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devilfic · 5 months

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❝late-bloomer❞

plot: you've never been kissed before. on a completely unrelated note, what if your best friend offered to be your first? pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: post-tasm 2, gwen stacy mention, angst, self-deprecating thoughts about being undesirable and insecurity in love, best friends to wouldn't you like to know, eventual fluff, attempts at andrew garfield accurate rambling, he definitely talks you through it I mean who said that. words: 4.3k.

a/n: entirely self-indulgent because I wrote this after crying over being a late-bloomer for an hour ahahaha

Peter is reading something for research when you suck in a breath and finally ask, "What was your first kiss like?"

You hear his voice die in his throat. The small whispering of test results and calculations fall short, but you don't dare to look back. You're hunched forward so he won't see the way your eyes burn and brim with tears unshed because if he did, he'd ask about it and then you'd really start crying. Instead, you busy yourself with your phone, idly scrolling as if your question was pure curiosity alone.

You watch his ankles uncross, hear him sit up and then lean against the headboard again, fumbling for your train of thought, "Uh... sticky, 'cause I was six," Peter laughs, "You should know. You're the one who kissed me."

No matter how many times he tells you this, you can't remember the day you'd been so bold as to plant one right on Peter Parker's lips. You felt like you'd remember that, but you'd been such an impulsive child back them. Bolder. Thicker-skinned.

But Peter remembers, and so does Aunt May who swears up and down that she'd caught it on camera ("If only I could find that damned photo album"). You're the only one who doesn't. It's like it never happened, "No, God... no. I mean like your first real kiss."

"Like with tongue?" You hear the humor in his voice and even your sullen mood doesn't stop you from smacking his knee. "I dunno what you're talking about. That kiss was real to me."

"I'm serious, Pete."

He hums. You're so, so tempted to look back and see what he's thinking, but it would give you away too easily. "It was... it was a kiss. I mean, Gwen- you know. You know. I was crazy about her. I didn't think I just... kissed her."

"How did it feel? Do you know?"

"I felt like I needed to do it. I felt like if I didn't, I'd throw up. Not actually, just... like I'd explode with all the feelings I had for her."

Your finger hovers over a tweet. In your wondering about that feeling of almost nearly exploding, you try to picture that rooftop kiss that Peter had relayed to you between classes, with hushed whispers and childish laughter. It was windy, and I was breathless, he'd said, and I wanted to lay myself bare. And I just... pulled her in. Shot a web and swept her up and kissed her. I think I've lost my mind. You remembered pressing your back against the school lockers to cool yourself as you imagined the scene, the steps it took for you to settle the uneasy churn in the pit of your chest. The euphoria and panic upon realizing that your Peter was growing up.

You felt overwhelmed just imagining it. You barely hear Peter ask why you want to know. "No reason. Was just curious."

You think that Peter accepts that as good enough reason because the room is silent again. You keep scrolling, keep taking subtle deep breaths to keep the tears at bay. You see a picture of a couple on your timeline and scroll faster.

A few minutes of peace pass before Peter broaches the subject again, "What about you?"

"Hm?"

"I don't think you've ever told me about your first kiss."

Your shoulders tense. No good effort hides the strain in your voice, "I haven't?"

A beat passes. You glance over your shoulder and see Peter staring right at you, his lips upturned in a small, resting smile, but his eyes are inquiring. He's trying to read you. Perhaps he's just noticed the heavy cloud hanging overhead. "Nope." He pops the "P". He's waiting.

You could lie. You could say it was Flash Thompson who stole it, mention that field trip to the zoo in middle school when he'd sneaked next to you at the peacock exhibit and pestered you about you and Peter. Peter wouldn't question Flash about it. Even if they'd made amends, any conversation about him would send him over the edge with memories of his childhood bully and how much he pitied you for having your first kiss with him. And all of you were far too old now; Flash Thompson had gone to another state to play football the minute he got his diploma. It'd be so inconsequential, such an easy lie.

But the longer it takes you to deliberate on it, the worse it makes you look. You should've offered up an answer easily, jovially, unbothered. It should be inconsequential. Anything more and Peter would call your bluff because he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes.

At some point, you feel the brush of a lone finger at the base of your spine and it startles you. Peter's slipped his finger under your shirt, stroking along the middle of your back, "I won't laugh. If that's what you're thinking." He says softly.

Of course Peter wouldn't laugh at you. As much as your relationship was teasing, he knew where you were tender.

But it wasn't laughing you worried about.

"I know." You say, in lieu of a real answer. You fear you've given yourself away.

Now there are two fingers stroking your skin, "You don't... you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," but you can hear the discomfort in his voice when he says it, like the thought that it's something you don't want to tell him concerns him, "it's up to you."

Just lie. Your breath shudders and immediately you regret it. There's no way he hadn't heard that.

Before you can recover, you're feeling the heat of his entire hand on your back now as it slips further up, as he sits up in bed beside you and rests his chin on your shoulder. The closeness of his breath makes you feel claustrophobic all of a sudden, "Hey, hey. I'm sorry. Did I push? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

You struggle to shake your head, but now your eyes are burning again and you don't think you can stop the tears this time, "You didn't." You insist.

"You're crying, bub," he laughs (not mockingly, never mockingly, never when you cry) and reaches a thumb up to brush away the first warm tear, "what's wrong?"

There's a million things you could say. I've never been kissed before, I don't know what it feels like to be longed for like that, I want to be longed for like that, why haven't I been longed for like that? But it all feels so heavy. Peter picks his chin up to kiss your shoulder and that really does it, "It never happened."

Peter's lips still against your skin. Their warmth slowly peels away, though you feel his breath ghost over the curve of your bone, "What hasn't?"

"A kiss. A first kiss, Peter. I've never had one."

"That's..." Peter sounds almost shocked, disbelieving. He never picks up that thought.

You turn your head away and toss your phone onto the bed, no longer interested in pretending you could distract yourself with anything else. You try to shrug your shoulder out from underneath Peter's mouth but he's quick, the hand at your back locking around you and you can't escape him even though you want to, even though you need to get away from his sweet smile and lovely heartbeat that thuds a little faster against your side.

It was already so much to tell him you hadn't had your first kiss yet, to admit to your best friend who—despite popular Midtown High opinion—has always been so irresistible to lovers, that you haven't gone as far as something so... simple. Something teenagers running your old stomping grounds have probably experienced ten times over by now. You don't think you can handle his pity too, "Peter, please."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. Everyone moves at their own pace."

You hiss through your teeth. You don't mean to, but the spite overwhelms you like red hot heat for a minute, "It's easy to say that when you've done it already."

You catch Peter's eye and immediately regret it. His untamed brows are drawn together, expression more analyzing than pitying. Even though you're brimming with feelings, he seems as if he's trying to wade through them, search for the gnarled root at the center of it all.

Then, and he says this so carefully that the meaning takes a moment to catch up with you, "There's nothing wrong with you."

It's the sincerity that does it. You shove his hand off of you, jerk away from him in a scramble to stand, but Peter is fast and lithe and he's always been two steps ahead of you even before the bite. He's up on his feet before even you are, coming to stand in your way when you go to grab for your bag, "Peter, move."

"Look, can we... can we talk about this?"

"I really don't want to. Move."

"Why are you shutting me out?"

"Because I want to go home. Move."

"Is it because of what I said?"

"Yes!" You blurt, growing frustrated the longer he blocks your path, "yes. Because I'm sick of being told there's nothing wrong with me when clearly..." Your voice tapers off, afraid to give him the reason he needs to worry about you, "Please. I'm just tired. It'll go away on its own, it always does, I just can't be here right now."

The standoff between you two lingers, feels like you might have to fight him just to escape. It takes everything in you just to keep eye contact with him and not burst into tears.

Peter clearly doesn't want to let you go. You can see that genius brain of his running every possible scenario in his mind in which he convinces you to stay, cry it out, leave happier than you came. None of them come soon enough. You brush past him when he realizes he's got nothing, and even the hand that grabs for you is halfhearted, shrugged off with little force.

"I'll see you later, Pete."

You let his front door shut on its own.

It hasn't been great.

What typically took a few hours to shake off had settled over you like a dark cloud ever since you'd stormed out of Peter's place. Even though you texted him like everything was fine (and dodged any phone calls so he wouldn't hear the truth with those freakishly good best friend senses of his), you had yet to see him again. Had yet to let yourself be seen.

You told yourself that it was just you missing Peter, and you believed that to be true, but you also believed that when he looked you in the eye and told you "there's nothing wrong with you", you hadn't been prepared for the nakedness of it all. He'd dug deep, right to the source. That kind of thing was hard to move past.

So you avoided him. If he came by your place, you pretended you weren't home. If he showed up at your work to take you to coffee, you lied and told him you had plans with a coworker. It had been several days now and you felt more and more cowardly by the minute.

It was Peter. Of all people, it was Peter. Your best friend. You could tell him anything (most things, some kept a little closer to the heart). You should be able to.

And it was silly. Being embarrassed about not kissing anyone. Plenty of people were in the same boat as you and they didn't ice their best friend out about it.

Ugh, now you were just making yourself feel worse.

You'd had enough. You'd end this pity party today. As you make your way through your apartment door, you promise yourself that after you've showered, after you've made yourself a filling dinner, after you've settled into bed, you'd call Peter and ask him to meet for pizza this weekend. You'd talk like civil adults who understand that life isn't a race. You'd share your couch, laugh about the whole thing, and maybe, just maybe, the hollowness in your chest that longed for someone's desire to fill it would finally-

He's sitting in your kitchen.

Legs dangling off the island, mask rolled up to his nose, and a spoon clattering out of his mouth and into a bowl of ice cream. Your front door shuts gently behind you.

You stare at each other for a few seconds. Then you glance through your bedroom door, cracked open just enough for you to see the breeze rustling your curtains. You turn back to Peter, who's cleaning off his bottom lip of raspberry sorbet. "Did you climb through the window? You have a key."

