#spiderman drabble

[snowluvvie]

Chocolate lava cake with Peter Parker!!!! Any letter (or all if ur feeling kind) I need this please please please thank you

You need to pick a letter next time but I love Peter so I picked three I wanted :)

₊˚⊹ ♡ . NSFW ALPHABET (D, S, Y) w/ PETER PARKER

₊˚⊹ ♡ . MDNI 18+. warnings — fem!reader, voyeurism, peter being a perv and a peeping tom, m. masturbation, overstimulation, crying, oral (m. and f. receiving), p in v

D is for DIRTY SECRET — pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of his

That little perv has swung by your window countless times, usually just under the guise of “checking in on you” or “making sure everything’s alright” because he is the neighborhood hero, of course—and you do live in the neighborhood, right? You were always going about your normal day-to-day when he saw you, brushing your teeth, typing on your laptop in the living room, rushing to put your shoes on because you were late to go somewhere. Those moments made him like you more and more, seeing you just be.

That is, until that one time he caught you changing. It seemed like he’d swung past the very moment your bra had fallen to the ground. He was a gentleman, averted his eyes and left… after a minute… or two. After you were fully dressed again. (Fine. Peter watched you change.) Poor guy (pervert) was rock hard the whole rest of his patrol, swinging around the city with a massive bulge in the front of his suit. Thank god he didn’t end up having to stop any crime—that would’ve been awkward (deserved.) The sight of your tits is the only thing that filled his head when he was strangling his own dick for the next… month? No, much longer. Until the next time he saw you like that.

S is for STAMINA — how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?

Super-stamina… self explanatory, no? (I’m gonna explain anyway.) Sometimes it seems like Peter can go forever, as long as you’ll let him—and sometimes he lasts too long, focuses too intensely how good you feel when he’s rutting into you, closes his eyes and just gets completely lost in it. He’ll go until you’re both dripping with sweat, the sheets soaked through, and you’re struggling to come down from your third orgasm, shaking and spasming and whining, but he just doesn’t let up. It takes you saying his name in a choked sob: “Peter,” for him to finally open his eyes and look down at you, all disheveled underneath him, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes—for him to come back to reality and with a long, breathy moan, he finally cums at the sight of you. And if we’re being honest, he would’ve gone longer if you hadn’t been desperately exhausted and fucked out.

Y is for YEARNING — how high is his sex drive?

Quite literally wants you—needs you—all the time, but he can be reserved about it, especially in the beginning.

When he swings by your place after a patrol late at night, desperately wanting to let off some steam, he doesn’t want to say anything about it. You’ll have a perfectly nice night until you notice the way Peter’s jaw has been set all funny while you’ve been walking around in your cute little PJs, nipples perked up from the cold air. He doesn’t wanna “ruin a wholesome night,” but you saw the look on his face at least twenty minutes ago, and have been pushing your chest out ever since then. When he finally admits he’s tense, and you suck him off to help him relax, he insists on returning the favor. He feels bad receiving without giving back—so every time you swallow his cum, you find yourself halfway off the edge of the bed with his head buried between your legs.

The longer you’re together, the more confident he feels just snatching you up so the two of you can run away, giggling and making out, to your bedroom or some other private corner of whatever you are, so he can release tension by bouncing you on his cock. He’s so strong, you don’t find yourself having to do any of the work when you don’t want to. Peter will fuck you senseless, and then kiss you long and sweet and tell you: “Thanks :)” with that grin and glint in his eye, like you did him a favor. All you can do is nod numbly in response, still dazed.

[thefearedashantis]

Use Your Words

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter isn’t listening

Warning: None

'Do you still love me?'

The question clangs painfully against the back of your clenched teeth when Peter mumbles ‘mhmm?’ for the fifth time throughout your story. The sudden urge to question his affections almost unbearable as you stand off to the side of his desk, still sweaty and in your outside shoes having been in a rush to tell him about your day. Heart leaping with joy over the compliment you’d received from a classmate in your poetry workshop.

“And then he bent me over and fucked me on the profs desk while everyone watched”

“Mhmm”

At least Ned and MJ were listening where they lounged about the room, albeit rosy in the cheeks. They encourage you to continue as if any of this could be remotely true.

“In fact, he asked me when we’d be able to make sweet love again.”

“Mhmm”

“Figured I could pencil a date in for next week seeing as I’ll probably be single by then”

“Yeah? That’s great junebug.”

Peter has not once lifted his gaze away from his laptop. The light of the screen reflecting off his glasses, casting a soft blue haze over his features.

Your two friends sensing the oncoming argument scuttle off silently to the kitchen with the excuse of wanting snacks.

“Petey?”

“Yes my love?”

“You know, if you want to break up all you have to do is say so.”

“Mhmm.”

You’re halfway to the door when his brows pinch inward. Shaking his head quickly, Peter struggles to rewind the conversation in between a slew of agonizingly complicated equations. His brain chugging along much slower than he’d like, than he's used to.

“Wait what?”

“I think I'll head home for the day, see you later," you mumble. You had some lectures to catch up with anyway.

He finally breaks away from the device, lowering the lid slightly “Wait bug what did you say?"

“Nothing.”

“No, you said something. Repeat it for me"

“I shouldn’t have to repeat it. You should have heard it the first time.” You spit over your shoulder, reaching for the doorknob.

Peters up, trailing behind you on long legs “Now hold on a minute, that's not fair.”

“And I wouldn’t be so bothered if this was a once in a while thing, but it's becoming an everytime thing! I come back after a good day or even a bad one, and I try telling you about it, and you sit there more focused on the performance of listening than actually listening." And what a performance it was. Leaning in, nodding with the occasional smile or eye contact or frown or gasp or laugh. All without actually having heard a word you said.

You listened to any and everything he had to share with enthusiasm and even questions to follow.

“That’s not true! I was listening.”

You cross your arms over your chest with a sceptical tic in your jaw “Ok, then what did my classmate say about my poetry?”

Peter stops in his tracks “um”

“quickly.”

“He said it was lovely?” You had used the word lovely in your story, but the questioning pitch of his voice has you fleeing all the same. He didn't know for sure if that was what you said.

Your fingers have just wrapped around the cool metal of the knob when all of a sudden your wrist is pinned to the door by a sticky white substance. A beat of silence resonates through the room before you're whirling on your boyfriend with twice as much annoyance as before.

“You did not just web me!” You yell

“Everything's happening too fast!” Peter wails, arm still extended from trapping you, pupils wide.

“Well allow me to excuse myself while the boy genius catches up,” you say, going for your keys. You'd use them to saw your way free, no matter how long it took. But as soon as you wiggle them free from your pocket, another web shoots out and sticks your free arm to the other side of the door. The keys clank uselessly to the ground. “Stop doing that!”

“Stop trying to leave!”

“If I don’t go now ill be late for my date with someone who actually cares about what I have to say!”

“I do care about what you have to say!" The wet rasp of his confession immediately extinguishs your anger. With a predatory focus, you hone in on the abrupt glossy sheen of his eyes, the rosy tint creeping up his neck. The way he starts to shift his weight from foot to foot, rubbing his plams against the abrasive material of his jeans. His lips tremble, pale with the force of his trying to keep them still. "I-" He chokes. Stops. Gaze snapping up to the ceiling before running to you. Working his jaw back and forth as if the words are fighting him, refusing to be spoken, "I've just been really fumbling with the whole juggling school and spidermanning lately.”

The sentence seems to zap what little energy he has. He stumbles in what you assume to be relief, to sit down on his bed. Removing his glasses, he tosses them without care, pressing his knuckles into his eyes and scrubbing at them cruely “…’m tired”

You watch in silence as Peter closes in on himself. He uses his hands to muffle his sniffles, but in doing so, allows a few salty drops to escape and slip along the slope of his nose. Falling from the tip, a row of tiny dark splots begins to form on his shirt. His tears only drip faster as the minutes tick by. His chest stuttering erratically with the task of inhaling and exhaling.

It makes you feel shitty but you don't try to comfort him.

