#The Amazing Spider-Man oneshots

[happyimagines]

Spider-Man: Peter/Reader

Words: 1.2K

I hope you like it! (Also, we are accepting Spider-Man requests!)

An undignified squeak left my mouth as arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me to the side. As they did, a basketball flew past my head, just missing me. The arms around my waist tightened as Peter kissed my cheek. Somewhere down the hall, someone yelled an apology.

“How did you know…?” I trailed off and turned to look at Peter. He raised an eyebrow at me.

“Just did,” He shrugged his shoulders. “I need to get my stuff from my locker.”

I followed him as he went to his locker and opened it. As he did, I leaned against the locker next to his.

“Have you looked at the history homework yet?” I asked as everyone else began making their way out of the building as school ended. Peter closed his door to look at me with raised eyebrows only having been assigned it.

“What? I had history before you, and I managed to finish everything but the last two questions. If you help me with the final questions, I’ll give you the answers to the rest.” I sang.

Peter gasped and put a hand to his chest, feigning shock.

“(Y/N), are you suggesting that we cheat?” He asked before smiling.

“Isn’t that why we’re dating? I’m smart, you’re smart. I’m pretty, you’re pretty.” I counted the reason on my fingers and held out my hand.

“Well, when you put it like that,” Peter linked his fingers with mine. Even with holding hands, my heart fluttered.

Peter and I had been dating for a few months. Before dating, we had been friends since we were learning how to walk. Our dating however was … unusual. Especially as sometimes Peter would disappear and then show up with a bruise on his face. There was no way for him to hide it aside from saying it was a skateboard accident or clumsiness.

“Do you want to come over to do it?” Peter asked as we walked towards the subway. The two of us lived a ride away from school but took different trains to get home. “You can stay for dinner. However, if May starts making meatloaf,”

“Family emergency.” I answered with a laugh. “I’ll even make it seem like you have to take me home and we can get fries and shakes.”

“You know me so well,” Peter dropped my hand to wrap his arms around my waist.

Before I could wrap my arms around his neck, I heard sirens from both a fire truck and police cars. All drove past peter and I.

“I have to go,” Peter told me pressing a chaste kiss to my lips.

“What?”

Peter dropped his arms from my waist and turned to the alley we had walked past. Confused, I followed behind as he ran into it. He pulled off his shirt and I froze at what was underneath it. Instead of seeing his bare chest, I saw a suit of red and blue with a spider emblem on his chest. My jaw dropped as I stared at him.

“You’re- oh my god!” I watched as he began climbing the wall using nothing but his hands and feet.

“(Y/N! Go home! I’ll find you later!”

I watched as he climbed to the top of the building and threw a web. It caught on a pole allowing him to swing away.

Eventually, I found myself in my apartment sitting at my desk. My mind kept wandering away from the past wars I was reading about from my book to what I had witnessed today. On the news there was an apartment that had caught fire, the cause was unknown but most likely due to some fault wiring. Spider-Man, New York’s hero had managed to save the citizens that weren’t able to get out.

There was a knock at my window causing me to jump. Outside, the sky had grown dark and there was nothing visible from my desk. I stood and walked over to the window where a face appeared causing me to scream. I tripped over my feet and landed on the floor, my back against it.

The figure opened the window and I realised it was Spider-Man. Or rather, Peter. There was a knock on my bedroom door and we both looked at it.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” My mother asked from the other side of the door.

‘Yeah! A bird hit the window, it scared me.” I shot a look at Peter and the footsteps at my door receded.

“I am so sorry,” Peter pulled off his mask and held out his hands. I took them and let him pull me to my feet with ease. We stood in silence, waiting for the other to start speaking.

“So,” Peter ran a hand through his hair causing it to stand on all ends as if it wasn’t messy from his mask. “I’m assuming you have questions.”

“Yeah,” I nodded and walked past Peter to my desk. I moved my papers until I found the one I was looking for. I turned and held it up making Peter laugh.

“You wrote your questions?”

“You left me in an alley.” I sat on my bed, crossing my legs so there was space for Peter. I sighed and looked at Peter.

“Okay, what questions do you have?”

“How did you become Spider-Man?” I asked.

“I was at Oscorp, and a spider bit me. I woke up with these powers, but I have to make my own web-shooters.”

I nodded and put the paper down. “When did this happen?”

Peter looked past me at my desk where I had taped a photo of the two of us. The two of us were sitting at May’s table in her dining room and had bowls of ice cream in front of us. We were laughing at ice cream on Peter’s face. It was also the day that the two of us became a couple.

“Before.” Peter said returning his gaze to me. “I wanted to tell you for long. I should’ve told you earlier. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” I leaned forwards so I was on my knees in front of Peter. I cupped his face. “I get it, it’s a huge secret!”

Peter put his arms around my waist.

“You’re not mad?” He asked, his eyes big as he watched my face.

“No! I’m not mad! I do have questions still.” I sat back, and Peter kept his arms around my waist keeping me close to him. I grabbed my list and looked at the questions.

“Okay, so is this why you stopped wearing your glasses? I know you wore contacts, but I noticed that you stopped wearing them because your eyes are getting less irrita- what? I can ask you these later if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.” Peter leaned forwards and kissed me softly. I smiled against his lips and wrapped my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.  Peter pulled away and his nose brushed against mine. “And yes, that is why I stopped wearing glasses. What’s next?” Peter unwrapped his arms and plucked the paper from my hands. He leaned back trying to keep the papers from my reach, a laugh on his lips.

[irndad]

TULIP WITH THE GUY EVER

this is for peter!! im feral for this man my god this is long for nothing happening- guys i am SO fucking rusty prompt: an act of affection so blatant everyone notices roommate!peter <;3 flower prompts

It’s hard not to look at her. 

There’s so much to observe, so much to place his attention on- how she smiles, the way she taps the sides of her mugs before she sips her tea. She’s a vision in red lipstick and he’s the kind of person that’s blessed to be in her presence. 

It’s a Friday night, and there’s a sweet sort way that she curls into herself. She’s been his friend for just about a minute longer than he’s been in love with her, and he’d like to think he does a decent job at hiding this fact.

He landed on his hip today, from a height far enough off the ground that it still hurts, pain radiating from every step as he walks home. The commute is actually quite far from his internship at the newspaper, but he likes the area he lives, and the woman whose company he keeps while he lives there. He makes concessions. 

Still, he’d been looking forward to the sight of her since the ache began. Her presence had a way of soothing. 

She’s curled up onto an inherited recliner in their shared apartment, and when he bursts their creaky door open in a fluid motion, he’s greeted with this sight. She’s not alone- some friends from her graduate program on their Ikea couch. 

It’s girls night, and it’s his dutiful role to say a quick quip and head back to his room. Her two best friends are over, legs splayed over each other in an open display of affection that he adores witnessing. He could hear the laughter and yelling from outside the apartment itself. He likes how they make her laugh, how they seem to make her heart lighter when he can tell she’s not able to carry the weight of everything by herself. 

“Peter!” She’s the first to even notice he’s around, and he tries not to let the stubborn firework in his chest keep exploding at the thought of it. At the thought, she sees me. Her voice is warm and kind and weightless, and he drinks in  the sight of her. Their floor lamp illuminates her in warm golden light, a coupe glass with red wine held in delicate fingers. 

“Hey, you,” he replies, an unmistakable warmth he can’t seem to rid himself of in his tone. He tries not to seem disappointed, like he’d not been imagining watching an irrelevant TV show, a little too close together until they’d fallen asleep just that way.

As he’s hanging his withered coat, he asks, “What are you guys up to tonight?”

Her friend explains that they are watching the Spy Kids trilogy in order, and she nods dutifully along. 

“That sounds wonderful,” he can’t help but laugh. “I’ll leave you guys be-“ 

And it’s no surprise, when they send a him a chorus of please join, and you’re welcome to be here! 

She stands up to give him a hug goodnight (because she wants to kill him), and he envelops her before he can stop himself. She smells like a mixture of lavender and rose and sweet red wine, and he’s grateful for his heightened senses for a moment; it doesn’t take long to memorize it all. 

It occurs to him that he won’t see her until morning, and he takes in the sight of her again, eyes raking over her. She really is beautiful- lovely in a way that radiates her smile, follows her in action. His hands rest on the curve of her waist, and something and things being made to fit one another cross his mind, against his better judgement. God, he could spend forever looking at her, longer touching her. 

He only pulls away when he hears a muffled pair of laughs, failed attempts at not interrupting a moment. Which is absurd, because there is no moment. None. 

She beams at him despite the laughter of those she holds dear, and it aches saying goodbye to her. She's just down the hall and it hurts to leave.

He slinks off to his bedroom smelling like her perfume, blushing bright red and maybe, just maybe, the tiniest bit hopeful. And he thinks he might of heard the faint whisper of two other people, whispering questions he mulls over every day.

"Just roommates, huh?"

