iridescentanachronism

[iridescentanachronism]

temporary fix | p. peter (18+)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ CONTENT

pairing - tasm! peter parker x female reader

synopsis - peter is willing to be anything for you, even if all you need is a temporary fix

see also - in which you are partnered with peter for a project but find yourself studying something else

warnings - unprotected sex, praise kink, dirty talk, choking kink etc.

notes - i am filth. also thank @scomphh for the Inspo! uhm yeah so basically andrew garfield has me in a chokehold and this will definitely be one of the dirtiest things I've written, therefore if you're a minor DNI, at all, seriously

ALSO, ALL CHARACTERS ARE IN COLLEGE. AND OVER 18

tagging - @wint3r-h3art @softholand @tmholland @taissafarmigasgirlfriend

Chemistry was not your thing.

Sure, you could handle basic math, even the occasional calculus assignment, but Chemistry was just entirely out of your element and it showed.

You were hanging off the edge of a C- at the moment and you were really not in the best mindset to retake the course if your grade went any lower. Hence your relief when the class had been assigned a project and you were paired with Peter Parker, the smartest in your grade.

"Hey." You greeted the brunette who nodded his head in response to your greeting, his fingers fidgeting with his backpack straps as you took a seat next to him.

You could see a slight flush to his cheeks and gathered that not many people conversed with him which explained his awkward fidgeting and lack of eye contact.

"So, meet at my place at four for the project? My parents aren't home until late so we can get a head start." You offered after a few minutes of silence.

At your words, Peter's head shot up, eyes meeting yours for the first time.

"U-uh, yeah, that- that sounds good." He nodded his head eagerly, glasses slipping down his nose which he cutely pushed back up.

You smiled and held a hand out which he dumbly slapped in a lame low-five. You held back a snort.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"I kinda need your phone number to text you the address."

You could practically see the embarrassment roll over him in waves as he snatched his hand back as if he was burnt, moving to dig in his jacket pocket as he produced his phone.

He slid the phone to you, fiddling with his glasses this time as you entered your phone number.

You dialed your number from his phone, ending the call and saving him to your contacts just as the bell rang.

Handing him his phone you grabbed your bag and swung it over your shoulder as you waved coyly, "Later Parker."

You stood in front of your bedroom mirror with a nervous frown plastered on your face as you studied yourself.

Truthfully you knew nothing would happen and it was just a study date but you wanted to at least look presentable as you couldn't help but admit, peter parker was indeed attractive and you knew you weren't the only one that felt that way.

Pushing your hair back from your face, you made sure your room was tidy and nothing embarrassing was sticking out just as the doorbell sounded.

Entering the foyer, you opened the door, surprise decorating your face as a bouquet of slightly wilted flowers greeted you, a shy Peter behind them, sans glasses. You internally pouted, you thought the glasses made him even more irresistible.

"Uh, hi. These are for you. They were nice, but uhm, they got smashed in my backpack on the way here. I'm sorry." He blushed, hiding behind the bouquet.

You grinned, taking the flowers from him and giving them a whiff as the scent lingered.

"Thank you, Peter. Here, room is this way. I'll be right there, let me just stick these in something." You told him, pointing to your room. He nodded and headed that way, curious eyes studying the walls as he walked.

You hurriedly grabbed a vase from under your sink, filling it slightly with water and laying the flowers in there as you headed for your room, nerves filling you.

You shut the door behind you softly as you watched Peter sit on your bed, fingers fidgeting with his sleeves as he looked around at all the posters decorating your walls, giving away a bit of your personality.

"You good, Pete? Need anything?" You asked as he snapped from his stupor, brown eyes meeting yours. He shook his head mutely and you smiled, moving to sit beside him as you grabbed your binder with the syllabus for the assignment inside.

"Okay so, any ideas for what we should focus on for our project?" You asked him.

He lit up suddenly, eyes excited as he began to ramble about the subject he loved, his hands expressing his theories and you could only focus on his lips as he spoke, eyes dazed.

You tried your best to dismiss the attraction you felt towards him but it was futile as your eyes only drifted back to his lips, failing to see as he tried to regain your focus.

A hand waving in front of you, caused your mind to snap back to reality as you grinned sheepishly at him.

"Hey, you okay? Am I boring you, I lost you for a minute there." Peter spoke up, voice teasing.

You shook your head, deciding to be up front as you were shitty at lying and he definitely knew something was up.

"Do you know how sexy you are? It's driving me insane because I can't even focus on anything other than your lips and how badly I want them on mine." You admitted, expecting to be embarrassed as he no doubt was only being nice and not at all into you.

You couldn't contain the soft gasp that left your lips as you were pulled close to him, your legs straddling his as he pushed the books from the bed, eyes suddenly intent.

You felt his breath hit your face lightly, smelling of peppermint as he watched you, the both of you waiting for the other to make the move.

"Is this okay?" He questioned, eyes hesitant as his grip on you tightened.

You nodded rapidly, desperation peaking at your center as you felt your panties dampen, your clit being rubbed against his jeans, causing a delicious friction that left you needy.

"I'm going to need you to use your words, pretty girl." He scolded, his index finger and thumb coming up to pinch your lower lip.

"God, yes." You choked out, the words coming out jumbled as your brain short circuited at his touch.

At your approval, he leaned forward, his fingers letting go of your lips as his mouth replaced them, the chaffed skin of his lips causing a new sensation as you gripped his hair between your fingers.

You let out a whimper as his tongue evaded yours, his fingers moving to play with the ends of your sweater.

You pulled back, yanking at his shirt as you removed your hand, your frustration evident as his buttons refused to cooperate.

He chuckled, hair messy from your wandering hands as he gently removed your grip from his clothes, his hand removing the shirt in one fluid motion, the action causing some of the buttons to fly off, though neither of you cared much.

You followed his lead, ripping your shirt off and sending it to a corner of your room.

His hands found the clips of your bra and smoother than you thought, he removed it, sliding the straps down your shoulder as he bit his lip, eyes admiring every part of you.

He cupped your chest, the roughness of his hands causing you to moan as he tugged on your nipples, eyes watching for your reaction.

"You have such pretty tits, baby. Can I have a taste?" You struggled to answer him as his fingers brought you close to the edge, a fact he knew, as he waited patiently for you to answer him, fingers not ceasing their movements.

"I asked you a question, angel."

"Yes." You moaned out, fingers searching for something to hold on in the throws of your pleasure.

"Yes, what? C'mon, you can do it, pretty girl." He tested.

"Yes, you can touch me, wherever you want, please just do something." Any other time you would have been embarrassed, but at this moment you could only plead for him to bring you pleasure, all your inhibitions pushed to the back burner of your mind.

Deciding you had enough teasing, Peter removed his fingers and leaned down, bringing your nipple into his mouth, at the sensation of his warm mouth on your tits, you moaned, head falling back as he lapped at both breasts, dividing the attention between them.

Peter couldn't believe his eyes, there you were, his crush, writhing beneath him as he brought you to the edge. He felt pride swell in him as he was the one responsible for getting you like this.

"Fuck." He mumbled when your eyes rolled back, your body spasming from just his tongue on your tits alone.

You panted as your orgasm coursed through you, your body shuddering as the whispers of your climax faded, leaving you sweaty and yet greedy for more.

You realized you had somehow ended on your back, Peter now atop you and you felt your cheeks warm as you realized you had come so easily just from a touch.

Covering your eyes, you groaned as you heard Peter laugh softly at your sudden shyness.

"No, no, none of that pretty girl. Do you know how hot you looked just now, coming from just my mouth?" He praised, gently removing your hands from your face.

You blew out a breath of air, smiling shyly as he leaned down to connect your lips, a groan emitting deep from him when you nibbled on his lip.

You tilted your head as he trailed kisses down your neck, nipping teasingly at your collarbone. He trailed down the valley of your breasts, licking a nipple before continuing on.

Your breath hitched in your throat when he reached your clit, blowing teasingly on it, the cold air causing you to whimper at the sensitivity.

"Look at this pretty pussy, is all this for me?" His voice was laced with awe as he brought his index finger and dipped it in your wetness, tentatively.

You gasped, legs beginning to shake in anticipation as he explored your folds with his fingertips, so close, yet so far from where you needed him most.

"Peter, please, please, please.." You trailed off, tears forming at the corners of your eyes in frustration.

"I got you, pretty girl. I got you." He affirmed, sitting up he shrugged his pants off along with his briefs, his cock tapping his abdomen softly as it leaked with precum.

The sight brought another desperate moan from you as he tugged at it, his hands spreading the cum around his tip messily.

He brought it to your clit, prodding at your entrance gently as if in a trance, dipping the tip in slowly before realization highlighted his features.

"Wait, I don't have-"

You cut him off by pulling him closer, your nails digging into his biceps as you held on, at the end of your rope.

"I'm on the pill."

He nodded shakily, breath catching as he finally entered you, a high pitched whine leaving him as your wetness enveloped him.

The sound sent a thrill up your spine and you let your head fall back as you succumbed to the pleasure.

"Shit, y-you feel so good, baby. So tight." He trailed off, thrusting experimentally to see how you responded.

When your face twisted in pleasure, he picked up the pace, your hand reaching for his which he obliged, intertwining your fingers wordlessly.

"Look so good, baby. So pretty for me." He mindlessly muttered, abs tensing as he grinded with every thrust.

You could barely form a thought as your mind was ablaze with only him, you felt every ridge of his cock as it brushed your walls, the tip touching the deepest parts of you, nearly in your cervix.

You clenched around him with a gasp when his tip hit your g-spot, your legs spasming at the feeling.

"Right there, baby. You need me right there." He noticed, grabbing your legs and folding them back, he thrusted deeper, his pelvis rubbing your clit, furthering the stimulation.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Peter!" You shouted, his pace quickening with every grind of his hips.

You reached up and pulled him into a messy kiss, a trail of your saliva, connecting him to you, strangely, only furthering your arousal.

Peter pulled back from you suddenly, causing you to frown before he suddenly placed a hand on your throat, squeezing lightly, you let out a pornographic moan, mind ceasing as your vision blurred around the edges.

"Look at me, angel. Wanna see you when you cum." He pleaded.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze as he watched you with adoration.

He grinned at your submission and squeezed harder, not enough to hurt you but enough that you felt your climax at the edge, your need for his permission, leaving you to pause.

Seeing the desperation in your gaze, he brought two fingers to your clit, rubbing rapidly, his own expression, pained.

"It's okay, pretty girl. Let go for me, wanna see you cum all over my cock." He coaxed gently. At his words you let go, body tensing as every nerve you had felt on fire.

Your vision went dark as you clenched around Peter, the tighteness of your grip on him causing him to gasp as he shot his seed into you, cum painting your walls, deepening your climax.

He rode out your highs, thrusting slowly as he jerked from the sensitivity on his cock, your mixed release seeping from your cunt.

He pulled out from you softly, pressing a kiss to your sweaty hairline as he mumbled that he would be back.

You closed your eyes for what felt like hours, when mere seconds went by, before a warm touch on your clit caused you to jerk in surprise.

"Shh, it's okay, pretty girl. Just cleaning you up." He voiced and you smiled at the gesture, as he finished cleaning you and himself before putting the towel in your dirty hamper.

You watched as he stood by your bed, clothes in hand, very obviously not wanting to go, but sure that this was just a temporary fix, one you were sure to forget.

Smiling weakly, you held a hand out to him as he grinned adorably, letting his backpack and clothes fall to the floor carelessly.

He climbed in next to you as you cuddled into his side, tired from your excursion, as you felt your heart trip in it's chest for the boy you found yourself catching feelings for.

He easily slid his arms around you, resting his head into the crook of your neck as you both lie contented in silence.

"We are so doing that again."

He laughed tiredly ar your words, his eyes closing as he allowed his breath to mimic yours.

"Anything you want, pretty girl. Anything you want."

[iridescentanachronism]

Peter Parker x F!Reader. [Andrew Garfield!Spiderman.]

*MAJOR NO WAY HOME SPOILERS*

Unwilling to be happy even eight years after the loss of Gwen, Peter tries his best to ignore you - and the unanswered invite to your Christmas party taking place next door.

Humour. Nicknamed!Reader. Festive Themes. Falling in Love.

NEXT PART || SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST || TAGLIST

*I do not give permission for any of my works or their included components to be copied, rewritten, translated, or reposted - even with credit.*

Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated.

Keep reading

[iridescentanachronism]

remember me -- P.P

pairing: Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield) x reader (Marvel) part 1

word count: 2.7k

warnings: MAJORRRR NO WAY HOME SPOILERS !! 

request/s:  this was requested multiple times by multiple ppl !! 

summary: Peter Parker had lost you in a different reality, but when he is brought to a reality with another Spiderman, he also finds you, but you don’t remember him. 

a/n: there will be another part following this,,,it is literally so confusing to write with 3 diff spidermans while theyre all called peter parker so pls bare with me

part 1 part 2  part 3 part 4 

Keep reading

[iridescentanachronism]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

summary: when peter finds himself in another universe like his, he never expects a pretty girl on the other side to completely throw him off.