Peter sets the bowl down beside him, shrugs, "You weren't returning my calls."

Your shoulders sag and you drop your things to the floor, "Peter-"

"No, no," you watch him slide off the countertop and bounce over to you, and the nearness you aren't prepared for makes you back away an inch or two, "No Peter. I'm not Peter. I'm Spider-Man. See?" He gestures to the suit.

You reach your hand up and pinch his exposed cheek, then narrowly avoid his teeth before he tries to nip you, "I'm not in the mood. I said I'd call you later, I'm just... busy."

"Busy avoiding your best friend."

You can feel him trail after you as you walk away, beginning to undress. He catches your coat when you throw it toward the couch and hangs it up all neat on a hook. He kicks your shoes to a wall and tugs your belt from your fingertips once you've undone it. Then, unexpectedly, he hooks said belt around your waist and yanks you back to face him.

The momentum throws you fully into his chest but he's sturdy, unmoving as you grip his shoulders and give him the most hostile look you can muster. You attempt to wiggle out of the trap but he pulls the belt tighter, forcing you closer, and then you start to panic as the space between you both disappears, "I haven't been avoiding you, I just needed space." You quickly explain.

"And I get that," he admits, "but you scared me. I've never seen you like that before. Not with me. Not ever."

Of course he hadn't. It was why you kept all of this a secret in the first place. Because you knew he'd worry, and you knew that there would be nothing he could do to fix it. Not like he usually could.

"It was a... brief lapse in self-esteem. That's all. You're making it into a bigger deal than it should be."

"It's not a big deal?"

"No! That's what I keep trying to tell you."

"So it doesn't matter at all."

"Correct."

"Right."

"It's just an arbitrary milestone that means nothing." You grip the leather of your belt but you're nothing against his superhuman strength. Pleading with your eyes, you do your best not to slip back into that vulnerable place all over again. Peter made you feel safe to do that. Way too safe to do that. "I promise. I'm not avoiding you."

You get sick of staring into the whites of his mask and so you grab the edge of it and pull it up to his hairline, little tufts of curls poking out as his face is fully revealed to you. You stare into those sharp, probing eyes of his, forcing yourself to stand the test of Peter Parker's perception.

Suddenly, you're released.

You stumble back a bit, the belt clanking against the floor, as Peter throws his arms up in defeat, "Alright, alright. I get it. I should've let you breathe the other night. I was just worried, is all."

You smile, "And I appreciate that."

Peter quickly glances at you and then away, making an exaggerated show of kicking imaginary dust off the floor. "First kisses really mean nothing then, huh?"

"Zilch. Nada."

"So... doesn't matter when it is, who it is..."

You watch him carefully, "If this is about when we were six-"

"No, no, I know that didn't count. You don't even remember it," his face contorts in a wince, "I was just thinking. Something."

Your eyes narrow, "Uh-huh."

"Well, I mean, is that why? Because you don't remember it? Or... is it because it was me?"

"The kiss?" Peter blows a raspberry, looking more bashful by the second, and nods without looking at you. "It's... it's because we were six. And we didn't know what we were doing. I was just mimicking what we saw. We didn't know anything."

"And now we do."

"Yeah. What are you getting at, Pete?"

He sits on the back of your couch and kicks his feet out in front of him. "If all that matters is that we both know what we're doing, and a first kiss is just a meaningless milestone to you, then I thought that maybe we could give it another go. You know. So when a real kiss comes along that actually means something, you'll have an idea of how it's supposed to go."

You're six years old again.

You and Peter Parker are sitting in the dirt, mouths covered in sticky ice cream that the summer sun melted right up. You're both talking about Flash Thompson's trip to Florida and the hilarious sunburn he came back with when you spot an elderly couple across the park, pressing their mouths together over and over.

You're looking over at Peter and asking about it, sure it couldn't possibly feel good, and he's telling you that when Uncle Ben kisses May good morning in the kitchen he always looks away because it's gross.

And you're thinking... you start thinking something.

You're thinking it would be funny—that Peter would hate you for it, but you're just so curious—and you're pressing your lips to his so quickly that he doesn't get a chance to pull back before you're giggling in the grass. And May's voice flutters in the background, a shrill and delighted, "I caught that!" that makes you both turn tail and run toward the swings.

Peter's still staring at you, waiting.

Part of you feels like it's pity. Like he doesn't want you to feel bad about yourself. Like he doesn't know how else to fix it, because he has to fix it. He has to fix everything. He has to be your hero.

But the other part? A restless and selfish part wants to take it; it's curious.

You take a step forward, the two of you watching each other, waiting to see if the other might back out at the last second. He stays exactly where he is, legs parting slowly, and the silent invitation makes you feel hot under the collar.

When you're standing between them, you feel his knees bump your legs on either side, his hands planted firmly into the couch cushions. You notice the grip he has on them, "Are you sure?" You pause.

Peter tilts his head in that strange, spider-like way. As if he cannot fathom why would you ask such a thing, "Of course. I'm the one who offered."

Your hands shake as they consider where to put themselves, and you get about halfway to his shoulders before he takes them and places them on either side of his face, mumbling something about how it might help you feel more in control, quell your nerves a bit.

Peter's cheeks feel so warm in your hands, and you can feel each swallow he makes the longer you take in his expression. "Should... I move in first? Or..."

He laughs, short and high-pitched, "I guess I can go first."

You know you're supposed to close your eyes, but as he comes in close, you can't help but keep them lidded, taking in every twitch of his mouth as he inclines his neck, shuts his eyes, and kisses you.

Your brain reacts a half-second after his lips touch yours. You've probably stopped breathing, and you have to force your lips to unstiffen so that you could actually feel him. His lips are a little wet—he'd been rolling his bottom lip between his teeth since he'd sat down—and they taste faintly of raspberry. They're not cold though, and the feeling isn't unpleasant.

You don't know how to react to it, don't know if you should move or not, and so instead you curl your fingers into the silk of his nape and wait for the pounding in your chest to stop.

You feel him mouth at your bottom lip just once, and then pull back. "How'd that feel?"

You recall the sensations that went through your brain (all that it can recall anyway, when Peter's looking at you like that), "Slimy...?"

Peter's face falls, and then he bursts into laughter, shakes with the force of it, and drops his head on your shoulder. "There's got to be a better word than that."

"I don't know! I was just thinking about the feeling."

"I don't want to know what it felt like, I want to know how it made you feel. Did you like it? Hate it?"

"I don't know. I'm- I'm nervous."

"Hey, that's okay," his hand rubs your hip, warming the skin there, and you find yourself leaning into it for comfort, "everyone is their first time."

Peter is so, so gentle. Your heart feels like it might give out, but a little less now that it's over and he's not looking at you in disgust. You don't know what you expected, but... this was better. By far. That part of you that felt selfish takes over again, "Can we try again?"

His eyes widen a bit, but he's immediately nodding, "Okay. Yeah. Okay. We can try as- as many times as you want."

You nearly choke on your spit. "Can we?" Your voice comes out a meek whisper.

Peter nods. He brings his legs in so that he's sitting properly now. "Of course. You wanna move me? I can sit somewhere else. Or you can sit if you want."

"No, I like you here," you say, feeling your stomach tighten when his thighs lock against your legs, "um. Is there anything I can work on? How did I feel?"

"Warm. Soft. Just try to loosen up, alright?"

You force yourself to release the tension in your body and move in first this time. Images of rom-com kisses flood your brain, how you memorized their rhythms and the placement of their mouths. You try your best to mimic it, make it feel as good as it seemed to look, when you feel one of Peter's hands slip behind your head and angle you away just a hair, "You're tensing up," he warns, making you pause, "it doesn't have to be perfect. It's just you and me. Breathe for me, okay? Turn your brain off."

You feel your stomach flip a bit, and nod along mindlessly. You try again.

This time, it feels a little different. Not wet or stiff, even if it is still awkward. It almost overwhelms you when, as you're mouthing at Peter's lip, he returns the favor, but you keep your brain empty. You can't focus on the details because it won't feel right. You can't focus on the way it looks because it won't feel right.

So you focus on Peter. You focus on the hand on your hip drawing you closer and the hand on your neck rubbing circles into the knot there. You focus on the feeling of his suit under your pinkies. You focus on the small hum he makes when, with quite a bit of building up to it, you pass your tongue over his.

Almost as soon as you do it, you pull back. Peter is flushed and it makes the beauty marks on his skin stand out more. His eyelashes flutter, a half-smile on his lips that are kissed red. By you.

You open your mouth to ask but he beats you to it, "I think you've got it now... yeah. Definitely." You're so relieved you sigh, sagging away from him, but he catches your hands before they can can leave his face completely and holds them in his lap. You don't dare move them. "How about you? Did you like it?"

You nod, speechless.

Peter laughs and squeezes your hands in his, "Okay, good. Good. I love you, you know? I know it doesn't... replace what you're looking for, but you're wonderful. You're insane and funny and stunning and there's nothing wrong... you know? You're perfect. Take it from your loser best friend who had to get bit by a radioactive spider to get to first base."

You snort, "I mean, if that's all it takes..."

Peter shakes his head and stands, but his hand remains on your neck as you follow his eyes to his full height, "So, we good? No more ignoring me?" You bite your lip, nodding your head. Peter smiles. "Good, cause I'm starving and I need you to split a pizza with me."

"You just polished off a tub of ice cream and you're still hungry?"

"I'm a growing spider, honey. And I missed you." Without warning, the hand on your hip hooks around your back and hoists you into his body, throwing you off balance once more, "I'll swing us there and cover cheese sticks too. Sound good?"

You know you don't have much room to argue when he's being so generous. And not when he's beaming at you, so genuinely relieved to have you back that it would knock you off your feet if he wasn't holding you up.