[spiderfunkz]

hi! i’d love to know abt your fav headcanon(s) for tasm!peter and maybe a little oneshot of said headcanon(s)?

peter parker falls in love HARDDDDD!! i love him and his nerdy ass like aaaaghhhhhh. he's so cutesy and skrunkly i just wanna throw a rock at him 💕

peter parker is the type of person to go head over heels when he likes someone!! the type of person to steal a glance every time you're not looking. the type of person to secretly hope he'd get partnered up with you during class. the type of person to practice in front of the mirror before finally talking to you.

he's the type of person to notice every little thing about you. the pins on your bag of your favorite artists? he can name five songs. your favorite flowers? he walks past the flower shop every morning, hoping to buy you some one day. the way you always have that one mood ring on your finger, he finds it adorable.

he goes so flustered whenever you catch him glancing at you. his face turns all red and he starts giggling actually, your probably the reason he skips to school everyday, hands in pockets, twirling around in pure joy and excitement.

he'll brag to his friends on how he talked to you when in reality it was him saying happy birthday and you replying with a thank you along with a smile that surely gave him a cavity.

to summarize it up. peter parker doesn't just like someone. he loves them. pure admiration, adoration, infatuation, smitten. you're the light in his heart, the butterfly in a field of wildflowers, the red tulip in a field of white tulips.

peter has liked you for a while now.

it was a long day of classes, he could've just skipped but aunt may found out he was doing that too much and got pretty mad. besides, it's just one more class. a class he never really had to try in. should be easy right?

yes, but no.

you just switched classes to biology. sitting in the only empty chair, just two chairs away from peter. he saw you, and that's when he knew.

you were never late, unlike peter. every time he comes in you're already there, smiling awkwardly at the situation as mrs. moore lectured him. but what's the point? peter wasn't listening, he was too busy figuring out what emotion was on your mood ring, and spoiler alert! it was love.

it took him a lot of convincing and reassurance from gwen, but he finally got the courage to talk to you. not about how the weather is, or the same old "did you do the _ assignment yet?". he was going to ask you out on a totally friends-only, platonic date ( that goes so well it will end up with you and him holding hands! ).

"hi!" peter smiled, his hand playing with his hair. "hey, peter." he seemed nervous, you were too.

"um, so, i was wondering if you.. would.." he looked everywhere but your eyes, "..that if we could, maybe, um.. hangout? together? if you want to. obviously, you don't have to but um-"

"no yeah, i would love to peter!" you smiled. was it hot? it felt hot, your face felt hot, does peter notice? he probably does.

peter's heart was racing through a field, it was winning first place. "okay, good- great! i could um. pick you up? i'll text you. you have my number right? i could just um- you know..." he played with the hem of his jacket.

you nodded, "yeah i do." — "okay, we could meetup somewhere.. maybe the park? is that boring? the cinema? anything you'd like, i'm fine with anything you know. or we could just.. hang.."

you smile, "sure."

"really?"

"yeah definitely, either one. or we could do all of them, i've got nothing to do." — "okay, that's super! super- cool.. super cool. i'll text you, is that okay?"

you nodded, "of course."

"okay, i um- i'll go now. i should go now. i'll see you? later?" peter asks.

"yeah okay!" you wave happily as he walks backwards towards the exit, nearly bumping into 2, no, 3 now, students.

"text me!" you yell out.

peter nodded eagerly.

he walks out, knowing gwen is not gonna hear the end of this.

[moonstruckme]

happy valentines day!!! i literally love ur work and was wondering if you could maybe write something with tasm!peter and him sneaking in through readers window after a long day and hes super tired and disoriented since the lights are all off in the room and he just knocks over a bunch stuff and wakes reader up but just climbs into bed and falls asleep like immediately, suit and mask on and everything

Thank you for requesting ml!

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 276 words

You start to stir because of the cold, but you really wake up when there’s a loud crash to your right. 

You sit up on your elbows, heart nearly jumping out your throat at the sight of a lean figure coming towards your bed. You calm down when you make out the familiar red suit.

“Who keeps their books stacked like that anyway,” your boyfriend mutters, climbing over what is now a pile of books on your floor. The streetlight is at his back, coming in with the cool breeze through your open window. It casts him in deep shadow, but you can still see the lethargy in his form as he all but collapses into your bed. 

“Peter,” you mumble, voice scratchy, “what’re you doing here?” 

“Shh, go to sleep.” He slings an arm loosely over your waist, spreading out on top of your covers, and goes silent. 

Delicately, careful not to pull his hair, you take the top of his mask between your fingers and tug it off. He’s dead asleep. Mouth open, cheek squished against the pillow, the whole nine yards. You comb one of his eyebrows with your pinkie finger, studying him drowsily. His breath deepens until it’s rattling through him, bordering upon a snore, and then he shudders slightly, pulling you closer. You grin and reach down for the thick blanket you keep at the end of the bed, covering him before he can catch cold by his own mistake of leaving the window open. 

You settle back in beside him. “Love you,” you murmur. 

Peter snuggles into you until his face is against your collar, mumbling something in the affirmative.

[imagine--if]

A/N: I've always loved Harry but I've rewatched TASM and I've gotta write for him now to fill up his tag a bit.. and cus it's hArRy 🥰 so there are more fics for him to come!! also, am I the only one who rambles when I'm nervous? I'm gonna safely assume not lol 😅 dorky readers are cuteeee

Wordcount: 460

It was interesting, to say the least, to see how the lucky few got to live in San Fransico, all the executives and bosses and CEOs gathered together for their fancy gathering poorly disguised not to look like a place to trade business and earn even more money, though their conversations always drifted back to it.

You grabbed your things together from your desk at the end of the day at Oscorp, swinging your bag over your shoulder and brushing your hair out of your face tiredly. Everyone knew by now about Norman Osborn's death, and there were a lot of contrasting opinions about his son taking over the company at such a young age. You'd never met him properly yourself, and were pretty convinced that he wouldn't be much different from the other money-makers strutting through the building and giving you more and more work to do.

That is, of course, until you walk right into the man himself when you turn around to get to the elevator.

Your eyes widen in confusion and mild annoyance until they meet the cool, vaguely interested blue gaze of Harry Osborn, who surprisingly doesn't look at you like you're something he's scraped off his shoe. If anything, he looks a little amused, raising a brow slightly as your brain short-circuits to think of a good enough excuse.

"Uh- I'm sorry, I wasn't.. looking where I was going," you say with an awkward smile, unconsciously rambling. "I was looking... that way, because... it's where I came from."

Again, instead of the look of disdain and apprehensiveness you half expected, Harry looks like he's trying not to laugh, glancing in the direction before looking back at you.

"It's okay," he says simply, a small smirk on his face, as he takes you in for a short moment. "You work here?"

You nod, smiling. "Yeah. And you do too? I mean... you're Harry Osborn, so... you're the CEO."

Harry's smirk grows. "I am, yeah."

You smile awkwardly, feeling as if the young man is searching your eyes for something, in a kind of interest or intrigue about your personality, and glance at the lift.

"I should probably..."

"Hang on," he calls after you as you go to walk away, and you turn back to see his cool blue eyes shining with curiosity... and something more that you couldn't quite identify. "What's your name?"

You tell him with a half-smile, and Harry repeats it thoughtfully, his gaze drifting for a moment before returning to you with the same intrigued smile and oddly intense stare.

"I'll see you around."

You smile, reaching the elevator. "You will?"

Harry smirks, pressing the elevator button for you as the thick glass doors seal close between you and him. "You will."

[reidshearts]

loverboy ↶*ೃ

pairing, TASM peter parker au x fem!reader

If you went back four years you would have never believed you'd be dating your childhood best friend. I mean of course you had a giant crush Peter but you were too scared of the rejection you somehow were convinced was going to be the outcome.

Yet here you are years later curled up beneath the sheets of his bed pulling the covers higher to try and gain some warmth from the cold winter air blowing outside the closed windows. Your eyes moved around the room to find a way that would distract yourself from the coldness and decided to focus them on your boyfriend who lazed in his desk chair, back hunched over the table attempting to sew up the cuts in his spiderman suit from his last outing.

"Fuck", the boy cursed as he pricked himself with the sewing needle again, lifting his thumb to his lips.

"Pete, i love you but please come to bed and you seriously can't sew for shit" you tried to convince him as you lifted yourself up to lean your back on the headboard of his bed. This was the hundredth time the boy (or ‘man’ as tried to convince you many times before ) had repeated the small action and cursed somehow creating a new profanity each time while wiping his hands on his tank top. And despite finding his toned arms attractive, you knew you had to get up early the next morning.

He childishly stuck his tongue out at you for the comment but reluctantly left the suit and sewing kit on his desk, "fine, but promise me you'll help me with it tomorrow?" Peter replied, and you nodded your head whilst admiring him with a loving look.

"Anything for you lover boy", was all you could say before the words got stuck in your throat as Peter stretched his arms above his head from being sat down for too long and a blush arose on your cheeks as his tank top slid up so his toned torso was on display. You swiftly looked away and focused on your hands that rested in your lap twisting around the silver band with a spider imprinted into the metal, a birthday present from Peter last year.

The spider-boy caught your glances and smiled to himself and shook his head at your innocent blushing. Briefly sticking his head out the door to shout out a goodnight to his aunt May who was awake watching her favourite show downstairs in the lounge, and he then switched off his desk light to join you under the covers.

You both laid down and got into your comfortable positions: your legs tangled together with your head on his chest while his arms were wrapped around your waist lifting you to lay on him. This was the only way either of you could fall asleep and Peter often climbed through your window late at night hoping you'd let him in and help him get to sleep.

"Goodnight m'love", he mumbled to you while placing two kisses upon your forehead and cheek.

"Night petey", you whispered as you both drifted to sleep wishing each other peaceful dreams.

[backtothefanfiction]

His Favourite Place | tasm!Peter x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: You want to study. Peter has other plans.

A/N: Just another short little Peter drabble before I go to sleep. Enjoy.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You say as you look across your room at him. “Don’t look at me like that.” You say again more quickly, your shoulders rising, cheeks blushing, eyes darting to the floor.

“Don’t look at you like what?” He tries to frown his eyebrows and make his face look more serious, but he can’t hold it, a playful smile adorning the corners of his mouth.

“You know what look.” You protest as you slam your notebook down on your folded knees. The movement rocks you back and forth slightly on the old springy dorm room mattress.

“Nope, no, I- I don’t know what you…”

“You know exactly what I mean. You do that look with your stupid doe eyes and you make them glisten and look extra warm and brown and- and” you shake your head from side to side as you try to not get distracted by his cute and handsome face.

