#andrew garfield spiderman x reader

[earthgirl616]

— SECRETS AND SKATEPARKS.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader

summary: you have a sneaking suspicion about your best friend and will apparently go to any lengths to prove yourself right.

warnings: mentions of violence/bruises, kissing, basically just a bunch of pg13 fluff, friends to lovers au.

author’s note: very much enjoying the andrew garfield spiderman love recently (don’t know where you all were 9 years ago but that’s not my business) so here’s a fic for my favourite spidey! i don’t think i’ve written for marvel in over a year and my writing is kinda rusty, but enjoy nonetheless!! ♡

“I wonder what Spider-Man looks like,” you absentmindedly mumble, scribbling down the answer to the Calculus question you were working on.

This piques your best friend Peter’s interest and his gaze quickly shoots from his own homework to you. “What, why? Wh-why does that, uh, matter?”

“No, I’m just saying, y’know?” You shrug, not thinking anything of it until you catch his expression. His head is tilted in confusion and he resembles a lost puppy with curiosity painted plain as day on his face.

God, why does your best friend have to be so cute. Okay, maybe a slightly inappropriate thought to be having, but it’s not like you’re hurting anyone! Other than yourself, that is, by not having your feelings returned. Collateral damage.

“He’s, like, super strong right?” you ask, turning back to your homework. Mostly to avoid looking at Peter, but also because you aren’t quite as good at calculus as him. He hums in answer, prompting you to continue. “Which means he’s probably super ripped. And if he’s super ripped, he’s gotta be like…”

You trail off, thinking he gets where you’re going. But when you look at him again, his brows are furrowed and you can’t help chuckling. “Spider-Man is probably really hot.”

Peter chokes on air.

“That’s not even-“ He cuts himself off, shaking his head which causes his hair to fall into his eyes, bringing more attention to the blush creeping it’s way onto his face. “I’ve always thought he was too… lanky.”

“Pfft!” You look at him like he’s gone crazy. “He’s not lanky. He’s tall. Tall guys are hot. He’s clearly got muscle. Probably was a popular jock or something in high school.”

“Yeah,” he says through a grin. He goes back to his homework and smiles like he’s sharing a private joke with himself, most likely at your mindless ramblings about Spider-Man. “That sounds about right.”

“And have you seen his ass?”

Peter chokes again.

“You good, Pete?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow at how awkward he is at the mention of Spider-Man’s ass. Just another aspect of his personality that you find irritatingly endearing.

“Just peachy,” he replies, through a strained voice.

You try, you really do, to keep in your laughter at his word choice. Unfortunately, you’ve never been good at that and as a result, you burst into a fit of giggles. Peter realises why you’re uncontrollably laughing soon enough and he groans, yet is unable to stop the corners of his mouth lifting. “You’re a child.”

“I can’t believe you said that. Of all phrases,” you say breathlessly, wiping a tear and finally calming down. This lasts a full five seconds and you don’t stop laughing again until you hear the click of a camera going off. “Hey!”

Peter had a habit of randomly taking photos of you, sometimes with him but mostly candid ones where you weren’t aware. A lot of the time he would print them out and stick them onto his collage inside his wardrobe, much to your protests.

“Delete that, I probably look hideous,” you whine, getting up to grab the device out of his hands as he looks at the picture he took, grinning. “Let me see!”

“Nope.” He pulls the camera out of your reach last minute, making you fall onto the bed with an indignant huff. “And you’ve never looked hideous a day in your life,” he mumbles under his breath, a hint of a scowl playing at his lips.

Pretending not to hear this, at the risk of him seeing your burning hot face, you go back to your homework. Curse Peter Parker and his stupid offhand comments that he doesn’t even know have an effect on you.

Somewhere in the eventual comfortable silence of your bedroom, Peter’s phone goes off and he shoots to his feet, collecting all his things into his backpack.

“Forgot I need to, uh, help Aunt May with some stuff,” he explains, already rushing out of the door, offering you an apologetic smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay see you-“ The door slams shut. “Later. I guess.”

And with that he’s gone, leaving your stupid heart still fluttering.

You see him the next day in school, just before second period. He missed first, as per usual. He never used to be late to class, but recently you’ve been catching him in the school hallways rather than outside your window on the fire escape so you can walk to school together.

“Parker!” you yell to get his attention as you make your way to his locker. He looks up, grins and gives you a little wave. There goes that heart again.

Just as you reach him, some girl bumps into you as she rushes to get to class, causing you to stumble and fall on Peter.

Immediately, Peter catches you by the waist, where you would otherwise have fallen face first. His hold on you is strong and steady, nothing like his old, clumsy self. That being said, your hand grips his upper arm and you gulp at the hard muscle beneath his jacket.

Woah, you think to yourself. When has he even had time to work out?

While you aren’t completely surprised since you’ve caught glimpses of his arms and peeks of his stomach as he’s taken his hoodies and jackets off in the last couple weeks, you didn’t think he was this jacked.

“Uh, fast reflexes there, Parker,” you nervously chuckle, still in the same position.

Your words seem to break him out of a trance and he clears his throat, gaze flickering down to your lips for a nanosecond and you almost miss it. You don’t, of course, since your face is mere inches away from his and you’re about to pass out from the smell of his intoxicating shampoo.

“You okay?” he asks with wide eyes, pulling you back up and you use everything within you not to complain about the loss of contact.

“Yeah, I’m f-“ you cut yourself off, properly taking in his face this time. A bruise is forming under eye his, directly on his cheekbone, and you gasp, tentatively reaching a hand out to trace it. Peter furrows his brows in confusion until you speak up, but your voice doesn’t raise above a whisper. “Peter, what happened…?”

“This little thing?” He looks away, pulling his hood up higher over his face, giving you a sheepish smile. Probably as an attempt to calm you down. It doesn’t work. “It’s nothing, really. I just… had a skating accident.”

“You didn’t have it last night!” you insist, struggling to see how and when it could have happened. “You also didn’t have your skateboard last night when you left, and you couldn’t have done it this morning because it’s already starting to bruise.”

Peter stares at you like a deer caught in headlights. “Since when did you become a detective?”

“That’s not the point! Did someone do this to you or something?” you demand, crossing your arms. “Because if they did, I’m going to seriously kick some ass!”

You can already imagine the steam coming out of your own ears, but when Peter starts to hide a smile behind his hand, you become furious.

“Is something funny about this?” you seethe, narrowing your eyes and taking a step closer in an attempt to intimidate an answer out of him. His smile grows.

“You’re just cute when you’re trying to be scary,” he says, grin on full display now. “Especially when you’re like, this tall.”

He looks at the tiny space between his fingers, showing you too.

“I can’t help it if you’re a tree,” you mumble angrily, practically looking up at him.

“Wasn’t it you who said tall guys are hot?” Peter rubs a hand across his jaw, pretending to be in deep thought. “Are you saying I’m hot?”

“Oh, shut up, you know you’ve got that hot skater boy thing going on. Don’t act like you don’t see those girls at the skate park ogling you! They don’t even skate!” you scoff, probably a little more annoyed than you should be at the idea of girls looking at your best friend. To your surprise, Peter looks like he’s just received brand new information.

“Those girls look at me?” he asks slowly, pointing a finger at himself. Then, as if he’s just taken in your words, he blinks. “You really think I’m hot?”

Spluttering, you refuse to answer the question, imagining the million ways that could go wrong. “Don’t change the subject, Parker! Now tell me h-“

“Shouldn’t you two be in class right now?” You’re interrupted by one of your teachers, looking at you expectantly.

“Y-yeah, sorry ma’am,” Peter quickly apologises, seeing his way out. You almost curse aloud when you remember your second period isn’t with him.

“This isn’t over,” you hiss, not looking back at his reaction before rushing to class. Unfortunately you can’t afford to have a detention on your record this early in the year.

You spend the whole school day without seeing Peter - big shocker - and when you get home you don’t bother inviting him round to study since he’s probably just going to be busy anyway.

Sighing, you throw your bag onto your bed and sink down into your desk chair to look at the news for a few minutes before inevitably getting lost in a Netflix binge marathon. The first thing that pops up is obviously the new vigilante and friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, a clip of last night that was recorded by some passerby on the street.

Captivated by the way he swings around effortlessly, you marvel at him holding his own against eight grown men. That’s not the only thing you marvel at, remembering your conversation with Peter yesterday and laughing to yourself.

The footage is shaky, but shows clear as day every web shot by Spider-Man and the one hit he receives. That’s gotta hurt, you think, just as one of the guys swings a metal bar into the vigilante’s face, right under his eye.

That’s definitely going to bruise, you shudder, before switching it off and pulling up Netflix.

You’ll probably text Peter in an hour or so to check on him and make sure he’s putting ice on his own bruise.

Wait. His bruise… that’s in the same spot as where Spider-Man got hit last night…

No, you scoff. That’s just a coincidence. You’re just being fanciful because there’s no way your best friend is Spider-Man.

He would tell you, right?

Just like he told you where he got that bruise, you realise, swallowing harshly. You cant believe you’re even considering this, but he has been weirdly secretive. And it’s been around the time Spider-Man first started to show up. That explains the muscles and the weirdly fast reflexes and how he isn’t as clumsy as he used to be and how he doesn’t wear his glasses anymore.

“Contact lenses, my ass,” you mutter to yourself.

You look at one of the pictures you have of Peter pinned to the cork board above your desk. You had taken it recently with his camera, insisting that he had too many of you and you wanted some of your own. Studying the way he covers his face and his stance, you’re hit with the startling realisation that he has the same build as Spider-Man. The same height, the same lean body…

Oh, you’re going to kill Peter Parker.

An idea hits you with all the weight of a freight train and you abandon your laptop and Netflix plans to head to the skate park. Once you arrive, you head to the top of the ramp, thankful there’s no one there right now.

Whipping out your phone, you drop a quick text to Peter.

emergency @ skate park. get here quick.

You wait a couple minutes, looking down at the bottom of the ramp to calculate how badly you’d be injured if your suspicions weren’t correct.

Your internal debate over whether or not this whole thing is worth breaking an arm over is interrupted by Peter running up to join you on the ramp with a terrified expression on his face.

He definitely wouldn’t have gotten here in time if he wasn’t Spider-Man.

“Oh my god, are you okay?!” he practically yells, grabbing hold of your shoulders to inspect you. You almost break and tell him that you’re fine and you just wanted to test your theory. Until you see the bruise on his face again.

Taking his hands off your shoulders, you take a small step back, wobbling on the ramp. His worried eyes only narrow in confusion slightly, probably still shook up by your text.

“Here goes nothing,” you say, stomach churning as you turn your back to the edge of the ramp and fall.

You catch sight of Peter’s face about to yell out for you, but he doesn’t waste a second before starting towards you.

If your breath wasn’t already caught in your throat from falling, it definitely would have been when the webs shoot from his wrist and latch onto you.

Despite expecting this, you gasp, breathing heavily. Shit, you think. You had not thought about the rest of this plan.

Pulling you up with ease, Peter pulls you by the webs attached to your shirt and into his arms. “What the hell did you do that for? Were you trying to break your neck? What if I couldn’t have caught you? God, I hate you for doing that to me, I literally thought my heart was about to st-“

“You caught me,” you say, voice muffled by the fact Peter is holding you tightly against him. That doesn’t stop you from rambling though. “You actually managed to catch me with- with your webs. Oh my God, I was right.”

Pulling you away, he holds you by the arms in front of him, his mouth set in a grave line. “You knew? That I’m… that I could…”

Shrugging, you laugh nervously. “I mean, I had a suspicion, but I didn’t know that you’re actually- holy shit. My best friend is actually Spider-Man.”

“No, no, no,” Peter puts his face in his hands, very clearly stressed. “This is bad. This is very, very bad.”

“Yes, it is,” you scowl, snapping out of your shock and remembering that he never told you. “You should be very scared for your life right now. Because trust me, Peter Parker, it’s a mystery as to why I haven’t killed you yet for not telling me you’re a freaking superhero!”

You smack his arm which probably does more harm to your hand than to him. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Do you realise,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. “Just how much danger you’ve put yourself in by knowing I’m Spider-Man?”

“Peter, you don’t even realise how stupid you sound right now,” you shake your head, laughing without a trace of humour in your voice. “You are quite literally putting your life at risk every. Single. Day. And I had no idea! I can’t even imagine what I would do if you d-“

“Me?” Peter chuckles, incredulous. He groans, tugging on his hair in frustration before waving his arms around trying to get the words out. “Y/N. I can knock over 12 tonnes with a barely forceful poke of my finger. People are trying to kill me every. Single. Day. And failing. If they find out that the girl I’ve been in love with ever since I can remember even exists and is without superpowers?”

Peter cuts himself off, turning his back to you and standing deathly still.

“What did you say?” Your voice is hoarse when you ask this, not quite believing your ears. “The girl you’ve been in love with?”

“Forget I said that,” he mutters, still not looking at you.

As if.

“What about me, huh?” you demand, stepping around him to make him face you. “The guy I’ve been in love with my whole life is getting beat up every night by thugs with metal pipes and there’s nothing I can do to stop-“

“Stop talking,” Peter’s eyes flash and he webs the front of your shirt again. This time he pulls you impossibly close to him and presses his lips against yours feverishly. You make a noise of surprise in the back of your throat before reaching up on your tip toes and relaxing into the kiss, your hand snaking up into his hair. Peter’s lips move perfectly in sync with yours and you don’t know if it’s been seconds, minutes or days when you pull away for breath.

Resting your forehead against his own, you can’t stop the smile spreading on your face, mirroring Peter’s. He’s the first to speak, brushing his nose against yours. “You love me.”

“Yep,” you confirm, hand still playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “So just be glad those girls weren’t here staring at you again. Otherwise I would probably have gathered the force to knock over a few high school girls with a very forceful poke of my finger.”

“Noted,” Peter nods in mock seriousness. “You should also be glad those guys that usually skate here to impress you, aren’t here today either. Otherwise I would probably web ‘em in the face.”

“Eh,” you shrug. “You were always a better skater than them anyway. Probably to do with your superhuman abilities and all.”

“Hey, I take offence!”

“Kidding, kidding,” you laugh, grabbing your bag off the floor and holding Peter’s hand, leading him off the ramp. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he looks at you anymore and it kinda, sort of makes your insides melt. “So… can you swing me across the city now?”

“Absolutely not.”

© earthgirl616 2022.

[embrassemoi]

I’ll Crawl Home to Her

After a long day, all Peter wants is a bit of love and someone to take care of him.

PAIRING: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3k

CONTENT: they’re 18+, fluff, nsfw, oral (m), light sub/dom, soft smut, mentions of violence, injuries + blood, thigh riding, cleaning wounds, bit of plot (?)

NOTES: inspired after the scene where Peter goes to Gwen’s place. And I should have proof read this more but I really wanted to get this out asap!

The tapping sound was faint, almost inaudible and would have been mistaken for tree branches rattling together or the traffic lights swaying in the breeze had it not been insistent. It began from the base of the window by her bed, becoming increasingly louder, slicing through the night.

The latches popped open, the window being pushed open with a hand restricted from view as a thudding sound echoed throughout the room.

The action would have been concerning for anyone but her.

Instead, she rolled out of bed, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and shuffled closer to the window. She kicked over the black bag that was tossed to the ground before looking out.

“Sorry,” Peter rasped, smiling weakly as his mouth hung open. “Wasn’t trying to be that loud.”

Peter crouched on the fire escape that wrapped around the apartment building. The soft moonlight caressed his face, hidden and shining through his hair along with the nearby multicoloured lights that reflected off the nearby bulletin boards.

There was a monochromatic beauty of the moon that the sun could never offer: the return of Peter.

“Oh, Pete,” she sighed, worried that he was maskless. Her focus latched onto the blood coating the side of his face, matting his hair to his head and the gashes and tears through his suit.

“Been a long night,” he tried to joke, shifting and climbing through the window.

She wrapped her hands around him when he came in, limping and nearly falling over. She observed him, searching for any other injuries as Peter leaned into her touch.

Peter always did this, refused to go to the hospital in fear of revealing identity. She saw what the world didn’t get to. They saw Spider-man, an invincible being, undoubtedly brave with superhuman strength and intelligence. But she saw Peter Parker: a boy battered and bruised, soft and shy — limbs pliable as clay every night.

It was a privilege knowing Peter, one that was filled with the purest of love and devotion but frightening, darkened by the fear that he may meet his match one day.

No matter how many times he managed to find his way back to her like this, it never failed to bring an overwhelming terror to wash over her, having to stifle the onslaught of tears.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed. “It’s not that bad. I’m fine. You know I heal unnaturally fast.”

She bit her cheek, nodded stiffly and led Peter into the bathroom to run a bath.

As softly as possible, she tried to peel his suit off him and lowered him in the tub. He hissed and grunted, pain etched into his face as the sensitive wounds met the warm water.

She knelt on the cold tiles, bending over the bath, wiping away the blood with wet cloths, washing away the dirt, blood and grim as Peter tried to prevent soap from entering the open wounds. He hissed through clenched several times as she lifted the alcohol-soaked rag to the cuts.

Thankfully, Peter eventually relaxed. A continuous murmur of ‘thank you’s’ left his lips was mixed in with the running tap. His head rested against the cool titles and raised white ridge of the bath as he watched her with a soft glance.

“You’re the best,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching up until noticing her expression.

Her mouth hadn’t shifted from the fine line it had set itself when she first saw his condition.

She doesn’t ask what happened, she rarely does these days, but it doesn’t stop the worry that ate away at her. And by the look of these wounds, there was no doubt he had been in a grave situation.

“Stop it,” he tried, hoping to halt her movements. “Hey — Woah — easy there.”

His hand, wet with soapy water lifted to cup her cheek and forced her to hold his gaze. “I’m fine. I’m here.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, forcing on a little smile while soaking in his touch. “I’m just… I’m always so worried.”

There was something unreadable that crossed Peter.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, kissed the tip of his nose and got up, albeit with a whine of protest from Peter, leaving to reach for the mirror cabinet to grab the first aid kit. “You never have to apologize for quite literally saving New York.”

There was a slight chuckle, followed by the splashing of water that had her whipping her head.

“Woah!” She exclaimed, rushing up to Peter who had stood by himself, grabbing his robe with wobbly legs. “Easy there, bug boy. No responsibilities for you tonight. Let me take care of you.”

Guiding him back to their bed, Peter winced as he lowered himself down, sinking into the fluffy bedding and pillows, drowning in his robe but managed to keep one hand on her thigh.

