#mcu!peter parker x y/n

[sunshine-lux]

Clueless (vi.)

summary: teenagers tend to do stupid things when they're scared and in love but y/n and peter really take the cake! between arguments, football games, and parties- peter and y/n try to keep it together for their friends' sake. they're not doing a very good job at it, though.

pairings: Stark!reader x MCU!peter parker, Stark!reader x harry osborn, MCU!peter parker x gwen stacy

warnings: light swearing (i'm getting more comfy with it), one or two innuendos, underage drinking, peter being stupid, some mentions of death but it's not serious at all! f!reader. i think that's it!

word count: 12.3k!!!! double digits!!

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Y/N dropped into her seat beside Peter without saying a word. She didn’t look at him, didn’t even pretend to. Her notebook hit the desk harder than necessary, but she kept her expression neutral, jaw set tight as she stared down at the notes from yesterday’s class.

Peter sat there stiffly, pencil tapping nervously against his desk. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the fight. About what he said. About the way she slammed the car door and didn’t look back. And now she was here—so close, and yet he couldn’t feel further from her.

“Morning,” he mumbled, barely audible.

Y/N didn’t respond.

He glanced sideways at her, only to find her pretending he didn’t exist. Her expression was calm, but her foot bounced under the desk—a habit Peter knew meant she was annoyed. Or anxious. Probably both.

“Look,” he said under his breath, leaning a little toward her. “Are we gonna pretend that didn’t happen?”

Still nothing. Her eyes stayed locked on the board.

Peter sighed. “Y/N.”

She finally turned her head, eyes cold. “What do you want, Peter?”

“I just—I didn’t mean all that stuff, okay? I was pissed.”

“No kidding.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn't have said that stuff about Harry. Or you.”

There was a beat. And then Y/N said, “But you did say it. So…”

He winced. “I was being stupid. I know that.”

“You think I’m just throwing myself at the first guy who gives me attention,” she said, still not looking at him. “That wasn’t you being stupid. That was you being honest.”

Peter opened his mouth, then shut it again.

She gave a tight, sarcastic smile. “Thanks for that, by the way. Super empowering.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You never do,” she cut in, finally turning to look at him fully now. Her voice was low, but sharp. “But you say things like that anyway. Like I’m supposed to be okay with it.”

Peter stared at her, thrown.

“You think I’m being dramatic?” she added, eyes narrowing slightly. “I know that look.”

“No, I—” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you want from me, okay? I’m trying here.”

“Then maybe try actually trusting me,” she said. “I thought you did.”

“I do,” Peter said. “It’s not about that.”

“Really? Because from where I’m sitting, it feels exactly like that.”

The bell rang before he could respond.

Y/N stood, grabbing her bag. “Don’t worry. I won’t be bringing any more ‘weird older guys’ around your presence.”

“Y/N—”

But she was already walking out the door.

Peter stayed frozen at his desk, watching her leave, stomach twisted with guilt and something he didn’t want to name.

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MJ was walking down the hall when suddenly, a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her sideways into an empty classroom.

“WOAH—”

“Shh!” Peter slammed the door behind them.

MJ blinked at him. “Nah, don’t ever do that again.”

Peter looked wildly stressed. Hair disheveled, hoodie strings uneven, backpack half-zipped. Definitely unraveling.

MJ crossed her arms. “This better be good.”

Peter ran a hand down his face. “Did Y/N and Harry walk into the café together?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Last night,” he clarified. “When she showed up after the fight. Did they meet there or did they come together?”

“...Why?”

Peter ignored the question. “Did they walk in together or not?”

MJ tilted her head. “You really wanna know?”

“Yes.”

“I might have told Harry where to find her.”

“MJ.”

She smiled innocently. “What?”

Peter’s eyes bulged. “Why would you do that?!”

“She was upset. He asked. He showed up. I was at work!”

“You let them sit together—”

“I served them coffee. I was on the clock.”

“Okay, but that was basically their first date—”

“Oh my god.” MJ dragged a hand down her face. “Peter. Why do you even care?”

“I don’t,” he said, too fast. “I just—he’s weird. And sketchy. And a total womanizer—”

MJ blinked. “Okay. And?”

“I’m the only one being logical here! I worry about her.”

“Right. Because your concern has nothing to do with the fact that she let him hold her hand, laughed at his jokes, and maybe, just maybe, likes him.”

Peter’s jaw clenched.

MJ stepped closer. “You’re jealous. Just admit it.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Peter looked away, like the floor suddenly got very interesting.

And MJ wasn’t done. Not even close.

“You’ve been doing this cat and mouse thing with Y/N for over a year, Peter. You flirt. You linger. You hover. And just when everyone thinks you’re about to grow a pair and actually say something—you backpedal. Hard.”

She didn’t even blink.

“You did it last year with Liz. Everyone thought you were gonna ask Y/N to Homecoming. Hell, I know you wanted to. And then boom—suddenly you're escorting Midtown’s It Girl to the dance like Y/N didn’t exist.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but MJ cut him off.

“And now you're doing it again with Gwen. Gluing yourself to her, acting like nothing’s wrong, dragging her along too. You don’t get to be confused and territorial and then expect everyone to wait around while you figure it out. Both of those girls are super sweet. And they don’t deserve this.”

Peter just stood there, guilt crashing over him like a wave.

MJ shook her head. “You don’t get to act like this if you’re still pretending you’re into Gwen. Either make a move or move on, Peter. But this weird emotional limbo thing you’re doing? It’s exhausting.”

She opened the door.

“Oh,” she added over her shoulder, “And if you ever drag me into a room again, I will end your life.”

Then she was gone.

Peter just stood there, heart racing, throat tight, and chest aching—because MJ was right. And that was the worst part.

As he was leaving the empty classroom, he spotted her by the lockers, shoving her books into her bag with more aggression than necessary.

He hesitated. He could still feel MJ’s words echoing in his skull, pounding like a migraine. But he couldn’t let it go like this. Not again.

“Hey,” he said, stepping beside her.

Y/N glanced at him, eyes still tired. “Hey.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Are we… okay?”

She zipped up her bag and shrugged. “I mean… I guess.”

Peter winced. “I’m sorry about what I said. About Harry. That whole thing. I didn’t mean to come off like that.”

Y/N looked at him carefully. “It wasn’t just about Harry. It was the way you said it. And the things you said to me. Like you don’t trust me and I’m just some dumb girl.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “And I’m so sorry. I really am. I was just—I don’t know. I was mad. And dumb. And jealous—” He cut himself off, chest tightening. “Forget that last one.”

She gave him a small look, unreadable.

Peter cleared his throat. “Can I… make it up to you?”

A beat. Then, Y/N cocked her head slightly. “You wanna walk me home?”

His face lit up, too fast. “Yes. Absolutely. I’d love to.”

Y/N almost smiled. Almost. She threw her backpack over her shoulder and nodded for him to follow. And just like that, they were walking side by side down the hall again—close, familiar, dangerously close to normal.

Peter’s heart climbed into his throat.

He had to say it.

Tell her, now. Tell her about Gwen.

“Hey, um…” he started, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. “About the game tomorrow—”

Y/N turned to look at him, eyes softening just a little.

And he faltered.

She just invited you to walk her home. She’s letting you back in. If you tell her now, she’ll be pissed again. She’ll think you lied. What if she doesn’t even care? What if it’s not a big deal? Just act like it’s still a group thing. Just play nice with Harry. Don’t ruin this.

Peter forced a smile. “You excited?”

Y/N gave a little nod. “Yeah. Kinda. Big game and all.”

Peter nudged her shoulder. “You’re gonna look cooler than half the team just sitting in the stands.”

Y/N finally smiled. “Well… duh.”

They kept walking, and for a second, it was just like old times.

But Peter felt it in his chest—that knot of guilt curling up tighter and tighter.

Because things felt good. Too good.

And he was still lying.

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The lunch table was quieter than usual.

Ned and Peter were missing—dragged off to the library for “studying,” apparently. Y/N had a hunch it was just Peter trying to avoid this exact dynamic: her, Gwen, and MJ sitting side by side.

Y/N picked at her salad while MJ scrolled through her phone. Gwen sipped her lemonade, then set her cup down and said it casually—too casually.

“So…” Gwen looked between the girls, all wide eyed innocence. “Guess who called me last night and asked me out on a date?”

Y/N looked up, half smiling, pretending she didn’t already know. “Who?”

“Peter,” Gwen said, trying not to seem too smug. “Kinda unexpected, right?”

MJ made a little noise, raising her eyebrows. “Huh.”

Gwen turned to Y/N. “I know you’ve said you two are just friends, but… I mean, you’re super close. Even at the gala, it felt like he would've rather been there with you. I don’t wanna step on your toes or anything.”

Y/N’s brain was reeling. He really didn’t tell me. After everything—after their fight, the apology, the offer to walk her home—he still didn’t tell her.

She blinked. “No, it’s… it’s fine. We’re just close. That’s all.”

Gwen gave her a soft smile. “Okay. Just wanted to be sure. You’re kind of intimidating, you know.”

Y/N forced a laugh. “Oh god. Noted.”

He asked her. He gave her the opening—asked how she felt. He never asked you. Never even hinted. And you thought…

The ache in her chest throbbed deeper. Panic, jealousy, humiliation. Something sharp, something bitter.

“Well,” Y/N said, brightening her tone like flipping a switch, “I’m bringing Harry to the game. As a date.”

MJ’s eyes snapped up.

Gwen looked surprised. “Oh my gosh, really?”

Y/N nodded, sipping her water a little too fast. “Mhm. Why not?”

In her head: Why did I say that?

Now she had to stick to it. Had to lean in. Had to play this ridiculous game Peter started.

Gwen smiled again. “That’s… kind of iconic, honestly. I think you guys are cute together.”

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, glancing down at her tray.

Across the table, she watched Gwen. Blonde hair, soft makeup, pale pink nails. She wore a flowy skirt and a sweater with little daisies on it. Her voice was calm, gentle. Everything about her said safe.

She’s everything you’re not.

Y/N wore her usual baggy jeans and boots. There was still a faint bruise on her knuckle from training with Vision last week. She’d laughed too loud in Physics. She never knew when to shut up. Gwen was soft edges; Y/N was sparks and static.

And maybe that’s why Peter chose her.

Maybe he always would.

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Peter hadn’t said much since dragging Ned in here under the pretense of “studying.”

Now they were tucked in the corner, hidden behind a stack of Bio textbooks, and Peter was chewing on the cap of his pen.

Ned finally put his book down. “Okay. Spill. What’s with the tension?”

Peter blinked at him. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. Ever sinceI told you I saw Y/N with Harry at MJ’s job you’ve been so weird. I woke up to like ten cryptic texts from you. What’s going on?”

Peter ran a hand down his face. “It’s nothing.”

“Peter.”

“…I asked Gwen out.”

Silence.

“You what?” Ned whisper-yelled. “As in, to the game? Like—a date-date?”

Peter nodded, miserable.

Ned’s jaw dropped. “For someone so smart, you can be a real idiot sometimes.”

Peter looked away. “I know.”

“No, seriously. Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Peter muttered. “Okay, I do know. It was stupid. It’s a mistake.”

Ned just stared at him, waiting.

Peter sighed. “Because it’s easier. Because I panicked. Gwen’s… Gwen’s nice. She’s cool. She’s safe.”

“Safe?” Ned echoed.

Peter nodded, quiet now. “She doesn’t make my brain stop working and my heart beat out of my chest. She’s not… her.”

Ned softened a little. “You mean Y/N.”

Peter didn’t say anything.

“She’s Y/N Stark, dude. You’ve been in love with her since summer of freshman year.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Peter said suddenly. “She’s Y/N Stark. Everyone wants her. She’s brilliant and beautiful and terrifying. She’s electric. She’s—she’s the kind of person a genie would grant you as a wish and then laugh when it turns out too good to be true.”

Ned tilted his head. “So you asked someone else out because you think she’s too good for you?”

“I think… if I let myself love her the way I want to, it wouldn’t be fair to her.”

Peter’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “I know what happens to the people I love, Ned. And now I’m Spider-Man. The stakes are higher. There’s always going to be someone coming for me, and if Y/N’s with me… she’s a target.”

He looked down, eyes wet. “Even if she’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. Even if she could probably fry a supervillain with her pinky. It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t handle it. If anything ever happened to her, I—”

He cut himself off, shaking his head.

Ned sat back, stunned. “Pete…”

“I’d rather be with someone who won’t stick around long enough to get hurt,” Peter said quietly. “And she’s got Harry now anyway. He’s rich, powerful, he can protect her. He’s probably what she deserves.”

Ned looked at him like he wanted to hit him. “You absolute moron.”

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The bell rang, and students poured out of the classroom, flooding the hallway with noise and chatter. Peter waited just outside the door, rocking on the balls of his feet. His backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder, and his expression was calm—hopeful, even.

He spotted her instantly, weaving through the crowd. Her face was unreadable.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside her.

Y/N didn’t respond.

Peter blinked, confused, but tried again. “You good?”

A beat. Then another.

“Sure,” she said flatly, eyes straight ahead.

He frowned. “Are you mad at me again?”

“I don’t know, Peter. Should I be?”

Peter’s brows knit together. “I—I thought we were good. I said sorry, remember? You asked me to walk you home.”

They were already nearing the main doors of the school. Peter glanced over at her again, trying to read her expression. She wouldn’t look at him.

He cleared his throat. “Y/N/N… am I still walking you home or—what’s going on?”

She stopped walking.

He paused a few steps ahead, turning back to face her. “Y/N/N?”

“Nope,” she said brightly, too brightly. “I’m going out with Harry.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“I said I’m going out with Harry,” she repeated, like it was obvious. She shrugged. “Change of plans.”

“Y/N, what?! You asked me to walk you. And now you’re just… canceling at the last second?”

By now, they were fully outside. The autumn air hit Peter like a slap, sharp and cold but nothing compared to what came next.

Y/N turned to him, finally meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Because despite what you think of him, he hasn’t lied to me.”

Peter blinked. “What are you—?”

“Unlike you.” Her voice cracked a little. “God, you were just gonna pretend like nothing happened. You were gonna walk me home, sit in my room, lie to my face. And for what, Peter?”

Peter’s mouth opened, closed. “Y/N, what are you talking about—?”

“Have fun with your girlfriend, Gwen. Or whatever she is to you now.” she snapped, turning on her heel just as a sleek black car pulled up to the curb.

Harry Osborn stepped out of the driver’s seat, leaned against the door like he was posing for a magazine cover, and grinned when he saw her.

Peter watched helplessly as Y/N’s entire face lit up. Her anger melted for a moment, replaced by something warm and easy. She jogged down the steps toward Harry, who opened the car door for her with a smirk.

Before getting in, Harry glanced up—locked eyes with Peter—and gave him a lazy wave and an unmistakable wink.

Peter just stood there, rooted to the spot, mouth dry, heart pounding.

What the fuck.

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Y/N flopped backward on the couch in the Tower’s living room, letting out a dramatic sigh as she stared at the ceiling. Her boots were still on. Pepper would yell if she saw her.

Harry, lounging beside her with a controller in hand, clicked the game to pause and tilted his head.

“So,” he said casually, “what happened with your boyfriend this time?”

Y/N groaned. “Do not call him that.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry smirked, nudging her boot with his foot. “Your not-boyfriend-who-gets-way-too-upset-when-you-hang-out-with-me.”

She shot him a look. “We’re not talking about this.”

“Too late.” He stretched dramatically. “Did you two fight again? Or is he just doing that brooding in the shadows, ‘nobody understands the burden of being a nerd’ thing again?”

She exhaled through her nose. Then  she sat up.

“He lied to me,” she said.

That made Harry pause.

“He lied, like it was nothing. We talked. We were starting to feel like us again, and then I find out from Gwen that he asked her to the game as a date.” She let out a hollow laugh. “I mean, I don’t care. I do, but I shouldn’t. But I’m so tired of playing this weird game with him.”

Harry didn't immediately respond. He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, watching her carefully.

“Sounds like he’s a dumbass.”

Y/N snorted.

“Seriously,” Harry said. “You? Y/N Stark? New York’s It girl? Genius-level intellect? Literal walking thunderstorm of hotness and rage? He should be writing you sonnets, not keeping secrets like he’s in some bad teen drama.”

She didn’t smile — not quite — but her lips twitched.

He leaned back, one arm lazily thrown across the back of the couch, fingers brushing the edge of her hair. “You want to hit something? We can go to the gym. Or I can teach you poker. I always cheat, though.”

“I’d shock you.”

“I’d consider it foreplay.”

She laughed for real then, and he grinned, satisfied.

They sat like that for a beat, her head tilted back, his gaze still on her.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” she said suddenly, eyes still on the ceiling.

“I didn’t ask,” Harry said simply. “But thanks for letting me know.”

She looked at him then, surprised by how soft his expression was — no cocky grin, no teasing smirk. Just... calm.

“I like the attention,” he added, shrugging. “And I like you. But I know I’m a distraction.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

Harry leaned in, just slightly. “You don’t have to kiss me to prove anything, Stark. I’m already wrapped around your finger. Besides,” he smirked again, “you’d just be thinking about him anyway.”

Y/N opened her mouth, but couldn’t form a reply.

“C’mon,” he said, springing up and grabbing the controllers. “First to ten wins. Loser owes the other one a secret.”

“And if I don’t lose?”

“Then I’ll still tell you one. I’m just that generous.”

She rolled her eyes but scooted closer.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even flirty.

It was a distraction. A really good one.

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The two teenagers walked side by side down the hallway toward the elevator. It was late, the lights dimmed, casting a warm glow on the floor as Y/N trailed her fingers along the wall. Harry had his hands in his pockets, still looking perfectly unbothered as usual.

“Thanks for hanging out with me today,” Y/N said, glancing up at him. “Even if you totally destroyed me in Mario Kart.”

Harry grinned. “I wouldn’t call it destruction. More like... elegant domination.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You picked Rainbow Road every time.”

“I play to win, Stark. You should know that by now.”

She smiled—finally, a real one. And then she hesitated, chewing her lip. “Okay, so... there’s one tiny thing I forgot to mention.”

Harry tilted his head. “Do tell.”

“I might’ve... sort of told my friends that you’re coming to the game with me tomorrow. As my date.”

She braced herself for whatever smug thing was about to come out of his mouth.

But Harry just burst out laughing, head thrown back like he couldn’t believe her. “Y/N Stark,” he said through a grin, “I didn’t think you had it in you to fight fire with fire like that. I see I’m rubbing off on you.”

Y/N flushed. “It’s not like that! I just—things got messy and I panicked and—”

“Relax,” he said, still smirking. “I’d be honored to be your date.”

“Fake date,” she corrected quickly, pointing a finger at him.

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fake. Real. Same difference when you’re with me.”

The elevator chimed open. Harry stepped in, then turned to face her. His eyes flicked over her face for a moment, softer now.

He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her forehead—quick, but deliberate.

“See you tomorrow, sweet cheeks,” he murmured, the smirk tugging back at his lips.

And then the doors closed.

Y/N just stood there for a second, blinking at the elevator.

She exhaled. “Oh god,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead like she could erase the memory.

This was fine. Totally fine.

Nothing she couldn’t handle.

Right?

Y/N was still standing in front of the elevator, forehead tingling, smile tugging at her lips like it wasn’t sure if it should be there or not.

And then—

“What the hell was that?”

She jumped about a foot off the floor and spun around to see Tony standing there, coffee mug in hand, jaw on the ground.

“What?” she blinked, playing innocent.

Tony pointed dramatically at the now-closed elevator doors. “Did he just kiss your forehead? Did he just call you sweet cheeks?” He clutched his chest like he was moments from a heart attack. “What are you, a Bond girl now? Is this my life?”

Y/N groaned. “Oh my god, Dad, stop being so dramatic.”

“We’re just friends,” she added.

Tony’s eyes nearly bugged out. “You call that friendship?”

He threw his arms up and started pacing. “God, I don’t even wanna know what you do with Parker then. Jesus. My blood pressure.”

Y/N blinked. “Nothing. Oh my god.”

Tony stopped, planted his hands on his hips. “Y/N, I don’t know how I feel about this Harry Osborn situation. I know him. I was him.”

He pointed at himself with exaggerated horror. “This is what karma looks like. This is it. The universe is laughing in my face.”

“Okay, dramatic and delusional,” Y/N muttered, brushing past him.

Tony followed, still spiraling. “Sweet cheeks. He called you sweet cheeks. This is my villain origin story.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the grin on her face. “You’re not normal.”

“And you are grounded.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Fair.”

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Peter sat on the fire escape outside his window, knees drawn up, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like he was thirteen again and hadn’t just asked Gwen Stacy to a football game in a moment of emotional panic.

The Queens air was chilly, sharp in that way that reminded him fall was on its way. His phone sat beside him, buzzing every now and then — group chat notifications. Mostly MJ roasting Ned for eating an entire rotisserie chicken after 9pm again.

None from Y/N.

He hadn’t heard from her since earlier. Since she told him she wasn’t walking home with him anymore. Since she left with Harry.

The metal creaked softly behind him.

“Figured I’d find you out here.”

Peter didn’t turn, but he smiled a little as May climbed through the window and sat beside him, holding two mugs. She handed one to him. It was hot chocolate.

“Thanks,” he said, quietly.

May just nodded, looking out at the skyline. “Want me to guess, or are you gonna tell me?”

Peter sighed. “It’s… dumb.”

“Of course it is. You’re sixteen. Everything feels like the end of the world when you’re sixteen.”

He laughed, weakly. “I think I messed up.”

“Oh?”

“I lied to someone. Someone I care about. And now she’s mad. And she left. With someone else. Someone cooler. And richer. And taller. And probably fluent in French or something stupid like that.”

May raised an eyebrow. “So… girl problems.”

Peter looked at her. “It’s more than that.”

“Of course it is,” she said, sipping her hot chocolate.

He was quiet for a second, then said, “I asked Gwen to the game. As a date.”

May blinked. “Okay… is that not what you wanted?”

“No. I mean — yes. I mean…” He groaned and put his head in his hands. “It wasn’t supposed to be a thing. I just panicked.”

May gave him a moment.

“I like someone else,” Peter admitted. “And I’ve liked her for a long time. And she… she was finally opening up to me again. And I lied to her. I didn’t tell her I asked someone else out. I was gonna walk her home and pretend like everything was fine and—”

“And she found out.”

“Yeah.”

May didn’t say anything. Just looked at him gently over the rim of her mug.

“You already knew it was Y/N, didn’t you?” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

May smiled, a little sad, a little proud. “Honey, I’ve always known it was Y/N.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“You get this look when you talk about her. You light up. Even when you’re trying not to. You talk about her like she invented air.”

Peter turned away, heat crawling up the back of his neck.

“She’s been here for Thai food nights. She’s slept in our couch. She helped me set up the Christmas lights last year, remember? You don’t just let anyone into your world like that.” May bumped his shoulder. “I don’t think you even realized it until recently.”

“I don’t deserve her,” Peter said, voice cracking. “She’s Y/N Stark. She’s smart and fearless and kind. Everyone loves her. And I’m just—”

“You’re Peter Parker,” May said, firm and soft all at once. “That’s more than enough.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared out at the city.

“I like Gwen,” he said eventually. “She’s nice. Easy to be around.”

“But she’s not Y/N.”

Peter’s throat tightened.

“I got scared,” he admitted. “Of it being real. Of finally getting everything I’ve ever wanted and… losing it.”

May was quiet, letting him speak.

“Everyone I’ve ever loved is gone. My parents. Uncle Ben. And now I’m Spider-Man. If anything ever happened to her because of me—”

“She’s not just anyone,” May said. “You know that.”

“I do. She’s Tony Stark’s daughter. Natasha and Steve trained her. She can handle herself. But I— I don’t want her to ever have to. Not because of me.”

“You’re not protecting her by pushing her away,” May said softly. “You’re just hurting both of you.”

Peter’s voice dropped. “I think I already did.”

May placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him.

“You know what I think?” she asked.

Peter didn’t respond, but she continued anyway.

“I think you’re scared because you love her. And it feels big. And messy. And unfair. But that’s the good stuff, Pete. The scary, overwhelming stuff — that’s what makes it real.”

He looked down at his hot chocolate, steam still curling into the air.

“So what now?” May asked.

He was quiet, then smirked faintly. “I guess I have to play the game.”

“The football game?” she asked.

“No. The dumb teenage jealousy game.”

May snorted. “Well, at least you’re aware.”

Peter smiled a little, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

May reached out and ruffled his curls. “You’re gonna figure it out. Just maybe… don’t wait too long.”

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Peter dragged his feet down the crowded hallway, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder and dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept properly all week — because, well, he hadn’t.

“Dude,” Ned said beside him, trying to sound neutral but already bracing himself for emotional whiplash, “you gotta pull it together.”

Peter shot him a look. “She skipped first period, Ned. First. Period. She never skips. And she hasn’t texted me back since yesterday.”

“She’s mad.”

“I know she’s mad,” Peter hissed. “She’s never been this mad. I think she might actually kill me.”

Ned nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I’m a little scared of her, too.”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, clearly spiraling. “Do you think—like, what if I pushed her too far this time?”

“I’ve never seen her like this,” Ned admitted. “Or you. Your guilt is literally eating you alive.”

“I deserve it,” Peter muttered.

Meanwhile, down the other end of the hall, MJ and Y/N were weaving through the crowd with far more confidence—though Y/N’s sunglasses were still on indoors, which MJ clocked as a clear sign of emotional war prep.

“I kinda feel bad,” Y/N muttered, tugging her sleeves over her hands. “I’ve never given him the silent treatment like this. It’s petty. I’m being petty.”

MJ scoffed. “No. You’re reacting.”

“I shouldn’t even let him get to me like this.”

“Too late,” MJ said. “Also? Ned and I are officially children of divorce. Parker’s an idiot. Did I tell you he dragged me into an empty classroom yesterday to interrogate me about your little ‘date’ with Harry?”

Y/N’s head whipped toward her. “It wasn’t a date.”

“Tell him that,” MJ said flatly.

Y/N groaned. “Ugh.”

And then, of course, fate had to be cruel: they turned a corner and came face to face with Peter and Ned in the middle of the hallway.

Peter straightened like he’d been electrocuted. “Oh—hey! Y/N! Hi.”

He was way too chirpy. His voice cracked slightly.

Y/N blinked behind her sunglasses. She could practically feel MJ smirking beside her.

“Hey,” she said, calm and collected. “Didn’t see you this morning.”

Peter tilted his head. “Yeah, weird. You, uh… missed AP Bio.”

“Did I?” Y/N blinked. “Huh. Must’ve overslept.”

Ned glanced at Peter like she’s gaslighting you and you’re letting her.

Peter tried to smile. “Right. Totally. Sleep’s important.”

“Mhmm,” Y/N said, lips twitching like she wanted to smile but wouldn’t let herself.

A beat of silence. The hallway around them buzzed and passed, but it felt like they were in their own little standoff bubble.

“So,” Peter said, scratching the back of his neck. “You ready for the game tonight?”

“Sure,” Y/N replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I mean… I won’t be alone.”

Peter’s jaw tensed. “Right. Harry.”

“Yup.”

MJ cut in before Peter could combust. “We’ll all be there. It’s gonna be great. Go Midtown football.”

Ned gave her a please look and she just smiled like a cat with a secret.

Peter looked back at Y/N. “Guess I’ll… see you there?”