“And- and I what.” He mocks softly.

“Uhhhg. No. We are not going up there!” You protest.

“Oh come on.” He says as he begins to roll the desk chair across the room towards you. “Just for a little bit.” He says with a soft smile and shake to his own head.

“No.” You say shaking your head right back as he leans forward, placing his hands on your legs and slowly moving the notebook and pen off your lap. “No, Peter we can’t, we have work to do.”

“Come on. Just for a little bit.” He says again, still soft and encouraging as he tries to win you over. He reaches for your hands and you are hesitant but you let him. “Just for a little bit.” He whispers as he rolls the chair backwards with his toes as he pulls you off the bed.

You plant your feet on the ground and look down at him as he looks up at you pleadingly, his eyes melting your soul and wearing you down. You reach up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, his hands resting on your hips as he inches the chair forward slightly and your legs slot in between his open ones.

You groan as you let your head fall onto the top of his in defeat cuddling into him. You feel his shoulders move, a breathy chuckle chuffing against your stomach. “Just for a little bit.” You begrudgingly agree.

He lifts his head to look at you, a big goofy grin breaking out across his face.

*****

A couple minutes later, your feet are hitting the ground again, and by the ground you mean a ledge at the very top of the Empire State Building. You can’t deny it’s breathtaking up here. And as you take a seat, as far back from the edge as you can get, you look over to Peter eating a donut out of the bag of mini ones you’d just collected, back lit by the rest of the New York City skyline, you know you could never deny Peter of his favourite place.

[rancidpancakebatter]

hey, i hope you're doing amazing! i was wondering if you could write a tasm!peter fic based on the song 'honest' by the neighbourhood? it can be reaaally angst, i promise i won't complain, not even a little bit! thankk you soo muuch in advance, i love your writing! ♡

You want angst? I'll give you angst

Honest by The Neighborhood [P.P.] | The Playlist

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Word count: 4.6K

Summary: Peter is lying. Peter has been lying. And now you have to find out why.

Content: Swearing, Alcohol Consumption (legal age), Mentions of blood (Spider-Man injuries but nothing too graphic), break up,

( Paylist | Masterlist | Fic Break down: 1|2])

A/N: I'm making my way through my asks and It's been great. Thank you for all that submit things to my ask box, I love seeing it :))

You pace your room, a vexing mix of emotions swirling in your gut. You had to talk to him. You couldn’t keep doing this. You were confused. You were angry. You were hurt. But really you were scared. You were scared for Peter. You couldn’t understand it. You couldn’t understand him.

You were supposed to have a date last night. You had been looking forward to it all week. Your boss had been up your ass lately, demanding you reformat your analytics debrief six different times. There was family drama your mother was constantly updating you on and asking for guidance in a situation you were too exhausted to deal with. And you hadn’t had a chance to go grocery shopping (due to the overtime you had to put in), so your cabinets were bare and your fridge bereft.

All-in-all, not a good time. Peter had promised that he would see you. That you would be together. But instead, you waited in your fancy dress and painful shoes for four hours, drowning your sorrows in wine and staring at your unanswered texts. Waiting, always waiting.

Peter had always been a bit flakey. He would often ask to reschedule or push back plans, garnering some excuse as to why he couldn’t make it on time. It was a bit annoying, but not the end of the world. Peter liked to take things slow, and you respected that.

You went on seven dates before he kissed you. You'd been dating for six months before he said I love you, and you didn’t sleep together until a month later. You figured Peter just had a fear of intimacy, but he seemed to be trying, and you didn’t want to pressure him. But he has pushed you too far. Your patience is gone. 

The wine was almost empty; you had ditched your glass a while ago. There was no point in keeping up with social etiquettes when it was just you. It’s not like you were going to share it with anyone. Not anymore, at least.

You heard a knock on your door and made no attempt to answer it. You were playing music, but it wasn’t loud enough to warrant a visit from any neighbours. You didn’t feel up to a social call, so you continued to wallow. 

“(Y/n)? (Y/n), honey, it’s me. Can you open the door please?”

For a moment, you thought it was a hallucination. Your drunken mind stringing you along, taunting you with the one thing you wanted. 

He knocked again, “(Y/n), I know you’re in there. Just open the door.”

You scoffed and took another sip, “Look, your mad; I get it. I understand, and you have every right to be. I’m so, so sorry. Please, I- I want to apologise.”

You felt your body temperature rise and anger slowly build in your veins as it pushed out the self-pity you had once been filled with. You took unsteady steps towards the door, the cold tile against your bare feet making you shiver.

You undid the deadbolt but kept the chain in place, opening the door and peeking your face through the gap. You just looked at each other for a moment, a silent stare down. Your gaze held a certain animosity, while his was filled with relief, though it grew confused when the door stayed in its partially opened state. 

“Can I come in?” You say nothing as you continue to stare him down.

“Please, I know you’re mad-” If he says that again you just might scream. Actually, that’s not a bad idea. 

“You don’t know anything, Peter.” Your words slur together, and the t’s don’t come out just right, but you’re sure he understands precisely how angry you are with the venom you spit out alongside his name. 

His brows furrow as he looks over your face. “Are you- are you drunk?”

You keep your glare intact as you think over your answer. You could lie, but you didn’t need a mirror to tell you that your cheeks were adorned by a familiar warmth, and your lips were surely tinted with an obvious magenta stain.

“Yes, but that’s none of your business. Good night.” You move to close the door, but Peter’s hand stops you. 

“Uhng- Wait. Ow, shit- just wait a second, please.” You slowly open the door again, not for his pleas but for his expressions of pain. 

This time you look at him, really look at him. You can see a bit of blood on his lip, a bruise on his cheek, and his hand holding his side. You feel a chill run down your spine. 

“Back up.” He takes a step back, taking his weight off the door while you undo the chain lock and usher him inside. 

You set him on the couch and winced along with him. You rushed to your bathroom and prepared a warm washcloth and some band-aids you found under the sink. Maybe you should invest in a first-aid kit. You had never needed one before.

You returned to Peter’s side and raised your hand to his face. It wasn’t really necessary, his eyes have been locked on you since entering. But you lifted his chin anyway, a silent promise to hold him close.

You wiped gingerly at his lip, wiping away any dried blood and grime. It was obvious that he had wiped at it a few times. 

“I’m so sorry. Really I-” You lightly pinched his chin. 

“Hush. I don’t need an apology. I- I just…Peter, are you okay?” You could feel your eyes watering, tears swimming forth and resting on the verge.

In his eyes, you could see the once-sweet cacao of his irises tainted by fear and distress. It pained you to see it, so you stopped looking. You grabbed his hands instead, gingerly wiping down each finger, tracing the tendons and fate lines. 

“I’ll be okay.” His hand was still holding his side, and you moved it, slowly lifting his shirt to look underneath. 

The wound stretched from his lat to his hip, twisting toward his stomach. It looked like a giant rug burn. No, more like a scrape you would get on your knee after tripping on the sidewalk. Only deeper. You could still see bits of gravel lodged between the flesh, and you grimaced at the thought. That had to be so very painful.

You wished you had rubbing alcohol so you could clean it. A wound of that size, that exposed, was sure to get infected. You used the rag as gently as possible and mumbled a sorry every time he hissed. You didn’t make much progress before he grabbed your hand, calling your name sweetly. 

“Hey, hey. Just leave it be. Really, it’s fine.” He tries to comfort you with a smile, but it’s tired at the edges, his drooping eyes not matching the expression.

You can feel yourself choking up but try to swallow it down because Peter needs you right now. He shouldn’t have to be the strong one.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, “Wh-what happened, Pete? Who did this to you?”

He swallows before he answers.

“I…got mugged.” You tense for a second.

“You got mugged?” If Peter noticed how your concern drifts, he made no comment on the matter.

“…Yes.” You drop his hands, let go of him.

You turned your body away as you stared at the wall. Your tears were dangerously close to falling. This is when your patience broke. This exact moment. It snapped, stretched too thin and tested too often.

It shattered along with your heart, shards scattered across the uneven floors of your apartment. The wine in your system did nothing to dull the pain of heartbreak. You felt every crack and splinter as it slowly broke apart, then burst all at once.

“Are you sure?” Your voice is cold, your capability for sympathy floating away in waves. 

You saw him tilt his head in confusion from your peripheral. Any other time you would have thought it was adorable- compared him to a Yorkie or a Spaniel- but his act of innocence only made you angrier now.  

“Yeah…why?” 

You remained silent as you got up from your seat, walking around the back of the couch to the side he was sitting on. You grabbed his backpack, tucked into the side as if he had hidden it, and dropped it on the coffee table. Peter’s eyes widened at the site. 

“So you got mugged…and your backpack is still in perfect order?”

The canvas was unstained, the zippers undamaged. The bag was in its normal state of distress. You watched as his face began to flush, and his mouth opened and closed uselessly.

You waited for a response, but when he refused to give one- you pushed forward. You unzipped its pockets and pulled out the valuables that were all unharmed and very obtainable to anyone who wanted to take them by force. 

“You got mugged, and they let you keep your camera, your laptop, the Beats I got you for Chanukah, and your wallet with… ” You dramatically counted the cash in front of him, “forty-two dollars in it?” 

“It- he…uh… ” You tapped your foot as your arms rested firmly in a crossed position. 

“It wasn’t a successful mugging,” He finally settled on. 

“What happened? Exactly.” Peter squirmed on the couch a bit as if running from your anger. 

“He, uh, stopped me. And then he took out a… knife. And then he told me to give him all my stuff, and when I started to run, he knocked me down. We fought for a bit, and then I got away.” Peter looked you in the eyes while he uttered, which only infuriated you more.

“When did this happen? Where? What did he look like?”

You continued to grill him as he fumbled through each answer he gave you. Your anger climbed with every word he said. He might have been able to convince May, but you knew his tells. 