He was right; this wouldn't replace what you were looking for, but it gets pretty damn close. Closer than you expected, actually. But it's just the adrenaline. This didn't change anything.

Did it? You stare up at Peter.

"We can try as many times as you want."

You might have a very different problem than you started with.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes

#peter parker x reader #peter parker scenarios #peter parker imagines #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman scenarios #spiderman imagines #spiderman fic #spiderman fluff #spiderman angst #andrew garfield #spider-man #marvel #mjwrites #tasm

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spider-stark · 19 days

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INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place.

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange.

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown.

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter.

Or, at least, none that mattered.

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do.

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play.

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift.

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether.

And Peter never even asked why.

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?”

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.”

And how true that must have been.

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too.

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night?

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.”

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?!

“Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?”

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.”

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter.

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.”

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.”

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter.

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.”

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used.

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar.

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite.

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.”

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now.

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?”

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.”

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too.

“Did he?”

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.”

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's.

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him.

“Well did he have anything useful?”

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter.

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups.

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0.

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration.

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear.

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?”

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation.

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.”

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite.

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?”

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.”

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?”

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch.

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?”

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him.

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.”

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.”

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.”

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth.

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.”

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?”

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?”

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.”

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now!

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-”

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!”

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.”

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief.

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded.

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere.

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now.

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down…

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.”

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell.

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered.

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night?

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.”

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips.

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world.

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all.

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone.

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting.

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway.

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!”

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!”

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else.

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?”

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?”

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.”

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse.

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully.

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter.

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!”

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.”

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?”

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task.

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway.

“Mj happened.”

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?”

“Yep. That’s the one.”

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.”

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.”

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease.

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth.

You sucked in a breath.

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.”

His brow snapped up. “What changed?”

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours.

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth.

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?”

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance.

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.”

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-”

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.”

“I’m not pretending-”

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.”

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.”

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest.

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.”

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?”

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

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spiderfunkz · 3 months

Text

✦ CITY OF STARS.

summary : peter swings you to a perfect late-night date.

word count : 0,6k

warnings : tooth rotting fluff, implied fem!reader, pet names, kisses.

a/n : inspired by this deleted scene!! requests for peter are open if u want to send in ur ideas / prompts ^_^ also kind of inspired by that one scene in atsv where gwen & miles hangout by that tower yk

"let's get out of here." peter whispers, his voice tickles your skin again as he places another kiss on your nose.

you sigh, cupping his cheek, "i can't peter, i told you." you repeat — which not surprisingly causes peter to pout. "why not?"

"because. i have.. homework." you shrug. it's true though, the pile of papers near your desk is practically calling you to be read or marked.

he pouts, again. but he isn't giving up.

"don't look at me like that." you chuckle, your thumb caressing peter's cheek, running through his freckles.

"like what?"

"with your big brown doe eyes."

peter tries a bit more. the more you make eye contact with him, the harder it is to say no.

"fine. but you seriously have to get blue contacts, peter." you let go of his cheek.

"yes, ma'am." he nods. you couldn't tell if he's joking or not, but it's funny either way.

he gets up and grabs his backpack, it seems heavier than usual. "grab your jacket, bub. it's gonna be cold."

"where are you taking me?"

"secret."

"that doesn't sound creepy at all."

"come on. trust me." peter's waiting near the window. "are you gonna take me on a swing?"

peter puts his beanie on. "does the hat give it away?" he asks, the spiderman crochet beanie in bright red staring right at you.

you smile. "yeah it kinda does."

peter tucks the loose hair behind your ear before helping you out the window, and before you know it you're one with the wind. and also with new york's pollution.

peter's gentle, one hand holding your waist and the other thwip! -ing away at buildings. your hands are wrapped around his neck, face burried in the crook of it. you could smell his cologne, it's the one you like.

you relax at the scent of it. it almost makes you forget that you're meters up in the air.

but then your shoes touch ground.

it was a ledge of a clock tower. it's not steep, it's actually very spacey up here. if you think about it you could probably fit a picnic up here, a small hangout even with a few friends.

"you good?" peter lets go, "yeah. this is cozy." you say, fixing your sweater. "don't you think people will see us here?" you ask.

"no. but. if they do-" peter opens his bag, "i got back up." he reveals a beanie, like the one he's wearing, it's a spiderman one too but with different colours.

it's white with pink outlines.

"we're matching!" peter puts the beanie on you. it fits perfectly, "that's so cute peter. do i get to keep it?" — "of course. made it just for you. besides i don't think people can spot us here unless they really, really, really squint. and now when they do, they'll just see our hats."

you nod. peter gestures for you to sit.

"i got more stuff." he smiles, teeth showing, teasingly.

you roll your eyes at him before sitting next to the empty space beside him.

he pulls out two takeout boxes, followed by the plastic eating utensils, and some water, and some more.

"oh. wow." you say, impressed.

you weren't kidding. you could fit a picnic here.

"what're you waiting for? dig in!" peter passes your takeout. "i got your favorite too."

"aw. thank you, peter." you give him a kiss. "i'll get you ice cream after this. or whenever you feel like ice cream." you give him another kiss.

"thank you!" he gasps, dramatically. "that is everything i have ever wanted." peter replies.

you smile, "this is everything i have ever wanted."

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headkiss · 11 months

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Peter standing up as a groomsmen for someone's wedding and he sees reader in the audience tearing up and he mouthes I love you to her 😭🫶🏾🥺

peter is such a loverboy </333 thank u for requesting this is a short and sweet one!

Weddings have always made you emotional. They’re a beautiful thing, especially when they’re people you know.

And somehow, now that you’re in love yourself, they get you even more. Peter stands on the groom's side, his suit crisp and hugging him perfectly. He looks as pretty as ever.

You’re sitting a couple of rows back with the rest of the guests, and though you’re meant to be watching the couple that’s saying their vows right then, your eyes keep flicking over to Peter.

Listening to the words the couple says, the happiness and the watery laughs, your eyes well up pretty quick. As if he can sense it, Peter’s eyes meet yours in the crowd, and he huffs a small laugh when he notices you trying to fan away your tears.

He shakes his head at you with a wide smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

Looking at him up there, it makes everything even more special. Because you know what it’s like to love someone that way. To want to shout it out to anyone who’s listening. To know that you’re loved the exact same way.

Peter’s done that for you.

You wipe the first tear that falls down your cheek quickly, glancing up to the sky to try and reign it in. When you look back, Peter’s still looking at you.

‘Stop,’ you mouth at him, like he’s the one making you cry these tears of joy and overwhelming emotion.

He just shakes his head again. Then, his lips move, shaping the words ‘I love you.’

Just like that, as the couple says they do and you mouth the three words right back to Peter, another tear falls down your cheek.

When the couple walks down the aisle, hands clasped and smiles stretching their faces, you stand with the crowd, clapping for them. Peter finds you quickly, pulling the handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbing your tears away for you.

“You’re a wedding crier,” he says, a hand pinching your chin gently to keep your face tilted to his, the other wiping away the small mascara smudges under your eyes.

“I can't help it. It’s so sweet.”

He dips down to kiss your cheek, then your mouth. It’s quick but it tells you enough.

“I love you, bug. Wedding tears and all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you push his hair off his forehead. “I love you, too.”

Yeah, it’s nice to be loved enough that you’d never question it, that the words come easier each time.

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chloe-skywalker · 2 months

Text

Both Lost Something - Peter Parker

Peter Parker x Fem!reader Stark

Warnings: mention of Tony’s death

Word count: 483

Summary: Peter & Y/n comforting each other after Tony’s death.

Masterlist

Avengers Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Are they going to be okay?” Sam asked out loud to the people around them as they all turned to look where Sam was looking. And there by the lake were the two teen’s most affected by Tony’s death.

“I sure hope so.” Steve sighed sadly as they watched Y/n and Peter from afar.

“At least they can lean on each other.” Bucky pointed out. He felt really bad for Y/n. She was always kind to him and while he was gone due to the snap Y/n had.

“He lost his mentor and she lot her father. Granted for the first 8 years of her life Tony was pretty absent. But once he became Iron Man he was there for her as much as he could be. Even canceling things to spend time with her.” Pepper told them with a watery smile as she watched the girl that became like a daughter to her.

“Peter lost his parents young. Then was moved into the custody of May and his uncle. But not long after his uncle passed. Tony was more than a mentor to him.” Happy added with a tight sad smile.

Sam shook his head, running a hand down his face. “These kids have been through enough.”

“Agreed.” Bucky nodded and it shocked Sam and Bucky that they agreed on something. Shocked the other’s as well, but not as much as normal considering the topic and they all knew Y/n was pretty close to Bucky. And they could all agree with Sam.

Over by the water down at the edge of the lake. Y/n and Peter stood together looking out towards the water. It was peaceful.

“I’m sorry, Peter.” Y/n said to him as she leant her head on his shoulder. Y/n knew her dad meant more to Peter than just a friend or mentor. So she knew it had to be hard for him.

“I’m sorry too, Y/n. He was your father.” Peter spoke, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

“He acted like one to you as well.” She squeezed his hand and nuzzled her head into his neck. “At least you knew the best version of him.”

Peter grimaces a little. “I guess it sucks that he wasn’t always so close to you huh?”

Y/n nodded with a sad smile on her lips. “Yeah, it did. But he more than made up for it.”

Peter smiled at that. Knowing how good the father and daughter relationship had gotten over the years.

“I believe he loved you more than anything. You and Morgan.” Peter pointed out while placing a kiss on her temple.

“Me too. And I think you can include yourself in that as well. He saw you as a son.” Y/n sighs contently. They both turned their heads to look at each other with small smiles.