You remain still and quiet as to not disturb the moment in fear that if Peter remembers you're there, he'll attempt to compose himself when all he really needs is to let it out.

When he's cried himself dry, you probe lightly “are you eyes hurting you again?”

He doesn't raise his head. You're faced with knots and tangles of brown “mhmm.”

“words please parker.”

“So much” he gasps, seemingly renewed with sorrow.

This is the boy, you realize, the one Aunt May has told you about amongst the shadows and hush of night. When you sleep over on weekends and wake up longing for a cold glass of water, slipping from bed a little while before dawn only to find her already up, never having actually gone to bed.

The boy who tries to shield his gentle soul behind humour and smarts. Who often takes on much more than he can handle to satisfy others, and is content to crush himself beneath the weight of responsibility if only to let one more person rest easy that day. The one who yearns to please above all else.

Peter often suffers from aches and pains, comes with the territory, but his facial discomfort has been a persistent problem of late. A deep soreness in his cheekbones, temples, behind his eyes, that no pain killer seemed to relieve.

“temple massage?”

“Please?”

With a final sniffle, Peters back on his feet. Swaying over, he makes quick work of freeing you. Pressing shy kisses of apology to your wrists.

No longer having it in you to be upset, you swat him back towards the bed, getting comfortable in your usual postions. Your back propped up on the pillows, Peter sprawled across your lap, face plastered against your tummy. His arms loop around your thighs, fingers playing with the stiching on your pants.

Retrieving the oil and comb from his sidetable, you set to work untangling his hair before you get to the real job of massaging his scalp and temples. A repetitive activity that allows you both time to think about what you've been truly wanting to say.

“You make me feel so invisible sometimes." You start. Peters' hair is soft despite being so uncared for. You comb back his bangs, cupping his face gently and shifting it to look up at you "like it doesn’t matter if I’m here or not. I know you're a busy person, and i accept and love that part of you. But all i ask is five minutes where we act like I'm not some annoyance.”

Insecurity was something you'd fought tooth and nail to rid yourself of over the course of your relationship. Not only a genius but a superhero , being interested in a mere arts major certainly took a toll on the psyche. Sometimes, you caught yourself slipping back into not so nice thoughts and behaviours.

A flash of hurt strikes across Peters face. When he speaks, warmth puffs under the hem of your shirt “I’m sorry. I'm not doing it on purpose. I love having you around and hearing about your day. It's the most relaxing part of my own."

“That’s why you need to tell me when you’re feeling overwhelmed so I can support you in the way you need. I never want you to feel like that.” Like there's nobody in his corner paying attention to his needs.

You accept the apology and continue with your work of destressing your boyfriend. His eyes fall shut after a time and you think he's fallen asleep, familiar with post cry exhaustion when,

“He said you write with patience, giving every word the chance to be what it wants to be” Peter whispers.

“Now, was that before or after he stuck his tongue down my throat?”

“Bug” he groans, springing up. He playfully shoves you back with an exaggerated scowl. You roll to your side, giggling at your own antics. Peter closes in. Slotting a thigh between your legs to lay his body against yours, smothering you with his elevated temperature.

“Trick question! It wasn’t his tongue he stuck down my throat.”

Another howl of disgust rips free from Peter “I hate you!”

“liar!”

Divider: @sister-lucifer

[shaynawrites23]

🤭 of failing in the study aspect and so you won't be able to achieve your dream (this is so personal rn)

With Peter (parker of course) or Remus or Sirius. Whichever inspires you

You'll Succeed

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word count: 745

A/N: it's been really long since you requested this, im sorry 😅 if you still see this, i hope you enjoy!

When Peter came back from class, he expected to find things different from how he'd left them. He's been gone a couple hours, after all, and you'd assured him before he left that you'd finish up your work while he was away and take the rest of the day off, to give yourself a bit of a break after all your hard work. You'd even discussed dinner plans, and while he'd said time and time again that he'd cook, and that you just had to sit back and relax, you'd said something about getting it started, and he had to choose between bickering with you about it or being on time for class.

What he found upon coming home, though, was not what he'd hoped for. Surrounded by textbooks, papers and a half-full cup of tea, you're still busily typing away on your laptop, as though you haven't moved since he left. He touches a hand to your cup, his backpack hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Cold.

And all this while, you don't stop your incessant typing, don't take your attention off of your work for longer than it takes you to say, "hi, Peter, how was class?"

Peter ignores your question.

"Babe," he sighs, saving your document with one hand and gently closing your laptop with the other, "I thought we agreed you'd take the rest of the day off?"

"Yeah," you sigh back, swiveling in your chair to face him, hands gesturing helplessly as you talk. "But then I looked at my planner, and I- there's so much more to do, Peter, and if I can't do it all I'm gonna fail this class and watch my dreams slip through my fingers. Like little dandelion seeds floating on the wind."

He's ready to make a joke, but you look so exhausted, so dejected and genuinely afraid of all your work being for naught, that he swallows those words and replaces them with something gentler.

"Hey, babe. Babe, look at me." His warm hand touches your chin, gently guiding you to meet his eyes as he kneels in front of you. "You're up in your head again. I promise you, one night off isn't gonna shatter your dreams. It'll be good for you, actually; if you keep pushing without a break, you'll only burn out and get sick, and then you'll lose more time. Take a break with me, yeah? Come relax, we'll make those little dessert things you like, we'll watch your favorite show and I'll give you lots of kisses."

Damn, that's tempting. Part of you wants nothing more than to say yes, but then the overwhelming guilt of not being productive takes over and you shake your head, blinking back tears.

"I can't, Peter. I can't lose this, this opportunity, this- I've dreamed about this for years and I can't lose my chance, not when I'm so close- Peter, I want this so bad, but what if I can't-"

You cut yourself off there. The thought of not achieving your dreams, not getting what you want so badly, what you've worked so hard for, is painful to think about, and a single tear rolls down your cheek as you take a deep breath and remind yourself to think about something else. Alarm flashes across Peter's face, but he tries his best to hide it and reaches up to gently brush your tears away with his thumb.

"Hey, angel, don't think like that. You really think you could lose it, when you've worked this hard? Babe, don't underestimate yourself. You've worked hard, you're still working hard, but you can't work yourself to death either. You need to find a balance, between work and rest. And get those thoughts of failure out of your head, okay angel? You're not gonna fail. Not your class, not your course, not at your goals. You'll succeed, I promise."

Peter sounds so earnest, so honest, so much like he truly believes you can do it, that you can't do much more than stifle a sob and nod, reaching for a hug he's all too happy to give you.

"That's my girl," he smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. "Now, no more work tonight, okay? Come to the kitchen, and remind me how to make those dessert things you like before I mess it up and something completely different comes out of the oven."

Your answering giggle is all he needs to smile.

[kreativekershaw]

Freefalling

It was such a long way to fall and Peter just kept getting further and further away.

The impact was going to kill me I was sure of it and as I went to close my eyes I felt my landing.

And it was surprisingly soft...

I opened my eyes and found myself at the bottom of the tower, except this one was not falling apart and Peter was no where to be seen. Well staying here wasn't going to help.

I walked out of the tower and found a completely new New York. This was crazier than my own I was certain I had to be somewhere else but I was also certain that the fall would have killed me.

I had barely taken one step out of the clocktower when I saw a massive billboard with... Spiderman plastered on it. It didn’t look like Peter’s suit and I found myself discouraged. I tried to think where I could go for help. I had no idea where to find Peter but I figured I could find my mother and brothers. Yet our house was empty. My keys didn't work and when I asked the neighbors not only were they all unrecognizable all of them seemed to know Gwen Stacy. All of them insisted she was not me.

Leaving the apartment building I felt even more lost than before when the screens played the Spiderman ad again. I sighed I didn't know why he seemed so different but it was the only lead I had so I found myself heading towards F.E.A.S.T.