Y/N gave a little nod, still unreadable behind her shades. “See you there, Parker.”

And with that, she walked past him. Peter stared after her, trying not to look like he was watching his whole life fall apart in real time.

Ned clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Man. She’s good at this.”

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The group hovered near the school gates, where a crowd had already started gathering to get into the football field. The fall air buzzed with excitement—music playing from somewhere, cheerleaders scattered in uniform, students rushing around with face paint and posters. Midtown was in full game-day mode.

Peter stood just a little off to the side, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, trying way too hard to look like he didn’t care. Like he wasn’t already tense. Like he hadn’t been glancing around every five seconds wondering when he would show up.

Next to him, Ned was cracking up at something Y/N had just said.

MJ raised a brow. “Okay, but you cannot talk, Stark. You’re the one who couldn’t stop laughing when you had to do the morning announcements last month.”

Y/N snorted. “You kept making faces at me.”

“I was just looking at you.”

“It was funny!”

They all burst out laughing, even Y/N—bright and easy and full of that electric spark that always surrounded her.

Peter’s eyes flicked toward her on instinct. Her smile. Her laugh. The way her eyes crinkled a little when MJ teased her. He looked away quickly, pretending to check something on his phone. He was not going to be the guy who couldn’t stop staring.

Suddenly, Gwen jogged up from across the parking lot, slightly out of breath.

“Hey!” she called, waving. “I have to go take care of some pregame stuff—cheerleader drama, don’t ask—but I’ll meet you guys at the bleachers!”

Before anyone could respond, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to Peter’s cheek.

“You look cute,” she said, flashing a bright smile before sprinting off toward the stadium entrance.

Peter blinked. Face flaming. His neck did that awkward whip thing as he turned straight to look at Y/N.

She was already looking at him.

Just for a second.

And then she looked away fast, lips tightening, eyes hardening.

He felt it in his gut.

Before he could even process it, a familiar black town car pulled up just down the curb.

Harry.

Y/N’s entire face lit up. Her eyes sparkled as she took off toward the car.

“Harrry!” she called, practically bouncing. He stepped out, grinning.

Peter watched—jaw clenched, stomach churning—as Harry pulled her into a hug, lifting her just slightly off the ground with a laugh.

“Missed me already, huh?” Harry said into her ear.

Y/N laughed, pulling back. “You’re late.”

“Traffic. Blame the masses of people who don’t know how to drive in this city.”

She tugged him toward the group. “Come meet the gang.”

“This should be fun,” he said, smirking as they walked over.

Y/N gestured. “This is Ned, MJ—you already know MJ—and– yeah Peter.”

Harry held out his hand to Ned. “Harry Osborn. Nice to meet you.”

Ned’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. New York royalty.”

Harry barked out a laugh. “You flatter me.”

To MJ, he offered a wink. “MJ, always a pleasure. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here with our lovely Y/N.”

MJ rolled her eyes. “Please. You found your own way in the second you spotted her across the ballroom.”

Harry turned to Peter last. A beat of silence.

“I almost didn’t see you there, Parker,” he said, smiling wide. “You’re so quiet. Stop hiding, man.”

Peter’s jaw ticked.

“I’m not hiding,” he muttered.

Harry just grinned bigger.

Y/N, oblivious—or pretending to be—was already chatting with MJ and Ned again.

Peter stood frozen in place, heart pounding, already regretting everything.

The bleachers were already packed, the student section buzzing with pregame energy. Midtown’s marching band played a medley of fight songs while cheerleaders hyped the crowd near the field. The sun was dipping behind the scoreboard, casting everything in a warm, golden hue.

Ned, MJ, Y/N, and Harry had claimed a long row near the 50-yard line. Gwen hadn’t arrived yet, and Peter had lagged behind a little to grab snacks for the group. When he finally showed up, drinks and chips in hand, MJ had to scoot down, making space for him next to Ned.

So it went: Gwen’s empty seat on the end, then Peter, Ned, MJ, Y/N… and Harry.

A lineup so cursed it might’ve been coordinated by the universe just to test Peter’s will to live.

He sat down with a tight smile, handing Ned a soda and settling in. He didn’t look at Y/N. Not directly. But he was very aware of her laughing at something Harry said. She was curled into her jacket, hair flowing with the wind, and Peter could see the glint of her necklace catching the sun.

It was the one May had given her last Christmas.

He frowned.

“I don’t know what that face is,” Ned muttered to him, “but you’re scowling like she burned down your childhood home.”

Before Peter could reply, Gwen appeared— lips glossy, cheeks flushed from running.

“Hey, sorry!” she said, breathless. “Band crisis. Nothing new.”

She waved as she approached, and Harry, ever the gentleman, stood.

“Gwen,” he said with a grin, “you look lovely.”

Gwen beamed. “Thank you, Harry. And thank you for coming! I mean, having two of New York’s biggest socialites in our student section? That’s serious morale-boosting stuff.”

Peter rolled his eyes so hard it might’ve caused permanent damage.

Harry, of course, just laughed and said, “Anything for Midtown.”

Gwen squeezed past Peter, dropping into the seat beside him and flashing him a smile. “Sorry again—I had no idea the band needed a last minute flag runner.”

Peter forced a grin. “It’s fine. You made it.”

“Barely,” she said, bumping her shoulder against his. “But now I’m here with all my favorite people.”

Across Ned and MJ, Y/N shifted. Peter caught the motion and immediately glanced toward her—just in time for her to glance back at him.

They both looked away instantly.

It was the most painfully obvious game of emotional dodgeball either had ever played.     

Gwen, meanwhile, leaned forward to catch MJ and Y/N’s attention with a bright smile. “This is seriously so fun. I’ve never sat with a student section this… dramatic before.” She laughed, then added, “.”

MJ snorted. “Welcome to Midtown.”

Gwen’s eyes flicked between Harry and Y/N, then back to the girls. “By the way, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to say—your whole thing with Harry? Super cute. You always blush when someone mentions him. It’s adorable.”

Y/N blinked. “I—what?”

Gwen grinned. “No, really! I noticed it even at the gala. I totally called it. You’ve got this little spark in your eyes whenever he’s around.”

She turned to Harry with a playful nudge. “You two are kind of perfect together.”

Peter’s jaw clenched. MJ didn’t even try to hide her laugh this time.

Harry, completely unfazed, tilted his head and smiled at Y/N. “Guess we’re perfect now, huh?”

Y/N’s cheeks went red—probably from the attention, maybe from something else—but she just shrugged. “We clean up nice, that’s all.”

Across the row, Peter blinked slowly and drank half his soda in one go. Gwen turned toward him, oblivious. “Aren't they adorable?”

“Adorable,” he echoed, flat.

Meanwhile, Ned had leaned toward Harry, whispering something that made him laugh—loud and unbothered.

It was so effortless.

Peter shot Ned a glare, and Ned just raised his brows like what??

Harry leaned back against the bleachers, arms spread behind Y/N as he grinned at something on the field.

Peter could feel the heat rising in his neck. He was about to combust. He turned slightly, pretending to be interested in the coin toss, but really? He was watching the way Y/N’s eyes crinkled when she laughed. Again.

The whistle blew. The crowd erupted. Kickoff.

Midtown’s football team rushed the field, and everyone in the bleachers jumped to their feet.

Y/N and Harry were among the loudest.

“LET’S GO MIDTOWN!” Harry shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “MURDER THEM, BOYS!”

“WE CAN’T SAY MURDER THEM,” Y/N yelled, cracking up as she elbowed him. “That’s so aggressive.”

“You’re aggressive,” he shot back with a grin.

“Oh my god,” MJ muttered, already exhausted.

And then—TOUCHDOWN.

Midtown scored on the opening drive, and the crowd went feral. The drumline was going wild, cheerleaders cheered, and Harry turned to Y/N with a triumphant shout.

He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her, spinning her around once before setting her down, both of them laughing and red faced from the cold and the chaos.

She threw her arms around his neck in a victory hug and beamed, breathless. It was genuine. She looked happy.

Peter was watching. Of course he was watching.

He blinked once. Twice. Jaw tight.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered, practically venomous. “Not at my school.”

He turned to Gwen with a forced grin. “That was sick, right?”

Gwen, still cheering, nodded. “Such a good start!”

Peter leaned in. “Hey, come here!”

Before she could process it, he tugged her close, arms wrapping around her waist. She squeaked in surprise and laughed as he grinned down at her.

“You look really cute, by the way,” he said. “Did I tell you that?”

Gwen smiled, cheeks pink. “No but thank you.”

He laughed again, a little too loud, letting his hand linger against her back.

MJ and Ned sat frozen between them and Y/N like they’d just been teleported into the worst teen drama in history.

Ned leaned toward MJ, whispering through a fake smile, “Are we… witnessing a live custody battle?”

MJ didn’t even blink. “This is a full psychological war.”

Meanwhile, Y/N—still catching her breath from the touchdown celebration—turned and caught Peter wrapped around Gwen.

He was saying something in her ear. Gwen was laughing. Peter was laughing. His hand was on her back.

Y/N’s smile faltered.

Oh.

So he was really gonna do it, huh?

She narrowed her eyes, lips pressed into a tight line.

Fine.

If that was the game he wanted to play, she could play it better.

Y/N turned her full attention to Harry, who was mid trash talk about the other school’s quarterback, and laughed loud—like really loud. The Peter-look-at-me kind of loud.

She reached for Harry’s hand—just for a second—and he grinned like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Peter looked. Of course he looked. His eyes snapped to their hands instantly.

Game. Set. Match.

“Y/N’s definitely doing this on purpose,” MJ said through her teeth.

“Honestly– I respect it,” Ned replied.

Peter moved his arm from Gwen’s waist to drape across the back of her seat instead, his hand barely brushing her shoulder. Gwen leaned into it slightly, not thinking anything of it.

Y/N definitely noticed.

She huffed, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned into Harry, letting their shoulders bump. “Okay, fine. That touchdown was kind of hot.”

“Right?” Harry said, smirking. “I didn’t know Midtown could deliver like that.”

From the corner of her eye, Y/N saw Peter tense up. Saw the way his jaw ticked, even if he tried to hide it by sipping his soda.

Ned took a long sip of his drink, not looking at either of them.

MJ stared straight ahead like she was pretending to be anywhere else.

The game had barely started.

And they were all already losing.

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Harry Osborn had to admit—he was having an excellent time.

This wasn’t the kind of game he was used to. He’d gone to fancy prep schools, where football games were all tradition and decorum and polished school spirit. This? This was something else entirely. The bleachers were packed, the energy was unfiltered, and the drama? Chef’s kiss.

He glanced down the row—Gwen had just said something to Y/N that made her do that tiny, awkward little laugh. The one where she tilted her head and bit her lip like she was trying not to react. The one she did when she was holding something back.

Harry didn’t miss the way Peter Parker immediately looked over, watching Y/N like he might blow up at any second.

Harry smirked to himself. There it is.

He leaned back casually, one arm draped over the back of the bench behind Y/N—not touching her, but close enough to be noticed. Peter’s jaw twitched. Bingo.

Ned said something—Harry didn’t catch it—but it made him laugh out loud. Not a fake one either, a real, belly-deep laugh. The guy was funny. Quirky. Smart. He liked him.

But the best part was watching Peter and Y/N play their little game like no one could see it. It was like emotional ping pong. Y/N leaning into Harry’s shoulder while she cheered, Peter nudging Gwen a little closer and laughing at her jokes just a little too loud. Harry was pretty sure MJ had muttered ���kill me now” under her breath at least twice.

“Wow,” Harry said, sipping from his water bottle. “You guys do not play around. This student section is intense.”

Y/N turned to him, eyes gleaming, flushed with excitement. “Rivalry games are chaos.”

He grinned. “I thought you were exaggerating. I stand corrected.”

When their team scored again, Y/N practically jumped out of her seat, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and shaking him. He laughed and picked her up slightly, spinning her half around before setting her back down, her laughter ringing in his ears.

And yeah, sure, part of him was playing it up for Peter. Why not? If he was going to be dragged into the middle of this bizarre love triangle, he might as well enjoy the perks. But the part that surprised him was how real it felt. Y/N was so… unfiltered. Ridiculously fun. And for once, he didn’t feel like the guy on a magazine cover or the heir to anything. He felt normal. Invited.

He risked a glance down the row.

Peter was watching them again, jaw clenched. Gwen said something to him, resting her hand briefly on his arm. He nodded, distracted.

Still looking at her, Harry noted.

And for a flicker of a second, something in Harry’s chest tugged. Just a little.

He knew she wasn’t doing this for him. Not really. Every glance at Peter, every tilt of her chin—it was all part of some silent battle between the two of them. Harry was a pawn. A shiny, charming, well-dressed distraction.

But damn, wouldn’t it be nice if—for once—it wasn’t a game?

If the way she laughed, the way she lit up, the way she clung to his arm during touchdowns… if that was for him.

Still, he wasn’t bitter. Not even close.

Because if he had to play the role of the guy who got under Peter Parker’s skin—got to hold Y/N’s attention for the night, get a front row seat to this mess of unresolved tension and fireworks—he’d play it with pride.

He leaned in close to Y/N and said, “Hey, you think Peter’s gonna blow a gasket before halftime or after?”

Y/N’s grin was instant. “After. He’s trying really hard to keep it together.”

“Admirable effort,” Harry said, glancing down the row again. “But let’s make it harder.”

She laughed, bumping her shoulder into his.

And Peter Parker’s head snapped around so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash.

God, Harry loved public school.

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Halftime came in a blur of whistles and stadium noise. The marching band was setting up on the field, the snack lines were flooding, and most of the students scattered across the bleachers in search of churros or gossip. Gwen had run off again to deal with some leadership thing, ned had gone to the get more snacks, and Y/N and MJ had wandered off to the bathrooms. That left Peter and Harry… alone.

Peter didn’t mean to seek him out. He really didn’t. But there was Harry, standing a little off to the side behind the bleachers, scrolling through his phone with that stupid perfect hair and that stupid smug expression like he owned the place.

And Peter—tense, frustrated, and one glare away from combusting—walked straight over.

Harry looked up when Peter stopped in front of him.

“Well, if it isn’t loverboy,” he said lazily, slipping his phone into his coat pocket. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Cut the crap, Osborn.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Wow. We’re jumping straight to last names now. Spicy.”

Peter stepped in closer. “I don’t know what your deal is with her, but you need to back off.”

Harry blinked slowly. “Her? As in Y/N? My date?”

Peter’s jaw tightened. “You know what I mean. The flirting. The touching. It’s rude. And annoying. Have some respect, man.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his smirk returning. “Pretty sure Y/N doesn’t find it rude. She likes it when I touch her.”

Peter saw red. His fists clenched, shoulders squared. It took everything in him not to deck him right then and there.

“God, I knew it,” Peter said, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t care about her. This is all just some game to you. You think she’s just another challenge, something to win.”

Harry’s smile didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened just enough to show he was paying attention now.

“She deserves better than that,” Peter hissed.

And Harry—cool, collected, annoyingly unbothered Harry—just shrugged and said, “Then be better.”

Peter flinched.

Harry stepped closer, voice dropping just enough to land like a punch. “If you’re so sure she deserves more, then go be it. Otherwise… maybe step aside and let someone who actually sees her have a shot.”

Peter stared at him, jaw clenched, breath tight in his chest. Because deep down, Harry wasn’t wrong. That’s what made it worse.

“She doesn’t even like you,” Peter snapped.

Harry raised both eyebrows, grinning again. “You sure about that?”

Before Peter could respond, the sound of Y/N’s laugh rang out from behind them. Both boys turned—she was heading back with MJ, clutching a bag of popcorn and smiling like nothing had happened. She looked happy. At ease.

She saw them and slowed slightly, sensing the tension. Her eyes flicked between them.

Peter took a step back like he hadn’t just threatened to commit murder. Harry threw an arm casually around Peter’s shoulder, smirking as he leaned in to whisper.

“Relax, Parker. I’m just playing the part you walked away from.”

Then he clapped Peter on the back and walked off toward Y/N without looking back.

Peter stood frozen, fists still tight at his sides, heart pounding in his ears.

He had no idea what was happening anymore.

But he knew one thing—he was losing her.

The second half of the game kicked off, but Peter might as well have been watching static.

His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, his knees bouncing restlessly under the bleachers bench, eyes fixed on the field—but not really. He could barely follow what was happening. Every cheer that erupted next to him sent a fresh stab through his chest.

Especially when they were her cheers.

Y/N was laughing again—loud, beautiful, effortless—as Harry leaned in to say something only she could hear. Peter didn’t catch the words, but the way she tossed her head back, mouth open in a smile that made his stomach twist? Yeah. He caught that.

A week ago, she would’ve laughed along to his jokes like that.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to play it cool, phone out, scrolling through nothing. His leg was still bouncing. His mind, a mess.

He wasn’t trying to show off anymore. Wasn’t laughing with Gwen. Wasn’t trying to “win.”

Because he wasn’t winning. Not anymore.

He was losing. Badly.

Gwen glanced over. “You okay?”

Peter looked up, blinking. “Yeah. Just… tired, I guess.”

She frowned a little. “Too tired to go to Flash’s after party?”

Peter turned to her, confused. “Flash is throwing a party?”

“Victory party,” Gwen said with a little shrug. “I know you don’t like him, but he promised me he wouldn’t mess with you or Ned tonight.”

Ned perked up instantly from beside MJ. “Wait, what about me?”

Gwen leaned forward to look at him. “I was saying we all got invited to Flash’s party.”

“Oh sick!” Ned grinned. “We should go! I’ve heard rivalry game parties are legendary.”

That’s when Y/N chimed in, glancing up from her conversation with Harry. “Go where?”

MJ rolled her eyes. “Flash’s party. Gwen’s dragging us.”

Harry leaned forward behind Y/N, slinging an arm across the back of her seat. “That’s a great idea actually. My first public school party. Can’t deny me that honor, right?”

Gwen beamed. “Exactly!!”

Then she turned to Peter again, all soft smiles and hopeful eyes. “Please come with us? It’ll be fun.”

Peter’s eyes flicked to Y/N. She wasn’t even looking at him. She was twirling a strand of her hair, laughing at something Harry said. So easy. So gone.

He looked back at Gwen. “Yeah. Okay. Fine.”

Because he couldn’t let her go to that party alone.

And definitely not with Harry Osborn.

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Midtown won.

Which meant Flash’s house was packed.

There were lights strung up along the front porch, music booming so loud the floorboards seemed to vibrate. People were already spilling out onto the lawn. Somewhere deep inside, someone was cheering about a keg stand.

“Okay, ground rules,” Harry said casually as the group approached the front steps, his voice light but his eyes glancing toward Y/N. “You’re allowed to drink.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “How generous.”

“But I won’t,” Harry continued. “Because I am your responsible designated driver. I’d rather not get yelled at by Iron Man or arrested by Captain Stacy.”

“A gentleman and a self-preservation king,” MJ muttered approvingly.

Behind them, Peter rolled his eyes so hard it might’ve caused a migraine. Gwen’s fingers were laced through his—warm, soft, safe—but his attention was locked on the way Harry placed a guiding hand on Y/N’s lower back as they stepped inside.

The bass dropped. The crowd screamed. Flash’s parties were just as obnoxious as Peter thought they’d be.

Harry turned to Y/N with a lazy grin. “Any drinks for the princess?”

Y/N giggled. “Sure. Surprise me, Osborn.”

Harry smirked like it was a personal challenge. “That’s my specialty.”

He disappeared into the kitchen, and Y/N and MJ followed after, slipping through the crowd like they weren’t causing complete chaos just by existing.

Peter was still standing near the door when Ned elbowed him in the ribs.

“Bro,” Ned hissed. “This is it. This is the place to let loose and tell a certain someone how you really feel.”

Peter gave him a look. “We are at Flash’s house. This is, like, the least romantic location of all time.”

“So? Romance thrives in adversity. That’s a fact. Shakespeare probably said that.”

Peter groaned. “I’ve never even drank before. I don’t know how this stuff works.”

Ned shrugged. “You’ve heard of liquor courage.”

Peter hesitated. His eyes followed Y/N as she threw her head back laughing—laughing at something Harry said as he handed her a drink in a red solo cup.

Liquor courage. Maybe it was exactly what he needed.

“I’ll be back,” Gwen said suddenly, tugging Peter’s hand to get his attention. “One of my friends just got here. I’ll come find you in a bit, okay?”

She kissed his cheek, gave him a little wave, and vanished into the crowd.

Peter turned to Ned.

“Okay,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Let’s find some bad decisions.”

The party was in full swing.

Music throbbed through the walls, bodies pressed together in the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room, red cups littered every flat surface. Somewhere in the chaos, someone was singing into a hairbrush and Flash was shouting about being the MVP of life.

Y/N had lost count of how many drinks she’d had. She wasn’t drunk—not really. Just… floaty. Everything was a little fuzzy at the edges. Her cheeks were warm. She laughed at everything Harry said, let MJ spin her around in the kitchen, danced like no one was watching even though everyone was.

But Peter was.

From across the room, Peter sipped something that tasted like gasoline and stared.

She was glowing.

Y/N Stark in a crowded room was like a magnet—people were drawn to her without even realizing it. He hated that Harry got to be close enough to make her laugh. He hated that she wasn’t looking at him.

Until she was.

Their eyes met.

And then Gwen pressed up beside him, giggling, and kissed his cheek. “You’re so warm,” she murmured, unaware—or pretending not to see—how Peter went rigid.

Y/N saw.

Her smile faltered. Just for a second.

Then she turned, said something quick to MJ and Harry, and slipped out of the room.

Peter didn’t even think.

He shoved his cup into Ned’s hands and followed her.

Upstairs, the hallway was quiet. The music was muffled now, just a bassline vibrating through the floor. He spotted the open balcony doors and walked toward them, heart hammering.

She was leaning against the railing, her drink dangling from her fingers, face tipped up toward the stars.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Y/N turned, and her expression flickered when she saw him. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs? With your date?”

Peter sighed. “I saw you leave.”

“Congratulations. You have eyes.”

“Y/N…”

She shook her head, lips pressed tight. “Why are we fighting so much?” Her voice cracked slightly. “We’ve never fought like this before.”

Peter moved closer. Close enough that he could smell her perfume—faint and electric, like the air before a thunderstorm.

“I think you know why,” he said.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t. I really don’t.”

He reached out, gently took her cup from her hand and set it on the balcony ledge.

“I hate this feeling,” Y/N admitted. “I hate fighting with you. More than anything.”

“I know,” Peter said. “So do I.”

She sniffed and gave a tiny laugh, eyes flicking up to his face. “Your cheeks are so flushed. I’ve never seen you drunk before.”

Peter cracked a grin, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Says you! You’re starting to slur your words a little.”

“Am not,” she said, grinning.

“Are too.”

They both laughed—real and easy—and for a moment, it was just them again. No drama. No fights. Just Peter and Y/N under the stars, making each other smile.

Then the quiet slipped in again.

Y/N’s voice dropped. “We’re not normal anymore.”

Peter’s heart twisted. “No,” he said. “We’re not.”

“I missed you,” she whispered.

Peter looked at her like it physically hurt him to say the next words. “So did I,” he said, barely above a breath. “So bad.”

Their eyes locked. Her gaze drifted to his lips. His followed.

They leaned in.

Almost.

Almost.

But then—he stopped. Just barely pulled back.

“We can’t mess this up.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

He swallowed. “We can’t. Not this. Not us.”

“You were about to kiss me…” she said, voice thick with disbelief.

“I know.”

“God, Peter, would it really fucking kill you if we kissed?!”

He flinched, like the words physically struck him. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?!”

“Because I—” But he didn’t finish. Couldn’t.

Y/N stepped back, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Y/N/N—”

“I hate you,” she spat, but it came out sounding heartbreakingly soft.

And then she turned and left him standing there.

Peter stayed frozen, the cold wind biting at his face as the door clicked shut behind her.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t say a word.

“…Shit.”

Y/N descended the stairs with shaky breath and a glassy look in her eyes. Her lips were still tingling. Her heart was still racing—but not in the soft, glowing kind of way. This felt like something was tearing inside her. Something that had been holding out hope for way too long.

She spotted MJ and Harry across the room near the kitchen. MJ was absolutely roasting some jock who had worn flip flops to the party, and Harry was doubled over laughing, clutching his drink like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

Y/N blinked, dazed, and slipped between partygoers to rejoin them. She forced a smile, tucked herself under Harry’s arm, and laughed along.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room—

Peter stood against the wall, eyes wide, breathing hard.

“Bro,” Ned said quietly, “you look like you just watched someone get murdered.”

Peter turned to him, frantic. “I had her. Ned, I had her. And then I let her walk away. What is wrong with me?! Put me out of my misery.”

Before Ned could respond, Peter’s head snapped up.

Because across the room, Y/N locked eyes with him.

Her expression was unreadable.

And then something shifted.

Something snapped.

Before he could even process it, Y/N turned, grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt, and kissed him.

Full-on. Deep. Desperate.

MJ froze mid sentence, blinked, then slowly stepped away, muttering under her breath, “Okayyyy,” with a little laugh as she disappeared into the crowd.

Peter’s heart dropped. No, it plummeted.

He couldn’t breathe.

Then, Gwen appeared beside him.

“Oh—there you are,” she said with a bright smile, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He blinked, staring at Y/N across the room. Still kissing Harry. Still not looking away.

So Peter did the only thing he could think of.

He wrapped an arm around Gwen and pulled her closer. “Dance with me,” he said quickly.

She raised an eyebrow, but followed him to the makeshift dancefloor.

And just like that, Peter was touching Gwen’s waist, spinning her, saying anything and everything to make her laugh—and it worked. She giggled, cheeks flushed. But then—

She looked up.

Across the room.

At Y/N and Harry.

Still kissing.

Still pressed together.

And then she looked back at Peter.

At the way his eyes kept flicking toward Y/N when he thought no one noticed. At how forced his smile was. At how his hand tensed against her waist like he was holding onto something that was already gone.

Gwen understood.

Deep down, she always had.

But now, it was undeniable. This wasn’t real. She was a stand-in. A band-aid. A safe choice.

And even though it hurt—god, it hurt—she was going to let him pretend. Just for tonight. Because sometimes it was enough to feel chosen, even if it wasn’t forever.

Back on the other side of the room, Y/N finally broke the kiss.

She was breathing heavy, heart pounding, but her eyes were locked on Peter.

Still dancing. Still whispering.

Still trying to pretend it didn’t wreck him to see her like this.

So she turned to Harry, wild and impulsive and a little drunk, and said, “Wanna get out of here?”

Harry blinked. “Right now?”

She smirked. “Not like that. Just… upstairs. Somewhere quieter.”

Harry, to his credit, caught the glint in her eye. The pain she was trying to bury. The performance she was committed to. But he still said, “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Y/N grabbed his hand and made sure—made absolutely sure—that Peter saw her as they climbed the stairs together.

She knew exactly what it looked like.

She wanted him to know.

She wanted it to hurt.

Peter’s jaw clenched. His entire body stilled. Gwen's voice became muffled, the music drowned under the sound of blood rushing to his ears. He watched as Y/N disappeared upstairs with Harry, hand in hand, laughing.

He had no idea if she meant it.

No idea if it was real.

But the damage was done.

And Peter Parker was spiraling.

Hard.