Taglist: @gruffle1 @padawancat97 @starkleila

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ruewrote · 3 months

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𝑠𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

PAIRING: peter parker x gn!reader WARNINGS: arguing, strong language GENRE: angst SONG INSPIRATION: naked by james arthur WORD COUNT: 440

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you couldn't keep doing this with him. finally coming to the terms that peter would never truly choose you. him being out every single night without fail proved that.

today everything changes, you choose yourself instead of him.

there had been one too many date nights cancelled, one too many times that he'd slip into bed with you not knowing that you were still awake with tear stained cheeks.

what was the point anymore? you barely saw him as is.

loving him with all your might to only get little to nothing in return was draining.

if it wasn't the relationship or lack there of, it was your job. your boss asking too much too late, your family were there for you, but you could feel their constant concern and worry.

dark circles formed under your eyes from the little to no sleep you were getting, hair almost always a mess since when you did sleep you would wake up late and had to rush out of the door.

back to laying in your shared bed alone for what felt like the millionth time.

you just couldn't take it anymore and why should you?

that lead to you hurriedly packing your bags, already calling your sister and letting her know what was happening and she welcomed you into her home with open arms.

it was late when you arrived, so you quietly moved your stuff into her guest room, her bidding you a goodnight as the door closes. you were left alone again with your thoughts.

phone vibrating in your hand as pete's texts rolled in. asking where you were and if you were okay, just leaving him on read before completely turning off your phone.

you don't owe him an explanation, you didn't owe him jackshit. not for the way he treats you.

flopping down onto the bed, rolling yourself up into the covers not bothering to change.

tears fill your eyes when you think about how different he used to be, just your cute nerdy boyfriend. the one that would facetime you when he was building his new lego set, the one that would drop everything that he had going on to look after you when you were sick.

the same guy who was too shy to ask you out so he wrote little love notes and only up until you caught him in the act then he confessed his feelings for you.

it all changed when he got bit by that stupid spider, as much as you love spiderman, you loved peter parker more.

you just wanted your boyfriend back. was that too much to ask for?

possible part two...

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cameronspecial · 10 months

Text

Masterlist

Welcome to my writing! Hope you find what you are looking for and if you don’t, then requests are open but I only really look at them for inspiration so no guarantees it gets written! Also just comment or send me a message if you want to be a part of any of my taglists.

Rafe Cameron

Drew Starkey

Zach MacLaren

Anthony Lockwood

George Karim

Evan Buckley

Tom Holland

Peter Parker

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6rookie-writer0110 · 4 months

Text

Crash into my world again

Peter Parker x Male Reader

Request: Tom Peter Parker x male reader, then reuniting after the blip

After winning the fight against Thanos and his army, everyone started to cheer. The Avengers started to check up on each other and Peter starts to search for you. But so far he can't find you, the other Avengers start to help Peter look for you. Peter didn't want to give up

“I have to keep looking for him,” Peter said.

“We will keep looking. We will start tomorrow again to look for him” Tony said.

“Okay,” Peter said in a low voice.

Everyone goes home and Peter can't stop thinking about you. He lies on the bed and old memories come up. He starts to fall asleep and he didn't bother taking off the suit.

The next day... Peter opened his eyes and he starts to yawn. He sat up then starts to rub his eyes

“Peter?” You said.

“Y/n is that really you?” Peter asked.

He stood up fast and he ran towards you, he wrapped his arms around you tight. You did the same and you start to hug him, Peter starts to cry and he doesn't let go of you.

“I missed you so much, Y/n” Peter cried.

“I missed you too. But I don't remember what happened after...” You said

Peter kissed you and his hand is on your cheek. You wipe his tears away and he starts to smile at you.

“You have been gone for five years. I missed you so much. I can't lose you again, Y/n” Peter said

“This time we won't lose each other,” You said

You and Peter keep smiling at each other. Peter starts to tell you what happened in the past five years.

Before the snap, you and Peter moved in together for the first time. Everything is going well, sometimes you would help Peter to fix his suit. You and Peter were happy but you got caught in the snap, then Peter broke down.

“I just remember that I was waiting for you for our date, then from there everything is a blur,” You said.

“Now that you are here, we can be together,” Peter said.

“Yeah, I want that too” You smiled.

Peter hugged you again, his face on your neck.

---

You and Peter became very affectionate with each other. He can't stop smiling that you are back and he is making you feel happy.

Peter wants to spend the day with you only. Peter takes you ice skating, and while skating you are holding his hand a little tight. He doesn't let go, and you and Peter start to skate around the ice rink.

“This is fun,” You said.

“I missed doing this with you,” Peter said.

“Me too,” You said.

After a while of skating, you and Peter went somewhere to eat. Then you and Peter go home, changed clothes then started to watch movies while he cuddles with you.

✫ ✯ ✯ ✬

Peter is home and he can't wait for you to come home. He bought a Christmas tree and he didn't tell you about it. You come home with bags and you are surprised about the tree.

“You really bought a Christmas tree?” You asked.

“Yeah! I couldn't wait and I knew this is the perfect tree. So... So what do you think? We just need to decorate the tree” Peter smiled.

“But we don't have decorations,” You said.

Peter points at the bags on the couch. For days, Peter has been planning everything that you two can do together as a couple. You went shopping and bought gifts for him, but you have to hide them before he finds out. You went to the room to hide it then changed clothes, then you went to help Peter decorate the living room, Christmas tree, and the windows. Peter put the star on top of the tree then you turn on the Christmas lights.

“I think the tree looks great!” Peter smiled.

“I definitely agree. Let's eat” You said.

“Yeah, I'm starving,” Peter said.

You followed Peter to the kitchen. You and Peter will try to cook chicken and spaghetti. You two go online and look up how to grill a chicken and for how long. The first chicken was ruined, but you two tried again and it came out perfect. Then you help Peter cook the spaghetti then he added the tomato sauce.

“See I told you that I am a chef” Peter joked.

“You burned the chicken,” You said.

“That was you, not me, Y/n,” Peter said.

“The other way around,” You said.

Peter kissed you on the lips.

“It’s cute that you are jealous” Peter smiled.

“Shut up -and let's eat” You laughed.

You and Peter sit down and start to eat together.

---

You and Peter go to Tony’s New Year's Eve party. He saw you two then he hugged you and Peter tight, he is a little tipsy.

“So glad, you two came. Have fun and everyone is here... Oh! There is food and drinks” Tony said.

“Thanks,” You said.

Tony walked away and you noticed everyone is having fun.

“He seems very happy,” You said.

“Yeah,” Peter said.

You and Peter talked to a few people and then got something to drink. You took a few selfies with your boyfriend, then he gave you a peck on the lips.

#peter parker fanfic #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #peter parker x male reader #x male reader #male!reader #male reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman x male reader #marvel x reader #marvel x male reader #male reader imagine

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ichorai · 10 months

Text

particles ; peter parker.

track eight of BROKEN MACHINE.

prequel to spiderling!

pairing ; peter parker x stark!reader (gender neutral), dad!tony x reader

synopsis ; tony gives peter the dreaded 'dad' talk.

words ; 2.8k

themes ; fluff, mild comedy

warnings / includes ; set right at the end of homecoming era & onwards, mild cursing, peter is so endearingly awkward, tony being a good dad :(

a/n ; another part is in the works to be set during the events of infinity war/endgame!

main masterlist.

The Avengers compound was all sleek edges, clean cool-tones, and large floor-to-ceiling windows with not a speck of dust to be seen. It was an intimidating environment, to say the least. What made things worse was Mr. Stark’s hand on his shoulder and the hopeful gleam to his eyes.

The team, he had said. Tony wanted him to join the Avengers.

And with the brand new suit displayed in front of him, too… it was nearly impossible to say no.

Nearly.

When Peter stammered out a polite decline, Tony had looked at him above his lowered sunglasses, incredulous.

“You’re turning me down?” he said, heavy with disbelief. “You better think about this, kid.”

There was a long pause.

“Last chance, yes or no?”

Of course he wanted to say yes—to be in the Avengers, work with Iron Man himself… that was his dream. But he couldn’t. Someone had to look out for the little guy, right? And who better than the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?

“No,” Peter replied.

Not at all used to being rejected, Tony struggled for words for a moment, before reluctantly accepting Peter’s decision, masking his disappointment fairly well. He liked the kid, and it wasn’t exactly fun to have him slip through his fingers like this. With a wave of his hand at Happy, he told him that he’d be driven home.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. Truly,” Peter hastily said, certain that he’d made the right decision.

Preoccupied thinking about what he was going to tell the fifty reporters waiting behind the doors, Tony absentmindedly quipped, “Yes, uh, very well, Mr. Parker.”

Peter left with a proud grin and a skip to his step, nodding when Happy asked him to wait in the car.

Before he could make his way out, however, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“That was really ballsy, what you did back there,” you said, observing him with an amused expression, eyes narrowed with curiosity. Peter blinked, recognizing you almost immediately. “Not a lot of people would leave my dad hanging like that.”

With a widened stare, Peter found all the words stuck in his throat. You were much more breathtaking in person, with an intrigued air about you. Though your features took more after your mother, who’d passed away many years ago, Peter noticed that you shared Tony’s smile.

“Uh… yeah,” was all Peter could lamely say.

The subtle beam curving your lips seemed to grow wider. You hummed, soft and lilting, languidly stepping forward with a nod. “Hope to see you around then, Peter.” You took his hand, sliding a folded piece of paper into his palm. “Give me a call if you ever need anything. Or if you just need a friend to talk to, I’m all ears. It’s a private phone—my dad doesn’t know about it. He gets really uptight about me talking to strangers but… you’re not really a stranger, are you? At least, not for long.”

Shocked, Peter could only open and shut his mouth, as if he were a fish out of water.

“I, uhm… thank you. I’ll definitely, uh, definitely take you up on that offer,” he choked out, nodding emphatically.

You gave him a warm smile, accompanied by a two-fingered salute, and in turn, he waved goodbye, palms drenched with sweat as he hurriedly backed away to the car before Happy could yell at him.