Usually, he would ramble, giving entirely too much context to a situation, caught up wholly in the story. But when he lied, he said as little as possible. Peter fidgeted a lot. If he was sitting, you could bet one, if not both, of his feet, were bouncing. But now he sat before you almost perfectly still. Shifting his body around slowly, his discomfort evident.

“Peter, how the fuck do you get yanked across the concrete hard enough to get an injury like that? Did you get assaulted by Mike Tyson? It looks like you were hitched to a truck and dragged.” You ask, angrily pointing at where his hand continues to rest on his side.

“You’ve told me this story three times now, and not once did you mention that. I’m not buying it; just tell me what happened.” You watch as Pete shifts again, propping his elbows on his knees as he brings his head into his palms.

He sits there for a moment before he ruffles his hair and sits back up. “Okay, you got me. I-I fell on my skateboard. I was just embarrassed about it.”

“You missed our date…because you were skateboarding.” It wasn’t a question because that wasn’t the truth either. "You're telling me that you hurt yourself this severely, and disappeared for however many hours because you randomly decided to ride your skateboard for the first time in almost a year, and you were embarrassed."

Peter broke out into another story, but you blocked it out. You weren’t a particularly violent person, but Peter was pushing you to that level.

You clenched your fist as you fought the urge to grab everything within reach and chuck it at his incredibly thick head, maybe knocking some sense into him. You felt like you were losing your mind. You were seconds from snapping, and you weren’t sure what that would look like.

Your head was pounding, and your buzz was long gone. You weighed your options for a minute before releasing a terse sigh, cutting off his newly woven tall tale.

“Are you gonna bleed out and die tonight?” You still couldn’t look at him; you focused instead on memorising the phosphenes dancing behind your eyelids.

“No, I’ll be okay, I promise.”

You almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his statement. Here you were, arguing over his blatant dishonesty, and he thinks you’ll accept his promise? You felt sore from the way your muscles had been tensing.

“Then get out.” You didn’t need to look at him to know how pitiful he must look. 

“What?” He sounded so small, and you felt bad for a moment, but only a moment. 

“I said, get out, Peter. If you can’t be honest with me, then…just leave.” You finally open your eyes, utterly defeated.

He stood, taking a step toward you but stopping when you backed away. “(Y/n/n), I’m telling you the truth-”

“No! You’re not! And I don’t want to hear another word. Not tonight.” You held your head in your hands, blinking back tears. 

He froze, staring at you incredulously. He looked completely distraught, and while you wanted to feel bad, all you could think was maybe now he understood how you felt. Just how terrible this exchange made you feel.

You didn’t really want to kick him out; you wanted him to hold you close and tell you everything was okay. You wanted him to change into his sweats and scold you for stealing his sleep shirt, forcing him to remain shirtless. You wanted him to complain about you keeping him up by staring at him while he tried to sleep. You wanted him to retaliate by rolling over on top of you, peppering you kisses and pretending to fall asleep like that.

You wanted to go back, return to normalcy. But the damage was done, and no patchwork could turn this around. 

You pushed his backpack toward him, across the table, and that seemed to break him from his trance. He slowly threw it over his shoulder, giving you a tearful glance before he walked to the door. You followed him to the threshold, and he only took one step into the hallway before whipping around to face you. 

“Not tonight…but when?”

You hastily swiped a tear that had fallen from your eye, “I need space. I need to calm down and think before we discuss this anymore.”

Peter's jaw quivered slightly before he forced the muscles to tighten. He turned, and his heavy steps echoed in the hall. You close the door behind him and finally let the tears fall. Your body racked with sobs as you sunk to the floor, the exhaustion catching up to you. You felt utterly deflated, devastated by Peter’s inability to just talk to you, to be honest. You ended up falling asleep there. 

Three days had passed. Peter had texted you thrice. That night he told he was sorry and he hoped you were okay. You didn’t respond.

Obviously, you weren’t okay, but you didn’t know how to communicate that without blaming him and inevitably starting another fight. He texted you again halfway through the next day to ask how yours was. You had spent it fighting the urge to go to Aunt May to cry to her instead of your playlist of heartwrenching songs.

You knew she would give you comfort and support, knowing exactly how it feels to be lied to by Peter, but you also didn’t want to put her in that situation. You didn’t tell him this; you didn’t say anything. The last message Peter sent you just read: “let me know when you’re ready to talk. I’ll be here.”

As you paced around your bedroom, you think you’ve finally reached a mindset that was level-headed-adjacent. You had calmed down significantly.

You didn’t like feeling angry. But for you to get as upset as you did, was borderline unacceptable. You had to acknowledge that Peter’s lies had been gnawing at you for a while so you could begin to heal. And now, as the sun sits high in the sky, you bask in its beams. You sit on your bed and hug a pillow to your chest; your phone weighs heavy in your hands as your thumbs hover over your keypad. 

You had come to the conclusion that you were both at fault. Peter had lied. He had lied often. He had scared you. He kept you in the dark, but you made it your home. You never called him out for it. You never communicated your fear or concern, or why you felt you needed him to tell you the truth. But you also realised that being open and honest, that communication, came with trust.

If Peter wasn’t coming to you, it was because he didn’t trust you, and you had to open your mind to the possibility that that could be your fault. You decided that needed to be the basis of your conversation. And you were finally ready to do it. You were determined to save this relationship.

You texted Peter that you were ready to talk, and for once, he responded immediately. You felt a little bad that he hadn’t heard from you yet, but you didn’t want to lash out; you were looking for a resolution. You asked to meet at his place, “I’m home all day.”

You go over everything you want to say as you walk down the street. It was a forty-five-minute walk between you and Peter’s place. You could take the bus, but you wanted the walk. You wanted the fresh air and constant motion. You were nervous, but if you were walking, you didn’t have to focus on it. 

When the door opens, Peter’s eyes light up. As if looking at you brightens his mood alone. He wore a timid smile, and his shoulders were tense, but his eyes twinkled in the hallway fluorescents just because they fell on you.

He invited you in and sat down on the couch. He attempted to make small talk, and you tried your best to answer without saying anything that may garner guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter suddenly blurted out. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but he continued, “I missed our date, and I didn’t text you. I am so, so sorry. That wasn’t okay, and I promise to do better.”

You took his hand, and he seemed to relax a bit. “Peter that- yeah, that sucked. But that’s not what I’m upset about.”

You could almost feel Peter’s nerves, like his anxiety was shooting out of the pads of his fingers and into you. “I am worried about you. You are often…harmed in some way or late, and you can never tell me why. And I just- I’m-”

Maybe it was your nerves you were feeling. “I’m worried you don’t trust me. I wanted to know if there was something I could do to remedy that.”

Peter grips your hand a little tighter, “I trust you. Of course, I trust you.”

His words soak into your skin, and you feel anger bubbling within you. But it’s not just rage; it’s exhaustion. You’ve done this song and dance, and the tune no longer excites you. You know now that there’s no way to avoid it. If he claims it’s not you then you have to confront him. But you didn’t really want to. You knew the question but feared the answer. The words lodged in your throat, and it felt harder to breathe. 

Say it, You thought. You should say it.

“So, then, why do you lie?”

He pulled back from you slowly enough that you could feel him slipping away. 

“I don’t.”

Another lie. 

The anger grew as it bubbled in your gut; it was close to a rolling boil. The steam is building, creating pressure. 

“Cut the shit, Parker. I know you weren’t mugged, and I know you weren’t on your damn skateboard. Why won’t you tell me what happened? Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are! Just tell me!”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

He looked at you like it pained him to say it. As if in some way, he knew how this hurts you, and it hurt him too. But he couldn’t know. He couldn’t understand. 

“Peter, I’m kinda losing my mind here. I mean, you are always late or busy, but it’s never with your job. I’ve caught you several times using May as an excuse, not realising that I was with her. And if you do show up, you’re covered in bruises. You have scars that you can’t explain. And anytime I ask about any of it I get vague, nonsensical answers. Why? Why can’t you tell me what’s going on? I wish you could be honest with me.”

His face falls. You see the guilt flash across his face for the briefest of moments, but then it’s gone, replaced by an expression of faux ire as he stands from the couch. He stands up straighter, his shoulders squared and fists balled at his sides. It was a defensive stance, and he fell into it so naturally, you wondered how often he did.

“Tell me this: Why’d you stick around; why’d you stay with me? If you know I’m lying, why?”

If you didn’t know him, you would have been hurt by his tone, filled with disdain and contempt. But you knew Peter Parker. He was trying to push you away again.

He would go through these cycles where he would shower you in adoration, tell you that you were perfect and amazing, and how he was so lucky to have you. But then he would freak out. He would ghost you and act distant. When you could finally pin him down, he would confess that he felt he didn’t deserve you or the love you poured out for him.

The fact that he was doing it now frustrated you to no end. You could feel your hair greying.

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! Jesus, Peter, I love you. And I knew you had some issues, but no one is perfect. And I’m not asking you to be. I’m just asking for you to be truthful with me. And if you can’t do that, I’m asking for an explanation. What am I doing wrong? How do I fix this, Peter? Please, give me something, anything!”

You were pulling at your hair, on the verge of tears. Your breathing erratic. You felt like you were going to explode; your atoms were seconds from throwing off electrons left and right until they all decayed and left you in a pile of mush.

“What- You’re not doing anything wrong, okay? You’re great, amazing even. It’s not you.”

Peter placed his hands on yours, pulling them away from your head and placing them over his heart. You steady your breaths in time with his.

“Then why? Why do you lie to me, Peter?”

“It’s to keep you safe.”

“Safe from what? What are you running from?”

“Look, I can’t. I can’t tell you, alright? I can’t put you in danger like that.”