Y/N stumbled through the doorway with Harry behind her, his hand loosely on her back to make sure she didn’t trip. The music from downstairs thumped through the floor, muffled now, as the door clicked shut behind them.

Harry locked it.

Not for that reason—but because he didn’t want anyone barging in. Not when she looked like this. Not when she was shaking, chest rising and falling like her emotions were stuck somewhere between rage and heartbreak.

There was a bed—typical teenage boy's room, probably Flash’s older brother’s—and Y/N collapsed on it like her bones had given out. Harry stayed standing for a moment, watching her. He’d seen this kind of sadness before.

But not in her.

And not like this.

He slowly sat down beside her.

“Hey,” he said gently, “You okay?”

Without a word—without hesitation—Y/N turned and kissed him again.

It wasn’t like the one downstairs. That one had heat, electricity, defiance.

This one was sad.

Desperate. In a bad way.

Harry pulled back, blinking. “Whoa. Hey, hey,” he said softly, cupping her shoulders. “Maybe not like this.”

Y/N’s face fell. Her bottom lip trembled. “So you don’t like me either?”

“What—?”

“You don’t wanna have a super hot makeout with me?” she sniffled, eyes glassy. “That’s fine. Totally fine. I get it.”

Harry couldn’t help it. He let out a breath of a laugh. “I never said all that.”

Y/N blinked.

He smiled a little, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “I just said I’m not doing this while you’re drunk, Y/N/N. It wouldn’t be right. And you know it.”

Then—boop.

He gently tapped her nose.

She pouted.

“You’ll thank me in the morning,” he added. “I entertained your little act downstairs, but we’re not doing that here, sweetheart.”

That’s when her eyes started to fill again. Real tears now. Her voice cracked.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Harry. Please don’t be mad. I’m an idiot. I made it weird. You probably hate me. I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I—”

“Stop it,” he said, firm but warm. “Stop. Breathe.”

She hiccuped.

Harry reached for a tissue box on the nightstand and handed her a few. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. You didn’t scare me off. I don’t hate you.”

Y/N wiped her eyes, miserably quiet.

Harry looked at her like she was a puzzle he was still figuring out. Like he could see through every layer.

“Y/N/N,” he said, “any guy would be lucky to be with you. You’re smart, you’re terrifying, you’re hotter than sin—”

She let out a wet snort at that.

“—and anyone who rejects you is either an idiot,” he continued, “or just not the guy. That’s not on you.”

Y/N looked down at her lap, voice small. “I really thought he was the guy.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I kinda thought he was too. For what it’s worth.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Harry stood. “Come on. Let’s get you sobered up a bit. I’ll grab you some water, maybe a piece of that sad pizza I saw in the kitchen.”

“You’re not taking me home yet?” she asked, wiping at her cheeks again.

He grinned. “Can’t have you like this in front of Iron Man. I like being alive.”

She let out a half-laugh, half-sob, nodding.

Harry turned to the door, then paused.

“Hey,” he added, looking back. “You’re not alone. Okay?”

Y/N looked at him, vulnerable and messy and aching.

She nodded again.

And for the first time that night, she actually believed it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Harry helps Y/N into the passenger seat of his sleek black car, buckling her in like the gentleman he is. She’s tipsy, not drunk anymore, just quiet. Worn out.

MJ stands on the curb with Ned, both watching.

“You got her?” MJ asks, voice soft.

Harry nods. “Yeah. I’ll get her home safe.”

“My dad’s coming to pick us up, so don’t worry about us,” she adds. Then smirks. “Peter and Gwen left a while ago.”

Harry glances over, unreadable. “Right.”

“Thanks for looking out for her.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N sinks onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Her heels are dangling off her feet, and her eyes are glazed from more than just exhaustion.

Harry crouches in front of her, resting his forearms on his knees.

“You’ll call me if you need anything, yeah?” he says. “I’m the hangover king. Got all the tricks.”

Y/N gives a weak smile. “I will. Thank you. For tonight. And… for everything.”

He waves her off with that same effortless grin. “Please. You think I’m passing up the opportunity to be your knight in designer armor?”

She laughs.

He stands and starts walking to the elevator, turning back at the last second. “Hey, Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna be okay. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

And then he’s gone.

The tower is quiet. Everyone’s asleep.

Y/N pads barefoot into the lab, still in her day clothes, makeup a little smudged. Tony was hunched over one of his holographic schematics, coffee in one hand, a wrench in the other. Music played softly in the background, FRIDAY dimming the lights to match the late hour.

He paused, hearing footsteps pacing just outside the lab. Back and forth. Back and forth.

He sighed.

“Y/N,” he called without looking up. “If you’re trying to wear a hole in the floor, congrats, you’re close. Just get in here.”

A beat.

Then: the door slid open and Y/N stepped inside, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Tony turned around and studied her. “You look like hell, honey.”

She let out a dramatic groan and flopped onto the nearest chair, legs tucked under her. “I think I’m having a breakdown.”

Tony set the wrench down. “Is this a ‘there’s a villain loose in Manhattan’ breakdown or a ‘someone broke my heart and I want ice cream and an alibi’ breakdown?”

“Neither. Both. Ugh, I don’t know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Color me intrigued.”

Y/N leaned forward, dropping her face into her hands. “Okay, so… hypothetically—hypothetically—what would you say if I told you I liked a guy who doesn’t like me back?”

Tony’s smirk vanished. “I’d say… he has garbage taste.”

Y/N snorted, but it was watery, her eyes getting glossy again. “Dad—”

“No, I’m serious. Who is this kid? You’re smart, you’re kind, you’ve got a face that belongs on the cover of Vanity Fair and hands that can fry an entire Hydra base. What’s not to like?”

“Apparently a lot,” she muttered.

Tony rolled his chair closer, softer now. “You wanna talk about it?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “It’s Peter.”

Tony blinked. “Our Peter? Peter Parker?”

She nodded again.

Tony leaned back, sighing. “I mean… I did kind of see that one coming.”

Y/N’s head snapped up. “Wait, what?”

He gave her a look. “Sweetheart. I have functioning eyes. You light up like a Christmas tree around him. And I’ve caught the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention.”

She frowned. “You think he likes me?”

“I think he’s either madly in love with you or incredibly confused by the fact that he’s madly in love with you.”

That made her smile. Barely.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Lately it’s like… he’s always with Gwen. And she’s so pretty and confident and sweet and she says things like ‘Peter, you’re amazing’ and he glows.”

Tony frowned. “Y/N…”

“And I know it sounds dumb but sometimes I feel like I’m too much. Like I’ve got all this… noise inside me. And maybe he likes the quiet. Maybe I scare him.”

Tony’s face softened completely.

He stood, walked over, and knelt in front of her. Hands on her knees.

“Y/N Stark,” he said, voice low, “you are the best thing I’ve ever built. You hear me? You’re brilliant. Brave. Ridiculous. And so full of life that any guy who can’t see how lucky he’d be to love you — isn’t worth your time.”

Her eyes watered. “Even if that guy is Peter?”

He sighed, then smiled. “Look, I love the kid. Really. But if he ever makes you feel like less than you are… well, let’s just say I know a guy who can launch him into space.”

She laughed. A sniffle, a wipe of her cheek.

Then her voice turned quiet again.

“There was a moment tonight,” she said. “On the balcony. It was just us. And he looked at me like—god, like I was the only thing that existed.”

Tony didn’t say a word. Just listened.

“We were about to kiss,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “I know he was going to kiss me. And then he didn’t. He pulled away. Said we couldn’t mess this up.”

Tony’s expression dropped. His jaw tightened.

“And I—I get it, maybe. But it felt like this final confirmation that he’s never going to choose me. He had the chance. And he didn’t take it.”

Tony exhaled slowly, rubbing his hand over his face. “My baby…”

Y/N let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I told him I hated him.”

“You don’t.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But it hurt. It really, really hurt.”

Tony nodded, sitting beside her now, pulling her close. “Then cry it out. You’re allowed to cry. Doesn’t make you weak.”

She leaned into him, cheek against his shoulder.

“I just wanted him to want me. Just once. Not Gwen. Not Liz. Me.”

Tony kissed the top of her head. “He’s an idiot.”

She smiled into his shirt. “You’re just saying that.”

“No. I’m saying that because I built an Iron Man suit in a cave with a box of scraps and even I wouldn’t be dumb enough to reject you.”

Y/N snorted.

Tony grinned. “C’mon. You want some ice cream?”

“Always.”

“And hey,” he added as they walked out of the lab, “for the record? You’re the most beautiful girl in the city. Possibly the planet. You make Gwen Stacy look like a warm up act.”

“Dad!”

“Just saying. Someone’s gotta hype you up. Might as well be me.”

And as Y/N leaned into his side, finally letting some of that ache bleed out into safety — she thought maybe being a Stark didn’t mean she had to carry it all on her own.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺

taglist: @f2lix @the-faceless-bride @lovely-foxes-exe @uhmellamoanna @gyus-lvr @aomi04 @liaverse37 @pettypeety @pleasingregulus @theyluvmesblog @sqfewrd @ultrunning @boomitsallie1

author's note: i'm evil laughing behind my screen rn. guys i'm so tempted to lose the plot and let y/n and harry become a thing BUT NO! we simply cannot let that happen. i'm trying to plant the seed for something but idk if you guys will catch on...

when i was writing the party scene all i could hear in my head was "party on u party on u party on party on u" LMAO

i've decided the official y/n x harry songs are bad for business by sabrina carpenter and perfect by one direction. which btw, can be found on the official clueless playlist!

[jungkooklover777]

𝐼𝑡’𝑠 𝑁𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑂𝑣𝑒𝑟 ; mcu!peter parker | one-shot |

summary: peter believes the world would be ideal if you forgot about him, your world isn't ideal without him in it.

pairing: fem!reader x mcu!peter parker.

trope: best friends to lovers.

genre: fluff adjacent + angst.

warnings‼️: mentions the multiverse + peter’s inner turmoil (bless him).

word count: 2,132.

random disclaimerrr: takes place after nwh but w a couple of changes bc i like to be happy 🙏🏽 happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jungkooklover777

You’re all dolled up in your favorite dress. Your hair is perfect, makeup done just the way you like it.

You’re beautiful he thinks. You’re so incredibly beautiful, the perfect woman to have my heart.

And so devastatingly sad.

It’s poetic how beauty can shine through such adversity.

Peter can’t look at you, he can’t look into you.

Your stare pierces his heart and shoots straight through his soul.

You’re disappointed because you can’t believe what he’s saying.

“I’m going to… to forget about you?”

How small you sound, how sad. Your voice guts him like a fish.

He wants to kick himself down the way he kicks down the deserving assholes of New York.

Can he technically count himself as one? He does so anyway.

“I’m really gonna forget you?” You repeat, clearer and a bit louder now.

Peter nods and repeats himself. “You’re gonna forget who I am.”

Now that he’s said it, it hurts more. It's so much worse because he’s saying it out loud.

You don’t care to stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. They flood your eyes and you’re not strong enough to blink them back.

“Are you serious?” Your voice wavers and you hate how weak you sound.

You think you look and sound pathetic but is it pathetic to be crying over something he can control?

There’s no one like him and there never will be.

He snatches his mask off and you see the redness in his eyes contrast with the suit.

“It’s the only way I can ensure your safety, Y/n. You, Ned, and MJ can’t get the lives you deserve as long as you’re tied to me.”

You nods slowly, letting your sadness simmer slowly in reserved anger. “So you think giving me an explanation before you leave my life would make me feel better?”

Peter shuts his eyes and looks to the side, a big window catching his eyes.

He thinks about everything going on outside of it, all the noise and people. Just outside that big, clear panel is a world of pain and suffering.

Inside this wall of glass is a possible opportunity of endless joy and hope. Joy because he's always happy with you, regardless if the two of you are doing anything or nothing at all. Hope because you give him that everyday, all the time.

He's at a crossroad in his life, the biggest one yet. He knows what he should choose and why but he doesn't know if he wants to.

Of course, he doesn't want to but does that matter? Does it matter, what he wants? Has it ever mattered?

It doesn't help knowing that in every single universe, you aren’t the woman he chooses to cherish for the rest of your lives. You the one time he does choose you, he’s also supposed to be the one to let you go?

It doesn't make sense to him, he shouldn't do this! But he must. He has to.

“Please, Peter.” Your plea rings in his ears like Green Goblin's pumpkin bomb. “Can’t you just make another spell? One that’ll make everyone who doesn’t need to remember, forget?”

You feel your heart break as he shuts his eyes once again and refuses to make eye contact with you.

He's fighting himself, you know he is.

You shakily exhale, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“Okay.”

Peter eyes you wearily. “What?”

“Okay.” You repeat, nodding twice to yourself.

He doesn't believe you, you know he doesn't.

It takes a special kind of bond to know those kinds of things.

“After all of this is over and by some miracle I forget you...” You breathe in. “You won’t come find me and I’ll be okay with that.”

Peter ignores the heavy grip around his throat that restricts him from crying. Instead, he chooses to nod in quick motions.

“But you have to show me.”

You're serious. Your reddish eyes contain a glimmer of hope but it's caged away for its own protection.

“I have to show you..?”

“Yes. Show me how to forget you.”

He scoffs in disbelief and feels your bitterness scorn him. His false bravado starts to fade away.

“Y/n, please don’t do this right now.”

“I’ve known you our whole lives.” Your tone grows loud. “You used to babysit me despite being the same age, Peter. Now I’m supposed to be okay with you leaving me?”

His eyes threaten to well up and he’s trying his best to hold his own.

“You’re my best friend,” You whisper sadly. “And I love-” You get a hold of yourself.

Peter’s eyes widen and he steps closer to you. “You… you love what?”

You look away and sigh in frustration, not wanting things to go this way.

Peter cups your face, his gloved fingers softly caressing your face to soothe you.

“Tell me. Please.”

You open your eyes and look straight into his, to hell with the planning and execution.

If this is there is the slightest chance you’re gonna remember anything from tonight, you want it to be this.

“I love you.”

Peter hugs you close, his cheek pressed against the side of your head and his arms bind you tightly.

A sob bubbles out of his mouth and you hug him back just as tight, crying with him.

“I’m sorry- I’m so, so sorry.”

His throat hurts from trying to clamp down the rest of the sobs in his chest.

He pulls back and holds you face in his hands again, feeling the newfound confidence graze his heart.

He nods softly, a trying smile on his face. “I’ll remind you.”

You softly gasp at his words.

“I’ll remind you. I don’t care how long it takes but I’ll find you and tell you everything.”

He brings your foreheads together and your hair fills the spaces between his fingers.

He thinks of the other Peter's and remembers their conversations.

Their love lives aren't spectacular but it's proof that you exist. You're out there, somewhere to be discovered.

“It's... complicated.”

“I lost Gwen... she was- uh, she was my MJ.”

You're not Gwen, or MJ, or any other woman every other Peter Parker falls in love with. You're you, and he loves you.

They've made their marks and have stayed, exited or were left behind.

He won't give fate the chance to separate you from him now that's got you. Peter won't make that mistake a third time.

The sound of the bell chiming grabs your attention.

You look up and make eye contact with a shining pair of eyes, ones that are hopeful.

You think he’s cute.

You look away and busy yourself with wiping the counter with a damp rag but you have a great memory.

Nice, brown eyes that match his hair; tufts of soft curls and gelled back.

His button nose reminds you of a bunny. His lips slender and pink-ish red. His cheeks a similar rosy color from the biting cold breeze outside.

The cute stranger makes his way to the counter, not once breaking contact you despite you doing so.

“Hi, how are you?” You recite the greeting with your best customer service smile.

“I-I’m good. How are you?” He smiles back sheepishly.

“I’m great, thanks for asking. So, what can I get for you?”

You take out your notepad and pen, preparing to write down the cute guy’s order.

A few seconds go by and you look up from your notepad, not expecting the silence.

He stares at you— no, through you.

His eyes hold an inexplicable sadness, one that is conflicting.

“Do you need a minute?” You ask not able to hide your concern.

He smiles but it doesn’t feel genuine. Shaking his head, he deeply inhales.

You note his eyes seem water, like he’s tearing up but he blinks a couple of times; making them dry up a bit.

“My name is Peter Parker and I…” Peter trails off when your necklace comes into his view.

A single black dahlia petal, from when he accidentally broke it fighting Quentin Beck, also known as Mysterio.

But he knows you don’t remember that. You probably don’t even remember how you got the necklace or what it’s supposed to be.

You look at him expectantly, waiting patiently for him to finish his sentence but something tells you he’s not here for that.

“Peter?” Your soft voice brings him out of his trance and for a split second, he believes you recognize him.

“You were saying?”

Oh. Right. I told her my name.

Peter thinks about telling you everything right then and there but he ultimately decides against it.

It isn’t the right place or time.

“I’d like a coffee. Please.”

He can’t complain about a broken heart if he’s the one that broke his own.

You nod. “Okay, what kind?”

“An espresso with vanilla cold foam.”

That’s one of your favorite coffee’s and you can’t help yourself.

“I love that for you.” You say as you scribble away.

He smiles. I know. “Why?”

He just wants to hear you talk about something you’re fond of. He’ll never get tired of that.

“It’s one of my favorite drinks, I thought of it randomly one day and thought why not, you know?”

You recall the memory but something’s missing. It feels fuzzy but you can’t break this feeling of knowing. How else can you explain the memory?

“Huh.” You say. “I can’t remember ever making it. You smile but you still feel kind of uneasy.

Peter can feel a pit forming in his stomach. “You will.”

His encouragement feels cryptic.

“Is that all for you today?”

He nods and takes out a 5 dollar bill.

You cash it in the register and give him his change.

As you turn away to make his coffee, you can’t help but feel drawn to him.

He feels familiar somehow.

It’s crazy, you’ve never been the love-at-first-sight type and don’t believe in it.

What about him is making me feel this way?

It’s the way he looks at you. With longing, hope. Like he’s been waiting forever to come by this café and speak to you. Like he knew you’d be here.

You sigh, not believing yourself.

I mean seriously, I sound fucking stupid.

Shaking your head, you place a cardboard slip in the middle of the cup along with the lid on top and hand it to him.

“Here you go.” You smile.

“Thank you.”

Peter stands in front of you, opening his mouth to say something— anything.

He hesitates to turn away, it’s now or never.

He waits a beat before giving in.

“Are you going to MIT?”

He cringes internally, great now you look like some stalker idiot.

“Yeah, actually. I am.”

Something told you, you didn’t have to lie to him.

He nods. “Cool, same.”

Peter thinks he’s so fucking awkward and he wants to die but you think he’s awkwardly charming, endearing even.

I am so not crushing on him right now.

Yes you are.

“Alright, well… I’ll uh see you around?”

Why did I have to make it sound like a question?

It’s not like he’s unsure. He knows he’ll see you around because he has to.

You chuckle lightly at his attempt of making himself scarce. “Sure, have a good day.”

“You too.” He says quickly before ducking out of there.

You watch him leave through the window and feel an emptiness get ahold of you.

His presence made you feel something close to nostalgic but now it’s been multiplied tenfold.

“What is happening right now.” You murmur, dazed.

Peter lets his tears fall in an alleyway close by.

It hurts, seeing your loved one and not being able to say a thing because you’re unsure they’ll be untouched.

He doesn’t want to plague you with his curse, doom your life with dread.

May barely made it out alive and he’s living that aftermath, too.

It’s during times like this he wishes Tony were alive. He’d know what to do.

Peter remembers the night you said you love him.

You said it with an unwavering honesty, like you’ve been sure of it your whole life. And you were.

Peter shakily inhales and holds up his coffee, his name written in black sharpie on the coffee holder in your handwriting.

There’s a smiley face drawn next to his last name and feels a surge of motivation jittering in his bones.

He can’t be selfish and allow you to feel disoriented about your entire life.

He wants to be selfless but seeing your face drop when you can’t remember how one of your favorite drinks was born, makes him reevaluate.

He’ll be selfish just this once, just for you. He’ll make good on his promise.

[yasministration]

Just the tip - Ex!Peter Parker

summary: just the tip with ex!peter parker cw: SMUT, kind of pushy/manipulative peter but everything is consensual. wc: 2k

When Peter fell through the open window of your bedroom, you had let out a loud gasp, spinning around in your desk chair, only clad in your exposing pyjamas. At the sight of your ex boyfriend, you put your hands on your hips, instantly abandoning the homework laid out on your desk. Standing up, you walked towards the hopeful boy, watching as he approached you, a pleading look in his eyes. “So we’re normalising breaking into our ex’s apartments now?” Peter opened his mouth, putting both hands on your hips desperately. “Peter just because you’re spider-man-” “Please.” Peter whispered, his eyes tearing up slightly. “I miss you.” He said, making you drop your hands flatly by your sides. One of your hands came up to cup Peter’s face, thumb caressing his cheek softly. Peter leaned into your touch, shutting his eyes as he savoured the moment.

You looked at Peter with concern; this wasn’t the first time he had come back to you, longing to be held. Things had always escalated to more despite telling yourself that you wouldn’t allow it to happen again. “Can you hold me, please?” Peter asked, ducking his head down to nuzzle in the crook of your neck. Obediently, you snaked the hand on Peter’s face around his neck and over his shoulder, the other one wrapping around his torso. Peter sighed, his own arms enveloping around the curve of your waist. You held him for a moment, inhaling his familiar scent as you gently stroked his back. From where Peter’s head is pressed up in the pocket of your neck, he slowly presses a soft kiss to your skin. You took in a sharp breath, jumping slightly at the sudden movement. Peter kissed your neck again, but you didn’t have the heart to pull away from him. “We can’t keep doing this Pete.” You mumbled instead, a hand finding its way in Peter’s soft locks. “Just this once. It’ll be the last time I promise.” You vividly recall him uttering similar words to you last time.

Sighing, you stepped away from Peter, unravelling your arms from around him. As though he knew what you were thinking, Peter added “Baby, please.” You let your head drop to the side, crossing your arms over your chest in an unconvinced manner. “Peter, we broke up. Exes don’t keep going back to each other like this.” At your words, Peter dropped to his knees in front of you, both hands landing on your thighs, softly grasping them. He looked up at you with his signature begging, puppy eyes, leaning his chin on your exposed abdomen. “You broke up with me. I’d never leave you. Just one night. Let me spend one night with you.” You uncrossed your arms from your chest, returning your hand to Peter’s hair, softly scratching at his skull. Peter never broke eye contact with you, leaning just slightly forward to press a kiss on your bare stomach. You tugged your short tank top down, hoping to stop the tickle from Peter’s kisses, until you finally gave in, telling the boy to stand up.

Peter followed you to your bed, chanting quietly “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You tossed the covers off the corner of your bed for you to climb in, patting the empty space next to you for Peter to join you. He immediately climbed in next to you, allowing you to cover him up with the soft blanket before cuddling into you. You turned on your side, facing Peter and watching as he pressed his face directly against your breasts, both hands coming to your hips to pull you closer to him before his arm settled over your waist. Sighing melancholically, you threw a leg over one of Peter’s, tangling your body with his as you leaned forward, pressing a kiss on his forehead. Peter laid still as you played with his hair and kissed along with hairline, treasuring the intimate moment. It had been so long since he had felt loved like this. In fact, the last time he felt cared for was the previous time he had been in your arms, despite your complaints about these reoccurring meetings.

Finally taking his opportunity, Peter shuffled upwards on the bed so that he was face to face with you, nose nudging against yours. With Peter’s intentions clear, you had enough time to pull away if you wanted to, but you felt bad, or at least that’s what you told yourself. You didn’t want consider that the way Peter’s eyes flickered down to your lips made you feel engrossed in him, or that his lips also looked soft. You didn’t want to consider the fact that maybe Peter wanting you so badly drew you closer to him. But he was your ex, and the furthest you would go is a kiss. So when Peter leaned ever so closer to you to press his lips against yours, you didn’t pull away, allowing your eyes to flutter shut.

Peter’s lips moulded against yours, his lips separating slightly so his tongue could shoot out to lips your bottom lip, a silent request for access into your mouth. When your mouth dipped open, allowing Peter’s tongue to press against yours, his hand came up, cupping your jaw to pull you closer to him. Peter pushed himself up on one of his forearms, using the height over you to press you deeper into the mattress as he deepened the kiss, his tongue licking deeper into your mouth. You gasped, pushing Peter away by his chest as you panted in attempt to catch your breath. Peter’s mouth latched onto your neck, immediately suckling at the sensitive skin as he moved his weight over you. Peter held the leg you had on top of his to pull it over his waist, testing your limits as he experimentally thrusted his hips between your spread legs. You immediately gasped, pushing Peter’s mouth off your neck and sitting up straight. Peter fell on the bed next to you, a guilty look on his features. “I thought-” “Peter, exes don’t have sex. If we have sex, we’re official again.” Peter furrowed his eyebrows at your words, the same sentence echoing in his mind over and over again. But I want us to be official again.

“Let me put the tip in. Just the tip.” You looked unconvinced, leaning over to take a sip of water from your bedside table. Peter scanned your legs, your cotton shorts riding up with each movement you did. When you sat up straight again, you readjusted the straps of your tank top and crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly aware of the way your nipples were constraining against the fabric of your top. “Just the tip isn’t sex.” Peter pushed, adding a pleading “Please.” “You’re really going to get off on just putting the tip in?” You questioned, eyeing Peter down. He felt himself harden when your gaze landed on his covered cock. “Just want to feel warm.” He weakly argued.

You rolled your eyes, reaching your hand out to grasp the cotton of Peter’s t-shirt, roughly pulling him towards you so you could slam your lips against his. Peter moaned, softly holding your face, but you broke the kiss as quickly as you started it. Peter froze, awaiting further instruction from you. “Just the tip.” You warned, laying back on your bed. Peter instantly jumped up, as though he had to act before you changed your mind. He tripped over his trousers twice before finally tossing them somewhere in our room, and his boxers went next, carefully watching the way your eyes widened slightly in reminiscence. Peter climbed over you, his knees on either side of your legs as he hooked his fingers through both your shorts and panties. He slowly tugged them down your smooth legs, leaning down to press a single kiss on your mound. Peter climbed off you, manhandling your body to lay on your side and settling himself flush against your back. You gasped, feeling Peter’s hard cock poking against your hip. Peter wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you back to stay put against him while his second hand guided his cock towards your entrance.

Peter’s dick nudged your tight hole and you shut your eyes tightly, listening to the immediate moan that ripped from Peter’s chest. You cursed, seriously considering to tell Peter to push all the way in as you felt his swollen tip dip into your entrance. Peter whined, pulling his dick out of you and you sighed disappointedly. Peter bit his lip so hard it almost bled, his thighs shaking in attempt not to push himself all the way in. He needed to abide by your rules if you were going to let this happen again. “Just the tip.” You mumbled absentmindedly, drool gathering in your mouth as you pushed your ass out for Peter to put it back in. Peter panted, trying to control himself as he put the tip back in your entrance, rocking slowly back and forth. “Just the tip.” Peter repeated, but quickly found himself losing control over his actions, and suddenly, he had half his dick inside you.

The both of you moaned in unison, and Peter brought a hand to the arch of your back, caressing your skin. He needed to take a moment or else he'd instantly be coming inside you. You reached a hand behind you, landing halfway on Peter’s cheek. Peter kissed your hand, pushing himself up to press kisses on your cheek and jaw. You whined in pleasure, rolling your hips back to take as much of Peter’s dick as possible. “Fuck, just put it in baby!” You cried, finally letting your put-together front crumble down. Peter chanted a string of ‘thank you’s, finally snapping his hips all the way in so his cock fully sheathed himself in your folds. Wrapping an arm over your hips, Peter shifted his weight to switch your positions, landing you laying on your stomach with him on top of you.