Dabbing on antibiotic ointments before applying little bandaids on top of cuts, she was acutely aware of Peter’s unwillingness to let her go, not even for a moment.

“Mm,” he said, a bit distressed as the antibiotics stung him. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

“Was missing you. Makes me feel like you’re close to me.”

She continued to work in silence, smiling every once in a while and Peter’s soft gaze never left her face.

“Penny for your thoughts, Spidey?”

“Don’t mind me, just enjoying the view.”

He found purchase on her hips and waist, tugging her close. His grip was a little too hard, but her heart bubbled with a sense of fondness. He always underestimated and forgot his strength and capabilities when he got overwhelmed.

She placed a kiss on top of the last bandaid placed. His skin was littered with scars; some old, some new, some still a deep red, some healed. But it didn’t make him any less beautiful or worthy. Gently hooking a finger under his chin, pulling him to her lips, focusing all her unexpressed love and adoration she felt for him.

Her movements stilled. “Do you know how much I love you?” She blurted out.

Peter smiled bashfully. “I might have a clue.”

Pushing the first aid kit to the side to properly straddle him, her hands ran through his hair, making Peter groan as he melted into the bed.

“How about you? Do you know how much I love you?”

She grinned cheekily. “I think I need a reminder.”

Leaning forward, their noses touched, and Peter’s smile grew wide as his head began to shake a little. He was so warm, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, smiling into every small kiss, finding solace in the knowledge he was home once more.

“I love you,” he whispered into the night. “I can’t believe you’re real. You’re so perfect.”

Her skin heated, heart swooning and Peter shyly ducked his face down before wincing when he shifted. It broke their comfortable silence, sending a hot flash of hurt and guilt down her spine before she turned and opened the drawer on her nightstand. Grabbing a water bottle, Ibuprofen and dark chocolate.

She always made sure to have a small stash for nights like these.

Pressing the rim of the water bottle to his lips, Peter drank gingerly, only lifting his hand to ease the bottle away, took the medication and waited as she unwrapped the chocolate, passing it to him.

His nose wrinkled as he bit into it, the bitter flavour and she giggled at his reaction.

“I know, but it’ll help regain some strength.”

As he ate, she learned that the marks came from a mutant hybrid: half-man, half-lion that was shortly detained after Peter and the NYPD chased it for ten blocks. But of course, it hadn’t gone down without a fight and ended up clawing him, tearing his suit and nearly sinking its fangs into his neck.

“Try and be more careful,” she sighed, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

Peter shoved the remaining chocolate in his mouth and placed his left hand on his heart, his right in the air as he swore, “I promise to be carefuller because I’m deathly afraid of a small kitten.”

“Oh, you dick.”

“I swear! I promise!”

“Parker —“

“I’m wounded! You know I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep!”

“You talk an awful lot when wounded.”

“So much so I’ve learned to tune myself out.”

“I — just promise me!”

“Okay! I promise.”

Happy with the answer, she beamed and reached over to the nightstand to pull out another water, only to realize that was the last one. Peter caught on quickly too.

“I’ll go get more —“

“No,” he rasped, his mood instantly changing. His hands latched onto her, a needy, desperate expression written on his face. She allowed him to pull her back to his chest, feeling his face press against her neck while murmuring against her skin as she fought the urge to shiver from his touch. “Please don’t leave.”

“I’ll only be gone for a second, okay?” She tried to soothe, a little put off by his reaction but she assumed he was still shaken up. “You need something to eat.”

But his grip tightened. “Please.”

There was a part of Peter’s brain that rationally knew she only wanted to help, be a dotting partner, but he didn’t want her to take care of his wounds anymore. They would heal — look brand new after a goodnight’s sleep and the morning sun rose. All he wanted was her: to be close, to hold and to love at that moment. Every thought that swirled in his mind seemed to be drunk on the thought of her, her, her —

Roaming the streets of New York was never boring, but it was draining to have so much control, to use strength day in, day out. All he wanted was to relinquish it for a while.

His kisses were soft, sweet, tentative with underlying desire and urgency with every touch splayed across her skin. He didn’t want to leave a single place untouched by him, too addicted to stop.

She shifted in Peter’s lap, tugging him closer only to feel him jerking his hips up slightly, just to create more friction as she felt something poke into her leg.

“Really?” She laughed, running her fingers through his hair to look at him better. His face was flushed, a deep pink, most likely from embarrassment, tinged his cheeks. “You’re hard from this?”

“You’re pretty. I can’t appreciate my beautiful girlfriend?”

“Then I think you’d like to know I’m not wearing underwear.”

“Fuck,” he chuckled, “You’re such a tease.”

His head playfully shook a few times with a light smile. Chocolate brown eyes filled with soft admiration and want; Peter was filled with vulnerability as every action screamed neediness. He pressed quick kisses to her lips then looked up at her doe-eyed. “Darling,” he whispered, desperate and pleading. “Please — please.”

“Shh,” she chided, pulling away to seat herself on his thigh while undoing the belt of his robe and dragging the soft pads of her fingers along his cock, relishing in the way Peter shuddered under her touch.

Peter whimpered, entrusting his body to her, to let her use and toy with him.

Her thumb swiped over the tip, spreading the pre-cum that beaded through while setting a steady pace stroking his length.

He groaned, head falling back against the headrest. His hips twitched and buckled up, trying to thrust in time with her strokes but he physically couldn’t, too tired to.

‘“I’ve got you, Peter,” she shushed softly, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw as her hand twisted. “I’ll take care of you.”

Muffling his soft moans with a kiss, she ravished him, and he savoured her very being. Her touch anchored him to her, a present reminder that he was loved and cared for, no matter the wrong he did, she never asked.

He moved to gasp for air, only to return sucking on the patch of skin below her jaw. But she had other plans. Shifting her shirt up, she started to roll her hips onto his thigh.

Peter was slow to respond at first but eventually took it upon himself to help rock her back and forth, moaning as he felt the wetness coat him. Hands were everywhere; gazing at her skin and holding her tightly against him. His movements began to falter and lose the rhythm, but she continued.

Pawing at her shirt and lifting it above her head, Peter trailed the tips of his fingers from her stomach, only stopping at her breast and his thumb coming to lightly rub slow circles on her nipple. He pressed gentle kisses between her breasts before his tongue poked out, tracing light circles around her nipple. He was teasing, flicking the nub with his tongue until he took it in his mouth. Her hand reached to pull his hair again, every little tug making him hold back noises simultaneously as the other hand continued to stroke his cock fast.

She moaned with every careful swirl of his tongue, squeezed around his thigh and whined when the pressure on her clit was matched with Peter lightly biting at her nipple. Her knee was pressed against his groin, adding to Peter’s pleasure.

Peter pulled away, a silver line of spit snapping that connected his mouth from her breast, peering up to watch her reaction.

He gently jerked his thigh up, meeting her thrust and the added friction made her keen.

“You like that?”

She nodded her head minutely, legs beginning to shake and tremble as she was pushed to that edge. “Uh-huh.”

There was something that flashed in Peter’s eyes before, to the best of his abilities, bounced his leg fast — finding the perfect rhythm and angle to build the pleasure that shot up her spine.

She tightened, tensed, rubbing her clit faster while Peter firmly held her, rubbing his free hand up her back as they squirmed.

“Come for me —” he sounded frantic, one hand finding its way to push her down hard, her clit dragging up deliciously. His abdomen caved in with every small brush of her pussy on his thigh and stroke of his cock. “I want you to come, make a mess. Please baby,” he begged.

She focused on the building tightening of her stomach, the shivering that began to course through her entire body that built so fast it startled her. When Peter recognized, murmured and pleaded for her not to stop, the coiling sapped, bursting and scattered — a euphoric feeling that shot through her.

He prolonged her climax, leg continuing to flex to help guide her until her pussy began to ache from the aftershock.

Peter was staring at her, his eyes glazed and eyelids heavy with a pretty flush coating his cheeks. “Please.”

Her hand began to move again, starting a steady pace again that had him at her mercy once more.

“Tell me how it feels,” she said, marvelling at him.

Peter could barely speak, exhaustion flowing off of him in waves as he was desperate for release. He let out a strangled sort of moan, throaty. “So good. So, so, so good. T-thank you.”

Smiling, she shifted off his lap and trailed down a line of kisses from his stomach, then chest before settling between his legs. Peter gulped as he watched her tongue poke out to lick the slit of his cock.

Peter almost yelped, hips bucking up instinctively, then moaned when her mouth, hot and warm, slowly dragged up the flat of her tongue and closed around the first couple inches of his cock.

Peter was responsive to the tiniest of her touches. His bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, lips were bitten raw.

Peter groaned, desperately trying not to thrust into her mouth, rotting himself in place by gripping the bedsheets.

Gagging a little when the tip hit the back of her throat, she fisted the rest of him that couldn’t fit in his mouth and began bobbing her head. The sucking sounds obscene and Peter’s soft mewls in the otherwise quiet room.

Encouraged by his reaction, she sped up, hallowing her cheeks, sucking harder and moaning around him. The vibration nearly made him sob while her tongue dragged over a prominent vein along the side of his cock and she relished in the way his thighs clenched.

Peter thrashed a little when she pushed her head down further. And that was enough.

He came hard, her name spilling out in soft pants and whines as he used the little energy he still had to thrust up into her mouth.

She pulled back, wiped her mouth and settled herself back in his lap. His eyes were closed and hair messily strewn across his face.

“Thank you,” he whispered, opening his heavy lids to observe her.

She quirked a brow before kissing him, catching a quick look at the shine that reflected off his leg in the moonlight.

“That bath was for nothing.”

“I don’t mind repeating the cycle.”

She giggled, he melted into her touch and smiled to himself. Peter wrapped his arms around her, holding her as close as possible and she concentrated on his heart beating.

“I love you,” he said. His eyes seemed to glitter in the low lighting; there was nothing that could compare to the love that lurked behind every glance in his eyes or mere touch.

“I love you too.”

Love seemed like a silly, simple word to describe a feeling so much more than just simple. Love was driven by passion, potential labyrinth and an imperfect intricateness that built homes over barren land of blood vessels and organs.

Love tore, love mended, love was beautiful, love was dangerous.

But in this case, love only persevered and stored itself into the cages of their heats that always seemed too small to hold so much of it — as if two souls grasped and latched onto each other so tightly and constantly added renovations to their love storage. And Peter couldn’t mutter it enough.

She left him high, loved him deeply, and at the end of the day when night returns and the stars speckle the sky, she was a steady anchor that reeled Peter back home. Nothing could hold him down, keep him away. He would crawl home to her.

[irndad]

Orbitational Pull

peter is disastrously bad at talking about how he feels. friends to lovers!

NOTE: tysm @gotkindabored for helping me post this, and also being all-around lovely! pls go easy on me, im VERY rusty :)

“Hey you,”

She hears it from the familiar corner of her bedroom, one that she’s used to. He sounds hoarse and out of breath, and his suit is slick with rainwater. She looks beautiful, of course. There isn’t a moment of the day she doesn’t steal his breath.

“Peter,” she says, voice low and careful, but even still- he can hear the honey-sweet affection his name is spoken through, “You’re early tonight, huh?”

He cracks a smile, and looks her over- he can’t help it.

He fell on her fire escape, one night. Her crappy college apartment, a shared place with her own room. It was months ago, feels like decades now. Of course, he knew who she was before that night. He knew she was the kind girl, who smiled at him every time she passed him in the hallways. He’s had a crush on her since was ten, when she offered him a chocolate bar the day after Halloween, when Aunt May had just packed a granola bar.

And when they got older- all through high school, he never had the nerve to say a damn word to her. And the worse thing about it was, she became his friend. Became close enough to him that he could memorize the curve of her lips just from the sheer amount he’s stared at them, close enough that her fingers brushed his enough times when seated next to each other, it was torture to consider if he’d ever get to be the one to interlock them. He’d wanted to tell her, planned on it, thought about it every single day.

She only found out about Spider-Man when he’d fallen on her fire escape.

She’s gorgeous, he observes, in the low light of her bedroom. Her eyes are the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and they never get less remarkable of a sight, even when he comes here almost every night. He peers at her with an adoring gaze, one that he’s sure can’t be too subtle.

What can he say to that? The sun has barely set, and their little pattern they have, of coming to her after a patrol to eat microwaved ramen and watch some show on Netflix, was all he thought about all week?

“I guess I’m getting lazy,” he quips, with a half upturned smirk, before sitting on her bed, “You wanna watch a movie or something?”

“How was your day?” She asks, her voice a sweet call of sympathy. She worries for him, which fills him with a selfish sense of rapture.

She worries for me.

“It was great, I just wanted to get it over with though. I’ve been thinking about getting a chance to sit down with you for a bit since first thing this morning.”

Did he reveal too much? He worries that every time he opens his mouth with her. It’s a miracle that she hasn’t realized how desperately into her he always has been.

The mask has been off since he entered the room, but when he is sat beside her, is when she combs through his tousled hair with her delicate fingers.

She smells like a rose.

It’s an ache, to want her like this. A little tragedy he carries around with him every day in his pocket, a bit of pain to sit beside him on the subway. Someone once told him that unrequited love was like an affection never known to its’ fullest.

He can’t imagine wanting her any more than he does now.

It’s a nice night. The rain made the swinging a bit more inconvenient, but honestly, it just made coming back to her that much warmer of

He studies her face, can’t seem to stop as she rushes around trying to find her remote to her shitty little TV she’s got propped up on her shelf. She’s got the prettiest eyes he thinks have ever existed, and the adorable way she crinkles her nose has him held in something of a trance.

When she finds it, she sits next to him. Actually, her thigh is touching his, and her Iron Man blanket draped over the two of them when she starts a film.

He tries to focus on the movie. It does not work.

In his defense, she’s very distracting, Her hair is up in the most adorable bun he’s ever seen, and she’s distracting, okay? Every moment he’s around her feels like she’s a magnet pulling him in, a force keeping her in his orbit.

Then, he notices it.

She’s wearing his sweatshirt.

And it’s like he can’t breathe, and it’s so fucking stupid, but- he left it here months ago. Didn’t even mean to, just brought it as a change of clothes so he’d be more comfortable than he usually is in his suit.

But she’d washed it, kept it, and worn it, and his brain is so fucking cruel to him. If he was her boyfriend, he’d give her all of his sweaters, tease her about it but still get to marvel that the woman he adored- she would be his.

“You okay?” he hears her say, her voice cracking through the haze of desperation he’s trapped himself into.

“I,” he can’t think of what to say. His throat feels dry, feels like it’s frozen. Everything he wants to say could break what the little haven he’s got now. And where would he be then, without her? Still, loving her feels inevitable, and he can’t not say what he wants. “You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”

She preens. She preens.

If she were his, she’d have million reason to swoon. He’d be the best boyfriend he could ever be, if it meant seeing that look on her face.

It’s a glimpse into another life. A life where she’d be his to hold, his to touch, where she’d seek out his clothes when his own presence could not be found, and god, Peter would give anything to have her want him even half as much as he craves her.

“Yeah, is that okay? I can give it back.” Her voice is shaky and uncertain.

Don’t give it back. Keep it. Keep me.

“You look beautiful in it,” he murmurs, and fuck, he usually manages a joking tone when he says the things he means. But somehow, she’s gotten close to him, so close that she’s looking up at him with those eyes he keeps falling for, so close that her lovely fingers actually are on top of his now.

Her magnetic pull is not always one he can resist.

“Thank you,” she replies, voice so low that its’ almost a whisper, almost reverent. She’s unsure of herself. She pulls back a fraction of an inch, and he follows to meet the gap, because now he can smell the hot chocolate on her breath, close enough to her lips that leaving feels like a crime to his own self-preservation.

“We can change the movie-“

“Kiss me,” he whispers, more of a thought turned to sound than an intentional action, but he wants it, wants it like her orbit is pulling him, like the universe at large is begging for it to happen.

Drunk on how close she is, he cups the side of her face with one hand. He’s so fucking glad he remembered to wear his normal clothes under his suit to hang out because feeling her face in his hand without the gloves is pretty close to what salvation feels like.

“Please,” he says, “Kiss me.”

It happens slow, slower than he ever would have thought, but then again, he never thought this would happen in the first place. She pulls in and his breathing gets heavier, and it’s everything he’s ever wanted and yet more than he could’ve expected.

She tastes like cherry chapstick and her a taste he can’t seem to get enough of.

When she pulls away, she doesn’t get far- one of his hands is still on the side of her face, the other on her waist. God, did he never expect this.

He certainly couldn’t have predicted what she’d say, with her forehead pressed to his, the two of them slowly pursuing air again.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[genesisrose74]

No Words Needed

TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Peter’s love language is something of which he is very deprived. You’re his exception.

Peter Parker is incredibly touch starved.

Living without that typical parental warmth surrounding you can do that, he figures, especially after losing the uncle who so kindly took him in along the way. Of course, that’s not to downplay the generous sacrifices of his Aunt May, who he undeniably adores beyond words.

Yet, as much as Peter’s grateful for what he still has left in his life, he wishes affection could be a more constant presence.

In all honesty, he’s learned to want that sort of thing through his work as Spider-Man—most commonly because of the longing he feels when he can save someone and return them to their loved ones. He gets the opportunity to connect a family together again, to see friends embrace and cry and reach out for one another, to watch on as couples kiss each other’s cheeks and foreheads feverishly, as if they’ve just realized the fragility of existence in that very moment. He’s fortunate enough to have people he’s saved extend an arm to him in thanks, people who’ve hugged him just for the sake of needing it. He’s torn to bits in the circumstances where he can’t save everybody. But he takes the risk of personal heartache with a grain of salt, and he pushes on to prevent their frequency.

Peter Parker is touch starved, but he earns enough compensation for it by rescuing others from the same fate.

He figures that it’ll be another ten, fifteen years of waiting to get that sort of thing for himself—hell, maybe he’ll never get it. Some days, he thinks that he’ll eternally have nobody’s arms to wrap around him but his own.

But then there’s you.

You discovered that he was Spider-Man by complete accident. Peter has an awfully reckless tendency to pull off his mask whenever he thinks he’s alone, even if he’s not in the safety of his own room. On a night when he needed a moment to think, following a very lengthy and tiring few hours of chasing police radio calls all over the city, he just so happened to find himself sitting atop the roof of your apartment complex (and by just so happened, he was being completely intentional in choosing your building, although not yet realizing the weight of his decision).

It was a comforting spot to him—almost as good of a view as the Empire State Building, whilst also providing with him a dose of nostalgia that made him think of all the times you’d brought him up there after school; it was a tradition he’d passed on in the few weeks prior, given that his hero duties started taking up a considerable amount of his time. He found himself missing it.