CONTAINS ‘NO WAY HOME’ SPOILERS!!

masterlist.

STOP BECAUSE HIS SMILE MAKES ME WANT TO CRY </3

andrew!peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, flustered peter, cute lil moments and that’s kind of it? let me know if i missed any :)

don’t steal any of my work, thanks!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 in a dark alleyway, breathing laboured as he had been swinging for the past thirty minutes out of boredom. The thump of his feet hitting the ground from a high level echoed down the empty area, not another presence apart from rats scurrying around, savaging for leftover foods.

He stood there for a moment, catching his breath with his hands on his knees bent over. Peter swallowed hardly, pushing himself up as he realised he owed Aunt May a new box of eggs after smashing the last.

His feet began to carry him away before a glowing light appeared in the corner of his eye. His spidey sense was going wild, increasing Peter’s curiosity as the more he turned his head to the glow; the more his spidey sense tingled.

“Peter! Peter” He heard his name called. He tilted his head to the side as the ominous glow spiralled into a circle, a clear new setting growing in the middle. Peter furrowed his brows behind the mask and looked around, wondering if this was meant for someone else. When no one seemed to respond to the people waving to him in the glow, Peter took it upon himself to retreat towards the mystery.

The closer he moved to the other side of the spiral, the more these people encouraged him. Peter had never met these people in his life so how on earth did they know his identity?

As Peter edged nearer to the entrance, he noticed the lookalike teenagers panic and take multiple hurried steps back. His curiosity got the better of him as he leaped into the separate setting and earning screams from everyone in the room at his presence.

Peter’s hands waved around trying to tell the people that he was harmless and only their friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. He tried waving at the four in the room, claiming everything is okay while a pillow was thrown at his stomach by a screaming older lady.

His hand raised to the top of his mask and ripped it off on one movement before his eyes scanned the room. The lady who had thrown the pillow had sprinted to the bottom of the stairs, the only boy (excluding Peter) was standing behind the table with his hands out like he was casting a spell. Peter’s eyes drifted to a young, possibly teenage girl stood behind a defensive arm, holding the most confused expression ever. There was a person standing infront of her, like the teenager needed protecting. His eyes travelled up the arm as then landed on you- Oh my God, you.

You were so beautiful. Your hair was falling from the clip secured loosely at the back of you head, locks of hair poking out the top. Your face looked concerned. Your eyebrows were scrunched slightly and your lips were twitched up and apart, showing your teeth which Peter knew you had a gorgeous smile. Peter admired the way your cheeks were flushed a light pink colour when he tore off his mask. His instant favourite part of you were your eyes. He noticed how they softened when you noticed the lack of danger in the room, your lashes adding another layer of beauty to your already perfect face.

“Who are you?” MJ pointed an excusing finger from behind your dominating form at the stranger who jumped through Dr Strange’s portal-magic thing? Peter’s gaze was still on your, “My name’s Peter Parker.” He said slowly, making sure everyone (mainly you but…) hung onto his words and processed them.

MJ looked up to your face, yours still looking at him. “That’s not possible!” She whispered harshly into your ear, making you snap out of your glare from the man.

Peter held his mask in his sweaty palms and lifted both to indicate his face, “I am the Spiderman from my world but yesterday,” His eyes widened and began tripping up on his words at attempts to explain infront of you. “I was just here!” He spoke with uncertainty and began to walk from his stationary spot in the room.

The three of you looked at each other as ‘Peter’ admired the room, gasps leaving his mouth as the house seemed to surprise him more than anything. “Multiverse theory?” He questioned, looking at you mainly. You muttered out a small yes and nodded your head rapidly as he fist pumped the air, letting out a small “I knew it!”

Ned tapped your shoulder and the three of you leaned in, “This has to be because of the spell!” He voice wandered. A hand on your back startled you before you felt Peter lean himself over you, his head hovering above your shoulder. “The spell?” He spoke with glee right next to your face. A beaming smile spread across his face, “A magic spell?” He smiled, feeling a softening glare from you.

Ned and MJ were quick to shake their heads as their voices overlapped one and other, “What spell? There was no spell!”. His excited demure tapped his fingers on your back, “There’s magic here too?” You felt his breath tingle on your cheek as small giggles fell from his lips.

MJ tugged your body back with a pull of your wrist, feeling Peter’s warm touch slip from your back and seeing his smile drop. “Prove it.” She spoke strongly, keeping your wrist in a tight hold. “Prove to us that you’re Spiderman, Peter Parker.”

The man tapped the sides of his suit, “I don’t carry an ID with me, kind of defeats the whole anonymous superhero thing?” His nose scrunched in confusion.

MJ used the hand not holding you to pick up the piece of bread you had raised to your mouth, about to happily eat, to throw at the man in front of you. The bread tapped his chest and did zero harm physically or mentally to the man. His lips upturned and his shoulders shrugged, “Why did you do that?”

Her hand was held up in front of her in a pathetic defence. “She’s trying to see if you have the tingle thing.” You said for the furious girl beside you, thinking some man is trying to imitate her boyfriend.

Peter’s eyes snapped to yours as he heard your angelic voice for the first time, the sigh in your tone made Peter want to grab your face and kiss you so passionately (even though he’s just met you, he knows true love when he sees it.)

He swallowed down his inner voice and said “Yes, I have the tingle thing; just not for bread.” MJ wasn’t convinced.

MJ’s hand snatched to grab another piece and lifted it high in the air. “Can- can you not throw the bread again?” Peter said with confusion laced in his voice. “You’re a deeply mistrusting person,” He raised his hands and he backed away. “And I respect that.” He confessed before he jumped up and stuck his hand on the ceiling.

His legs and one arm holding his mask dangled, his eyes meeting yours and sending a subtle wink your way. Why were you blushing? MJ’s fingers pointed around the ceiling as a odd looking scowl was imprinted on her face. “Crawl around.”

“Crawl around?” He sounded almost offended. His eyes broke from yours as he shook his head with a certain, “No.”

“Yes. Crawl around.” MJ stood her ground.

“Why do I need to crawl around?”

“Because it’s not enough!”

“This is plenty.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is.”

“Nuh uh!”

“It is.”

Peter groaned, “How do I stick to the ceiling?” He squinted his eyes before another piece of bread was thrown at his chest, earning a small laugh from your beside the bickering teenager.

Ned’s grandmother tapped you on the shoulder and explained in the easiest way possible for you, “Ned’s grandma asked if you could get that cobweb in the corner there?” You asked on behalf of her with a scrunched nose, looking at the attractive man holding a face of ‘I’m done’ hanging from the ceiling.

Peter obliged to your words almost instantly as he stuffed his mask to hold in his teeth, as he lifted his body to be on all fours on the ceiling. Ned and MJ glanced at each other as he followed your rules easily and not theirs, both confused on his beg for attention from you.

He cleared the cobweb after a heartless ‘Thank you’ from Ned’s mum. Peter detached himself from the ceiling and landed on the floor directly in front of you.

His chest was close to yours and so were your faces. Your noses nudged slightly as his tall figure leaned over yours, the smile hidden behind his grip on the mask reflected your own. Tension swarmed the two of you as his hand brushed your own ever so slightly.

The unknown moment between the two of you was interrupted at both of your heads snapped towards the new voice in the room. “Wait a minute, he’s not your friend…” The new Peter looked questionably at your Peter.

A newfound silence flooded the room as the two practically had a stare off before they both webbed at each other and swiftly landed on the kitchen island.

Your Peter hopped off the counter and stood by your side, coming shoulder to shoulder with you as the two of you unintentionally blocked out most of new Peter’s words.

Your Peter’s hand grazed your fingers and lightly touched them in an invitation to hold. You opened your hand and felt his warm palm slip into yours. A smile tugged on your face at the heat rising to your prominent cheeks. Sending a teasing smile MJ’s way as she winked at Peter’s height against yours, holding your hand.

A goofy smile spread across Peter’s lips as he held hands with the pretty girl he would soon become more with.

actually love this :(

taglist (let me know if wished to be removed,, you will be tagged in later andrew!peter posts! let me know if you don’t want this haha!)

@tsukishimawhore

@weasleytwinscumslut

@flymeaway-karasuno

@morgane-stark

@panicatwakanda

@krishavania

@lavendersfairy

@jessica2008

@ancailinaerach

@softmullet

@jemimah-b99

@elarasstardust

@anecdoteissues

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[iridescentanachronism]

Carry You Home (TASM!PeterParker x Reader)

Summary: “I’m so scared, Pete,” you whispered, blinking back the tears that had sprung to your eyes, betraying you, “All the time.” He understood—of course he did. Peter crawled into the bed behind you, pulling you into him and kissing the nape of your neck. When he spoke, his breath tickled you. “I know, ladybug, but I will do anything to keep you safe.” “That’s what scares me.” Words: 2.3k A/N: protective!peter & protective!spidey; canon-typical violence; blood & injury; mentions of alcohol and food; implied/non-graphic sex; mentions of Gwen's death and death more generally

Peter had always kept you close, whether it was his arm wrapped around your waist while you were curled up on the couch watching Fresh Prince reruns or his hand over yours, the pad of his thumb rubbing a pattern over your knuckles while you waited for your Chinese takeout in the divey little place near your shared apartment that you both loved.

It was a strangely singular feeling, to walk around in the world as an individual and one half of an inseparable pair, sharing your space and your air, your mind and your body, with another person. And Peter was a strangely singular person—perhaps not entirely, as he had that whole secret identity thing going on—but you knew there was no one in the world quite like your boyfriend.

The way he refused to let you walk the dog alone after dark and the way he asked you to text him each time you arrived safely at work in the morning—which you did, despite the fact that you were terrible at remembering to text people—and the way he nearly jumped over the tracks to get at the man who had cat-called you from the other side of Lexington Avenue subway station, stilled only by your hand on his chest and your whisper in his ear, prompting him to slide his hand into the back pocket of your jeans—it was all part of his seemingly fundamental need to keep you safe.

And it didn’t end with the Peter only you knew, the man who existed behind the red and blue mask and the witty one-liners that the criminals hated but the reporters loved. The part of him you had to share with the rest of the world—his friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man—was also single-mindedly dedicated to your safety. Whenever Peter left, the pinging of his Spidey-cell—as he’d taken to calling it—drawing him away from you, he made you promise, swear to him, that you’d stay put in your apartment. Unless it was about to crumble to the ground, you couldn’t leave, no matter what you heard outside, no matter what you saw on the news. Not until he was back with you because, bloodied and broken as he might be, his presence at your side meant that whatever threat there had been was gone. And you were safe.

“Why do you do it?” You asked one night, two glasses of cheap boxed wine deep, your legs splayed across his lap while he sketched away at an upgraded design for his web shooters.

“Moral imperative,” Peter grinned, glancing up at you with a cheeky look.

You shook your head. “I’m not talking about Spider-Man,” you said, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him better, to really see him. “I’m talking about me.”

“Why do I put up with you?” Peter set his sketchbook aside and lightly tickled behind your knees, making you playfully kick his hands away.

“No,” you rolled your eyes, “Though I could say the same thing about you. I mean why do you work so hard to protect me as Peter? I get the whole Spider-Man thing—it’s your schtick, but—”

Peter let out a bark of laughter. “My schtick? Y/N, wow!”

“Shut up,” you whined, “I’m drunk.” You gestured haphazardly to the empty wine glass on the end table.

“You’re a cheap drunk,” Peter chuckled, though he took his cue to gently shift your legs out of the way and padded over to the adjoining kitchen to get you a glass of water.

“Lucky you,” you muttered, returning the rude hand gesture he sent your way with one of your own. He returned, placing a full glass in your hand and watching you expectantly. You made a show of drinking it, dramatically maintaining eye contact until the glass was drained. Peter shook his head. “I’m serious though,” you continued, handing the glass back to him, “It’s not that I don’t love it, but you never give yourself a break, Pete.”

“If you’re talking about me pulling you back onto the sidewalk today,” he crossed his arms over his chest, “It’s not my fault you were about to walk into traffic.”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” you admitted, sensible enough to look ashamed at the memory of several cars honking their horns at you, “Plus, I’m not a native New Yorker like you. Back in my neck of the woods we don’t even know what cars are.”

Peter watched you for a moment, the amusement on his face giving way to something deeper and warmer and more complete. “I love you, Y/N. And I’ll always protect you, whether as Spider-Man or plain old Peter Parker.”

“Well, plain old Peter Parker,” you smiled, tone softening as you opened your arms, “Do you want to carry me to bed?”

“I can do that,” Peter nodded, setting the water glass down beside your abandoned wine glass. In one quick motion, you were cradled in his arms, bridal-style, his chin resting atop your head. You felt him breathe in deeply, savouring the smell of the strawberry shampoo you used because you knew he loved it.

He set you down in bed, amongst the warmth of the forest-green comforter and the old hoodie of his you kept under your pillow for nights when he was called away, and he kissed you softly—your forehead, your eyes, your lips, the tip of your nose. You blinked up at him, feverish love in your eyes and something like desperation, not for him—not tonight at least—but for him to understand.