I had spoken to a few people inside, looking around I realized it was a bust. There was no Peter, Aunt May or anyone else I recognized and I wanted to leave as soon as possible. In this world I was homeless, I didn't exist I was just like them. Walking the streets I found myself back in times square surrounded by the screens as if they would give me the answers I was after. In no time they actually did. Blurry footage of monsters Peter had fought. Connors was there alive. Sparks of electricity telling me we'd failed and been unable to stop Max.

It seemed everyone here knew Peter Parker was Spiderman but when I finally saw the photos I knew. That wasn't my Peter. All the things I learnt over the last day made it far too true. What ever was going on this was not my home.

In due time I found myself at the old high school Midtown looked different here but just about everything did. Sighing I walked to the doors surprised to find them unlocked I wandered in hearing the distant sound of voices. I walked towards them curious listening in I heard him. It was Peter!

Just as I went to rush in I heard another voice “You have someone?”

His voice was sad... "No I’ve got no time for Peter Parker stuff, you know? Do you. It’s a little complicated"

"I guess its just not in the cards for guys like us "

My chest felt torn, despite his voice being the same I glanced through the doorway at his face. It was older things were different, clearly our plan had not worked out and something lead me to be here instead of at home.

I moved to leave forgetting to be quiet I heard the telltale sound of webbing shooting towards me.

"Gwen?"

His voice was so quiet, so full of sadness and disbelief. It pained me but I turned around. His face... I was certain I could feel my chest rip apart. How could I have been preparing to leave him behind?

His body came crashing into mine and I could feel the hot tears on my neck as he sobbed out.

"You’re here"

I held on tight not wanting to let go. I hadn't realized how much I craved something to be real and mine. When I opened my eyes I saw the rest of the group he was with staring at me in shock.

A young boy I didn’t recognize broke the silence “I thought she was dead."

It hit my chest and I stumbled back nearly taking Peter with me despite his extra senses. I knew I shouldn’t have survived that fall. Whatever was going on... I didn't think whatever was happening now could change the truth. I felt Peter's arm tighten and hung on just a little tighter myself listening to his whispers to protect me. Save me.

AN: I was watching No Way Home a little while ago and just remember thinking that it didn't make sense for "everyone who knows Peter Parker is Spiderman" to come into their universe and not include like his girlfriend or something and since all the villains were taken moments before their deaths I brought in Gwen. No idea where I wanted it to go so we just get a short little drabble.

[beanswrites]

Always Keeping You Safe

this is my Spider-man brainrot talking, people

also this felt like Peter so much and it was just so cute ahhhhhh💗💗💗

oh also!! Peter and reader are married in this drabble, and reader is Mayday's mother

pairing: Peter B. Parker (from Spider-man: Into the Spiderverse) x fem! reader

tags: fluff, following without knowledge??, classic spiderman kiss

summary: after dropping off Mayday at daycare, you notice a certain superhero following you as you walk home.

requests open!! | masterlist | rules for requesting

"Bye, honey!" You wave goodbye to your toddler as she goes off to play with her friends. The teacher waves at you too as you leave the daycare.

You stroll home, enjoying the first warmth of spring which just hit NYC. There are many people out on the streets, so you decide to take the little shortcuts to get home quickly and get started on work.

But NYC is a dangerous place - especially for young women, whose lives could be endangered even when doing such simple things as walking home alone. Even if it was the middle of the day, there were many villains, bad guys and who knows what else lurking in the shadows.

The fact that your husband Peter, the great hero Spiderman, was out on a mission, didn't really help to calm your nerves. You hadn't seen him in a couple of days, he had something large to care of with the other Spider-people. Which meant he wouldn't be there, couldn't save you, if something were to snatch and harm you right now.

A metal stairway shrieked as you walked by it , making your skin crawl. You felt strange, like there were eyes on you with every step. It was creepy, to say the least.

But, somehow, that unknown gaze on your skin didn't feel threatening at all - it felt warm, loving, like the gentle breeze on an April morning.

Suddenly, an empty can of soda dropped from above, almost as if appeared out of thin air. You recognized the brand very well; your fridge was always stocked with it.

"I know you're here, Peter" You say, rolling your eyes with a chuckle.

Your husband swings down, a dissapointed expression on his face.

"Damn it! How'd you know it was me, hon?"

"I missed you, too"

He laughs through the mask, swinging upside down.

"Sorry, baby. I missed you, hon, so much."

You start taking off his mask with a sly expression.

"Mayday and I are so lonely without you, y'know? Can't wait for you to finally be back.."

He chuckles sweetly, your lips so close that you can feel his breath on yours.

"Soon, I promise. Give me a couple more days and I'm all yours"

"Good"

Your lips finally meet, kissing like it's been years since you last saw each other, not days. His kisses are eager and full of need and want, showing you exactly how much he's needed you in the past week. Your hands hold his cheeks tightly to yourself, not even caring that you'll run out of air.

Who needs air when you have your hot, amazing husband?

When you finally pull away, you ask:

"Why were you following me, tho?"

"Just wanted to make sure you were safe, hon. No matter how busy I am, your and May's safety is my top priority. Always, yeah?"

"Yeah. Always."

that's all for this one, thanks for reading! send me requests and follow for more <3

[hanasnx]

“ BETTER FIND A MOP, IT’S GETTIN’ STICKY IN THIS BITCH ” — peter parker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: marvel rivals chad peter parker w yuri lowenthal’s legendary voice. a recipe for success. also this wouldn't be possible without this anon. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ dirty talk ノ explicit sexual content ノ p in v ノ finger sucking ノ biting ノ long cock peter agenda ノ suit + mask sex but mask comes off halfway thru so you can see his pretty face <3

“Yeah? Mmph—you like that—hm—baby?” PETER PARKER speaks between his sheathes, evidently getting lost in the feeling of you wrapped around him. So much so that dirty talk for this silver tongue is interrupted by his own unfocus. It blurs in and out from the overload of sensation between his legs. You can’t respond, brows furrowing as he wetly slithers in and out of you, the head of him brushing that spongy spot inside you every time he bottoms out.

You try your best, murmuring a weak yet eager, “Mhm, mhm,” Nodding your head even while his fingers are hooked on your lower jaw over your chin.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” Peter asks rhetorically, a slight snicker sprinkled in as he watches you with as much awe as a mask can have. “Was like I was ambushed.” he muses, reminiscing over his entrance met with such welcoming open legs. His cock bucks in at the memory, and you cry out through your occupied mouth. The knuckles between your teeth get a squeeze, a nip, and he releases a burst of air. “Trying to bite me, honey?” The tone conveys a sense of disbelief but it’s pleasantly surprised, and his pace quickens. Choked moans shoot out of you as he fucks into you, his body weight pinning you down while your suspended legs bob from the movement. Your lips enclose apologetically over his gloved fingers, the wet felt fabric is foreign against your tongue when you circle around them. In a bout of curiosity, your tip traces the embossed texture of the web design around his knuckle, maintaining eye contact with his mask while you do it.

Your cheeks hollow out, sucking on his two fingers and he groans from low in his throat. It’s the kind of purr that sends a shudder down your spine, eyes rolling back as he slots in your lulling body. The sheer length of him causes an ache inside your core that arches your back, clutching onto the sheets for purchase as you brace the sharp pain for the brain-melting feeling of pulling out only to fuck back in. His other hand comes to hook under the hem of his mask, peeling it off of him, and his brown hair explodes out in an endearing mess. You can finally see that crooked grin.

He pivots your head for you by your mouth, resting his wrist on the mattress to hover over you properly. Faithfully, you keep those fingers in, and he rewards you by shoving them in deeper, the tips of them making you lurch with a gag. Once again, he reacts audibly in euphoric relief like he was waiting for you to do that. “Baby.” he says in that voice, and it’s like a prize. You erupt in full-body tingles, curling your toes as he openly mouths at your neck. The pad of his tongue flattens against your pulse point, and ends it in a hard bite, scraping his teeth against your skin. You keen, that coil in your belly going taut.