Whining, you pushed yourself on your knees, chest touching the mattress as Peter kneeled, gripping both your hips tightly before setting an unforgiving pace on your cunt. Your moans immediately increased, small sounds escaping you with each push of Peter’s cock closer to your cervix. Peter relentlessly whimpered, feeling his orgasm building up quickly, but he needed to make you cum. He needed to make you cum or you’d never let him fuck you ever again. Desperately, Peter snaked his fingers around your body, concentrating hard on finding your clit while keeping up the pace and brutality of his thrusts. You whined impatiently, your own hand finding Peter’s to guide him to your clit. When his fingers finally made contact with your clit, your toes were immediately curling, a high pitched moan escaping you. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, feeling your pussy clench around his dick. “Come on baby, cum for me.” He begged, rubbing harsh circles on your clit as his thrusts became sloppy. You couldn’t help your bodily reaction to how pathetic Peter sounded, your cunt clamping on his dick as you came, causing a string of curse words to leave Peter’s mouth as his own orgasm was triggered. “Shit, shit, shit.” He mumbled, whimpering softly as he emptied his loud into you, your sounds of ecstasy ringing in his ears.

Peter softly rocked his hips into yours, hoping to ride out your orgasm, but you whined at the overstimulation, and Peter knew it was time to pull out. You immediately slumped against the bed when Peter pulled out with a groan, sitting next to you to rub a hand over your back. You turned onto your back, looking up at Peter tiredly, and gesturing for him to get closer to you. With a hand on his jaw, you pulled him into another kiss, engrossed in the fact that this would be the last time you two had sex. “Last time Peter. Yeah?” Peter nodded, mumbling “I’m happy with that, yeah.”

But his words sounded so familiar you refused to believe them.

[musingsofheaven]

SUGAR RUSH.

peter parker x afab!reader

fluff. heavy kissing. implied intimacy. teens being ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ teens. light suggestive vibes but nothing explicit. ♡

You're on your stomach on Peter's bed, your legs stretched out while wearing the hoodie you stole from his closet a week ago. The sleeves are too long, covering half your hands, but you like it that way. It smells like him, like detergent and that cologne he pretends he doesn't use. You've been living in it like a raccoon in a stolen nest. You're not doing anything right now, just waiting for your boyfriend to finish studying, with your mouth full of Pop Rocks that won't shut up.

Crack. Pop. Crack. It's funny, honestly. It sounds like a neck getting cracked in half—well, it can sound like fireworks too. It's annoyingly loud because your mouth looks like it's trying to pick a fight with physics.

Peter groans from his desk and doesn't even look at you. "You're so annoying." The words come out flat like he's already said them three times today. You know he doesn't mean it. Not really. He's just complaining. As always. It's his nature.

You chuckle, candy still fizzing. "You said I could have them." You roll onto your side just to get a better look at him, your lips pouting as if you're using them against him. His pen is tapping against his notebook while listening to the popping of the Pop Rocks.

"Didn't say I wanted to hear them every five seconds, baby." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Sometimes you wonder how he can even manage you. Maybe he's praying for patience and not getting any divine assistance.

You shift a little, cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his bed. "You can't even hear me over there," you say before scoffing and chewing deliberately, just to make a point.

"I can. It's like... background music. In my head." He spins slightly in his chair, just enough to throw a look at you over his shoulder.

You snort. "Dramatic." You drag the word out, milk it, trying to piss him off. Then you toss another handful of candy into your mouth like a kid.

He finally turns around the chair creaking. His hair's a mess, and there's a pencil tucked behind his ear like he forgot it was there. He crosses his arms and damn... those muscles are flexing. "I'm trying to study, and you're over here sounding like... I don't even know what to call it." His expression is all annoyed, but his eyes are warm. Tired, but warm. Not angry. Honestly? You love it when he gets like this, grumpy and soft around the edges.

You open your mouth real wide and go "Aaahhh," just to make the fizz louder. It's obnoxious. Truly. The kind of noise that would make people glare at you, and you're so proud of it.

Peter squints at you like he's in pain. "Why is my girlfriend like this?" He says it like a curse, like a prayer, like a man at the end of his rope who still wouldn't let go.

"Aw, come on, you love me." You say it too easily. It's not a question—something settled and obvious and unchangeable.

He exhales through his nose and walks over to you anyway, flops down next to you on the bed, elbow bumping yours. You hold out the package of candy. It rustles between you like a peace offering. Or a trap. He hasn't decided which yet.

He eyes it before looking back at you and your lips. "You're gonna shut up if I take some?" There's no heat in it, like the everyday tone he uses when you're being like this. Just a tired sort of fondness, like he's resigned himself to your antics and this weird little life you two have built. Annoyingly lovable, what he always says when you're asking for assurance if he still loves you even though you're playful.

You shrug. "Probably not." And you mean it. You're indecisive, and impulsive, with tendencies to be pushy. He knew that when he let you steal his hoodie the first time, and when you did things just to get his attention.

He sighs but takes a few and tilts his head back to chew. The sound bursts in the quiet like tiny firecrackers, and he physically winces, like he didn't think they'd be that loud. Hates the sounds. Obviously.

He looks at you like you just committed a crime. "Why does it... feel weird?" His face scrunches, and he's trying not to like it but also can't deny that it's kind of hilarious.

"It's fun-weird, not bad-weird." You roll onto your back beside him, shoulder brushing his, voice smug. "It tastes good though!"

Peter turns his head toward you and looks at your mouth. "You're ridiculous," he says softly, barely louder than the crackle. But he's still watching you, still close before he takes the Pop Rocks from your hand, gets enough from inside, and puts it in his mouth.

Then he kisses you.

Like... no warning. One second he's staring at your mouth like it's got all the answers to his questions, and the next, he's leaning in, slow but sure, like he already decided and you just didn't catch up yet. It's not aggressive, not rushed- it's soft, warm, and easy.

Your mouths meet soft at first. Just lips brushing lips, a little sticky from the candy's effect. But then the Pop Rocks crackle between you, loud and sudden, like someone just started a time bomb under your tongues, and everything jumps.

You giggle against him, nose bumping his, but he doesn't pull back. He just tilts his head and pushes in a little deeper. And, well, yeah, maybe that's when it changes.

Because now it's not soft. It's something else.

His mouth opens just enough for your tongue to catch him, and he tastes like cherry- you're sure it's from the candy. The candy's still popping, still snapping under your tongues, and it's a funny feeling. Literally. Your lips part wider, let it get messy, let it get loud. You lick into his mouth a little and feel him suck in a breath right through his nose.

And God, that's all it takes before he's kissing you back harder now, licking the taste of candy right out of your mouth like he's trying to shut it off. His hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, gently and soft the way he knows you like. It's steady; he's holding you in place. His teeth graze your bottom lip, yearningly, just barely, just enough to feel it, and you groan, soft and surprised and too into it.

It's clumsy, yeah. Of course, it is. You're both grinning too much, breathing too hard, lips swollen already, and the candy still going off like a fucking broken record. But you don't stop. Neither of you. Because it's fun and silly. Because it's stupid. Because it's so much better than it should be.

Peter pulls back eventually, breathing hard, his lips pink and wet, a little sugar stuck at the corner of his mouth again. He licks it away automatically, and your stomach flips.

"Okay," he says, voice low and just barely wrecked. "That was..."

He doesn't even finish the sentence.

You're already grabbing more Pop Rocks.

"Again," you say, out of breath but grinning. "C'monnn."

He laughs, but it's a little shaky now. "I'm gonna die."

"Mhm," you hum and press your mouth to his before he can say another word.

This time, it's not that gentle. It's full of tongues and teeth and stupid little moans pressed into each other's mouths, sugar and spit and heat all tangled up in a kiss that has no business feeling this good.

You taste like candy, and he kisses you like he’s starving for it.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[thollandsgirl2013]

Hi! Can I request a Peter Parker X Stark! reader and she wants to try on Pete’s spidery suit and web shooters and he thinks she looks really good in it so he kisses her and Tony comes in and thinks they’re doing some weird type of role play?❤️

Hello there! I had so much fun writing this one! I'll probably say it turned out to be one of my favourite fics. Thanks for requesting! Hope you enjoy reading it too.

----------------©®©®©®©®----------------

𝐒𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐔𝐩, 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐩

Parings → Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Warnings → Fluff, Humor, Slight Spice, Making Out, Overprotective! Dad! Tony, Embarrassment, Light Suggestiveness.

Summary → You blackmail Peter into letting you try on his Spider-Man suit. It fits too well, leading to making out—and Tony walking in.

"Pleeeaaase, Pete?" You whined, leaning over his desk with the best puppy dog eyes you could muster.

Peter didn’t even look up from his notes, his pen gliding across the page. "Nope."

You groaned dramatically, throwing yourself back onto his bed. "Why not?! I'm the one who worked on half of your suit!"

"Keyword: half," Peter quipped, turning his chair slightly to smirk at you. "Mr. Stark did the heavy lifting, and, oh yeah—it’s my suit."

You sat up on your elbows, pouting. "That’s not fair! I bet it would look so cool on me."

"It’s not about looking cool, babe," he said, finally turning to fully face you. "It’s dangerous tech, Y/N. The suit has all kinds of built-in features, and I don’t want you accidentally webbing yourself to the ceiling or activating instant-kill mode."

You rolled your eyes. "As if I don’t know how the tech works! I built most of it with Dad. I probably understand the suit better than you do."

Peter gave you an unimpressed look. "That’s debatable."

Frustrated, you crossed your arms. If begging didn’t work, it was time for drastic measures. You sat up, narrowed your eyes at him, and smirked. "Fine. You leave me no choice."

Peter arched a brow. "Uh-oh."

You stood up, placed your hands on your hips, and announced, "No kisses for a month."

Peter froze. "Wait. What?"

You grinned, seeing his reaction. "Yep. No kisses. No sex. No cuddles. No cute little nose nuzzles. No hand-holding. No forehead kisses. Nothing."

His jaw dropped. "That’s—That’s cruel and unusual punishment!"

You fake-sighed, placing a hand over your heart. "Well, if my boyfriend refuses to let me try on the suit that I worked on, then I guess I have no choice but to take extreme action."

Peter looked genuinely distressed now, running a hand through his curls. "That’s so unfair. You can’t just—"

"And!" You interrupted, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You’re so ungrateful! I spend hours helping you upgrade that thing, and you won’t even let me try it for five minutes?" You dramatically turned away, placing a hand over your forehead. "Oh, the betrayal!"

Peter groaned loudly. "Ugh! Fine! "

You immediately spun around, grinning. "Wait, really?"

He gave you a deadpan look. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just—just don’t break anything, okay?"

You let out an excited squeal, doing a little happy dance before rushing over to grab the suit from where he pulled it out of his closet. "This is the best day of my life!"

Peter crossed his arms, watching you with a defeated sigh. "You’re ridiculous."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately, yes."

You snickered before holding the suit up in front of you, inspecting it. The fabric was smooth under your fingers. "Ooooh, I feel powerful already."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Okay, just—put it on already before I change my mind."

You nodded and started unzipping your hoodie, shrugging it off before kicking off your sweatpants. You were left in just your bra and panties when you noticed Peter had gone completely silent.

You turned to see him staring.

Blatantly.

His lips were parted slightly, his brown eyes locked onto your figure as if he had just seen the most captivating thing in the world.

You smirked. "Pete."

No response.

You snapped your fingers. "Peter Parker, my eyes are up here."

He blinked rapidly, his face immediately flushing. "I-I wasn’t—! I was just—!"

You crossed your arms, tilting your head playfully. "Just what?"

"Admiring my girlfriend," he admitted, looking sheepish but utterly smitten.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't hide your grin. "Uh-huh. Sure, Romeo. Now turn around."

Peter huffed dramatically but turned his back to you. "You act like I haven’t seen you in less."

"Yeah, well, you don’t get to ogle while I’m trying to be Spider-Woman for the day," you quipped, stepping into the suit.

As soon as you pulled it up over your shoulders, it felt huge. The fabric sagged, the arms hung loosely, and the legs were way too long. "Oh my God, Peter, your body proportions are so weird."

He laughed. "Hey! I have a perfectly normal body proportion, thank you very much."

You pouted, looking down at yourself. "It’s so baggy! Ugh, I look ridiculous."

Peter turned around, smirking. "You could always take it off."

You shot him a look. "Nice try." Then, you pressed the spider emblem on your chest.

Immediately, the suit shrank.

The fabric adjusted perfectly to your body, molding to every curve, every inch of your skin. Your stomach, chest, legs—everything was snug.

Peter stopped mid-breath.

His eyes traveled from your legs to your ass to your chest, and suddenly, his Adam’s apple bobbed. "Uh…"

You turned to the mirror, blinking. "Oh. Damn."

The suit hugged you perfectly. The fabric stretched in all the right places, highlighting every dip and curve of your body. Your ass? Amazing. Your boobs? Fantastic.

Peter made a strangled noise.

You turned to him with a smirk. "You okay there, bug boy?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Then, without a single word, he took two long strides forward, cupped your face, and kissed you.

It wasn’t just a peck. No, Peter devoured you, his lips molding against yours hungrily. His hands found their way to your jaw and waist, pulling you against him as he deepened the kiss.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, melting into him as he pressed you against the wall. His hands started wandering—one settling on your jaw, tilting your head up, while the other slid down to firmly grab your ass.

You gasped into the kiss, breaking apart for just a second. "P-Peter—"

"You look so hot in my suit," he mumbled against your lips, kissing you again, voice breathless and desperate.

You giggled between kisses. "I knew it!"

Peter groaned, nipping at your bottom lip as his hands squeezed your ass. "Not fair," he muttered, moving down to your jaw, leaving soft kisses.

You shivered, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I mean, if you wanna keep making out with me in your suit, I’m not stopping you—"

Then.

The door opened.

"Ay, kid, I need Y/N for a sec—WHAT THE HELL?!"

You and Peter immediately froze.

Your dad, Tony Stark, stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth open, looking horrified.

You and Peter were practically glued together—your arms around his neck, his hands on your ass, both of you looking like deer caught in headlights.

Tony blinked. "What. The. Actual. Fuck."

"Dad!" You yelped, shoving Peter off you.

Tony raised his hands, shaking his head rapidly. "Nope. Nope. Nope. I do not wanna know why you’re in the Spidey suit and sucking face with Spiderling. I do not wanna know what kinda freaky roleplay stuff you two are into."

You turned bright red. "IT’S NOT—"

"Oh my God," Tony muttered, rubbing his temples. "I need bleach. No, I need therapy. I need Pepper."

Peter, looking about five seconds away from fainting, squeaked out, "M-Mr. Stark, I—I swear—"

Tony pointed at him. "You. Out."

Peter blinked. "But… this is my room—"

Tony turned his glare up to maximum dad mode, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Peter swallowed hard. "I'm out."

And with that, he bolted straight out of the door.

"You. Family meeting. Now."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Kill me now."

Tony sighed, mumbling to himself as he walked away. "Why couldn't she date a nice, normal guy from down the street?"

From the hallway, Peter called out, "I am a nice, normal guy!"

You groaned again. "Oh my God, Peter, shut up!"

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[ptergwen]

1, 3, and 4 with peter let’s see you got a little thick for the summer and peter is watching behind like 😮‍💨🫠 and absolutely loses it when you take it off and show off your bikini

1: "beach dates!!"

3: "going on picnic dates"

4: "wearing sun-dresses and your partner absolutely can't get enough of it"

navigation  | ask box

w/c: 672

warnings: peter being horny, light swearing

a/n: excuse the wait ahh i started working on a oneshot but then i gave up and came back to this lmao (might need y'all to give me ur opinions on some of my ideas bc i'm feeling v insecure) but anyways i ended up rlly liking this one & i hope you like it too ♡

you and peter are laid out on the beach, snacking on some things you'd picked up from delmar's. you can feel his eyes on you as you pop a few pieces of fruit in your mouth. you're wearing a new sundress, and peter is absolutely obsessed with it.

one of your dress straps accidentally falls down your shoulder, giving peter the tiniest peek at your bikini underneath. he licks his lips. much to his dismay, you pull your dress back up with a knowing smile. peter chews on the straw to his soda and looks away, effectively flustered.

it's fun to see just how crazy you can drive him.

"pete?"

"hm?"

"when you're done eating, can you help me put on sunscreen?"

peter sits up immediately.

"i’m done eating."

you lift your sunglasses, eyebrows raised in amusement.

"you didn't even have your sandwich yet."

"i’m, uh, saving it for later. where's the sunscreen, your bag or mine?"

"i think you packed it."

"one second."

peter unzips his backpack and takes out a bottle of sunscreen. you put your sunglasses on top of your head, pushing your hair back.

"lemme just do my face and stuff first."

"no, no, no. i got it."

you bite back a grin. you prop yourself up on your hands, legs stretched across the towel you're sharing with peter. he squeezes some sunscreen into his palm. he dabs a little onto your nose, making it crinkle and earning a laugh from him. he gently rubs sunscreen into your cheeks.

"i really like your dress, you know. it's so pretty. you're so pretty."

"don't worry, pete. i’m gonna take it off."

"well, i like it on, but don't let me stop you."

you laugh and peck peter's lips. he kisses you once more, longer. his hands move down your neck, to your chest, your arms, rubbing the sunscreen all over your soft skin. you stand up so you can take off your sundress. you pull the dress over your head, leaving you in your bikini.

peter gazes up at you with his mouth dropped open slightly. you teasingly toss your dress at him. he catches it, eyes staying fixed on you. you lay down beside him on your stomach. you look at peter over your shoulder, waiting for him to apply the rest of your sunscreen.

"oh, uh..."

peter adjusts his shorts quickly. you smile to yourself, enjoying the effect you have on him. he squirts more sunscreen in his hands and starts to rub it into your back. you hum, resting your head on your arms.

"that feels nice."

peter sucks in a breath.

"babe."

"yeah?"

"you're killing me."

"and you love it."

peter moves on to your legs next. he massages in the sunscreen as he works his way up your thighs, drawing more noises of content out of you. his hands hover over your ass, where he really wants them. but you two are in public, and you're not that couple.

although, who's going to notice just one squeeze?

you must know exactly what peter is thinking because you roll over before he gets the chance. peter frowns. you kiss his cheek and pinch it.

"thanks for helping. wanna swim?"

peter perks up.

"right now?"

"yeah, i’m hot. do you need to put on more sunscreen?"

"not yet. let's go swim."

peter stands from the towel and offers you a hand. you use it to get up. he takes his shirt off, then takes your hand properly. you give him a once over and put your sunglasses back on. peter runs his thumb along the back of your hand with a smile that's not so innocent.

"ladies first."

"oh, of course."

you lightheartedly shake your head, leading the way to the water. peter follows behind you. you figure you've tortured him enough for one day, so you give him the opportunity to stare at your ass, which he does shamelessly.

peter decides that as much as he likes your dress, he likes it even more off.

tags (join my new(ish) taglist!)

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(some are from my old taglist so just lmk if you wanna be removed!)

[gay-dorito-dust]

How PB&JJ (Peter, Bob, Joaquin and Johnny) act if you let go of their hand.

Peter would hold out his hand until you hold it again, even if you said you didn’t want to he would still hold out his hand, insisting that you take it back as if it was a demanded product in the shop.

‘Hold my hand.’ He’d say.

‘What if I don’t want to hold your hand?’ You replied.

‘Not a choice, please hold my hand.’ Peter insists, holding out his hand to you, only for you to playfully swat it away with a cheeky grin as you said. ‘Nope, don’t feel like it, my hand is tired.’

‘Then let my hand hold it if it’s tired. It’s the least you could do.’ Peter says as though he was trying to make a sales pitch for why you should let him hold your hand and what benefits you’d receive from such an opportunity. It’s funny seeing him trying to entice you to hold his hand again, the pout on his lips as though the idea of never holding your hand physically killed the genius man in front of you.

‘You’re so needy.’ You joked.

‘I’m not needy I just wanna hold your hand, there’s a difference and my arm is aching right now, so your window to take my hand is closing fast. I’d take it while you can.’ Peter says as he once again nudges his open hand towards you, wiggling his fingers in your face for emphasis as he adds. ‘Going once, going twice-‘

You were quick to shut him up and grab his hand in your own, knowing you e been had when Peter smiles at you as he intertwines your fingers. ‘And sold to my beautiful partner who let go of it in the first place.’ He laughs as you gave him an unimpressed look, nudging him weakly. ‘Alright rub it in why don’t you.�� You said as Peter shrugs as he rests his head against yours, kissing your nose.

Bob wouldn’t think too much if you let go his hand the first time, but the couple more times you kept doing it, his brows were bound to raise in question. He’s the most tame in comparison to his friends as he wasn’t one to act out in public, nor look at you as if you had just told them something appalling.

Bob was more likely to let you hold and let go of his hand whenever you pleased, yet that didn’t mean he hated it when you did let go of his hand, nor did he like the cold and empty feeling he’d get when you did. He would try and not make a big deal out of it but it was obvious that he wanted to hold your hand again, yet didn’t want to force you to if you genuinely didn’t want to hold his hand, so he was at war within himself while making sure to close enough so the back of his hand brushed against your own in a silent plea to hold his hand again.

The man had just gotten use to your touch only recently and now he was addicted to it and didn’t want to feel anything else other then your hand squeezing his own or caressing the pulse point on his wrist with your thumb. He liked the comfort and grounding feeling it gave him, making him lean more and more towards wanting to hold your hand all the time. You couldn’t deny Bob what he wants, he’s polite and never pushed any boundaries either, but it wasn’t hard to see that his eyes lingered on your hands from time to time as his own twitched at his side.

With Bob you’re more likely to hold his hand without him having to say anything or ask you to. You both could be having a quiet moment together in the kitchen and find your pinkie touching his, before your pinkies become linked, and by the time you’ve done what you needed to do in the kitchen your hand is fully intertwined with his as though it was being welcomed back home each and every time.

‘I thought you didn’t want to hold my hand.’ He’d say.

‘My hand got sweaty.’ You answered.

Bob shrugs. ‘I would’ve held it even if it was sweaty.’

You smiled, never able to get rid of the warmth you got within your chest when you were with Bob, even if you had been a while since you’ve gotten together. ‘That’s sweet of you but I wouldn’t force that upon you, it’s like holding a slippery eel.’ You joked, squeezing his hand. Bob shrugs his shoulder ‘slippery like an eel or not, I’d still hold your hand because it’s your hand and I wanna hold it all the time.’ He smiles at you and you swear you’ve never met a man more perfectly imperfectly as him.

With Bob he didn’t need to ask you to hold his hand again, nor ask why, he just waits for you to slip your hand back against his own at your own pace because you always did without fail. His hand was always open to you whenever you needed it most.

Joaquin acts like you’ve betrayed him in someway, seriously he’ll look at you with those big brown eyes of his when you pull your hand away from his, frowning deeply as though he could somehow emotionally manipulate you into holding his hand again. It didn’t matter why you’ve let go of his hand, he’s more taken aback by the fact that you did let go of his hand in the first place.

‘Why did you let go of my hand?’ He’d ask you.

‘Do I need a reason to let go of your hand?’ You asked, trying your best not to smile.

Joaquin looks at his hand, flexing it and wiggling his fingers before looking over at your hand, then back at his again. ‘It feels so bare, like it shouldn’t ever not hold something you know, it liked holding your hand and you just had to let go of it.’

You chuckled. ‘I’m sorry but I did need to get my phone and check thar nobody wanted me for anything important.’ You tell him as you moved towards him, only for Joaquin to take a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

‘Nope, I’m revoking your hand holding privileges until further notice.’ He sternly tells you and you couldn’t help but try to reach for one of his hands in his pockets, just for Joaquin to side step you as you stare at his back as though he’s grown a second head.

‘You can’t be serious?’ You asked rhetorically, raising a brow when you saw the corner of his lips turn upwards or how his eyes twinkled with mischief, it made you think this was all apart of his master plan to get back at you. ‘Nope, I’m being dead serious.’ He replied, ‘you let go of my hand so I’m under the impression you don’t want to hold it for the rest of the day.’ He adds with the shrug of his shoulders.

‘Joaquin-‘

‘Nope you made your bed and now you have to lay in it.’ He interrupts you, smiling upon seeing you glare at him for now being the one denying you to hold his hand for the rest of the day, always moving out of the way when you tried to sneakily reach for his hand as Joaquin took massive enjoyment at the reversal of your situation.

You were now being the one wanting to hold his hand and him being the one denying you such tender luxury, however this charade does stop when you stopped bothering to hold his hand and Joaquin slips his hand into yours when you least expect it, yet neither of you say nothing as you enjoyed the feeling of each others palms pressed against one another.

Johnny will stop in the middle of the street when he feels you let go of his hand and won’t move until you grab his hand again. He doesn’t care if he’s in public, he will be so dramatic to the point where he will make a scene out of you not wanting to hold his hand, so much so that you swear Johnny was a child in an adult body on most occasions.

‘Will you move it! Sue will get pissed if you’re late again.’ You tell him as you saw him stood a few feet back, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting.

‘Nope. My partner just told me they didn’t love me, so I don’t feel emotionally up to meeting up with Ben, Sue and Reed today. I’m an inconsolable emotional wreck.’ Johnny replied, pouting.

‘I did not say that I just stopped holding your hand for one fucking second Johnny.’ You tell him but it was obvious he wasn’t buying it one bit as he only sighed loudly enough to earn the looks of a few passers by.

‘Well you might as well have.’ Johnny mutters and you felt your eye twitch.

‘Johnny. Move.’ You demanded.

He smirks ‘Not. Gonna.’

You sighed, knowing that he wouldn’t move unless you held his hand again, and you didn’t feel like making Sue, Reed and Ben wait longer then you already have done by entertaining Johnny and his dramatics. So you walked towards him and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers for extra measure, and sure enough Johnny began moving again and looking happy and chipper as could be as he tightened his kisses the side of your head.

‘Love you.’ He chirps.

‘You’ll be the death of me.’ You said in response, vowing to never let go of his hand should you ever have to feel that level of embarrassment only a parent would when their children cried in public. You weren’t built for it and quite frankly didn’t have the patience for Johnny and his games, but you loved him regardless when you felt a smile creep up on your lips upon feeling him squeeze your hand three times.

He was certainly a handful but he was your handful.

[spideyxxxxx]

Peter Parker Headcannons

a/n! sooo here are some of my headcannons about dating mcu peter parker including his being spiderman, which isn’t a secret anymore since you two are already dating, let me know if you have others because i love sharing ideas!!

pairing! Peter Parker x implied femreader

Your playful throws? Pillows, socks, popcorn? They don’t trigger his tingle at all.

One day he catches a literal falling brick from a rooftop—but lets a foam ball hit him in the face because you threw it.

Realizes it’s because his brain doesn’t flag you as a threat. Even subconsciously.

Spirals for 15 minutes about how that could get him killed. Then softens.

“I think—I think I trust her more than like, my own instincts. Which is… terrifying and kind of adorable?”

“I think my Peter-tingle just… knows you’re safe. Like—safe safe. Like, I would never need to be warned about you. Even if you were swinging a baseball bat. Even if you were holding a bazooka.”