“I’m so scared, Pete,” you whispered, blinking back the tears that had sprung to your eyes, betraying you, “All the time.”

He understood—of course he did. Peter crawled into the bed behind you, pulling you into him and kissing the nape of your neck. When he spoke, his breath tickled you. “I know, ladybug, but I will do anything to keep you safe.”

“That’s what scares me.”

***

Miles Warren. Peter—Spider-Man—had locked him up in Ryker's more than once. A once prominent geneticist and professor of Biology, Warren had descended into obsessive madness over Spider-Man and he had, you discovered on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, discovered the truth of Peter’s identity. It was the only logical explanation you could come up with as to why you were currently up on top of one of the Harlem River Park Towers, dangerously close to the edge of the 44-story building with a clawed hand pressed up against the delicate skin on your throat.

Miles Warren—The Jackal, as he’d genetically modified himself to become—had caught you unawares as you left the Bronx library, too tired and too hungry to think about anything other than getting home to Peter because he was making your favourite veggie tacos for dinner. Your phone had tucked away in your backpack, Peter’s warning texts about Warren’s escape unseen and unheeded.

“He’s going to kill you,” you sputtered out, the bright sun in your eyes an almost-derisive mockery of the cold chill in your veins.

“He’ll try,” Warren sneered, his arm tightening around your waist to hold you in place as you squirmed. Somehow, you knew that Peter would show up soon, if for no other reason than you could see a crowd of people gathering at the foundation of the building, and hear the screech of sirens growing closer. But Warren was even closer than that, his breath hot on your neck, drool slipping from his snout-like mouth and soaking your t-shirt.

You heard Peter land behind you and Warren even before you heard the gasps and cheers from the crowd below. It made you feel light-headed—did he know you were here too?

“You escaped from your cage, huh?” The light tone of Peter’s voice, that oh-so-painfully familiar humour, told you he hadn’t figured it out yet. “Guess you can teach an old dog new—”

His words stopped dead as the Jackal turned you both around, his stance instantly offensive, ready to spring to action.

“Peter Parker,” the villain drawled, more of his rancid spit falling over you. You would have wretched, but you were worried that any movement of your throat would bring that knife-like claw further into your skin. “I’m thrilled to be the one to kill you and share with the world that the Amazing Spider-Man,” he paused, sneering, to spit in Peter’s direction, “Is nothing but a cocky little boy too arrogant for his own good.”

“Give her back, Warren,” Peter commanded, something catching in his voice, “Right here, right now.” You were glad Peter was wearing his mask because you didn’t think you’d be able to stand seeing the fear you knew was ablaze in his eyes.

The yellowing claw pressed further into your throat and you felt its cold bite on your skin, a trickle of blood escaping, dribbling down your neck. God, how you wanted to be stoic and brave, to show your boyfriend he could worry about saving the world and you could save yourself, but a terrified whimper escaped your lips and tears fell unbidden from your eyes.

You weren’t afraid of death—no, it hadn’t been a thing that ever frightened you. Death was either a new adventure or complete nothingness and neither of those things seemed all that bad. You were afraid of leaving Peter behind, even the thought of it causing guilt and fear to rip into your heart.

“It’s me you want,” Peter continued, “Leave her out of this.”

“I’m sorry,” you mouthed. It was then that Peter pulled his mask off, you knew so that he could look you in the eye. There were tears there to match your own and you heard Warren laugh in your ear, the sound repulsive, turning your stomach. With difficulty, Peter pulled his gaze away from you to look at your captor.

“Gonna let another one of your pretty girls die?”

You saw Peter’s eyes grow wide with something like hate, a frenzy of rage contorting his face. And then he was gone from his place in front of you. Or, rather, you were gone, webs wrapped around you as you landed on the other side of the rooftop, your arm screaming in pain from where it had broken your fall.

You blinked back the daze you felt, Warren’s words settling into your foggy brain as realization hit you like a brick. Peter’s first girlfriend, Gwen, whose photo he still kept in his wallet—he’d never actually told you how she’d died. You’d never asked, knowing that some wounds were always fresh enough to reopen. Silently, you vomited onto the crumbling rooftop, nothing in your stomach but coffee and acid coming up to burn your throat, bile stinging the inside of your mouth.

When you looked back to where Peter and Warren—Spider-Man and the Jackal—were fighting several feet away, you wanted nothing more than to look away. You’d never seen men move like that, never seen Peter’s motions so jagged and violent. When he gained the upper hand, his fists were relentless, powers seemingly forgotten in a flurry of aggressive blows landed one after the other until Warren was nothing more than a bloody mess of flesh in the concrete.

***

The next hour was a blur. Spider-Man—Peter—were they still the same person, you wondered vaguely—had picked you up and brought you home. He’d taken off your blood-stained clothing and set you in the shower and kissed you. And then he’d gone. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew he’d gone to clean up the mess the Jackal had made, to make sure that his name, his real name, would never leave that madman’s lips.

You stayed in the shower for as long as the hot water lasted and when you emerged, wrapped in a towel fresh from the dryer, less foggy though still tender and bruised, the thin cut on your throat already scabbing over, Peter was back, cross-legged on the bed in nothing but boxers. There was no Spider-Man suit anywhere to be seen, no indication of what had happened that afternoon aside from the raw and angry red of his knuckles, the cut across his left abdomen, deeper than yours but inflicted by the same evil.

He was up on his feet, hovering just outside your personal space as though afraid you were afraid of him, of what you'd seen him do. You gave him a tired smile and opened your arms, allowing him to fall into you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The words fell from his lips into your bare shoulder almost like religious fervour. You knew he was apologizing to you, to Gwen, to himself—for all the things he’d done and all the things he’d failed to do.

“Pete, hon, I’m here. I’m okay,” you whispered into his hair, the smell of citrus sharp in your nostrils. He must have stopped at May’s to shower. You were grateful for this kindness, this washing away of the afternoon so that your evening was free of memory. “You’re okay. It's okay. You saved me."

Together, you fell back into the bed. Together, you cried, tears mingling as you kissed hard and with abandon, your lips swelling with the force of Peter‘s desperate attention, nothing in the world present except for him—the heat where he touched you, the sound of his gasps and moans in your ear, the smell of sweat—not brought on by fear or anger, but the sweetness of love—filling your senses.

And when you lowered yourself onto him, gasping at the sensation, you held his face in your hands, eyes locked. His hands hovered tentatively over your hips, afraid to bruise you even more.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, “Hold me.” And he did, allowing himself to get lost in your eyes and your hands, and your body. You relished giving him the escape.

Because, in the end, who would save Spider-Man if not you?

***

Tagging: @violetrainbow412-blog @v1oletvenus @schmuckyschmarnes — I hope that's okay!

[iridescentanachronism]

Something Human (tasm!PeterParker x Reader)

Summary: “You look so cute when you’re wet,” Peter laughed and you couldn’t help but to join in, only imagining how much of a mess the two of you appeared, soaked to the bone and dishevelled; bags under your eyes, a badge of honour for two grad students nearing the end of another semester of essays, exams, and lab research. “I’m literally going to die of hypothermia,” you retorted. “Well then we should get you out of those clothes,” Peter stated matter-of-factly as the elevator doors closed. — or, the one where you at Peter get caught in the rain Words: 2.4k A/N: established relationship; cursing; so much sexual innuendo; nudity; oral sex (fem!receiving); part 1 of 2 because it'd be cruel not to... Also I actually love this one, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

The air was alive with electricity, the taste of ozone thick on your tongue as you hurried home from the library, backpack heavy with textbooks and essays you needed to mark for the undergraduate course you were TA-ing for. Overhead, unforgiving clouds, towering and grey, promised a deluge of raging wind and rain. There was a strange atmosphere of anticipation as you and your boyfriend wove through the crowds of New Yorkers and tourists alike, most already beginning to open their umbrellas.

You felt the first thick drop splash onto the tip of your nose and barely had time to consider it before the sky opened up into a powerful torrent, something almost apocalyptic.

“Shit, Y/N!” You heard Peter call out to you over a rumbling clap of thunder, “Let’s go!”

You’d already been hurrying, hand clasped in Peter’s as he towed you along the sidewalk you canvas sneakers soaked through from where they dashed through rapidly forming puddles.

By the time you reached your building, four blocks away, you truly understood the meaning of the word drenched. Rain pooled in your socks, ran between your shoulder blades, and made your hair stick to your face despite the fact that Peter had given you his hoodie and you’d had it pulled up. In the air-conditioned lobby, waiting for the elevator, you felt a chill settling in and shifted closer to Peter whose hair hung limp and dripping around his ears.

“You look so cute when you’re wet,” Peter laughed and you couldn’t help but to join in, only imagining how much of a mess the two of you appeared, soaked to the bone and dishevelled; bags under your eyes, a badge of honour for two grad students nearing the end of another semester of essays, exams, and lab research.

“I’m literally going to die of hypothermia,” you said, happy to hear the ding of the elevator, the pneumatic hiss of doors sliding open. You both stepped inside, Peter pressing the button to take you up to the fifth floor of what had been a six-story walk-up—until the building super had finally fixed the elevator last month. Admittedly, you preferred the stairs, but the elevator was still a novelty that you were going to indulge in for the foreseeable future.

“Well then we should get you out of those clothes,” Peter stated matter-of-factly as the elevator doors closed, grinning when you turned around to stick your tongue out at him. He returned your expression with a wiggle of his eyebrows and you shook your head.

“The one day I didn't check the weather,” you sighed, “And the universe decides to storm with a vengeance.”

“Don’t lie,” Peter teased, “You never check the forecast. It’s why I’m missing so many of my sweaters.” He stared pointedly at the one you wore now, dark green and with wrists threadbare from where Peter’s frenetic fingers had pulled at the fabric.

“Do you want this one back?” you asked teasingly as the elevator bumped to a stop at your floor. Peter looked at you with darkened eyes, something covetous tugging at the corners of his lips as he pressed you into the elevator doors.

“I told you I wanted to get you out of—”

The doors slid open behind you, sending you spilling out into the hallway. You might have stumbled over the elderly woman you recognized as Mrs. Dorsey from three doors down from you if Peter hadn’t caught you round the waist, pulling you up and away from your almost-scandalized looking neighbour. No doubt she’d had some inkling as to what Peter had been about to say. As it was, he nodded politely at her and you imagined that if he was wearing a hat, he’d tip it in her direction.

“Afternoon Mrs. Dorsey,” he greeted her with sweetness like honey in his words, “It’s a mess out there, so be careful.”

“You kids be careful too,” Mrs. Dorsey said lightly, a knowing lilt in her voice, as she stepped into the elevator and you gaped as the doors closed behind her.

“Did she just—?” you shook your head in disbelief.

“I think she did,” Peter laughed, “Who knew that Old Mrs. Dorsey was a flirt?”

“Oh god, Peter,” you cringed, “I help the woman clean her apartment twice a week, please don’t.”

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Peter put his hands up in mock surrender as you fished around in your backpack for the key to your front door, still dripping water onto the carpeted hallway floor. Peter was quicker than you, pulling the key you’d given him a year into your relationship from his keyring in his back pocket and opening the door for you.

“Ladies first,” he grinned, eliciting another eye roll from you as you kicked off your sneakers and unshouldered your backpack. Behind you, Peter did the same. As he closed the door behind him, latching it out of habit, a silence fell between you, eyes meeting across the cramped entryway of your one-bedroom.

“I mopped yesterday,” you said quietly, blinking under the intensity of Peter’s stare, “It’d be a shame to dirty the floors.” A lopsided grin lit up your boyfriend’s face as he took a step closer to you. Despite the cold dampness that had seeped into your bones, you could feel heat radiating off his body, see fire ignited in his eyes. His expressiveness gave you pause, that beautiful way he reacted so passionately to everything was one of the things that had attracted you to him in the first place. He was so real, so very human, and the great irony of it was that he was so much more than that as well.

Peter’s fingers tugging down the zipper of your borrowed hoodie drew you back into the present moment. If he’d said something clever in response to your innuendo—which he most certainly did because he could never help himself—you hadn’t heard it, distracted by the rising of your heartbeat you felt pulsing in your ears.

You allowed him to unzip the sweater fully before you shrugged out of it and your hands moved to the hem of his t-shirt, a soaked through cotton piece in a deep blue colour that you loved on him.

“Off,” you said, lifting his shirt to reveal his lean, muscled abdomen. There were a few faded marks decorating his otherwise smooth skin—physical recollections of last night’s Spider-Man exploits under the cover of a mask and the neon-sprayed darkness of New York.

“As you wish,” Peter whispered, helping you remove his shirt, sliding it over his head as you watched the waterlogged fabric cling to his skin, the droplets trickling down the plane of his chest. He caught you staring and smirked. “I’d tell you to take a picture, but I think you already have a few.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, “If I was dying of hypothermia, I’m so glad you’d run your mouth off instead of helping me.”

