimate significant other. He could capture your good side and compliment it, but also your 'bad side' (as you put it), and still be called beautiful because in his eyes you were.

There was never a time, whether you were on a date with Peter, in class or just studying at your apartment, he always had his camera with him. He never let you see the film or answered your question as to what he was photographing. He always just smiled and shrugged.

Sometimes you thought he was married to the camera, taking it everywhere with him, even if it was just a quick trip to the grocery store. And when it broke that one time he took it on patrol, you made sure to get him a replacement the very next day.

Both of you were calm together, loving and never getting into arguments. But when there was an occasional argument, it was important, and something the two of you had to address.

"Here's the thing, Peter, you can't just schedule a date with me and bail on me last minute. Yes, you may be a superhero, but you still have your life outside the suit."

"Look, babe, I swear it wasn't on purpose. I wasn't even going to bring the suit with me until my senses kicked in." he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, "I wanted to go out with you, I swear, time just got away from me."

"That's not the first time you've used that excuse. Peter, I'm getting sick of this. How are we going to make this work if I'm always going to be second in your life?"

"You are always first on my list, I promise. This is the last time, I promise it won't happen again. We can go again tomorrow, re-do our date, and go out together."

"I don't want a do-over, I wanted the date today. I'm done waiting, Peter. I need someone who wants to be with me no matter the circumstance. How can I be sure that's you?"

"Let me make it up to you, please. Baby, give me another chance."

Walking out of the apartment, your eyes burned, tears pooling and blurring your vision. Wiping away the stray ones, you headed on the bus, taking the route straight home, wanting nothing but to be alone.

Your keychain clinked with the pressure you placed on turning the key as you walked into your apartment, breathing in the comfort of your own home. Locking the door behind you, you made your way to your room, as you opened the door and gasped.

On your bed, and the floor, were countless polaroids, all spread out. Each of them is a different picture of you, some candids and some from a photoshoot, and others of you and Peter together. Tears brimmed your eyes as you picked one up and examined it, recognizing the date immediately before turning the polaroid to verify the date scribbled behind in your handwriting. March 15, 2016

It had been your first date with Peter, one you had actually asked him on as you didn't want to wait anymore for the perfect opportunity to strike up a conversation with the loving nerd in school. You were surprised when he said yes, and even more so when he still showed up at the diner, hair messy and panting like crazy, but he was there.

Picking up another polaroid, you noticed the handwriting on each of the polaroids, your pet names decorated the front trim of the picture. You had fallen for him because of his love of people and photography. He always told you never to look at the film and pocketed it before you were able to see it.

Yet, even with the argument you had with Peter earlier, nothing could stop you from forgiving him in a heartbeat, and maybe even falling for him just a little more.

#skyes writing #ambs writing #peter parker #peter parker blurb #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fic #peter parker x reader #peter parker writing #peter parker x female!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x gender neutral!reader #marvel fics #marvel fanfictions #marvel #tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland writing #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you

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frostandflamesfanfic · 2 years

Text

couch. (Peter Parker x Reader)

couch. (Rated G)

Request?: No...

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (wrote with Peter 3 in mind, but can be applied to any of our spidey boys)

Word Count: 1.7k+

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, I wrote this while being sleep deprived so there may be typos, Peter being just too gosh darn adorable

Summary: Inspired by "couch" by We Three- The best laid plans always work out right? On one lazy Saturday morning, Peter is contemplating how to start taking the next steps toward your future together. When you remind him how important it is to relax, does he stick with his big plan or learn to sometimes just to go with the flow?

We've got a lot of things to figure out

Like cash the checks and go workout,

But I think I'd rather sit here on the couch

“Peter?” your voice danced its way into the living room of his apartment. “Have you seen my hoodie? I can’t find it anywhere and I need to get to the bank to put in my paycheck.” You stumbled throughout the space, one hand rubbing at your sleep-riddled eyes. To Peter, there wasn’t a more beautiful sight to wake up to. You were dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and one of his old beat up t-shirts. He had lent you a pair of oversized socks, too, because you were complaining about your toes being cold under the covers the night before.

The brown-haired looked up from his spot on the oversized ripped sofa, where he was working on his laptop. He tilted his head to look at you with squinted eyes. The morning sun was streaming through the windows of his apartment in just the right (but also totally wrong and annoying) way. “Good morning to you, too, sweetheart,” he gave you the sweetest tight smile before directing his attention back to the screen. “Have you checked under the bed?”

He was supposed to be editing a series of images he snapped of Spider-Man over the last week. Was he actually doing that? No. He was actually looking up plane tickets to Bali. Why Bali? Because that’s where he wanted to be able to propose to you – the same place your parents met on a volunteer expedition. He had been saving for months. Not just for the trip, but the beautiful silver half-carat diamond ring that was burning a hole through its hiding place in his dresser drawer.

The two of you had been dating for a year or so now, which might seem a bit rushed to some people, but not for you or Peter. You had both seen your fair share of tragedy before you finally crossed paths. He had lost his parents as a child and the love of his life around the end of high school. He needed to start over completely. You lost your parents in a freak accident at a young age, not to mention your fiance merely weeks after beginning your new job at some corrupt company.

When you met on the subway, it almost seemed like the universe was trying to tell you something. There had been no seats left and the two of you were forced to stand face-to-face on opposite sides of the car after a series of delays. Not that Peter was complaining, though. You looked like a vision to him. From the way you anxiously shifted your weight from foot to foot, to the way you bit the middle of your bottom in concentration as you looked at your phone. He wished he would have had the courage right then and there to ask your name. Yet something stopped him.

For a subway ride, it had been a rather bumpy one. You had been pushed forward and fallen against him…twice. Each time you collided, he could feel your heartbeat thudding incredibly hard against his chest. He was surprised to discover that his heartbeat soon matched your rhythm and he gave a subtle grimace at the sweat gathering in his palm. He tried to get himself to talk to you, to even ask your name, but nothing escaped him. By the time you had reached Peter’s stop, he sighed as he ultimately gave up with the internal battle. He had no chance, Peter had assured himself. Then he heard you stammering behind him as he turned to walk toward the door.

“So how many times would I have needed to fall into you before you asked me out?” your voice called out.

It was safe to say Peter didn’t hesitate any more after that.

The next year was a beautiful rollercoaster. Peter had to pinch himself a few times to realize that this was real – you were actually his and he was yours. He didn’t need to worry about pretending to be someone he wasn’t. With you, he could let down his guard. You made him feel safe, loved…at home. He really hoped you would say yes to his proposal. He couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you.

The feeling of an added weight on the couch and something brushing against his arm caused Peter to be snapped from his thoughts. You were snuggling into his side, attempting to rest your chin atop his shoulder to look at his screen. In a panic, Peter minimized the tab and started to play around with a random image in his editing software. His quick thinking- and reflexes- came to the rescue again as you gave a small nod.

“That’s a nice shot,” you mumbled sleepily before yawning again. You rested your head against the side of his arm and smacked your lips like a small child. It always made Peter smile to see you like this. You reminded him of a little kid in this state, but always with this mushy personality.

He leaned over to press a kiss to your forehead before allowing himself to get fixated back on the image in front of him. “Thanks, sweetheart,” Peter answered. “I mean, it is my job right now, so…I hope I’m good at it.”

You gave a hum of agreement and nestled against his sitting frame. Another smile plastered itself against Peter’s lips as you tangled your legs with his. Your nose nudged at the back of his arm and you closed your eyes. “This is nice,” you said, stretching out just a bit more.

Peter nodded and let out his own sound of acknowledgement, expertly adjusting the saturation levels of the image.

We've got a lot of people we should see

And I know that we should get some groceries,

But honestly, I just don't want to leave

“We need cereal,” another mumble into his shirt sleeve. “And milk. And fruit. And eggs…”

A chuckle escaped Peter before he could prevent it. “We,” you had said. Slowly but surely, it wasn’t just his apartment anymore. Your stuff had begun to find its way into random drawers and closets in the space. Your toothbrush sat right next to his own in the bathroom. There was a shared grocery list stuck to his refrigerator with both of your handwriting on it. Even your shampoo was stored in the shower, its sweet vanilla scent flooding the room and making him relax every time he stepped inside. It smelled like you and he couldn’t get enough. He never thought he would be able to share his life with someone like this ever again, but he was beyond grateful he could.

“We can get them from the store on Fifth,” he said now, nodding a bit at the mental note he made to visit the shop. Martha, the shopkeeper, would be happy to see him there. She’d probably pester him about the fact he had yet to make you an honest person, but he honestly didn’t care. “You can take one of my hoodies when we go, if you want.”