What he also missed was you walking out onto the roof, right up until you tentatively gasped out his name into the frigid evening air. Peter nearly fell off the side of the building in shock, but you were quick to pull him back to you, very easily pulling an honest explanation out of him when he began to see the concern in your eyes.

He didn’t expect a lot of things that happened that night, but the one that stunned him to his core was the way you hugged him after everything was thrown out in the open.

It was so warm. You were so warm. Sure, he’d known you long enough where basic touch was next to normal. A bumping of shoulders, the ruffling of hair, the unintentional brushing of hands. He saw you so often, after all. Even so, something as standard as a hug was causing a flood of emotions to rise up in him, nearly drowning him in the process, yet letting him breathe so effortlessly that his chest ached. He could feel the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat against his, could map out the grooves in your fingertips as they curled into the hair at his nape. He couldn’t help the onslaught of heat that bloomed on his face at the realization that you weren’t letting go anytime soon.

That night, you stayed up there with him for hours in the cold (although you made a few trips to your room and back with a handful of hot drinks and much warmer clothing at the ready, praying that Peter wouldn’t dart from your rooftop without warning), convincing him to open up sides of him that nobody had ever seen before. You offered him a wool blanket to drape over his suit and a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and it was like a light-switch got flipped in his head.

Peter realized that he had finally found it, not a day or a decade too late, and that he never wanted to live without it again.

He became much more affectionate from then on, keeping a gentle hand on the small of your back whilst navigating the school halls, brushing stray wisps of hair away from your face, and letting you fall asleep against his shoulder on the subway. No matter how many times he’d initiated contact before, it always sent your mind into a frenzy—especially when he would lean down and murmur, “is this okay?” beside your ear whenever his proximity bordered on near-romanticism.

Of course, you wouldn’t mind if it was romantic, but Peter didn’t need to know that.

You’ve discovered that it gets even more pronounced when he’s Spider-Man, because apparently a mask enhances a person’s confidence tenfold. Seeing videos of his cheeky commentary and caring acts of heroism paled in comparison to watching him work in person. You got the opportunity to learn that firsthand when—soon after his accidental reveal to you on the rooftop—some deadbeat decided to rob the convenience store on 14th by Midtown, and you were left to hide in the back corner, ducking beside a wall of energy drinks that you were damn near prepared to start throwing at the criminal if you had to crouch down any longer. Luckily, Peter caught wind of the situation before you could resort to such irrational aggressions, and he took care of it with practiced ease.

“You alright there?” he had inquired once he discovered your “hiding” spot, reaching out a hand as if you were the only person in the place—which you most definitely weren’t. “What’s a sweetheart like you doing caught up in a situation like this, huh?”

You could only stare back at him with an unimpressed look etched on your face—although the way he murmured sweetheart echoed in your head the whole time, like a church bell going off on a Sunday morning. “I just wanted to grab some snacks before my friend came over later.”

“Yeah?” he hums, amusement ringing clear, “Tell your friend that he owes you.”

He was the friend, of course. You had agreed to meet up after his daily patrol for a traditional session of studying and watching TV, but apparently the world had slightly modified intentions before that.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assured him, sarcasm layered into your voice. “He’s already paid me back.”

Peter then insisted on carrying you out of the store (because there was some shattered glass on the floor, he reasoned—but it was more sincerely because he’s an asshole), and as a result, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had held you so effortlessly for the rest of the afternoon; an arm secured snuggly around your waist, the other supporting your legs up; it was as if you’d just said your vows on the way down the chip aisle.

God, his proximity was overwhelming. How in the world could one person’s touch be so intoxicating?

Unbeknownst to you, Peter was asking himself the exact same question. He was always this close to telling you how he felt, always acknowledging the urge to confess to you as the words sat on the tip of his tongue, but nothing had ever actually come out before. He remembered the night that his identity was revealed to you, and he longed for that sort of moment again—even if just to convey the sheer amount of affection he held for you.

But the back of his mind itched with doubt, and that doubt morphed its way into a sort of selfishness that made his stomach churn. He couldn’t stand the thought of having you distance yourself from him if his feelings weren’t returned. After all, you were his best friend above everything else.

So he stuck to the warmth of you like a moth to a flame, getting just enough before the absolute blaze that was you could singe his wings. It was a game of give and take that fueled you more than he understood, and it only kept rising in stakes as the days trudged on.

Your hand on his face here, his hands on your waist there.

The smudging of whipped cream against a nose, the bringing of a fork to parted lips to steal a bite of pastry.

Breaths of a shared closeness mingling on a winter’s day, a quick peck on the cheek in parting—

“Hey,” he finally can’t stop himself from saying, sitting up straight on the cushioned stool that he’s pulled up to your family’s kitchen counter. He’s watching you intently as you scour for drinks in the fridge, your face illuminated by the fluorescent glow of the open door. Even hunched over and with your body partially engulfed by the stainless steel appliance, Peter finds himself thinking you haven’t looked more lovely a day in your life.

Maybe it’s because of the kiss he can still feel lingering on his skin—on the place just above the right hand side of his jaw, right where you’d left it before dashing off to third period that morning—but even without that, he’s almost positive you’d still look just as beautiful.

You eventually maneuver out from the door, triumphantly grasping two cans of soda in your hands with a grin before kicking your heel back to shut it. “Hey,” you mimic. “What’s up?”

You know what’s up, seeing as you almost banged your head on your desk in Physics earlier out of pure frustration. The awkward atmosphere was most definitely due to the impulse you hadn’t gained the strength to fight, and you’re sure enough that you’re about to pay for it with the way Peter shifts in his spot.

He offers a slanted grin when you slide a cola over to him, snagging it before it can topple over and get shaken up. “I was going to ask you that.”

“Were you now?”

You’re avoiding his gaze, putting all your focus into pulling the tab of your drink open with a satisfying hiss, downing a gulp of it before he can say another word. Something like hope (and a hint of bemusement) flutters in Peter’s chest.

“Do you really not want to talk about kissing me all that much? I’m hurt.”

“On the cheek, Pete. I kissed you on the cheek. But anyways, do you want to order delivery tonight?”

“You’re not answering my question.”

You finally glance up at him, shooting a pointed glare his way. “There’s not much to discuss. It was an accident, and I’m embarrassed about it. There. Now—delivery or something else?”

Peter frowns, the brightness in his pretty brown eyes dimming, and you find your heart seizing in your chest at his change in demeanor. He seems almost…disappointed. But as soon as you see it, he shakes it off just as quick.

“Why do you need to be embarrassed about something like that?” He mutters softly. “We’re best friends. I’ve seen you do more outrageous shit than something as simple as a kiss, you know.”

Simple. Your heart twinges at the term. “Doubtful.”

“How about that one time you bought a pound of gumdrops on Christmas Eve and threw up trying to finish the bag before midnight?”

“Okay, except for that.”

“I had to hold your hair up for ten minutes straight,” he persists. “I still don’t think I’ve ever seen such colorful—”

You’re smiling now. “Alright, alright, I get it! Hush, before I lose my appetite for the day, Parker.”

Peter just laughs, reaching a hand out across the kitchen countertop and placing it over your own. You let him.

“See? Nothing you could ever do would make me not want to be around you. So talk to me.”

He squeezes your fingers in reassurance, and against your better judgement, your heart palpitates. Damn him and his unrealized talent for flirting. You take a deep breath, mulling over whether to dodge his curiosity, to pin your butterflies to a corkscrew board and keep them there, or to let them fly out into the world without restraint.

“I don’t know, Peter,” you eventually sigh. “It just happened. To be honest, I didn’t really think about it before I did it.“

He’s rubbing soothing circles against your knuckles now. You’re hyper-aware of how sweaty your palms must be. “Why is that?”

“If you mean why I didn’t think about it, then…” Choose. Now or never. “I kind of just wanted to.”

Bye bye, butterflies.

A beat of silence. You don’t realize it, but Peter’s breathing has turned almost dangerously shallow.

“Oh.”

Of course, how could you possibly realize such a little thing, at least with the way the corner of his lip is quirking into the faintest of smiles?

You can’t bring yourself to comment on it aloud, but seeing how you can feel his eyes watching your own—tracing the subtlety with which you’re just barely outrunning the interlocking of his gaze with yours, like a game of cat and mouse—you’re sure he knows well enough. Peter’s never needed many words to read your body language just fine, and you with his in turn.

He’s enjoying this.

It’s a wordless communication, but timid hope radiates off that stupid little grin of his in droves. One that he knows you can see.

“I should’ve asked you if it was okay,” you manage. “I’m sorry.”

Peter’s out of his seat now, hand slipping out of yours as he makes his way in front of you. He makes up for the lack of his touch quickly, though, as a hand reaches up to tilt your chin—gently coaxing you to look him directly in the eyes for the first time since the conversation started. The sodas are growing lukewarm on the counter, all but forgotten.

“I already told you,” he says, breathy and low and so very pretty, “you don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s okay.”

You nod, feeling the hairs on your arms stand. The irony of it almost makes you laugh aloud, but the rate at which Peter is closing distance is enough to captivate you into silence. You wonder if he can hear the sound of your thoughts from this far—a difference of inches; an unknown territory that teeters on the verge of something completely relationship-altering.

A proposition.

“And what about now?” He ventures. “Do you still want to? Because I really do.”

You could sense it coming—could recall the memory of lingering touches that lasted far longer than needed, could feel the electricity that shot through you every time—and yet, it still made your heart stutter with unbridled elation.

“Yes, Peter,” you affirm, grinning. “Please do.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, bridging the gap and pressing his mouth to yours like his life depends on it. It tastes like cola, sweet and syrupy and surreal, and you’re blown away by the gentleness with which Peter kisses you, letting the pads of his fingers trace the outline of your face with the delicacy of handling porcelain. The colors of monarch, morpho, and swallowtail wings erupt behind your eyelids like fireworks.

You have to convince yourself to take a breath of air, but Peter doesn’t stray from you for long, eliciting a fit of laughter from you when he plants a flurry of pecks to your cheeks, nose, and forehead.

“Peter!” You groan, halfheartedly pushing him by the shoulders.

“What?” He teases. “This is payback for this morning!”

You surge forward to press one last kiss to his lips, backing away from the kitchen with a bounce in your step. “Shut up and get your coat, you ass. We’re going out for dinner now.”

Peter easily catches up to you, a goofy smile stretching across his face. “Like a date?”

“Yes, like a date.”

You blink owlishly when you turn to find Peter offering his arm to you, but you happily loop your arm with his after the second of surprise passes.

“This is much better than ordering delivery.”

“I swear, Parker…”

Peter was touch starved. As in, he used to be. And if you had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t face that issue ever again.

[sincericida]

Andrew Garfield and Jesse Eisenberg meet up on Friday (May 6, 2011) in the Soho neighborhood of New York City.

[curseofaphrodite]

no way home spoilers ahead!

.

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 andrew!Peter x fem!avenger!reader

Summary: When Peter enters this earth, he stumbles upon you first. 

[ avenger!reader, witch!reader, mentions of food ]

You were munching on some doughnuts at the sidewalk when you saw a red-clothed figure fall onto the ground. 

You blinked in surprise as the man in Spiderman costume straightened up.

“Peter?”

He seemed just as surprised to hear that name. No one knew what his real identity was. He touched his face to make sure the mask was still on, which it was.

“Uh, where am I?” he asked, staggering towards you. You let go of your doughnut in surprise. 

Everyone walking by was starting to note the costume, wondering whether they should start taking pictures or call him a murderer, for well, murdering Quentin. 

You knew better. Your friend Peter was the good guy, but the man standing in front of you was not him. 

Sudden gold flames danced on your palms, making the fake-Peter gasp.

“Who are you?” you asked, your eyes trained on his movements to know whether he’d attack.

“Uhm, Peter?” He seemed uncertain himself, and he was watching the fire warily.

“How do I know you’re Peter?”

“That’s the question I have actually. How do you know I’m Peter? Who are you?”

You blinked, wondering if he was joking. A sensible part of you knew it could be some random man dressing up as Spiderman for attention, but the suit seemed advanced. It wasn’t the kind you could buy online. 

Yet he was taller, his voice way too different... something wasn’t right.

“Take off your mask,” you demanded, raising your hands higher. 

“No, what’s going on here? Where am I?” He looked up at the sky, as if someone painted the clouds pink. 

“Your mask!” You snapped your fingers, and somehow, his mask melted into thin air. Perks of being a witch, you could say.

The face you saw was definitely not Peter. Not the one you knew.

“How did you do that?” He asked, touching his face in shock. He looked at the glass window of a shop nearby, hating how he became so exposed in a matter of seconds.

“What's going on?” you asked yourself, because he seemed just as lost.

“I was in my room, and now I’m outside,” he muttered, groaning. “Maybe I do need sleep. Who are you again?”

“Y/N, but that’s hardly important. Are you sure you’re Peter?”

He turned to face you with a frown. “Am I sure I’m me?”

You sighed. “Like, did you steal the suit or something? How can you be Spiderman if we already have one? I know Spiderman, you’re not — oh fuck.”

“What?”

You couldn’t reply. You were considering the only other possibility if that was actually Peter — multiverse. 

And the only one powerful and stupid enough to mess with multiverse was—

“I’m going to kill Strange,” you said aloud, walking away briskly.

“Woah, woah, you can’t just — wait for me!” Peter exclaimed, following you obediently, knowing there was something incredibly wrong. 

You wished he would’ve shut up for a second. The whole time he was walking beside you, he kept asking the obvious questions.

“How do you know my name? What do you mean Strange? Who teleported me here from my room?”

“Okay look,” you stopped, raising a hand so he could pipe down. “You probably think you’re outside your apartment but you’re not. You’re literally in a different universe.”

He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but he was too shocked to come up with one. He instead decided on confusedly staring off to space. 

Before you could ask if he was okay, he clicked a button on his hand, which produced another mask to hide his face. 

You snapped your finger and that one disappeared too.

“I am supposed to remain anonymous!” Peter said, annoyed. “Stop your witchiness please, I’m debating whether you’re a monster or not.”

“Monster?” you repeated, offended. “I was trying to help you. Under the circumstances, no one wants to see Spiderman. They’ll throw stones at you if you walk across the street looking like Peter.”

“But I am Peter!”

“I mean our Peter!”

“Miss, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! What makes your Peter different from me?”

You closed your eyes in painful irritation. “Well, our Peter Parker, our Spiderman is currently falsely accused as a murderer.”

“Say what now?”

-

Explaining multiverse to Peter was like explaining gravity to a bird. Doughnuts certainly helped you stay sane throughout the conversation, but you almost yeeted him with your magic too.

“I don’t get it,” he said, as if he got anything you explained anyway. “If spells like that are dangerous, why did the strange man do it?”

“He’s not a strange man, his name is Strange - and he’s strange too,” you said, thinking about it. “Doesn’t matter. And for your question, sometimes even the wisest person mess up.”

He didn’t seem convinced, so you went on. “You don’t know what it’s like to be someone who practices magic. Everyone automatically thinks you have the solutions. It’s exhausting. I do dumb stuff like Stephen does too.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, straightening up. 

“I look at the future. Often,” you admitted, handing over another doughnut from your box. 

He took it gratefully. “Why?”

“I kind of end up being the person who tell everyone that everything’s going to be okay. Sometimes I don’t believe my own words, so whenever there’s a threat of another world disaster, I look into the future to see if we all make it fine. I know it’s an abuse of my power but it’s better than freaking out.”

“So I’m literally talking to one of the most powerful witches in existence?” he asked, smiling. “Should I be scared?”

“Yes.”

He rolled his eyes. Seconds passed, and the two of you still hasn’t looked away from the traffic.

“What now?” he asked, dreading whatever your answer was.

“We need to find Strange,” you replied, scowling. “But first, I need to go do something. I’ll be back in 5 minutes.”

“Do what?” he asked as you stood up.

“This is certainly the start of another world disaster, so I’m going to check in with the future.”

“No, no!” He said firmly, standing up. “You can’t keep going to the future for answers. Something about that doesn’t sound right.”

“It’s not right, but I can’t stand around and watch multiverse collapse—”

“Searching for loopholes is cheating time. What would any of your avengers say?”

“I’m not looking for loopholes!” you snapped. “I just want to know the earth is still working two months from now. If we’re alive, that’d mean we figured things out on our own!”

“Fine.” He folded his hands. “But you’re taking me with you.”

You laughed. “What?”

He raised an eyebrow, daring you to say otherwise. You technically could, but arguing with him was a waste of time. You scoffed and grabbed his hand.

“Hold tight,” you said clearly, then did the incantations in your mind, your eyes closed. 

You had done it a thousand times before, so you didn’t need to worry. If Stephen knew there was a spell to control time even without the Time Stone, he’d have freaked out, which is exactly why you haven’t told him yet.

When you opened your eyes again, Peter was still beside you, looking confused as ever.

“I don’t think your magic worked, it looks the same as before,” he said, pointing to the streets.

“Yes!” You clapped your hands excitedly. “The humanity isn’t going to be wiped off in two months, that makes me much more relieved. We must have won by then!”

“Oh, see? It all works out. Now can we go back — ? Y/N? Y/N!”

You hadn’t responded, but stared at the avengers’ headquarters in front of you. Something inside you kept screaming that something was wrong.

“We always lose someone when we win,” you whispered, not intending for Peter to hear it. “I think one of us died.”

“Wait, what—”

Before he could complete his sentence, you had run inside the building. For the third time today, you left Peter alone, and for the third time, he followed you with no hesitation.

“Where are you going?” he yelled as he ran after you. 

You had taken the stairs to third floor, where Tony had assigned you a room to yourself. You stopped when you reached the top of the stairs, then looked at the empty yet brightly-lit hallway.

“Aren’t we supposed to go back to present time?” Peter asked, panting.

“There’s no picture,” you said, a smile forming on your face. “There’s no picture!”

“What picture?”

“Whenever someone passes away, the company sticks a picture of them in this hallway, which I used to hate because my room is right beside it. But look around, there’s no picture! No one dies!”

Peter did seem excited too, but for different reasons. “So that’s your room?”

You nodded, then watched as he walked towards it. “Wait, what are you—”

“We’re here, might as well see what you’re doing in three months!”

“No, that’s not—”

Your warnings were in vain, because he had already opened the door. You followed him inside and heard a small cry of surprise from none other than the Future You. 

You, or rather she, was sitting on your desk writing something when the two of you had barged in. 

“She can see us?” Peter asked in amazement.