(he pauses, then adds earnestly)

“Please don’t ever hold a bazooka though. Like for real.”

You lean over him and gently bonk him again with the pillow.

This time, he still doesn’t dodge.

Sneaks out as Spider-Man after patrol just to land on your fire escape and peek into your window to check if you’re asleep safe.If your light’s on, he stays, perched upside-down like a weirdo.

Taps the window once like a ghost.

Sometimes you’re awake and let him in.

Other times, he smiles and swings away with a little “okay, she’s good” breath of relief.

“I know it’s probably excessive but like, what if a raccoon got in? Or a microwave exploded? These things happen.”

Mid-patrol, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, suit mask half-off, swinging his legs off a rooftop ledge.

Calls you just to talk.Not even about anything serious.

Just, “Hey, I saw a guy walking a ferret on a leash and thought of you. Also, hi. Also, I miss you. Okay bye—unless you wanna stay on the line while I beat up some muggers?”

Brings you snacks from bodegas like:

“I saw these weird cookies and thought you’d like them.”

“This soda is purple. That’s romantic, right?”

Also returns with random little trinkets he finds on rooftops. Like a pigeon feather or a single button shaped like a heart.

He gets weirdly shy giving them to you. Like it’s a marriage proposal.

“It’s dumb but it kinda reminded me of you—WAIT I MEAN IN A GOOD WAY.”

If you touch his face when he’s tired? Instant puddle.

He’ll literally tilt into your palm like a sleepy kitten.

Gets overwhelmed and short-circuits when you wear his hoodie or say anything nice.

“You like my—? I mean yeah obviously it’s warm I didn’t mean for you to keep it unless you want to which is totally fine oh my god I’ll shut up now.”

After missions that go wrong—explosions, injuries, Tony yelling—he doesn’t go home.

He comes to you.

Literally swings across the city bleeding just to see your face.

“Hi. I know it’s 1:37am. I needed to remember what breathing feels like.”

Doesn’t let you walk too close to the curb.

Walks behind you on stairs in case you trip.

Lowkey memorizes the scent of your shampoo so if anyone ever impersonated you (he’s seen too many shapeshifters), he’d know.

If you’re cold? Hoodie. Immediately. No discussion.

[cece693]

MY JEALOUS GOD

pairing: loki laufeyson x gender neutral reader synopsis: You didn't anticipate falling into a relationship with Loki—who would?—yet while everybody knew he was the god of mischief, to you, he's your jealous god.

The first sign something is off is the smell of petrichor in the living-room. You’d left the windows shut, but there it is: the scent of rain on stone, the signature Loki’s magic often leaves behind when he appears or, more ominously, when he’s been brooding. You round the corner and find him lounging on your couch, boots on the cushions, one arm draped over the back like a cat who’s caught the red dot and now wonders what to do with it.

“Evening,” he purrs, voice all velvet knives. “Did you have fun at Stark’s little soirée?”

You shrug out of your jacket, the lining still warm from Stark Tower’s overheated ball-room, and drape it over the brocade armchair by the hearth. A faint metallic tang of repulsor exhaust still clings to the fabric—a souvenir of Tony’s annual “low-impact” fireworks display.

“Fun enough,” you say, massaging the crick in your neck. “Tony’s birthday parties feature far fewer homicidal drones these days—small mercies—but it would’ve been considerably more enjoyable if my favorite god hadn’t ghosted before dessert.”

Loki’s smile thins. “Your dance card appeared congested.”

The archaic phrasing is deliberate, a rapier flick from a prince raised on court formalities. You know exactly which name hides behind the euphemism: Peter Parker, cheeks redder than Stark’s armor, tugging at a too-tight bowtie while begging you for “just one dance.” When FRIDAY obligingly queued a crackling waltz from 1912, you’d accepted to save the poor kid from spontaneous combustion and to keep Natasha from collecting wagers on whether he’d faint.

“Peter’s pulse only spikes to dangerous levels when I’m near,” you remind Loki gently, toeing off your shoes. “Because he’s nineteen, Loki—”

“Twenty,” Loki interjects, tone glacial. “I checked the records.”

“—fine, twenty. He idolizes everyone with an Avengers passcode. Our waltz lasted 90 seconds and ended with him apologizing for stepping on my feet.”

“Yet long enough for you to laugh,” Loki murmurs, verdant eyes darkening. The words carry neither accusation nor injury—something colder, older, like frost creeping across glass. Outside the window lightning flickers, though the forecast promised clear skies.

You cross to him, letting your hand skim his shoulder until frost becomes warmth. “One laugh, one spin, no hearts stolen. You, darling, occupy all available real estate here.” You tap your sternum.

Loki’s lips curl in a silken crescent, but the flicker behind his lashes is anything but serene. Emerald irises catch the lamplight, bright as storm-lit seawater—an omen you’ve learned to read the way sailors read cloud fronts.

You plant your hands on your hips. “Loki,” you say, drawing out every syllable like a sharpening stone, “what did you do?”

He splays a hand across his chest in wounded theater. “Must you presume mischief every time I inhale?”

“Yes.”

A beat. His shoulders slump in an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I may have redirected young Parker’s web-shooters.”

“Redirected how?”

“Up.”

“Loki!”

He waves a dismissive hand, as though you’ve merely noted the weather. “Midgardian gravity is pathetic. The boy dangled for what?—fifty two seconds before Rogers hauled him in. Perfectly safe.”

Your glare could etch glass. “And the glitter bomb that detonated on Clint?”

A flick of irritation crawls up Loki’s brow ridge—caught, again. You press on.

“I was having a perfectly calm chat with him about Lucky adjusting to farm life,” you remind him, tone sharpened to surgical steel. “Clint was mid-sentence—something about the dog finally not chasing tractors—when this puff of emerald smoke swallowed him whole. Next thing I know, he’s radioactive-pink from head to tactical boots.”

A half-smile curls Loki’s mouth, wicked as a fox in the henhouse. “Yes. I refined the pigment with bifrost dust—gives it that delightful day-glow sheen.”

“Which is now ground permanently into SHIELD-issue Kevlar.”

“An upgrade,” Loki counters. “Barton’s wardrobe needed flair.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I leave you alone for two hours—”

“You left me alone with them.”

The soft snarl on “them” tells the truth: Loki never felt comfortable in the Avengers’ tower, tolerated largely because of you. Their wary stares scratch old wounds he pretends have healed. Tonight, seeing you laugh—actually laugh—with the people who once hunted him? Salt in the fracture.

You exhale and join him on the couch, prying his booted feet off the cushions. They thunk to the floor. “Talk.”

“Must we?” His gaze flicks to the ceiling, expression somewhere between tragic poet and sullen teenager. “You looked radiant. They ogled you like magpies. I grew irritated.”

“Jealous.”

He scoffs, but the word loosens him. “Yes. Jealous. There. I despise how it feels—like being chained again, only the shackles are inside my ribs.”

Your annoyance softens. You catch Loki’s chin, turning his face until emerald meets your gaze. “If you need reassurance, ask. Don’t rig equipment or hex people. Use your words.”

His lips quirk. “I have many words. Most of them sharp.”

“Then learn soft ones.” You brush your thumb across his lower lip. “Tell me the truth instead of setting glitter‐traps and letting innocent people hang from the ceiling.”

A silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of Manhattan traffic. Finally, Loki exhales the breath he has been hoarding for pride.

“Very well. The truth: I watched you toss your head back laughing at Clint's joke and it felt like frostbite. I wanted that sound kept for me alone. I imagined Parker’s mask cracking under illusion spiders; I pictured Stark’s suit misfiring champagne across his face. I thought of a dozen vicious things, all because you smiled.”

You let the confession settle. His jealousy is a thunderstorm—beautiful from afar, dangerous when you’re underneath. But storms can be guided.

“You’re allowed to want,” you say slowly, “and I’m allowed friends. The line is harm, Loki. Pranks that bruise bodies or egos cross it.”

He leans in, voice low. “I will try. But understand: my nature is not serenity. It is wind and wildfire. I can shape it for you, but extinguish it? Never.”

You press a kiss to his forehead—just there, where the crown would sit if he still wore one. “I don’t want it extinguished. Just channeled.”

His shoulders relax, mischief dimming to ember. “Then give me a target suitable for such channeling.”

“I have one. The dishwasher’s broken again.” You gesture toward the kitchen. “If you must hex something, hex the water jets. Make them behave.”

It earns you a surprised laugh, warm and genuine. “Very well, my love. I will wage war upon domestic inconveniences.” Loki rises, cloak swirling into existence with theatrical flare. “But first—”

He snaps his fingers. A soft pop sounds behind you. You turn to see a potted hydrangea now placed in the middle of the coffee table. Petals the deepest green—the exact shade of his eyes. A peace offering formed from silent magic instead of spite.

“Soft words,” he murmurs, stepping close enough that his breath fans your ear. “And softer deeds.”

You twine your fingers with his. “Keep practicing, Mischief-Prince. I’m a patient teacher.”

He smirks. “And I, an attentive student—provided the lessons are interactive.” You roll your eyes but tug him toward the kitchen nonetheless. Behind you, the hydrangea’s petals shimmer, shedding a faint glitter that—mercifully—stays on the plant.

[hufflezki]

summary: peter has been paying you visits as spiderman, doing and saying things he usually wouldn't when he's off the mask—like attempting to flirt with you. unfortunately, you find out who really is under his disguise.

-> mcu!peter parker x gn!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, mixed povs, peter is just a sweetheart, sudden confessions, good old misunderstanding (oh boy), peter rambles a lot, implications of reader liking plants, ( this is very self indulgent </3 so im sorry if he's a little ooc ) word count: 2,148 ( yes, its really long, ik )

[ 🎧 ] — (also had this song in mind while writing, so I'll just share it.) head over heels by the go-go's

The sun is rising. Your cup is empty. School works are done. It's a Friday, and you don’t have any classes. Which means you finally have time to relax on your balcony. You prop your elbow down on the railing, thinking of things to do now that you’ve been given a free day.

You can read that book you’ve been meaning to finish a month ago—or has it been two? Then again, you also have that unfinished crochet project you decided to do. But the problem is you forgot if you ever saved the pattern for it. Then there’s also the elephant in the room, the thing that haunts you every time you step inside your apartment. The vase your last roommate left. You’ve been meaning to give it back to her—you promised. But things got busier ever since. The last time you had free time was probably earlier this year, and yet you were still working on your thesis.

You turn your head, staring at the vase. It's ironic how much it grew on you. You thought it didn’t fit the color scheme of your living room at first. But the more you saw it, the more it seemed to fit right in. Until, eventually, you decided that you like it. And, yes, maybe that’s part of the reason why you can’t bring yourself to return it. Your last roommate also never mentioned it again after. So, you assume she just forgot about it entirely. Hopefully.

Your train of thoughts are interrupted when you hear movements, mostly the sound of something—or rather someone—webbing around. You turn your head back in front of you, then to your left, and your right, until– “Good morning.” A familiar voice comes from behind you, making you yelp from surprise. “Fuck, You can’t just sneak up on people like that!” Normally, when you get approached by the Spider-man, in all his red and blue spandex glory, you don’t really greet him with a yell and proceed to curse him out. But, in your defense, who even gets visited by him this early in the morning? Apparently, you do!

“Sorry, I thought you’d be used to me. ‘Cause I am.” He walks, with his body facing you, hoisting himself up to sit on the railing. The whole time you followed him with your eyes, your brows raised out of curiosity. “No? I’m still trying to put my head around the fact that you choose to travel all the way here just to talk to me.” He shakes his head, waving his hand, dismissively. You feel the corner of your lip twitch. For someone who wears a mask, he’s certainly expressive. “You’re special.” He shrugs, his voice sounding a bit too soft and sincere, surprising you. You prop your chin down on your hand, staring at him. “I’m special?” You seem to have flustered him as he shrugs—once more—and turns away. As if you would even see the way his cheeks turn pink.

“Well, you know..” He clears his throat, tilting his head to the side, unsure with his words. You let out a chuckle, he turns to you again. He does this a lot, the moment you do something to counter him, he stumbles a few steps back. It’s adorable and reminds you of Peter, somehow.

“I think you’re great company. And you listen to me when I talk a lot.”

“Yeah, you ramble quite a lot, don't you?”

“I mean I get plenty of thoughts when I come over to see you.” This time you tilt your head to the side. “What kinds of thoughts?” The realization, that what he said might've been weird out of context, hits him like a train and he immediately shakes his head. “No, no, no. Not like weird thoughts. You know, like, uhm– You’re so cool! And I like the perfume you’re wearing today. Little things like that.” You purse your lips, holding back your laughter. You don’t know if his rambling really is entertaining, or maybe you just have it bad.

To be fair, it has been a few weeks since you started meeting him like this. You remember the day of your first encounter. He accidentally knocked down the plant on your balcony, and you caught him fixing it—or trying to hide the evidence that it was broken—then he offered to help however he can. You insisted, but he showed up later that night, dangling outside your window, with a new pot. It was the most baffling thing you’ve ever witnessed. And he helped you transfer the plant too. From then on, he frequents your balcony more than you do, and even waters your plants. Even though you didn't ask him to, you still appreciate him for it.

You don't know what you did to have caught his attention. You convinced yourself that maybe he really is just your friendly neighborhood Spider-man. But he doesn't seem to be hanging out in anyone else’s apartment other than yours. You don't have any complaints, however. He keeps you company, and you seem to do the same for him.

“So, the only thing I’m getting here is that you think about me a lot. And that I’m special.” You say the last thing with a smug grin, and he seems to find that amusing. “Not everyone gets called special by Spider-man. So, thank you.” You add. But, unexpectedly, he counters your remark. “You’re also very sweet.” He says, holding up a finger. Then another one. “And you care a lot. I appreciate you worrying about me whenever I come back from a mission.” Your eyebrows raise, cheeks feeling a little warm. “You’ve got a great smile, it's actually infectious.” He glances at you, and you imagine his eyes narrowing. He’s got three of his fingers up now, then adds another one. “You’re crazy about your plants, but I also like that—and I get it, I’m crazy about my lego collections too.” That’s big news to you, Spider-man apparently likes legos. That reminds you, Peter is also crazy about them. So far, you’re thinking they’d get along well.

However, you don't know where this conversation is going. But you’re curious to how this would conclude, so you keep listening.

“And, I just like you. You make my day. I have more to say, if you want me to elaborate.” He hops down, now standing beside you. Somehow, you turn a little shy. His arm brushes against yours, as he rests his hands on the railing. “But you must get a lot of people telling you that, yeah?” You don't know why Spider-man’s suddenly getting you in your feelings, but you guess he’s always been that spontaneous. “Well, I do have one friend. Peter. He tells me he likes..” You cut yourself off, a metaphorical light bulb turning on above your head. His words starting to

sound familiar.

You remember a sleepover you did with Peter a few months back. When he was so sleepy that he started a verbose speech about how much he appreciates your long-term friendship. And that he doesn't know anyone who could ever have your patience to deal with him.

Now, you’re holding Spider-man’s stare. He’s waiting for you to continue your sentence. But you don't think you would, not when something else came up in your mind. “Peter?” You say, still unsure. He seems startled by that, drawing his head back. “What?”

“Sorry, I just.. What was the gift you gave me on my thirteenth birthday?”

“Walkie talkie–” You point your finger at him, eyes wide, and pretty proud of yourself. Meanwhile, Peter finally realizes just what you’d done and fails to defend himself. That’s when he sighs, his shoulders deflating. And now you feel very bad. “I knew you’d be cornering me!” You give him a guilty smile, moving closer. “I’m sorry, you were just giving yourself away.” He sighs, once again, but he doesn't seem all too bummed out.

“So, it's really you?” Peter nods his head, your smile turns fond. You reach for his mask, hand hesitating for a bit. “You can take it off.” He says, and that’s the time you continue and lift the bottom of his mask, slowly revealing the familiar face of the boy you’ve spent your whole life with. “Peter.” He smiles at you, crooked, evidently embarrassed to be caught like this. But he knew the day would come. Not that he never planned to tell you who really is. “Ta-da?” Peter attempts to humor you, and it works, kind of. You chuckle, bringing yourself to hug him. He wraps his arms around you, feeling all sorts of emotions.

“I’m sorry for ruining your whole reveal. I know that’s not what you intended.” Peter hums and shakes his head. “I’m surprised you’re not at all weirded out.” You pull away, just enough to look at him in the eyes. “I mean, you do need to explain to me why you did all this.” He purses his lips together, trying to find the confidence to tell you that he’s liked you ever since he could. And that it’s been keeping him in some kind of crisis, since he doesn’t know how to tell you.

“It’s hard to say. I like you. I’m practically head over heels. But I’ve never had the confidence to tell you. So I decided maybe being Spider-man could help.” He scratches the back of his neck, now wallowing in his own embarrassment. “Clearly not.. I’m not good at flirting with or without the mask, apparently.” He turns shy, pulling himself away. To his surprise, you pull him back by taking his hands. “You’re really interesting, Peter.” He grows even more flustered, unable to look you in the eyes.

“First, you break my pot.”

“That wasn't intentional, I was really nervous that day.”

“It's alright, It wasn't a big deal. Then, you try to woo me as Spider-man, which almost worked, instead of just asking me out?” Now that you put it that way. His plan did seem like a lot of work. But he didn't have a guarantee that you’d say yes. What if he blows it and you never talk to him again? That’s like.. scarier than having to defeat a Titan warlord threatening to end half the population on earth. Imagine that.

“Would you?” He asks, voice so quiet, you almost missed it. You hum, squeezing his hands. “Would I go out with you?” Peter nods his head, and you also do. “Yes, I would go out with you. Peter, I don't know if you've noticed but I’ve tried to make it obvious that I do like you.” Peter’s eyebrows scrunch together, as he looks at you with pure astonishment. Was he the one oblivious?

“Do you remember when I said my mom packed extra lunches for you?” He nods his head. “I did them, intentionally.” You smile, watching as he starts recollecting your memories. “Even that time you held my hand during our first field trip?” You nod your head, as Peter takes it all in.

“That time you asked me out on Prom?”

“Especially that. I thought you’d get it by then.” You shrug, meanwhile Peter feels like the biggest idiot in the world for realizing it all just now. How could he have missed the signs? Why couldn't he have just taken the risk? He’s done that plenty of times before.

“Alright, don't stress your pretty little mind. Atleast, now we both know.” Peter ponders for a bit more, before he lifts your hands up to kiss your knuckles. “I think I’ll be fine if I worry a bit more. It seems I don't use what’s up here, anyways.” He says, trying to humor his own disappointment. And you have to fight back a smile. “Peter.” You chide and he mutters a quick sorry.

“Let me make it up to you? I’ll take you out, wherever.” He’s leaning closer to kiss you on your forehead, and you feel the warmth seeping throughout your entire body. It’s crazy how a gesture so small could make you feel so much.

“Deal. And I believe I owe you one thing?” He narrows his eyes, inquisitively, and you take the opportunity to kiss him on the lips. You feel him freeze, his entire body going rigid for a second, before he melts and kisses you back. His hand immediately goes to cup your face, while his other pulls you closer by the waist. And you can't help but think about just how soft his lips feel like against yours. You almost want to stay like this for a little while, until you have to take a breath.

“I have a good idea. Why don't we head inside before someone sees you, and tells the entire world that you’re Spider-man.”

“I think that’s the best idea ever, actually.”

miscellaneous masterlist ꩜ .ᐟ

[gossameres]

10 facts about peter parker

pairing: peter parker x f. reader

the ten truths that define peter parker, and somehow, they all come back to you.

warnings: angst, fluff (this fic is my baby), mentions of minor blood & injuries

genres: childhood best friends to lovers

word count: 8k

masterlist!

Fact one: you made him feel like he belonged.

Peter Parker was five years old the first time he learned that kindness could feel like armor.

Before that, the world had already felt a little sharp around the edges. Not in any big, tragic way—just in the way that lonely things often are. He was a quiet child, soft-spoken and small, the kind of boy who raised his hand in class because he actually knew the answers, not because he wanted to show off. But five-year-olds aren’t subtle, and they’re rarely kind. And in kindergarten, knowing too much felt like a crime.

They called him names and not the creative kind—just the cruel, empty ones. Know-it-all. Teacher’s pet. Weird. Stuck up. He didn’t understand why answering questions made them hate him. He liked the gold stars the teacher gave for getting answers right. Ten stars meant you got to pick from the prize box, and the prize box had bouncy balls and sticky hands and plastic dinosaurs—and Peter loved plastic dinosaurs.

So, he answered the questions. He collected the stars and kept to himself. He told no one when the other kids laughed at him, or called him names, or moved their chairs away from his during circle time. He didn’t want to make a fuss because he really didn’t want to be a problem. He figured it didn’t really matter—he was the one with the dinosaurs, after all.

Then you moved to Queens. New girl, middle of the year, sat right next to Peter Parker like it was the most obvious place in the world to be. You noticed right away—how they treated him. The whispering, the laughter, the way no one ever picked him for partner work. You were loud and opinionated and full of the kind of righteousness only very small people with very big hearts can possess.

“That’s not nice,” you said, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the recess bullies who’d made Peter cry behind the monkey bars. “You’re being bad.”

They laughed at you next. For your sparkly Skechers and your glitter hair clips and your big words, but you didn’t flinch nor did you care. You marched right up to them, stubby finger pointed like a weapon, and gave a speech Peter couldn’t hear from where he sat—sniffling and dirt-streaked on the playground mulch—but could only watch unfold like some kind of tiny superhero movie.

Whatever you said, it worked. Their shoulders dropped, their mouths stayed shut, and they stopped laughing.

And then you turned on your heel, marched back to Peter, and held out your hand like it was a declaration of war and friendship all at once.

“My mommy says you should treat people how you wanna be treated,” you informed him, like it was the law of the land. “You wanna do the monkey bars?”

Peter blinked at you, stunned silent. You were everything he was not. Loud, brave, and radiated like the sun itself. He wasn’t sure he understood why you’d stood up for him, but he knew one thing: he’d never forget that you did.

“I’m not good at them,” he mumbled, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’ll teach you,” you said, already climbing up beside him like it was the easiest thing in the world. “I’m really, really good at it. Watch me!”

And so you coached him through every bar—each swing, each slip, each triumphant reach. You cheered when he made it to the end, called him “a monkey now,” and told him he earned a prize box toy even if the teacher didn’t give him one.

And that day, on the kindergarten playground beneath a pale blue sky, Peter Parker learned that maybe the world wasn’t so sharp when someone like you was in it.

Fact two: he loved to share and especially with you.

Peter Parker always shared what he loved.

It was how he learned to say I love you, before he knew that love needed words. You, who always sat beside him at lunch no matter who else asked. You, who stomped on bullies and helped him conquer monkey bars and called him “Petey” like it was a badge of honor. You, with your Tinkerbell lunchbox and fruit snacks and complaints about how “bleh” your sandwiches were every single day.

“You’re so lucky,” you said once, dramatic as ever, as you poked through the contents of your lunch like they might magically change if you just believed hard enough. “You get pizza Lunchables and chocolate pudding and Caprisuns. I get turkey. Again.”

Peter glanced at his food—his rare treasure of plastic-wrapped joy—and hesitated only a second before sliding his pudding cup toward you.

“Here,” he said. “You can have mine.”

Your eyes lit up like Christmas. “Really?”

“Really,” he said again, quieter this time. He watched you open the pudding, your face soft with delight. He didn’t tell you that it was his favorite part of lunch. He didn’t need to. Watching you enjoy it felt better somehow like a secret only he got to know.

That was the thing about Peter—he never gave anything halfway. Whether it was pudding or time or the last piece of cake, he gave it all like it meant something. Because to him, it did.

He didn’t come to school the next day. Or the day after. Or after the weekend, either. And by Monday, something in your chest had tightened too much to ignore.

You made your parents drive you to his house. You brought a Snickers bar in case he was sick, because you remembered he said chocolate helped headaches. But when the woman who answered the door wasn’t his mom or his dad, your stomach dropped.

She whispered with your dad. She said accident in a voice that was careful and slow and a little too quiet. And then she called Peter down, and he stood in the hallway with tears in his eyes and his brown curls a little messy, and he looked smaller than he ever had before.

You didn’t say anything. You just hugged him. And he cried into your shoulder, shoulders shaking, fists clutched tight in the fabric of your sleeve like he didn’t know how to let go.

You gave him the Snickers bar without splitting it like you’d planned. He needed the whole thing.

“I’ll get you all the Snickers in the world, Petey,” you whispered.

And you meant it.

Because love, for Peter, always looked like this—shared pudding cups and held hands and a chocolate bar in grief’s quiet aftermath. The kind of love that stays, even when everything else is gone.

Fact three: he blamed himself when you got hurt.

Peter Parker didn’t know how not to care.

Not even when it wasn’t his fault. Not even when everyone told him it wasn’t. Guilt, to Peter, wasn’t about logic—it was about consequence and hurt. And if someone he loved was hurt, then he should’ve done something, should’ve known, and should’ve been there.

It had rained the day you cut your hand—just enough to make the sidewalk slick, just enough to make your shoes slip when the dog you were walking pulled too hard on the leash and you lost your balance. It wasn’t a deep cut, not really, just a jagged little gash from the tip of a fence. It didn’t need stitches, just pressure, a wad of gauze taped tight to slow the ooze. Maybe a Band-Aid later, one with cartoon characters on it, when most of the cut healed. But it bled, bright and insistent, and you cried, and Peter wasn’t there.

He hadn’t been there.

He had heard about it through Aunt May. One call from your mom, and he was already pulling shoes on the wrong feet, gripping the handle of the first aid kit with white knuckles like he could somehow rewind time if he just ran fast enough. The guilt sat in his chest like wet cement.

You opened the door with a confused smile, still wet-cheeked from crying, your voice hoarse but warm. The worst had passed and you were okay, but Peter’s eyes were wide and glossy as if it had just happened right in front of him.

“I came as fast as I could,” he said breathlessly, holding up the first aid kit like a peace offering.

“Peter, I’m okay,” you told him gently. “My parents already patched me up.”

“But you still cried. I can tell,” he said, his voice thinner than usual, like it might crack if he let it. “I should’ve been there to help. I should’ve held the leash or walked with you or—I don’t know, done something.”

“You weren’t even with me,” you reminded him with a giggle, like it made any difference.

But it did. It made all the difference. And yet still, it didn’t.

“I’m supposed to look out for you,” he said, shoulders tight, eyes flicking to the bandage on your hand like it burned him just to look at it. “And I didn’t.”

“I’m a big girl, it’s okay. I’m okay, Petey.”

“Yeah, but—someone else has to make sure you’re okay, okay.”

You gave him a look. One of those raised-eyebrow, lip-squished-together kinds that only kids could get away with without sounding mean. “What, are you gonna fight the sidewalk next time?”

“If I have to,” he muttered.

And the thing was, he meant it. In the way only Peter could—genuine and aching and too soft for his own good.

You laughed. Not to make fun of him, but because it was easier than crying again. “Well then, I hope you’ve got a plan. The fence by Delmar’s is the meanie that did this to me.”

He nodded seriously. “Fence won’t know what hit it.”

And then—like it was the most natural thing in the world—you patted the spot beside you on your bed and said, “Wanna play trains?”

Peter hesitated. “I don’t wanna hurt your hand.”

“You’re acting like I got stabbed,” you snorted. “It’s a scratch, Peter. I can still play with trains.”