It was Peter’s turn to tense and your turn to soothe.

“Hey, we’re in this together. We’re supposed to grow and learn and chase our dreams together.” You intertwined your fingers and bring them to your lips. “ Peter, if you're in danger I want to know. Let me help you, please.”

Something in Peter snaps. His eyes are now cold as he pushes your hands away, taking a step back. If he had walls up before, you were now looking at a fortress. Fort Knox. Castle Rock. 

“You. Can’t. Help. Me.” He spoke the words with finality. “Do you hear me? I don’t want your help.”

You felt his words rip and tear through you, taking part of you with them. A deep cut by a serrated blade. You did your best to apply pressure to the wound, to keep going- to make him see. 

“But that’s what you do. When you love someone, you help them. You do it all the time, whether it’s carrying my groceries up the stairs when the elevator’s down. Or when you run me a bath after a stressful day-”

“That’s different, (Y/n).” You shake your head furiously.

“No. No, it’s not. You help me because you love me. Let me do the same.” You’re pleading with him at this point; your dignity lone gone. 

Peter looks to the ground and says nothing. You feel your heart sink; he says nothing. “Peter?”

Still nothing. “Peter?”

You feel like you might vomit. “Do you…Do you love me?”

Your ears are ringing in the silence. He finally lifts his head, and his eyes are rimmed with tears, but still, he says nothing. 

His hesitation kills you. This is it. This is your end. Peter Parker doesn’t love you. The last bit of hope in you fades, and you feel hollow. His love had died, and so have you. The revelation is almost enough to bring you to your knees. 

“I couldn’t save it,” You whisper so faintly one might mistake it for a draft from a leaky window. “I couldn’t save it.”

You cry. Hadn’t really done that in front of Peter before. You’ve teared up sure, maybe had one or two slip, but this was something else. This was a steady stream down both cheeks. This was raspy gasps from your chest. This was ugly. 

And Peter just stood there. 

You collapsed onto the couch as you started to shake. You felt like everything was falling apart. If you thought your heart had been suffering before, you were wrong. It had now been obliterated.

There were no shards or mess, only a plume of smoke and a singed cavity where the muscle once was. It burned and burned, eating itself alive until there was nothing left.

You wondered if this is what stars felt- this fear, this betrayal- before they succumb to their own crushing gravity, exploding with a grand flourish…and then nothing. 

You wiped your face. He had lied to you for the last time. You held no sympathy for him. You found it hard to believe that he didn’t love you, but if you were right, what does that say about Peter? He was deeply hurt. You saw glimpses of it when Peter would lose you in the store, when he would wake you up with a night terror, when he lied. You loved him, for better or for worse, you did. But you couldn’t do this; you deserved better. 

You stand and grab your bag, throwing it over your shoulder. You make it across the floor and to the front door before Peter says anything.

“Wait, where are you going?”

You bite your tongue, holding back as many scathing comments as you can. Most of them call him out for pushing you away and being upset when it works. But instead, you settle on something else, something you think is a little nicer. 

“I hope you find a way to be yourself someday.”

When you look back at him, he looks like he’s seconds from shattering. But maybe once he falls apart, he can build himself back up. You hope he does. 

“I pray for the best for you, Peter.” And that was true. Even as you shut the door behind you, even as you silenced his notifications on your phone, even when your friends shit on him- trying to make you feel better. You hoped that he would get the best life had to offer. You hoped it would be a little kinder to him.

Taglist: @andrews-lovr, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @djdre92, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @preciousbabypeter, @princesskittycatofmeowland, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

[unorthodoxx-page]

Recoil one-shot sneak peeks!

I promise you guys I’m still writing these 😭😭 They’re just slow going lol.

The Tortoise and the Arachnid (spider man x rottmnt) - Small sneak  

“Whoa,” Peter says because that’s all he can say.  The tank is huge.  It takes up the entire space of the alley, and he’s sure most of the streets as well.  “There’s no way this is street legal.”

“It’s not,” Leo grins, “but we haven’t met a cop we can’t outrun!”

“Or a ticket Donnie can’t pay,” Mikey adds.  The smaller turtle pulls the ramp down and his jaw continues to drop as the interior opens up.  It’s amazing, like a communication center from those really old movies.  “I wonder if Mr. Stark will give me a car like this.”

“Mister Stark?” Leo scoffs, “the ego on this guy!  Stark didn’t give us this car.  Donnie built it.”

Meeting of Magic (Dr. Strange x rottmnt) - medium sneak next to post after TTatA ⬆️

The title Sorcerer Supreme is a heavy and new title to get used to.  He nearly suffocated under the weight at first.  There was so much work to do after the Sanctums fell, grueling magic draining work that last weeks.  Only after they rebuilt what Kacilius destroyed does Stephen feel like he can breathe again.  He remembers falling into bed that night, glad for the upcoming days of respite.  He just didn’t anticipate those days turning into months.  A lot of his life seemed to reset to a dizzying degree during this ‘vacation’.  The resources offered to a Sorcerer Supreme mean that he wants for nothing.  It’s almost like he’s back in the penthouse, rich beyond belief and still alone.

And incredibly bored.

The new job doesn’t come with as much work as he expected either.  He hasn’t been called to any other situations since Dormamu’s temporary defeat.  Sure, there was a ceremony after the cleanup.  A huge ceremony that cemented his position and introduced him to the new heads of the other Sanctums.  It was very over the top and the celebration lasted days, but Stephen expected…more.  More fights.  More magic.  Just…something other than sitting around this museum and waiting for things to happen. 

“Are you ready?”

He doesn’t look up from his book.  “Ready for what?”

Wong steps fully into the room with a sigh.  “We have a meeting in the Hidden City remember.”

Stephen looks up.  “Wait, you were serious?”  He does a double take at Wong's outfit and sits up.  The man’s dressed in his best robes.  Something Stephen hasn’t seen since his party.

“Yes,” Wong answers.  “So get ready.  We meet with the Council of Heads in an hour.”

“The Council of Heads,” Stephen asks.  He puts the book down.  “This is the yokai thing right?”

“We’ve been over this, Strange.”

“Yokai is the word for demons, right?” he says, “We aren’t meeting actual demons are we?”

[apparentlytheproblem]

so i hav'nt seen any spicy content here except the first jj fic you wrote and the recent rafe one.

lemme start of with how that got me in shackles like godamnn

i was wondering if you could do one with peter parker, in the mcu movies

he's playing video games and she wants attention, so he sits on his lap and starts rocking

v i d e o g a m e s

fandom- marvel cinematic universe

pairing(s)-peter parker

a/n: so im so exited about thiss, its my first ever mcu one, so please be nice :) i wanna be honest, i dont really know how to write anything spicy that well so i'm trying to encounter the topic very slowly and steadily cause i dont want ant critisism i just wanna apologize why it took so long, there are hundreds of requests and im swamped but im really trying, i promise requests are always open as my ears to listen to your fantasies with lots of love, tiya

requested- yes

warnings- mature themes?

Peter Parker had to always have something in his hands, and he recently flourished an obssesion withh video games. it kept his hands busy and supposedly help with his reflexes.

but its been hours, and there is only so long you can go without disturbing him. he was proped on his chair with this legs maspread. his shirt was nowhere to be found, displaying his abs. his hands looked so concentrated and quick playing with the conrol.

you walked up to him resting you weight on his spread legs. like instinantly wrapping his hands around the back of your thighs. you leaned it, and sligtly roled your hips on him.

he glanced at you, locking his arms around your hips

you gently kept bouncing and rolling until you made eye contact. he wasn't even playing anymore, just watching you with a very laid back expression

you soflty bite down his body, trailing your tongue

he was very well done with his game.

[donald4spiderman]

i’m not sure if ur still writing for tasm!peter parker x fem! reader but i just love the idea of peter being rlly nervous around reader bc he has a crush on her and so he asks her to tutor him just to spend time with her (but he rlly doesn’t need the help) and then she figures out he never needed the help and then boom confession from him…PLS this was so long ty for listening

THE UNTRUTHFUL ACADEMIC

peter doesn’t need any help in world history. but, you don’t need to know that.

tasm!peter x fem!reader

tw: a small white lie

masterlist

“A TUTOR...” YOU SIGH, INCREDULITY LACED THROUGH EVERY SYLLABLE.

“Yes!” Peter exclaims, disrupting your skepticism. “World history. I need help. Lots.”

You study the awkward boy in front of you who shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Your brows knit together in confusion. “Peter, aren’t you like at the top of our class? I’m finding it hard to believe you need tutoring in anything, let alone from me”

“I-I am near the top—something like that. But I’m only good at math and science stuff,” He reasons, “Social studies, not so much.” He hopes you can’t see right through him.

See, Peter’s had a crush on you since the beginning of freshman year. You were the brilliant girl that sat next to him in his English class, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to you. The teacher paired the two of you together constantly, and you found yourselves becoming casual friends.

Peter’s had a few classes with you since then. But recently, his nerves have been getting the best of him. The more time he spends with you, the more he likes you, and the more nervous he becomes. The unfortunate cycle repeats until he can barely work up the nerve to greet you in the hallway.

So, he’s resorted to a plan based upon a very tiny, super harmless lie. You tutor other students one-on-one in the library after school every week, and Peter figured if he was one of them, he’d spend more time with you and eventually confess his feelings. Only problem is he doesn’t need tutoring. He’s a genius. Even before all the spider-powers, you would be hard pressed to find him struggling over any subject.

Peter decided to play dumb in world history; act like he’s suddenly lost in the class and desperately needs guidance. After all, how could you say no to someone begging for help?

“Alright...” You sigh in acceptance, brushing your hair away from your face. “I suppose even geniuses have their faults. Does every Tuesday and Thursday at 4 work for you?”

Peter nods with a grin, “Absolutely.”