Drool seeps out of the corner of your mouth while you desperately suck his spit-soaked glove, pitiful whimperings spilling out of you while he fucks you into the mattress.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

giving him a fast and rough handjob that lasts what feels like several hours, he lays on the bed, his thighs squirming and clenching as you bully his sticky cock, he has cum a bazillion times, cum pooling at his thighs and stomach "oh god.. please mommy..i need more...d-d-dont stop!!" he begs and pleads, and you cant help but grin "don't worry babyboy...i wasn't planning on it~"

[iamgonnagetyouback]

you try on peter’s glasses while he’s out, and when he walks in and sees you, he immediately forgets how to function

0.4k cw: fluff

the apartment is quiet, save for the hum of the city outside and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. peter had left a little while ago, probably off to grab coffee or run an errand, leaving you curled up on his couch with one of his old textbooks in your lap.

your gaze drifts toward the small table beside his desk, where his glasses sit, slightly askew, as if he had taken them off in a hurry. a small smile tugs at your lips. you’ve seen him push them up the bridge of his nose a thousand times, seen the way he squints when he forgets them, how they somehow make him look both like the smartest and the cutest person in the room.

curiosity wins. you reach over and pick them up, slipping them onto your face.

everything is…a little off. the lenses make the room blur at the edges, and you blink rapidly, adjusting. a quiet giggle escapes you. “wow, how does he even see in these?” you murmur, tilting your head at your reflection in the window.

the door creaks open.

“babe, i—” peter stops mid-sentence.

you turn toward him, wide-eyed, and his breath catches in his throat.

he blinks once. twice. his mouth opens, then closes again as if he’s buffering.

“pete?” you say, confused by his sudden speechlessness.

“oh my god,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “why—why do you look so cute right now? what is happening?”

you snort. “what?”

“no, seriously.” he steps closer, eyes locked on you like you’re a puzzle he’s desperate to solve. “that’s illegal. you can’t just—just put on my glasses and look like that.”

you grin, tilting your head. “like what?”

“like the most adorable human to ever exist?” he groans dramatically, dropping onto the couch beside you and burying his face in your shoulder. “this isn’t fair. i wasn’t prepared for this.”

you laugh, tugging the glasses off. “so what you’re saying is i should wear them all the time?”

peter lifts his head, eyes soft but full of mischief. “babe, if you do that, i’m never gonna be able to focus on anything else ever again.”

you smirk, slipping them back on. “guess you’ll just have to suffer, parker.”

and judging by the way he grins before pulling you into a kiss, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t mind one bit.

a/n. first peter fic omg?? was kinda gonna make a longer fic on the more angsty side but then i was like nah that’s too much effort so drabble it is. and honestly i love it so much ughhh enjoy!! ‹𝟹 also pls tell me it it's terrible

[moonstruckme]

MAAAAEEEEE I was wondering if I could request a Peter Parker fic where he just kind of adopts shy!reader without her consent like “yeah we’re friends now, we spend time together and also we’re probably gonna fall in love and date but why don’t we just start with me walking you home from class” or some such nonsense. Also wondering if you could keep his spidey-powers; I love that little mutant freak

I hate you for doing this to me

Ugh our mutant freak <3 Thanks for the request babe!

tasm!Peter Parker x shy!reader ♡ 920 words

You’re never alone on the way home from class anymore. You’re not sure what changed at the start of the spring semester, if you just started putting out helpless-pedestrian energy or if it was something else, but soon after the start of classes your walks home from your night class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Friday began being accompanied by none other than Spider-Man. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, it’s Peter. 

You and Peter have molecular biology together. On the first day of class, he rushed in just as your professor started lecturing. Every seat was full except the one next to you, and when you offered it to him silently with a nod of your head, Peter looked so relieved you’d think you handed him an A in the class. He’s been glommed onto your ever since; some days he asks you to stop for coffee after class, some days he offers to study with you in the library, and he always walks you home. You don’t know what you did to deserve the company, but you appreciate it. 

“You ever been there?” Peter asks, nodding to a stand advertising New York City’s Best Vegan Hot-Dogs. 

“No,” you say.

“Well, seems like we’ve gotta try them at some point. I mean, they’re the best in New York.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. Peter’s always doing that. Making plans, saying we. It’s like the idea of you two hanging out beyond the end of your class is a foregone conclusion in his head. You haven’t been able to figure out if that’s just the way Peter talks or if he means it. You hope it’s the latter. 

“You think so?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says with affected certainty. “I mean, why would you doubt the sign? Everyone knows you have to get things like that certified.” 

You glance up at Peter, but one look into his smiling eyes is too much for you. You have to turn your face away. “I’m pretty sure there are three #1 Indian Restaurants in my neighborhood.” 

“Oof. Must make for some brutal decisions when you’re craving Indian.” 

Two weeks ago, you offered to buy Spider-Man dinner for walking you home. It was stupid—he can’t eat through the mask, which he told you kindly and which you could have figured out if you thought about it for more than a second before opening your mouth—but you were feeling guilty about stopping to pick up takeout and indebted for all the time he spends walking you home instead of preventing mob activity or whatever Spider-Man does. He professed, upon smelling your takeout, that Indian food is one of his favorites, too. 

You haven’t told Peter about your vigilante escort. Spider-Man never comes to you while Peter’s around—presumably because you don’t need his help if you’ve already got a companion—and it’s the sort of ridiculous story you know will sound made up out loud. Why do you know that Spider-Man likes matar paneer? What makes you so special? They’re unanswerable questions, and you’d never be able to look at Peter again if he laughed at you. 

“Hey.” Peter bumps your hip with his. You go stiff at the contact. “You okay?” 

“Hm?” You look up, and he’s watching you with concern. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“You seem a little quiet,” he says. And when your face heats, “Well, quieter than usual.” 

“Sorry,” you say again, embarrassed. “I think I’m just tired.” 

“Oh, yeah? Class was a long one, huh?” 

“Yeah.” 

“That makes sense.” Peter sounds disappointed. You blink at him in confusion, and he almost winces. “I don’t suppose…I mean, if you just want to get home I get that, but I was wondering if you wanted to grab food? With me?” 

Your steps stutter. It’s not that you and Peter have never hung out before. Or even that all the time you’ve spent together centers wholly around class—there have been coffees, chats in the hallway, walks in the park near your university building—but it’s something about the way he asks, like it’s important this time, like it means something. You want for it to mean something. 

“I could still grab food.” You’re not quite looking at him, fiddling with the contents of your jacket pocket. Popping the lid to your chapstick on and off. 

“Yeah?” Peter asks hopefully. 

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Mhm.” 

His voice softens, a smile in it. “Could you look at me, maybe?” 

You glance up, regretting it instantly as always. Peter is resplendent. Dimples framing his smile like parenthesis, hair mussed by the wind that beats at you while crossing every street, he’s the sort of handsome that’s only just starting to figure out how handsome he is. You think you probably make it easier for him. To figure it out. 

“Do you really want to,” he asks in a sincere tone, “or are you just appeasing me? If you’re tired I can take you straight to your place.” 

Your heart thudders. If you have to look at him for much longer you worry you’ll melt into the cracks of the pavement. “I want to,” you say. “I’m sort of hungry, too.” 

“Okay, awesome.” He sounds happy again. You think if you were lucky, that’d be the only thing you were put on Earth to do, make Peter happy. “Maybe we could try one of those Indian places near yours? See who’s really number one.” 

“Sure.” You smile up at him, brain buzzing when Peter beams back. 

“Sick! I could really go for some matar paneer.” 