Still, he sat carefully, as if one wrong move might break you. You didn’t say anything about it—just handed him the blue engine and pressed play on the little track, the sound of whirring wheels filling the silence between you.

Peter didn’t stop watching your hand for the rest of the afternoon. Not because he didn’t believe you were okay, but because he needed to see it for himself. Over and over. Until the guilt stopped ringing in his ears like a warning bell. And even though it didn’t, sitting besides you helped his ache.

And maybe that was another fact worth adding—fact three and a half: Peter Parker never knew how not to overthink when it came to you. And for better or worse, he never wanted to learn.

Fact four: he kept every card you ever gave him.

Peter Parker was the kind of boy who remembered everything that made him feel loved.

That’s why he kept it all—every card, every doodle, every post-it with a dumb joke or half-done drawing, tucked carefully into a shoebox under his bed. It sat beneath looseleaf homework and forgotten action figures, but the box was sacred to him. A paper trail of every time you’d ever thought of him just because. Some notes were detailed and silly, others just a word and a smiley face, but of course, he could never bring himself to throw any of it away.

He was always a sentimental kid. Earnest in ways most middle school boys were still trying to hide. He liked having feelings and liked showing them. And even if he'd never say it out loud, he liked that you never made him feel weird about it because he was a boy.

He told himself that was just the way he was raised—by people who loved him soft and loud and without condition. But a part of it, maybe the biggest part, was you.

You saw the world the way he wanted to see it: a place where kindness didn’t have to be earned, where friendship wasn’t some transaction, where love—whatever version of it he was starting to feel—wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

Even when middle school got messy, and people started changing, posturing, growing into their sharpness too fast—you stayed. Somehow, even as the two of you evolved in different directions, you never drifted. You were louder, more bold, more magnetic. And Peter, quiet and observant, content to watch the world from the side of the room, was still the one you always gravitated toward.

You were different in the ways that made sense together like chords in the same song. And Peter never took that for granted.

He loved the way you argued with him—rarely, but always honestly. The way your apologies were real and careful and full of intention. He loved that you fought for him, even when he didn’t ask, even when he wasn’t sure he deserved it. And he especially loved the way your gifts always meant something. Not big, flashy things, but you-things. The kind of things no one else would’ve thought to give.

Like for his thirteenth birthday.

You’d treated him to Delmar’s, ordered him that strange, flat sandwich he liked and pretended not to gag when he ate it, even though your nose scrunched with judgment. You baked him cupcakes with blue frosting and rainbow sprinkles and sang happy birthday just off-key enough to be charming. And then, of course, there was the card.

He opened it slowly and you watched him like it was a performance. The cover had been drawn with marker—stick figures of you and him with ridiculous cartoon eyes holding up tacos with speech bubbles that said "Lets taco ‘bout your birthday!" Inside, there was a note, messy and heartfelt and impossibly you.

Then came the gift: a small keychain with a tiny Lego figure.

“I made a mini me,” you said, pulling out your own keys to show him the match. “So I’ll always be with you. And you’re with me. Cute, right?”

Peter had blinked too many times, trying to slow his smile. He held the little Lego you with reverence, like it was worth more than anything he owned.

“I love it,” he said quietly. And he meant it. God, did he mean it.

Because in that exact moment, somewhere between the frosting and your grin and the miniature version of you swinging from his key ring, Peter realized something he’d been pushing down for a long time.

He loved you. Not just in the way best friends loved each other. Not just as the girl who made him feel less alone. But in the deep, terrifying, impossible way.

And he didn’t say anything.

He just tucked the card into the box under his bed after you left.

Fact five: lying to you was the hardest thing he ever had to do.

Peter Parker was never good at lying.

Even before the spider bite, it just wasn’t in his nature. His face gave too much away and his conscience just made everything worse. Aunt May always said he wore his heart on his sleeve and every secret in his eyes.

So the first time he lied to you, it broke something in him.

A long afternoon at the arachnid exhibit, buzzing with chatter and crumpled permission slips and half-interested students leaning against the glass. You’d wandered off with some other friends, but Peter had stayed behind, lingering by a particularly sleek glass enclosure with a spider labeled something vague and unpronounceable.

The bite was quick and unexpected like a sharp pinch. 

When you found him moments later, rubbing at his hand, eyes glazed and unfocused, you noticed right away.

“You okay, Pete?” you asked, brows knitting with concern.

“Yeah,” he said too fast. “I’m all good.”

It was the first time he lied to your face, but it wouldn't be the last.

You frowned, studying him the way you always did when something felt off. You didn’t believe him—not really—but you didn’t push. Instead, you reached for his wrist and tugged him gently toward the next exhibit.

“C’mon,” you said, voice softening. “We’re gonna get stranded.”

So he followed. Quiet the whole way back. Quiet the rest of the day. And the next. And the one after that.

Peter had never kept anything from you before, but now, everything felt like a secret. The changes came slowly at first. The dizzy spells. The way he’d flinch when the lights were too bright, or wince when someone brushed past him in the hallway. The reflexes. The headaches. The sudden muscles. He didn’t tell you about the spider. Or what came after. He didn’t tell anyone.

And then Uncle Ben died.

The world shifted overnight, making everything soft in Peter harden. The guilt rooted itself so deeply inside of him, he didn’t know where it ended and where he began. And from that grief, Spider-Man was born.

He didn’t tell you about that, either, but you noticed, of course. You liked to say you knew him better than you knew yourself, but when you asked questions and he gave you answers that weren’t answers, your feelings began to hurt.

“I’m fine,” he’d always say, tugging down his sleeves or averting his eyes.

“Bullshit,” you said the night you caught a glimpse of his back when he peeled off his hoodie after a heat wave. You’d been sitting on his bed, tossing popcorn into your mouth, and caught sight of the muscles that hadn't been there before. “When did you get abs?”

His face flushed deep red. He scrambled for a shirt.

“I’ve been working out.”

You snorted. “Peter, I’ve known you since you were five. I’ve never seen you touch a weight. You flinch when you see basketballs.”

“I just… started. Recently.”

You tilted your head at him, not buying it, but letting it go—just like you always did.

And that became the rhythm. A push and a pull. Peter disappearing, coming back, telling half-truths laced with real ones. You let him. Because whatever was happening to him, you knew he was still Peter underneath it. Still your best friend. Still the boy who remembered your favorite flower, who held you when you cried, who couldn’t lie to save his life—except now, he had to.

Except now, it was the only way he knew how to protect you.

Fact six: he almost told you he was Spider-Man about a hundred times.

Peter Parker loved to talk.

Not with everyone—but with you? Always. If something sparked his curiosity, even a little, he’d go off like a wind-up toy. Science facts, theories, niche Star Wars lore, weird animal trivia—he’d just keep going, voice animated, hands moving with it. You never minded. In fact, you loved it. You loved that part of him that was just yours, the way he opened up around you in a way he didn’t with anyone else. Like it was some secret only you got to keep.

And maybe that’s why it hurt him so much to keep the biggest secret of all.

Peter almost told you he was Spider-Man the first time you shoved your phone in his face with a YouTube clip of a shaky, grainy, footage in the city. “He’s so cool,” you’d breathed, starry-eyed. “Have you seen the way he swings around? Like, what the hell?”

He wanted to tell you right then. Wanted to bask in the look on your face when you realized he was the one you were so amazed by.

But he didn’t.

Peter almost told you when you ran into him—as Spider-Man—on patrol one evening. He’d been crouched on a rooftop, catching his breath after a car chase, and there you were, wide-eyed and breathless on the sidewalk. You shouted up at him, asking for a photo and an autograph. He froze. Not because he didn’t want to—God, he wanted to—but because he knew if he spoke, you’d know. You’d hear his voice and immediately clock it. So he just shook his head, let the eyes on his suit narrow like an apology, and swung off before he could do something stupid.

He almost told you when he woke up in a cold sweat one night and called you. Said he just needed to hear your voice. He didn’t tell you that the dream had started with Uncle Ben and ended with his mom, then his dad, and then a blur of screams and sirens and blood. You stayed on the phone until he fell asleep again. He almost told you then, but the words caught in his throat and never left.

There were a million almosts.

And then there was Ned.

High school wasn’t much different from middle school, which hadn’t been much different from elementary. He had you, school, and May. That was enough. But the Algebra 2 teacher had a thing for assigned seating, and by fate or luck or both, Ned Leeds ended up next to him. They hit it off fast with their shared interests, niche obsessions, and dorky humor.

Peter adored you, of course. But the two of you had grown into different shapes. You were more outgoing now, always getting invited to things he wasn’t even aware of until Monday morning roll call. Parties only upperclassmen were at. You fit in anywhere while Peter never quite figured out how himself. With Ned, though, he didn’t have to. They were both outcasts, but at least they were outcasts together.

Peter never meant for him to find out first, though. You were supposed to be the first. Not Ned, not May—you. But life has a cruel sense of timing, and apparently so did Peter’s ceiling. He had just crawled back into his room on the ceiling after patrol when he realized Ned was present, Lego Death Star in hand (and then on the ground).

Still, it stung—letting someone else in first. He’d always meant for it to be you.

He almost told you when you were baking cookies together for the Decathlon bake sale. You were both in your usual spots—shoulder to shoulder in your kitchen, hands sticky with dough, 10 Things I Hate About You playing faintly in the background. You’d made him watch it a dozen times and even though he voiced how annoyed he was, he secretly liked it. He liked the way you talked about it—how Kat and Patrick were opposites but still found their way to each other.

That part always stuck with him. That maybe the two of you could be like that. Someday.

But then you’d said it—casual, like you weren’t about to shatter his whole reality.

“Jason asked me to homecoming,” you said, dropping a perfect dough ball onto the tray.

Peter’s heart stuttered. “Oh.”

He slowed down, rolled the next one too tight. “And?”

“And I said no,” you shrugged. Dry. Nonchalant.

He looked over, heart still thudding. “You did?”

You arched an eyebrow. “It’s not like you have a date.”

Like it was obvious. Like he was already yours.

He almost told you then. That he was Spider-Man. That he liked you. That the reason he didn’t ask sooner was because he didn’t know how to be both.

But he didn’t.

Because the Vulture was still out there. Because you’d already been used against him once—your name dropped like a threat mid-fight, blood roaring in his ears. And that was all it took. He couldn’t tell you. Not when knowing meant you’d be in danger. Not when he cared about you too much to risk it.

So instead, he showed up to your house on homecoming night with a bouquet of pink peonies—the same ones that used to grow on your windowsill in second grade. Your dad answered the door and clapped Peter on the shoulder, grinning like he knew something he didn’t. And when you appeared behind him, hair done up, hands swishing softly around your dress, Peter felt the world tip. He’d already been a goner, but that night sealed it.

He had the whole thing planned: dancing, laughing, stepping on your toes (even after all those lessons with May), and eventually pulling you aside to tell you everything—about the bite, about the suit, about his feelings for you that he hadn’t been able to shake since you were both barely tall enough to reach the monkey bars.

But the night never went the way he wanted.

The Vulture ruined it.

Peter had to leave. And your face when he did—the glossy eyes, the trembling lip, the soft little why? that echoed in his head for weeks after—nearly broke him.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t yell. You didn’t even text him after. You just… nodded when he found you the next week and apologized. Told him you understood, even if you didn’t.

You danced with Jason that night. Peter was supposed to do that.

And that was the moment he realized the truth: he couldn’t keep you close. Not if he wanted to keep you safe. So he made the hardest decision of his life.

He chose to walk away. Just enough that it wouldn’t hurt you, but just enough that it would destroy him.

Fact seven: he broke his heart to protect yours (ish).

Peter Parker knew that being Spider-Man came with selflessness.

He knew it from watching Tony Stark, from seeing the exhaustion in his eyes behind the armor and understanding—maybe too late—that sometimes the strongest thing you could do was choose the harder path. He knew it from Aunt May, who held her world together with trembling hands and a brave face after Uncle Ben died, never once letting the weight of it fall on Peter’s shoulders. He knew it in the quiet ways—the late nights, the bruises that didn’t heal fast enough, the promises he made to himself over and over again that if it meant keeping the people he loved safe, then he would be the one to lose sleep, to bleed, to break.

So when it came to you, it was no different. At least, that’s what he told himself.

He started distancing himself in ways he hoped you wouldn’t notice. Answering texts later than usual. Making up vague excuses when you asked to hang out. Avoiding your gaze when you walked into the room and instinctively beelined toward him like you always did. You were perceptive though—you always had been—and it didn’t take long for the space between you to feel obvious, gaping, like it had been carved there with intention.

You didn’t let things fester. You were always the first one to bring things to light, even if it meant an uncomfortable conversation. Especially if it did.

So one afternoon, standing just outside the chem lab, with students rushing past in every direction, you stopped him. With that look on your face—the one that meant you weren’t going to let him dodge this one.

“Peter,” you started, folding your arms across your chest, brows drawn together, your voice firm but still quiet enough to keep it between the two of you. “Don’t lie to me. Seriously. I’m not stupid.”

His throat went dry, and he didn’t say anything right away, just shifted on his feet like he wanted to bolt.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” you continued, unwavering. “Barely texting, skipping out on everything, acting like I did something wrong when I know I didn’t. You don’t just get to go cold and pretend like it’s nothing.”

Peter looked up then, eyes guarded, jaw tense, like he was trying to find a version of the truth that wouldn’t hurt you. But he wasn’t a good liar, not when it came to you. He never had been.

“I’m not—” he tried, but you cut him off.

“You are. Don’t do that, Peter. Don’t act like I’m imagining things just because you’re too scared to say what’s really going on. I know you. And whatever this is, it’s not just in my head.”

There was a flicker of guilt in his expression, and then he looked away, his voice barely above a whisper when he finally spoke.

“We’re not kids anymore.”

Just four words, but none of them sounded like him.

Your heart sank—not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. Flat. Detached. Like it was rehearsed. Like it was easier to hide behind something vague and dismissive than admit to whatever was actually happening.

You stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to find the boy you knew underneath the mask he was clearly putting on. But all you saw was someone who had already decided to push you away, and nothing you said could bring him back from it.

“You’re right,” you finally said, voice softer now but still unwavering. “We’re not.”

You didn’t raise your voice. Didn’t cry or plead for an explanation because you already knew you weren’t going to get one.

“But if being grown up means shutting out the people who love you, then I don’t think it’s something to be proud of, Parker.”

You never called him Parker. It was always Peter, Pete, or Petey when you needed a hug, Peter Benjamin Parker when you were scolding him, Peter Parker when you were worried—but never just Parker. That one hit different. It meant something. It meant you were done asking.

You let the silence stretch between you for a second longer, long enough for him to feel it, and then you turned to leave.

He didn’t stop you and that hurt more than anything he could have said.

Because this wasn’t like the other arguments you’d had before—never cruel, never lasting long, always ending in an apology and some moment of soft honesty to put the pieces back together. But this time there was no apology. Just silence. And you knew, deep down, that the truth he was holding back wasn’t going to be shared with you. Not now. Maybe not ever.

And the worst part? It wasn’t even that he broke your heart.

It was that he broke his own, and somehow still thought it was worth it.

Fact eight: he watched you move on from the shadows.

Peter Parker thought heartbreak was supposed to come all at once—loud and fast like a car crash.

But this one dragged. It lingered in the quiet, like smoke in a room with no windows, like dust that refused to settle.

As much as he pretended not to care anymore, as much as he made himself small in the hallways and busied his hands during class and said he didn’t want to talk about it, Peter couldn’t hide the way it gutted him. Not really. May was the first to notice, her knock gentle on the door at night when the muffled cries slipped past his pillow. Ned started filling the silences Peter used to take up with rambling theories and snarky commentary. MJ told him, flatly, that his eye bags were scary and that he looked like he hadn't seen daylight since Civil War. Even Queens started to wonder if something had changed in Spider-Man—he wasn’t talking, he wasn’t joking, and he hadn’t done a single flip off a fire escape in weeks.

Who was he to think he could actually cut you off like that? That he could walk away from you and not unravel? You were his person—had been, for years. Through every low, every high, every success, every failure. You’d been there before the bite, before the Avengers, before he ever had the idea to be anything more than your best friend with a secret crush and a hopeless heart. But the delusion of heroism, the obsession with self-sacrifice—it warped him. Made him believe that loving you meant leaving you. That protecting you meant making the choice for you, even if it tore him apart.

Even if it killed him to see you laugh at someone else’s joke in fourth period because he used to be the one who made you laugh like that. Even if it killed him to see the keychain of mini him gone from your lanyard. Even if it killed him to spot you from across the room at a party Ned had begged him to go to, leaning in close to a guy he didn’t recognize. Even if it killed him to see your hand—your hand—tangled with someone else’s.

It felt like his heart had been scooped out and left raw, bruised and pulsing with phantom aches. The ache came when you didn’t look at him anymore. When you walked past him like a stranger in the hallway, like he wasn’t the person who used to braid your hair when you were bored or climb through your window on summer nights just to talk. The ache came when he remembered how softly you used to say his name, like it was a secret just for you. And then how different it sounded, sharp and cold, when you called him Parker.

Still, he couldn’t stop. On patrol, when the night was winding down and the streets were empty, he always swung past your window—never on the way, never convenient, but always necessary. Just to see you, to make sure you were okay, and to feel, for a moment, like you still existed in the same world as him.

And when he saw you lying on your bed, talking to your mom through the door, kicking your feet in the air the way you always did when you were comfortable, he felt something loosen in his chest. You looked peaceful again, like the girl who didn’t yet know what it meant to be hurt by him. Like yourself.

You looked up, maybe just a flicker of red and blue, and he swore your eyes landed on him.

He didn’t wait long enough to find out. By the time you blinked, he was already gone.

Because heartbreak didn’t hit him in a single moment. It haunted him in all the ones after—when he had to keep loving you in silence, from rooftops and windowsills, knowing he’d become a ghost in the life he used to be part of.

Fact nine: he never stopped loving you. Not even for a second.

Peter Parker always had a soft spot for you.

He was hopelessly, irrevocably, quietly devoted in a way he didn’t fully understand at first—only that he felt it in his chest like something blooming and aching all at once.

You were the new girl that planted yourself beside him like you belonged there. And instead of ignoring him like everyone else, you noticed. You saw him. Said something bold and too brave for your size, stood up to kids twice as loud, and held out your hand like it meant something. That was it. That was the moment. He didn’t know it then—not really—but something permanently shifted.

From that point on, he would’ve done anything to protect you, to keep you safe, and make sure you never felt unloved. That instinct never left him. Not when he got his powers, not when he started patrolling rooftops, and not even when he made the decision to push you away in the name of protecting you.

Even when you stopped walking beside him and started walking ahead. Even when your texts grew shorter to none, your smile less familiar, your tone less soft. Even when you stopped saying his name.

He never stopped keeping an eye on you. He lingered at the edge of school hallways until he saw you get into your rides. Swung by your apartment building at night just to make sure the lights in your window were still warm. He watched from a distance when he couldn’t be close anymore, and tried to convince himself it was enough. That this was love, too.

And then, one day, he noticed someone else walking beside you. A boy. A jacket around your shoulders. A laugh that wasn’t meant for him.

He didn’t know it was official until MJ mentioned it offhand at lunch, like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t a moment that cracked something in him wide open. You were dating someone. It was real and it lasted. Weeks turned to months and he kept track without meaning to. If he’d asked you out during last year’s Homecoming like he’d planned, you and him would’ve been celebrating your one-year anniversary right around the time your boyfriend posted the first picture of you two together.

He wanted to be happy for you. He tried. You deserved someone consistent, someone present. Someone who didn’t run out on you when things got hard. But it tore him apart slowly—watching someone else hold the place that was always supposed to be his.

And then one night, months later, he swung past your building on a quiet patrol and saw you through your window. Curled up on your bed, crying and alone.

The sight made his heart seize in his chest. He hated seeing you hurt. Hated that someone else had done this to you. But selfishly, somewhere deep in the part of him he tried not to acknowledge, it meant something to him that you were single again. It meant the door hadn’t closed entirely. Maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t missed his chance forever.

That thought clung to him like a shadow. It followed him through the city, through every swing, every night. Because even if you never took him back—even if you never forgave him—he’d still never stop loving you.

Not then. Not now. Not ever.

Luckily for Peter, fate—cruel and unforgiving as it so often was—offered him a rare moment of grace, like a quiet reward for all he had given up, all he had endured.

You were already in your room when you heard it: a quiet thud against the metal of your fire escape, not loud, but deliberate, like a knock with no knuckles. And when you pulled back your curtains, there he was. Peter. Still suited up, though the red and blue fabric was torn and soaked dark with blood and rain, and his mask hung limp in his hand. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, breathing hard, eyes glassy and rimmed in red.

You slid open the window before you could think too hard about it. “What the hell?” you said, half a gasp, half a demand. “Are you okay? Why are you here?”

It was the first time you’d spoken to him in months—your voice rough with disbelief, sharp around the edge, but soft somewhere underneath it all. Happy that he was there—that he chose to come to you first, without needing to be asked. It meant he still cared, despite everything his actions tried to say otherwise.

He stepped inside like a ghost. “I—I’m sorry,” he breathed, the words catching in his throat. “I should’ve told you everything. I should’ve—God, I was so scared. I didn’t want you to hate me.”

You didn’t know what to say. He was shaking, like something had finally snapped, like all the weight he’d been carrying had collapsed in on itself. And when he sank to the floor—on your rug, in front of your bed, hands still trembling—you knelt down beside him.

“I thought I could protect you by walking away,” he said, voice cracking in the middle, “but I just broke everything. I missed you every single day. And I saw you—saw you with him—and I wanted to be happy for you, I did, but it—God, it killed me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He was crying openly now, not holding back like he used to, not trying to be brave or strong. Just a boy in pieces, falling apart in the only place he felt safe enough to break.

You didn’t say anything. You just pulled him close and held him like you used to—arms tight, fingers in his hair, your chin resting on the top of his head.

“I’m gonna grab the first aid kit,” you murmured, brushing his curls gently from his eyes. “Sit still.”

The familiarity of it was what made it hurt but heal.

You patched him up in silence—your touch gentle, practiced—as if no time had passed at all He hadn’t said a word about the suit, and you hadn’t asked. He came to you, still in it, like that answered everything. When it was done, you sat beside him on the floor, knees knocking, both of you staring out the window. Neither of you said much more that night, just sat there quietly soaking in the presence you’d both been aching for.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, you were in the same place—together, unspoken things still lingering in the air, but not pushing you apart.

Fact ten: you’re still the best thing to happen to Peter Parker.

Peter Parker should’ve known that no universe could keep his world from getting tangled up in yours.

Maybe it was because he was the kind of person who noticed the smallest things—the way your laugh shifted when you talked to different people, how the corners of your eyes crinkled more on one side when your smile was genuine, or how your fingers tapped nervously when you were about to say something important. He memorized those moments like they were precious fragments, each one a secret to hold close, as if any second could be the last. Maybe that’s why loving you was never something he could undo or forget.

Inside your apartment, the air was softer, warmer, quieter in a way that felt safe. A blanket was loosely draped over both your legs, his socked feet tangled gently with yours. Half a pizza sat forgotten on the coffee table, its heat long faded, while 10 Things I Hate About You played quietly (again) on the screen, volume just low enough to make the words fade into the background.

You leaned into him, head tucked softly into the crook of his neck—the way you had a thousand times before, even though it had been so long since you allowed yourself to be this close. His hoodie smelled faintly of rain and detergent, and of Peter himself, grounding you in the here and now. One of his arms curled around your waist, his thumb tracing lazy, absent circles over your t-shirt, almost like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingers.

“I think I could come up with ten things I hate about you,” you said suddenly, voice muffled against his hoodie, half-joking but with a teasing edge. “Starting with you pretending like I didn’t exist for a year.”

He chuckled softly, breath warm on your temple. “Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “I deserve that.”

You shifted to look up at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re not even going to argue?”

“Nope.” He gave you a sheepish grin, the kind that made you want to shake your head and smile at the same time. “Because you’re right. I was an idiot. An idiot with a big, fat, capital ‘I.’”

A small smile tugged at your lips, amused and maybe a little smug, and you settled back against him. But then he tilted his head, his eyes softening as he looked down at you.

“I think I’ve got ten facts too,” he said quietly, voice lower now, more thoughtful. “But... they’re not about hating you.”

You blinked, heart tightening without quite understanding why. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His thumb brushed gently over the back of your hand, and suddenly, the smile faded from your face as the weight of everything between you settled in. It was Peter—your Peter—still knowing how to floor you without even trying.

A beat passed before he added, softer now. “Actually, there is one hate.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“I saw your keys one day. And you didn’t have the keychain anymore.” He tried to sound casual, like it didn’t matter, like it hadn’t been eating at him. “The one of mini me.”

You stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing—disbelieving, incredulous, yet affectionate. “You really are an idiot,” you said, shaking your head. “Those weren’t my keys.”

“What?” he blinked, copying you.

“They were my mom’s. I’ve grabbed her keys by accident more times than I’d like to admit. I never took it off, Peter. I told you—I wanted you with me. Always.”

His expression softened, something raw and unguarded flickering across his face. “Oh.”

You nudged him gently with your shoulder, your voice quieting. “And I saw yours. Clipped to your backpack. You didn’t take mine off either.”

“Yeah,” he said, a little breathless. “Guess I’m an idiot in more ways than one.”

“You’re my idiot,” you murmured, without really thinking.

Peter let out a white laugh, eyes still on you. “Then I’m definitely sure about my ten facts.”

The movie continued playing, but neither of you were really watching anymore. Instead, your eyes flicked to the pizza box on the coffee table, half-open, the last slice waiting patiently. Peter leaned forward slightly to grab it.

“Wait,” you said, reaching out before he could take it. “There’s one left.”

Peter glanced from the slice to you, a teasing glint in his eyes. “It’s the tenth slice,” he murmured, voice soft but playful. “Kind of symbolic.”

You snorted. “Don’t be corny.”

He tore the slice in half, handing you the bigger piece, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m still saving the last slice for you.”

You hesitated, fingers brushing his as you took it. “Old habits die hard?”

His smile was soft, real, and a little wistful—the kind of smile that carries the weight of all the things you don’t say but feel deeply. “Some habits were never meant to.”

Then he leaned in slowly, pressing his forehead gently against yours. His eyes fluttered closed, like he wanted to freeze this moment in time forever. His nose brushed yours, breaths mingling between lips that hovered—close but patient, tender, and unhurried. There was no rush, no need to escape or hide this time. Just you and him, quiet and unbreakable.

You didn’t speak. You simply looked at him—at the soft curve of his mouth, the familiar scar tracing his jawline, the way he still saw you as his favorite person in the entire world, even after everything that had come before.

Then, with careful certainty, he kissed you.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate, not the kind of kiss that tried to prove anything. It was steady and sure, a quiet promise made with the gentlest touch—his hand cupping your cheek, his lips pressing softly into yours, the shaky breath he exhaled against your mouth carrying years of everything unsaid and undone.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead gently against yours again like a puzzle piece, staying like that as if trying to hold the moment still. Because in that stillness—through every scar and mistake, every whispered confession and lingering glance—the only fact that truly mattered was this:

You were still the best thing to ever happen to Peter Parker.

And now—finally—he got to be the best thing to happen to you, too.