Cute, you thought with an amused shake of your head, before making your way back to your dad, who was still muttering under his breath about how he couldn’t believe a fifteen year old had just turned him down.

Your phone number stared at him every day for the next week. The numbers were hastily scribbled down in blue ink, smudged ever so slightly by the crease of the fold during your rush, but you’d taken the time to draw a smiley face right beneath the last digit. It never failed to make Peter smile every time he gave it a glance.

It took him three days to psyche himself up to even considering calling you, and another three to actually add you to your contacts, his thumb hovering over the call button far too often than he’d like to admit. On the seventh day, Peter pressed with a sharp inhale.

Three rings trilled by.

Peter wondered if you were going to pick up. He wouldn’t really be surprised if you didn’t—you were a busy person, probably, and didn’t have the time to take calls from people like him.

Another ring. And suddenly, your voice reverberated through. Peter sat up on his bed, spine straightening as if it were an iron rod.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! Hi!” he said, voice abnormally high-pitched. He cleared his throat and nervously added, “It’s Peter. Peter Parker?”

A laugh echoed in his ear. He could picture your humored smile. “Yeah, I remember. It’s nice to hear from you—thought you’d never call.”

“You were waiting?”

“Of course, I was. I wouldn’t have given you my number if I didn’t want you to call.”

Warm relief surged through his veins, accompanied by a flustered coil winding within his abdomen. “Cool, cool… so, uh, I don’t want to be too forward or anything but I think you’re… so cool and uhm—” A pause. Was Peter really asking you out on an impulsive date? “Would you wanna hang out?”

On the other end of the line, you blinked in surprise, not expecting his sudden forwardness. You shifted the phone in your palm. “Right now?” It was a good thing you weren’t busy, having caught up on all your assignments and projects. Besides—you couldn’t remember the last time you properly went out into the city with someone other than Happy, Pepper, or your dad.

“Uh… if you’re not busy, that is.”

“You know what—sure. Why the hell not?” you replied, grinning.

Peter did a double-take. “Wait—really?”

“Yes, really. I’d love to spend some time with you, Peter.”

Now it was his turn to smile, pink dusting across his cheekbones. “Great. I’ll text you where to meet, then?”

“Sure, Peter.”

After the call ended, you were quick to change into appropriate attire, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself. You donned a soft grey hoodie and baggy black jeans, slipping out of your room a few minutes later. The location Peter had sent you was a quaint little library not too far from where you lived, within a manageable walking distance. You were glad that you wouldn’t have to ask Happy to drive you, because knowing your godfather, he’d be hovering over Peter like a vulture.

Just as you were about to slip out, your tote bag slung over your shoulder, Tony popped his head out of the living room, quirking a brow.

“Hey, kid,” he cautiously greeted. “Where you goin’?”

You froze with one foot out of the door. “Library,” you answered, trying you best to appear nonchalant.

“Hm. Which library?”

With a frown marring your lips, you crossed your arms. “Jeez, dad, whichever library! I’m sure there’s, like, a dozen in a five-mile radius.”

Mirroring your attitude, Tony mimicked your squared jaw and rolled his eyes. “You know, if you wanted to hang out with that kid Peter, you could’ve just asked.”

A beat of silence. You narrowed your eyes at your dad. “How do you know about that?”

Tony let out a loud guffaw. “What? You don’t think I didn’t know you bought yourself your own phone? Are you forgetting that your pops is Tony Stark himself? God, kid, you were just like me when I was your age.” He paused at that, rethinking what he just said. “Well, actually, I was way worse.”

He strode forward, smoothing his hands down the sleeves of your hoodie and patting your shoulders. It wasn’t often that Tony was overly affectionate with you, but whenever he was, you always appreciated how genuine he would be.

After pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, he gently nudged you out the door. “Go on. Get! Scat!” He made shooing motions with his hands. “If you don’t get back by sundown, I’ll have Happy hunt you down and kill the kid town executioner style.” At your scowl, Tony was quick to tack on, “Joking! I’m joking.”

“Bye, dad,” you said huffily, though the affection in your tone was unmistakable. With that, you turned to leave, fishing out your phone to text Peter that you were on your way.

“They grow up so fast,” a voice mused from over Tony’s shoulder, welling with emotion.

He flinched at his friend’s sudden presence, slamming the door shut. “Jesus Christ, Happy, don’t scare me like that!”

The months flew by in a breeze. You and Peter were now exclusively dating—something that he had asked about early on in your relationship, worriedly gnawing at his bottom lip with the harrowing idea of you turning him down. But you’d been nothing but sweet with him, affectionately pressing your nose into his cheek and telling him that you’d love to be official.

You were lounging on his bed, sprawled over his dark blue comforter, which smelled of fresh laundry detergent and something else entirely Peter that you couldn’t get enough off. He was across the narrow room, hunched over his desk as he hurriedly did his physics homework due the very next day. Idly, you fiddled with the web shooters you had swiped from his bedside table, narrowing your eyes at the wrist fixings and the capsules that held his web fluid.

Only a genius could build something like this on his own, you thought fondly. I’m dating a genius.

It seemed that you had said the last bit out loud, because Peter snorted in amusement.

“Yeah, says you,” he scoffed. “You skipped, like, a dozen grades.”

“Half that, actually. Six grades.”

Peter turned to look at you over his shoulder, arching his brows. “Not to mention your dad is literally the Tony Stark.”

With a hum, you slunk off his bed and languidly draped your arms over his shoulder. “Just take the compliment, Peter,” you said as you pressed a fond kiss to a faint freckle on his cheek. Then, you glanced down at the problem he was solving. “Mmh, don’t forget the negative sign. It’s moving against gravity, no?”

“Right.” He hastily corrected the formula, glancing at you appreciatively. “Thanks.”

“No prob, I make the same mistake all the time,” you quipped. “I’ve been making my own suit with the help of my dad—had to study up a lot on rotational mechanics and material physics. It’s been a pain in the ass.”

Brows raising, Peter dropped his pencil and rotated his chair so he was facing you fully, his knees grazing yours. “What? You’re making your own suit?”

“Yeah,” you said with the beginnings of an excited smile tracing your lips. “I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever become an Avenger like my dad is but… I don’t know. It’s certainly an option.”

A low groan fell from Peter’s throat, and he buried his face in his palms. “You’re telling me we could’ve been in the same team together? Ugh, stop, stop, don’t make me regret turning your dad down.”

“Oh, no, Pete, I think you made the right choice,” you quickly reassured him, tugging his wrists away from his flushed features. “We’re still young. It’s not fair to put that responsibility on our shoulders as of now.”

The brown of his irises softened. “Yeah. We’re still young,” he echoed, ducking his head to kiss your hand clutching his. “You gotta show me that suit of yours one day, though.”

Both you and Peter were strolling around an art museum, arms linked and permanent smiles plastered over your expressions as you pointed at various paintings and sculptures. It was nearly an hour into the date when your phone began buzzing in your pocket, and you hastily let go of Peter’s arm to fish it out.

“Hello?”

“Hey, bugaroo,” Tony’s drawl came through your phone. “Where are you? I’m bored.”

A lopsided grin hung onto the corner of your lips at his words. “I’m with Peter right now.”

“Hm. You guys are behaving yourselves, I hope. You using protection?”

The grin melted off your face and you scowled. “Dad, what the fuck?”

“Hey, language!” he scolded, before chuckling dryly. “God, I’m turning into Cap. Anyways—what’re you thinking for dinner tonight? Does Chinese sound good? You wanna invite the Spider over, too?”

You glanced at Peter, who was ogling an abstract painting with a tilted head and a puzzled expression. He’d never really understood the point of this art style, but when you’d explained to him that art didn’t need to be understood to be considered art, he had grown much more lenient with his views of the chaotic splotches of paint. A small smile traced the corner of your lips as you watched his features contort with every one of his thoughts. Peter truly wore his heart on a sleeve, for everyone to see.

“Yeah, sounds great,” you said into the phone. “We’ll be home in an hour.”

Dinner consisted of warm soup dumplings and stir-fried noodles in flimsy paper boxes.

“Mm, Mr. Stark, these are delicious. I mean, I know you didn’t cook this or anything but it’s still really good,” Peter said around a mouthful of noodles. “Thanks for, uh, inviting me over. It’s an honor, really.”

“Stop sucking up to my dad, Peter,” you snorted, sipping on some iced tea. “He already likes you.”

One of Tony’s brows raised. “When did I ever say that?” At Peter’s slightly mortified expression, Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding. Jokes, kiddo. Don’t piss yourself.”

“Speaking of piss—I’m goin’ to the powder room. Don’t fight while I’m gone,” you unabashedly said, pushing yourself away from the table. You really were your father’s child, Peter thought, mildly amused.

Tony watched you disappear behind a hallway, before fixing his gaze on Peter. The older man drummed his chopsticks by the edge of the table.

“Listen, kid, I know we’re already way past the point of this but as a father—you gotta understand that I have to give you the talk.” It was jarring to see Tony genuinely serious for once. Peter straightened himself subconsciously. “If you ever, ever hurt Y/N, I will stick a rocket up your ass and launch you straight to the moon. Do you understand?”

Peter gulped. “Yes, sir. I got it. You can trust me. I, uh, I really do like Y/N.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“...Yes? I’m sorry, I’m confused, do you not want me to like them?”

An unsatisfied noise fell from Tony’s lips. “Eh. I mean, would I prefer Y/N never ever date anybody and stay locked in their room forever, wasting away in front of a screen? Absolutely. But if it just had to be someone… I’m glad it’s you.”

Peter blinked in surprise. “Wow, Mr. Stark. That’s… thank you. It’s a huge honor. I promise I’ll take good care of them.”

“Yeah, don’t push it, Pete. You guys are barely a decade old.”

“Am I coming off too strong?” he winced, recoiling into his chair slightly.

The man across from him gestured to the small space between his pinched fingers. “Just a bit.”