“Oh, Y/N,” he licked his lips, “I’d help you in a heartbeat.” True to his word, Peter was pressed up against you in an instant, his hands pulling your t-shirt over your head, tossing it aside to land with a watery squelch somewhere on the tiles. Your shorts were next, his thumb and forefinger expertly flicking the button open and his free hand guiding them down your hips. You shimmied the rest of the way out of them, pulling off your socks as you stepped out of the denim pooled at your feet.

Peter’s eyes ran over your body as your own hands moved to the waistband of his jeans, unclasping his belt with practiced ease and following your own movements, allowing your knees to sink down to the floor as you pulled his pants off the rest of the way, making space for him to step out of them.

You glanced up at him then, blinking innocently before you placed a kiss over his boxers on the place where they bulged away from his body. You slid a hand up the leg opening of his underwear, nails scraping against his thigh until you felt his cock twitch under where your lips still rested over it.

“Y/N,” Peter whispered, his hands coming down to tangle in your damp hair before moving to your shoulders to guide you back up to standing. He pulled you close, one hand resting on the back of your head, the other on your hip, holding you tight. His lips found yours, kissing you just the way you liked—softly at first, but with a fervour that told you he was holding back. You dipped your head to the side, allowing him access to your neck, moaning softly as his teeth scraped over your pulse point and he licked his way back to your jaw.

“Bedroom,” you mumbled, noting the thick lust that was layered in your voice. Peter nodded, taking your hand and pulling you to the very back of your apartment, to the bedroom he often shared with you, especially on nights when he returned after being called away to be more than Peter Parker, drawn away from the warmth of your bed and your arms and your body to save the city before coming back and allowing himself to be just human again.

Your bedroom was a mess, you knew that. Littered with empty coffee cups and study notes, laundry piles you’d been neglecting and a half-finished knitting project on the chair in the corner. But you didn’t care because Peter had seen worse from you, holding your hair back when you got too drunk at your birthday party last year or standing beside you and drying your tears when grant applications for your research were denied.

Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sank into a seated position there, suddenly very aware of the dampness gathering in your cotton underwear, the desperate need for friction between your heated thighs. Peter was dropping to his knees between your legs and you felt your heart flutter with anticipation because he was nothing if not a selfless lover.

“Thought I got you out of all those wet clothes at the front door,” he said, voice low as he pressed two fingers gently against your core, causing your back to arch.

“Guess you missed something,” you replied lightly, your teeth pinching your bottom lip to keep in a moan as he added a bit more pressure.

“Hm,” Peter frowned playfully, “You’re just too distracting.” He kissed each of your knees and trailed his way up your legs, every so often pausing to nibble on the sensitive spots of your inner thighs, spots he knew like the back of his own hand. “Lay down,” he instructed.

You obliged, lowering yourself onto your elbows so you could watch as he hooked a finger through your underwear, glancing up at you quickly. You nodded your permission, allowing him to continue pulling your panties off with aching slowness.

“Like I said,” Peter smiled up at you, clearly enjoying the lewd keenness etched onto your face, “You look cute when you’re wet.”

“Fuck y—” you began to curse at him, but were cut off by the feeling of his lips kissing you gently at your center. Your head fell back, eyes closing of their own accord as Peter tentatively kissed you again, soft open-mouthed kisses at the apex of your thighs before he slid his tongue along your core, humming with delight. His name fell from your lips as he slipped his tongue inside you then. Every inch of your body long-since memorized, he found your clit quickly and lightly lapped at it, making you buck your hips up towards him and giving him an opportunity to slip one hand under your hips to hold you up. His arm wasn’t even shaking with the added effort, goddamn superhuman strength.

As his tongue continued to work figure-8 motions inside you, his other hand slid down to rub your thighs gently before he slipped a finger inside you making you groan with abandon—it would have been embarrassing had you not known how much Peter liked to hear you. His finger gradually curled inside you, stroking you gently as he continued to lap at you with his tongue, finding and steadying his rhythm and pace in mere moments. Your hands wanted to be everywhere on him, but your arms weren’t quite long enough to make that a reality so you settled for clutching at your bedsheets as you whimpered his name.

“Peter,” you sighed, feeling the tension in the pit of your stomach coil tightly, “I’m—”

A familiar shrill—and currently unwelcome—chiming sounded from the entryway. The fucking Spider-Signal, that cell phone Peter had set up so the NYPD could reach him at a moment’s notice. You clenched your eyes shut as Peter’s tempo faltered, distracted by the sound. To his credit, he quickly recovered, finding his way back into the pattern that had been building you toward something mind blowing, but the moment had passed. Peter felt the shift in your body language and his face reappeared from between your legs, a frustrated groan leaving his lips.

“Fuck, Y/N—Fuck!”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, wiggling into a seated position and trying to still your beating heart. “Just make sure whoever cock-blocked me pays for it, yeah?” You opened your arms and beckoned him toward you, allowing his head to fall against your chest.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, and you nodded because you knew he would. Peter stood and sighed, glancing down with a look of defeat at you.

“Be careful,” you warned and this time Peter nodded, both of you knowing that he was always careful, always focused on coming home to you.

“I’ll see you soon, ladybug,” he said, kissing the top of your head before heading toward the bedroom door, toward the backpack carrying his secret identity he’d left by your front door. He paused briefly, turning to you with a smirk. “And no getting off without me, okay?”

You placed a hand over your chest, the other coming up open-palmed beside your face. “Scout’s honour,” you grinned, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

[iridescentanachronism]

Band-Aids on Broken Hearts (TASM!PeterParker x Reader)

Summary: “You have a small knife,” his voice was barely more than a rasp and you weren’t sure if you’d heard him correctly. “Pardon?” Even as you spoke, your hands were busying themselves with checking for signs of grave bodily injury. “They’re my weakness." You made a small noise of disbelief in your throat. “Are you seriously spouting one-liners as you bleed out on my fire escape?” — or the one where Spider-Man ends up injured on your fire escape and you find yourself slowly falling for the man behind the mask. Words: 2.5k A/N: strangers to friends to lovers; sloooow burn; witty banter; cursing; canon typical violence; blood, bruises, etc.; mentions of death; dealing with grief; eventual smut; reader falling in love with Spider-Man Based on this request; Part 1 of 5 (!!!)

You were startled out of an already uneasy sleep by—well, you weren’t exactly sure what had done it. Had there been a noise? Or a bad dream that had already slipped past the hold of memory? Maybe it was just the coffee you had at eight p.m. coming back with a vengeance because you hadn’t listened to the sensible part of your brain that said not to do it, even as the dark liquid splashed into your chipped ceramic mug.

You pulled the blankets over your head, resisting the urge to look at your phone, check your email—even though the only people sending you things this late were procrastinating undergrads—or get up for a glass of water. But you knew that if you stood up, there’d be no getting back to sleep. Best to ignore how parched your throat was, that little persistent tickle of—

Fuck it.

You rolled out of bed, tossing an old, threadbare t-shirt over your bare shoulders, toes curling in the warmth of your area rug as they hit the floor. You were halfway to the bedroom door, left ever so slightly ajar as was your habit, when you heard it. The creaking of your fire escape, no doubt what had woken you in the first place. And it wasn’t just the windy night type of creaks, either. Those you’d grown used to within a week of moving to the city. This was the distinct shifting noise of someone moving on the old and rusted metal grates.

You froze for a moment, wondering who would try to rob a piss-poor grad student, before scurrying to the kitchen and glancing around for the biggest knife you could find—you settled on the first one instead, spurred by the sound of more creaking, a paring knife, probably dull with use, but good enough. Hopefully.

Having tiptoed back to your bedroom, you peeked through your floral curtains and your heart nearly clambered up your throat with a sharp pulsing. Spider-Man was sprawled out across your fire escape. Yes, that Spider-Man. Unless a drunken impersonator had climbed up to your fourth floor window and passed out there. Honestly, that would have seemed more likely, if not for the tears in the fabric of his suit, the blood seeping slowly from what looked like painfully deep cuts.

You were climbing out through the window before you had time to think about it, bare feet pricked by the cold of the metal, legs kissed by the autumn breeze as you fell to your knees beside the hero, autopilot engaged.

“Hey,” you said, voice firm, “Can you hear me?”

There was a barely perceptible nod from the man whose pulse you quickly moved to check, two fingers on his clothed neck. You could feel the thrumming of his heart, slow and weak, but there.

“I’m going to help you,” you told him, “Do you think you can talk to me? Tell me what happened?”

There was a moment of silence. Then he spoke. “You have a small knife,” his voice was barely more than a rasp and you weren’t sure if you’d heard him correctly.

“Pardon?” Even as you spoke, your hands were busying themselves with checking for signs of grave bodily injury.

“They’re my weakness.”

You made a small noise of disbelief in your throat. “Are you seriously spouting one-liners as you bleed out on my fire escape?”

“I’ll be okay. Just need…” his voice trailed off weakly, sputtering out in his throat. And then nothing. Fuck. Had Spider-Man just died on your fire escape? That would be—your brain parsed its inner dictionary for the right word, finally settling on the perfectly adequate bad. Yes, Spider-Man dying in your arms would be quite bad indeed.

“Spider-Man?” Your voice was tentative as you nudged him with your index finger, a little afraid and unsure why. You watched his chest carefully, relieved to see the rise and fall of shallow breathing. He was unconscious for sure. Not as bad as dead, but still…bad.

You weighed your options. Call an ambulance? No. That didn’t seem like something a person with a secret identity would want. Check his pockets for a phone, maybe call someone he knew? You blinked that idea away quickly, noticing the way the suit clung tightly to every inch of his body. Definitely no pockets. You could just leave him there, but that seemed mean and against the very fabric of someone who was tending bar and doing menial lab work in order to pay for Nursing school.

No, the only option was to take him inside. You were going to drag Spider-Man inside your window—how? He was lean, yes, but muscular. And much taller than you. It wouldn’t be easy. Your mind quickly raced to access the file of information you’d stored somewhere about moving patients in emergency situations, taking stock of your options. Blanket roll would be the easiest and safest, but Ankle Pull was faster, if a little bumpier. You figured at this point it didn’t really matter.

Okay, you could do this.

You stood, cracking your knuckles and pumping yourself up quietly in the darkness, imagining yourself as Eminem in front of the mirror in that first scene of Eight Mile. Or Rocky, running up the stairs as Eye of the Tiger played triumphantly overtop his montage.

Then, with all the strength you could muster, silently thankful you’d gotten back into yoga recently, you lifted Spider-Man’s ankles and heaved, trying to ignore the way his neck swayed and his masked cheek made bruising contact with the unforgiving grates of the fire escape. What was a minor concussion in the face of all that blood anyways?

Getting him inside was a feat of maneuvering that would make any Tetris champ green with envy. And that achieved, you dragged him straight to the bathroom, laughing at that point, nearly hysterical because this was the weirdest thing that would ever happen to you and you weren’t quite ready to process it.

You gently lowered his ankles, again laughing because you’d basically dragged him down your hallways like a potato sack and you’d chosen that moment to regain your bedside manner. Turning away briefly, you turned the warm water in the tub to full blast and, after giving your hands a good wash, reached into the cabinet under your sink for your First-Aid Kit.

After a moment’s uncertainty, not quite sure where to begin, you grabbed the scissors from your kit. You’d contemplated pulling the mask off, teeth worrying your bottom lip, but that seemed too invasive. It wasn’t like he couldn’t breathe properly when wearing it, the man literally soared around New York and fought genetically fraught monsters in it. The fabric was obviously workout friendly and aerobic.

With the scissors, you cut through the material of his suit. It took more effort than you’d imagined based on its look, making you wonder what magical material it was actually made of. That question quickly faded from your mind as you took in the extent of the damage written on Spider-Man’s body, his chest a canvas of angry purpling bruises and sprays of red blood, some that ochre hue that told you it was dried and some that vivid crimson that you usually only saw in the ER.

Setting your jaw, you grabbed a towel from the bath ledge and dipped it in the warm water that had pooled in the tub. Cleaning the mess of the man in front of you would allow you to properly treat his injuries. The crisp white towel turned red instantly, the water in the tub quickly following suit as you dipped the towel into it for a rinse.

You tried not to have second thoughts about what you were doing. There was a lot of blood—enough of it lost that Spider-Man had literally fainted. At the hospital you knew that he’d be rushed on a gurney to the nearest OR, so what the hell were you doing?

What if he—?

No. You refused to entertain that thought for even a moment, the very real possibility of it suddenly hitting you and making your hands tremble lightly. You steadied them with a deep breath, a quick pinch on the inside of your elbow.

It was after cleaning his wounds that you realized the deepest gash under his third rib was still bleeding heavily. You pressed a towel firmly against his skin, hoping it would help clot the blood.

It was then that Spider-Man woke up, a heavy intake of air alerting you to his consciousness a moment before his gloved hand gripped your wrist with enough force to bring tears to your eyes.

“It’s okay!” you cried, voice high, “I’m helping you. Please.”

All at once he seemed to notice you, that you weren’t a costumed villain but a tired-looking girl in a too-big t-shirt. You could almost see the gears in his brain turning as he took in where he was—your admittedly untidy bathroom—and that his mask had not been removed. His grip loosened, and then relaxed entirely.