[m00ngirl777]

Can I request a oneshot with that trend where girlfriends go sit in their boyfriends laps while they're gaming or studying, it has so much potentiallllll for fluff and smut

If This Was a Movie

Peter Parker x reader

REQUEST

“Man, I can’t, I gotta study, I told you, I gotta do well on these midterms… I’ll hang out next time, have fun buddy,” With that he hanged up, and grabbed the stack of books, papers and his bag, when he heard a knock on his door. 

“Ugh!” He put everything back down and went to open the door, now a little frustrated, “Broke, what the he-” He rammed the door open and stood dead on his tracks when he saw you. 

Summary: Sitting on peters lap, he’s busy AF, college peter, you go visit him in Boston , he’s so happy to see you but it’s midterms week, but you haven’t seen each other so you can’t keep your hands off, so then you find yourself in this situation, in the library, he’s studying like crazy, coffee and food runs for your boy, sitting on his lap, and you can’t help but tease him until he’s had enough pent up frustration from all the stress of his first midterms and not seeing you, so he lets it out on you when he grabs your hand and drags you to the old literature section because no one in the engineering building is going near there, and fucks his frustrations out on you against the Jane Austen collection. Sue me babe.

A/N: hi so, as I was writing the summary, that scene from YOU, literally came to me, where joes like, youre not wearing a bra blahblahblah, if this was a movie id grab you and wed go a it at the stacks, or smth along that, hence the title, anyways enjoyyyyy. again I am sososososo very sorry I took nearly three months to answer this request, I don't know why I am the way I am, I sorry. anyways hope you love it, thxx for reading, love u, byeeee. xoxo. -N.

p.s. my requests are open my loves<333 but I might take three months to answer :( SORRY

TW: SMUT, RAW, NO PROETECION BABES.

WC: 2008

- - -

“Hey man…yeah…yeah… I-I know… but I gotta… g-uh…yes… mhm,” Peter really wanted to end the call, don’t get him wrong, for the first time in his life he felt like finally he fit in, even if he didn’t, college treated him different, he didn’t only matched, but surpassed the intelligence of his peers, accompanied by great humility which for the first time gained him respect instead of a shove, or a push, or a basketball to the head, or his lunch on the floor, the teachers encouraged him, as faithful as he was to you, and as uninterested as he was in in any other, he felt a little taller anytime a girl would smile, or giggle, or blush at him, something he had never known. He still had Ned at his side, but he was also very pleased at his new friends, the guys that were on football scholarships, that had urged him endlessly to join the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity, and how they would, what felt to him, beg him to come to endless parties, and hang outs and so on. He was cool, he was respected, he was wanted, he was admired, and if he didn’t study for the upcoming midterms he would also be very fucked.

As wonderful a boy as Peter is, this type of attention can get to anyone's head, because for the first time in his life, people cared, not that he was Spider-Man, but that he was Peter Parker, he wasn’t failing, god knows hes too smart for that, he simply could not afford to fail anything or he would fail the course. 

“Man, I can’t, I gotta study, I told you, I gotta do well on these midterms… I’ll hang out next time, have fun buddy,” With that he hanged up, and grabbed the stack of books, papers and his bag, when he heard a knock on his door. 

“Ugh!” He put everything back down and went to open the door, now a little frustrated, “Broke, what the he-” He rammed the door open and stood dead on his tracks when he saw you. 

“Peter?” 

He pulled you in the tightest hardest hug you've ever felt, you instantly wrapped your arms around him, hands traveling to his, of course shaven head, it was an initiation ritual, it was more a buzzcut now anyway. 

“Miss me, baby?” He nodded hysterically, face buried in your neck, as he pulled you in the dorm, shutting the door, he couldn’t let go of you. 

He pulled away to kiss you, cupping your face, moving his lips against yours with a familiarity unmatched. You spent about five minutes against the door, Peter whispering the sweetest nothings into everywhere he kisses, I love you for your neck  neck and jaw, gorgeous and beautiful for your cheeks, I missed you into your mouth, and a combination of all for your ear, temple and forehead. You kept scratching the back of his head, caressing his neck, touching him, telling him with your hands everything he was saying with his words, your hand went down to his sweats, pulling on the waistband to reach for him, but before you could get a grip he gently pulled your wrist away and let out a soft groan, head on your shoulder.

“What’s wrong baby?” You cupped his face. 

“I gotta…study,”

“Awww, you gotta study baby?,” He nodded against your neck getting closer to your chest. 

“You… you can stay here… or,”

“No way, I’m studying with you,” It’s not that he didn’t want to, he just knew he’d get nothing done, still he couldn’t find it in himself to deny you, so here you were, in the mostly empty library, attempting to study. 

“Peter, why are you so stressed? You're probably the smartest guy here…like… I remember seeing a lesser version of this in highschool, and I was in none of the AP’s, you totally got it,” You were practically sitting on his lap, your hand caressing his neck. 

“I know… I really don’t want to fail,” He said, concentrated on the problem. 

“You won’t,” You kissed his cheek before getting up, grabbing your bag.

“Baby, where are you going?” Damn those puppy eyes. 

“I swore I saw a coffee shop just outside, want anything?”

“Coffee, just regular,”

“‘Kay, I’ll be back,” 

Soon you where back with a caramel latte, and a cold brew with cream. Peter thanked you and let you back in his lap, and in an attempt to adjust yourself you ended rubbing down on him. 

“Y/n,” He grasped at your hip to keep you from moving more, which led you to relax back into him, biting your lip softly when his thigh ended up being nuzzled between yours, slightly pressing on your core, just enough to want more. 

“Sorry,” Your cheeks flushed slightly as you sipped your coffee, feeling the cool bittersweetness aid the heat you were starting to feel. 

He nodded, and went back to concentrate on his problems, equation after equation, number after number, variable after variable, just never ending engineering stuff your history lit majoring brain didn’t even want to begin to understand. He kept mumbling the problems quietly, going over them as he wrote, it always turned you on how smart he is, even in highschool with way simpler material it impressed you, watching him know made your mouth dry. 

“Did you like your coffee?” You asked going to sip it.

“Yeah, its nice, thank you babe…” He answered in automatic, and it still made you giddy, very softly grinding down on his thigh with the excuse of adjusting yourself, you were really trying to cut him so much slack. It wasn’t his fault that you showed up unannounced in his midterms week, you’ve just missed him so much, and you needed him so bad, but he really needed to get this done, so you took deep breaths, and settled on sitting down on the cushioned booth, your thighs over Peter’s, leaning against him in a way that wasn’t too constricting, and your fingers playing with the very short hair at the back of his head, placing the softest kiss every other minute along his jaw, or neck, or face. 

Peter was trying to be grateful you were being understandingly loving, and tried to concentrate on studying, with your warm thighs over his, your arm around him, your hands on him, the combined natural scent you had, the smell of your growing slick, and your perfume, clouding him, he was really trying, but he was also excruciatingly hard. 

“Wanna see something?” Peter asked, a little fed up.

“Uh… sure, yeah,” You let him grab your hand and a little forcefully drag you into the book shelves, going through one after the other, until you were at a dark little corner, dust settled in a full collection of Jane Austen, the first, united edition, you were in between probably the only two shelfs of classic literature in this multiple story library. 

“Oh my god… how old are these copies? Is this what you wan-” He turned you around and shoved you against the shelves, kissing you with a sickening hunger, so different from the softer initial kiss you had shared, “You are… the only person… here… that gives… a crap… about those…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, jerking, as he grinded against your inner thigh, your hands would usually pull at his hair, but right now you could only scratch his scalp, which he still very much enjoyed. 

“Hmm, baby please… please,” He whined in your ear, as he rutted against your thigh, and how could you deny him, your needy, frustrated boy, that missed you so very much. 

“Shh, yes… yes whatever you want Peter… shh,” You didn’t know what you were about to do, but you knew you had to be quiet, you whispered in his ear as you cradled his head, he picked one of your legs up, and his other hand went between your legs under your skirt, rubbing your clit through your panties, as he kissed your jaw and neck, he pushed the panties to the side, and massaging your bud, wanting you to get as wet as possible, his mouth on yours, swallowing any moans that were a little too loud. 

Effortlessly, he lifted you up wrapping your legs around his torso, hands on his neck and shoulders, as he freed himself, giving a couple jerks before aligning his member to you, biting your sweater to prevent him from crying out, one of his hands went under your sweater, massaging your breast as he kissed your neck and whispered sweet nothings to you, perfectly still, letting you start to rock against him if you needed it.

“I love you so much baby, I’ve missed you so much,” Peter had dreamed for weeks of seeing you again, he’d figure you’d come visit, you’d never stay at a frat house, so of course you'd book the nearest lush hotel you could find, and he’d make love to you all night long, in a fresh big bed, he’d imagine that, and other scenarios very similar to that, sometimes he just asked for you to send him a voice note of your day and that along with the polaroids you had sneaked into his bag with a couple of your panties would be enough for him to satisfy himself in these two months he’s been in Boston. Never would’ve he imagined this scene, where he grabbed the shelves, fingertips and nail beds white as he started to drill into you, breathing hard, slam after slam, leaving you to do nothing but take it, as you clung to him, face on his neck, letting out the smallest of whimpers, that just fueled him to pistol even harder into you.

You felt everything, how his length reached the deepest inner most part of you, stimulating the nerve endings, making you feel the tingles all the way to your chest, his pelvis, lined with hairs not as kept as usual due to the lack of need, rubbing you with every thrust, his desperation and way he fucked you, like he’d die if he didn’t feel the walls of your pussy around him right this moment, feel how they clench around him when he makes you come, theres nothing he wanted more, but you were absolutely cockdumb, no words, no actions, no will in your body, you just felt your pussy and how it was being fucked raw.

He bit down harder on the sweater to stop himself from moaning and grunting in this library as he stilled inside you, very deep withing you, feeling how his warm spend pumped inside you, like gasoline, fuelling your quiet mewls, even more when he rubbed you until you came so he’d feel that perfect extra pressure as he finished coming, almost as soon as him, leaving you both breathless, shaking, and frozen.

“Peter…what the fuck…” You leaned your forehead o his shoulder, breathing hard, baffled by what you just did. 

“I know… I know…fuck,” He breath out softly as he pulled away, making you whine, he put you back down and readjusted your underware, then pushed himself back in his pants, “fuck, I’m sorry, I-I ju-”

“Shh, it’s okay…” You ran fingers through your hair, trying to re-adjust yourself, starting to feel soaked from your combined spends, knowing there was no way you could just go back and sit down to keep studying.

“I’m gonna go back to my hotel… you should finish studying and you can come by later… yeah?” You cupped his face placing a soft kiss on his mouth and cheek, he nodded, wanting to be around you, but knowing he needed to finish this. 

“Okay… yeah, I’ll just finish with the guide,” He said, but made no effort to move. 

“I love you, I’ll see you later, Pete,” You kissed his cheek, pushing him away gently to walk him back to his table. 

“Yeah, I love you too,”

[tea-writes19]

besties | p.p.

pairing: peter parker x f!stark!reader

summary: your friendship with your dad’s intern turns into something more

warnings: friends to lovers, swearing, these bitches being oblivious, comedy, dad tony, mentions of past affairs, suggestive content, fluff galore, slow burn, underage drinking

a/n: i’m not usually a peter girlie as i love him and mj together but i wanted to write some fluff so here we are. also i’m laughing at petey’s intials. set post endgame but tony lives and steve doesn’t go back in time. nat’s still dead tho :(

liked by peterparker, nedleeds, tonystark, and others

yourusername: your fave upstate & queens duo

tagged: @/peterparker

view comments below

user1: MY FAVES

user2: imagine being friends w/ the y/n stark😩

user3: THIS

nedleeds: can’t believe y’all got food without me…

peterparker: sorry!

yourusername: no we’re not

peterparker: never getting in a car with you driving AGAIN

yourusername: IT WAS ONE CURB

user4: like father like daughter😭

user5: omg😂

tonystark: how many people from queens do you even know?

yourusername: that doesn’t matter

peterparker: they hate when we serve orphan & nepo baby

yourusername: 🗣️🗣️

user6: not the dead parents—

user7: i bet peter is the funniest person alive😭

user8: bro’s got trauma for days😭😭

pepperpotts: so this is why it took you two 6 hours to get the olive oil i asked for…

yourusername: should’ve sent happy🤷🏻‍♀️

jamesrhodes: you act like y/n doesn’t have tony’s horrible time management skills

pepperpotts: and peter?

jamesrhodes: spends too much time with tony and y/n

user9: god i want to live in nyc so bad

user10: pov: you saw y/n stark hit a curb today

liked by nedleeds, yourusername, mjjones, and others

peterparker: lab days🛠️🥽

tagged: @/tonystark

view comments below

yourusername: YOU GOT FIVE GUYS WITHOUT ME?!??

peterparker: BLAME YOUR DAD!! IT WAS HIS IDEA

tonystark: that was supposed to stay between us kid😑

user11: is that a new iron man model i see👀

peterparker: nope, just fixing rhodey’s suit :)

yourusername: surprised uncle rhodes is letting you touch that old thing

jamesrhodes: HEY! the war machine suit works fine just the way it is

yourusername: clearly not if it had to be fixed…

user11: oh god what have i started🫣

user12: five guys👨‍🍳🤌

user13: looks so fun!

nedleeds: man you HAVE got to convince mr. stark to let me come with someday

tonystark: not happening hacker

nedleeds: 😔

mjjones: THIS was more important than acdec?

peterparker: YOU DON’T JUST SAY NO TO TONY STARK MJ!!!!

yourusername: i do all the time🤨

user14: 😭😭

user15: love how peter is just friends with all the starks

user16: i’m pretty sure he’s tony’s personal intern

user17: ^^^

user18: oh my god i thought he was another bastard from tony’s playboy days😭

user19: lmao nooooo

user20: tbf i forget y/n isn’t pepper’s kid sometimes soooo….

liked by nedleeds, mjjones, peterparker, and others

yourusername: a happy meal is the only true serotonin one needs in life

tagged: @/peterparker @/nedleeds

view comments below

tonystark: what am i? chopped liver?

yourusername: yes

tonystark: ouch

user21: imagine calling tony stark chopped liver😭

nedleeds: i’m pretty sure we broke the airplane wheel

yourusername: shhhh…don’t let ronald hear you

peterparker: thanks for the nightmare fuel tn

yourusername: anytime🫡

user22: happy meals >>>

user23: mcds cokes >>>

yourusername: ronald mcdonald🥵

user24: one of these is not like the others…

user25: LMAO NOT RONALD MCDONALD😭😭

peterparker: i’m just glad we took the subway this time

yourusername: WOW

yourusername: AND TO THINK WE WERE BFFS

peterparker: I’M SORRY I DON’T WANT TO DIE YOUNG

tonystark: that is the most bullshit response i’ve ever heard from you

user26: this comment section is so unhinged😭😭

user27: lol what’d you expect??? it’s the starks

tonystark: morgan would like a happy meal

yourusername: we all know that’s just the excuse for you to get one too but that’s ok

liked by tonystark, yourusername, steverogers, and others

pepperpotts: cozy day with the family🤍

tagged: @/tonystark @/yourusername

view comments below

user28: you guys are so cute!

yourusername: i would like everyone to know that dad pushed me into the pond after that pic was taken

user29: omg noooo😭😭

peterparker: did you save your drink at least?

yourusername: obviously…i’m not a monster pete

user30: i’m crying at the thought of tony stark pushing his daughter into a pond😭😭

user31: ^^^

tonystark: this is defamation

steverogers: glad to see you guys doing well pep!

pepperpotts: you should come over for dinner sometime soon!!

tonystark: please leave the 2 assholes that follow you around at home thanks

pepperpotts: TONY

yourusername: bring them for the bit

samwilson: i’m going to get morgan the loudest fucking toy for christmas now

user32: this thread is a mess😭😭

user33: it’s so weird to see y/n without peter lol

user34: lol frfr

user35: i’m kinda starting to ship them ngl

user36: omg yes!!

user37: you guys can never let a boy and girl just be friends😒

tonystark: my arms are so tired from pushing morgan in that swing all day

yourusername: sounds like a skill issue

peterparker: ^^^

tonystark: i’d like to see you two single-handedly save new york from an impending nuke

user38: 😭😭😭

jamesrhodes: looks like a perfect day for the stanks!

tonystark: you’re never letting that go are you

jamesrhodes: nope!

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: when the trip makes it out of the family group chat >>>]

story replies

peterparker: can’t wait!!!

yourusername: i am so beating you to the best room

user39: i just know the pics are abt to be fire🔥🔥

user40: where are you going?

mjjones: i’m expecting a real life nemo

yourusername: 🫡🫡

liked by peterparker, pepperpotts, mjjones, and others

yourusername: us virgin islands? this american def ain’t a virg—

tagged: @/peterparker @/tonystark @/pepperpotts

view comments below

user41: HELLO?!?

user42: GIRL WHAT!?

peterparker: ain’t nothin’ virgin abt this isla—

yourusername: 🏝️= 👉👌

user43: WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?!

user44: YOUR PARENTS FOLLOW YOU Y/N

mjjones: the island after y’all left: 🤰

yourusername: MJ I’M SCREAMING😭😭

nedleeds: so was the isla—i’m gonna stop

user45: 😭😭

tonystark: sometimes i think i asexually reproduced you like a plant

yourusername: surprised you didn’t clone yourself in a lab or smth

jamesrhodes: don’t give him ideas

user46: i’m freaking out over the caption

user47: no fr…

user48: AND PETER’S COMMENT

user49: 🎶i think they did it but i just can’t prove it🎶

steverogers: there’s definitely an innuendo in here somewhere but i’m just going to pretend i’m blind and go

yourusername: good choice

user50: CAPTAIN AMERICA SIR—

user51: mom come pick me up i’m scared

liked by yourusername, nedleeds, tonystark, and others

peterparker: i have sand in my ass

tagged: @/yourusername @/tonystark @/pepperpotts

view comments below

user52: love how peter was invited on the family vacation

user53: he really is just part of the fam

user54: so convinced he and y/n are dating

user55: god i hope so

nedleeds: simp

peterparker: damn right - y/n

user56: not y/n stealing peter’s phone to comment this

user57: simp you say👀

yourusername: damn who that hottie in slide 2?

peterparker: you boo😘 - y/n

yourusername: aww thanks boo🥰

user58: 😭😭

steverogers: and that’s enough instagram for me tonight

tonystark: i still don’t know what y’all were looking at

yourusername: your ego obviously🙄

user59: oh to go on a hike with tony stark

user60: oh to be dating y/n stark

user61: they never said they’re dating…

user62: shhh let us be delusional🤫

liked by pepperpotts, jamesrhodes, yourusername, and others

tonystark: the difference between morgan and y/n on vacation…

tagged: @/pepperpotts @/yourusername

view comments below

user63: omg😭😭

user64: y/n is such a mood

peterparker: morgan is a menace at go karts

yourusername: she plays too much mario kart fr

jamesrhodes: when one gets pepper’s genes and the other yours…

yourusername: i can’t believe you’ve done this

tonystark: oh but tis has

user65: i wanna say i’m morgan but in reality i’m y/n

user66: thisssss

user67: same😭

pepperpotts: to be fair y/n was hungover in the second pic…

yourusername: the porcelain gods did not grant mercy on me😔

liked by tonystark, peterparker, steverogers, and others

pepperpotts: great vacation with even greater company💕💕

tagged: @/tonystark @/yourusername @/peterparker

view comments below

peterparker: thank you for the invitation mrs. potts

user68: stop he’s too cute

user69: peter you’re adorable

user70: what a wonderful time to spend with family!

tonystark: i love you mrs. potts

pepperpotts: i love you mr. stark

yourusername: 😖🤮

jamesrhodes: glad to see tony still somehow manages to end up in the er on every trip

tonystark: i have a world record to hold up😤

user71: lmao😭

yourusername: i’m still full from that feast

peterparker: none of my pants fit after that salmon😩

user72: LOVE🤍🤍

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: 🌟🌊]

story replies

peterparker: you really are the best

yourusername: you too pete💞

user73: holy shit holy shit holy—

user74: omg i’m so happy for you

steverogers: so did you two…fondue?

yourusername: OH MY GOD

liked by yourusername, mjjones, nedleeds, and others

peterparker: another post bc we leave tmrw

tagged: @/yourusername @/tonystark

view comments below

yourusername: gonna miss sneaking out…

tonystark: oh please you do that back home too

yourusername: it’s not the same🙄

nedleeds: can’t wait to see you man!!

peterparker: so ready for our mandalorian marathon!

mjjones: nerds

yourusername: ^^^

user75: lmao tony😭😭

user76: he’s keeping an eye out for selener

user75: STOP😭

tonystark: andddd you’re grounded from the lab for that pic

peterparker: awww man😔

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: when he cares abt school🤭🫠]

story replies

peterparker: you were just making fun of me for studying🤨

yourusername: semantics

user77: automatically makes a guy hotter

yourusername: hear hear🗣️

mjjones: that better be acdec work…

liked by mjjones, peterparker, tonystark, and others

yourusername: here’s the hard launch for you bitches

tagged: @/peterparker

view comments below

user78: OMG OMG OMG—

user79: I CALLED IT

peterparker: so happy to call you mine🫶🏻

yourusername: 😘

mjjones: abt damn time…

nedleeds: ^^^

tonystark: ^^^

jamesrhodes: ^^^

pepperpotts: ^^^

steverogers: ^^^

samwilson: ^^^

happyhogan: ^^^

yourusername: damn ok then

tonystark: keep the door open

tonystark: and don’t even THINK about fonduing in my house

yourusername: PLEASE STOP

© tea-writes19 do not repost, translate, or copy

[yasministration]

want you to stay - peter parker

summary: peter is absolutely appalled when he sees you beginning to leave the party when his frat brother yells "if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, get out!" wc: 2.1k+ a/n: new au :))

It was getting late.

Not in the sense that you were tired, but you’d had your fun with your friends, all of whom were ready to leave, and the one person you were here to see kept on disappearing from your sight. You didn’t want to follow Peter around like a clingy situationship, so you focused on making the most of the party with the friends you had come with. But the boy dipped in and out of the house, switching between wrecking havoc with his friends and finding you inside.

Peter had stolen you away from your friends for a dance, pressing you up against him and moving his hips with yours. You had felt his smile against the skin of your neck, pressing the occasional kiss as you sang along to lyrics of the deafening music playing. You had spun in Peter’s hold, slinging your arms over his shoulders. Peter had leaned his head down, his nose brushing against yours, lips hovering over yours. Your breath had hitched then, and Peter had smiled widely, chuckling at your reaction, as though you’d never kissed before.

“Give me a kiss.” He had whispered, and you didn’t know how you heard him over all the noise in the house. Perhaps you had just read his lips and hoped he had said what you wanted to hear. But you pushed yourself up on your toes anyway and kissed him anyway. Peter’s hands came up to cup your cheeks, and just as you pulled tilted your head to deepen the passionate kiss, he had jumped away from you.

Blinking quickly, you took in the sight of one of Peter’s frat brothers, tightly clutching Peter’s shoulders. You hadn’t heard what he had said, but Peter had ducked his face down shyly, a hand trailing down to your waist as his friend continued speaking loudly to him. Peter tugged you closer to him, telling you “I’ll be back!” But he never returned.

Now, you were huddled with your friends in a corner, discussing the plans to return to one of your dorms and debrief the night. Luckily though, you didn’t have to discuss the situation any further, because suddenly, the music cut out and someone clambered on to a coffee table.

“Everybody listen up! If you’re not a brother, or fucking a brother, GET OUT!”

Your friends scoffed, and you could nearly hear the roll of their eyes. “Let’s go.” You told them, nodding towards the door. You took the hand offered to you, following the crowd out of the house. But as you approached the door, a hand curled around the wrist of your free arm, softly pulling to attract your attention.

Peter stood in the midst of the crowd, a confused look on his face. You felt your friends’s eyes on the two of you, exchanging glances behind your back. “Hey, where are you going?” Peter’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, the confusion clear on his face. Clearing your throat, you felt your face heat up at his question. Shrugging, you said “I don’t, we were just-“

“Didn’t you hear what he said?”

“I did, yeah. I just, I didn’t…”

Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other, removing his hand from around your wrist. He swallowed thickly, throat bobbing. “You don’t want to stay?” Your eyes widened as you realised what this looked like; you escaping his party with your friends and averting all his questions.

“No, I-I mean, do you want me to stay?” You hated yourself for how small you sounded — how you were clearly seeking his approval. Peter smiled, nodding assuredly. “Yeah, I do. I want you to stay.” It was impossible for you not to smile at his words, or to feel insecure anymore. Chewing on your bottle lip, you turned over to face your friends, all of whom were expectantly looking at you.

“Okay, have fun.” One of them said, leading the others outside and ditching you with your… Peter. “Come here.” He mumbled, extending an arm towards you. You pushed past the bodies around you until you were close enough for Peter to wrap a muscular arm around your shoulders. He led you towards the emptying living room, keeping his gaze on you. Peter paused in the hallway, looking past you and towards his frat brothers lounged on the couches.

“Do you want to come up to my room? Or stay down here a little?” Wrapping an arm around Peter’s waist, you followed his gaze, eyes widening as the men in the living room broke into another fit of loud laughter. “Can we go to your room?”

“Yeah, of course baby.” You felt your face heat up at the pet name, letting Peter guide you up the set of familiar stairs. His hands lingered on your waist until the door to his room was shut.

“Thank you for letting me stay.” You said, voice quiet as you sat down in Peter’s bed. Peter followed you, standing in front of you. He cupped your cheek, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I wouldn’t want you anywhere else.” You attempted to bow your head down to avoid his gaze, but Peter’s hand was slipping to your chin and pushing your head up. When your eyes met his, he smiled, and you couldn’t help the way your lips tugged upwards in response.

“Do you want to take off your makeup? Matt’s girlfriend basically lives here, so he should have some wipes or something.”

“I don’t want to be a bother.” Peter’s hand dropped from your face and he scoffed disapprovingly, instantly turning around and walking out of the room. He left the door wide open behind him, so you saw as he trotted down the stairs, his shoes padding loudly on the wooden floor. You tapped your fingers on the fabric of your skirt, knee beginning to bounce nervously. When Peter returned up the stairs, he was accompanied by someone – tall with a head of thick black hair. He wore a navy blue polo shirt, and guided Peter into the room directly facing the one you were sat in. Matt lingered in the doorway of his bedroom when Peter returned to his own room, carrying a bottle of micellar water and cotton pads.

Matt caught your eye, putting a hand up and waving animatedly. “Hi y/n.” He said, drawing your name out in a sing song voice. “Hi Matt.” Unlike the other frat brothers, you were a little familiar with Matt, who had met you the very first time you’d entered this house. It was against your free will that you had met, but retrospectively, you were thankful for the familiar face. Peter twisted his torso, frowning at his housemate, who travelled across the hallway in a few steps, leaning against the doorway of Peter’s room. “So…” He started, waggling his eyebrows as he nodded towards Peter.

“Matt, go away, she doesn’t feel like talking to anyone.”

“No, that makes me sound so rude, Peter!”

“No, it’s alright, we get it. We’ll all be here tomorrow morning anyway, if you want to meet the others. Or not the others, just Meg. She really wants to meet you.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be sure to say hi to Megan if I see her.”

“Oh, she’ll make sure you see her tomorrow.”

“Okay, Matt. That’s enough.” Matt rolled his eyes, slapping a hand on the top of the doorway before walking down the stairs. Peter closed the door gently, moving to sit next to you on the bed. “Is this okay?” He asked, presenting you the items in his hands. “It’s more than okay, Pete. Thank you.”