“I’m actually fif—”

“Fifteen. I know. Y/N, too.”

There was another tense moment of silence as Tony scrutinized the young man.

Finally satisfied, he leaned back in his chair and smiled roguishly. “Phew! Glad that’s over with. In all honesty, if one of you were to hurt the other, it probably wouldn’t be you. I mean, let’s face it, you’re dating my kid, kid.”

Before Peter could respond, you slipped back into the room, your hands propped up on your hips. “Really, dad? Are you trying to scare Peter off?”

Your father gave you a sheepish shrug. “It was worth a shot.”

“I can make my own decisions,” you sternly replied. “You don’t need to hover.”

As you sat back down into the chair beside Tony, he wound an arm over your shoulders. “You know, my dad did the exact opposite of hovering when I was your age. He was always too caught up with work and stuff—barely ever saw the guy. Most birthdays n’ holidays and whatnot, he was never around. I don’t know, I just… I don’t want to be like my dad.”

Your features softened with his admission, and you turned to rope him into a proper hug.

When you pulled away, Peter nervously cleared his throat. “I, uh, for the record—I don’t think you can ever scare me off. Not even after going to the moon with a rocket up my ass.”

Tony glared at him, though there was a slight smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Watch it, kid.”

“Sorry.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x you #marvel fanfiction #peter parker angst #marvel angst #mcu!peter x reader #peter parker fluff #mcu!peter parker #mcu!peter parker fanfiction #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #spiderman fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #spiderman fluff #spiderman angst #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker imagines #peter parker drabbles

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devotion · 1 year

Text

only you | p.p

summary: peter needs you after his patience snaps.

w/c: 1.1k+ | p.p masterlist

warnings: swears? tiniest bit of angst, fluff (should fluff really be a warning tho?)

prompts: kitchen counter make-outs | “i’ve had a terrible day at work so just kiss me”

notes: when i read this before continuing this wip after so so long, i realised that it was inspired by a spidey/venom comic i read in march/april so... idk which one it was but hopefully you don’t need much context. also, i love (v)eddie, but for the purpose of this blurb.... i do not. (i do.)

・──・──────── ⋆✦⋆ ────────・──・⁣⁣

peter’s hot-headed, irate and enervated whilst a throbbing headache troubles him.

there are a number of conspicuous changes in his behaviour that you notice instantly when he’s like this; along with his clenched jaw, his fist closed into a tight ball has his upper arm bulging out of his t-shirt, and one specific vein more prominent than ever, you would go out your way to consider that this attitude in some way is lewd. but not when he has the super-strength to punch through the wall with his bare hands and you both have to suffer the consequences of it.

it’s more than evident when you see the steam emitting from his ears, as his figure storms through the front door. peter’s composure only seems to settle the slightest bit when he turns around to lock it. his arm then rests on the doorframe, followed by his head.

he comes through to the living room of your usually humbling home that you two share, rips his bag off his shoulder and throws it off to the far end of the room, whereupon you hear a tear from behind him as he does so. a series of cracks sound after his bag hits the wall. it makes you cringe badly.

by the looks of it, not only has he tore the wallpaper, but he’s cracked the wall behind.

peter, realising what he’s just done, begins to blurt out to apologise, “i-”

“—no. just... water first,” you cut him off, leaving to the kitchen to fetch a glass.

rubbing the back of his neck as he pads to the kitchen, he sees you fill it with the water filter once he’s there. your eyes dart towards him in the doorway, moving to go get some ice from the freezer.

you’re surprised he’s simmered down so quickly, but you know him best — he isn’t one to be enraged for too long. now that he’s caused damage to the wall in the living room, he definitely shouldn’t be anyway.

when you give him it, he’s relocated to the counter behind you, accepting the glass when you offer him it.

peter mumbles a thank you before drinking, then waits for a moment or two for you to meet his gaze. after downing it whole, a hand finds yours, causing you to look up. he maintains eye contact whilst he starts with, “i’m sorry, baby. i really am.”

your eyebrows raise to indicate that he explains further. his shoulders slump.

“he’s pissing me off,” he admits, voice tremulous, “so so much, y/n.”

“who?” you squeeze his hand.

“you know...” he replies, before you squint an eye, tilting your head ever so slightly to indicate that you, in fact, don’t know. “eddie...” peter comes out with before he sighs, “it’s eddie.”

your mouth turns in an ‘o’ as he hands you back the glass. he’s mentioned a friend that he’s known for a long time, but the problem is that he’s become somewhat of an adversary as of recently. a walking havoc, new york thinks, and a hulking and distorted version of your boyfriend’s alter-ego.

“he does everything he can to show me that i’m some kinda wimp to not have done anything about kasady,” he observes in annoyance, “in every. possible. way.”

“he’s gonna let it go some day, pete,” you try to convince him, to no avail since he begins to roll his eyes and replies with, “it’s been 3 months. he’s even got a job at the bugle.”

he contemplates loudly, “he killed him though, so what’s left?” he laughs before shaking his head, “stupid bastard.”

“weren’t you once friends with said bastard?” you tease.

“and i fought tooth and nail to get him away from me when he sabotaged everything we had: our trust.”

and with that, peter’s reminded of the relentless ordeal he's having to endure with eddie. it must be the nonsensical alien in his mind.

“no way am i letting you talk to him.”

too late. you met at a party weeks ago.

“wasn’t fucking gonna anyway,” you huff, having no intention to in the first place, “he’s like a smidge hot but he’s not...” you move your hands in an attempt to try to explain what you’re about to say, mouth fumbling for the right words, continuing instead with: “you know, a hero, if you will.”

“yeah,” he smirks mockingly, tongue clicking against his cheek, “hero, my ass.”

he thinks about the thing that’s nagging him, one that eddie confessed to him just half an hour ago. he trusts you, with everything and anything, but the image of eddie sweeping up your feet torments him.

you’re noticing his demeanour again, shifting to what seems to be more angry, “that bad, huh? i—”

“—he likes you!”

startled, your eyes meet his — seeing him look down and away; poor peter thinks that you knowing that will ever change your feelings for him, that eddie has a chance with you. it’s all a ruse. why would you ever think of doing so, when you have the paragon of a boyfriend right in front of you, in your heart and forevermore?

then your hands proceed to his shoulders to gain his attention, letting them rest there before you rub them.

“peter, i know.”

“look, i don’t li- wait... what? how?” his eyebrows relax, eyes softening. it was stupid thinking you hadn’t bumped into him yet.

there’s a few moments of silence as he gazes at you, unnecessary insecurities gnawing at him briefly before he lets it go to ask in a whisper: “why didn’t you tell me?”

“because he means shit to me, sweetheart,” you urge, “i don't have an ounce of love for him, i don’t see him that way.”

the jealousy vanishes into thin air as you say that, leaving him feeling feeble-minded that he ever even thought about eddie with you. you continue to reassure him, “better yet, i’ve never really thought about it. you shouldn’t either.”

“fine,” he nods, sighing, “i’m so-”

“stop apologising, pete, just... forget about it, it’s okay.” you bring his head towards your chest, and he nestles in the midst of it.

all until he grabs the underside of your thighs, spinning you a hundred and eighty degrees so your bum sits comfortably on the counter.

he beseeches you, “i’ve had a terrible day, though, so just please... please kiss me.” he pouts. “tell me i’m yours, baby.”

your palm rests against his cheek, grinning, “you’re mine, pete. always have been, always will be.”

when your lips meet his, he smiles into it instantly, the ache in his heart recovering. his arms embrace you whole as he leans into you, desperate, and you taste nothing but the burning kick inviting on his tongue. it tells you only one thing, which only you’re able to discern as such.

you pull away, wiping the moisture that’s evident next to his mouth. “upstairs?”

he nods fervently.

・──・──────── ⋆✦⋆ ────────・──・⁣⁣

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babyflorencee · 4 months

Text

Florence's Masterlist of hot guys

I'd love to hear any requests that you may have for these five actors and the character that they portray!! 💋♥️

Gilbert Blythe

𓇼Jealousy

Dylan O’brien

𓇼Raindrop Romance and Puppy Dog Eyes

𓇼 My Flannel

𓇼Ignored ignorance

𓇼I love you

𓇼Fuck it

Timothée Chalamet

𓇼Hair dye

𓇼Only one bed

𓇼Peach Boy

𓇼Pretty boy

𓇼Worries and apologies

𓇼Books, pillow talks, and an attention-craving boy

𓇼Sleepy

𓇼You're stuck with me

𓇼Hair tie

𓇼Stop taking your hands out of mine

𓇼Cigarettes

Cillian Murphy

𓇼Haunted house

Andrew Garfield

𓇼Do I make you nervous?

𓇼P.s I love you

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spider-stark · 1 month

Text

INFINITELY YOU

part one // back at the beginning

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 5.4k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //

The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.

It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.

“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”

God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.

Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”

Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.

With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.

She was dead—Aunt May was dead.

And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.

“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”

You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.

But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.

You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…

Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.

“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”

He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this…

Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.

“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.

“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?

But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”

You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…

You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.

And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her.

She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.

“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”

It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.

They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.

And it still made you angry.

“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.

“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”

He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.

She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”

Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.

“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”

Understand.

If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.

Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.

You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.

At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”

“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”

“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”

Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.

You weren’t used to this.

Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.

“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”

It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.

Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.

You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.

Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.

The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.

It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.

You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…

This was different, somehow.

It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.

It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.

Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.

But Peter wasn’t like other people.

Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.

His eyes couldn't lie, though.

Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.

They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.

“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.

Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.

His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.

“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”

You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”

You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.

Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?

It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.

It wouldn’t bring May back to life.

“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”

Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”

You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.

“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”

You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.

Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.

Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.

But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.

“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”

You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”

He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.

“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”

“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.

Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.

“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”

You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”

“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”

A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”

He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”

His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.

You knew better than to think he meant it.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.

Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.

But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.