You grunted. “Or…” you mumbled. “We could just stay here.” You snuggled closer into his side. “This is pretty perfect right now.”

Cause I'm here and you're there,

Breathin' in my air

Feel it stop, skip a beat

Peter moved his hand to toy with the ends of your hair, making you hum in delight. It was a sound that brought a smile to his face and a warm feeling in his heart. Everything you did was perfect to him and gave him so much joy. He loved how you felt in his arms, how good your hair smells after you get out of a shower…

“Marry me,” he said softly. Peter barely registered the words as they left his mouth, but deep down, he knew it was the right thing to do. This was the moment. Not some big vacation to Bali, nothing overly extravagant. All he needed was you, him, and this couch. The two of you were in your own little world and that was perfect.

“What?” you asked, sitting up ever-so-slightly.

“I want to marry you,” Peter was more confident now. “I want to wake up with you every day, I want to hold your hand in the grocery store. The days you’re having the best time, I want to be there. I want to hold you when you’re crying and having the worst day, tell you it’s okay and things will work out. I want to see you come down the aisle and we both are crying.” The two of you laughed at the last part. “Most of all, I just want to know that for every day for the rest of my life, you’re going to be in it. So please, marry me?”

“Peter…” you breathed out.

That’s when he realized something was missing. Something that was really…really important to this particular moment. “Actually,” he said, standing up suddenly before taking off to the bedroom, “hold on one second. Just…stay there. I have to get something.”

When he came back into the living room, he got down on one knee before you. His dark eyes searched yours as he opened the small velvet box to reveal the sparkling piece of jewelry. “I know it’s only been a year,” he said, “and I really should have had a much better speech planned out, but that’s just it. With you, I don’t have to plan. You make me want to be spontaneous, to be a person that doesn’t have a care in the world. But…I can only be that person with you. So, what do you say?”

You shook your head with a playful expression on your face. “It took you long enough,” you teased, giving him the slightest of nods with the largest of smiles threatening to appear. It was so bright, Peter was afraid he might go blind just looking at it for too long. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

As he slipped the ring on your finger, Peter pressed his lips to yours and nearly melted. You truly were his missing puzzle piece, his better half that he always was going to need. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you and he couldn’t wait to see what forever would hold.

On this couch, in my T

You're wearin' my sweatpants

Without a doubt, not goin' out

Let's stay on the couch

================

Author's Note: I have no self control. I swear, I cannot help myself when I hear a song and get a character scenario stuck in my head. This is the second time this has happened in the last few days, but this is first one I'm posting. I still need to work on the other one! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this little fluff piece with our lovable dork, Peter Parker. I thought this song was just perfect for him, even if it means doing something a bit different than my typical Strange fics.

As usual, if you liked this fic, leave a like, comment, and a cheeky reblog. It helps me out with the lovely algorithm and lets me know what kind of stories you like to see on my blog! And let me know which Peter YOU imagine this story to be about. I'm curious...

Until next time, little sparks! If you want to be added to any of my character taglists, drop me an ask or private message- I promise I'm really not that scary!

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inthemytdl · 2 years

Text

Leveled Up

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Your relationship with Spider-Man gets tricky when you’re ready to take it to the next level and he’s not

Word Count: 1910

The first time you met Spider-Man you were sitting on the fire escape outside your window when you saw him climbing up the side of your building. His odd bug-like demeanor sent a scream roaring through your throat, which sent him falling down two stories.

He never told you what he was doing there, but you had your suspicions. You had so many you sent a plethora of questions his way. He was surprisingly willing to answer some but avoided personal questions like his age. You figured he was around yours with his sometimes-squeaky voice and constant pop-culture references. You never thought they would bring you to this moment now.

“Can I?” Your fingers tapped on his shoulders where his mask met his suit. You had never seen Spider-Man’s face before. No one had. But you had been friends for so long tonight felt like the right time—when was peering into your eyes as you looked into his white lenses. It was strange, but you had gotten used to them: the constant barrier between you and him. It kept your relationship at bay and ached your heart. You slowly lifted his mask like you were peeling away wallpaper when he grabbed your arms.

“Wait…”

You peered into his lenses for a response you clearly wouldn’t receive, so you dropped your hands and faced the night sky ahead of you. You could see the street that led to Duke’s, a knock-off of Delmar’s, according to Spider-Man, from the top of your apartment building.

“Can I at least get your name?”

The silence filled with the sound of his heavy breaths. You knew the suit didn’t cut off his oxygen supply so he must have been nervous. Though he had no reason to be. He was the one hiding behind red and blue lycra.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He whispered after a minute of gruesome silence. “It’s not safe.”

“Bullshit.” That was the same excuse he used every time you asked about his personal life and it infuriated you. The way everything you knew about him could be found in a newspaper. Each story he told was one you heard hours prior on the news—minus the witty commentary. Who knew Spider-Man was so into pizza? Everyone that knew Joe from Bleecker street’s pizza shop. Who knew Iron-Man was his favorite superhero? Everyone on Twitter. Nothing you knew about him was personal. It could all be found online. “New York’s the safest it’s ever been—this is about you.”

“Actually, Linda from 3rd street almost got purse-napped the other day and—“ He rambled on about crime rates, anything he could to deflect the situation. Just like always.

“We’ve known each other for how long.” You interrupted and he quickly replied. “Eight months and 28 days—give or take a day.”

“Eight months and I don’t know anything about you.”

“That’s not true—“

“And everything I do know everyone else does too!”

“No… I told you about that churro I had the other day—no one knew that.”

You pulled your phone from your pocket, swiping the screen to reveal a photo of him eating a cylinder shaped cinnamon stick. It had shown up on your Twitter feed after getting half a million likes.

“What?!” His lenses contracted as he peered at the image. “That’s my worst angle!”

You chewed your lips, refusing to give him the laugh he was so obviously looking for. You didn’t even smile. His unreadable expression made you bite your lips so hard a warm metallic swarmed in your mouth.

“Y/n,” he said, lifting a clothed hand to your face. His finger brushed on your lip and you pulled back when you looked into his cold lenses. Affection was always weird when you didn’t know who it was coming from.

“Don’t call me that.” You sneered, pocketing your phone as you stood. His lenses contracted.

“What?”

“If I don’t get to know your name then you don’t get to know mine.” It was petty, but nothing about your situation was fair. You told him everything. When you talked about your parents, he mentioned Stark Industries; when you gushed about your dream life, he raved about web-shooters and cameras; and when you bared your deepest secrets to him, he unveiled his affinity for board games. Because god knows he couldn’t find anything better to say, right?

“But I already know it…”

“Then don’t use it!” Your voice cracked as you continued. “A-and if I don’t get to see you then you don’t get to see me.” You b-lined past the patio tables and plant pots to the door that led into your apartment building. You hesitated when you grabbed the door knob, slowly twisting it as you squeezed your eyes shut. You wished to every star above that he would say something. All he had to do was ask you to stay and you would.

“I-it’s Peter!” You stopped in your tracks, turning around. “What?”

“My name. It’s Peter.”

His lenses contracted and expanded rapidly in a way that told you he was searching for a response, but your breath was caught in your throat. Peter. Out of all the names you thought of for him you never thought he’d be a Peter. You mouthed the letters, trying them out as your lips curved and expanded around the vowels.

“I’m from Queens and I live with my aunt.”

You stepped away from the door, allowing it to slam shut as you walked closer to him.

“You asked about my parents…” He took a heavy breath you could hear from meters away. “They died when I was a kid—plane crash.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you went with the best thing you could think of. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He exasperated. “I’m over it. Besides, my aunt took care of me with my uncle—he bought me my first camera.” His lenses fidgeted as he kicked at the ground. “But I took it apart to build an automatic can opener for my aunt.”

You let out a breathy laugh and his lenses expanded.

“It’s true! She never used it… until my uncle died.”

Your laugh came to a halt and you felt your throat constrict like earlier before. Who knew Spider-Man had been struck by so much heartbreak? You couldn’t imagine the pain of having a loved one die so the thought of losing three was inconceivable.

“It’s okay.” He said after a tick of silence, but the hick in his voice told you it wasn’t. “He taught me how to play chess. He always beat me—didn’t let me win once. Now I just play monopoly with my aunt, but Mr. Stark and I play chess every now and then.”

“Do you win?”

“Sometimes.”