-

A WEEK LATER

Peter completes the work sheet you printed out slowly—oddly slow. Even an average student would’ve finished by now, but Peter seems to be taking his sweet time going through the questions.

“Is everything alright?” You ask from across the table.

He nods, “Just trying to finish my work.”

You narrow your gaze, “Alright. If you have any questions, let me know. We’ll go over the answers once your finished.”

It takes him another 20 minutes to fill in the remaining bubbles. Either Peter’s actually...stupid, or something else is going on.

He hangs off your every word as you explain the answers about French imperialism in Africa and travel patterns on the Silk Road. His chin rests in his palm and he hums along with enthusiasm.

The hour and a half goes by very quickly. Peter doesn’t even care about getting home for dinner. Maybe he could stretch the session a little longer...

“Okay. Well, you did good?” What does good even mean for Peter? “So, I guess I’ll see you this Thursday for tutoring also. Text me if you have any questions.”

“Thanks, (Y/N).” Peter beams as he swings his bag onto his shoulder. “Can’t wait for Thrusday.” He skips off before you can even zip your bag.

What are you hiding Peter Parker?

-

TWO WEEKS LATER

Okay. Something is definitely going on with Peter.

It should not take a competent 17 year old upwards of 18 minutes to answer a three sentence question about the differences between South and East Asia. Especially when the answers are provided in the paragraph above.

Peter, in his mind, was not one bit concerned that he was overselling his facade. Even when he would spend three minutes staring blankly at the worksheet you assigned, he wasn’t worried you’d find his behavior abnormal.

You startled him by snatching the paper from in front of him. He attempts to grab it, but you have it just out of reach. So much for his special reflexes.

Your eyes scan what few words he has written down, rolling your eyes at the scribbled, fifth-grade level sentences.

“East Asia is China. South Asia is India, and so forth.” He smiles sheepishly as you read his answers aloud. “Peter, what the actual fuck is this?”

“Well, the question was: what are the difference between East and South A—“

“No.” You deadpan, slapping the paper down onto the table. “Are you trying to waste my time?”

He raises an eyebrow, “Is this how your supposed to talk to you tutorees?” He feels the foundation of his lie starting to crumble, yet he’s still confident enough to give you attitude.

You shake your head in frustration, “Maybe if you actually needed tutoring I would have an ounce of patience for your antics! But you don’t even need help with world history! I know it!”

“Just because you don’t see me struggle, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.” Peter rationalizes, hands raises defensively.

He swears he can see smoke leaving your ears.“No, no. I’m not stupid or oblivious, Peter. At first, I thought maybe you wanted a little extra feedback on some ideas, or that you were struggling on grasping a specific concept. But the work your producing is the worst I’ve ever seen. I know you’re trying to look dumb on purpose!”

“It’s actually ‘purposefully’...”

You slam your fist down and his eyes snap wide open. “See! You’re not stupid! So why are you wasting my time by pretending like you are?”

Peter sighs, slumping his shoulders in defeat. “It’s complicated.”

You wag your finger in his face, “No. You owe it to me to explain why you took time away from other students who actually need my help. So spill it, Parker.”

“I like you...?” It comes out as a question, but he’s certain about it. “A-and I didn’t know how to approach you outside of class and ask to hang out. I figured if I pretended to need help in a class that you would tutor me; that way I could formulate a better plan to actually ask you out while still getting to know you better.”

Pete chews his lower lip anxiously. That is clearly not the answer you were expecting. You pace back and forth around the table with crossed arms. “I would’ve said yes if you asked me out two weeks ago,” Peter smiles with surprise, “But your plan to ask me out makes you sound like a total idiot.”

“I am! See! I wasn’t faking it, technically.” He chuckles nervously. “Wait. You would’ve said yes?”

“Duh, you idiot.” There it is again. “I actually thought you were kind of cute and sweet before all of this—even now, I still think you are—even though I shouldn’t!”

“So...is that a yes? Will you go on a date with me?”

You shrug, “It’s a maybe.”

“I promise I will never lie to you or waste your time ever again.” He crosses his hand over his heart. “You have my word.”

“Fine.” You huff. “But this date better be fucking amazing. And I’m not paying for jack-shit.”

Peter grins, the corners of his mouth stretching nearly to his ears. “O-okay. Anything for you.”

“Damn right.”

[electrosuite]

bullshit

warnings: swearing

word count: 776

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

You closed your locker. “Purely hypothetically?”

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

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

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

“A hypothetical date?”

“Yep. Purely hypothetical.”

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

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

He smirked. “Sweet. See you tonight.”

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

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

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

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

Until now.

“Have you ever been with anyone else?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Now can we get back to-”

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

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

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

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

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

“Not even on the cheek?”

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

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

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

“See, I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

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

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

You scoffed. “I think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm.”

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

“I’m so sure.”

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

[irndad]

* Gardenia - the love of a friend who doesn’t want to just be friends

This screams both tasm!peter to me. Also Remus. Both. Both is good.

a/n: he's my husband officer i love him / prompts are open bb!!! tasm!peter parker x reader

The realization sweeps over him like the invention of technicolor- slow, warm bursts of an entirely new perspective. Her company has been present more often, and he’s slowly becoming addicted to the sight of her. 

Harry introduced the both of them. Peter’s been in kind of an odd space since graduating college, and so sometimes when he meets Harry’s grad student friends he can be a little intimidating. She was no exception. 

Except she was, wasn’t she?

Peter recalls the first time he ever met her, warm twinkling fairy lights of Harry’s apartment illuminating her features. She’d smiled at him, a gentle thing, all warm disposition and kind eyes, and Peter had almost felt his knees buckle under her gaze. 

He’s somehow managed to be charming enough to get her to enjoy his company for almost two months. They’re friends, or whatever you call being the first person the other hears from in the morning. Peter keeps a picture of her in his wallet for luck. He’s not very good at hiding the things he wants, but she’s not the kind of woman who dates guys like him, at least in his perception. 

Still, tonight, this is easy to forget. She’s in his apartment, soda poured into wine glasses, his head on her shoulder, drunk on the way she laughs and the fact she chose to spend her night with him. She’s got a finite amount of time, and she’s chosen to spend it with her legs on top of his. She’s so, so warm. The show he’s put on is the least of his worries, the least captivating thing he can imagine. 

He’s made them dinner, called Harry in a panic about three times even though if you’d have asked Peter before tonight if this was a date, he’d be sure you were insane. There’s a somatic sense of urgency, now, heightened senses attuned to her every movement. There’s a lot of curses to the spider-bite but this- the way that she feels in his arms, how her perfume lingers in his senses, how her so-soft skin feels on his own, her fingers carding through his hair lazily- 

“What’s on your mind?” She says, a giggle in her voice. 

“This is nice,” he replies, turning to look up at her. She’s just so nice to look at.

“Stop looking at me that way,” she says, warmth creeping up her cheeks, delicate hands covering her face in embarrassment. He turns to face her, and she smells like vanilla perfume and everything he wants.

“What way?” There’s an uncontrollable flirt in his tone, and it’s hard to admit how much he’s proud of the fact it’s him that made her feel that way. It’s a lot of restraint he’s used to not call her baby. 

“Like that,” she murmurs. He thinks he might see her eyes flicker to his lips, and his chest roars with want. He’s drunk on all of it, the feeling of her so close, the kindest person he’s had the good fortune to meet. 

“I can’t help it,” he says back, unashamedly staring back at her adorable pout, “I just wanna…”

It’s months of pining, of waiting and watching and listening to the sound of her heart when he leans over and kisses her. He’s not sure if he’s fucked it, but then- then she leans into him, kisses him back, warm and soft and isn’t this the point of being a person? Getting to be held like this? 

She actually ends up staying the night, in an incredibly mundane way. Harry finds them just that way in the morning, wrapped around each other like knots on a cherry stem. Peter doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed. 

[quillthrillswriting]

we don't talk enough about how andrew garfield's spider-man literally admits to watching gwen while they were on their break. that is SO CUTE.

He’d really and truly tried to keep away from her. For weeks, or more accurately, a few days, he’d tried to go entirely cold turkey, but he just couldn’t stomach it. He told himself it’d just be a quick glance, swinging overhead as she stopped by her favourite cafe, but he heard her nervous laugh as she stumbled over her order, and it was over for him. He was hooked again.

Checking in on her while she grabbed coffee turned into memorising her order entirely, which turned into him following her to her next stop, and then the next. He couldn’t bring himself to let her see him, but this was killing him. Watching her smile at strangers, enjoy her time in the labs. He didn’t know how she was playing it off like she was okay, when he felt utterly and entirely shattered. He missed her so much he felt like there wasn’t a proper word for it. He’d felt so much loss, from his parents, from Uncle Ben, but this loss was painful in such a different way. She was right there, right in front of him, but not his. Maybe never his again. And Peter didn't know how he could ever acclimate to a word where Gwen’s laughter, her brilliance, her kindness, her ambition, her touch wasn’t his. 

Now that he knew what it felt like to be close to her, the utter lack felt profound. Stifling. 

♥ the rest of the fic can be found here ->

[bxcketbarnes]

You Got Me Flowers?

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 1900+

So, this is probably the quickest Peter fic I’ve written. This is just pure fucking fluff. Soft ass shit that I need in my life. I hope you guys like it! Let me know what you think!! xox

Every day. Every fucking day a bouquet shows up on your desk at Oscorp. You're not sure who it's from since there's never a card attached to it. Gwen has her suspicions but she refuses to tell you.

You mumble incoherently to yourself as you walk into Oscorp. You've had a horrible night and it continued into this morning. You quickly pull your hair into a high ponytail while you walk through the turnstile.

"G'morning, my beautiful best friend," Gwen greets you with a smile.