“Sorry,” he rasped out, “Are you okay?”

You nodded, urging him to relax back down into a prone position from where he’d pushed himself up. “Better than you are,” you replied lightly, “How big was the truck that hit you?”

He laughed, a bit groggily, but it was a good sign. He was communicating and that meant he was functioning, though you weren’t quite sure how.

“About 360 pounds of muscle and claw,” he winced, “Where did you find me?”

“On my fire escape,” you shrugged, checking the wound you’d been holding the towel over. The bleeding had stopped, which was also surprising. You reached into your kit for antibiotic cream and disinfectant. “I thought you were going to bleed out.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, hissing as you began to spread your salves on his broken body. “Would you believe I’ve looked worse?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. You’re the first hero I’ve bandaged up.”

“Well you’re doing great.” He tried another laugh but it came out as more of a sputtering cough.

“I might have you write me a recommendation letter,” you joked. You recapped the creams and swapped them out with your stitching kit. Spider-Man shook his head.

“I’ll skip the stitches, Doc,” he said, “Accelerated healing and all that.”

You made an unconvinced noise in your throat as a response, but set the kit aside. “Bandages then?”

“And some ibuprofen, if you’re packing.”

You nodded, grabbing a roll of gauze bandages and helped him into a seated position, allowing him to prop his arms over your shoulders to steady himself as you layered his chest with bandages. You couldn’t help but to think of it as the strangest hug you’d ever had.

Finished taping off the bandages, you stood to wash your hands again and drain the tub, the red swirls in the water a little disconcerting.

“Scooby-Doo, huh?”

You turned to see Spider-Man digging through your medical bag, cartoonish bandaids in one hand, a bottle of painkillers in the other.

“I’m on pediatric rotation,” you flushed, “Nursing grad program. Year Three.”

“Wow,” Spider-Man chuckled darkly, “I picked a good fire escape to land on.”

You smiled, unable to help yourself. His good humour was contagious. You almost forgot that he was ridiculously injured.

“Sorry if I woke you up, though,” he continued.

“It’s fine,” you sighed, “I’m happy to help. You can crash in my room, take your stuff off and get some sleep, the whole deal. I won’t come in, promise.”

“I can’t take your bed,” he protested.

“The couch is comfortable, don’t worry. Plus, I don’t think I’m going to fall back asleep anyways.”

“Thanks…”

“Y/N.”

“Thanks Y/N.”

“Think you can stand?” You held out your hand and helped him to his feet. He was a little wobbly, but you figured that even with accelerated healing, a body could only lose so much blood before it started making difficult choices about which parts needed attention.

“I have some clothes you can wear,” you told him as you entered your bedroom, subtly kicking a discarded bra under the bed as you set him down on your mattress. You shuffled around in your dresser drawer, near the bottom. Your fingers closed around the old hooded sweatshirt you’d been searching for, your mouth going suddenly dry. Now was as good a time as ever to finally let it go.

You lifted it to your nose and breathed in deeply. It smelled of nothing except your cupboards, which somehow made everything so much more terrible. You turned, wordlessly holding out the athletic sweater to Spider-Man.

“Your boyfriend won’t mind me borrowing his stuff?”

“I’d imagine not,” you said quietly, “Since he’s dead and all.” It came out more bitingly than you’d intended. Spider-Man was quiet for a long moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw with honesty, not reaching out to take the offered clothing. “Please keep the sweater. I can sleep in the suit, or what’s left of it.”

“No,” you shook your head, but put the sweater back in your dresser regardless, surprisingly thankful for the kindness of his refusal. “I have some old oversized t-shirts that might fit you and a pair of sweats from the thrift shop that I bought because they were comfy but they’re like, six sizes too big, even for you.”

At this he nodded, the air still thick between you with the weight of what you’d said.

“I didn’t meant to make you feel bad,” you sighed, grabbing the clothes you’d promised him from another drawer, “It just…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Spider-Man spoke softly, his tone careful and measured. “I’m sorry that you lost him.”

“It’s alright,” you shrugged. Liar. “It’s been three years now. Time heals all, right?” Hah. You tossed him the clothes, hands moving to the hem of your own t-shirt. Now that you weren’t working, you weren’t quite sure what to do with them.

“Yeah.” There was something in the word that told you that Spider-Man thought that was bullshit just as much as you did.

“Well,” you offered, “I’ll leave a glass of water outside the door. And some chocolate, because it helps with everything. Anything else?”

“You’ve done more than enough,” he assured you. “Thanks for patching me up.” He stood and stretched and you took a moment to take stock of the bandages you’d wrapped, congratulating yourself on how neat they looked.

“Any time,” you returned, “Although as your medical professional I can’t encourage you to make a habit of injuring yourself to the point of unconsciousness.”

“Noted. Goodnight, Y/N.” He gave you a little wave that you returned as you turned to leave, breathing deeply.

“Goodnight, Spider-Man.”

You closed the bedroom door behind you and laughed again, softly. If there were multiple universes, you had certainly been born into the most absurd of them.

Tagging: @di4na // @veraocruel // @schmuckyschmarnes // @violetrainbow412-blog // @v1oletvenus

[iridescentanachronism]

Jealousy.

Summary: you and Peter are fwbs but when someone else tries to move in on you, Peter finds himself enraged.

Ship: Peter Parker x fem!reader

I used tasm!peter Parker for this idea but interpretation is yours

TW: cussing, smut, praise kink, choking, mentions of bondage.

18+ content. No minors.

“(Y/n), what the fuck? What the fuck was that about?!”

“Nothing, nothing happened, Peter.”

“Bullshit!” He yelled, he was angry. He was hardly ever angry but your fellow student who asked for your number today to help him studying for the exam coming up had pushed him there.

“You’re being ridiculous! He just asked for my number so we could get together to study.”

“Because he wants to fuck you! He doesn’t give a fuck about studying!” You glared over at him.

“So suddenly you get to dictate who I fuck?” The two of you had been hooking up for a few months, but both agreed it was nothing more than friends with benefits. A relationship would be too messy when he’s always dealing with Spider-Man things. “Maybe I will fuck him!”

His eyes flashed red and he stormed towards you, causing your eyes to dart towards the floor to avoid eye contact. You didn’t mean what you had just said. “Look at me.” His voice was so deep, traces of hurt, anger and lust in his tone. “Look at me.” He repeated, gripping your jaw and forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark and his face flushed.

“Pete-“ your cut off by his lips crashing against yours, hand pressing into the small of your back to push you closer to him. “Peter-“ You moan into the kiss, melting into him “shut up.” He groans.

He slowly walked backwards towards your bed, laying down and pulling you with him to keep your body on top of his with a hand in your hair, keeping your mouth sealed against his in desperation. You could feel his erection pressed against you and it drove you mad, bucking your hips against his go gain some sort of friction. This caused him growl, his teeth catching your lower lip and his hand in your hair tightening. “Fucking tease.” You let out an involuntary moan as his hand tugged your hair back, exposing your neck and chest to him. “You’re mine.”

You weren’t even fucking and yet you could feel the pleasure growing in the pit of your stomach as his lips attached to your neck and his hips bucked to match yours. “You’re mine. And I’m going to remind you of that.” Suddenly you were flipped over beneath him. His mouth trailing down to the dip in your shirt, kissing your exposed cleavage and fingers dancing under the hem “can this go?”

So polite. “Yes.” You arched your back off the bed slightly, helping him lift the shirt above your head to expose your bare chest. “Fucking.. god you are so beautiful..” his voice was thick with lust while his long fingers traced over your nipples, pinching and tugging gently. “I’m going to make you feel so, so good, (y/n). The way only I can. No one else.” His head dipped down, his tongue flattening against your nipple as his fingers still tugged on the other.

“Peter” a desperate whine left your mouth and his hand left your nipple, wrapping around your throat gently. “Don’t worry baby, we’re getting there.” Your mouth was dry, back arching and the pulsing between your thighs was driving you to almost tears. You needed to be touched. He gave a gentle squeeze on your neck before removing his hand and kissing down your stomach, fingers undoing the button on your shorts. “Lift.” He ordered and you obeyed willingly, so ready for some release.

“Mm” he moaned at the sight of you, a sheer thong covered in wetness. His fingers traced over the top of the underwear, playing with it as he continued kissing down. His mouth landing right where you needed it to be but the stupid fucking underwear stood in the way. His tongue darted out, licking up your slit and you lost all final control you had left. “Fuck me peter, oh my god please.”

He chuckled, looking up at you between your thighs and smirking. “Do these have any value to you?”

“My, my underwear?” He nodded.

“I mean no-“ that’s all he needed to hear before his hands gripped onto them and ripped, exposing yourself to him and you gasped. “Peter!”

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll buy you new ones. To rip again.” He winked, his fingers pressing against your clit and his tongue finally making contact. Oh. My. God. Every time he went down on your felt like magic. But this time he was so lustful, so needy, so hungry for you that it drove you mad.

“Mine.” He rumbled against your pussy, his mouth sucking and licking.

“Peter- pete- I’m gonna..”

“Cum for me. Let it go baby.” A long finger dipped inside you and you almost screamed as his assault with his mouth and fingers carried on. “FUCK” you yelled, feeling a wave of pleasure wrap around you. Your hand pressing his head against you to keep him in place as you rode out your orgasm against his tongue and fingers. “Peter- Peter fuuuck.”

“That’s my girl. One down, baby.” One?! Your eyes finally snapped open, he was hovering over you, his erection pressing against your wetness, making you whine as he rubbed himself against your clit.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“Yo- yo- fuck..” forming a sentence was hard when he was dipping the tip inside you, thrusting every so slightly before taking it out again.

“Who do you belong to, (y/n)? Tell me.” He growled, his free hand attaching to your throat again. “Who fucks you into oblivion? Who makes you feel this good?”

“Y-y-you.” You whisper, bucking your hips to try to get his full length in you.

“I can’t hear you, (y/n), whose are you?” His hand tightening around your neck and causing you to moan.

“You! You Peter, I belong to you!” You were nearly crying, desperate for him to make you cum again.”

“That’s what I thought.” He smirked as he shoved his full length into you, making your gasp and arch your back.

His hips bucked against yours, one hand remaining on your throat as the other found its way between your legs and began moving on your clit.

“I’m gonna- I’m gonna”

“Cum on my cock, cum for me.” He gritted through teeth, trying to hold his own orgasm.

That’s all you needed to let go, your legs wrapping around his waist and keeping him locked there, fucking you through your orgasm, your nails scratching down his back.

“Good girl, that’s my girl, cumming all over my cock..”

“PETER!” You screamed out, tightening around his cock and pushing him over the edge with you.

“(Y/n), (y/n), fuck. Oh fuck.” He moaned out, his hips bucking as fast as possible against yours as you felt him cumming. Suddenly making him collapse against you, panting.

The two of you stayed there, neither talking, just trying to regain composure and enjoying the moment you were in. Your fingers ran through his hair and he hummed against your neck where his face was buried, leaving gentle kisses along your skin. “(Y/n).. I have to be honest.. I love you.” Your heart swelled at his comment.

“I love you too, Peter.”

Finally pulling off of you, he rolled over next to you, arms wrapping around you and bringing you to him, chin resting on top of your head. “Sorry for getting jealous.”

“Sorry? I may have to make you jealous more if that’s what I’m going to get..” you joked, looking up at Peter who was smiling and shaking his head at you.

“Next time you do it I’m tying you up with webbing and making you cum til you’re in tears.” Your eyes sparkled with want and love.

“Can’t we do that anyway?” You question, leaning in and nipping his collar bone.

“Jesus, I love you.”

[iridescentanachronism]

“ you are what’s important right now. “ witu andrew!peter pretty please?

this scene instantly popped into my head, thank you! i love this!! this was longer than my other requests but idc

priority - tasm!p.p.

SUMMARY: you will always mean more than the world to him.

WARNINGS: slight angst, clueless!peter, mentions of loneliness, touch deprivation, breaking up; eventual fluff

the following works are my own writing. do not plagiarize or copy and paste my works onto another platform. message me about credit.

MASTERLIST

This was the third night you were alone in the apartment you shared with Peter. There was even an imprint on the couch from how long you stayed up on it waiting for him. But you'd fall asleep at 11:00, three hours before Peter would arrive home through the window in your bedroom.

You'd always been okay with Peter's secret occupation. By day, he was a normal college student with an internship at The Daily Bugle and by night he was the crime-fighting vigilante dressed in red and blue. Just because you loved him so much, you adapted to his lifestyle--or, at least, tried to.

But it was hard sleeping, eating, and spending your time alone.

"More than half of your time was spent at work and school, so you would've loved to spend the few hours you were given at home with Peter. Sometimes, the only time you saw him was for a quick kiss goodbye in the morning or a short breakfast in which he left for work either.

You thought you two had been perfect. Sure, your lives had differences--one major difference--but you always believed that you and Peter were the couple to work through it. But either he was blind to your pain or ignorant to it. You didn't like either.