You were good at expressing anger, though.

You were very good at expressing anger.

After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.

And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.

By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.

But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.

There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.

Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.

The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.

Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.

It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.

“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.

The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.

Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”

“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”

You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.

“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”

Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.

“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.

His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”

His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.

You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.

The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.

Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.

And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”

For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.

“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”

Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.

Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.

And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.

“I will,” you promised.

Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.

The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.

“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”

He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”

The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”

He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”

“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”

“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.

“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”

“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.

You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”

The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.

“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”

The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.

“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”

Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.

You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.

“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”

“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”

Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.

“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.

Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”

The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.

“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.

Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”

He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.

“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”

Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.

A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.

Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.

“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”

You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”

Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.

“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”

He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.

“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.

You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.

He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”

You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.

“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.

There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.

But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.

Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”

This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.

series masterlist

a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.

if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!

part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st

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spiderfunkz · 6 months

Text

✦ A VELVET NIGHT.

— summary : she might want a kiss, before the end of the song!

— word count : 0,5k

— warnings : tooth-rotting fluff, fem!reader, established relationship, pet names, teasing, peter & r share an apartment together.

a/n : so basically peter takes reader to a concert but in a classic spiderman style. also god knows how many times i've used that summary😛😛

peter got used to the loudness of new york nights, during swings and late night patrols, the noise felt like a rhythm almost. a sort-of familiar melody in his ears.

yes, the constant traffic noise and honking can be annoying at times, but it's nice knowing you're not really alone during the sleepless patrols.

peter recognizes most of the noises. the tune coming from a jazz bar somewhere, the sounds of endless honking from tired workers & the occasional yelling from apartments. but this night, there was music and lights peter had never heard or seen yet.

it was coming from a hidden place, not visible unless you really, really try. it was nicely tucked between a few tall buildings and an old fancy restaurant.

peter peaked from a rooftop, observing the area. the lights and music were coming from a concert down below. a band seemed to be performing as a decent crowd dance and sing all together.

shit, was this the concert you've been talking about for the past weeks? the concert peter wanted to take you, but couldn't find tickets for?

i think it just started, peter whispers.

he spots a couple, resembling you and peter, they seemed so happy, swaying around to the song as they smile so brightly at each other.

peter sighs, swinging away, knowing he should've tried harder to get the tickets even though you've already repeated a million times that it's okay and it's not that big of a deal.

he lands at the shared apartment, specifically by your fire escape. before knocking, he pauses for a moment, observing you all huddled up in bed, reading. then he spots a dress you just got back from the laundry.

peter gets an idea.

knocking on your window, quite aggressively— "y/n! open the window!" he muffles. his spider-man mask in his mouth.

you groan, putting your book down.

"do you not know we have a front door, peter? or do you just prefer looking like a stalker every night knocking on my window?" you unlock.

"yes and yes." he nods, "also, get dressed. quick."

"for what?" you raise your brow.

"just get dressed."

"this sounds like a kidnapping."

peter scoffs, "i can guarantee you i'm not, just- do you remember that concert you've been talking about?"

you nod.

"just get dressed, bub." he repeats.

you look at him, confused and excited. you quickly get dressed, grabbing the leather jacket peter gifted you, "i'm all dressed." you smile.

"perfect, now how would you like to go for a swing again?" he gestures.

landing on the rooftop, peter carefully lets go of your waist as you gain balance. "careful. okay, follow me." he holds your hand, guiding you near the edge of the rooftop.

"there." peter points at the concert, you could hear the music even if it's a bit muffled. the view was wonderful too, it's a bit far, but not too far.

"i'm sorry i couldn't get you a ticket." peter pouts, his spider-man mask nowhere to be seen. "it's okay, peter. this is perfect." you smile, sitting near the edge, admiring the band that's playing.

peter sits beside you, "yeah, but we could've been down there, with the lights and festival stuff."

"so? i'm up here with you, and that's perfect." you kiss his cheek.

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headkiss · 4 months

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omg for a little christmas request!! how about pete buying reader a cute christmas plushie cos he knows you love them 😭 this is definitely not because I saw this ADORABLE reindeer plushie recently and I wanted it so bad but didn’t get it </3

mal my love!!! tysm for this request i hope u like it <333 | 0.8k words of christmas fluff with our boyfriend peter!!!!

Peter thinks of you often.

He has ever since he’d met you. And now that he can call you his and have it be true, he only thinks of you more. When he sees your favorite restaurant, when he thinks of a joke you’d find funny, all the time.

Not that he’d ever complain. There are far worse things to think about than the person he loves.

Peter stops in the shop by your apartment building on his way home, which he does often. Only now, it’s filled with holiday items, decorated with a wreath on the door. The bell chimes when he walks in, where he’s met with ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham! playing through the speakers.

He walks between the aisles, waving at the cashier when he says hello. Grabbing some snacks, Peter’s about to head up to the counter until he sees a small reindeer plushie sitting on the shelf. And he thinks of you again.

You’ve got a small collection of plushies at home, a little floating shelf dedicated to them in your bedroom. Sure, you already have some, but Peter picks it up anyways ‘cause he knows you’ll like it.

He leaves with a bit more of a pep in his step, excited to surprise you when he gets home.

The walk to the building is quick, though he’d debated swinging just to get there even quicker. In the end, walking is good enough, and he’s tugging his keys from his pocket as he walks up to the door.

Opening it, Peter instantly feels calmer. He always seems to be on edge, his senses waiting for something to tip them off. But when he walks into your apartment, everything goes a little quieter.

He’s never felt so at home as he does with you, in your shared apartment. Coming home to your shoes by the door, the smell of your favorite scented candle, and most importantly, you.

Sometimes cooking, his socks bunched around your ankles. Sometimes on the couch, accidentally asleep with the TV on. But no matter where he finds you, you’re there, and that’s all he could ever ask for.

Today, he finds you reading on the couch, your legs tucked beneath you. He sets his bag down on the kitchen counter, keeping the plushie behind his back, before walking over.

“Hey, honey,” he says, soft and sweet.

You’d been too deep into your reading to notice him getting home, but you peek up when you hear his voice. “Hi, Peter.”

The smile sneaks onto your face as you say it, his presence enough to make you happier. He’s the best boyfriend you could ever have. Gentle and caring, far too kind, and completely yours.

A matching smile is on his face, too.

Peter reaches out one hand, the other still behind his back, and tugs your book from your grasp, making sure to mark the page before setting it down.

“Close your eyes,” he tells you.

And, because he’s Peter, and because you trust him, you do.

“What are you up to?”

“Shhh. I’m giving you a present.”

“It’s not Christmas yet.”

“Doesn’t have to be Christmas for me to want to give you a gift, honey.” He sits down next to you, his free hand placed warmly on your leg. “Okay, now hold your hands out.”

Obeying, you place your hands, palm up, in front of you. Your eyes are squinted shut, resisting the urge to sneak a look, but you know he’d catch you if you did.

“If this is a bug or something, Peter, I swear-”

“You think I would give you a bug? With the way you’re scared of those things?” He squeezes your leg. “Come on, honey. I wouldn’t.”

Peter places the plushie in your hands, waiting a second before telling you to open your eyes. He’s grinning at your reaction when you do.

Looking at what you’re holding, you see a cute reindeer plushie, its eyes sparkly, the fur soft. Your heart swells a little at the thought of Peter seeing it and thinking of you.

You gasp, looking over at Peter, who’s got a shy smile on his face, his cheeks a little pink. “Peter! It’s so cute. Thank you.”

“Thought you could add something festive to your collection.”

You set the reindeer aside, opting to cup his jaw and kiss him quick instead. When you pull back, the pink of his cheeks is a little darker.

“You’re so sweet,” you tell him. “I got lucky.”

And you did. You feel that way with every single day you get to have with him, every morning you wake up next to him. It feels like Christmas all of the time, living with Peter Parker.

“A deer for my dear,” he says.

You push his shoulder, “ew, Peter. That was bad.”

You’re still smiling, though.

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rancidpancakebatter · 1 year

Text

Love n' Locs | {P.P.}

Pairings: MCU!Peter Parker x Black!Female!Reader

Summary: Peter, your love, helps you with your hair. (Takes place after nwh)

Word Count: 4.4k words

Content Warnings: Minors DNI Smut (female receiving), shower sex, multiple orgasms, swearing, May's death is mentioned briefly but nothing graphic, tooth-rotting fluff that made me cry while writing it

( Masterlist )

A/N: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH!!! I PROMISE TO BE AS INSUFFERABLE AS POSSIBLE!!! (and also to not write angsty black!reader fics during this time because we have suffered enough. Only Joy <3 )

You had the sweetest boyfriend in the whole world. He was so lovely and entirely devoted. He brought you flowers. He knew your favourite foods. He gave you hoodies and kisses when you were down. He held you close and listened intently. He encouraged you to chase your dreams and held your hand when you got scared.

You had never known love like this before. The kind that steals your breath every day. But that was just who Peter was. You would never get enough of him- but what was even more amazing, you know he feels the same.

He was a white boy, and you loved to tease him about his previous love interests. He always got a rosy blush when you called him a “snow bunny,” but he never got offended, recognising that you were only joking. He would sometimes call you his “melanated queen,” but only when making fun of people who did so sincerely.

He was refreshing in that sense. You had been around more than enough “woke” people who weirdly worshipped your blackness, but not Peter. He celebrated it; he celebrated you.

Race wasn’t something that came up often between you. He would listen to your frustrations as they arose, but he never commented on the fact that you were black.

He never fetishized or tip-toed around you. Peter was a genuine ally, never feeling like he had to make a show of how much he believed your life mattered. He just supported and only acted when you asked him to. He may have a hero complex, but he didn’t suffer from the white saviour complex, and for that, you were grateful.

You woke up this morning feeling almost overwhelmed by that gratitude. Peter was asleep, his curls strewn about the pillow. You had convinced him to grow them out. You promised to play around all day with his hair, finding the right products and creams to use. He agreed because he loves it when you play with his hair.