“Of course she can, doofus!” you scolded. “Why did you think I asked you not to enter?”

“Peter?” the Future You called uncertainly.

“Yes?” he replied, but he wasn’t the only one in the room who responded.

A man got up from under the sheets, with brown wavy hair and hazel eyes. He was half naked too, suggesting that he was sleeping in your room.

You were currently looking at Future Peter. 

In your bed. Just waking up. After doing god-knows-what.

“Oh,” Peter said, connecting the dots. He then looked at you with blush-stained cheeks, which mirrored yours. “Oh!”

“I think it’s time to go back,” you said quickly, grabbing his hands before the Future You and Future Peter could bombard you with questions.

-

When you stepped back into the present, you didn’t have much time to talk. 

A portal had appeared through which you saw MJ, Ned and Ned’s Lola, so you heaved a sigh of relief before walking inside their apartment with Peter. 

MJ and Ned were both reluctant to believe the man with you was Peter Parker, but after he crawled on the ceiling to prove he had spidey powers, no one had any more objections. 

You explained to them about multiverse and how everything was slowly collapsing. They took the news surprisingly well. Then another Spiderman appeared from yet another universe, and things got wilder. Food did help.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Peter asked, the one you saw the future with. 

“Sure,” you agreed and excused yourself from the chaotic room, meeting him in the kitchen.

“Future seems...interesting,” Peter remarked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Shut up,” you muttered, not angrily but rather tired and embarrassed.

“No, it’s- uhm, we can’t not talk about it, if it happens, it happens and—”

“These knives are sharp,” you said, pointing to the glass cupboard. “I will not hesitate to use them.”

“Hey, you can’t threaten your future boyfriend!” He said, gasping dramatically. 

You groaned, knowing he’s not going to let it go anytime soon.

————

BONUS:

Peter watched MJ and the youngest Peter reassuring each other, a bit wistful at how much they seemed to love one another.

“You have someone?” The oldest Peter asked, pulling him from his train of thoughts.

He looked at you, who were currently helping Ned with something on the computer. Your eyebrows were connected together in concentration, and some of your hair fell in front of your eyes, making a small curtain halfway through your face. 

He watched you smile as Ned said something funny, and Peter was surprised at the flutter of butterflies in his stomach — something that hasn’t happened for a very long time.

“Pete?” the oldest Peter called. “Did you hear me?”

“Uhm, what did you say?”

“I asked if you had someone,” he repeated, pointing towards the youngest Peter and MJ.

Peter smiled, still staring at you. 

“Not yet,” he answered, thinking of the future and the memories it’ll bring, all of them with you.

————————

Part two link (final part!)

————————

join/be removed from taglist here

andrew!peter taglist: @greekktragedyy​

[mareagirls]

Could you do a hurt/comfort Peter x reader where some creep tried to follow her home? Only if you’re comfy! Thx for the fics. I like them already! :)

 here you go, lovely anon! I hope u like it!

cw: someone tries to follows the reader home, they also hit on her but it’s off-page

Peter Parker is studying when his phone begins to ring - loud and abrasive, overlapping the music that had been playing in his headphones seconds prior.

Slowly, he reaches out to grab his phone and turn it off. 

But then he brings it closer to his face and sees the name at the top of the screen and a picture of you smiling widely underneath it

Y/N.

Peter’s brow furrows. He knows you’re supposed to be at lunch with friends, and you told him before leaving that you’d take the subway back to his, even though he would have been more than happy to meet you at the restaurant.

-

"You know I could come meet you when you're done. We can go back to mine." Peter calls out to you from the kitchen. 

You’re still in your bedroom getting changed but Peter knows you hear him

“It’s okay, Peter.” he can hear the smile in your voice. “I know you wanted to revise today. I'll get the subway back.”

When you finally emerge from your room and Peter’s mouth goes dry. 

You’re wearing the sweetest little knee-length sundress - all flowery and light, golden jewellery around your wrists and neck. A vision, if Peter’s ever seen one.  

“What did I do to deserve you, pretty girl?” He says it mostly to himself but you must hear because you laugh and do a little twirl as you walk over to him.

"You’re a sap, Peter Parker.”

Peter bears your teasing no heed and pulls you close, one hand bracketing your waist whilst the other comes up to thumb your jawline - a smooth motion that has you leaning into him indulgently. 

-

He picks up.

“Hey, Y/N. How’s it going?”

“Peter?” 

Something’s wrong. 

The shaky way his name sounds out when you say it. The sharp gasps coming through the receiver. The faint clacking sound of of your heels speeding across pavement. 

Peter sits up properly without really knowing why yet.

“Y/N? Are you still with your friends?”

Your reponse is muffled as the rumble of cars echoes in the background, but Peter catches it anyway.

“Someone’s following me. Shit, Peter - I don’t know what to do, I don’t-” 

He’s out of his chair in seconds.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’m coming to get you. Where are you right now?” Peter asks rapid-fire and reminds himself so slow down, because you’re already overwhelmed as it is and he doesn’t want you to panic any more.

“I think I’m near your apartment,” you choke a little as the words pour out of you. “This guy kept trying to hit on me on the subway and so I got off, but I think he got off too- and now he’s behind me, and I keep changing directions but he’s still there, and I-”

You’re close to tears. Peter can tell by the way your breath hitches and your voice shakes. The tell-tale signs of your evident distress make his ribs squeeze painfully around his lungs

You sound utterly distraught when you finish, “I’m scared.”

“Okay, Y/N I need you to you send me your location on your phone. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You mumble out a “yes” and shortly after, Peter receives a link from your number. When he taps, a page with your location pops up on a map. A little red dot which must be you moves across a map slowly. Relief floods him upon the realisation that you’re not too far away at all.

“Got it,” he reassures you. “Honey, I want you to keep going straight okay, keep walking. I’m gonna come towards you, yeah? I'll be there in no time.”

“Yeah,” you whisper but Peter can tell that you’re not fully there.

Peter shoves his headphones into his ears and tugs his spider-man mask on, forgoing the suit entirely and swinging out of the window. When you go silent, Peter’s heart-rate spikes.

“You still doin’ okay, baby? Still with me?” 

You breathe heavily though the receiver. "Please- please don't hang up."

"Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

Peter stays on the phone the entire time he makes his way to your location, repeating quiet comforts to you, as he swings faster than he’s ever done in his life and scours the streets for your figure. When he gets closer, the boy lands in an alley, tugs the mask off quickly and stepping back out into the street, thankful that no one’s paying him much mind.

You spot each other at the same time and Peter breaks into a jog to reach you. 

“Hey,” he coos gently. “Hey, I’m here.”

Relief floods your tear-stricken gaze as the two of you collide and Peter brings a hand to cradle the back of your head. His eyes keep a vigilant watch over your head for whoever was following you, and sure enough a man who’d been walking a little further behind you narrows his eyes, turns around, and walks away.

You don’t even realise, head still buried into Peter’s chest. Whole body trembling against him.

“M’ sorry, Peter. I know you were studying … but I didn’t- I didn’t know what to else to do-”

The boy just pulls you in tighter, hoping that the compression will ground you. His hands run soothing patters over your arms, and he reassures you tenderly.

“You’re okay. It’s okay. You did so good by calling me.”

You pull away then, just enough to see him, eyes still slightly nervous. Peter pulls up the fallen strap of your sundress absentmindedly and brushes your hair out of your face. 

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Is he gone?”

“Yeah, he’s gone.” 

He can practically see the adrenaline seep out of you, replaced by exhaustion.

“Let’s go home, okay?” he strokes your hair, smoothing it down carefully as you nod your head.

“Thank you for coming for me, Peter. I know you were meant to be busy today.” You whisper featherlight, and it makes Peter very nearly want to cry because he would drop anything and everything to help you out. No questions asked. 

“Always,” he says instead. “I’ve got you, always.”

-

The trip back is near-silent. You; leaning your head on Peter’s shoulder, drained, as he swings from rooftop to rooftop. Peter; trying his hardest not to jostle you too much, looking down every so often to check that you’re still relatively okay.

When you arrive at the apartment, he sets you down easily .

“We’re here, baby.”

You nod, glassy eyes not quite meeting his. When Peter helps you sit on the couch, you curl up, teeth tugging at your bottom lip harshly.

“Sorry I’m such a mess.”

“Sweetheart,” Peter kneels down to take your heels off whilst he speaks. “Some creep tried to hit on you and follow you home. You’re allowed to be upset about it.”

You just shudder and watch him with watery eyes as he loosens the small buckles on your shoes. Peter presses a soft kiss to the place where they rubbed against your ankle as you ran to him, before looking back up at you and then at your trembling hands

“Can I help you with your dress?” he nods at the tremor hurtling through your fingers.

“Please.”

And so he helps you out of the sundress. Unzipping it at the back and helping you step out of it, your hands braced on his shoulders.

He hands you his comfiest t-shirt and sweatpants to wear and once you’re changed, Peter grabs some make up wipes from your bag and cleans your face for you.

On any other day, he thinks, you would push him away teasingly and tell him that you can do it yourself. 

But right now you’re exhausted and so you limit yourself to leaning into his touch and don’t say a word. Eyes shut as you take deep, steadying breaths. Pliant under his ministrations, trusting him completely.

Peter sits you down on the couch, guiding your head onto his lap and running his hands through your hair tenderly. 

You fall asleep pretty quickly and Peter, unwilling to move and risk waking you up, falls asleep there too.

[rancidpancakebatter]

In the Name of Good | Prt 2 -[P.P.]

Pairings: Dark!Yandere!Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Summary: The cat's out of the bag, so how do you proceed?

Word Count: 5.2k words

Content: MINORS DNI: 18+

Swearing, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of emesis, Smut, Oral (f and m receiving), P in V sex, choking, multiple orgasms, Daddy Kink

( Part 1 | Masterlist )

A/N: The long-awaited sequel which is really just porn with a plot. I'm not sure if this will be a complete story but I may update it every now and then.

Peter's darkness is much more subtle in this piece so there are no major warnings this time around.

Happy Holloween you whores <3

The early light creeps through your window, the golden rays kissing your skin. You stretch your fingers toward the carnelian beams and let your fingers dance in the sundust. You bask in the peace of the morning. As the sun rises it brings a new dawn, a new day. Who knew what you would do today? You could do anything. Today felt like a shopping day. It seems nice out and you could feel stress sitting in your bones, a deep ache pulling at your muscles. 

You stretch before opening your blinds. That’s odd, you don’t remember closing them. You look at the house across the street. Peter’s car sits in front of the house; if you squint your eyes, you can see him through the window. He sits perched in his desk chair, twirling a pencil as he examines a piece of paper. 

Something felt…off about this morning. It was something you couldn’t quite place but this morning brought a certain uneasiness. It was something you hoped a hot shower could fix. 

You let the steam ease your tired bones as you soaked in the eucalyptus sent. As you scrubbed your brain spiralled. What had happened? Why couldn’t you remember? Your brain felt fuzzy as flashes of intangible moments congested your mind.

You had been afraid. You remember the nausea that accompanied it. The knocked-over bottles on the sink were all too real to ignore. Peter was there. Had you been afraid of him? No! You shook your head trying to fling that thought to the farthest corner, somewhere it couldn’t hurt you again. Along with thoughts of dog tags, of headphones, of a twisted smile warped by shadows. 

Peter was here. Or rather you were there, with him, in his room. It was dark. Flashes of white cloud your mind. Harsh lines against the wall, you could feel them on your skin. As if somehow a part of you, intertwined with your being. 

You wiped the fog from the mirror and felt that familiar feeling of dread. It wasn’t a nightmare. Peter had…hurt people. He had killed them. And he- he hurt you. Purple stars on your shoulder, constellations woven into your skin to tell a tale of horror. You traced the bruises in abhorrence, the pads of his fingers left behind as a warning. 

You fell to the floor as everything washed over you once again. The chilled ceramic did nothing to soothe you. Like Eve, you had been brought to your knees by the tree of knowledge. Was it worth it? Every question you had ever had, answered by a cracked doorway that you carelessly ploughed through. You had tasted the flesh of the apple against your lips and now it was too late to go back. 

You paced your room as your mind reeled. Peter was a murderer. You should then turn him in. You knew, you had the evidence, you should turn him in. But would that be enough? Would it be enough to stop him? Would it be enough to absolve you?

As much as you hated to think about it, you already knew. You had recognised there was a darkness in Peter even when you were children. The way his reactions almost seemed rehearsed. The way he wouldn’t bat an eye at someone else’s misfortune. But you had labelled it as bravery. The way he would blindly charge into danger if you were in harm's way. The way he would run to May’s aid, big or small. The way he would clean your bumps and scrapes with nothing but a smile on his face. 

You looked at the pictures that adorned your bedroom wall. Peter had insisted on helping you hang them up. He had given you two stacks of photos one day in the warm July heat. You sat in your room between fans and your open window ushering in the humid breeze. Peter’s presence was a comfort then, as you looked through memories frozen in time. 

Now as you looked around all you saw was him. What was once a comforting remark now haunted you as you gazed into his empty eyes. “This way I can watch over you. I can always be here. I can always see you.” 

I can always see you. You felt suffocated under his dead gaze. There was nowhere you could go, nowhere you could hide. He was everywhere. 

You moved to open the window, hoping some fresh air would help. The light of the sun cradled you in a blanket of warmth. The chirping birds sing in melodies and harmonies alike as they skate through the sky. You close your eyes focusing instead on everything else. 

Peter watches in wonder as you absorb the world around you. He had been trying to give you space. He knew you would come around, he just had to give it some time. Let you wrestle with this for a bit before catching you in his arms. He knows that you would never leave him. He knew it was only a matter of time before you would call him or knock on his door. He just had to wait. He could do that. 

He sat camera faced at you, watching as your fingers pulled out the braid he had carefully crafted for you. He watched as you paced your room, hugging yourself close. He watched as you stared at the wall, tracing the shape of his face with a shaky hand. He watched as you went to the window, ripping it open and gasping for air. 

He joined you there, a street away. Your eyes were closed and your hair billowed in the wind as you drank in the sunlight. You were what ancient poets wrote of. You were his Ithica. His rock, his home, his love, his life. And you were so beautiful. 

You raised your head, opening your eyes, only to find Peter staring right at you. You felt a swirling of emotions in your gut. You were looking at pure evil, someone who killed to kill, someone who liked to kill. You were looking at someone who a few hours ago had no qualms about killing you. 

Your stare was expressionless, something that perplexed Peter. You usually wore your heart on your sleeve and every thought on your brow. But now, as he looked into your eyes, he couldn’t tell what you were thinking. He didn’t appreciate being out of the know. You had suddenly become an unknown variable in an equation he knew quite well. 

You tried to look at him objectively. You took in the way the sun seemed to melt into his skin, leaving stark shadows by the bulb of his nose and under the cut of his jaw. If someone told you that he had been carved from marble at the hands of Michelangelo, you would believe them. He was well-defined, every muscle and bone clear in the rays of the sun, but there was a softness to his edges that made him look feathered, almost holy. 

You had never stared Peter down before. He was seeing in you a boldness that he had yet to experience. He wasn’t sure if it was something he liked. You held a certain coldness that he was unfamiliar with. How odd. 

Peter tilted his head and you mindlessly mimicked it. You were attempting to break him down to a microscopic level, to judge his very molecules. Peter was dark but was he evil? This is what you were trying to solve. As you stared at him you thought back to every moment you had shared, tearing each memory to shreds, looking for anything that would tell you Peter was bad. 

You came up with a lot of ambitious greys. He had killed someone, several someones, but some of those murders were somewhat justifiable. He had killed pets. That was not good but better than killing people. He had been fascinated with the macabre but that made him fantastic to watch horror movies with. He had been cold to others but always showed you great kindness. He could display tremendous violence but you had only seen it in your defence. A vicious knight in shining armour coming to rescue you with bared teeth and bloody knuckles. 

You pulled away from the window leaving it open as you made your way down the stairs. Peter watched in curiosity as you marched your way across the street, not sparing him a single glance. He heard your determined steps and opened his door to you. 

You wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your head in his shirt. You couldn’t separate Peter from his actions. To lose any of him would be to lose him all. Your nails dug into his back as you blinked back tears. No. You were not going to lose him. Not today, not ever. Your Peter. 

“Aw, little lamb. What’s wrong?” He pulled you closer as you shook your head. How could you put it into words? How could you tell him that he was every boogeyman you feared but also the only solace from this waking nightmare? 

You pulled away with tears of anger. He looked at you confused and everything spilt over. You banged your hand against his chest. 

How could he? 

You brought your hand down again. 

He did this

And again.

You did this

And again

He did it for you

And again

And you let him

And again

For years

And again

You let him

You raised your fist another time, not nearly close to done, but Peter grabbed your wrist, stopping you. You struggled against him but his hold was strong, too strong to fight. Your wave of anger passed and left you with true exhaustion. You collapsed against him, small whimpers falling from your lips. 

He held you to his chest as you continued to cry. You focused on the beating of his heart, his hand tracing shapes on your back, his breath on your shoulder, the sweet cooing in your ear. This was Peter. This was the boy you loved. The one holding you and telling you everything was going to be okay. 

It wasn’t enough. You needed more. More of his gentle touches and reassuring words. You needed to feel him, to know he was real and here. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he caught your legs as you jumped. 

“It’s okay, little lamb, I gotcha.” And you believed him. He always had you. He always made it better. If you were with Peter everything would be okay. You buried your head into the crook of his neck, inhaling the woodsy smell of pine and cedar. It still wasn’t enough. You pulled yourself closer, your hands now in his hair and legs trapping him in a vice grip. You squeezed and squeezed, knowing he could take it. You just needed more. 

You felt a hand on your head and another wrapped around your back. It seemed like he was trying to reciprocate and the thought brought you a sliver of serenity. He moved to the bed, sitting you down on his lap and continued to pet your hair. All too soon he was breaking away and you couldn’t help the cry you let out. His hands found your face, lifting it to meet his gaze. 

“Little lamb, I can’t help you if you don't tell me what’s wrong.” The knot in his brows seemed real, as did the way he tensed his jaw. 

“I- I can’t-” You gulped helplessly for air but it felt as though someone had poked a hole in your lung. “I-You can’t- You can’t leave me!” 

You were gripping wildly at his shirt, trying to bring him closer, but his hold on your face kept you far away. He brought his lips to your forehead and everything stopped. For just a moment the clouds had parted and your mind cleared, but then he broke away and the fear swallowed you whole. 

In an act of delirium, you moved a hand from his shoulder to his neck. You felt the small goose bumps under the pads of your fingers, the drum of his steady pulse under your palm. It soothed you. You moved your hand lower, stretching his neckline as you reached for his pec, his heart. 