Peter watched silently as you rubbed the cotton pad across your face, makeup smearing on your face. He leaned forward, dragging the trash can from under his bedside table towards you. You dropped the used cotton pads in the bin, running a hand across your face when it was finally clean. It felt odd for some reason – being so domestic with Peter when you were usually in and out of his room after a hook up, or a date that had never been labeled as one. Standing up slowly, you wobbled on your feet, forgetting about the heels you wore. Peter’s hand shot out, steadying your waist. “I’m going to wash my face, if that’s okay.”

Peter nodded, standing up. He kept his eye on you as you walked into the hallway, entering the bathroom. He walked over to his closet to find you a hoodie and sweatpants. When you returned, face still mildly damp and eyes tired, Peter was quick to wrap you in his arms again. He smiled as you melted against him, cheek pressed against his chest. The touch was nice and warm, and had you leaning into his body. “You tired?”

“M’yeah.” Peter chuckled, chest bubbling against your face. He pulled away slightly, but your arms kept him close to you. “Come on, just to get changed then we can cuddle.”

Cuddle. You barely ever cuddled, unless you were watching a movie, which led to inevitable sex. Peter steered you out of your small top and bra, guiding your face into the hole of his hoodie, followed by your arms into the sleeves. You wiggled out of your skirt, shaking your head when Peter offered you his sweatpants. He chuckled, folding them again. “Do you want some water?”

“Yes please. God, I can already feel the headache coming.”

“You sobered up?”

“Yeah. I didn’t get drunk, I think it’s just the noise. How do you feel?”

“Yeah, good. I didn’t drink much either, so I feel sharp.”

You grinned, accepting the metal bottle of water Peter offered you. It had a capital 'P' on the front, and wasn’t completely full, but you took two big gulps from it anyway, then offered it to Peter. “Sharp? Senses acute, Mr. Parker?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.” His smile disappeared behind the rim of the water bottle, and he took a long sip, sighing loudly in satisfaction when he swallowed. You climbed into Peter’s bed, settling under the covers. Peter undressed from his jeans and t-shirt, leaving them in a pile on the floor before reaching for the sweatpants he had just folded. He followed you into the bed, hands finding the curve of your waist and pulling you flush against his bare chest.

“Thank you for staying.” He whispered. You smiled softly, pushing yourself up on the bed so you could press your lips against his. Peter’s eyes fluttered shut as he relaxed into the kiss, pressing himself harder against you. He stroked his fingers against your cheek as his legs tangled with your bare ones under the sheets.

“I’m happy I did.” You finally said, settling back down on the pillow. Peter sighed, breaking eye contact for a brief moment and opening his mouth, as though to say something, then closing it again. “What’s wrong?”

Peter’s gaze snapped back up, and his mouth dipped open again, though no words came out. He looked around, gathering his thoughts before finally saying “I’ve really been enjoying our time together.” You froze, eyes hardening as you pushed yourself to sit up, the cautious tone Peter was using sending you into a panic. Peter followed your movements, twiddling with his thumbs as he continued, “But I don’t- I think we could, I could enjoy it more if I really understood the nature of our relationship.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, scanning Peter’s posture. His shoulders were slightly hunched, nerves clouding his eyes as he gathered his thoughts. “Pete? I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“Would you like to be my girlfriend? Officially?”

“Oh!” Peter’s chest deflated at your quiet gasp, and he nodded, as though you’d already rejected him. You reached out to place a hand on his thigh, attracting his gaze back up to your face. “Peter, I’d love to.”

“You would?” Peter grinned widely, a relieved sigh leaving him as you nodded, shuffling closer to him on the bed. Peter licked his lips, cupping your cheeks and leaning forward to kiss you quickly. You giggled, launching yourself onto Peter to hug him, arms settling around his waist. Peter laughed, kissing the top of your head and he laid back down on the bed. The room was silent for a long moment, the two of you holding each other lovingly.

“Do you want me to turn off the lights?” He asked quietly, but you shook your head softly. “I’m not really tired anymore.”

“Oh... Do you want to kiss for a little bit?

“Yeah.”

taglist: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @bxuzi, @rory-cakes, @dlljdhsh, @aouoo, @fandomhoe101

[mugglebornmarvelite]

A Valentine’s Day to Remember

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader

Summary: On Valentine’s Day, your training session with Bucky is no different. He’s tough on you, but you appreciate his guidance. However, a little interruption leads to a sweet surprise later that evening. Based on this request!

Word Count: Roughly 1.6k

Warnings: Fluff, teasing, slight angst (so slight that it’s barely there), awkwardness, unspoken feelings, the reader's anxious thoughts, protective Bucky, training (it wasn’t that great, but I wanted to write it for some cute tension), comical violence, playful chaos (it’s the Avengers after all)

Author’s Note: Thank you for the request. I tweaked it a little bit in the hopes of making it sweet and funny. @jackys-stuff-blog

I’m back, so enjoy more Valentine’s Day content :)

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics 

The hum of the facility was peaceful, but the energy bouncing around inside you was anything but.

When you got out of bed, you glanced at the calendar. 

February 14th

You sighed and got ready to start your day.

You were still new to the team, only a few weeks into training with the Avengers. 

It was a potent mixture of excitement, fear, and joy wrapped in one.

You gave it your best shot, but every day, you felt like you fell just short of the bar set by the seasoned heroes around you. 

The Avengers were the best of the best, and sometimes it felt like they were trying to break you, push you past your limits, and then push some more. 

Bucky Barnes, in particular, was harder on you than anyone else. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but he cared. Not just because you were younger but because you were different. 

Sweet, shy, a little sunshine in a place that sometimes felt too dark.

You didn’t mind so much. You didn’t want to be perfect, but you wanted to prove to the team, especially Bucky, that you could hold your own. 

But training with Bucky means it’s going to be a long morning.

“Come on, kid,” Bucky said, his eyes locked on yours after you finished his warmups, which felt more like the entirety of a workout routine. “You can do better than that.”

“I am trying,” you said with a huff. 

You felt the weight of his gaze and had to resist the urge to fidget under it. His words made you feel small. You wanted to prove yourself to him. You wanted him to believe you could hold your own.

His lips twitched in a small, teasing smile. “You’ve gotta do better than that if you want to make it out there with the rest of us.”

You nodded and shifted your stance.

When his hand shot out to grab you, you reacted, trying to block, but he was faster. Bucky spun you around, twisting your arm behind your back. 

You grunted as you found your back pressed against his chest, his body flush against yours, his grip tightening around your wrist.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, his breath warm against your neck. 

“I… I wasn’t ready,” you stammered, embarrassed as you struggled to break free, but Bucky only chuckled.

“You never are,” he teased, his voice laced with amusement, “But you will be soon. Don’t worry, sunshine. I’ve got you.”

The warmth of his words seemed to melt the tension in your chest, but your heart still hammered in your ears, the proximity between you two making it hard to think straight. 

With a swift, practiced move, Bucky released you from his grip and pushed you lightly away. You stumbled back a few steps, regaining your footing. 

He was already readying himself for the next move, his steely blue eyes sharp again.

“Again,” he commanded, his voice firm but not unkind.

You nodded, trying to shake off the lingering heat from his touch, but it was impossible to ignore. You lunged at him, trying to catch him off guard.

He moved effortlessly, dodging your lunge. His flipped you flat on your back, and before you could react, Bucky was there, pinning you to the mat, his metal arm hovering over your chest.

He leaned down slightly, his face hovering just above yours. “You really need to work on your form,” he muttered.

You swallowed hard, heat flooding your cheeks. You could feel every inch of him above you.

“Not bad for someone like you,” Bucky said, his voice low, a hint of pride in his words. “But next time, try not to get flipped so easily.”

You chuckled nervously, still breathless beneath him. “Yeah… I’ll try,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended.

There was a strange kind of intimacy in the air, as the world had quieted around you. Your eyes locked for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

But before either of you could say anything, a voice from the doorway broke the moment.

“Am I interrupting something?” Wanda asked as she strolled into the room, watching the two of you with a knowing smile.

You scrambled to sit up, feeling the awkward tension in the air as Bucky stood and offered you a hand, which you gratefully accepted.

“We were just about to finish this sparring session,” Bucky muttered.

“Oh, a sparring session, huh?” Wanda smile. “I didn’t realize they was that intense.” She turned her gaze to you, the corners of her lips curling into a grin. “So, any plans after this? Maybe a last-minute date? There are a lot of nice places around here, you know.”

You shook your head, slightly flustered. “I’m just going to stay in tonight,” you said softly. “Maybe watch a movie.”

“Stay in?” Wanda’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “It’s Valentine’s day. How about a date with a guy your age, maybe?” She flashed Bucky a pointed, subtle look, just enough to make the air shift. “I could set up something.”

You didn’t catch it, but Bucky’s expression darkened almost instantly. He stepped forward, his jaw tightening, and shot Wanda a sharp look. “No, she said she’s not interested in a date. And you need to stop trying to push that on her.”

Wanda raised both hands, feigning innocence. “Alright, alright. Just trying to make sure the poor girl doesn’t miss out on anything.”

She turned and walked out of the room, but not before sending Bucky a lingering glance that left him looking slightly annoyed.

You, on the other hand, were oblivious to the exchange. You simply smiled at Bucky, trying to shake off the odd tension in the room.

“I’m sorry…” You trailed off, unsure of how to finish the thought.

Bucky sighed, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. “It’s not your fault.”

“I-,” you started softly, though you were unsure what had just happened. But before you could dwell on it, Bucky clapped you on the shoulder.

“You’re fine, sunshine.” Bucky smiled. “Let’s get back to it.”

The warmth of his words lingered in the air long after Wanda left, and you found yourself wishing that the conversation had gone a little differently. But it was hard to focus on that when Bucky’s quiet reassurance made you feel special in a way you hadn’t expected.

Later that evening, fresh out of a long, soothing shower and wrapped in pajamas, you were met with quiet as you made your way downstairs. 

For the most part, everyone was out celebrating the holiday of love. But your plans included stuffing your face and watching comedies on the giant flat-screen TV.

Your plans stopped when you found Peter sprawled out on the couch, grinning from ear to ear. He was holding up a large box.

"Hey! Got a delivery for you!" Peter announced, his voice practically singing.

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

He gave you a mischievous smirk. “Dunno, but it’s got your name on it.”

Taking the box from his hands, you carefully opened it. 

Inside was a beautiful bouquet of wild daisies, lavender, and sunflowers, as well as a massive box of chocolates, wrapped with a level of neatness that had to be intentional.

There was a card that said, “Hope this makes your day a little sweeter, sunshine.” No name, but you had a very good idea of who it was from.

Before you could even process it, a voice came from behind you.

“You look surprised.” Bucky’s voice cut through the silence. 

Turning around, you found him standing in the doorway.

“I didn’t…” you started, but your words trailed off. 

The fact that he had gone to all this trouble for you meant something, didn’t it?

Bucky closed the space between you with a few long strides, and before you could think of anything else, he wrapped you in a hug, pulling you close to his chest. “You deserve it,” he murmured, kissing your forehead softly. His voice was warm, like melted chocolate, making your heart swell.

Bucky gently pulled back, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Let’s watch a movie, yeah?” Bucky asked, his voice smooth, like he knew he was about to make everything even better.

You nodded, still reeling from the sweet surprise. The day had been a chaotic mess of training and tension, but Bucky's thoughtful gesture made it feel like it was all worth it.

As you settled onto the couch, Bucky’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you melted against his side.

The movie began, but honestly, you weren’t even paying attention. All you could focus on was how perfect this was until Peter suddenly released an exaggerated “Ahem!” trying to get a peek at what was happening between you two.

Before you could even laugh, Bucky, without missing a beat, grabbed a vase off the table and threw it straight at Peter’s head. 

Not to inflict too much bodily injury, but definitely enough to scatter him like a cockroach when the lights come on.

Peter’s spidey sense kicked in just in time, and he shot a web to the ceiling, narrowly avoiding the vase. “Okay, okay! I get it! I’m clearly not wanted! I’m going!” He scrambled upstairs.

You let out a soft laugh, and Bucky grumbled under his breath, but there was a slight curve to his lips as he glanced at you. His arm pulled you even closer, and just like that, everything was perfect again. 

Except for the vase, but that was just a minor detail.

“WHO BROKE MY FAVORITE VASE?”

Or, not so minor.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp @winchestert101 @thatesqcrush @bamitzzsam @grubler @peaches1958 @helen-2003 @ickearmn @Kimmie113080 @Xgbtmdmx @buckysbunnie @Shower-me-with-roses @pigeonmama @civilbucky @piinksdoll

If you'd like to be added to my taglist or just ask me, and I'll update it!

Much love x

- Maeve

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫*

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → SMUT!! 18+, mention of period, oral (f receiving), fingering, P in V, aftercare, Peter being a horny little shit, language, College AU

Summary → You're done with your period, after Peter found that out, he couldn't wait any longer.   

You lay in bed, scrolling mindlessly through social media, half-heartedly watching funny cat videos. A faint chuckle escaped your lips, but then suddenly a sudden realization hit you. The pads. Peter had dropped them off earlier before rushing out the door, claiming there was a robbery he had to stop. Sitting up, you grabbed the paper bag he left on your desk and peered inside.

You pulled the pack out, blinked at it, and immediately facepalmed. Extra long night pads with wings.

"Extra long night pads with wings," you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief. Peter always meant well, but his superhero life often left him a bit too distracted for the details. He probably grabbed the first thing he saw.

With a groan, you flopped back on your bed, grabbed your phone, and texted Peter.

You: Peter, I said non-winged pads.

It didn’t take long for him to reply, even though he was probably swinging through the city right now.

Spider-Baby: What did I get you?

You exhaled, already knowing the confusion that was about to unfold.

You: extra long night pads 🙂

The little dots popped up instantly, meaning Peter was scrambling to respond.

Spider-Baby: well, isn't it better? You'll be all secure, no leakage 😎

You let out an amused huff, shaking your head. Secure, no leakage? As if that was his primary concern. You could just imagine the innocent, clueless look on his face as he texted that.

You: babe, I’m on my 5th day, I don't really need them. It’s just for safety when I go out tomorrow.

There was a brief pause.

Spider-Baby: oh

There was a beat, and then:

Spider-Baby: wait.......

Your fingers hovered over the screen, knowing exactly where this conversation was going.

Spider-Baby: your period is done? 👀👀

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw your brain. Of course, that’s where his head was at.

You: I’m gonna lock my window.

Another buzz.

Spider-Baby: noooooo baby please, I didn't get anything for 5 days! Please please please, you said you were horny yesterday too, don't deny it!

You flopped back onto your pillow, laughing despite yourself. He sounded like a desperate kid who’d been grounded for a week.

You: Exasperated sigh

You typed the words with a grin on your face. Peter knew exactly how to get under your skin, but in the sweetest way possible. You knew you could say no and he’d back off, but a part of you enjoyed teasing him.

Spider-Baby: baby, come on, I’ve been patient. Sooo patient. You don't know the struggle. 😩

You rolled your eyes again, imagining him dramatically pacing on a rooftop, phone in hand, giving puppy eyes to the empty space.

You: okay, come over when you're done, you horny little spider.

The response was almost immediate.

Spider-Baby: YES! I love you, see you in a bit.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. This boy. Five days apparently felt like an eternity to him.

You: Love you too.

You tossed your phone to the side and stretched out on your bed, a grin still tugging at your lips. Peter acted like he'd been deprived of water in the desert, when really, it was just his hopeless obsession with you that made him this way. You glanced at the window, imagining him swinging through it in his suit later, all buzzing with energy and excitement.

Your mind drifted back to his response; 'sooo patient' and you snickered. Peter and patience didn’t exactly go hand in hand when it came to this. The irony was almost too much.

"He can’t even keep it in his pants for five days," you muttered, shaking your head. But deep down, you loved that part of him. The way he was so infatuated with you, how just the thought of your period ending had him all flustered and eager. He made you feel desired, loved, even if his approach was hilariously obvious.

Five-day prison sentence? To Peter, that’s exactly what it was.

--------

An hour later, you heard the familiar knock on your window. You sighed, already knowing who it was. Standing up, you unlocked the window and slid it open, watching as Peter crawled inside with his usual grace, his mask still on.

Peter pulled it off and pouted dramatically. “You said you wouldn’t lock it,” he whined, tossing the mask aside.

“I never said that,” you corrected, rolling your eyes. “You asked me not to lock it.”

Peter’s pout deepened, his big brown eyes widening in mock hurt. “Same thing!” He protested, making his way over to you, those puppy-dog eyes working their magic. No matter how hard you tried, you could never stay mad at him when he gave you that look.

“Uh-huh,” you muttered, still trying to keep up the act, but the smile on your face gave you away.

Peter took full advantage of that, his lips curling into a grin. “Okay... Sooo... Can I kiss you now?”

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you sighed dramatically but couldn’t help but smile. “Come here, you dork.”

Without missing a beat, Peter pressed the spider emblem on his chest, his suit loosening and pooling around his feet. He stepped out of it, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, nearly tripping over his eagerness, as he crawled onto the bed to hover over you.

His lips met yours in a desperate kiss filled with need and longing.

You could tell immediately just how desperate he was. The way his lips moved, his hands gripping your waist like he was holding on for dear life, it all screamed I’ve been waiting for this for five days.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck as he peppered kisses along your skin, trailing down to your collarbone.

You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head to give him better access. “You saw me this morning, Peter.”

“Yeah, but that was before you told me about the whole, you know...” His eyes flicked down between your bodies, clearly hinting at your period being over. The eager grin on his face was almost too much.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You really can’t go five days without touching me, can you?”

“Not when I’ve got the most beautiful girlfriend in the world,” he replied, his voice low and full of that familiar lovesick tone. His hand rested on your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin. “I’ve been going crazy thinking about you all day.”

“Alright, alright. You big sap,” you teased, but your smile gave away how much you loved hearing those words from him.

Peter's hands slid under your shirt, his warm palms brushing against your skin as he slowly tugged the fabric up and over your head. Without missing a beat, he unclasped your bra with practiced ease and tossed it aside. His lips found your nipple almost immediately, and you gasped as his mouth worked over your sensitive skin, his tongue flicking teasingly.

"Peter..." you breathed, but he was already lost in his own world, lavishing your chest with attention as if he hadn’t seen you in weeks. One of his hands massaged your other breast, his thumb circling the soft skin while his lips alternated between each side.

"I missed these," he muttered between kisses, moving from one breast to the other. "Your boobs are perfect. I could do this all day."

You let out a soft laugh. "You're such a boob guy."

"Can't help it," Peter mumbled, his voice muffled as he nuzzled against your chest. "They're so soft..." He trailed kisses down your neck and over the swell of your breasts, making you arch into him, a breathless moan escaping your lips.

Peter’s kisses began to trail lower, leaving a wet path down your stomach. He made quick work of your shorts, tugging them off and tossing them to the side, revealing your panties, already damp with arousal. His lips hovered teasingly over your clothed core, his breath hot against the wet fabric.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice husky and full of desire. “You're already so wet.”

You groaned in embarrassment, your cheeks flushing. “Shut up.”

Peter smirked, pressing his finger over the wet patch on your panties, teasing you with just enough pressure to make you squirm. Slowly, he peeled the panties down your legs, kissing your thighs as he went, drawing out every second. You bit your lip, your breath quickening as the anticipation built.

“Peter…” you whispered, fingers tangling in his messy hair.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you squirmed beneath his touch. "What is it, babe? You sound so... needy."

You let out a frustrated groan. "You're literally the worst. Quit teasing me."

"But I love teasing you. Your little sounds are adorable," he teased, his lips hovering dangerously close to where you wanted him but never quite giving in.

You glared down at him. "Peter, if you don’t stop playing around, I’m gonna ban you from sex."

That got him moving. "Alright, alright. No more teasing." With a mischievous grin, he finally leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your core. A gasp escaped your lips, your back arching slightly at the sensation.

“There we go,” Peter muttered, glancing up at you with dark, mischievous eyes. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for.”

His lips moved exactly where you needed him the most, and you let out a soft moan as his tongue expertly worked over your most sensitive spot. Your hips bucked involuntarily as the pleasure began to build, and you could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation.

After a few moments, Peter added his fingers, slipping one inside you while his mouth focused on your clit. You gasped at the sensation, your back arching off the bed as he slowly added another finger, curling them just right to hit that perfect spot inside you.

Your body trembled beneath him, the pleasure building quickly as he continued his relentless assault on your senses. Every flick of his tongue against your clit sent sparks of ecstasy shooting through you, making your thighs tremble and your grip on the sheets tighten.

“Peter… oh my God,” you gasped, your hips bucking slightly against his face. He was always so good at this, too good, really. He knew exactly what you liked, how to push you right to the edge but never let you fall until he wanted you to.

His free hand reached up, gently squeezing your breast while his mouth and fingers worked their magic below. The combination of his fingers curling inside you, his tongue flicking against your clit, and the way his other hand toyed with your sensitive nipple was almost too much. You were so close.

Peter’s gaze flicked up to you, and even though his mouth was still busy, you could see that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. He loved watching you come undone for him. Soon enough you were clenching around his fingers, your legs trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re so close, aren’t you?” He mumbled between kisses against your inner thigh, pausing just long enough to speak before diving right back in.

You could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence, but you managed to choke out, “Y-yes… oh, fuck, yes.” His fingers pumped faster inside you, curling just right to hit that sweet spot that made you see stars.

The pressure in your core tightened with every stroke of his fingers and every flick of his tongue. “Peter, I—” Your voice broke off into a moan as the pleasure became overwhelming, your whole body shaking.

“Come on, baby,” Peter urged softly, his voice muffled against you. “I want to hear you.”

With one final flick of his tongue, your body tensed, and the wave of pleasure crashed over you. You cried out, gripping the sheets even tighter as you came hard, your entire body trembling as Peter guided you through your orgasm.

“I missed this. Missed the way you taste, the way you sound… You’re perfect,” he whispered, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

He didn’t stop until you were a panting, quivering mess beneath him, only pulling away when your breathing began to slow. Even then, he pressed soft kisses to your inner thighs, soothing you as you came down from your high.

His lips brushing softly over your clit one last time before he moved up, kissing you softly. You could still taste yourself on him, but it only made the kiss more intimate. “God, I love you,” Peter whispered, his face hovered over yours. His brown eyes were full of adoration, his lips swollen and red.

When he finally pulled back, you watched as he stood and slid off his boxers, your eyes immediately drawn to his hard length.

You always loved admiring him like this, vulnerable, exposed, and completely yours. He was beautiful, every part of him. Peter noticed you staring, his face turning red as he mumbled, "Stop staring."

You grinned, unable to help yourself. "Can't help it, you're hot."

His blush deepened, but he didn’t say anything else as he reached over to your bedside table, pulling out a condom. You watched as he rolled it on, his eyes dark and full of hunger when he looked back at you. He hovered over you again, his body aligning with yours as he kissed you deeply. Then, without further delay, he pushed in, and both of you let out a moan at the sensation.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight," Peter groaned, his forehead resting against yours as he slowly began to move. You could feel every inch of him stretching you, filling you completely.

You gasped, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. "I missed you," Peter whispered breathlessly, feeling the familiar heat between your legs intensify with every thrust.

"It was only five days, Peter," you teased, though your voice was shaky, betraying how much you really had missed him too.

"Felt like five years," he panted, his pace quickening as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

Peter's movements became more urgent as he buried his face deeper into your neck, his breath coming in hot, uneven puffs against your skin. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making it hard to think about anything else. Your nails dug into his back, leaving little crescent-shaped marks on his skin, but he didn’t mind. In fact, it seemed to spur him on, his pace quickening as he angled his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you.

"Fuck, I love you," he muttered against your neck, his lips grazing your skin with each word. His voice was low, rough, filled with so much need that it made your heart skip a beat.

"I love you too," you managed to gasp out between breaths, your body arching into his, chasing every ounce of friction you could get.

Peter pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his eyes clouded with lust but still full of that familiar adoration. "You're perfect," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss before he picked up the pace again, his hips snapping harder against you.

“Peter…” you gasped, your nails raking lightly down his back as you felt yourself nearing the edge again.

“You feel so good,” he panted, voice thick with emotion.

You could feel that tight knot in your core winding tighter with every thrust. Peter could sense it too, his breathing becoming more erratic as he pushed you both closer to the edge.

"Come for me," he groaned, his voice husky in your ear as he kissed your jawline, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit in quick, circular motions. The added sensation sent you spiraling, your body tensing as your orgasm washed over you. You moaned his name, your legs trembling as waves of pleasure crashed through you.

Peter followed right after, groaning into your neck as he buried himself deep inside you, his thrusts becoming erratic before he finally stilled, his entire body tensing as he reached his peak. His breathing was ragged, his body heavy on top of yours as he rode out the last of his pleasure.

For a few moments, neither of you moved, both of you too caught up in the afterglow to care about anything else. Peter eventually pulled out, discarding the condom before collapsing beside you, pulling you close to his chest.

“Sorry for the whole pad mix-up earlier,” Peter murmured with a soft chuckle, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

You laughed, snuggling closer to him. “It’s okay. You more than made up for it.”

Peter grinned, “Good. Because I really do love you. And I promise I’ll get the right ones next time.”

He tilted his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You good?”

“More than good,” you replied with a sleepy smile, your body still tingling from the intensity of it all. You let out a content sigh, “You're such a dork.”

“Yeah, but I'm your dork,” he teased, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly.

After a moment, Peter got up and headed to the bathroom. You lay there, still catching your breath as the aftershocks of pleasure tingled through your body. When he returned, he had a warm towel in hand, his eyes soft as he knelt beside you.

“Let me take care of you,” he said softly, parting your legs carefully. You shivered at his touch, feeling the warmth of his affection envelop you.

"You're still sensitive," he whispered, kissing your thighs as he gently cleaned you up. His touch was tender, almost reverent, and you let out a soft sigh, feeling a bit of that sensitivity linger.

“You should go pee,” Peter reminded you softly, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke.

“In a minute,” you said lazily, still too blissed out to move right away. But Peter wasn’t having it.

“Come on, you don’t wanna get infected,” he urged, giving you that playful yet concerned look.

With a groan, you finally pushed yourself up and went to the bathroom, freshening up before crawling back into bed beside him. Peter immediately pulled you into his arms, both of you still naked and cozy under the blankets. His body was warm, and you felt his fingers tracing light patterns on your back.

It didn’t take long for you to start teasing him. "You really couldn’t wait five days, could you?" You said with a grin, poking his chest. "You’re such a horny little spider."

Peter whined like a child, burying his face in the pillow. “It was torture, babe. Five whole days,” he complained dramatically, his voice muffled by the pillow.

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “You act like you were starved or something.”

“I was starved,” Peter insisted, peeking out from the pillow to pout at you. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to not touch you? To not be in you? I was dying, Y/n.”

You couldn't help but laugh harder at his theatrics. “You’re adorable.”

“You love me,” Peter grinned, pulling you closer until your bodies were completely tangled together under the blanket. His hand drifted down to your waist, and he squeezed you gently. “Admit it, you missed me too.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment before nodding. “Maybe just a little,” you teased, but the smile on your face gave you away.

Peter's grin widened as he leaned in to kiss you softly. "I can work with that ."

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