You smiled, but it quickly dropped when you thought back to your earlier conversations. You never understood why he opted to talk about superficial things like board games and billionaires when you talked about your personal life, but it was starting to make sense. Those were his personal life. What he lacked in guardianship, he made up for with Tony Stark—who he couldn’t go three days without talking about. And his dreams were to build things—whether it were web-shooters or a portfolio of images. You knew he wanted to make things just as much as he wanted to play monopoly with his aunt and chess with his uncle.

The realization sent guilt rushing through your veins and you opened your mouth to speak when he interrupted.

“You know… I’m not, like, some ripped stud under here.” He threw his arms around. “I did academic decathlon in school and I was in band.”

“You’re a band kid?” You asked with a breathy laugh. It was news to you. But now that you thought about it, you could imagine him playing the trumpet or flute—although you couldn’t imagine him being good at it. For a web-slinging superhero, he seriously lacked coordination.

“Yeah…” His voice dropped. “I didn’t want to tell you ‘cause I thought you’d think it was lame.”

“I don’t think it’s lame.” You wished you could look into his eyes and reassure him anything he did could never be lame to you.

“And half of this stuff—“ he motioned at his web shooters “—I made from dumpster parts. I don’t have a fancy lab or new tech to work with. I can barely afford my metro card.”

“What? You think I’m some gold digger?”

“No, I just… I thought you expected someone more exciting. Not some band kid who can’t afford a ride to tenth street.”

“Is that what you think I’m looking for?”

He shrugged.

“Wow, Peter, you really don’t know me.”

You wished you could see his face. Did he smile at your use of his name? It felt foreign but you would get used to it. You wanted to get used to it. You wanted to say his name in the playful way he said yours when he was excited and the grainy way he did when he was sad. You wanted to sing his name, shout it, and whisper it.

“Y/n—oh, shit, sorry, um what do I call you?”

“Y/n is fine.” You smiled, and his lenses expanded.

“I’m really sorry.”

You shook your head, running to hug him. His arms lifted behind your back when your chests collided and his suit scratched against your cheek when you shoved your face into his shoulder. He lifted his arm slowly and you pulled back when you felt a warm breath on your neck.

You were met with a head of messy brown locks with slight curls to them. They were the first thing you noticed with their brisk movements, and you wanted to run your fingers through them, but didn’t. After, you noticed his crooked nose and the way his brown eyes shone in the moonlight. You could’ve sworn you saw freckles dotted around but it was too dark to tell. You ran your fingers over his face, lightly, and he parted his lips. Now that you’d seen his face, you couldn’t imagine him looking any other way. You moved a strand of hair out of his face, gaping into his eyes. Any other day you would scold yourself for being so awkward, but not today. Today you had seen Spider-Man—Peter—for the first time, and he was definitely a stud.

When you didn’t react, he cleared his throat.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

You shook your head, grabbing his face, and pressing your lips into his. Your heart stalled as you waited for him to kiss back. Was this too much? You hadn’t asked if it was okay—a decision you now regretted. You felt your chest explode with butterflies and began to pull away when he kissed back. His clothed hand rested against your cheek in a way that felt softer than before, sending the butterflies into a frenzy. Your knees felt weak and he must’ve noticed because his hands traveled to your back, holding you steady. You took in the non-industrial scent of his skin which smelt oddly like pumpkin spice, and it felt like hours until you pulled back, meeting his soft brown eyes. They were wide with surprise and sent a cheeky smile to your lips.

“I’m not disappointed.”

His pink lips pulled into a thin smile you couldn’t wait to get used to.

“So…” You began. “Can I get a last name?”

“We’ll work up to that.” He said, and you chewed your lip before kissing him again.

———

a/n: reposted w/ full version. enjoy!

don’t repost!

#peter parker oneshot #peter parker blurbs #peter parker x reader #peter parker fics #peter parker x y/n #peter parker oneshots #peter parker x you #peter parker x gn!reader #peter parker x gender neutral reader #mcu!peter x reader #spiderman x reader #mcu!peter fics #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman x you #tom!peter x reader

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angelrollseyes · 2 years

Note

I'm in a soft mood lately lol just want to see some characters happy

So maybe a little thing with Peter Parker? Peter promised to go to reader's house for a dinner date but, of course, he's very very late. Finally, he gets there completely ready for a big fight but Reader is nothing but understanding and is happily reheating everything cause they already expected that to happened, he tries to apologize but Reader is simply not mad or disappointed at all, they choose to date a superhero being ready for what that relationship would be like