“Hey, hey, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” His hand on your wrist stopped you once again and you wanted to scream. His touch brought back that semblance of peace and in the quiet of your mind, you were able to piece together what you needed. 

Your eyes were filled with desperation, for what Peter couldn’t tell. He wanted to fix it. He could hear your heart thrumming, the small thing fluttering in your chest. 

“Please I…” Your mouth felt dry and your tongue heavy. “I need to feel you.” 

Peter froze. His mind was picking your words apart, dissecting each syllable. He thought he would explode. He looked over your frame, your heavy breathing and shaky hands. This is it. This is what he’s been waiting for. You would fall in love with him today. He was determined. 

He let go of your hands, placing his own on your waist. “Do whatever you need.”

You reached for his shirt and he helped you get it off. Your fingers traced the muscle and scars. He was so pretty. You needed more, more contact. You moved to take off your shirt and Peter watched in awe as you revealed yourself to him. 

You wrapped yourself around him, hands tracing the planes of his back, massaging the muscle under your palms. Peter’s hands were running up and down your back in comforting circles. 

His fingers began toying with the clasp of your bra listening for your reaction. He noticed the way your heart beat faster and your breath caught in your throat. He slipped the annoying fabric off your shoulders and gathered all the strength he had. You were on his lap, pressed against him. All of his late-night fantasies were coming to fruition and he had to stop himself from pinning you to the bed and fucking you like an animal. He had to be slow, and careful. 

You pulled yourself closer, head buried in his neck as your nose played with his pulse point. Peter trailed his shaking hands to your ass, squeezing it. You let out a soft moan and Peter could scream. He could feel you against him. He could pick up on the small pulse in your clit, the new warmth in your core against his waist. 

He trailed his hand down further, rubbing at your thigh, and you whined again. His fingers found your chin, lifting you to see him eye to eye. His palm flattened against your cheek and you nuzzled into it, lost in the warmth of his touch. Peter’s willpower was hanging by a thread and you were doing very little to keep him strong. 

“Little lamb, do you want me to make you feel better?” His other hand skated a path on the inside of your thigh. “Do you want me to fix it?” 

You nodded your head, the sheer force of it rattling your brain. He was gonna fix it. Peter knew you better than anyone and you knew he would give you what you needed, even if you weren’t sure what that was right now. But Peter would know. He always knew and he always fixed it. 

He brought his lips to yours and you felt the rapture in his touch. His grip on your thigh grounded you in the moment. His lips were dry and cracked, the dead skin threatening to cut you open but god if it didn’t make you feel things. His thumb pulled at your chin, opening your mouth to him. His tongue explored forth and you pushed yours forward trying to meet it. The kiss was awkward and lacking a certain grace but neither of you cared. 

He turned to the side, placing your back on the bed and slotting himself between your legs. You tried to pull him down and he let you guide him. With all of his weight on you, you began to feel a little better. Peter was becoming more and more tangible. 

His hands skated across your ribs then in towards your boobs. You moaned at the feeling of him holding you in his big hands. Peter’s kisses left your face to join his deft fingers. You had never felt like this before, like you were on fire but also like ice was running through your veins. Peter was both dousing the fire and adding petrol to the flames. It was intoxicating. 

He took a nipple in his mouth and worried it with his teeth. He was delighted when he felt you buck underneath him. He marked them as much as he could, while his hands worked on getting your jeans off. He wanted everyone to know they were his. Not Noah’s, not Micheal’s, not Morrissey’s, and certainly not Blake’s. 

No, no, this was all Peter’s. You belonged to him, well before this moment. You were always his. He knew he would make it so, that one day he saw you sitting on the curb. He knew then that you would be his. He spent years instilling this thought in your head. Years of meticulous planning and discreet word choice all leading to this moment. You would be his forever. 

He pulled down your jeans like he had many times before, but this time a new aroma surrounded him. It was all-consuming. Peter’s eyes darkened and you almost didn’t recognise the man in front of you. Without a single warning, he was gripping your thighs, pulling them apart to make space for his face. 

You felt his tongue against the crotch of your panties and it felt like he had shocked you with a twelve-volt battery. You gripped the sheets as he started making out with clothed pussy. His name tumbled from your lips and he had never heard a more sacrosanct sound. It brought him back to the moment. 

He had almost forgotten that you were awake. He didn’t have to be careful, he could indulge in everything you had to offer, and he planned to drown. He ripped your panties, the elastic snapping under his powerful grip. He placed his thumbs on your mound, pulling your lips apart to fully soak in the treasure before him. 

He ran his nose from your quivering hole to your clit, breathing in the aphrodisiac that is you. Your hips bucked again and Peter couldn’t help grinding into the mattress. He ate you out like a starved man at a Golden Coral. 

You couldn’t keep track of where he was. He was sucking on your clit, then thrusting his tongue inside you, then he was in both places at the same time. Your brain was melting in pleasure and Peter could tell you were close. He wasn’t exactly sure how but he just knew and the thought spurred him on more. He brought a finger to your cunt and watched as your toes curled. 

“Petey, I feel, I feel weird” Peter could have came just then. His imagination ran wild at the thought of you never coming before. And he would be the first person, the only person, to make you do so. 

“It’s okay little lamb, you’ll feel better I promise. Just let it go.” He put another finger in you and it hurt, but the way he was pumping them so fast had your mind spinning. He went back to attacking your clit and you felt an unfamiliar snap in your abdomen. It was like you were seeing colour for the first time. You let out a scream as you came and Peter slowly came to a stop. 

You saw him grinning between your legs before he dipped his head down once again. He pinned down your legs to keep you from squirming as his tongue entered you again. You could feel the muscle as it scrapped against your walls. He brought his thumb back to your clit and started running it in a circle. You couldn’t breathe. 

“Pete, Pete, it’s too much.” He just went harder and your back arched. Your hand flew to his hair, tugging on it, trying to pull him away. You felt him grunt into you as it reverberated through you. You felt that feeling in the pit of your gut again and you focused on Peter’s instructions. You felt your legs start to straighten and you were panting, music to Peter’s ears. You came again and Peter wasted no time licking it up. 

You lay there lifeless against his pillows, trying to catch your breath. You felt Peter stand and you turned to watch him slip off his pants. He stood before you, a Grecian god. His hard-on was reaching to his belly button, red and shiny. 

You sat up immediately. You had never seen a penis before, not in person at least. A few years ago Peter had introduced you to porn but it wasn’t really your thing. 

“Look what you did to me little lamb.” Your heart fell through the floor. He grabbed your hand placing it on the shaft. It felt heavy in your palm, and you started stroking it. 

“Does it…hurt?” You had heard guys at school talking about having erections. You had heard them talking about how sometimes it hurt and how cruel these girls were for making them hurt. You didn’t want Peter to hurt. 

“A little bit,” was all he said. You bit your lip, the guilt eating away at you. 

“I want to help. How can I help?” Peter put a hand on your face, his thumb tracing the hallow of your cheek. It then tracked its way to your lip, pulling it from your teeth before quickly replacing it. 

You swirled your tongue around his thumb, sucking it in further. Peter threw his head back in a moan and you stopped. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” You were doing this all wrong. You had caused Peter pain and you couldn’t fix it. Why couldn’t you fix him the way he fixed you? Peter only chuckled and you couldn’t understand what was so funny about you being a bad friend. 

“It’s okay little lamb, it didn’t hurt. It felt really nice.” You beamed at him and the pride in your eyes made him feral. 

“Really?” Of course, you were a pleaser. It would only make sense. This new revelation gave him so much more ammo. God, you were too good to be true. It was like he built you in a lab. In a way he kind of had. 

“Yes, you’ve been such a good girl.” You preened at his words. 

“Can you keep being a good girl for me?” You nodded your head and Peter used his thumb to pull your mouth open again. 

“Stick your tongue out for me, yeah just like that, now breath through your nose.” You followed his instructions as he grabbed your hair, bringing you closer and closer to his member. 

It felt heavy on your tongue, and a little tangy too. You wrapped your lips around him, tracing a prominent vein with your tongue. Peter threw his head back again and this time you continued. After a bit you felt his hand pull on your hair, pulling you away from his cock before slamming it back down. You choked around him and he kept you there, his other hand rubbing your cheek. 

“There you go, there you go. You gotta breathe through your nose. Just relax, yeah. You’re doing so good for me little lamb.” You focused on his words, trying to follow his instruction. He moved your head back and forward again falling into a steady rhythm. He was hitting the back of your throat with every thrust, you could feel a sore spot where his tip kept hitting. 

Above you, Peter was a panting mess. He was babbling and you felt proud of yourself for doing that to him. He was singing you praises about how good you felt, the great job that you were doing. He looked down at you and that was his reckoning. You were peering up at him, dick in your mouth and a slobbering mess. He saw the tears running down your cheeks and it took all of his strength to pull you away. 

One day he would fuck that pretty face of yours but he couldn’t now. His goal was to make you fall in love with him. He had to show you how good he was at pleasuring you. He had to show you that he knew what you needed, what you wanted. He had to show you that he was the only person that could do that for you. 

You pulled away with a soft pop and a smile. “Was that good?” 

Peter brought you into a bruising kiss and you could taste the both of you. The blend was intoxicating. “Oh baby, you did so well.” 

He was pushing you back into the bed as a hand moved back down to your core. His fingers moved around in the slick and you purred. 

“Look at you little lamb, I just cleaned you up. Did you like sucking on Daddy’s dick like that, hmm?” You nodded your head, biting your lip in an attempt to lessen your grin. 

His lips found the side of your neck, licking and biting on the supple skin. “Well you did such a good job, I think it’s only fair Daddy pay it forward.” 

You tangled your hands in his hair, running the smooth locks through your fingers. “No, it’s okay. I wanna make you feel good.” 

His fingers found your abused clit and you arched your back into him. “Oh little lamb, It’ll make me feel so much better.” 

He pulled away as you looked at him through heavy eyelids. “Do you promise, Daddy?” 

Peter growled before attacking you. His kiss was heavy making you lose any train of thought. 

“Promise.” You felt a blinding pain in your core. Your nails racked up his back as you grasp for the air he seemed to have pushed out of you. 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’ll feel better in a moment.” He kissed away the tears running down your face, massaging your breast. He began pulling out slowly leaving only his tip, then slammed back into you. The pain was beginning to subside or maybe it was just him working your clit and hitting something in you that made your toes curl. 

He grabbed one of your legs, bringing your ankle to his shoulder, pushing himself deeper. A moan ripped from your throat, as you felt him hit your cervix, over and over. You reached for his face, needing to kiss him. Wanting all of him. You needed to drown in everything Peter Parker could give you. 

His hand found the back of your neck once again. You clung to him as his thumb traced its way down your jugular. He could feel it drumming against his skin, he pushed against it, fascinated by you. You suddenly felt airy, your mind was swimming and your senses were heightened. Peter felt the way you tightened around him and the way your heart picked up. 

He brought his hand to the front of your throat, adjusting his grip, before applying more pressure. You moaned as he continued to piston into you. The coil in your abdomen was moments from snapping, your legs were tensing on their own accord. You were no longer in control, not that you ever were. 

Peter had bewitched you. You weren't sure when but you looked into his eyes and knew that it must have happened. Your vision was getting blurry, with tears or lack of oxygen you weren’t sure. You heard Peter whisper something to you, something you couldn't quite make out past the sound of heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin. Then his fingers released you. The sudden rush of oxygen to your brain made you feel dizzy, your nerves alight. You came with a gasp and Peter didn’t slow down for a single second. 

He continued slamming into you as you lay there limp, unable to do much more. He flipped you over on your face and grabbed your hips, setting them upright. He kissed along your spine before entering you again. You cried out into the pillows, he was so big and so deep inside you. You wondered for a moment if the constant rocking had affected your brain. 

He was using your body and you didn’t hate it. He gave you all the praise you could hope for and you got to sit there and take it. It seemed like a great arrangement. Your fingers gripped the sheets, clawing at them desperately. There was a certain element of pain present but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when he felt this amazing. 

“God, you feel so good. Better than ever before.” You let yourself drown in the words he was saying, in the feeling he was bringing you. He was fixing it. Just like he promised. It wasn’t long until he let out a harsh grunt, pushing himself even farther into you. You felt his dick twitch and a warmth coat your walls. 

When Peter pulled out he noticed you wince. He turned you around to face him and began massaging your body. His firm hands ran past the muscle of your thighs to the fat on your stomach with soothing circles. You looked devastatingly gorgeous like this. Completely wrecked, totally relaxed, entirely pliant. 

You made grabby hands for him and he chuckled as he fell into your embrace. You brought him flush to your sweaty body, running your hands through his chestnut locks. He hummed against you and you couldn’t help the smile pulling at your face. 

“Hey, Peter?” He could sense your anxiety, which is never a good sign. He was so sure his plan had worked.

“Yes, little lamb?” Your fingers stuttered in their ministrations as you fought for the words. 

“I- I was just wondering…” The words died in your throat. Peter moved his head, so he could look into your eyes. 

“Wondering if what?” You closed your eyes, feeling too overwhelmed by his gaze. You thought about what had led you here in the first place. You thought of the revelation you had as you first wrapped your arms around him. To lose any of him would be to lose him all. You couldn’t ask him to stop. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. You felt terrible. How could you even ask him to do that? How could you be so selfish?

“Uhhh, what are we? Like now? Are we still friends? Are we more?” Peter tilted his head as he pondered your question. 

“Well, what do you want?” You felt all the air leave your body, suddenly replaced entirely with fear. 

“I don’t want you to leave. I want you, forever.” Peter raised himself with his arms, now hovering over your body. The space between you palpable now as he searched your eyes. 

“Then you have me,” He kissed you, it was a promise. 

A Peter Parker promise was a binding contract. He chose his words with such precision, he never said something without resounding contemplation. He pressed his words into your soul, branding you for the rest of your days. 

“Forever.” 

Tag List: @andrews-lovr @brinaslittlefreak @ilovemoonknight @negasonic-teenage-asshole @preciousbabypeter @princesskittycatofmeowland @rudy-the-winged-wolf @whoreforklitz @liz-allyn and @blooming-violets this sequel is for you. Hope y'all enjoy :))

[reidslovely]

Steal Some Covers, Share Some Skin (Peter Parker x Reader Smut)

Authors Note: This did not start out as smut. It was a sweet little blurb based on that one Maroon5 song. But it is smut now..it is also very rushed I have papers I need to write for class but this seemed more fun. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Content Warnings: Nipple play, just vanilla morning sex. 

Please reblog and comment!

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Rainy New York mornings where the sun was shining were the best mornings, Peter often left late for patrol those days, or opted to not patrol at all. Instead the scanner on their bedside had a low buzz to it as it scanned through police signals in the surrounding areas, the small persistent noise turning (Y/N) from her rain soaked window to her husband's back. The sun washed his back on a golden glaze that filled her body with warmth as she reached out and touched him. Her hand slid up the smooth muscles, stopping in the middle feeling him breath soft and slow, she closed her eyes from a moment letting herself bathe in the warmth and security of the moment.

He was here with her: safe, and in one piece there was no need to worry about where he was, what he was getting himself into.

He was here, with her, in their bed listening to the rain pouring down the window.

“Good morning, Otzàr Shelì.”

Peter whispers, turning to face her. His hand reached our wiping the sleep from her eyes. (Y/N) laughed under her breath, her reflexes of nuzzling her face into his hand kicking in.

“Morning Bugs.” She mumbled into his hand, placing a soft kiss on his palm. (Y/N)’s eyes searched for his, slightly closed from the sun rushing into the window. His brown eyes are a sweet honey color in the sun she noted.

“It’s raining..and sunny. I hate the Spring.” Peter muttered, pulling his hand away to rub over his face as he stared up at the ceiling, a hand over his face. Like a bunny springing into action (Y/N) straddled him, a playful gleam on her face.

“I love spring! For reasons like this, I love watching it rain while the sun's out. It's such a weird phenomena that we get to enjoy..except when thunderstorms follow.” (Y/N) rambled on, her hands rubbing Peter’s chest slowly as she lingered in the moment. “It also keeps you in bed longer with me in the mornings and who can complain about that?”

As she spoke Peter shifted under her, sitting himself up against the headboard of the bed. His hands tucked her messy hair behind her ear, staring at her with a toothy grin.

“Kiss me.”

“Haven’t brushed my teeth yet.” She replied, pulling her head back.

“Don’t care I haven’t either. Kiss me..please.” Peter said bringing his face closer to hers. Their lips nearly touching, he was waiting for her final word.

“Mhm if you say so.”

(Y/N) met him the rest of the way, closing their lips in a tight kiss. Peter’s hand raked up the side of the Midtown Science Club shirt she had worn to bed. She was certain Peter could feel the heat rush her skin as he touched her. Peters lips trailed off her lips to her neck, his nose dragging along her skin as he placed soft kisses down her neck.

“So pretty in the sunlight.”

“You’re just in love with me.”

(Y/N) laughed, tilting her head to the side as Peter lingered. He pulled his head back smiling at her, with a shrug that confirmed her statement. His hands continued their way up her shirt, groping her chest once he reached his final destination. His teeth biting her nipple through the fabric, causing (Y/N) to burst out in laughter.

“You woke up eager this morning.”

“It's spring..it’s the spring fever..”

Peter says as he lifts her shirt over her head.

“I think that only applies to rabbits.”

(Y/N) laughed, helping him pull the shirt off. Before she could process the cold air, Peter bit down on her nipple again. “Ouch! Warning.”

Her laughs bounced off the brick walls of the studio apartment, her hands in his hair as his tongue drags around her nipple, his finger twirling around the other. She spread her legs reaching between them both, placing his cock between her legs grinding slowly. She sucked on the inside of her cheeks holding in a moan, as Peter switched between her breasts. His hands sliding from her hips down to her ass, applying light pressure enough to push his cock against her clit harsher.

“Pete!” She moans out, her hips bucking.

“Let me in Otzàr Shelì..please.”

He whimpered against the skin of her sternum. He lifted her hips as she nodded, falling victim to his eyes she let him take control. She held her hand over his as he slid himself into her, moving his hand off his shaft and onto her stomach. Pushing herself the rest of the way down. Her breath hitched in her throat as she fit herself onto him. Her fingers dug into his chest turning her knuckles and the skin of his pecks white.

“I will never..get over this sight.” He speaks low and slow, his hands starting to grind her hips down getting her started. “Oh come on, you got this. Good girl.”