This couldn't be the end, right? Your relationship might've been short, but you and Peter's personalities flowed so perfectly that it felt like you'd been together for years.

It was one in the morning on a Friday night. You'd pushed away all thoughts of projects and work for the sake of seeing your boyfriend's face before falling asleep. In fact, you found it impossible to fall asleep that night. The thoughts were running through your mind, buzzing so loudly it kept you awake.

"(y/n)?" Peter's voice was gentle but being the first sound that directly hit your ears, you jumped in fear. Looking up at him in this setting almost didn't feel right. Since when did he give you more than a glance? "Hey, baby, you okay?"

He sat next to you on the couch. You noticed that you were curled up with his favorite blanket covering your pajamas. "Um," You don't even remember changing your clothes. "Yeah."

Peter didn't need super senses to tell that something was wrong. You were his girl and he always read you perfectly. "You sure?" He leaned forward and put a comforting hand on your leg. You were so touch deprived you shivered away from him. Peter felt his heart crack.

You waited to answer, trying to look away so you wouldn't notice the heartbroken expression he wore. Your eyes were most definitely watering by now. When you were glancing around to avoid eye contact, you noticed his spider-suit underneath the thin sweatshirt he wore. You cracked.

A sob rang through the air, your eyes squeezing shut to relieve themselves of your tears. Peter instantly reached over to console you, wrapping arms around you and rubbing the skin over your wrist and hands. "Shh, it's okay. I've got you." Did he?

You began to cry more when you noticed that his hands weren't even touching you. You were so desperate for contact that the barrier of his suit between you two made you feel even weaker. "Please, don't cry, (y/n)," Peter ran his other hand through your hair to pull you to him, setting his head on top of yours. His gentle shushes and coos had been so missed by you that they felt distant. "Talk to me."

"I'm always so alone, Peter," you sniffled. While you were still fragile, you could feel the sadness turning into anger. You tried to contain it from exploding on him because Peter never deserved that. "It's been so long since you've hugged me like this."

"What're you talking about, baby, I hug you every morning," he laughed in a lame attempt to lighten the mood, but your tears didn't stop.

"And it's a quick hug," you added. "You hug me and say goodbye. And then most times, I don't see you until the next morning." You were thankful that you weren't fighting. It wasn't an argument, just a simple discussion of confusion, miscommunication, and heartbreak.

Maybe it really was just a horrible case of 'right person, wrong time', only you weren't so sure there ever was a 'right time' with Peter. He had a duty to the people of New York that started long before you two met. Who were you to demand him to give it all up?

Peter's heart is racing, you can feel it through his chest. "I know I've been busy with work and school," He was clueless. Even as you were spelling it out, he couldn't read you so perfectly anymore. That made it hurt even more.

"It's not that, Peter," it was becoming harder and harder to keep the anger back. "You know it's not that."

This was hurting him you too, you tried to remember that. Peter sat back in exasperation and stressfully rubbed his eyes until they were red. "Yeah," he agreed. You noticed his eyes were starting to water too. "This." Peter motioned to the suit he wore under his hoodie and sweatpants.

You crossed your arms and sat up with him. "Yeah." Both of you looked at the floor, unable to look at each other or to find answers. It was a long moment of more silence. You hated the silence. "I can't ask you to stop, Peter. This is your job, you established that. It's not my place to tell you to quit."

He finally looked at you. "If I don't quit," he gulped. "That means you leave."

It wasn't that difficult for him, but it was more than difficult for you. "Stop, please. I can't ask that of you." You stressed, throwing your head into your hands.

"You don't have to ask, baby," he gently held your shoulder and kissed the back of your neck. Peter's heart split in two at the sight of your distress, especially when it was clear now that you'd been feeling this way for a while. He wondered why you wouldn't just come forward to him a lot earlier, but he soon realized that even if you had tried, he wouldn't have gotten the hint.

You idiot. he thought to himself. "You're making it seem like you or the world is a hard choice," Peter laughed and he didn't no why. There was nothing light about the situation. "I'll always choose you, (y/n)."

"It's your job to fight crime, Peter," you sighed. "You save people. Giving that up for one person is stupid."

Peter slid onto his knees in front and cupped your cheeks so you were forced to look at him. Staring into brown eyes that you barely saw anymore was overwhelming for your senses. "You're more than just 'one person'," he reassured you, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. "(y/n), you are the world to me. It's not even a choice."

"I'm sorry that I haven't been here," a single tear fell from his pretty brown eyes. "I've been so stupid that I haven't seen you hurting. But, please, I wanna fix it, baby. Let me fix it, I promise I will." Peter was literally on his knees, begging you to still be his. "I love you so much." He rasped.

Your lips quivered to hold back a sob. You laced your hands through his hair and brought your foreheads together. "I love you, too, Peter." You whispered, realizing neither of you had said it to each other in a while.

"I'm gonna do better. I'll put the mask away-"

"Peter, no." You widened your eyes.

"Just for a little bit," he cautioned, taking your hands into his. "Not forever. But I'm spending my time on you for now." Peter was slightly rambling, but it was to reassure you that he was still deeply in love with you. Ending your relationship would mean ending his world. "And if there's some threat, I'll fix that too, but you are my first priority."

His thumb rubbed yours and the feeling of his hands was so unfamiliar—but it didn’t make you sad anymore. You were happy and glad to have your Peter back. “Promise?” You sniffled.

“I promise, baby,” his lips curled into a small smile full of comfort. “Come on. It’s late now, we should get some sleep.” He helped you rise from the couch, walking you to the bedroom and letting you lay down. Still in his clothes, he sat next to you as you began to cuddle into the pillows. “Tomorrow, I’m not leaving you for one minute. You’ve always got me.” He whispered.

Your tired eyes began to close as you smiled. “I love you, Peter.” You mumbled while drifting off to sleep.

Peter kissed your forehead and cradled your head. “I love you, too.”

[iridescentanachronism]

Tasm!Peter is ready to have a family so he talks with wife!Reader and the next time they do the deed, there's some breeding kink?

i struggled with this i have not written breeding kinks in a while! not my gif! andrew just looks like a piece of art here. i wrote the breeding kink more romantic here 🤍

swollen - tasm!p.p.

SUMMARY: all he wants is to watch your stomach swell with him.

WARNINGS: smut (obvi); romantic breeding kink, vaginal sex, kissing, love marks, dirty talk, creampie(?), slight degradation, 18+ MINORS DNI

the following works are my own writing. do not plagiarize or copy and paste my works onto another platform. message me about credit.

MASTERLIST

You dreamed of the perfect life with Peter--the big house away from the city, children running through the halls, maybe even a dog and a cat as animal companions. Ever since he asked you to be his, it was all you'd wanted. So, imagine your excitement when he asks you second biggest question.

"I want you to have our baby, (y/n)." He was so sweet, with those big, doe, brown eyes that you loved so much. Peter was gentle and loving, laying between your legs while leaving kisses on your stomach.

"After you obliged, he didn't waste any time. You were completely bare in front of him, his eyes delectably looking over your body. You trusted him completely. "Tell me, pretty girl," Peter whispered as he dragged his tip through your folds, collecting your slick and just barely pushing it into you. He was a fucking tease.

"I-" your voice cut off when you felt his lips on your collarbone, sucking and biting so your skin turned purple. "Please," you begged.

"Please, what, honey?" He moved up to your chin and jaw, making a direct line to your own lips. Peter's eyes met yours.

You bit down on your bottom lip and held back a moan as he pushed himself further inside before pulling out completely. "Please, fuck me.” His lips parted gently as his tongue swiped his teeth. “I wanna have your baby.”

He smirked as he covered himself completely with you, stretching you open. "Oh, fuck," he whispered when there wasn't a single inch of him touching the cold air. You were so warm wrapped around him, deliciously clenching down. Peter began to thrust slowly, his tip bruising your walls with every push back inside you.

"Peter, please," you begged, wrapping your hands in his hair and pulling his lips down to your neck where they kissed and sucked on your skin, turning it a pretty shade of purple. He was moving so painfully slow.

"My pretty girl," he murmured, his hips suddenly snapping against yours. You could feel your spine arching as he thrusted so hard your entire body rocked. He held your right breast in his hand, massaging it and sucking on the other. "Gonna look so perfect with her stomach all swollen." he moved his hand to where you two met, rubbing the pearl in between your legs. He let out a pornographic moan when you clenched around him again.

You could feel your thighs becoming bruised as Peter continued to rupture every part of you. Your brain shook in your skull with every snap. "Please, cum inside me," you whimpered, wrapping your legs around him and pressing him against you.

"There's my girl," he smiled, pressing his forehead against yours. Peter's bottom lip hung down as his eyes washed over with a look of bliss. "My good girl. All you want is me to fill you up, yeah? Like the little whore you are." As he came closer and closer to the edge, his words became sharper and darker.

You nodded desperately, digging your fingernails into his arms. "I'm gonna c-cum," you whimpered, throwing your head back into the pillow.

"Cum for me, princess." Peter groaned when he felt your warmth around him, the stickiness connecting the two of you together. His length began to shine with your fluids. "That's my good girl. So perfect for me. Gonna fill you up good, I promise. Gonna make sure your tummy swells, and these will too." He kneaded your tits in his palm. "Gonna look so perfect with our baby."

His eyes met yours, never breaking contact once, as you felt the spurts of white warmth inside of you, leaving a thick coat of his load over your walls. Peter's mouth dropped open as a loud, deep moan rang through your ears. Even after he finished, he kept himself buried inside you. Some of his seed even leaked out around him. "What if it doesn't work?" You shivered with an unsteady voice.

Peter smiled and tucked your hair behind your ear. "I'll just have to fuck you again, won't I?"

[iridescentanachronism]

Advanced Human Anatomy (TASM!PeterParker x Reader)

Summary: Peter is helping you study for your Anatomy exam, but you've always learned better by doing. He's happy to help in whatever way he can. Words: 2.9k A/N: established relationship; cursing; fluff; sexual innuendo; some light teasing; nudity; oral sex; it's smutty; based on this request; mentions of food; light bondage (aka consensual web play!); science speak; terrible pun title (forgive me!); just barely edited, i'm sorry!; cliches and tropes abound but they're yummy

Your dorm was stuffy, the window cracked open to let in tendrils of the cool nighttime air that rustled the ancient looking oak tree just outside, its leaves fluttering gently against the glass. You could hear the sounds of the city outside, muffled conversations, the rhythmic predictability of tires on asphalt, rustling in the alleyway between your dorm and the crumbling brick facade you looked out onto, likely a raccoon having found a late night meal.

From your spot on the bed, you were staring up at the stucco ceiling, mind wandering to how it needed a fresh coat of paint, pretending that you could one day count all the little bumps that made up its surface. Your fingers played absently with the hem of your Rush t-shirt—well, your boyfriend’s t-shirt, actually— the one that you hadn’t given back just yet because his smell still lingered in its soft cotton, the musky cinnamon of his body wash and the fresh-baked aromas of bread and cookies courtesy of his Aunt May. That smell always lasted longer than the treats themselves, often eaten within hours of Peter bringing them to you. Sometimes you teased him that the best part of dating him was Aunt May’s cooking, but it was just one of many perks.

There were a lot of things that could have qualified as the best part of dating Peter Parker. The fact that you were never bored, for one, his deadpan humour always kept you sharp and on your toes. Then there were the photos; the ones he made you pose for were lovely, but it was the ones he captured of you unawares that truly stopped your heart in your chest—you climbing out of the swimming pool at the Y or meditating thoughtfully on a Rembrandt at the Met or in the entryway of his apartment, stretching and sweaty after the 10k you ran for charity. Peter had seen you at your best and at your worst and he somehow always managed to capture the beauty and grace you didn’t always see in the mirror.

Then, there was Peter himself, with his fierce intelligence and his unyielding kindness and his careful grief; his soft brown eyes and perpetually rumpled hair, and his muscular arms and his kisses—god, his kisses were unreal. And there was the other side of him, the Spider-Man side. The selfless, eternally optimistic part of him that believed people were good and worth saving, even if you sometimes doubted it yourself. Beyond that, there was the way he sometimes whisked you away at sunset or at dawn to the top of the Empire State Building. And, secretly, the way that the ladies at the salon where you got your hair and nails done spoke of Spider-Man and the things they’d fantasized about him made you quietly squeeze your legs together under the table because he was yours and that thrilled you.

“What are the two components of the dorsal cavity?”

Peter’s voice pulled you from your thoughts and you dragged your eyes away from the ceiling to where he was laying on your floor at the foot of your bed, your Foundations of Anatomy textbook propped open on his chest.

“The cranial cavity,” you said, stifling a yawn, “And the vertebral cavity.”

“Yup! Nice. Okay, what is the outer layer of the oocyte called?”

“Zona…” you paused, the word on the tip of your tongue, “Fuck, uh,”

“Starts with a P,” Peter hinted and a lightbulb went off in your head.

“Zona pellucida, made of glycoproteins!”

“What is—” Peter’s finger skimmed the page of the book, looking for another question but you shook your head.