[tojicide]

(check out the series here)

spiderman!caleb has been floating around in my mind for days… please humor me and picture it.

caleb had it all figured out. academically? he was at top of his class, the golden child of the honors program. socially? he was well known, well liked, and somehow not the total dirtbag that most college guys are.

life was simple. predictable. textbook. that was until three very inconvenient things happened.

number one: he was bit by a radioactive spider. great. suddenly, he has web-slinging powers, majorly heightened senses, and—thanks to a lingering case of static cling—his life has been turned upside down. (seriously, he’s somehow gotten stuck to his dorm room’s ceiling more times than he would like to admit.)

number two: he met you. the timing was impeccable, really. you were smart, competitive, and somehow—no matter what he did—always a step ahead. if he got a 97 in microbiology? you’d score a 98. if he grabbed a cookie from the dining hall? he’d see you with two on your plate. that was deliberate, he’s sure of it. and above all, you’re gunning for top spot in the class, just when he’s trying to juggle his new, freakish reality.

number three: the spider’s sense was created—an anonymous blog dedicated to every little thing spider-man does. caleb’s trying to lay low, but the blog is way too close for comfort.

his new mission? find out who’s behind the blog before they figure out he’s the one they’re writing about. but with you constantly one-upping him and him trying to keep up appearances, caleb might just be in way over his head.

a/n: so obviously i’ve thought about this way too much….. so hypothetically…….would anyone be interested in reading a spidercaleb fic series……. (edit: ok i’m going to post it, i can’t fight the urges.)

comment if you want to be tagged!!

also i got the concept of spidercaleb from paiya443 on x!

[alwaysmoncheri]

hello! I hope you’re doing good! I would like to request a fic with tasm!peter parker or james potter if you prefer, but something where they’re making out and the reader ends up breaking his glasses? If that makes sense🫣

hi, my darling, i’m am doing very well! thank you for requesting, that makes complete sense! I’m totally watching tasm again after writing this <3

cw: fem!reader, making out, slightly suggestive (but not really), aunt may walking in, established relationship, fluff, 1.2k

<3

Peter’s mouth is on your neck while the bridge of his glasses rubs against the skin just an inch higher than his mouth. His hands stay firmly planted on your hips as you sit in his lap on his swivel chair. Your textbook and computer lay abandoned next to his on his desk in front of you.

“Peter, I have to study,” you mumble, but the sigh that escapes your lips makes your excuse less believable, “We have to study.” you add, trying you best to get yourself and peter back on track for a big exam tomorrow. Crazy for Peter or not, this test is important and you need to get a little studying in, but you can’t get Peter to keep his hands off you.

“No, we don’t.” Peter replies quickly, before biting your neck, causing you to let out squeak.

“Peter,” you practically whine, and the chuckle that falls from Peter’s mouth vibrates onto your neck, causing you to squirm in his lap. When Peter lifts his head from your neck, you’re pouting. Lips jutted out and eyebrows pinched together with pleading eyes. Oh, Peter could die right here with you in his arms. He pulls you closer, biceps and hands pressed into your sides and forearms into your stomach.

“You’re going to be fine,” Peter offers gently, pressing a much softer kiss to your cheek, allowing you to release the tension from your face, “You’ve studied plenty already.”

“But–”

“No, buts,” Peter shuts you down, gently rubbing your sides in an attempt to silence your worries. He wants to kiss you so bad, but he would never do it without your permission. And if you want to study, he’ll let you, but he doesn’t think you really do, “Kiss me?”

Peter hears you release a long, dramatic, sigh before shifting yourself in his lap so that you’re straddling him, his hands now stabilizing you by your waist. For a moment your face is expressionless and Peter can’t read you. He worries that you’re unhappy with him but when he sees a giddy smile creep onto your face, he instantly reciprocates and his worries melt away.

You lock your hands around Peter’s neck before leaning in to kiss him. At first, you kiss him softly, tenderly just because you love him. But when you lightly tug on Peter’s hair at the nape of his neck, he takes it as a sign to tug on your hips, pulling you flush against his chest and deepen the kiss. But when the bridge of you nose knocks into Peter’s glasses, you groan in momentary pain, causing his eyes to widen, hand reaching up to gently hold your cheek, the action asking if you’re okay. When you nod your head and meet his gaze, you notice his concern before it’s quickly replaced with frustration. Peter quickly tears his glasses on his face and tosses them towards his bed without sparing a glance in that direction. But when a soft crack echos from across the room, you snap your gaze towards the glasses that now lay broken at the bridge on the floor.

“Peter!” You gasp, shifting your gaze between him and the broken glasses, but no concern seems to be etched on his face.

“Don’t worry, I can get new ones,” Peter assures you, kissing the corners of your lips while his nose delicately brushes the apples of your cheeks, “I just wanna kiss you.” Peter whispers and you feel a rush of warmth spread across your face at his tone.

“Aunt May isn’t going to be happy.” You state, nervously glancing towards the door that Peter probably forgot to lock again.

“Shush, less talking, baby,” Oh god, you melt completely at the way his says baby and presses his finger to your mouth, before replacing it with his lips, “More kissing.” He adds in between a few quick, hard, presses of his lips on yours.

“Oh whatev—hmph!”

Peter kisses you long and hard, successfully getting you to stop talking. You feel hot all over when he kisses you again and again. And when you rank your fingers through his hair, lightly tugging on the ends, while simultaneously gently biting his bottom lip, Peter makes a sound between a gasp and a groan that makes you want to do it again just so you can hear the sound once more. There’s a kiss, another, and another, you’re so caught up in the feeling of his mouth against yours, carefully sliding your hands up and down his chest before lightly gripping a fist full of his shirt to keep him near you.

The way Peter touches you is like muscle memory, he knows how to make you gasp and what makes you shiver. When, his hands slip under the material of your shirt and caress your skin, your body reacts exactly how he knows it always does. Then, he lifts you up, your legs wrap around his waist, and with his lips still on yours, he gently lowers the both of you onto his bed. He seems so far away now and you can’t handle it. Before he even has the chance to lower himself further down onto the bed, you grab his biceps, which are tensed from holding himself up, and tug him towards you. Peter practically falls and suddenly the weight of his whole body is on top of you, Peter worries for a moment, breaking the kiss, but you make a noise, reminiscent to a childish whine before grabbing his jaw with both of you hands and pulling him back. With his lips on yours, his tongue slides into your mouth while your thumbs trace the outline of his jaw and his hand slides behind you back and into your shirt.

“Hey, do you two know where—Oh my goodness!” You and Peter are quickly pulled apart, turning your heads in the direction of Aunt May’s loud gasp. She stands just outside the bedroom with one hand still on the doorknob, her expression loudly displaying her shock. Peter stays on top of you for a split second, before May’s gaze shifts between his hand in your shirt and both of your disheveled appearances, “Peter Benjamin Parker!”

With that, Peter immediately jumps up from on top of you, quickly grabbing your hand to stand next to him. Both of your faces are flushed red from being caught, even if all you were doing was kissing. Aunt May stands by the door, both of her hands placed firmly on her hips, presumably awaiting a reasonable response while you and Peter glance at each other in search of something to say. When Peter’s gaze returns to his aunt, he finally opens his mouth to speak.

“Aunt May—We were just—” Peter pauses as he stumbles over his words, feeling pathetic under the eyes of both you and his aunt.

“Studying.” You finish with a somewhat convincing smile and when Aunt May turns to you, her gaze softens, but when she notices the broken glasses laying forgotten on the floor behind you, her questioning expression returns.

“And what happened to your glasses?” Aunt May asks, a triumphant smile crossing her face as she knows she’s caught the two of you red-handed in your obvious lie, “Were you studying when that happened?”

You and Peter hesitate, he sends you a nervous smile and the both of you bite your tongues, not trusting yourselves to speak. After a moment, the two of you nod, heads hanging low.

“Mhm, right,” May hums before sending Peter a look that says, ‘we’ll talk later.’ Then, she takes a few steps into the room, causing you and Peter’s eyes to widen, but May only steps around you to pick up the broken glasses before walking back towards the door, “Well, dinner is almost ready, you two better behave.”

“Okay, yeah, thank you, May.” Peter says, and you can tell he’s beyond flustered by the situation as he runs a hand through his hair, then brushes a finger along his bottom lip, “We’ll be down soon.”

May nods before sending the both of you one final look, this one a little more playful than the rest. She exits the bedroom and closes the door behind her, leaving you and Peter alone once again.

The both of you share a glance before breaking out in a fit of laughter. Peter falls back onto the bed, tugging you down with his so that you’re laying on his chest.