Soon enough she started on her own. Her hips rolled slowly, as her jaw dropped letting small whines out. Peter lifts her up a little as she goes, thrusting here and there. The both of them were too lost in the moment to find a pattern. (Y/N) dropped her head down to kiss Peter, one hand holding his cheek as the other held her up for support. She pulled away after a few seconds, shaky moans falling from her mouth as she felt herself starting to clench around him.

“Fuck..Fuck yeah.” Peter nodded, nestling himself inside her holding her down in place as he finished inside her, and her soaking his cock. (Y/N) held herself up with her hands on either side of his head, Peter's hands squeezing her hips.

The silence they sat in was sweet, and knowing. After what felt like forever Peter pulled himself out, helping (Y/N) lay across his body. “We need to get up.” She mumbled.

“In a minute, lay here for a minute..come down.” He spoke covering them both up, (Y/N) nodded in his neck feeling his hand rub soothing circles over her back. She turned her head looking out the window, the rain having stopped and the sun shining brighter than ever on Sunday morning.

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Taglist - let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future pieces!

@helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @bxcketbarnes @andrews-lovr @raajali3 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @a-lumos-in-the-nox @megmehz @lunaleah @eevylynn @ditzydolli @messymissy

[starrysoftie]

 — interrupted | p.p

“five times he almost kissed you and the one time he finally did” 

includes: tasm! Peter Parker

notes: i dont think i’ve seen anybody do this for andrew garfields peter parker and i absolutely love this trope and him so why not write it!

also i still need to edit this but im too lazy 

SPOILER ABOUT TASM (if you haven’t seen it yet or sum idk LOLS): I know uncle ben dies but I literally physically and emotionally cannot accept that fact, so he is perfectly well and alive in this :)

i. when the ac broke

“Why. Is. It. So. Hot.” 

You dramatically collapse on the bed next to Peter, sprawling your limbs out in every direction humanly possible. “I feel... so gross. And sticky.”

“Give me a second to finish this and then I’ll fix the air conditioning.” 

There’s an amused expression on his face as he jokingly pushes your legs off of his stomach, causing you to clumsily fall off and on the floor with a light ‘thump’. 

Groaning, you accept the lopsided position you’ve been subjected to on the ground, too lazy to move and undeniably enjoying the cool sensation of the wood flooring against your warm skin.

“You know the heat’s really not that bad.”

“I never asked.” 

“I think you should be more like me.” He retorts.

“No offense, but gross.”

He gasps dramatically, amusedly watching you lay motionless on his bedroom floor. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

He smiles.

“Stop smiling. My suffering is not funny Parker.” You grumble, barely audible as you’re talking with your face literally smack on the ground.

“I’m not smiling.”

“Bullshit.”

Finally, he unsurprisingly successfully fixes the air conditioning as cold air circulates throughout the room, revitalizing your immobile body as you eventually peel your face off his bedroom floor to feel the breeze.

“Peter?”

He turns to face you. “Yes?”

Slowly, you stand up and waddle over to him, tackling him in a big sweaty and sticky bear hug that he’s happy to return. “You’re literally my hero.”

“I thought you said you hated me like… what was it? Like three minutes ago?” Wrapping his arms around your waist and tightening his hold, color flushes on his cheeks at close contact between you two. You snuggled your head into the crook of his frame, taking a whiff of his cologne.

“Not anymore.”

“Aw, how kind.”

You pull back after a moment and it takes everything within him to not whine at the loss of your touch, but the big smile on your face makes all his disappointment fade within nanoseconds.

Beaming, you look into his eyes as he raises a hand to brush away a stray hair that’s covering the corner of your eye. There’s a particular look in his eyes that you just can’t label, but it’s... different. A good different. He hooks a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb tilting your head up slightly—

“Peter? Are you home?”

The two of you jump back, a little frightened by the sudden intrusion. You take a look at the door, watching Uncle Ben slowly walking away while erupting into a loud fit of giggles.

Peter sighs. “Oh my god.”

“You really got to get that stupid lock fixed.” You comment.

“I know.”

ii. coffee date

“What’d you get?” He questions as he glances at the video you’re watching, piquing his curiosity. “And more importantly, what are you watching?”

“Shhh.” You hold a finger up to his lips, shushing him.

He sits up a little higher, trying to get a better view of your phone screen. “No actually, what are you doing?”

“Do you see this?”

“Uh yeah? That video of Spiderman is literally all over youtube right now.” He grabs your drink. “Can I try some?”

You nod.

He sips the beverage, giving a hum of approval. “What’s so special about that video anyways? It’s just him beating some dude up.”

“I’m not talking about that.” You zoom in. “I’m talking about this.”

Peter chokes on your drink.

“Did you just zoom in on his ass???”

“Uh yes, obviously.”

He quirks his eyebrows in curiosity, genuinely confused as to what the actual hell you were thinking right now.

“But why?”

“Why not?? Dude, that ass is just... woah.”

He chokes on the beverage once again, but this time some spurts out his nose in a cartoonish manner. Your eyes widen, immediately grabbing some nearby napkins and wiping the coffee off his face.

“Are you okay??”

He nods, rubbing his nose as he tries to ease the pain.

“Yup.” He half-heartedly hums, “Feeling better already.”

You frown. “Are you sure??”

“Yeah.”

“Here, wait... you have some still on your face.” Grabbing the left side of his face, you pulled his face closer to wipe off the rest of the coffee. The two of you lock eyes at the exact same moment, breath hitching in your chest.

Suddenly you’re speechless.

The strange look in his eyes return once more, pupils dilating as he glances down to your lips and back up to meet your gaze. He ever so slightly leans in, seemingly asking for permission.

You lean in slightly as well.

A barista walks up to Peter and taps him on the shoulder, offering the drink that he ordered. He looks sideways before pulling away and grabbing the beverage, offering a kind smile to mask the disappointment etched on his features.

Did we almost... just kiss?

iii. when you found out he was spiderman

You gasped.

No fucking way.

“YOU’RE SPIDERMAN?!”

Peter’s standing in his room, back facing you with his mask off and in his skin-tight spandex suit. Instinctively he raises his hands in defeat, mouth agape yet speechless.

“I-I can explain.” He croaks, dropping the mask on the floor.

“So you’re telling me, that you.” You point an accusing finger at him. “You’re Spiderman?? Like THE Spiderman??”

His eyes narrow, hands slowly falling back down to his sides once he realizes you weren’t as pissed as he expected you to be. “Uh, well— yes.”

“And...” A deep breath. “You never even thought about telling me?”

“Well I mean I did but like—”

“I absolutely cannot believe you right now. I mean yeah I’m pissed that you didn’t tell me but like I’m so worried for you now too! What kinda bullshit is this??? So you’re a normal highschool teenager by day and at night you go out and fight all these damn monsters without even mentioning it to anybody?? Not even me??? I knew you were a dumbass but I didn’t think you were this dumb.”

Never mind. He thinks to himself. She’s mad.

In retrospect though, Peter does understand that if the roles were reversed, he would be equally, if not more, angry and concerned.

“What do you do when you get beat up and shit huh?? Do you just swing yourself home without any proper medical care or even needing to rant about it to anybody??”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry ‘bout keeping it a secret and uh—stuff.”

You grumble as you massage your eyes with the palm of your hands with deep breaths. “I hate you right now.”

“That's fine with me.” A small smirk arises on his face, glad that your temper was finally cooling off. “I swear I’ll explain everything... and— I’m genuinely sorry I didn’t tell you. I was just scared that you knowing that if I was Spiderman the people I fight would target you rather than me personally.”

A dramatic gasp escapes your lips once more.

“Oh my god...”

“Did I do something?” Peter questions as he sits down next to you, placing a comforting hand on your back. “Was my apology that bad??”

“Oh my god...” You repeat once more.

“What?? Is it something I said?”

“No!” You exclaim. “It’s something I said!”

“I’m not mad at you for what you said. You know if I was you in this situation I would be pissed too, I totally get—”

“I COMPLIMENTED YOUR ASS! Like a week ago at that coffee shop! What the hell was I thinking??

There was a small moment of silence until he burst into laughter, falling back onto the bed as he held his stomach in pure bliss, cackling at your misfortune.

“Peter!” There was a small grin on your face as you jokingly smacked him on the arm, the overwhelming mixture of emotions slowly fading away. “Come on, it’s not that funny.”

He shoots back upright, still holding onto his stomach and wiping away a few tears that formed at the corners of his eyes from his fit of giggles. “Oh my god that is ABSOLUTELY hilarious, you have no idea. This is your karma.”

That piqued your interest. “Karma for what?”

“Revenge for you thinking I was gay for Spiderman like a week ago.”

“Oh my god I totally forgot about that.”

“Now you get why your… uh, compliments threw me off guard.”

“Yeah.”

There was a real smile that finally graced your features as you blankly stared at the mask that lay on the bedroom floor.

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

You look back up at him to meet his gaze. “You promise now that since I know that you’re Spiderman that you’ll come to me for help with that superhero shit if you ever need it?”

“I promise.” He agrees. “I’m genuinely sorry about not telling you though.”

“I know.”

“Is... there a way I can make it up to you?”

You try to bite the inside of your cheek to hide the smile at the suggestion. Within seconds his hand is cupping your cheek once more, the now familiar sheen glazing his eyes as he scoots clos—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Peter?” Uncle Ben’s voice booms through the door. “Are you in there?”

Irritatedly, he groans. “Again??!?”

iv. when he fulfilled his promise to you

Outside, the pitiless rain fell with a fierce malignity that was all too inhumanly powerful. Raw rain battered the window like hail, trickling in a rhythmic fashion along with the frantic pounding on the window.

Wait what?

You instinctively turned towards your bedroom window, met with the one and only Spiderman tapping on the fragile glass. Briskly, you walk over to open the hatch to let him into your room.

“Finally about time you noticed.” Peter sighed, taking off the mask and throwing it in one swift motion. You eyed him curiously, confused and highly concerned when you noticed the bloody lacerations on his chest

“Oh my god.”

You grab him by the arm and place him on your bed, rummaging through your wardrobe to find a spare pair of pants you’ve stolen from him.

“Change out of that dirty suit and wear this.” You toss sweatpants at him as you dig through your closet once more, looking for your handy first aid kit.

Finally you feel the familiar cold, plastic casing of the kit against your fingers, grabbing it while you make your way over to the injured teen. Tenderly, you place a hand on his back, slowly guiding him to lay down.

“What happened?”

He winced as you gently dabbed a cold cloth to clean up some blood. “I got beat up pretty bad.”

“Clearly.” You gruff. “How much pain are you in??”

“I rate my pain a solid 6 and a half out of ten, but now that I’m with you I’m feeling a whole lot better.”

His words make a heat creep on your cheeks that you quickly brush off, too concerned with his current condition rather than his flirting. “Peter, I'm being serious right now, what actually happened?”

He sighs. “There was this guy who threw me down an entire highway.”

“No kidding geez.”

“Yeah.” He winces at the feeling of pressure on the cut. “Do you need to do that?”

“Yeah, I gotta wipe all the dirt away before I can put some antibiotic cream on so It doesn’t get infected.”

“It hurts like a bitch.”

You offer the most comforting look you could muster. “I know, just a little bit longer and then you’ll be done.”

A comforting silence washes over the two of you as you finish debriding the cut and apply Neosporin, finally placing some gauze and properly wrapping his torso with the adhesive bandages.

“Anddd.... done!” You gleam, proud of your effort. “Do you feel any better?”

He nods. “Yeah. I actually do.”

“Good!”

“Thank you. So much.”

Peter looks at you with gleaming eyes, placing his arms and pulling you in his comforting embrace you’re eager to return. He was warm, and his big, toned arms wrapped around your body as if to ask you to never let go.

And you don’t.

His hand slowly creeps up your back, making its way to settle on your cheek with his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your skin.

You gulp.

Is it finally happening?? You think.

Almost as if he could read your mind, he and you both lean in, mere centimeters away from each others lips until—

“OH MY GOODNESS PETER PARKER ARE YOU OKAY??”

A shrill shriek escapes from your mom’s mouth followed by a dramatic gasp as she motions towards the bandages on his chest. The door slowly creeks open to reveal her figure standing right in the middle of the hallway, seemingly oblivious to what was going on moments before.

With a deep and irritated breath, you both pull away once more, giving her a firm yet reassuring nod.

“Yeah, I uh— accidentally tripped when we were at the skatepark earlier and I just got patched up.”

“Oh good.” Your mom sighs, flicking off the nonexistent sweat on her forehead. “That looks like a pretty nasty cut. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, thank god you know how to patch somebody up right?” He playfully shoves your shoulder a little as he falls into a conversation with your mom, catching up as if they hadn't seen each other in years.

You deadpan.

The last time they talked to each other was yesterday.

v. christmas

“Okay, here.” He places the beautifully wrapped present on your lap, anxiously bouncing his leg. “You open yours first.”

“You sure?” You question, not so subtly glancing towards your gift for him.

“Yes. Come on, open it. I wanna see your reaction.”

You smile, amused at his eager nature. “Okay fine.”

Gently, you take the edge of the wrapping paper and slowly unravel it at an annoyingly slow pace, a grin etching your features as you steal quick glances at him impatiently sitting on the edge of his seat.

“Come on, you’re being annoying.”

“That’s the point, dumbass.”

In one swift move, you remove the wrapping paper and reveal a slightly squashed book. Within it were countless pictures of you and him. Some were from when you guys were younger, such as your twelfth birthday to some more candid photos where you both were just laughing at some dumb shit you guys said. All memories you hold deep to your heart.

“Oh my god...” Tears of joy formed in your eyes as you flipped through the book with the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen painted on your face. “I love this so much.”

“Really? Are you sure? You can be honest you know, I-It’s not like it’s like anything special or anythi—”

A gasp of surprise escapes his mouth when you tackle him on the bed, wrapping your arms around him and holding him so tight that you could’ve sworn his eyes were bulging out of his head a little bit.

“Shut up, this is the best gift I could, no— will ever receive.”

Giggles bubble from his throat as you wipe a stray tear in the corner of your eye, silently laughing at how the emotions you both were having were strikingly different. He smiles, rubbing a soothing hand on your back as you reach down near his feet and hand him your gift for him.

“Now you open your gift.”

“Okay.” Unlike you, he messily claws open the wrapping paper and mindlessly throws it somewhere in the room, extremely eager to discover what’s inside. He gasps, eyes widening in realization when the box is fully unwrapped.

“Is that—”

“Yup!” You hum.

“—You did not.” He stares at the camera in his hands, mouth agape but only stammers and small murmurs spoken instead of actual sentences and words.

There’s a moment of denial until he shoves the box back in your grasp, defensively holding up his hands. “I-I simply cannot accept this.”

“The hell? Why not?”

“This camera’s like a thousand dollars!” He sputters dramatically. “A THOUSAND DOLLARS SPENT ON A CAMERA?? For me?!”

You shrug with a small smile, amused at his theatrical movements. “You said your camera was broken and you needed a new one.”

“Yeah, I was gonna get myself one that was like a couple hundred bucks!”

“You deserve the best camera out there Peter, not some camera that's been god-knows where.” You practically shove the gift back at his face. “This is for you and there is absolutely no way I’m gonna let you give that back.”

“I-I...”

He’s at a complete loss for words.

“I-I could kiss you right now.”

oh.

OH

OH MY GOD

“PETER???” Uncle Ben bangs on his door, interrupting yet another moment for the millionth time. “AUNT MAY JUST MADE DINNER, BOTH OF YOU COME DOWN TO EAT!”

You’re fed up with all the ruined moments.

It’s time to take matters into your own hands.

“Peter?”

He turns back around to face you.

“Do it.”

+i. christmas

“Do it.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Kiss me.”

Within seconds his lips are on yours, closing the gap between him and you without any hesitation. Your hands find peace resting around his neck, leaning deeper into him with every passing moment and kissing him back like he was your lifeline.

It was an innocent, yet meaningful kiss that needed no words to be spoken to convey you both were making up for all the missed time.

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tag list: @scandalous-chaos​

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

Stay, Stay, Stay

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Prompt - 'I've been loving you for quite some time’

You sat on Peter’s bed, frustration clear on your face as you listened to Peter plead his case. You and Peter had been together for a good few months now and this was your first real fight, sure you bickered and argued sometimes but you never fought, not like this.

“I said I was sorry!” Peter exclaimed, feelings just as frustrated as you, if not more so. He hated that he had let you down, he had known how important it was for him to show up at the event your parents had been hosting earlier that night and he was on his way over, really he was, but then he saw a rush of police cars and the sound of gunshots and only minutes later Spiderman was swinging into action.

“One night, that’s all I asked for.” You yelled back, standing from the bed and making your way towards the door. This wasn’t the first time Peter had left you hanging but usually you got a phone call and it wasn’t so important.

“Why can’t you just accept the fact that something came up?!” You couldn’t help but scoff at that, anger coursing through your veins as you turned to face him. Your phone had left your hand before you could even register it, flying over to Peter who skillfully caught it.

“I’m sorry, ok?” Peter said again, softer this time. He saw the tears in your eyes, from sadness or anger, or both, he didn’t know but he felt terrible for making you cry even if you refused to let them fall.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You told him, suddenly drained.

“No, come on, please stay,” He pleaded with you, eyes turning wide as he did, “It’s too late for you to be walking home tonight.”

He was right, it was well past midnight and it was only now that you gave thought to Aunt May who you knew was home as she was the one to let you in. You grimmanced as you thought of her hearing everything between you and Peter.

“I really don’t want to be around you right now.” You said whilst shaking your head and moved to pull the door open.

Peter frowned as he moved in front of you, blocking the exit off.

“Stay in here, I’ll take the sofa.” Peter insisted and the two of you went back and forth for a while until you finally rolled your eyes and agreed to take his room.

As you lay alone in your boyfriend's bed you couldn’t help but frown as you cuddled into his pillow. You knew you were being silly, Peter wouldn’t miss tonight unless it was important but the fact he hadn’t given you a straight answer annoyed you more than him not showing up.

The next morning you felt just as bad as you had last night. You hated leaving things like that with Peter, you hated not resolving the fight and you hated that you had both gone to bed angry and alone.

You couldn’t say just how long you lay in Peter’s bed, waiting for the man himself to come into his own room. You heard voices drifting up the stairs and knew both him and Aunt May were up.

So you had to make the first move then.

You weren’t quite ready to go down to Peter so instead grabbed your phone and pulled up your texts.

‘You know,’ you started it, wanting to keep the message light, ‘i read somewhere that you should never leave a fight unresolved.’