"Morning," you mutter and continue walking towards the elevators. "Why are you so chipper this morning?"

Your blonde friend shrugs her shoulders and steps into the metal box with you. You scoff and shake your head before pressing the button for the sixth floor.

Gwen begins to talk about her night when you step out of the elevator. You listen intently and smile every time she gets excited over something she says. Sure, you're in a bad mood but you don't like to take it out on your friends.

"That's amazing, Gwen. I'm so happy for you. He better not break your heart or I'm killing him," you tell her with a chuckle.

"Oh, I know you will. I'll be sure to tell him," she laughs with you as the two of you walk towards your desk.

The smile slips from your lips at the sight of flowers sitting on your desk. You press your lips together and clear your throat, walking closer to the bouquet. It's different from the ones you've received already. Actually, it's probably your favorite one so far.

"Oh! Those are beautiful," Gwen mentions while taking a step closer to your desk. Her fingertips glide along the delicate petals before glancing back at you. "Aren't these your favorite?"

"Orange roses? Yeah, they are," you mumble and walk towards your computer chair.

You plop yourself into the seat before dragging the bouquet closer to you. You search the bundle of roses for any sort of note.

"Why can't they leave some sort of note?" You sigh while pushing the roses back to their original spot. You turn your gaze towards Gwen and notice her eyes looking towards the elevators.

You follow her gaze to find Peter standing at his desk. The glasses he's wearing sit on the edge of his nose as he sifts through the file in his large hands.

"Is Peter the guy you've been seeing?" You ask her, a hint of jealousy in your voice.

Her eyes quickly shift towards you before she furrows her brows. "What? No, he's not. I didn't even notice he was here. I was, uh, looking at Bryan," she mentions with pink cheeks.

"Bryan," you mumble and look back in Peter's direction. You notice someone else standing beside Peter and you let out a hum. "That's him?"

Gwen smiles and nods her head. "That's him, yeah. He's… he's really great," she fangirls a bit.

You chuckle and bring your attention back to Peter. Your breath hitches in your throat, noticing him looking at you. He smiles at you and waves his hand.

"Hey," you mumble quietly and wave back to him.

"Peter's cute, isn't he?" Gwen suddenly asks while leaning against your desk.

You narrow your brows and look up at your best friend. "I thought you liked Bryan?" You ask her, wondering why she's suddenly asking about Peter.

"I do. Y/N, babe, I've seen the way you look at Peter," she points out and your cheeks flush. "So, he's cute, isn't he?"

"Ye-Yeah, I guess," you shrug your shoulders, playing off the feelings you have for him. After a moment of silence, you clear your throat and stare down at your desk. "Uh, don't you have work to do?"

Gwen laughs and hums, moving to rest her hand on your shoulder. "Yeah, I do. I actually have a meeting, but I'll see you later!" She grins at you while walking away from you.

"See you," you mumble and release a deep sigh when she's out of earshot. You turn back around in your chair and jump a bit at the sight of Peter in front of you. "Jesus, Pete."

He raises his hands in defense and apologizes. "Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you," he laughs before running a hand through his hair.

"It's okay. Apparently, you have quiet footsteps," you chuckle and lean your elbows against the desk. You tuck some hair behind your ear as Peter brings his hand to the bouquet in front of him.

"Pretty flowers," he mumbles while looking at you through his lashes. "Who are they from?"

You shrug your shoulders. "I don't know. They never leave a note with it. They're pretty though. I kinda wonder how they figured out my favorite color rose," you mention with a small smile, your fingers daintily touching the petal.

Peter watches you with a faint smile on his lips. He faintly remembers when Gwen mentioned your favorite flower to him after he told her he was the one leaving them on your desk.

"It's really sweet though," you mumble before returning your attention to your work. "I don't think anyone's ever gotten me flowers. So, all of this has been very flattering and I'm not sure how to take it."

"You've never gotten flowers before?" Peter asks you with furrowed brows.

A laugh leaves your lips and you lift your gaze, tapping the cap on the desk. "Pathetic, right?"

"It's not pathetic, Y/N," Peter reassures you and you can see the seriousness in his honey brown eyes. "Men are just trash."

"Calling yourself trash, Peter?" You hum while resting your chin against the palm of your hand.

He smiles down at you and wets his lips. "I wouldn't say I'm trash, but sure," Peter laughs.

You chuckle as well and shake your head. "You're not trash. You're literally one of the kindest people I've ever met," you remind him and lean back in your chair. "Alright, well, I would love to just sit and chat all day but I've got work to do."

"Do you wanna grab dinner sometime? T-That way we could sit and chat for a while?" He stutters, his cheeks becoming flushed.

Your heart skips a beat and you lift your head to look at him again. "L-Like a date?" You ask quietly.

"If you want it to be," Peter whispers and your cheeks start to turn pink. A date with Peter? Your heart pounds against your chest as you nod your head yes.

"Y-Yeah, I'd like that," you smile at him.

He grins down at you and nods. "Great, great. I'll uh, I'll text you?" He nervously rambles while taking a couple of steps back.

You chuckle and bite your lip gently. "Yeah, text me."

-

Gwen watches you as the two of you walk into Oscorp. You've been texting on your phone during the entire train ride to work, and she wonders who you've been texting.

"What's gotten you so giddy?" She nudges your arm with a smile on her lips.

"O-Oh," you stutter and shove your phone into your pocket. You clear your throat while pulling out your badge. "Uh, Peter."

Her blue eyes widen as the two of you move through the turnstile. "No fucking way! What?! Did something happen?" She asks, slapping your arm gently.

Your cheeks blush and you release an embarrassing groan. "Gwen, stop! We just went out to dinner," you explain to her as you both walk towards the elevator.

"The two of you went to dinner? Did he walk you home? Kiss you at your door? Tell me, tell me," she questions excitingly.

"He didn't kiss me. He did walk me home and he may have asked for a second date," you say with pink cheeks. Your heart flutters in your chest as that night flashes before your eyes. "He's really cute."

You and Gwen walk into the elevator, pressing the button to the third floor. "You two are so cute already and it's not even official yet," she sighs while placing a hand over her heart.

"Shut up," you push her playfully as the elevator doors open back up.

When you step out, you feel your phone vibrating in your back pocket. You swiftly pull the device out and see a text from Peter. The smile on your lips widens as you read over the two words.

Look up.

You furrow your brows and look up from your phone. A gasp leaves your lips as Peter stands in front of your desk with a bouquet in his hands. You look around, noticing other co-workers watching and your hands start to become clammy.

Gwen rests a hand on your shoulder, capturing your attention. "Don't worry about everyone else. I'll get them to stop watching. Go get your man," she smiles while nodding her head in Peter's direction.

"Okay," you whisper and walk towards Peter. Your fingers fumble with one another as you stand about a foot in front of him. "Morning, Pete."

He smiles at you and hands the bouquet to you. "Morning, honey. I, uh, I got you these," Peter mumbles softly.

The smile on your lips widens as you take the bundle of roses in your hands. You inhale the scent and take a step closer to him. "You got me flowers?" You ask him with a cute pout.

He brings his hand to your face and gently strokes your cheek. "I've been getting you flowers every day for weeks," Peter confesses and your heart skips a beat.

Your eyes widen and your grip on the stems tightens. A sharp pain shoots through one of your fingers, causing you to look down at your hands.

"Shit, honey," he mutters and reaches for your hand. Blood drips down your fingers and Peter takes the roses from you. He sets them onto your desk before grabbing some tissues.

"S-Sorry, I just… you? You've been leaving me flowers?" You ask him as he cleans your finger up.

He nods his head in answer and moves to grab a first aid kit. You watch him grab a band aid from the white container before he makes his way back to you.

"I wanted to leave notes but I was way too nervous that you wouldn't like me," Peter whispers and places the band aid over your wound.

A frown settles on your lips and you bring your non-wounded hand to his face. "I've liked you for months," you confess to him and his brown eyes flit up to you.

"Really?"

"Yeah," you giggle before closing the space between the two of you. You can hear Peter's breath hitch in his throat as your lips press against his.

He leans into you, kissing you back with just as much passion as you're giving. His hands move to your cheeks, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones.

"Whoop!" Gwen cheers loudly from behind you. You pull away from Peter with a laugh and he rests his forehead on yours.

"She's never gonna let this go," you whisper against his lips.

Peter's hands glide down to the nape of your neck. "No, she won't. Which means we'll just be extra cute around her to the point where she'll leave," he jokes with you.

You bite your lip gently and giggle. "Perfect idea."

"We should probably get back to work," he suggests while pulling back from you. "Come over tonight."

Butterflies swarm around your stomach and you nod your head. "Okay, yeah," you agree before leaning on your toes to kiss his cheek. "I'll be over around seven?"

"Sounds wonderful, honey. I can't wait," he smiles down at you.

-

Taglist: @jeanettexkillian @undf-stuff @softyutae @theonlymaddie @queenofshinigamis @stewielover95 @foreverrogers​ @writing-for-marvel​ @softtdaisy​ @xoxoloverb​ @onlyfreds​ @corneliastreetinstyle​ @avenjames-anderson​ @marvelouswinchester​ @0-0-sunflower-0-0​ @sincericida​ @leleea @jessalyn-jpeg​ @paw-sneeze​ @apeainapot​ @thewxntersoldier​ @reddesert-healourblues​

[liz-allyn]

Is it too late for me to send a 📸📸??? If it is ignore me 😘

It's NEVER TOO LATE! Actually, this one made the cutoff and this is the last 📸 pic fic, sorry everyone!

But how about we check back in with Workplace Rival!Peter for a change of pace?

part 2 of this. smutty filth under the cut featuring religious imagery and daddy kink. people who remember when it was briefly acceptable to wear skinny ties with tank tops, you know what to do.