“I told you she’d be mad.” You tease, running your hand up his chest, eventually reaching the back of his neck, while leaving a gentle kiss on his jaw.

“It was so worth it.” Peter smirks before flipping you over and kissing your face

<3

masterlist . tasm!peter parker masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

tags: @googie-jeon, @Kevia1000, @annoyingmidgetwhowrites, @averyhotchner, @marauderswhxre, @vixparker

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[uhhhj13iguess]

happy birthday, peter

peter parker x childhood best friend!reader drabble

peter never made a big deal out of his birthday, but you always did.

wc: ~300

peter parker was never one to make a big fuss about his birthday. he didn’t mention it, he didn’t make any plans, and every year he was grateful for the dinner and cake you and may had made for him. he never made a big deal out of it.

but you always did.

peter’s birthday was one day you could fawn over him without giving yourself away. best friends go all out for each others birthday, no one would bat an eye.

so you let go of your inhibitions each year and let your heart go wild, always striving to outdo yourself. you picked him fresh flowers at the break of dawn from your neighborhood to greet him with as you walked to school together. you’d pay for his coffee and insist he grab a pastry as well, because nothing seemed out of the blue on his birthday.

you’d spend the whole week prior crafting him an elaborate, multi-page birthday card, a zine to commemorate another year around the sun. you took pride in seeing each years pinned above peter’s desk.

and peter didn’t care much to make a big deal out of his birthday. but he was really glad that you did.

every year, he got to spend the entire day with you, love-bombed and the center of your attention for a solid 24 hours. it was all peter wanted for his birthday. you were all he wanted.

every year when blowing out his candles on the homemade cake you and may had made for him, he only had one wish: to kiss you.

and every year, he got in his own head and psyched himself out. but this year was different.

this was his twenty first birthday, and with the addition of a little liquid courage, he was determined to make his birthday wish come true.

masterlist and taglist!

[calebghostin]

"spidey hunch."

You didn’t think your newly established boyfriend and life-long best friend Caleb Xia was cheating on you, you just had a tickling, nagging, hunch.

 A hunch that swept your mind when he continued to postpone or last minute cancel dates, a quick: 

“I’ll make it up to you baby! Promise.”

Or,

“I, uh, gotta run! Gran needs me…” 

A charming smile and chaste kiss from the puppy eyed brunette may have once eased your worries, but tonight you needed to get to the bottom of it. You made your way up his apartment's stairs, worried about surprising, well, confronting him like this. Your phone buzzes at the last flight 'til his door, a text from Caleb lights up your mobile. 

🍎Caleb: Hey pips! We’re still okay for Friday night? Also, have ya had dinner yet? :p 

You take a deep breath and knock on his door. 

Some shuffling, a curious “hmm?” and alas, Caleb in front of you. 

“Oh! Hey, babe! I just texted you.”

Surprise flickers across his face, mixed with glee as his broad arm reaches for you to pull you into a hug but freezes mid-air when he registers the sombre look on your face. 

“Hey. Can I, um, come in? We need to talk.”

You whisper as your eyes dart into his apartment, was someone there with him? 

You notice the empty couch and living room, the singular mug filled with (what you assume to be) some sort of vitamin-filled or protein drink, knowing your boyfriend. One, not two.

Clearly, he had nobody over.

Caleb nods quickly, visibly swallowing and your heart can’t help but flutter as you watch the muscle of his adam's apple bob upwards and down. 

Nervous, good.

His nerves match yours. 

You sit on the couch, his tall form remains above you, his lilac eyes searching yours almost desperately. 

Your hands clench as they sit atop your thighs, you don't even know if you have the strength to look at him.

“Caleb, I want to know why you keep missing our dates or even disappear for hours on end. I feel like I’m going crazy and I just-”

You begin to ramble, until a cold voice interrupts: 

“I told you. Family emergencies and the internship, baby, what is this about?”

He crouches in front of you, cold hands intertwining with yours, a thumb swipes over your palm, calming, grounding yet urging you to continue. 

“I… I don’t believe you. Is there someone else?” 

He freezes, the sweeping touch of his hand on yours stops, guiltily, you think. 

Until you look down at his eyes which are frozen in shock. 

How? How could you come to the conclusion that his heart possibly had any space for anyone else when it was you. It had and always will be you for him, forever.

His breaths deepen and he says firm and true:

“No. Pips, I… there’s nobody else and I can’t tell you why I keep disappearing, it’s for your safety. I swear.”

His jaw grinds, eyebrows furrowed. He looks physically pained. 

“Caleb, you can’t expect me to believe that!”

Anger courses through you, hot and embarrassed. Here was Caleb Xia, your Caleb.

The boy who laughed at you when you fell, but offered a warm hand and smile, the boy you split ice-creams and fair tickets and prizes with, the boy who now lied to your face. 

You stood, hands firmly by your side. 

“Tell me, or I walk.”

You say, voice cracking on the last syllable, though you make no urgency to leave the room. 

“What? No, no, no. Please.”

He sprouted up.

Incredibly fast. 

“Caleb, this seriously won’t work! We’ve been together forever, we said ‘no secrets!’ Remember?” 

You don’t even register your body throwing the plush pillow towards him, an outlet of your frustration. 

You do register the insanely inhuman speed in which he catches it, places it besides you and leans forwards to grab your wrists. He pulls you up and into his embrace. 

“Okay. Okay.” He breathes in, preparing himself. 

What could it be? Is he sick of you? No, clearly not by his emotional reaction, wait, how did he catch that pillow so– 

“I’m Spiderman.” 

He whispers it reverently, a shaky breath follows after. 

Your mind races, frantically trying to piece everything together. 

The picnic date he ran from quickly, claiming an emergency simultaneously at the same time as a downtown bank robbery and so, so many more. 

“Can you... um, prove it...?”

You mumble into his chest, still being held by protective arms. 

He laughs, 

“That’s your answer?” 

Caleb’s thumbs swipe at your tears that you didn’t even realise were falling, cradling your cheeks and staring at you with adoration in his irises. 

You nod, shocked and curious. 

“Alrighty, pips. You asked for it.” 

You blink and he’s gone. You eyes dart up to the ceiling, a suspicious ‘thump!’ sounds. The thump that is your 6”2 boyfriend staring down at you, crouched on the ceiling.

“Soooo, how many guys d’ya know that can stick onto ceilings?” 

He winks.

You gasp. 

Caleb wasn’t kidding, he really is Spiderman. Your Caleb is the vigilante roaming around Linkon, the same spidey fiend you coincidentally have been running into these past few weeks, you realise.

“Get- get down!”

You giggle, jumping up to reach and grab at him, but failing as he dodges with quick "pswshh!" sound effects.

Spiderman then obliges, coming down, hand still attached to the roof, one finger lifting back down at a time - a show of his strength until only his pointer finger keeps him glued to the roof.

"Show-off." You murmur.

He comes back down head craned down to smile, no, beam at you joyfully, relieved.

“I have a lot to tell you-” He starts. 

This time, it’s you who intercepts him with: 

“Uh, yeah. I think you do. But why didn’t you tell me?”

It was the question most forefront on your mind. You trusted each other with all the secrets and quirks throughout your life, so why would he hide this from you? 

“I want to, no. Need to protect you. If anyone I deal with knows how much I…”

He swallows.

“How much I love you, it would place you in danger.” 

“Keeping me in the dark isn’t much better, Caleb…”

You mutter whilst your hand climbs up to his face and messes the mop of brown, warm hair atop his head. 

“I know, Pips. M’sorry.”

He leans into your touch, his hand coming to grasp against your wrist, consolidating your hand in his hair as it swipes across his locks. 

“You can make up for it...” You whisper.

“Oh, yeah?” His eyebrow raises. “How?” 