There, that was enough to let him know you were ok with him coming up, let him know that you wanted to talk.

You heard a crash from downstairs and raised an eyebrow, the sound of somebody rummaging through a closet or something made you sit up.

It wasn’t long before Peter’s door opened and you couldn’t stop the laughter from leaving you as he walked in wearing a football helmet that had seen better days, clearly it was a good few years old.

Peter grinned as he heard you laugh, glad to have eased the situation somewhat. He really was sorry for not showing up but sometimes with Spiderman it just couldn’t be helped.

Sometimes he did wonder if it would just be easier if you knew but then he thought of all the risks that came with you knowing and backed out, pushing any thoughts of you and Spiderman together out of his mind.

“Alright,” he said, grin widening as he listened to you giggle, “let’s talk.”

You patted the bed next to you, cheeks flushed from laughter and a smile firmly in place.

Peter was good at that, making you laugh and smile no matter the situation. You were glad for it, especially now after your first fight. You didn’t want things to be weird, you just wanted to talk and get it out of the way before going back to normal.

“Take that damn helmet off,” You laughed, causing Peter to roll his eyes jokingly but he did as you requested.

“I only wanted the truth.” You said softly after a moment of silence. You were both sitting side to side and you let your head hit the wall before turning to face him. Peter did the same, his smile turning sad as he did.

The truth? The truth was that Spiderman was needed, Spiderman was always going to be needed and he loved to help, he never wanted to give up Spiderman but he also didn’t ever want to lose you.

So, what was the truth?

“You saw that police chase last night, right?” He asked, watching as your smile fell and a concerned expression took over your face.

He knew now wasn’t the time but he couldn’t help but think of how adorable you looked, eyes filled with concern, eyebrows drawn together as you gently bit your lip.

He reached up, gently pulling your lip away from your teeth before letting his hand drop.

“Yeah I saw it, two guys broke out of prison and started shooting the streets up.” You said, voice so soft it was barely above a whisper as you put the pieces together. “You were there?”

“I got caught up in it.” He said, feeling incredibly guilty for lying to you. It was lie after lie with him and now he had you looking over at him with so much concern written across your face that it made him turn away from you, disgusted with himself.

Maybe if he told you the truth he could keep you and Spiderman separate, he’d done it so far. All he had to do was never interact with you as Spiderman unless absolutely necessary.

“Pete,” you gasped, leaning over to grab his hand in yours, “I’m so sorry, why didn’t you just tell me that? Are you ok?”

Peter couldn’t handle the guilt, his stomach twisting and it was then he made his mind up. He just hoped he was making the right decision because if something happened to you he’d never forgive himself.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I can’t do this anymore. You’re the best thing to happen to me and I just keep lying to you,” He told you with watery eyes as he pulled his hands from yours. You were so confused but before you could speak he started talking again, “no more, no more lies, I promise.”

“Peter, what are you talking about?” You asked, utterly lost as to where this conversation was going.

“I need to tell you something and if you don’t want to be with me anymore I understand but I need you to know.” He said, turning and resting on his knees as he gave you his full attention. “I was caught up in that police chase last night but not in the way you think. I was there and I was helping the police.” Here he watched as your eyebrows furrowed further together as you took in the information but hadn’t made the connection yet.

“Y/N, I’m Spiderman.” He confessed.

The silence spread for minutes, Peter not prompting a response from you but desperately needing one. You continued to stare at him in shock, replaying all the times you’d seen Spiderman on the news, joining dangerous situations and shooting of quick remarks as he took down the latest bad guy.

Spiderman was Peter, your Peter.

“Please say something.” He finally said, so softly but in the quiet of the room it wasn’t hard to miss.

“I love you.” You said, watching as Peter’s eyes widened.

A confession like that was honestly the last thing Peter expected to hear leave your lips. He expected you to be furious with him, for being Spiderman or for keeping it a secret, or both. He expected you to hate him, to not want to risk being around him. He expected you to walk out of that door and to never speak to him again, only catching glances of you as you passed each other in the hallways or as he sat behind you in class.

“What?” He managed to get out, utterly confused.

You let out a breathy laugh of disbelief. Whilst ‘I love you’ was the last thing Peter expected to hear, him telling you he was Spiderman was the last thing you thought he would ever say.

“I love you,” You repeated, eyes filling with tears as you cupped his jaw in your hand, Peter leaning into the touch without hesitation, “I love how selfless you are, I love that you care so much about people that you're willing to risk your own life to help them. I love how much hope and joy you inspire and trust me you inspire people to believe, not just as Spiderman but as you, Peter Parker. I love that you think it’s funny when I’m mad,” You laughed, gesturing to the abandoned football helmet, “you’re just, you’re so amazing and I love you so much Peter.”

Peter couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward. He connected your lips together in a soft but passionate kiss, the kiss communicating just how much the two of you loved each other, how much you cared for each other. The two of you clung to each other, not planning on letting go ever.

“I love you too,” He whispered, resting his forehead on yours as he looked at you with a stupidly large grin on his face. You couldn’t help but mirror the expression. “I have for quite some time.” He told you, causing you to giggle softly as you brought him in for another gentle kiss.

__________

AG Peter Parker Taglist - @haroldpotterson, @imjustassaneasyou, @dindjarinsspouse, @rottenstyx, @asherhunterx, @powerpuffluuvv, @filmsbyblair, @mrs-scottmccall, @roseslovedreams, @janesofia7, @cinderellacauseshebroke, @black-rose-29, @wierdstark, @runawaywithmyghost, @chaoticevilbakugo, @ppgrayson, @onyourgoddamnleft, @divanca2006, @90sbella, @siriuslyfearless, @mystic-writings, @levisbloodcut, @mrs-brekker15, @alexxavicry, @sweetdreamsjg, @alwaysclassyeagle, @peterpgrace, @asherhunterx, @vx-vexedvixen, @ordinarylokix, @carmellasworld, @ellabellabus07, @battinsonn, @labellapeaky, @lokismidnight, @maeve-7, @caediae

[earthgirl616]

hiii!! i love your writing sm!! i was wondering if you could write something for tasm!peter. just something we’re him and the reader are very flirty but not dating. i love fics about flirty friends lol

— BEING FLIRTY BEST FRIENDS WITH PETER PARKER

ask and you shall receive, anon

so you and peter have been best friends since forever, right?

right

except that’s not that it looks like to most people

the two have you have always been really close and somewhere along the way, the banter became flirtatious

a lot of greetings that begin with “hey, sexy.”

mostly on your part

his replies are usually a little more sophisticated, while being just as flirty

and by sophisticated, I mean he’s too respectful to call you sexy, opting for words like “beautiful” and the occasional “gorgeous”

“how’s my pretty girl doing today?”

“you tell me”

peter obviously dials it down in front of aunt may, but you don’t

it’s fun to watch him squirm and blush and to see aunt may tease him

she also drops hints every time she sees you to finally get together already for the love of god

when you found out he was spiderman the first thing you say is

“I KNEW I recognised your ass in that spandex”

“is that really your first thought right now.”

lots of hand holding, especially once you find out he’s spiderman

you won’t admit it, but you get worried that one day he won’t be able to hold your hand anymore

he knows of course smug bastard that he is

lots of singing sk8er boi while he’s skating because you think it’s hilarious

“y/n if you don’t move your cute little butt out of the way I’m going to run you over with my board”

“you think my butt is LITTLE?”

“no, I think you have an amazing ass, but I will still run you over.”

tons of back hugs, mostly from peter since he’s one tall motherfucker and can rest his chin on top of your head easily

cuddling after you patch him up from spider-man incidents and hoping his superhuman spidey abilities can’t pick up on your heartbeat getting faster

they can

just like aunt may, youre getting impatient because when is this boy going to ask you out

seriously, he can face a giant lizard in the sewers but can’t ask you out?

it’s fine though, he’s just thinking of a way to do it properly

you have no idea, so you settle for the flirty banter and the hugs and being his best friend

he’s working on it

[embrassemoi]

🤍 Once again, congrats on the milestone. Anyway, you should do the arachnophobia fic idea! It's so adorable!

The Itsy Bitsy Spider

Funnily enough, Peter’s girlfriend has a crippling fear of spiders.

CONTENT: fluff, fem!reader, everyone is 18+

NOTES: I’m afraid of the dark… maybe you could come sleep with me ;)

By every definition of the word, Peter never considered himself a morning person. If anything, he despised mornings, but he could always appreciate the beauty in them.

When the sky took its time waking up along with the rest of the city, Peter became aware of several things almost at once: how the sun rose, painting the sky with hues of lilacs and pinks, golden threads of morning light pouring through the windows of his shared flat that warmed his skin. It brought another day of hopes and aspirations, soon to be fulfilled goals and another day spent with loved ones.

Instinctively, he reached out to the spot beside him, expecting to roll over and be embraced with a warm hug, only to frown when the sheets were cold and his girlfriend out of sight.

With a few bleary blinks, muddled with faint memories of his dream, Peter’s eyes momentarily clenched shut as stretched his limbs, hearing the popping of joints and unravelling knots before he got up with an exasperated sigh.

It was a Saturday morning, and he had no intention of waking up that early, but the bed was cold and empty.

“Peter!”

A strangled plea, desperation, a familiar voice.

A hot flash struck Peter’s body — contrasting with the chill sensation that ran down his spine and collected and pooled deep in his gut.

Jumping out of bed, he grabbed his web-shooters with shaky hands but it felt as if his vision had been disfigured — as if he were staring through a fish-eye lens while attaching them to his wrist.

His chest grew tight and thundered as bile rushed to his throat. Blood rushed into his ears that muffled and encased his head in static noise.

He breathed hard, rushing up to the bedroom door and nearly ripping it off its hinges. Uncertainty bled through every action — the panic coursing through him only amplified the accompanying scream of her name.

Barreling into the living room, his eyes darted to find his girlfriend standing in the centre of the room. Without thought, webs shot out and grabbed her, pulling her back into Peter’s chest before shoving her behind him.

“Where is it? Are you hurt? What happened?” He fired rapidly, arms outstretched wide to broaden his coverage to shield her. His mind reeled into overdrive.

But a second came and went, and the silence prevailed, only for Peter's ragged breath, becoming shorter, sharper, to fill the room.

Hesitantly examining for any trace of the intruder, Peter tossed a look to her, staring into her eyes wide with panic.

“I know you’re scared but you have to tell me. Where did it go?”

Her arm shot up, finger waving mid-air. “Up there!”

About to shoot out another web, Peter paused, blinking in utter disbelief.

Adjacent to them, seated in the far right corner of the wall, unmoving and unthreatening, was a spider — a relatively small one at that. It remained motionless, biding its time in the uncharted territory as its beady eyes leered at them, standing on eight legs.

“Please get it!”

Relaxing and slumping his shoulders, he sighed, licked his lips and burst into a fit of laughter. Peter spun around to cup her face in his hands, slightly shaking her in timing with his speech. “You — argh! I thought something bad happened to you! Don’t. You. Ever. Scare. Me. Like. That!”

But she was preoccupied, focus still stuck on the spider that was now scuffling towards them at a menacing speed that had her wiggling out of his grasp.

“Pete, please!”

He shook his head with a smile and breathless laugh. “You’re scared of the itsy bitsy spider?”

“It’s huge!”

Peter rolled his eyes, gesturing to himself. “You sleep with one every night!”

“Well, my Spidey doesn’t have eight legs and a hundred eyes!” She scoffed as if he was the ridiculous one while pushing him further to the spider. “They’re so ugly! And disgusting — atrocious little creatures!”

“I’m trying really hard not to get offended right now.”

“Can you just kill it already?”

“Kill it?” He exclaimed. “That’s self-murder — suicide!”

Her whining ensued, cowering away as Peter climbed the wall, letting the spider crawl into his hands despite her protest to use a napkin and cup instead.

It was a small common house spider with black and brown fuzz. She no longer bothered with words, only gagging as Peter observed the creature in the palm of his hand. Either way, he found the situation becoming increasingly hilarious as he cracked open the window and let the spider free.

With a yawn, he held out his hand to lead her to the bedroom, yet she refused, sputtering about washing them first.

“Oh come on! You didn’t mind a certain spider’s hands on you last night.”

And with the flattening of her mouth, she rolled her eyes and took his hand. Although reluctantly and with a grimace on her face.

Who knew the beauty of mornings also included capturing spiders?

[irndad]

Rhythm

peter is a really, terrible actor. he doesn't need to be good. new years themed! friends to lovers, fake dating!

NOTE: HAPPY NEW YEARS!! i apologize for the delay, the tags got me :(

She’s like his heartbeat.

It’s rhythmic, the way his days circle around hers, the way their days weave into shared weeks, curving into months forming a life entwined like overgrown roots of oak trees.

She is easy to fall into, effortlessly graceful and unthinkingly kind. She’s the kind of beautiful you look at twice, just to make sure that you saw it right.

They live two buildings away from each other, and he’s memorized every step of how to reach her home. It’s a familiar waltz, a step in time to a place where safety and comfort is so abundant it surrounds the soul.

He hasn’t told her this, of course. There is comfort in her presence and peace found in her laughter, and he’s hardly strong enough to risk any of the beauty she brings about to tell her how it makes him feel.

Still, there is always the hypothetical.

And these is plenty he is willing to indulge himself, in the realm of the hypothetical. Thoughts of how she’d settle into his arms after a long day, how his face would fit into the crook of her neck. It’s a dangerous habit, how often he considers what it would be like to let someone worry over him, and that someone to be her, all softness and kind fingers brushing over harsh wounds- her loving Peter Parker. Not Spider-Man.

All of this to say that it is incredibly hard for him to say no to her.

She asks him when she’s just made him a cup of tea. It’s two days before New Years’, and he’s a sucker for her tea. To be perfectly honest, he loves watching her make it for him- how she runs her fingers through her hair before she grabs the mug, the way she rests one hand on her hip when she grabs the milk, how she stirs the honey and the spoon hits the ceramic, music in the way she shows care.

Her pretty eyes were wide and hopeful, and god isn’t that something the most selfish part of him wants to cling to, that even pretending to be her partner was something she would want of him.

“It’s just one night, Peter,” she says, and her delicate fingers are fiddling with themselves, picking at her cuticles, “And it’d help me out more than anything.”

“Are they really that weird about you being single?”

She’s single. It’s a truth he carries around like a wish-stone, a comfort he keeps thumbing over possibility.

“It’s just that I haven’t brought anyone to these parties, and they keep trying to set me up with someone, and I just- I really don’t wanna do that. Peter, you’d be doing me a massive favor.”

Set up. And it’s not like he doesn’t know that he has not leg to stand on, and he knows that it’s selfish, to keep her time hostage in their friendship. She deserves more than a best friend who looks at her too long, always too afraid to speak.

But he wants her, wants her more than his own sense of cowardice can suppress.

“Okay, okay! Anything to save you from a bind date!”

The way she lunges to hug him, all warmth and heart- she fits perfectly in his arms, the kind of match that feels tailor-made.

His girl.

This is going to be hard.

New Years Eve, 2021

She’s stunning.

She’s wearing this blush dress, and he’s seen it in her closet, thinks it might be her go-to date dress, and it’s dizzyingly satisfying to know that she’s dressed for him. Tonight, he will be able to touch her without restraint, speak of his affection without a layer of self-preservation behind it.

Closing the door behind her, she tucks her hair behind her ear, and asks him a question, one that draws him from the depths that drinking her in surrounds him in.

“Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful.”

It might be the only truth he says tonight, but it’s the most true. She’s prettier than city lights, than the view from the Empire State.

A whole new league of gorgeous.

She looks him up and down, drinks in the sight of him like she’s meeting him all over again, and he feels overwhelmingly seen, like she can see right through him.

“You look good too, Parker.” She smiles, before grabbing his hand, lacing their fingers together. “C’mon, it’s just my neighbor, she’s just down the hall.”

He tries desperately not to think about how good it feels to hold her hand.

After greeting her friends, one by one, she introduced him.

“This is my boyfriend, Peter.”

She plays the part beautifully, and he does his best to match. It’s not like they have to try very hard. Her friends have apparently expected this, and Peter- he doesn’t want to think about what that means. They know the rhythm to each other’s step, follow the other’s action like a dance they’ve memorized by heart.

She’d be an excellent girlfriend. He knew this, of course. Didn’t need a night of pretend to tell him that, Peter knew her kindness and warmth far before. Still, it’s intoxicating, the way flirt slips into her tone, how she trails her fingers up his wrist when they’re sitting at the table with her friends. She grabs him a drink calls him sweetheart, and part of him wishes he could keep it on vinyl, listen to her so-sweet voice over on a low crackle. Her sweetheart. What he’d give to really be that.

The whole night, she’s touching him. Nothing too much, nothing that anyone would call excessive. But it’s more than he’s ever felt from her- brushes their fingers, bumps their knees. After a while, on her friend’s couch, he had his arm around her, her head laying on his shoulder.

She’s the most precious thing he’s ever held.

Later, when everyone’s too caught up with their own lovers to ay attention to her fake one, Peter pulls her away to the kitchen. She looks so stunning, stunning in the original sense of the word. The sort of beauty that stuns you, stops you in your tracks.

“Hey, hey, am I doing okay?” He asks.

He’s got her backed up against the counter, and it’s a dizzyingly pleasant feeling, her this close to him. No one is watching. He’s pushing his luck.

“You’re the most convincing actor I’ve ever seen, Parker,” she laughs, and she’s giggly, tips her head to rest on his chest for just a second, just a passing indulgence, before she looks at him again, “I oughta keep you around.”

Please, he wants to say, I’d love to keep you.

“You’re pretty good yourself,” he replies’ and he’s playing fast and loose with the rules, his hand on her waist, “What did you say, you liked me since freshman year?”

She preens, and she’s so adorable, it nearly breaks his heart. He’s been doing far too much of that tonight.

She didn’t like him, freshman year. He knows that, because he overheard her talking about some guy, and when he asked her about it, she had just said it was some guy way out of her league.

That guy keeps Peter up, some nights. How some guy could have a shot with the girl of his dreams, and not want it.

“Yeah, well,” she looks down sheepishly, “I didn’t have to act that much.”

She can’t mean that. She can’t mean that.

“You didn’t,” he says, and it’s too slow, his hand trailing up to her face. He brushes the side of her cheek, and her eyelids flutter, her lashes throwing shadows on her pretty face, “it wasn’t- it was me?”

She can’t have liked him.

Because right now, and for much longer than that, Peter hasn’t wanted a damn thing else than to be the person she wanted. To be the person who could pull her in, hold her, kiss her in ways that no-one else could, in ways she’d only want from him.