Dinner Date

Pairing: Peter Parker x gn!reader

Warnings: none I guess other than fluff

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long. I got busy with classes and just finally got time

~~~

Shit, I'm a terrible boyfriend was all that was going through Peter Parker's head as he swung from building to building. He had promised Y/N for a dinner date but he was late. Very very late and he knew that this could be the reason they could have a huge fight tonight. He let out a sigh of relief when he spotted their building and quickly landed on their fire escape, noticing the window open. He opened the window and stepped inside ready for a fight, gaining the attention of Y/N who was sitting on the couch watching TV.

"Oh hey. You're back", Y/N said, a smile on their face.

"I'm so sorry I got late, sweetheart. I was patrolling and then there was this old lady who needed help getting to her house. I completely lost track of time", Peter pulled off his mask and rambled causing a smile of adoration to spread across Y/N's face as they walked towards the kitchen to reheat the food they had made for their dinner date.

"It's okay, Peter. I understand", Y/N said, causing Peter to shake his head.

"It's not okay. I made a promise and I broke it", Peter mumbled.

"No", Y/N chuckled causing a confused look to cross across Peter's face, "You didn't break your promise. We can still have our dinner date".

"But I'm late and you should be angry. Why are you not angry with me?", Peter asked, looking like a kicked puppy.

"Do you want me to be angry?", Y/N asked, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

"No no no", Peter desperately shook his head.

"I'm not angry because I understand. I understand that you may be late sometimes or you might forget things. You have a lot on your plate, thanks to being the friendly neighborhood spiderman. And let's not forget, I chose to date a superhero so I know I have to be ready for what comes along with it", Y/N explained, placing a hand on Peter's cheek making him close his eyes in content.

"You're literally the best. I don't deserve you", Peter said, a lovesick look on his face.

"You deserve the world", Y/N stated, before leaning forwards and kissing Peter, their lips moving in perfect sync as if they were made for each other.

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x gender neutral reader #peter parker x gn!reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman homecoming #spiderman nwh #spiderman far from home #imagines #fluff #peter parker fluff #tom holland

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marvel-potter-1d-korea · 1 year

Text

Hi guys! I'm just here to tell you that if you guys have any requests for one shots or imagines of Marvel characters or actors, Harry Potter characters then I'll do my best to fulfill them.

The ask should contain the character, the theme of what you want it to be(it can be general or specific, i don't mind), whether you want it to be any specific reader and I'll try my best!!

I have a lot of time on my hands and i need something to pass the time 🥲

I can do Mafia au and soulmate au, i do fluff and angst. No smut. So yea I guess that's it.

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rowniebow · 1 year

Text

the office job | peter parker x gn!reader

summary: an awkward meeting

pairings: peter parker x reader

cw: murder and death mentions

word count: 1.9k+

an: i really enjoyed writing this and feel like i could take this somewhere but it felt right to end it here so, let me know!

masterlist

⭒

it was early december when i met you. i honestly can't recall the day, it was such a blur back then. but the snow that sat in your hair gave the date away.

"oh, jesus! i'm sorry-," you voice was ragged and worn. still to this day, i wonder what had strained your chords as bad as they had that morning. a cold, perhaps? maybe you simply caught a bad case of the morning raspies that day.

"in a hurry?" i managed to choke out a smile while you struggled to get the several binders under your arms back into place.

"um, no, actually. just a cluts." your soft, raspy laugh smacked me in my head and something ran cold pinpricks down my spine.

when you finally looked up at me, i thought i was going to pass out. your eyes twinkled with a light of unmatched warmth. your lopsided grin made my knees shake. your messy hair (which i came to find out is how it always is) fell over and around your face perfectly.

"are you-? sorry, are you new here?" you asked me. you kept your grin, but curiosity ran through your eyes and brows, now.

"me? no, no, i've been locked down in the basement. timothy finally set me free!"

i admit it was a horrible joke. but could you blame me when all i was thinking about was how beautiful you were?

and you know what's crazy? you laugh. you laughed at my shitty joke. and your laugh is like a thousand miracles.

"i always knew tim had some freaky stuff down there!" your giggle died out and so did your eye contact with me. "what department are you in?"

your smile was still there. i couldn't see it all too well since you had gone back to fixing your binders but it was so evident in your scratched voice.

"pictures."

"oh-!"

"photos."

"yeah?" you finally looked back up. god, those eyes.

"yeah."

"really?"

"absolutely.

"well, i guess i know who i'll go to whenever i need a picture for my article now, huh-" you tilted your head to get a look at my name tag. "peter parker?"

"that's my name, don't wear it out." your eyes crinkled in the corners. the little happy glaze covered your eyes. "you're, uh, you write?"

"yes, sir!"

"what do you write about?"

"well, i do crime articles, but do you wanna hear a secret, peter parker?" you lowered your voice to an attempted whisper but the rasp caused a loud squeak to slip through your lips every other word or so.

i could only nod and stare into your eyes that stayed steady on my own.

"my true passion is the crossword puzzles on the back."

i let my mouth fall agape at the oh so shocking words but a smile pulled at my cheeks.

"i know, i know. i have many mysteries, i do."

the door that you had come in from opened and some man i didn't bother to recognize looked us up and down as he wiped his feet. i suppose we did look odd, chatting at the corner of the entrance.

as you looked over your shoulder at the man's retreating back, your smile faltered. you hugged the binders under your arm tighter, looking back over to me.

and those eyes met mine once again.

"well, i will see you soon, peter parker." you turned on your heel and made your way down the hall as soon as the words left your mouth.

"what did you say your name was?" i called.

"i didn't." you only glanced over your shoulder at me. i could make out your upturned lips, but nothing more.

⭒⭒

the week until i saw you again felt like months. even now, the hours in between seeing you feel like years and the minutes feel like days.

but then especially, when i was settling into the new work environment, life was dull and i regretted taking the job. you had set my expectations so unreasonably high. you, my new coworker who was charming and funny.

it was very bold of me, and idiotic, to assume anyone else at this damn newspaper job would be anything compared to your gracefulness.

your voice came out of nowhere that day. it was different this time. smoother. just as relaxing as before but in a different kind of way. your voice danced more. your voice spun and jumped with as much liveliness as your eyes held.

"peter parker," you called ever so quietly from behind me.

i turned, eyes wide at your sudden appearance. a smile soon overtook my relaxing features, though.

"hey!"

"i have a request."

"from who?"

"from the mailman downstairs. he says your box is overflowing. who do you think?"

you sat one hand on the desk and the other on the back of my chair. you were mere inches away and i could smell you. you smelled sweet. vanilla. just as sweet as your eyes and smile.

you began to lean in, my nose was practically in the crook of your neck. "no, i have a request for my favorite photographer. don't tell billy i said that, though." you whispered with a giggle and a grin.

"uhm," i cleared my throat, smile hadn't left since you arrived, and spoke as smoothly as i could. i refused to let any bumps or errors infiltrate my speech with you around. "yeah, of course, what's up?"

"i want a photo for an article that i am trying to write. but i gotta go to the murder scene for it. come with?"

"t-today?" and there goes the bumps and errors.

"as soon as humanly possible, preferably." your eyes traveled across the room. "otherwise, i can always go to billy-"

i began gathering my stuff a little too anxiously but at the time it seemed reasonable, i swear.

"no, no! i'm all good for it."

we stood up straight together. i hadn't realized how much of a height difference there was between the two of us until now.

"great!"

camera equipment and bags in hand, we headed out.

"oh but what i said about the mailboxes? that was true. george, our mail keeper, keeps complaining to me about an extremely full box that has your name on it."

"i didn't even know we had a mailroom!"

⭒⭒⭒

"this is it?"

"what do you mean 'this is it?', why did you say it like that?" your lovely eyes met mine as we stood looking around at the nature before us.

"i mean- it's not very... murder site-y,"

"poor girl was dumped in a forest. those-" you waved your hand over the space that was cut off from caution tape and little yellow tents with numbers on them. "-are the closest your going to get to murder site-y."

i looked at you like you were stupid.

"we're not going to take a picture of her dead body and put them up all over the newspaper! that's so inconsiderate."

"the other people in the crime department do-"

"the other people in the crime department are desensitized and lack any empathetic bone in their body."

it was nice out. the ground was covered in a blanket of snow. animals bounced from branch to branch, causing bits and pieces of cold white to fall around us.

you stood with your hands stuffed in your pockets. your fingers shook any time they came out of them.

"so, uh," i groaned while snapping some pictures of the murder site. your eyes fell from our surrounding areas down to me. "what makes you so much different from the other people in the crime department."

you shook your head a little bit, "i never said i was different."

"oh, no, you're right. you only said you have the capacity to be empathetic and they don't."

"listen," you let out a breathy laugh. visible heat left from your smile. "those guys have spilled more coffee on me and said nothing about it than anyone else there."

i couldn't help but let a smile pull at my lips from your uncaring tone. "everyone in that building seems a little..."

"lifeless."

"yeah."

"why aren't you?"

"what?" there's a smile in your voice but i can't hardly see it.

"why haven't your spirits been killed yet?" i couldn't help but smile at the confusion laced through your face.

i went back to taking photos, trying to get the right shot - the best shot - for you.

you thought about your answer for a long while. i opened my mouth, ready to change the subject, when you finally answered.

"it's a sad field, writing about crime. i think they've built up a wall to defend themselves."

i stopped taking photos to see you.

"but i like to get personal with it. i've spent full nights in that office alone crying because the family i had gotten to know was so nice and undeserving, and then i can't find the perfect words to justify their hurt for the one they lost."

you wouldn't look back at me. your eyes were fixed on the twinkling ground.

"i've met a lot of really great people through this job. i get to see the human in every one every day, even when i don't get to see it in my coworkers."

and you look up. you smile. a thoughtful glimmer in your eye. you're satisfied with your words.

you've conveyed yourself: wholly and perfectly.

"what about you?"

"s-sorry?"

"i mean, you're new. you haven't been infected yet. but why this job?"

"oh, i, uh. my answer isn't as nice as yours."

"every answer is nice!" you're still smiling at me. i was so flustered, i don't think i smiled back at all despite my efforts.

and, god, your head did a little tilt.

"i, um, like to capture moments in time. special moments, i guess. or - not even. just moments as a whole. moments of peace, moments of rage. i've come to appreciate moments more since- well,"

i had to take a breath. it was shakey. since what? since everything?

"gotta monetize my interests like everybody else, you know?" i had to let out a laugh. it was breathy and strained.

you didn't laugh.

you smiled, like you always do, but i couldn't tell what you were thinking behind that one.

⭒⭒⭒⭒

"this was a test, you know?" it was a question but you said it more like a statement. as if i really was was supposed to know.

"a test for what?"

"whether you'd be my new personal photographer."

"did i pass?"

"yes! with flying colors."

the chilled air scratched at your cheeks and bit your nose raw. your car felt closer than i wanted it to be.

"do i get a special tag now?"

"i think i can make that happen!"

and i did get a tag.

the next day, you brought me a folded paper that was similar to the size of an id card. it was written in penmanship that showed in every curve you were trying your best but it was your third or fourth try at it, and your hand was getting rather tired, and you were deciding that i probably wouldn't judge your handwriting all that much.

Peter Parker:

Y/N's Best Photographer

i stuck the paper in my wallet where i could see it whenever i liked. and where billy couldn't see it, of course.

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clarks-letterman · 2 years

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desirable | doctor!peter parker x gn!reader

a/n — the pictures are so mismatched but i don't have a gif and they all work separately for the fic so yeah- mishmosh pishposh motherf*ckers <3 (this is a jokey but veryyy smutty fic i wrote to get out of writers block)

summary — Infatuated by the doctor treating you, you return with feigned sickness.

words — 2.9k

warnings — SMUT! 18+, throat-fucking, blowjobs, sexy peter parker

~~~

The office was stuffy, or maybe it was your throat swelling, with a scratch that only stuck out when you tried to speak. You scheduled an appointment within an older practice run by renowned Doctor Bruce Banner, who you had little confidence in since he could hardly understand things about his own body. Not that you would discredit someone of his intelligence, but he struggled to control his body at levels of extreme emotion, and dealing with any sickness is never something calm to bear through. He prevailed on your previous visits; that was the only reason you remained slumped against the wall of the waiting room chairs, fighting congestion and an endlessly parched thirst.