“Hm, pancakes for dinner. Among other things, maybe…” 

His head leans down as he murmurs: 

“That can be arranged…”

He stares down at your lips, memorised as they reply:

“Thanks, Spiderman…” 

A giggle escapes from you as his lips meet yours, a flurry of relief, love and passion as you slide your mouth to accommodate his sharp, quick-sensed movements. His teeth bite down on your bottom lip, a gasp escapes you and before you even register it, his tongue parts into your mouth. 

His once cold hands, now scorching hot, reach up your top sliding across your abdomen and meeting the lace of your bra. You disconnect, needing air. 

“Caleb, I, need a minute…”

You pant, hand splayed across his chest to create his space, despite his hands still… roaming. 

Then, a thought hits you. 

“Are your parents spiders too?” 

“Pfft, don’t be stupid Pips.”

He murmurs into your neck, mouth leaving hot, open, kisses across your collarbone. 

“Stupid? Says the one who didn’t tell his girlfriend he–” 

His kisses silence you as he carries you into the kitchen, your legs encased around his waist.

A night of new beginnings, revelations and reverence along with the web of a new life with your supernatural, spidey, Caleb.

[beanswrites]

At The Brink Of Dawn

i'm sick so i really really felt like i needed some of this toothrotting fluff

and i think i might be back in peter b. parker brainrot soo hope you enjoy!!

pairings: Peter B. Parker (from Spiderman: Spiderverse) x fem! reader

tags: fluff, cuddling, kissing, Peter and reader are engaged

summary: one warm, lazy morning Peter and you share

masterlist

"Mmhh.." You mumble as your eyes slowly open, getting used to the sunlight which passed your blinds and lit up your room.

It was early, you knew. The alarm you set for 9 AM still hasn't rang, and the warm body next to you was, well, still asleep. Either your fiance slept in with you, or you had the pleasure of waking up before him.

One strong bicep is wrapped around you, holding you as if you were his life-sized teddy bear. You try to wiggle out of his arms to get up, but he doesn't let you, tightening his half-asleep grip.

"Mh, honey? You awake?"

You ask, turning to face him. He's letting out soft little snores as you cuddle close to his chest.

"C'mon, Spidey, wake up..." You press kisses into his stubbled jaw, trying to gently stir him awake.

Peter groaned, not very pleased to wake up.

"Mornin', hun..." He sleepily hummed into your hair, greedy hands running to grab at your flesh and feel your skin pressed to his. His calloused palms went under the hem of his T-shirt you always wore to sleep, grabbing a handful of your tighs.

"Peter!" You laugh as you feel him kneed your curves, almost as if he was making sure that you were actually there, next to him. Suddenly, his strong arms pull you too him, flipping you to be spread on top of his chest. You cuddled into his dad-bod, letting him twirl your hair between his fingers.

"How'd you sleep, babe?"

"Like. A. Baby. Literally never better. In fact, I could sleep even more, yeah?"

He manhandles you again, pressing you to him as if he was holding a stuffed animal, your face completely pressed into a large, naked bicep. You bite at his muscles gently, as if trying to wake him up.

"Peter, we need to get up! We have that meeting with the wedding planner at ten!"

"We'll call, reschedule. She'll get it. I mean, c'mon, we can't be the fist engaged couple who didn't show up to a meeting 'cause they couldn't get out of bed"

You groaned, trying to push his much heavier and much stronger body from under the covers. Your future husband didn't move an inch, which made you bring out the only other thing you knew would get him up.

"Oh, I guess you aren't as excited for the wedding as I am..." You sigh dramatically, turning away from him. His eyes are wide and his mouth slightly agape as he exclaims "No!"

Peter grabs you, hugging you tightly, placing wet, messy kisses over your entire face. Like a dog, you thought.

"No, I'm so excited to marry you, hun! You have no idea- It's all I can think about! I can't wait, seriously, I can't wait for you to be all mine! 'Kay, baby?"

You chuckle at your fiance's desparate attempt to reassure you, slowly kissing his chapped lips.

"C'mon, lets make breakfast. I was thinking waffles?"

He smiles wide, kissing you back with a glint in his eyes.

"If I ever say no to your homemade waffles, assume that it's not me and tackle me to do ground"

You and your future husband, your Spiderman, made your way to your kitchen, laughing and kissing in your pyjamas.

[hanasnx]

“ DO YOU REMEMBER HOW IT FELT WHEN I TOUCHED YOU? ” — peter parker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: nsfw link inspo. WARNINGS: fem reader | established relationship | oral (f receiving) | vaginal fingering | explicit sexual content.

PETER PARKER messes up a lot. He knows he does. He knows you’re constantly about to sit him down for a serious talk regarding your relationship with him. Maybe he’s not spending enough time with you, or when he does spend time with you he’s suspiciously absent-minded, or maybe he’s not dividing any of his priorities evenly—but he knows you’re sick of it. You try to be strong, he can see it in your eyes, but the sag in your shoulders and the sigh in your voice tells him everything else. However, even if he screws up constantly, he knows there’s one thing he can get right.

“Oh, Peter!” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair in a way that sends shivers down his spine. His tongue swipes back and forth against your clit, the first stimulation the neglected thing has had in so long. It’s extra sensitive tonight, and he almost can’t believe his stroke of good luck—almost. It’s not like he’d blame you for saying no to this, letting him get you on your back and kneel at the foot of the bed to stick his head between your legs. From the sound of your feather-light voice, he can tell you need this. It takes up some brain space to scold himself for not doing this to you sooner. “Pete- Pete, keep going—please.” you plea, writhing languidly in the mess of sheets. He clears his cloudy mind.

“Right, sorry.” he speaks against you, and his soft slippery lips caress your excited bud in a way that has you arching your back. Hot breath fans you as he flattens his tongue, licking up a long stripe and leaving a wet trail in its wake. You cry out sharply when the tip of it flicks up your little clit, making it ache in asking for more. Obediently, he reintroduces his fingers to the mix, leaning to the side as he wetly makes out with your bud, and the rough pads of his two digits draw up your slit. It feels raw from sensitivity, and yet your hips chase more stimulation, mewling for a deeper penetration than what the length of his tongue can provide. He doesn’t speak again, he lets his actions do the talking, gaze flickering up at you in the low light every so often to gauge your reactions. You’ve since thrown up your arms, keeping them out of his way, laying your hands next to your head. The lighting compliments your every curve and dip, nipples perked up and pebbled, your lips molded into whatever shape they need to take to keep those pretty sounds spilling out of you.

You look like an angel. How do you even put up with him? he asks himself. Maybe whatever he’s doing now has something to do with it, you seem to like it. “Peter…” you sigh, and once he knows you’re loose enough, he pushes his two fingers in a knuckle without any friction.

“Baby, you’re so wet.” he tells you proudly, planting a sweet kiss onto your clit to which you loudly moan in reply. He keeps pushing, another knuckle, one more, two fingers seated inside you and you’re bucking your hips trying to get them in even deeper. Your legs suspended in air begin to tremble as he pulls out and goes in again, this time adding a curl at the end of his descent so his fingertips stroke at that spongy spot inside you. Incoherent babblings mixed with the sound of his name pour out of you, followed closely by the sodden symphony of your pussy getting finger-fucked. Gradually, he speeds up his pace, sucking on your clit as pistons his arm in very particular way, ensuring he hits that spot inside you every time.

A curious arm of his curls around one of your thighs, his free hand laying over your chest to cup your tit, pinching your nip between his thumb and index experimentally. You grow more pitchy, trying to move your body with his stimulations, unable to keep still. He’s not going to keep you waiting any longer than you already have, he’s fucking the cum out of you now. He adds another finger, this time he feels the stretch but you clearly don’t care about the sting—in fact you welcome it. You’re loud, howling throughout the room unapologetically while he screws your pretty pussy into raw and puffy oblivion. His tongue rolls around your clit, three fingers drilling your g-spot, that coil in your tummy impossibly taut. Don’t need to tell him you’re close, he’s able to tell just from your body movements getting more and more erratic. Your hole pulses around him, and the coil snaps. Spurting out creamy white to spatter the bed and his hand. It oozes as he slows down. You gasp, convulsing, and very gently he places another kiss on your raw clit, exiting his fingers from your constricted hole with caution. “You did so good, baby, you want another one?”