“Have mercy, I beg. This is so fucking boring.” You’d been studying for what felt like hours now and even though you were most nervous for this exam of the five total you had coming up, you didn’t think you could handle much more revision before you began pulling your hair out.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Peter chided playfully, “This afternoon you made me promise to keep you studying.”

You made an exasperated noise, pressing your hands into your eyes until you saw spots. “Where is a psycho villain when you actually need one? Do I need to call in a hit on someone myself?”

Peter rolled his eyes at you, ignoring what you thought was a pretty decent joke in favour of asking you another question. “What are the stages of cellular death?”

“Hmm,” you feigned thoughtfulness, twirling a piece of hair around your finger. “Studying for this exam is definitely step one.”

“You’re hilarious, Y/N,” Peter laughed, “A regular comedian.”

“At least I’ll have a fallback if Med School doesn’t pan out.” You grabbed the coffee mug that was balanced precariously on the edge of your headboard and glanced inside, dismayed at its emptiness, the white ceramic stained dark from what had been the fourth cup of the day.

“Don’t even think about making another,” Peter warned, “Pretty sure there’s nothing but tar in your veins.”

“Nothing but cheese in yours,” you retorted, gesturing toward the near-empty pizza box beside your boyfriend, a few scraps of crust all that was left behind from your working dinner. Peter reached into the box and grabbed a piece of rapidly staling crust, chucking it at you.

“As cheesy as my love for you,” he grinned. You made a playful gagging noise in your throat and Peter raised an eyebrow at you.

“Funny,” he said, that familiar teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his perfect lips, “Usually I only hear that noise from you when your mouth’s—”

“Pete!” You giggled, cutting off his words with the return of the pizza crust, thrown right at his forehead.

“It’s true,” he shrugged. “But what about this?” Peter set aside the textbook for a moment and propped himself up on his elbows. “If you get 5 more questions in a row, we’ll stop studying and do something fun.”

You put your empty mug down on the nightstand cluttered with novels and notebooks and a framed picture of you and Peter at Coney Island last summer.

“Something fun, hm?” That piqued your interest.

Peter nodded, watching as you turned over to settle on your stomach. You allowed your arms to hang over the edge of your bed, hovering close to where your boyfriend still laid, easygoing and carelessly sprawled on the geometric area rug. From the way he had stretched out, his shirt was riding up ever so slightly, revealing a strip of skin and grey sweatpants sitting low on his hips.

As if you needed another distraction.

Gently, you allowed yourself to reach forward, one of your fingers beginning to trace the lean “V” of his hips, grazing from one side of his body to the other along the waistband of those delicious sweats. Peter’s eyes closed, his head falling back though he kept himself up on his elbows. The sight was enough to make your stomach clench with longing.

Finishing your exploration of his waistband, you let your hand move lower, over his pants, flat palm pressing into the place you could feel him getting hard. Peter’s eyes opened and he looked at you, trying to be stern, but there was a fire dancing behind his smoldering pupils that told a different story, one of him trying to rid his mind of the thought of taking you there and now, allowing a semester’s worth of notes to crumple and fold under the weight of your writhing bodies.

“Anything I want?” you asked, feigning innocence as you added a bit of pressure to where your palm had paused in its movements.

“Anything,” Peter promised, voice lower than usual.

You licked your lips, pleased to see Peter’s eyes following the action. If you weren’t swallowed up in his t-shirt you might have been able to squeeze your cleavage together a bit more to spark his imagination. As it was, you worked with what you had, removing your hand from his body and rolling yourself back to sitting. Peter watched you hungrily, drinking in every move of your body as you slid to the floor next to him, bare legs first, allowing the t-shirt to catch on the edge of the bed as you sunk down, revealing the plane of your stomach and curve of your hips. It was Peter’s turn to lick his lips.

Once you were settled beside him, legs tucked underneath you so he couldn’t see the damp spot at the center of your underwear—pants had long since been a thing of the past when you had study dates, you made your demands. “The web shooters.”

Peter looked like someone had just pulled a rug out from under him, jaw falling open. “What?”

“I get to try the web shooters,” you said simply, a teasing grin on your face. Peter laughed, shaking his head in mild disbelief.

“First of all, you’re evil,” he said accusingly, “And second, you literally broke a window last time.”

You winced at the memory and worked fast to recover, putting on your best nice girl face. “And I learned from that mistake, so…”

Peter feigned considering it for a long moment, but you knew what his answer would be before it left his lips. “Fine, but five questions first.” You clapped your hands once to show your approval and moved to lay beside him, nodding.

“Yeah, of course,” you whispered, “But I’ve always learned better by doing.” You allowed your words to hang in the air, a glint of mischief darting across your face. Peter noticed and his own expression shifted to mirror yours.

“Oh yeah?” he retorted, “Well then maybe I can give you a little demonstration?”

“I think that would help,” you agreed, moaning almost instantly as he rolled himself over you, kissing you deeply and desperately, his tongue lapping and teeth grazing every part of you that he set aflame with his lips. His hands made quick work of moving to the shirt of his you had on, pushing it up and over your head, exposing your bare chest—bras, too, were long since history during your study sessions.

Once your bottom lip was swollen with his attention, Peter ran his tongue down your jaw and over the length of your neck. “What’s this?” he asked, blowing gently along the trail he made and leaving goosebumps on your flesh. Your brain was foggy with desire and you looked up at him with a hint of confusion, but he smiled. “C’mon, Y/N,” he tapped your collarbone, “What’s this?”

“Clavicle,” you managed to breathe out.

“Good girl,” he whispered, moving his lips down between your breasts, trailing feathery kisses between their softness. “And this?”

“Sternum.” Your voice was barely more than a croak, your heart racing and the wetness pooling at the apex of your thighs. Peter’s attention moved down your left arm, kissing with bruising force as you named each spot he lingered on.

“Humerus, radius, ulna,” you were panting then, desperately wanting him lower, “That’s five.”

“No,” Peter paused in his ministrations to shake his head, “That only counted as one.”

“And you say I’m evil,” you muttered, eyes rolling back as Peter returned to kissing you, tongue swirling over your stomach, teeth scraping against your hip bones, making them buck up.

“Pelvis.” This was somehow simultaneously the sexiest and dorkiest thing you’d ever experienced and that was a perfectly Peter combination. Though, as much as you loved him, when he completely skipped over your core, you nearly combusted, reaching out to grab for his hair, to pull him back, but he was already at your knees, nibbling them and making your toes curl.

“Patella,” you gasped, “Pete—”

“And that’s five,” he chuckled, letting up from his torturous kisses and standing, leaving you in burning shambles on the floor. You watched, controlling the urge to let your fingers wander down your own body and provide some much needed friction between your legs, as Peter moved quickly to your window, cranking it closed and double checking that the curtains were shut tight. He retrieved one of his web shooters from his backpack and then returned to you, discarded his shirt in the process. You felt your mouth go dry at the sight of his toned chest. No matter how many times you saw him naked — half or fully — it never ceased to turn you on.

Peter sank down next to you again, his knees hitting the area rug with a soft thud, and helped you slip the web shooter onto your wrist, fastening it to your comparatively small joint. He kissed the pulse point in your wrist and then turned you around so that he could settle in behind you, pulling you flush against his chest. His hands took a moment to rove over the swell of your breasts before he was guiding your arm into an outstretched position.

“What do you want to aim for?” he whispered in your ear. You glanced around the room, eyes alighting on the empty coffee mug you’d left on your nightstand. Peter followed your gaze and nodded, kissing behind your ear.

“Okay, so you remember the drill. Aim, press, pull. It’s not far so you don’t need to press too hard.” You bit back the urge to make a lewd comment, but Peter didn’t bother. “We’ll go hard later.”

With a smirk, you nodded, focusing on the mug and letting a string of webs go as Peter had once taught you. You made the shot—that much you could be proud of—but a bit too strongly, the mug flying across the room and shattering.

“Oops,” you laughed, feeling Peter sigh into the top of your hair.

“You’re more destructive than some of the crooks I’ve taken down,” Peter said in your ear, his fingers moving to your sides to squeeze you in a gentle tickle, making you squirm. “But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on to see you using them.”

“I don’t think you’d be able to lie anyways,” you said lightly, pressing the small of your back in the bulge you felt beneath the fabric of his pants. Peter’s breath caught in his throat at the sensation and it made your stomach flutter. This boy, so strong and fearless, and utterly unstoppable—yet you could make him compliant under your fingers.

“I like it better when you use them,” you continued quietly, turning so that you’re on your knees between Peter’s legs. You unclasped the tool from your wrist and handed it back to him, making doe-eyes as you held out your wrists, pressing them together with your palms facing each other.

Peter took the hint, something like a low growl rising from his chest. He pushed you onto your back, cradling your head until he managed to use his webs to retrieve a pillow from your bed and placed it behind you, your hair fanning out like a halo.

“You’re sure you want this?” Peter asked, maneuvering you so that your knees were bent on either side of him.

“You said I could have anything,” you reminded him playfully, “And this is way better than a gold star.”

“You’re better than anything, Y/N,” he remarked, pulling your arms up over your head and pinning your wrists together. You swallowed deeply as you felt the webs wrap around your skin, sticky and silky all at once. Peter glanced around for a moment before attaching them to the handle of the drawer of your nightstand, making your back arch off the ground ever so slightly.

“Fuck,” you couldn’t control the whimper that left your lips as Peter readjusted the pillow to ensure you were comfortable, then allowing his fingers to trail down your body, pausing to pinch at your nipples with a smug look on his face.

It wasn’t the first time you’d asked him to do this, but it was still just as thrilling. You let your eyes close as you felt Peter settle over you, allowing yourself the surprise of not knowing where his lips would land next, what part of you his hands would explore.

“I guess this still counts as studying.” You heard Peter’s voice somewhere between your legs before you felt him, fingers first pressing against the dampness on your panties and then looping through their waistband to drag them down your legs.

“You’re more interesting than any textbook,” you muttered in response, groaning as you felt his fingers slip up your inner thighs.

“As far as compliments go,” Peter chuckled and you felt his breath against your thighs, “That’s the bare minimum.”

“I can’t exactly think st—”

Your words were cut off by the slip of a finger across your core, hips bucking up to meet the place where Peter touched you.

“Peter,” you said hoarsely, “Please—”

“You know how studying can get, Y/N,” he teased, pausing to place a gentle open-mouthed kiss at your heated center. “We may end up pulling an all-nighter.”

You moaned as his lips fell upon you again, his tongue roving the familiar and favourite places he’d mapped out on your body.

This was going to be a long night.

xxx

Tagging: @schmuckyschmarnes // @violetrainbow412-blog // @v1oletvenus // @veraocruel // i'm terrible at taglists so if you want to be added or removed, please let me know :)

[iridescentanachronism]

approach shift pt. two

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 4k  rating: explicit 18+  warnings: cunnilingus, unprotected PIV sex

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

read part one

Keep reading

[iridescentanachronism]

ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ ᴘᴀʀᴋᴇʀ ᴍ.ʟɪꜱᴛ

-> ᴛᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴍᴇ

[iridescentanachronism]

Something Human (tasm!PeterParker x Reader)

Summary: “You look so cute when you’re wet,” Peter laughed and you couldn’t help but to join in, only imagining how much of a mess the two of you appeared, soaked to the bone and dishevelled; bags under your eyes, a badge of honour for two grad students nearing the end of another semester of essays, exams, and lab research. “I’m literally going to die of hypothermia,” you retorted. “Well then we should get you out of those clothes,” Peter stated matter-of-factly as the elevator doors closed. — or, the one where you at Peter get caught in the rain Words: 2.4k A/N: established relationship; cursing; so much sexual innuendo; nudity; oral sex (fem!receiving); part 1 of 2 because it'd be cruel not to... Also I actually love this one, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

The air was alive with electricity, the taste of ozone thick on your tongue as you hurried home from the library, backpack heavy with textbooks and essays you needed to mark for the undergraduate course you were TA-ing for. Overhead, unforgiving clouds, towering and grey, promised a deluge of raging wind and rain. There was a strange atmosphere of anticipation as you and your boyfriend wove through the crowds of New Yorkers and tourists alike, most already beginning to open their umbrellas.

You felt the first thick drop splash onto the tip of your nose and barely had time to consider it before the sky opened up into a powerful torrent, something almost apocalyptic.

“Shit, Y/N!” You heard Peter call out to you over a rumbling clap of thunder, “Let’s go!”

You’d already been hurrying, hand clasped in Peter’s as he towed you along the sidewalk you canvas sneakers soaked through from where they dashed through rapidly forming puddles.

By the time you reached your building, four blocks away, you truly understood the meaning of the word drenched. Rain pooled in your socks, ran between your shoulder blades, and made your hair stick to your face despite the fact that Peter had given you his hoodie and you’d had it pulled up. In the air-conditioned lobby, waiting for the elevator, you felt a chill settling in and shifted closer to Peter whose hair hung limp and dripping around his ears.