After a little while, a nurse in lime green scrubs called your name, prompting you to stand, and followed her into one of the few patient rooms once she checked your height, weight, blood pressure, and temperature. On your first visit, you were surprised to learn about the scarcity of rooms, only to realize that their sizes were far more massive than what would be required for a human-sized head specialist. The bed you sat on, paper crinkling on even the most trivial shift of your body, took up only a fraction of the room it occupied. The other side of the room had a desk and a chair that faced the wall, both oversized to fit Banner's frame but made the computer, keyboard, and mouse sitting atop it look like little playthings. To the left of the bed were a sink, a few hanging otoscopes to check your ears, and some other things you didn't recognize. To your right was the door the nurse walked out of, and no less than five minutes passed before a doctor with a deeper shade of green scrubs entered.

It was a pleasant surprise to learn that your doctor would not be the Hulk himself but a younger male in hulk-green scrubs who had only recently started working for Doctor Banner. Banner was nice but not always careful, especially with his large, discolored fingers. You were happy that he wouldn't be the one to lay a hand on your throat since he could probably crush your larynx with the jerk of a sneeze. Your new doctor didn't seem as friendly as the big guy, though, seized in a look of shock—possibly embarrassment—as he laid eyes on you, then fumbled with his clipboard. It almost fell to the ground but miraculously clung to the tips of his fingers, and he caught the board. He kept his head low and buried, busying himself with your information, hushedly repeating it aloud.

The doctor's face was pale aside from the flush of ignominy, possibly from the same bug you contracted somewhere around New York, though you figured he happened to not get enough sun. Judging by how he carried himself and the awkward chipperness in his voice, you suspected the latter. Yet he filled out his scrubs rather nicely, tautly stretching over his chest and struggling to hide his bulk for someone potentially sun-appalled. It was like he chose a size down from his typical day apparel to tempt his patients, to keep them engaged with whatever boring medical jargon he was most likely to spew out after giving them a diagnosis. You had to admit, it worked.

His short, chocolate curls looked like they had been on the receiving end of many pushbacks with a shaky hand as if he was excessively nervous. He had a simple complexion, easy on the eyes with warm brown hues that challenged the depth of rich soil. His nametag coruscated in the light; black, blocky lettering printed across the laminate—Dr.Parker.

Silence loomed over the room, only backing away when you let out a few sputtered hacks from the back of your throat. A simple coughing fit to others, but it felt like a raging war broke out for the millionth time today on your sore inner muscles. That's when he looked up.

"Sorry I didn't introduce myself. Doctor Parker, and you must be . . ." he hesitated momentarily, scanning the clipboard again—was he that forgetful? His index finger followed the pages of your file before halting, and he spoke your name without his eyes leaving the inky letters. The way it rolled off his tongue felt different than how other people said it, like the set of his mouth was meant to twist and twitch with every syllable. "And a sore throat today, huh? That's gotta hurt."

"Kind of," you said, being courteous about how it hurt to swallow and that it felt like someone was constantly ramming something stiff and sharp down your throat each time you tried to eat the softest foods on the shelf. Doctor Parker moved over to the chair, taking a seat in it. You watched how the backing of the chair reached halfway up to the back of his head when he finally got comfortable in the seat, looking more like an excessively sized dog bed, significantly passing his spread legs. He took ahold of the mouse that filled out his hand—appearing to be more than a handful—and clicked open a few programs until he entered an alterable document. It was complete with information about your previous visits.

"What symptoms have you been dealing with?" he asked, hands resting on the keys underneath the monitor, his beautiful face illuminated by the blank, white screen. You told him about the troubles this illness brought but kept it brief to save your throat the pain later. After you relayed everything to him, his intent ears never missing a slurred or misspoken word, he moved on to diagnosing you.

He got out of the comically-sized chair and drew near. Cold hands met your warmed, overheated skin. "Definitely swollen," he muttered. Only a few words slipped from his mouth since he entered the room, and you hadn't even learned his first name, yet you happily listened and waited for more of his spoken thoughts. If your throat was back to normal, how he held it would have been much more evocative. Was he aware of the effect he had on his patients?

At first, his hands were gentle, like a deer carefully watching its step on an uneven meadow, but they had a growing bite as he started to press into your swollen lymph nodes. The force elicited a painful noise past your lips and a harsh "Ow."

His hands backed away immediately, retreating safely to his sides, and that's when he looked up to your face. You were sure it flushed at his worried glance and not from the sickness.

"Sorry, it's my first day on the job," he half-heartedly apologized.

"Really?" you asked skeptically. Maybe that was why you never saw Doctor Parker before now; he was new.

"No."

"Nervous?" your throat rasped.

His cracked lips stretched, hiding any anxiety he took out on them and forming a brief smile, "Yeah, uh, something like that."

The doctor refrained from putting his hands on you for the rest of the visit, asking you how the infection made you feel and what you noticed during the past few days of dealing with it. He concluded it to be tonsilitis and prescribed a healthy dose of antibiotics that would hopefully kill the infection thriving in your throat. They did their job and had you feeling better within a few days.

From the view of your bathroom mirror, opaque-white lights cast visibility over your throat. The pain was gone, but the handsome doctor's touch never left, his pale hands turning a true translucent as you felt the ghost of them linger. You needed to go back for the resolution, but finding a reason to return would be difficult.

. . .

"Back again so soon? Guess you missed me," Doctor Parker remarked as he came through the door, realizing that you sat on the table in the same position as last time. "Still sick?"

You nodded, rebuffing words out of fear that the first one to slip out would sound unscratched by your throat, harmonious and smooth.

"Did it get worse?" You nodded again. "Okay, huh, open up for me? Sorry, please." The doctor heard how it sounded out loud and took the opportunity to make banter with himself where you couldn't. His hand rose and followed your jaw, his thumb glossing over your chin as the rest nearly missed his touch from the last time. With your mouth open, the tip of his flashlight clicked, and out came the light pouring into the darkness. "You sure the medication didn't work? Still feels scratchy?"

You nodded—again. His hands slid down, two fingers on either side of your throat, feeling around for swelling and unwanted masses. Unfortunately, his touch didn't last long, as he pulled away with a look of certainty.

"I've seen enough. I'll call in for a prescription of antibiotics to kill that lie you're committed to."

Your voice slipped, mistakenly asking in a less husky tone, "What do you mean?"

He pushed the chair away from the desk, the tip of his toe sweeping the ground to swivel him around. "I don't want to catch a case of lying, but I don't think I could because you're not sick."

You let your voice return to normal, no longer feigning malady, "How could you tell?"

He stood, leaning against the tall desk. He folded his arms over his scrubs and scrunched the forest green cotton and rayon, "Your throat's gone down, and, obviously, I prescribed the right thing. Top of my class and all. Why did you do it?"

You trapped yourself in here, and there was nothing else to say but the truth, "I . . . think you're hot?"

"Wow, that's a new one—and a relief. Usually, the patients I see more than once have made-up names and appendages I can't even describe—you'd have to be there! And they always try to . . .kill me."

"What?"

"Hey, don't spin this around on me. I'm the one asking questions, here," he mirrored, uncomfortably shifting away from the desk. "How could you make it up to me?"

The question lingered like the newly raised hand to his chin to signify the thoughts running through his head. Your head started to conjure ideas of what exactly he would do. Doctor Parker didn't seem mad when he learned about the reason behind this contrived visit, but maybe it was how he handled things. He kept calm and probably already called security or would ask you to leave, from what you could assume.

After a few moments of deliberation, he dropped his arms by his sides, "I think the best thing to do, is to give you a taste of your own medicine, yeah?"

With his elbows bent, his hands dug up the hem of his shirt and to the waistband stretching over his flat stomach. The hulk-green elastic slid up to the thenars of his hands with nowhere to go but down, thanks to the pressure he applied, the band easily giving way to reveal his partly defined Adonis belt. It was prominent, but the lines looked as if they were lightly sketched on what was otherwise a perfect sculpture.

"What are you doing?" you had to ask as if it wasn't obvious. His thumbs showed through the outline of his pants and a thicker, more pronounced, and lengthier silhouette just further down. You knew what he wanted; he only had to say it.

"Doing what you want, playing doctor and patient. Today's checkup involves a laryngoscopy—throat examination, if that was too confusing," he spoke as if he was in control but still had the consideration that his soft-leaning look won you over with on your first visit. This time, you saw his hardened and more defined side as he finally let his pants drop to his knees. No underwear. He was confident in a way where other people wouldn't know unless they were close to him.

His cock stood tall, and his balls hung low with enough to push the limits of whatever it entered and was sure to create enough of a smack with each passionate hip-rock. Lengthy enough to reach all the right places, but not enough to go where it didn't belong. A couple of tugs with his right hand later proved the second half of that untrue as he grew even more excited.