[alexispunkkk]

stress remedy

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

- pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

- summary: after some stressful times with school, peter surprises his pretty girlfriend with some flowers

- warnings: basically nothing, just pure fluffy! some kissing + mentions of stress

- word count: 1.7k

- author’s note: hiii! my first tumblr fanfic ever. requests are open, i’ll be doing mostly peter parker and andrew garfield.

—————————————୨ৎ

Your boyfriend has a busy life, and you truly have no clue how he even manages. Balancing you, schoolwork, his internship at Oscorp, and being a fucking superhero?

Obviously, that’s far too much for many people. But Peter Parker isn’t just anyone — he’s your sweet boy, the one that does it all. Even with all of his duties, the poor guy still is the most perfect boyfriend in the world.

Between the stress of school and work and whatnot, each day is beginning to feel longer and longer. Days were dragging on into colder winter nights, rather than the fun nights in the summer where you and Peter had as much time as you could ever possibly want.

You almost had no time. Coming home from school or work, you’d go right down for a nap, wake up for dinner and homework, then go straight to bed. The only thing keeping you awake for the few dull hours was your wonderful boyfriend.

Tonight was the same: half asleep in bed, your cat cuddled up to your side by force and threatening to escape the cuddles. A few sheets of homework on the desk, obviously undone, the TV on instead.

Peter knows you’ve been having a tough time at school, he’s the most adorably observant person you’ve ever met. And even with all of his own seemingly never-ending issues, he managed to put you above them all.

Your cat finally wriggled out of your arms and leaped out of the bed, scrambling under it at the sound of a knock on the window: Peter’s signature knock, to be exact. Before you can react, the tiny double-tap knock is accompanied by a gorgeous — maybe just slightly crumpled — bouquet of flowers.

They’re strung up by an all too familiar web, dangling down off of the upstairs neighbors’ Juliet balcony.

You felt like such a princess whenever Peter gave you such a dramatic arrival, dangling flowers and snacks or swinging in to surprise you. Only to be more princess-like, you scampered over in your dainty pajama set to the window, opening it and resting your arms delicately on the chilled windowsill.

Your chin soon joined, settling down on top of your forearms adorably, the stupidest grin plastering across your face when Peter finally swings down and takes the flowers off the web.

“Hi, spidey.” You giggled and stood up, opening it further to pull him inside with no effort to be careful.

“Hi, sweet girl.” He beamed back and stumbled into the bedroom with a chuckle, that all too familiar boyish grin crossing his own pretty face.

In seconds, the two of you became a tangled mess of limbs. The flowers were quickly discarded onto the desk, a quick web shooting from his wrist to shut the window and stop the chilly breeze that was slowly infiltrating the room.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you right up into your favorite spot. Your body was suspended up into the air, rested so perfectly flush against his own.

With the quiet giggles and kisses exchanged, your sour and tired mood was forgotten faster than anything.

The familiar feeling of his cold hands traveling under your shirt and across your back was intoxicating as usual, making you want to melt right into him and stay there forever, to forget about all of your worries and just be with him.

Your mind was just Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter.

“Got you a gift. Thought you might need a little pick-me-up with that midterm you’ve got coming up.” He backed up to carefully set you on the edge of the soft bed. The feeling of your head tucked so deep into the crook of his neck and his scent going straight to your heart was quickly missed, but he’ll be back soon enough.

Peter grabbed the flowers off the desk and jumped right onto the bed, earning a playful giggle from you.

“Yeah? When’d you have time to pick those up?” You scramble the second he’s laid down, crawling up the bed to accompany him.

His hands glided up your waist like silk, squeezing your sides under the pretty little lace tank top you’d chosen for pajamas tonight. It was an instinctive behavior for Peter, and you were settled in his lap in no time. No matter how often he touched you like this, it’s always as equally electrifying.

“May or may not have stolen them on the way home from Oscorp tonight.”

Once you were cuddled up in his lap, his hands moved toward your head without thought to card through the locks of your hair, pulling you closer with a quiet, domestic hum.

His words earned a snort from you, exhaling heavily while you settled on top of his body, head instinctively finding its favorite spot in his neck.

“Wow, how special am I? My boyfriend steals me flowers.” You joke, pressing the softest kiss to that sweet spot behind his ear.

In return, his hands moved up your shirt, the tip of his thumbs just barely ghosting the bottom cup of your breasts.

“Shut up, I just wanted an excuse to see you. You’ve been so holed up recently at home.”

Your eyes roll and your arms tighten around his neck, scoffing and feigning annoyance.

“I have not been holed up, thank you very much. Just … studying?” You laugh and shift in his lap, reaching across his now warm body to grab hold of said stolen flowers.

They were pretty, just maybe slightly crumpled up. But that’s the Peter Parker charm: everything had to be a bit messy when it was coming from him.

“Yeah, studying. How’s that going?” He snickers back, running one strong hand up through the top of your hair to expose your face that he was so enamored with.

The feeling of a gentle kiss to your forehead melted your heart like usual, making you both soften up and quit with the teasing.

“Not good,” you sighed, slumping back down and going all limp on top of him, your nose faintly brushing his jawline. “I haven’t done any of my homework. I’m so burnt out.”

Peter’s own face softened at that, looking down at you and brushing more of that hair out of your face to get a proper look. To his suspicion, your faint eyebags looked … well, a little less faint.

“You’ve gotta get some rest, then, baby.” He sighed and brushed his own nose into your hair, pulling your head under his chin to rest there while one hand stroked down the base of your neck.

You opened your mouth to protest, but you knew fighting over things like this with Peter never gave you a win. As much as you love him, he’s so damn insistent — he won’t let you do anything if it’s not all beneficial for your mental health or whatever he’s going on about.

“Fine. I’m not gonna fight you tonight.”

Your hands quickly work down his body, tugging at his belt in an attempt to get it off. He helps you work it off quickly, climbing out of bed for a moment to discard his jeans and coat to get comfier.

You only whined a little bit when he got up. To be fair, both of you were awfully clingy, not just you.

“Good, you’re not touching that laptop again. Not after that essay you spent all of our time on the other day.” Peter says, and the second the clothing hits the floor you pull him back down with a quiet giggle.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

He’s tugged nice and close quickly, so perfect against your body. The comfort of your bed has warmed his body up and he’s just in heaven with you wrapped up in his arms.

“No, don’t wanna go to bed.” Your face turns into a pout at his comment, stuffing right into his neck like always. “Let’s just talk. Get my mind off of school. Please?”

As convincing as you attempted to be, the yawn threatening to pull at your lips and the clingy nature you only fell into when you’re really tired gave you away.

“Baby, c’mon. Look at you. All pretty, but exhausted.” He cooed and chuckled, stroking the back of your hair to pull your head back under his chin the way he likes.

Quiet, protesting giggles escape your mouth, but when he keeps trying to pull you closer you’re on the verge of giving in.

At the sound of your constant stubborn whines at the simple thought of going to bed, Peter knows he’ll have to step it up.

“Come on. I’m not gonna be able to sleep myself if I know you’re stressed out. Let’s go to sleep, sweetheart.”

The gentle tone of his voice and slight puppy eyes urged you further and you truly can’t help it in that moment. A sigh escaped your mouth and you reluctantly moved closer, pulling the covers over the two of you.

“Fuck off. Fine.” You yawned once you finally allowed yourself to, letting your body go limp against him.

“There you go. Just close those pretty eyes, yeah? They look heavy.” He whispers, making sure the comforters are over you in every spot, not letting a sliver of skin exposed to the cold air when you could be snuggled with him.

Your protesting let up every time Peter whispered in your ear, the sweet words setting your mind right into a sleepy state. Little “love you’s” and “I’m right here’s” were so quick to ease your mind every time, even at your most stressed state.

“So easy to bribe.” He chuckles against your head once you’re asleep, pressing a last kiss to the top before shutting his own eyes. “G’night, baby. Love you. Always.”