“You look so cute when you’re wet,” Peter laughed and you couldn’t help but to join in, only imagining how much of a mess the two of you appeared, soaked to the bone and dishevelled; bags under your eyes, a badge of honour for two grad students nearing the end of another semester of essays, exams, and lab research.

“I’m literally going to die of hypothermia,” you said, happy to hear the ding of the elevator, the pneumatic hiss of doors sliding open. You both stepped inside, Peter pressing the button to take you up to the fifth floor of what had been a six-story walk-up—until the building super had finally fixed the elevator last month. Admittedly, you preferred the stairs, but the elevator was still a novelty that you were going to indulge in for the foreseeable future.

“Well then we should get you out of those clothes,” Peter stated matter-of-factly as the elevator doors closed, grinning when you turned around to stick your tongue out at him. He returned your expression with a wiggle of his eyebrows and you shook your head.

“The one day I didn't check the weather,” you sighed, “And the universe decides to storm with a vengeance.”

“Don’t lie,” Peter teased, “You never check the forecast. It’s why I’m missing so many of my sweaters.” He stared pointedly at the one you wore now, dark green and with wrists threadbare from where Peter’s frenetic fingers had pulled at the fabric.

“Do you want this one back?” you asked teasingly as the elevator bumped to a stop at your floor. Peter looked at you with darkened eyes, something covetous tugging at the corners of his lips as he pressed you into the elevator doors.

“I told you I wanted to get you out of—”

The doors slid open behind you, sending you spilling out into the hallway. You might have stumbled over the elderly woman you recognized as Mrs. Dorsey from three doors down from you if Peter hadn’t caught you round the waist, pulling you up and away from your almost-scandalized looking neighbour. No doubt she’d had some inkling as to what Peter had been about to say. As it was, he nodded politely at her and you imagined that if he was wearing a hat, he’d tip it in her direction.

“Afternoon Mrs. Dorsey,” he greeted her with sweetness like honey in his words, “It’s a mess out there, so be careful.”

“You kids be careful too,” Mrs. Dorsey said lightly, a knowing lilt in her voice, as she stepped into the elevator and you gaped as the doors closed behind her.

“Did she just—?” you shook your head in disbelief.

“I think she did,” Peter laughed, “Who knew that Old Mrs. Dorsey was a flirt?”

“Oh god, Peter,” you cringed, “I help the woman clean her apartment twice a week, please don’t.”

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Peter put his hands up in mock surrender as you fished around in your backpack for the key to your front door, still dripping water onto the carpeted hallway floor. Peter was quicker than you, pulling the key you’d given him a year into your relationship from his keyring in his back pocket and opening the door for you.

“Ladies first,” he grinned, eliciting another eye roll from you as you kicked off your sneakers and unshouldered your backpack. Behind you, Peter did the same. As he closed the door behind him, latching it out of habit, a silence fell between you, eyes meeting across the cramped entryway of your one-bedroom.

“I mopped yesterday,” you said quietly, blinking under the intensity of Peter’s stare, “It’d be a shame to dirty the floors.” A lopsided grin lit up your boyfriend’s face as he took a step closer to you. Despite the cold dampness that had seeped into your bones, you could feel heat radiating off his body, see fire ignited in his eyes. His expressiveness gave you pause, that beautiful way he reacted so passionately to everything was one of the things that had attracted you to him in the first place. He was so real, so very human, and the great irony of it was that he was so much more than that as well.

Peter’s fingers tugging down the zipper of your borrowed hoodie drew you back into the present moment. If he’d said something clever in response to your innuendo—which he most certainly did because he could never help himself—you hadn’t heard it, distracted by the rising of your heartbeat you felt pulsing in your ears.

You allowed him to unzip the sweater fully before you shrugged out of it and your hands moved to the hem of his t-shirt, a soaked through cotton piece in a deep blue colour that you loved on him.

“Off,” you said, lifting his shirt to reveal his lean, muscled abdomen. There were a few faded marks decorating his otherwise smooth skin—physical recollections of last night’s Spider-Man exploits under the cover of a mask and the neon-sprayed darkness of New York.

“As you wish,” Peter whispered, helping you remove his shirt, sliding it over his head as you watched the waterlogged fabric cling to his skin, the droplets trickling down the plane of his chest. He caught you staring and smirked. “I’d tell you to take a picture, but I think you already have a few.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, “If I was dying of hypothermia, I’m so glad you’d run your mouth off instead of helping me.”

“Oh, Y/N,” he licked his lips, “I’d help you in a heartbeat.” True to his word, Peter was pressed up against you in an instant, his hands pulling your t-shirt over your head, tossing it aside to land with a watery squelch somewhere on the tiles. Your shorts were next, his thumb and forefinger expertly flicking the button open and his free hand guiding them down your hips. You shimmied the rest of the way out of them, pulling off your socks as you stepped out of the denim pooled at your feet.

Peter’s eyes ran over your body as your own hands moved to the waistband of his jeans, unclasping his belt with practiced ease and following your own movements, allowing your knees to sink down to the floor as you pulled his pants off the rest of the way, making space for him to step out of them.

You glanced up at him then, blinking innocently before you placed a kiss over his boxers on the place where they bulged away from his body. You slid a hand up the leg opening of his underwear, nails scraping against his thigh until you felt his cock twitch under where your lips still rested over it.

“Y/N,” Peter whispered, his hands coming down to tangle in your damp hair before moving to your shoulders to guide you back up to standing. He pulled you close, one hand resting on the back of your head, the other on your hip, holding you tight. His lips found yours, kissing you just the way you liked—softly at first, but with a fervour that told you he was holding back. You dipped your head to the side, allowing him access to your neck, moaning softly as his teeth scraped over your pulse point and he licked his way back to your jaw.

“Bedroom,” you mumbled, noting the thick lust that was layered in your voice. Peter nodded, taking your hand and pulling you to the very back of your apartment, to the bedroom he often shared with you, especially on nights when he returned after being called away to be more than Peter Parker, drawn away from the warmth of your bed and your arms and your body to save the city before coming back and allowing himself to be just human again.

Your bedroom was a mess, you knew that. Littered with empty coffee cups and study notes, laundry piles you’d been neglecting and a half-finished knitting project on the chair in the corner. But you didn’t care because Peter had seen worse from you, holding your hair back when you got too drunk at your birthday party last year or standing beside you and drying your tears when grant applications for your research were denied.

Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sank into a seated position there, suddenly very aware of the dampness gathering in your cotton underwear, the desperate need for friction between your heated thighs. Peter was dropping to his knees between your legs and you felt your heart flutter with anticipation because he was nothing if not a selfless lover.

“Thought I got you out of all those wet clothes at the front door,” he said, voice low as he pressed two fingers gently against your core, causing your back to arch.

“Guess you missed something,” you replied lightly, your teeth pinching your bottom lip to keep in a moan as he added a bit more pressure.

“Hm,” Peter frowned playfully, “You’re just too distracting.” He kissed each of your knees and trailed his way up your legs, every so often pausing to nibble on the sensitive spots of your inner thighs, spots he knew like the back of his own hand. “Lay down,” he instructed.

You obliged, lowering yourself onto your elbows so you could watch as he hooked a finger through your underwear, glancing up at you quickly. You nodded your permission, allowing him to continue pulling your panties off with aching slowness.

“Like I said,” Peter smiled up at you, clearly enjoying the lewd keenness etched onto your face, “You look cute when you’re wet.”

“Fuck y—” you began to curse at him, but were cut off by the feeling of his lips kissing you gently at your center. Your head fell back, eyes closing of their own accord as Peter tentatively kissed you again, soft open-mouthed kisses at the apex of your thighs before he slid his tongue along your core, humming with delight. His name fell from your lips as he slipped his tongue inside you then. Every inch of your body long-since memorized, he found your clit quickly and lightly lapped at it, making you buck your hips up towards him and giving him an opportunity to slip one hand under your hips to hold you up. His arm wasn’t even shaking with the added effort, goddamn superhuman strength.

As his tongue continued to work figure-8 motions inside you, his other hand slid down to rub your thighs gently before he slipped a finger inside you making you groan with abandon—it would have been embarrassing had you not known how much Peter liked to hear you. His finger gradually curled inside you, stroking you gently as he continued to lap at you with his tongue, finding and steadying his rhythm and pace in mere moments. Your hands wanted to be everywhere on him, but your arms weren’t quite long enough to make that a reality so you settled for clutching at your bedsheets as you whimpered his name.

“Peter,” you sighed, feeling the tension in the pit of your stomach coil tightly, “I’m—”

A familiar shrill—and currently unwelcome—chiming sounded from the entryway. The fucking Spider-Signal, that cell phone Peter had set up so the NYPD could reach him at a moment’s notice. You clenched your eyes shut as Peter’s tempo faltered, distracted by the sound. To his credit, he quickly recovered, finding his way back into the pattern that had been building you toward something mind blowing, but the moment had passed. Peter felt the shift in your body language and his face reappeared from between your legs, a frustrated groan leaving his lips.

“Fuck, Y/N—Fuck!”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, wiggling into a seated position and trying to still your beating heart. “Just make sure whoever cock-blocked me pays for it, yeah?” You opened your arms and beckoned him toward you, allowing his head to fall against your chest.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, and you nodded because you knew he would. Peter stood and sighed, glancing down with a look of defeat at you.

“Be careful,” you warned and this time Peter nodded, both of you knowing that he was always careful, always focused on coming home to you.

“I’ll see you soon, ladybug,” he said, kissing the top of your head before heading toward the bedroom door, toward the backpack carrying his secret identity he’d left by your front door. He paused briefly, turning to you with a smirk. “And no getting off without me, okay?”

You placed a hand over your chest, the other coming up open-palmed beside your face. “Scout’s honour,” you grinned, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

[iridescentanachronism]

Tutor

Pairings: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Tutoring lessons are meant for studying, well maybe not always.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, praise kink, p in v, hair pulling(once)

—

“Peter…please.” You whined out from the feeling. You definitely didn’t plan to be putty in your tutor’s hands. Let alone have him relentlessly pound into you right where you were both supposed to be studying. But here you are now. “You’re doing so good. You feel amazing, baby.” He breathed out into your neck before leaving kisses all over. You couldn’t deny though that this was a dream come true. You always had a thing for him even though you were in denial about it. But when you were assigned a tutor and found out it was Peter you found yourself getting dolled up before his arrival every session. Now that you were being fucked into the oblivion you questioned it was worth it.

“I-I’m close, Peter” You felt the familiar knot forming in your stomach rapidly. “Hold it in.” His thrusts become more consistent and animalistic. You weren't the only one who had been waiting for this day. Peter, himself was infatuated by you. You were just too oblivious to notice it. So when he was asked to tutor you he did not hesitate to say yes. He cursed you everyday for wearing skirts everyday to school and to each session. Now that skirt is somewhere on the floor ruined after he literally ripped it apart. “God, don’t stop” You moaned as you threw your head back in pleasure. You wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him even closer. As if he wasn’t practically on top of you.

“So fucking beautiful” You blushed at his comment and hid your face in his neck. He tangled his hand in your hair pulling you back up. “Don’t hide your pretty face from me” You nodded frantically before he pulled you in for a kiss. Your hands held onto his biceps for support. “Cum for me.” You bucked your hips creating even more friction until you both released. You both gasped trying to catch your breaths.

“Should we get back to studying?” You questioned not quite sure what to do after what just went down. “We could or we could…” He trails off as his eyes made their way to your bed before bringing them back to your face. You smirked at him as he picked you up. Will you both ever tell each other your feelings towards each other? Maybe after multiple “study sessions” it’ll come out. Hopefully.

——

[a/n: send in requests :)]

[iridescentanachronism]

attention

summary: you and peter have already admitted your feelings for each other, but aren’t in a committed relationship yet so when you see another girl getting close with him, you can’t help but be a bit jealous and insecure.

ship: tasm!peter parker x reader

word count: 2.7k

a/n: right well. i’ve been away for six months but i’m back now :) send requests plss. not my pick up line, i got it off google. i can do better.

masterlist

“Hey girl, are you my appendix? Because I don’t know how you work, but this feeling in my stomach makes me wanna take you out,” Someone appeared behind you with a smirk, laughing at his dumb pick-up line that he said in a weird accent.

“Good morning to you too, Parker,” You smile at the boy as he started to walk alongside you, just as he did every morning on the way to school.

Yet, instead of greeting you with a ‘good morning’ as any other normal person would do, he said another pick-up line, murmuring it in your ear just to annoy you, “How about we play the titanic? You can be the iceberg and I can go down.”

Keep reading

[iridescentanachronism]

andrew garfield’s spiderman was literally everything. the way he shot the web out to twirl gwen to him, the growled shut up during their kiss, the fact that he immediately jumped off the building at the sign of trouble, leaving their date and going to the bridge, taking off his mask to make sure the kid he was trying to save felt safe, the humor in that one scene where he pins the man up against the wall, him pleading at aunt may to go to bed, please go to bed and stop asking me so many questions because the grief of everything is literally surrounding him in so many ways it’s eating him from the inside out and i just……..i love him