"You're gonna have to lay back," he waded near you, half-pulled-down pants restricting his steps so far. With a single hand, he maneuvered you with impossible strength, only ceasing his hold when you were on your back, head titled over the foot of the examination bed. The table paper's end crinkled in your ears.

The fluorescent tubes casting light from above were shadowed by his figure stepping into the frame of your flipped world view. His smooth and defined thighs blocked your peripherals. In only seconds, the dry head of his cock was at your gated lips. He hastily spoke, teasing, "Say, ahh. I'll make it nice and sore, just like you need."

Your lips brushed it as they parted, "Aren't you supposed to make me feel better?"

"This is for me since you wasted my time. Don't worry, it'll only hurt a little," he left you with that, suddenly entering your mouth, lips conforming to the girth.

Your tongue felt the topside of his cock; the small ridge where the wide tip ended, and the length and all of its scattered veins began. It was tasteless, bland, and made even more uninteresting since the doctor took his sweet time. The only thing that saved it and provided excitement were the soft noises he made. He had been talkative up until now, but you still knew how he felt. His moans were enough to discern it. He spewed out hushed 'ohs' and pants, which seemed odd as he was less than halfway in your mouth. That was enough to tell he enjoyed it so far, but you wondered about the distance that far away could be. When he didn't have to guide himself into you anymore, the hand holding his hefty length moved to grip the table—tightly. You could have sworn you heard the metal creaking with the pressure.

His cock snaked forward, earning a sharp gluck once he reached your throat. Then, you convulsed, body shaking at the unnatural mass invading your mouth, lips sputtering around him. He sneered in delight, his own set of lips breaking the set of his face to form a smile. His slow pace stopped when a light tracing of hair grazed your chin, balls low enough to brush your nose. Your throat jutted, his head showing from the outside as a small peak in the middle, made more apparent by how your head was titled back.

Slowly, it began to sink and rise as he started to rock his hips. He started to pick up a pace, burying himself until there was nothing left to hide and reeling it back moments later to rest just short of your lips. Every now and then, he would make you swallow his cock for longer than a few seconds, causing welled-up spit to pour from your mouth and onto him and your face. At a certain point, he broke his rhythm, withdrawing all of himself from your wet encasement. Slicked in spit, his gorgeous length glistened in the fluorescent white.

"Feel good?" You could hardly stutter it out, jaw aching at the corners.

"Yeah, it feels great. Nothing wrong with it so far, but I'd like to consider a re-evaluation."

Familiarity washed over you, the same feeling as moments before returning with more wants. More needs. To your surprise, the hand on the examination table keeping his thrusts steady now rested around your throat. The doctor yearned to feel himself piercing you, putting his breath-taking looks into a literal sense. And he did; your throat unwillingly bulged with his deeply buried cock. An unregulated series of appearing and disappearing beneath his palm and wet noises coming from your spit-filled cavern.

After a few more globs of spit well up and spill from your mouth—making all the noises that were expected along with it—the doctor needily stated that he was "going to come." No less than a second later, warm white poured down your throat with no other option except to be swallowed.

The doctor pulled away, a mixture of release and slobber slicking his cock. He waded to the sink, reaching for a few paper towels from the dispenser to wipe himself off.

You sat up, wiping a hand over your mouth and nose to clear off some of his sticky come and your spit, "What about me?"

"What about you?" He laughed at the end of his return. Once he had fixed himself up to act as if the past twenty minutes had never happened, he went to the computer and took a seat on the oversized chair, like last time.

As he tapped away at the keyboard, he informed you about the changes to your medical file, "I'll put myself as your Primary Care Physician from now on, but Doctor Banner might want to see you soon. I think he'll have a new stress reliever."

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deadqueerboys · 2 years

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Not Safe - Peter Parker x Gn! Reader

Let's say… pain, it's just pain.

I've been here, wandering through my own thoughts, trying to understand what happened, why are so many eyes thrown at me? They made me feel panicked, desperate.

"You don't have to be here if you don't want to" Peter comforts me, he always tries, and I will always be grateful for that side of him.

"I know…but I kind of need to, don't I?" I asked and he waved, it took a while for us to enter the cafe door as soon as we arrived from the cemetery, it was cruel the way people dealt with each other's memorials, but May's was organized as usual, it was good to know that no one would do nothing.

I saw Peter going to the balcony and he died a little more inside having to talk to friends who didn't remember him, I promise on my own soul, he can't lose anyone else in this life.

"Just a coffee?" he turned to me with a forced smile.

"Yes, please." I smiled back, placing my hand on his shoulder and moving to one of the tall chairs they had next to the counter. We talked, nothing more. It was part of when you feel under pressure from yourself, when you feel like you're not enough anymore, but at least I had Peter so I could talk about it as much as I could.

#peter parker #gn reader #x gn reader #mcu #marvel mcu #x gender neutral reader #tom!peter parker #tom!spiderman #tom!peter x reader #mcu spiderman #peter parker x reader #peter parker x gender neutral reader #peter parker x gn!reader

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loverforfanfiction · 2 years

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Gif imagines series [ tell me if you want a part 2 ]

Being married to peter parker would include

[Imagine your race and gender] your wedding

The night he purposed

Your house

Your kids

Now but not least your best moment's [ your race and gender]

The perfect family

#tom holland x reader #peter parker x plus size reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker #avengers x plus size reader #avengers x fem!reader #avengers x male reader #avengers x black!reader #marvel x gender neutral reader #marvel x reader #marvel x black!reader #marvel fic

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bi-disaster-yn · 1 year

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About You

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Reader can’t help but feel they are missing someone and also feels a real connection to Spider Man but can’t explain why. (Inspired by About You by The 1975).

Set after the events in No Way Home! As always, Peter is aged up to be in his early-mid twenties.

A/N: SO basically all of my fave artists; The 1975, Taylor Swift and PVRIS brought out new music within days of each other so expect a few fics inspired by their songs! P.S this is my petition to be your favourite Peter writer.

Reader has no gender specifications and so can be read as any gender with any pronouns. I typically hate the usage of ‘Y/N’ and try to avoid it but it kinda had to be done here.

There’s something about you

That now I can’t remember

It’s the same damn thing

That made my heart surrender

And I miss you on the train

I miss you in the morning

I never know what to think about

I think about you

The strain on your eyes was getting more unbearable as blinking felt like razor cuts on your eyelids, yet you couldn’t pull away. An evening spent in the compound computer lab typing up mission reports became a full on research mission into the elusive Spider Man.

It had gotten dark outside hours ago but you hadn’t been able to peel yourself away to turn the light on. Instead, you sat in the darkness, being illuminated by the various Daily Bugle videos tearing down the subject of your research.

Your fascination with Spider Man was odd. In recent times, you had felt like something or someone was missing. There was a void in your chest which only seemed to heal at the mere mention of the vigilante with the ability to shoot webs from his wrists.

It vexed you that no one in the compound had asked him to join the avengers at the battle with Thanos - nor did they think to get his information or even run a simple background check on him. He had specific skills and was invaluable in that fight, they would definitely need him again someday.

Likewise, he had leant before Tony as he died, clearly torn apart by it. Yet no one seemed to know who he was. Clearly, he was important so none of this made sense.

Although, being fixated on Spider Man went deeper than you considering he’d be an asset to the Avengers. Watching his movements always put fuzzy flashbacks in your brain of a sweet brunette man. All you could make out was brown curls and a smile on a distorted face but it brought you immense comfort. The blurred visions included his laugh and holding his hand. Sometimes they were a bit more detailed and he’d be laying on your chest as you rubbed his back. Yet, despite giving yourself headaches by try to force yourself to remember, the face was never quite decipherable.

You couldn’t recall ever seeing this man but still these images felt like memories and the feelings they inspired in you were real. The mystery of him and his supposed importance plagued your mind as you felt you were running endlessly in circles for answers. Whenever your focus wasn’t on a particular mission or other Avengers business, it would always find a way to go back to him.

Biting your thumbnail, you rolled your eyes as the presenter on the Daily Bugle reprimanded Spider Man again. You would have preferred a more complimentary source for your research but this seemed to be the only resource that took anything to do with him.

All of a sudden, the lights switched on in the lab, startling you and leaving you disorientated. Adjusting your eyes, you looked up to see Sam with folded arms and giving you a stern look.

“Crushing on Spider Man again?” He asked with a playful smirk which put you on defence mode.

“Sam, there’s something there! I know there is.” You snapped back grumpily, tired of everyone underestimating Spider Man’s importance and putting down your ideas as obsessive ramblings.

Sam nodded, seemingly different than before. “Oh, I know. That’s why I’m putting you on a mission to recruit him.”