He’s an addict with a craving for her affection, and she’s standing here offering him salvation. It can’t be happening.

“Peter,” her voice is a low hum, like a radio playing a song that always brings you home, “I don’t think I’ve wanted anything else from the minute I saw you.”

Her doe eyes are wide, searching his face, searching for meaning, but Peter- he’s all action. Her heartbeat’s fast, and he can almost feel the rhythm of her pulse, the finality of the dance they’ve been spinning for months. It’s a moment, Peter knows. And moments can slip.

Then, the counting starts.

It’s New Years, and she’s so close, and her perfume smells like roses. She’s warm and pliant in his arms, a blessing to behold in the arms of someone who is far less than she deserves.

3…

She’s the best thing that has ever happened to him. He keeps the city safe because it’s where she is.

2…

The way she’s looking at him- it’s unmistakable. She wants him back. There is nothing else he’s asked for from the universe.

1…

When it happens, it’s slow at first. She’s impossible not to be consumed by the sight of, and she’s so close, and he kisses her. He’s the one who does it, who leans in and takes the moment, her face in his grasp, her pulled close to him.

He could spend the rest of his life in this moment, in this kiss.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And when he looks down at her, wide-eyed and his home, she smiles. He could spend his entire life in moments like these.

He gets the feeling, though, that there will be plenty more.

[genesisrose74]

Movie Nights & Makeshift Medics

TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: It’s Thursday, and Peter doesn’t realize you’re in his room until he’s quite literally crawling through the window.

Peter Parker has spotted you as Spider-Man three times in the past week.

Three times that you’ve caught his eye, completely enamoring him even while he’s supposed to be focusing, swinging a hundred feet in the air and yet barely catching the glinting shine of a skyscraper that’s right in front of his face. It’s the only moments where Peter curses his perfect sight, because in a crowd of people denser than a neutron star, you’re the one his senses seem to seek out every time. He’s starting to think it’s some sort of psychological phenomenon that only he experiences, and it’s driving him mad.

Of course, he never despises getting the opportunity to see you. He’s simply not a fan of being that preoccupied on patrol.

Not to mention, he really shouldn’t be this attracted—shit, distracted—by one of his best friends in the first place.

He already gets to spend classes with you on a weekly basis, gets to rest his chin on his palm as you give a brilliant presentation on this literary concept he barely understands but finds fascinating when you explain it. He already knows the way you smile sweetly when you come over to his apartment on Thursdays, how you burst into laughter when Aunt May makes a lighthearted joke at his expense over dinner.

Peter convinces himself that it’s simply his protectiveness at work every time he pinpoints you. Purely platonic. There is no other explanation for why he can find your face in a crowd so easily, so that’s what he settles for.

And now, after an uneventful evening of scouring the city streets for any signs of trouble (save for the one drunken fight that he helped break up on Jackson Avenue, where some dude in his thirties snagged him with a broken beer bottle), Peter finds himself face-to-face with you for the fourth time this week whilst still in his Spider-Man suit. Except this time, he’s crawling through his bedroom window as you prop open his door.

Was it Thursday already?

You gape at him incredulously, an old DVD of Congo clattering right onto the wooden flooring of his room as a rushed string of curse words fly from your mouth. Peter basically freezes in his spot, half of his body already in the apartment when you catch him red handed, his face contorting into a grimace under the mask like he’s just tasted something sour.

“You’re…” you try to fish for words, your hand gripping the door handle like some sort of lifeline, “you just broke into here.”

Peter’s mind goes blank, and he scrambles through the window frame the rest of the way, just barely avoiding falling to the ground with a thud that might have left his poor Aunt May calling out in concern. You, on the other hand, barely have the time to decide if turning on your heel and running is a better option than staying to hear out your infamous intruder. He can see the internal conflict that plays out in your head in a matter of seconds, your hands trembling with pure adrenaline as your lips press into a thin line. Luckily—and to Peter’s relief—you slip past the doorway and swiftly shut it behind you without another sound.

“I can explain,” he starts in a voice almost comically deeper than his own, putting his hands up as he cautiously treads further into the room.

You raise an unbelieving brow at him, although he can see your eyes darting from wall to wall as your brain attempts to process this very new, very unexpected development. “Oh, can you?”

He feels the rapid beating of his heart as it prattles against his ribcage, blood pumping heavy in his ears as you anxiously await an explanation. “Peter—you see, your friend Peter and I are acquainted.”

Acquainted? Who the hell uses that in a sentence regularly?

Your nose scrunches up, just like it does whenever you’re thoroughly confused on those statistics problems that Peter always helps you work through. “You know Petey?”

The nickname makes his stomach churn with something like guilt. “Yeah, we’ve met a couple of times.”

All of a sudden, you start to pace around the untidy room, narrowly avoiding the heaps of workbooks and the strewn about photographs that litter the floor. Your gaze flickers from his still-masked face, to the posters hanging on his walls, to the half-ajar closet door. And then without warning, your mind seems to click into a sense of understanding that leaves Peter’s hands fidgeting with nothing but the stilled air around him.

“Is this why he always seems to have those first aid things hidden in here?” you gasp, running a shaky hand through your hair at this apparent revelation. “He helps patch you up sometimes, doesn’t he?”

Peter nearly collapses where he stands.

All the immense pressure that had been building up in his body since the moment you spotted him is taken off at once, and he finds himself nodding enthusiastically with your absolutely oblivious proposition. Thank the stars that you even noticed a fact so minuscule, or else he would’ve had nothing else to go off for an explanation besides a prayer.

“Yup, he’s my guy, that’s for sure!” He hurriedly agrees, shooting you a thumbs up that makes him want to disappear into a dark hole for eternity. “He’s fixed me up a couple times—just small things! But he’s always a big help, you know.”

“God, I can’t believe it! Peter knows the actual Spider-Man. And he didn’t even tell me! For how long? I mean, if you don’t want to say that’s fine too, it’s just…this is so crazy.”

The boy in question watches on quietly as you start firing off your thoughts one by one, a low chuckle escaping his lips at your mindless rambling and incessant theorizing. You pick up on his staring after a few minutes, however, and a sheepish look quickly overtakes your features as your gaze returns to him.

“Sorry,” you cough out, unconsciously wringing your hands together. “Peter isn’t here at the moment, but he’ll probably be back soon if you need something. I can call him if it’s urgent. And I won’t bother you, promise.”

A rush of warmth floods his chest at your gentle concern. “Oh, it’s alright. If he’s not here I’ll just, ya’ know…get myself sorted back at home base.”

“Are you sure? It feels like you wouldn’t have stopped in if it wasn’t necessary.”

He panics, waving his arms around. “I’m sure! Just a cut or two, but nothing I can’t handle.”

As soon as the word cut leaves his lips, Peter knows he’s screwed up. Your eyes flash with that all-too-familiar empathy, and all of a sudden you’re approaching him, closing the distance between you to just a few feet.

“Listen,” you sigh, and he already knows where you’re headed, “I can help you, even if they’re just small injuries you need looked at. Stick around for a bit, at least? Even just to rest?”

Every bit of hesitation in him dissipates at your sweet insistence, and the way your face lights up at his reluctant nod makes it all worth it in the moment. You beckon him over with a small wave, taking a gentle hold of his arm and sitting him down on the edge of the bed—his bed, to be exact. As you settle down beside him, a hint of nervousness ever-present in your features, the smell of your body wash hits him almost immediately; it’s the one he got you a new supply of for your birthday, the one with a stupid name that he spent way too long trying to find at the mall. Peter fights the urge to shake his mind of the memory when a stupid smile begins to curl on his lips.

God, why of all times does he have to think about that? How does he even know your care products by scent? You don’t even know that behind this stupid mask of his is your best friend, who’s feeling more and more shame-filled by the second. You’re completely blind to the fact that he’s seen you more than once in the past few months—not just as Spider-Man, but as your classmate. You aren’t even aware that he’s started to fall in love with you—

“So, where’s it hurt the most?”

Peter blinks, finding your attentive stare focused right on his unmoving face. “Oh! Um, I think I got grazed on my collarbone.”

“Okay. Would you mind, maybe showing me where it is so I can clean it?”

He startles a bit in recognition of your request, but he gives you an affirmative nod nonetheless. You turn away for a moment to sift through the clutter on his desk, allowing Peter the opportunity to tug down the collar of his suit just enough to reveal a nasty looking laceration right below his neck. To his relief, it doesn’t appear to go very deep (although it would likely be worse if not for his conveniently quick recovery times), and while his skin has stained itself with dried blood, it’s clearly nothing fresh. Regardless, the wound seems to sting the longer he looks at it, and he hisses when he brings a gloved finger up to trace the broken skin.

You’re quick to return to his side, a scavenged pack of rubbing alcohol, ripped cloth, and a half-empty box of adhesive bandages in your hands that you’ve managed to find amidst his other things. Peter can’t help thinking that he needs to start hiding that stuff better.

“Careful,” you chastise him lightly, gingerly moving his hand away from the cut. “You don’t wanna get more dirt in it.”

“Sorry,” he says. “Thanks, by the way.”

“It’s no problem. The least I could do for the friendly neighborhood hero, although you did scare the hell out of me.”

You’re joking, but a twinge of regret still swirls in his gut. Peter completely forgot you were coming over today for a cheesy movie night, something you’d repeatedly begged to do with him ever since the idea crossed your mind months prior. And now, on the day you finally convinced him to agree? Now you’re treating his injuries in his own room, completely unaware that he’s lying to you straight through his teeth.

He decides that at the very least, maybe he could put on his Spidey charm and entertain you for a while. Even if for a sparing moment or two.

“So, you think I’m a hero?” He jokes back, and he can’t help admiring the way your face contorts into flustered embarrassment.

“I mean,” you splutter, staring holes into the bottle that you flick open with a resounding pop, “you save people a lot, so I’d say you’ve earned the title.”

“Well I’m flattered that you think so highly of me—uh…”

Peter barely catches himself before your name can come rolling off his tongue, but he plays it off with as much charisma as possible, peering at you through those big white eyes of his mask as if awaiting your response. Thankfully, he gets one, and he even tests the pronunciation of it for good measure.

Way to cover, man.

“Pretty,” he comments, not fully understanding the weight that such easygoing compliments can have on you. While on the outside you manage to retain an air of confident coolness, your train of thought is already chugging away into a world of over-exaggerated imaginations, as you’re not well versed at handling such unabashed flattery from anyone, let alone this vigilante who’s probably the most famous person in Queens. You opt to wave him off, muttering a low-volume thank you as you drip rubbing alcohol onto a cleaner part of the cloth in your grasp.

Peter presses on, not wanting to leave anything hanging in the air, lest this conversation be made more uncomfortable than it currently is.

“So, how do you know Peter?”

You perk up at the casual inquiry, the mention of your closest friend very quickly reminding you that this was, in fact, his place. Technically his Aunt May’s, but you very much doubted she knew about this little arrangement between her nephew and Spider-Man.

“Well, he’s my best friend, and we’ve known each other since freshman orientation of high school—try not to tense up, this might sting a bit—” you’re right, it does, and he suppresses the urge to writhe away from your grasp like some sort of child, “but it feels like I’ve known him longer, you know?”

“I can understand what you mean,” he says, although it’s slightly muffled by the way he bites the inside of his cheek.

“Is it similar for you and him?”

“I suppose you could say that. Though, I doubt I’m as close with him as you seem.”

You dab delicately at the already healing gash, a hint of a smile on your face. “We spend a lot of time together, that’s for sure. His aunt says we’re attached at the hip.”

Peter chuckles lightly. Of course you recall May’s badgering from when you two started to hang out on a frequent basis. While he was exasperatedly trying to nudge his lovely guardian into the kitchen before she could make any further implications about your relationship with one another, you simply shot him an amused smile, assuring him that she was a lovely woman and that you didn’t mind her amiable nature in the slightest. Your kindness that day still made him fuzzy, knowing that you felt comfortable around his family—unconventional as their living situation was.

A beat of silence falls over the room as Peter quietly watches you work. Your touch is so careful, trying to avoid his discomfort with as much consideration as possible, as if he’s not some masked guy who can stop a bus with his hands and who just took on multiple drunk idiots at once. You’re clearly apprehensive to let your fingers even touch his bare skin at all, only letting the soaked cloth press against his collarbone with thought-out precision.

It’s most likely because you want to avoid infecting the cut, but he can’t help wanting to feel the warmth of your hands anyway.

God, can his internal thoughts shut up for five minutes? Apparently not, because at this point his palms are growing clammy (not a good combination with a spandex costume, he discovers), and he’s practically itching to take your hands in his own, scrapes and bruises and secret identities be damned. He elects that asking another question will suffice as an alternative.

But then you’re peeling off the backing of a jumbo bandage and smoothing it out over his skin, and every nerve in his system jumps at the contact he’s been wanting but thought incapable of actually receiving.

What was he doing again? Right, asking a question. Something resembling an icebreaker. Maybe nothing too cheesy, but something standard.

“Are you dating anyone?”

Not that question.

Although it takes a moment for his words to register in your mind, Peter can tell they have as soon as your eyes widen, your hands freezing against his chest like a deer caught in headlights. He’s surprised that you’re not already running for the door screaming at this rate—a faceless guy of who-knows-what age asking if you’re in a romantic relationship, with the only saving grace being that your best friend allegedly helps him out sometimes. Rather, you simply avert your gaze to the wall, an awkward laugh bubbling in your throat.

“Not at the moment, no,” you tell him (and he doesn’t notice, but heat is creeping up from the base of your neck at an alarming rate). To his surprise, your words still hold an air of teasing confidence. “Who’s asking?”

“I—well,” he blanches, at a complete loss—and he’s quite nearly prepared to smack himself in the face at any moment, “I was just curious.”

“Sorry to disappoint, Spidey, but there’s someone else I’m into right now.”

Peter’s brows furrow. “Who?”

Wait. Too personal.

But you’ve never told him about anyone you’ve liked recently. The last time you’d ever brought up something like that was back in sophomore year, when Curtis Manfred was in that biology class with you and got you coffee on exam mornings. That never lasted though, seeing as he started dating some freshman you didn’t bother to share the name of soon thereafter.

Peter never liked Curtis. But that’s besides the point.

“Sorry,” he tacks on. “I doubt I even know who it is.”

You wave it off, smoothing out the edges of his bandage with much more deliberation than truly necessary. “It’s alright. Honestly, it’s probably the one person from my life that you do know.”

Peter freezes completely.

His heart rises to his throat, his every sense going haywire as if screaming ‘trouble!’ in big bold letters. Except, instead of realizing that something terrible is about to come his way, he’s left with the building realization that he might have just gotten confessed to. He decides to check just in case.

“You mean…you mean Peter?” he inquires, “As in Peter Parker?”

You finally meet his eyes again—well, as much as you can with that costume of his—and nod, offering him a sheepish smile.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

“I don’t know why I told you that,” you admit, blowing out a puff of air and giggling. “I think the mask thing makes it easier to be honest with you.”

“No! No, it’s fine!” and now his voice is two octaves higher than it began. “How long have you, uh, liked him for? I mean—if I can ask that.”

“Two years? I think it’s two now.”

“Wow. What’s made you like him for so long?”

“He’s just really sweet, you know? And smart. I’m sure you get that since you’ve known him for a while now too. And, y’know, he’s really cute. Dorky.”

You pause for a moment, realizing that the vigilante in front of you has barely moved a centimeter since your spiel began. It feels oddly tense, but you’re not really sure why.

You clear your throat, moving your hands away from him and back to your sides. “But anyways! That bandage should hold fine, but you might want to swap it out in a day or two. Do you need anything else looked at, or…?”

He still doesn’t move, and now you’re growing anxious. Did you say something you shouldn’t have? Was this way too familiar for just meeting the guy, who hours ago was simply a figure on your television? Was he going to tell Peter?

Before you can utter another word, Spider-Man is tugging his mask off, and in a matter of seconds you’re staring right at your best friend.

This time, it’s your turn to nearly pass out.

“Peter?” You’re practically whispering, and the shock in your face is clear as day. Not to mention, you can feel the embarrassment flaring on your face like a scalding lick of flames that just won’t burn out.

His hickory brown stare bores into yours without remorse, and he leans forward to grab your hand, pulling it towards his chest again. His hair is terribly ruffled in the best of ways, and even hours of doing the rounds through New York City have left his face without as much of a scrape, at least on this particular night. His thumb brushes the back of your knuckles with a tenderness that makes your stomach erupt with butterflies, and a gentle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“You mean it?” He says, just as quietly as you spoke his name.

A permanent warmth settles in your cheeks, and you figure that holding back anything else is out of the question now. “Of course I do. What about you?”

Peter doesn’t give you any time to be nervous once he leans into you fully, bringing you forward by the hand and catching your lips with his. You barely have enough time to inhale, let alone get a word out before you melt into him, a breathy laugh the only thing you can manage when a gloved hand reaches up to cradle the base of your jawline. In a word, everything about the kiss is soft, and Peter is very evidently over the moon.

Your arms wind their way around his shoulders, getting pulled further against him and into his lap—right until you accidentally bump the spot on his collarbone that you just managed to clean, which is proven still sore when Peter fails to conceal a huff of discomfort against your lips.

“Alright,” you scold playfully, flashing him a knowing look, “don’t strain yourself.”

“Come on,” he groans, brushing your nose against his, still holding you by the waist, “I’m a friendly neighborhood hero, right? I can take it.”

“Nice try. Maybe you should enlighten me a bit more on that whole Spider-Man thing first, hm?”

Peter drops his head back to stare at the ceiling, a dazed smile lighting up his face. “I thought it was cheesy movie night.”

You can’t help laughing. “I cannot believe you.”

“I’m not hearing a no.”

When he tilts his chin down again, he finds you looking right back at him, a glimmer of admiration in your eyes that makes his breath catch. You cup his face in your hands without a second thought, and he willingly relents to your touch without a moment’s hesitation, the urge to kiss you again settling in the back of his mind.

“Movie first, and then we’re talking,” you concede, affection laced in each word. “God, Peter. You’re incredible.”

He just smiles, shaking his head lightly. “And you’re everything to me.”

Peter Parker spotted you four times as Spider-Man this week, and now he’s got a brand new stock of first-aid materials stowed away in his closet. Plus, he’s got a date scheduled for next Thursday that he sure as hell won’t be forgetting.

[sincericida]

Andrew Garfield for "Modern Luxury Magazine" - dir. Brian Higbee | December 2018

God, he's so delightful, I need to %¶€&@¥#¢ with him so much...