“Fuck, baby, y’taste better than I ever expected.” 

The sound of the deep timbre of his voice, combined with the wet lapping of his tongue reignited a blaze in your belly. 

Your eyes opened wide, gazing up at the hanging silver-orange clouds reflecting the lights of New York above. The night wind whistled through the skeletal frame of the building, tucking in your lewd moans and dirty secrets, and sweeping them away. 

The partially-constructed high rise on Park would soon be home to multimillion-dollar condos. But tonight, it was a shrine. A proverbial Tower of Babel constructed so that you could proclaim your testimony to the gods. A place of worship where you praise the name of one man.

Spider-Man. Or whatever his real name was.

If Manhattan’s newest development was now a shrine, then you were placed on its altar. You were spread out on a length of plywood suspended between two sawhorses. Your body as bare as the day you took your first breath. The structure was secured with sticky, stronger-than-steel webbing, and anointed with your sweat, tears, and cum.

You were eager to be offered up as a sacrifice, your trembling legs spread wide with your head thrown back, bare tits heaving. The masked hero bestowed blessing upon blessing on you, using fingers and tongue. 

You could’ve mistaken his voice with that of a god’s if what he was saying to you wasn’t so sinful. 

Who were you kidding? He was your god. And you were a sinner yourself that needed his brand of atonement.

“Someone’s been a bad kitty,” the Spider lustfully groaned, his mask pulled halfway up to reveal juicy, devil-red lips still dripping with your forbidden fruit. “Only thing that gets under my skin more’en a dirty thief is a filthy liar.” The wind chilled the wet flesh of your cunt in his absence. “We’ll straighten you out though, yeah?”

You’d already paid your tithe. You came twice on his fingers and twice on his lips.

“But three’s the magic number,” he chuckled sadistically, as he dived back in between your thighs. 

You screamed. You thrashed. You pleaded. You howled at the moon above. But your master demanded more, and more you would give.

“You wear these pretty panties for me, sweetheart?” he said, toying with the lace thong adorned with diamond-studded straps. In his haste, he had pulled your underwear to the side before finger fucking you. “Betcha figured red was my favorite color, yeah? Wanted to get all dressed up for Daddy?”

You squealed at the name, your voice and your body breaking into tiny pieces. Tears flowed down your cheeks, filled with his spirit. Your mewling echoed off the consecrated structure.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby. Such a pretty little slut.”

He knew all of your secrets. You’d confessed your sins, wholeheartedly.

“You been takin’ care of that pretty pussy for me while I’m out protecting the city? You been treatin’ her right?”

It was a commandment. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you nodded your head emphatically beneath your quivering cries. You dared not to look at the sight in front of you, for fear the immorality of it would cast you into a lake of damnation.

“Course you did, baby. Such a good girl f’me.” 

Before you could think, he’d changed positions, moving with the tempo beneath your breast. He stood tall before you, statuesque in his tight, webbed, red-and-blue robes. His muscles rippled beneath the material as he placed both hands on your thighs, gripping you tight. The wicked smile was the only visible flesh above his waist. You licked your lips as you gazed, wide-eyed, as he pulled his heavy, dripping cock from his tights into his glove and lined up with your entrance.

With no pretense, he sheathed himself inside of you, burying himself to the hilt. You cried out like the heathen you were, fully enraptured. You were lost to all other causes as he thrusted in and out of you. You took him—all of him, as a faithful servant. A student to your master, as he showed you what heaven felt like.

“How ya doin’, baby girl? Y’like that? You gotta use your words f’me or we’ll haveta stop. You like it when I touch you like that?”

“Oh, gods,” you gasped suddenly, “yes, Spider-Man, I love it—ah!” You roared, struck with another wave of pleasure, as if has asking for your consent was enough to push you over the edge, because of course it fucking was. “Fuck, I love it so much. Feels too good—gahh—!”

You had to shield your eyes from his lascivious smirk. It was the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. A beauty surely not of this world, but even still—it was achingly familiar to you. The bizarre, maddening, almost-recognition of his grin burned you from the inside out, in every corner of your body you treasured.

You cried out to the heavens for mercy.

“Mercy, eh?” his luscious lips twisted into a sinister smile. The steel grip of his massive hand encircled your throat as he pulled you close and whispered, almost cruelly. “You’d better get religion.”

How could you, when he was your religion? You whimpered and mewled and cried out as much to the Spider as he quickened his pace. He groaned and growled at the desperation in your voice.

“Fuck yeah, baby—Gotta keep making those gorgeous sounds for me. Daddy’s jus’ gettin’ started.” 

Your jaw drops open, scandalized. 

“That’s right, baby. I got no clue who 'Y-Slash-N' is, but she sure likes to come a lot.”

...

You stare at the cursor on your computer screen, highlighting that sentence again, musing over it. You repeat the phrase, re-reading it carefully. The soft soundtrack of a Daily Bugle afternoon provided a music bed to your concentration: chimes of computer alerts, quiet chatter, and soft keystrokes.

Bold. Was it too much? You questioned yourself.

You glanced at the tiny number signifying the number of notes—well over 1,000 and counting since posting yesterday afternoon. Spider-Man was right—it was an excellent entry for Sinful Sunday.

Is it too heavy on the sacrilege? you mused, anticipating the hate messages from readers who didn’t check the warnings. 

It could’ve been worse. You neglected to add the part about pulling a splinter from your ass cheek when you got home.

You clicked on the home button of your blog’s dashboard. A giant banner with your blog’s name TheBlackCatxxx69, and the header “TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES RIGHT MEOW” appeared on the screen. 

You moved through the black, white, and pink navigation, over your cosplay pfp of your online OC (a risque, yet tasteful photo—a medium body shot of you in an inky, skintight, liquid latex bodysuit lined with white fur trim that framed just the right amount of boob, your face hidden behind a kitty mask), over to an envelope icon to open your messages.

Your asks were full of adoring messages.

Oof, you thought. Somebody needs to get laid. And you told them as much as you hit “Answer.” 

“You and me both, sweetheart,” you whispered under your breath. That thought pinched your cheeks into a blushing smirk. You leaned back in your office chair, gazing at the screen as you watched your loyal followers eat.

“Knock knock,” a voice rang out behind you. You jumped at the sound of the voice.  Startled, you quickly hid your incognito windows, featuring your Tumblr blog and a separate tab search list of alternative forms of “penis.” You spun around to the doorway of your cubicle and at the towering, lithe form leaning against it. 

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” your colleague rival Peter Parker asked, a quirky grin stretched across his face. You smiled to mask your alarm. He was. And he knew it. Even if you didn’t.

And for the record, his sense of smell wasn’t so advanced that he could make it a habit of picking up on any woman’s arousal like some kind of horny bloodhound. 

(Geez, is that an issue for that Devil guy? File that away for later…)

But now that he’d caught your scent up close he was certainly going to work on it. Might be a handy skill. For sleuthing. 

For justice.

You sighed icily, visibly uncomfortable, “Just a ton of work, why?”

The smile Peter gave never faltered, as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He wore a henley top with his sleeves pulled up, exposing his forearms, which apparently you thought a lot about. “I just wanted to say congrats,” he shrugged with a pleasant tone. “On your big story.”

You froze, eyes going wide. “Sorry?”

He watched your eye twitch. He was beaming. “Your feature on Spider-Man?” he explained. “The interview in Sunday’s edition?” 

The realization must have hit you that he was referring to content of the actual interview, that he properly gave, filled with good journalism and news of public interest. Right before you two... well, filled something else. Properly.

Your shoulders loosened and you snorted, blew a raspberry, and guffawed in rapid succession.

God, you actually were really cute when you were flustered. And while having a toe-curling, earth-shattering orgasm atop a sketchy makeshift table covered in sawdust.

“Robbie told me The Bugle hasn’t sold out a paper since 2007,” Peter added enthusiastically. 

You nodded your head, avoiding his cocoa eyes. More humbly, you explained, “I’m just relieved that Jonah’s finally going to let me pursue more important topics. There’s a lot of wrong in this town that could use a little light.”

He watched you closely, noting the way the small recognition he gave you also tinted your cheeks. For a more noble reason. 

Peter pressed his lips together, nodding in approval, “Whatever it takes.” Then, more earnestly, he added, “It was a really good article.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, surprised. You watched him closely, just to make sure the praise was genuine. It was. And you looked flattered, despite yourself. “Thank you,” you softly replied, with true gratitude.

Since that night, Peter had found himself feeling bad about his deception. Little bit. Maybe. He thought perhaps he should offer to buy you an after-work beer as a consolation. A celebration of your upcoming, well-deserved promotion. And maybe you could call it a first—or second—date?

“Thank you, Pete,” you repeated tenderly. “That means so much. It’s nice to finally have that validation that you—in fact—can read.”

Fuck it. He doesn’t feel bad about it. At all. 

He scoffed beneath his breath. “Well, y’know, I did have one free article left to read this month.”

The more he thought about it, you probably needed to get fucked again.

“Huh,” you stated thoughtfully, “I thought Jonah was going to IT disable that feature for this.”

“Yeah,” Peter shrugged, sheepishly, “but... technically... that would be false advertising. Which is illegal. Turns out.” He lifted himself off of the doorframe, beginning his retreat. “Anyway. Can’t wait for the next one.”

You blinked, curiously. “Next one?”

Peter shrugged nonchalantly, “Yeah, your next interview with Spider-Man.” 

Your eyes went delectably wide. 

“N’fact, hit me up next time,” he called back as he strolled off, leaving you in a flustered state. “‘Case you need someone to take pictures.”

A/N: Well that was fun! I've got a few more of these 600 celebration recs to answer, but blurby asks are closed! (Actually, I just can't do them because my head will explode and I'll forget to do stuff like eat.) TYSM all of you lovelies that participated!

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