You raised your eyebrow in surprise, so used to having this subject brushed off when you broached it that this all seemed a little too good to be true. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t want to be the kind of captain that puts my team down when they genuinely think something is a lead. You’ve been focussed on this for weeks now. So, go and do it. Go find Spider Man and at least try and bring him in for a conversation. I wanna meet him.”

With this you were leaping out of your chair and throwing your arms - rather unprofessionally - around Sam’s neck. He chuckled in response, lightly patting your back.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” You exclaimed in a rush to get the words out, grateful for your Captain to show some faith in you. “You won’t regret this!”

“I hope not.” He warned. “Now get planning, I want an update in a week.”

***

Finding Spider Man was relatively easy. From your research you managed to work out that he must have some connection with the police department as every time they were alerted to a crime, he seemed to appear. Getting a police radio was also easy, the NYPD couldn’t exactly object to approval from Captain America himself.

A signed warrant from Sam was exchanged for a radio and you waited it out to pick up something so you could intercept your target.

You had selected a late Tuesday night for your recruitment mission and had invited Joaquin Torres along as back-up. All geared up in your mission suit, you sat atop a building waiting for an update on your radio while linked up to Torres on the ground.

“I mean, how do you go from fighting Thanos to waiting for petty crimes to happen?” Joaquin asked you over comms.

“Maybe he had an existential crisis.” You laughed back.

It was bitingly cold and there was a soft crunch in the snow beneath your boots. The wind seemed to howl aggressively around you. Honestly, only idiots would leave the warmth of home on a night like this. Or people on a mission.

Although, the cold seemed to bring with it more hazy visions of the brunette man. You swore you could smell cheap coffee and doughnuts as you thought about the man taking off his scarf to wrap it round you, revealing the ugly Christmas jumper he’d had on underneath which was forest green and emblazoned with a snowman. Suddenly, it didn’t feel so cold anymore.

The radio murmured as a report came through of a robbery a few blocks from where you were. Whilst crime wasn’t actually something an avenger should root for; you couldn’t contain your excitement at the possibility of meeting your favourite superhero.

“Ready to get some robbers, Torres?” You smiled a bit too happily as you launched a zipwire to transport yourself from building to building.

“Well, it’s not what I trained for in the army but I’m up for anything these days.” He responded before stepping on the gas in one of the Compound’s most discreet jeeps.

In the distance, you spied a figure in a red and blue suit making their way towards the bank. You swallowed thickly, feeling as though your heart was threatening to propel itself up into your mouth. After the months of research and the unexplained mystery, this was it.

You managed to land on the roof of the building where he was standing, ready to make his next move. Sensing you immediately, the vigilante turned round to face you and his eye details on his mask comically widened. He stood frozen in front of you, looking down at the webshooters on his wrists before back at you with caution, as though he was reluctant to use them on you.

He recognised you.

“Don’t worry about the robbery, my associate will deal with that. I just want to talk.” You announced and made a step towards him with your hand reached out to shake.

His recoil was automatic as he edged backwards to avoid your touch. A frown painted your features, shocked by his standoffish nature. The intensity of feeling he had given you was so great that you hadn’t considered that he would not automatically reciprocate it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bombard your patrol.” You started, trying to compose yourself and conceal any hint of embarrassment. “I’m an Avenger, and Captain America wants to meet you.”

“Sam Wilson?” He asked in a peculiarly sweet voice; the sound of which triggered the tightening in your chest and produced ringing in your ears. Suddenly, the void in you started to deepen, which only furthered your earlier frustrations. Why was he so important?

“Exactly.” It was the only answer you were capable of producing.

“He’ll be a good Captain America.” Spider Man responded. “But I can’t go back there.”

“Why?” You demanded, becoming impatient with his enigmatic nature. Every single instinct in your body told you to push this, to not let him away without the answers to questions you weren’t quite sure of yet.

In that moment, nothing else mattered except getting to know this masked man.

“I am not gonna be an Avenger again.” He stated with certainty and he continued to edge back, reaching his arm out and you knew what he was planning to do.

The web that was shot from his wrist didn’t make it very far as you lunged forward and brought him to the ground. The wind was clearly knocked out of him but he put his hands on your shoulders to try and push you off and escape. He struggled against you with groans but not with very much force. It was like he was determined not to harm you. All he wanted was to get away from you.

Evidently, he knew you well enough to not want to hurt you. Worryingly, despite how hard you tried, you couldn’t remember him.

“Who are you?!” You yelled at him. Professionalism had fallen by the wayside at this point. No longer on an Avengers mission, you were on a quest for answers about the gap in your soul only he could answer.

His hands were still on your shoulders, keeping you at arm’s length from him as he squirmed beneath you without hurting you. He was entirely capable of it. One shot from his wrist and he could have launched you off of him and have gotten away in seconds. When he didn’t answer your question, you reached up for his mask to pull it off.

Then he said it.

“Y/N, STOP!” He yelled at you. The sound of your name falling from his lips made you wince. Once careful hands became shaky and your tightened chest now felt as though it had been ripped open and left to bleed out in front of him. It was so familiar and intimate but at the same time, felt a million miles away because you couldn’t understand why this would be so significant.

You stared at each other in a stale mate, ready to see who would make the first move. He visibly softened when he saw the tears form in your eyes, ready to fall.

“You know me.” You said eventually, leaning back to sit on your knees next to him. “How do you know my name?"

Spider Man sat up, leaning back on his palms. No longer was he looking round for an escape option. Instead, he appeared conflicted and stuck. His only response was an attempt to start answering your question but eventually giving up and sighing, turning his face to look away from you.

Even though his spidey senses alerted him to your next move, he seemed resigned to his position when you successfully reached over and pulled the mask off. It revealed the brunette man from your memories, except now his face was clear as day. It was him though, and the images of him lying on your chest expanded where he’d look up at you and you’d laugh together over something silly. The sweet man who’d scrunched his face up with laughter in your memory was now reduced to the forlorn one before you.

He was so handsome, but at the same time had a dullness behind his eyes that signified how he carried the weight of the world. The friendly neighbourhood Spider Man with extraordinary abilities was simultaneously so defenceless in your presence.

Tear filled and regretful eyes met yours in a stare that was impossible to break. The man offered a sympathetic but pained smile. There was an overwhelming need deep inside you to reach forward and comfort him. Something told you that he might need it.

“I know you.” You whispered. “I know you but I don’t know where from.”

Immediately, the tears that had been kept back from the brim started to cascade down his face. His face grimaced in unimaginable pain and he hauled his legs to his chest, dipping his head in his knees. Racked with sobs, his whole body shuddered and you contemplated if you had ever seen someone so vulnerable before.

“I think about you all the time, I don’t know why.” You offered but it didn’t seem to help matters. “How do you know me? How do we know each other?”

“I can’t tell you.” He said with a broken voice, still hiding his face from you. “It’s too dangerous.”

“But we clearly mean a lot to each other!” You retaliated. “You could have easily beaten me in that fight and have gotten away by now, but you didn’t. You recognised me as soon as you saw me. Please! I’m so tired of people thinking I’m crazy over this. There’s something about you and I just can’t let it go.”

“You have to.” He replied gruffly, mustering the strength to raise to his feet and retrieving his mask from you. Powerless, you remained rooted to the floor, seemingly unable to stop him as he brushed past your arm and made his way to swing off the building.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

There was something about the way he touched your arm and said your name that sent an electric shock through you. It was as though a part of your brain had been unplugged but now there was power again; switching on the memories that gradually seeped through. It inspired the straightening of your posture and the rolling of your shoulders. You turned round to him, uncertain why but with a desperation in your stomach to say the next thing that came from your lips.

“P-Peter?”

If the world had stopped at that moment, neither of you would have noticed it. The man spun round to meet your eyes again but this time, despite the tears still streaming from his eyes, he had a face full of hope. For too long he had been sitting in the darkness, suffocated by the weight of his own loneliness. But you came along and with you brought a flickering candle, ready to pull him into the light again.

“What did you say?” He whispered, praying and pleading internally that he hadn’t made that up, that his mind wasn’t playing a cruel trick on him. If you’d remembered him, he’d allow himself to come back to you.

“Peter.” You said again with a deep exhale, pointing to your head. “That’s all I keep hearing in my head. Peter Parker… that’s you, isn’t it? You’re my Peter.”

Without warning, Peter lunged towards you and pulled you into a tight embrace. He buried his face in your neck, brushing his lashes along your skin as he squeezed his eyes shut, letting the tears fall against your skin and suit. It felt natural when you put your arms round him and held him close.

His scent, his breathing, the definable features of his face pressed against your neck all pieced together the remaining shards of information that you had been inexplicably robbed of.

“You were mine before. Weren’t you? I lost my memory.” You mumbled to him as you held him close, getting the sense that this was the first time in a long time that he’d been hugged. "You gave me your scarf when I was cold once, and you had that ridiculous Christmas sweater. Remember?"

He winced at the memory you shared, affording himself the opportunity to let you in again. Truthfully, he'd been so terrified about putting you in danger and losing you that he hadn't accustomed himself to the fact that he already had lost you. He was fighting against that which was his current reality.

“I was yours. And you were mine.” He confirmed, letting his hands roam your back as if getting used to your body again. "And I like that sweater!"

“Why has everyone tried to keep us apart?”

“No one remembers me, that was the deal I made with Doctor Strange. No one would remember Peter Parker, it saved the world.” He explained sadly and gave you a squeeze. Although, it wasn’t the full story, you accepted it at face value. Eventually, he’d tell you everything but you had all the time in the world for that. You had just gotten him back and you weren’t going to let him go again.

“That was a stupid deal.” You laughed through a choked sob, running your fingers through his soft brown curls. His contented hum told you that this was something you had done before.

“Yeah, it was.” He laughed, pressing a loving kiss to your cheek which made your stomach flip. “I was really hoping you’d figure it out. I missed you.”

The feeling of his lips on you was something you craved again. You leaned back, letting your fingers tangle in his hair and pulled him in for a deep kiss. His hands planted on your waist and pulled you intently, as though he was trying to mould you both into one person. Lord knows, you might as well be with the connection that you undoubtedly shared.

Closing your eyes, you focused on the way the beating of your heart went into overdrive and how it thumped in your chest so hard he would no doubt feel it where he had pulled your body close to his. You had no idea just how much you had been missing up until now. Earlier theories and memories now contextualised and validated, you began to feel the void in your chest heal and feel full again.

Foreheads met and Peter pressed several pecks to your lips making you both laugh just as you had done in your memory. Your arms wrapped round his neck to achieve as much contact with him as possible, having missed him touching you for so long.

“I knew I was right about you.” You beamed as you pulled back from the kiss, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone lovingly. “I remember it now, Peter.”

Both of you exchanged a sad look in acknowledgement of the time together you’d been robbed of. Whilst the greater good demanded it, there was a particular cruelty in ripping apart two souls so intertwined with each other. Perhaps, the overlap would explain that which kept you so connected to him. Or maybe fate was just on your side.

Either way, you had endured the preview of what existence without each other entailed and neither of you were prepared to go through that again.

“How did you figure it out? I mean, what was it that made you just keep thinking of me?” He asked in a comfortable whisper, having no intention of pulling back from the embrace any time soon. You smiled in response, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“There was just something about you.”

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yanasyin · 4 days

Text

What We Know (And What They Don't)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Synopsis: After getting fired from your job, all you wanted was to sulk in silence on the rooftops of Brooklyn. Too bad you caught the neighborhood web-slinger's eye. 1.1k words ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Warnings: Bad head-space description, abusive boss, brief thought of jumping off a building (blink and you'll miss it), not much though I don't think.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Contents: Gn!reader x Spiderman (any), fluff, SFW. A/n at the end.

"Out! And this time stay out you useless bxtch!" The greasy brown, stained backdoor of Carlito's diner slammed shut. A harsh sigh escaped your throat. Today was just one of those days. You woke up late, got yelled at by your boss, and forgot half your tables' orders. You really hadn't meant to, it's just, everything was so loud. Spoons and forks clinking on chipped plates, raucous laughter, mindless chatter, and that damned child that wouldn't stop crying. This close to Christmas, the tables were constantly filled and the diner was constantly under-staffed.

Your boss improvised. With no over-time pay, most staff at the diner had to work at least 2 jobs to keep up with influx of customers this time of year. Truly a Christmas miracle everybody hadn't left yet. Honestly, it would've been a great move on your part to quit way before this, but you didn't have any options aside from this place, it got the bills paid and you off the streets.

Really, the customer that got you fired was already getting on your nerves from the beginning of your shift. You only lost it when he decided taking a photo up your shorts while you bent down to grab your dropped notebook was a good idea. he would've gotten away with it too had his flash not been on. Whirling around, you backhanded him so hard his dentures flew out. Unfortunately, this was the last straw for your boss, the customer was given a free meal, while you got your last paycheck.

There was no point getting mad now, what would it accomplish? Jobless, freezing, and alone, it was in your best interest to get out of the alley you were in asap. Your work uniform was your boss's taste in women, so in short, sexy, tight, and revealing. Your red shorts barely covered the beginning of your thighs, and the black fishnets underneath were basically decoration, thankfully you had a spare black tee at least. You didn't bring more than a hoodie today, since in the morning, before you left for work, the sun was shining and it was pleasantly warm.

Cursing every decision that had brought you to this point, you figured you might as well go to a scenic spot if you were going to sulk. Ducking out of the alleyway, you hastily made your way to your apartments fire escape a few blocks down. Gripping the icy rails, you silently climbed until your head was level with the top and hauled yourself over.

You stepped over until you were at the edge of the railing. From here, you could see the ant-sized pedestrians living going about their day. It kind of put your life into perspective, you were just another ant, lost in the throngs of people... Your life was kind of meaningless. Almost without thinking, your feet pushed closer to the edge. From this height, you wouldn't just be getting a few broken bones, you'd be dead if you jumped. You were a hairs breadth away from the edge, and the slight swaying sensation people got when they were really high up was getting to you. What if I... Before you could finish that thought, a near-silent whoosh sounded behind you.

Whirling around you were met with the Brooklyn's most famous vigilante. He looked almost casual leaning against the rooftop door, but there was a slight tension in his stance, as if he was waiting for you to do something.

"A little high up to be contemplating life don't you think?" He murmured with a teasing lilt to his voice. You could feel your neck getting warm as you realized what he thought you were going to do, and rushed out an explanation.

"I wasn't! I just had a sh!tty day is all. The view here at night is beautiful so I thought I'd cheer myself up a bit" He titled his head at your response, taking a moment to consider your words before sauntering over and plopping down on the edge of the building.

"Care to join me? There's plenty of room." You hesitated, but plopped down anyway, after all who'd turn down the chance to sulk next to Spider-man? Not you that's for sure.

Spidey's head tilted minutely in your direction, before asking lightly "You know, I've been told I'm a great listener." You blinked in surprise... That was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Before you knew it you were spilling the day's events with fervor, finding comfort in his low hums and sympathetic ah's.

"-nd he really should've retired 10 years ago, but he's still up and kicking! And now I have to find another damn job just so I'm not out on the streets." Spidey had been staring at you silently for the past few minutes now, and as you paused to catch your breath he spoke.

"Can I kiss you?" You reeled back in shock, he seemed a bit surprised at his own boldness too if the slight widening of the eyes on his mask was any indication, he didn't back down though and hurried to elaborate.

"You looked a little lonely, and I won't say you don't smoking in your current outfit, but I mostly wanted to cheer you up." While he spoke he had started to slowly lean towards you, but stopping a few inches from your face, waiting for your permission. A slow nod was all he need before he was tugging the mask up over his nose, revealing soft lips, before his mouth pressed to yours sweetly.

You had expected a kiss with Spider-man to be fierce and passionate, considering he was someone constantly defying rules and swinging free in the city, this kiss was passionate but it was soft. He kissed you like a lover would, lightly tilting your chin towards him with the tips of his fingers, before using one hand to hold the back of your head, and the other to cup your face.

You could have kept kissing him for ages if the burning need for oxygen didn't take over. You pulled away breathless and gasping, before taking a look at his slightly heaving chest, diving back for seconds.

After the both of you were flushed and drunk on the others lips, Spider-man, tugged his mask back down and you had the feeling he was grinning at you.

"Somebody seems to be in better spirits." He goaded. You huffed a laugh before smiling. You turned to the side to compose yourself, before turning back and seeing empty space next to the space he had previously filled.

Confused you looked up and down the building, but didn't catch sight of him. Disappointment pooled in your chest, but just before you left for the fire escape, you noticed a small sticky note with a hastily scribbled number on it, and a call me! underneath in chicken scratch. You would have ignored it if not for the tiny spider drawn like a certain somebody's suit on the back. Maybe it wasn't that bad of a day after all.

A/n: I lost the ask :( but this is for the anon who requested a spiderverse fic! it's mostly me yapping but I hope you enjoy <33

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