His lips were slightly parted, plush and pink. A smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose glows in the early morning sun. They were very subtle, almost imperceptible unless you got the opportunity to track them down, inches from his face. You were happy to say you got that opportunity often.

Basked in light and in your arms is where he belonged. Not on the streets, fighting crime. He deserved to rest. He was exhausted last night. His eyes were half closed as he clambered out of his suit, tripping on the feet. He only agreed to a shower when you offered to join. You would have joined regardless, but there was no way in hell this man was climbing in your sheets covered in soot.

“I can feel you staring.” A small smirk pulled at his lips though his eyes remained closed.

You didn’t respond with words, instead deciding to pepper his sweet face with kisses. You felt his smile grow as you went, until it fell into a full-on laugh.

You swear his laughter had a direct line to your heart, the sound filled you, and your heart swelled to adjust. His hands found purchase on your hips and rolled you over until he was on his back and slotted between your thighs. His favourite place to be.

“You’re just so nice to look at, so handsome,” You tease.

You continue in your ministrations, your lips painting a path from his jaw to his cheek, his eyelids and his brows, up his forehead and down the bridge of his nose. All while cradling his face. Holding him like he was your most precious possession. Something deserving of the Louvre or the Tate. You poured out your love, letting it seep into his soft, golden skin.

While Peter was a giver, he struggled to receive. You took any opportunity to remind him how much you loved him, how much you appreciated him. You felt his deft fingers worm their way under your sleepshirt, where they fronted an attack.

“Pete!-”

You collapsed against his chest as your body racked with giggles. He flipped you around again, and you could do nothing as he continued to tickle you.

“Pe-Pete, no!”

His hands stilled but held you firmly. You slowed your breathing and finally opened your eyes. They were met with glowing stars, burning bright and filled with adoration. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, feeling flustered by his unabashed gaze.

He only chuckles as he pulls you up to sit in his lap. His hands move to your back, painting soothing circles across your skin. You melt into the touch. You get hit with another wave of love, feeling it pulse against your ribcage. You begin leaving kisses across his neck, trailing across his collarbones. Peter takes the time to work his hands up your sides, massaging the muscle as he goes. You truly are putty in this man’s hands.

You find yourself on the other side of his neck, releasing a sweet sigh as his hands worked over your shoulders. His hands move to your neck, focusing on any knot he finds until they’re all gone.

You wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer and encouraging him to keep going. He removes your bonnet, setting it to the side, and massages your scalp. This was heaven. You moan at the feeling, and Peter chuckles.

“I really should be doing this for you.” Your words are muffled and slurred, but you know Peter hears them.

“Eh,” He shrugs, “it’s black history month.”

You both fall into a fit of laughter. Eventually, his hands disappear from your scalp, reappearing under your chin. You let it guild you, bringing you face-to-face with him. His smile is lazy and warm.

“Do I get any real kisses this morning?” You tilt your head to the side and pretend to ponder it.

You let out a dramatic sigh, though, with your wide smile- you fool no one. “I guess you’ve earned it.”

Kissing Peter was one of your favourite pastimes. In a perfect world, your lips would only feel his skin. Always attached in some way. But these kisses were your favourite. The kind where your smiles get in the way. The slow and steady kind, where there’s all the passion but none of the rush. You simply get to be, enjoy, and love. His are soft and sure.

You feel safe here in his hands, treasured. Your arms rest lazily around his neck, your nails tracing shapes on his back. Peter tilts his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue swipes at your lips, and you don’t hesitate to part them. It dances with yours and makes you dizzy. You get lost in it for a moment before you pull away. Peter whines, and you can’t help but laugh at his little pout.

“Sorry, bub, I got a full day ahead of me, and I need to get started.” He squeezes your waist, and you jump as your nerves alight, sending those familiar giggles to your brain.

“But it’s your day off,” he says through his frown. “And mine…we get the whole day together.”

You lay a quick kiss on his jutted lip, “Yeah, but it’s wash day. And I wanna braid it out. That’s gonna take all day.”

Peter hangs his head in defeat for a moment before it shoots back up. He beams, sitting up straighter as he presents his idea. “I could help.”

Scepticism falls on your brow, “You wanna help…?”

He looks at you as if you’ve issued a challenge. “What? You don’t think I can?”

You laugh as you link your hands behind his neck. “I think you can; I just don’t think you understand the commitment you’re making. It takes me upwards of nine hours to do my hair.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer and resting his chin on your chest. Your hands run through his hair as he gazes up at you like you hung every star in the night sky. “Well, I’ll be here, and you’ll be here, so I might as well help.”

You couldn’t argue with that logic.

“Peter, when you said you’d help, I didn’t think you meant like this.”

You were currently in the shower with your boyfriend pressed against you. His hands trailed up and down your stomach as he pressed sweet kisses down your neck. You felt his lips tug at the side, a smirk you knew well.

“Don’t worry about me. You can wash your hair, just pretend I’m not even here.” His lips find the spot that makes you shudder. He holds you closer, knowing your legs weaken when he does that.

“That’s not fair; you’re very distracting,” you retort as your hand reaches up to tangle in his hair.

Pete’s hands find your hips and give them a firm squeeze. He knew you loved it when he showed off how strong he was. He was playing you like a fiddle, but you couldn’t bother to be mad.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Peter knew the answer. He caught the way your pulse quickened when he suggested you shower together. He heard your breath hitch when he took off his pants. He could smell you even as he lathered you with soap. You just liked to tease; you liked to act tough. But your bravado quickly crumbled for him. And he loved that. That your gentleness, your piety, was only for him.

“No”

It left your mouth in a puff of air. So soft and sweet, whispered with the water. Peter wasted no time dipping a hand into your slit. His finger probed around, collecting your slick and teasing you further. His foot found yours and kicked it, spreading you apart farther. You moaned softly as he licked up the collum of your throat.

“All this for me?” He rubbed small circles on your clit, a small taste of what he could do, and you both knew it.

“It’s just the shower.” His other hand reached up, gripping you by the jaw and twisting your face towards him.

“I don’t think it is”

He picked up the pace and swallowed your moans. His pillowy soft lips devour you hungrily, and you can feel his hard-on in the crest of your ass. He rips away from your lips, and his hand goes to your boobs, pinching and pulling on your nipples. He enters you with one of his thick digits. He shows no mercy as he thrusts it into you, finding your g-spot in a matter of seconds. Peter knew your body well and loved reminding you of that.

He adds another finger, and your body involuntarily jerks, chasing Peter in all directions. He hisses as you grind against him. Your toes are curling, and the steam makes it hard to catch your breath. All too soon, he removes himself. You whine as your high is stolen from you.

He waits until your eyes are on him before he brings his fingers to his mouth. He hallows his cheeks around them before pulling them out with a soft pop and a moan. You watch with wide eyes as he runs his tongue across them, collecting every drop of your essence.

“You taste so good, baby.”

He presses his praise into your skin- down your neck and across your shoulders. He continues down a path, following the curve of your spine. He takes quite the bite out of your ass, causing you to yelp, before continuing to nibble on your thighs.

Your hand tries to grip the wall and provide you with balance, just his gentle touches making you shake with anticipation. He notices this and throws your legs over his shoulders, your back pressed gently against the cold tile.

“You okay, baby?” You try to slow your breathing, nails scraping against his scalp, the wet curls wrapping around your fingers.

“Yeah, I'm good.” Peter loved communication; it was important to him. Though often, he would steal your ability to string anything coherent together.

“Good, 'cause I haven’t had breakfast, and I’m hungry." He sent you a wink before disappearing between your thighs.

You let out a cry as he suckles your clit. His grip on your thighs is bruising as he spreads them farther apart, whipping his head furiously between them. You’re seeing stars.

This is a stark difference from the sweet kisses you shared this morning. This was need, hunger, a carnal desire. He was chasing your high as much as you were. He moved his tongue inside you, the pink muscle scraping against your walls. You ground your hips down, and you both moaned.

You, because your clit bumped his nose, a jolt through your nerves that brought you closer and closer to your peak. And Peter, because he loves when you get off to him like this. He loves that he gets to see you like this, on the brink of desperation and lost in desire. He loves that he can make you this way. That he’s the only one who can.

Eating you out is Peter’s favourite pastime. In a perfect world, he would spend every moment between your thighs, drinking from the fountain of you, never satiated.

He grinds his face into you, loving how you flutter around his tongue. He loved every way your body told him you loved this. It was like picking up a new language. He knew the meaning of every twitch, sound, and pulse. He was fluent in you.

He felt the way your thighs were shaking and knew you were right there, you just needed a little push, and he was happy to provide. He cages your leg against his shoulder as he reaches around and presses firmly against your clit.

“Fuck! Pete!”

You cry his name, and he thinks it’s his favourite sound. It spurs him on further. He only wants you to respond like that. He moves his thumb, spelling his name as if your brain would subconsciously pick up on it, and you would say it again. He’s fucking you with his mouth and marking you as his.

Your orgasm crashes through you, a broken moan ripping from your chest, completely overwhelmed by pleasure. Peter continues to fuck you through it, drawing it out for as long as he can. Wanting everything you had to give him. He really was hungry.

Your body convulses, your grip on his curls strong as you try to pull him away. This doesn’t dissuade Peter by any means. He knows you can cum again; he needs you to cum again.

Your pulling on his hair inadvertently brings him closer, and he revels in it. His mouth trades places with his fingers, giving your clit a small break from his brutal beating.

However, you don’t recognise it as a “break”. Your sensitivity sends your brain into overdrive, or underdrive- you weren’t sure. All thoughts were half-baked, and your muscles were moving of their own accord. You were glad Peter was there to hold you because there was no way you would have been able to support yourself.

“Pe-Peter! I-unghhh”

Peter had to fight his grin, knowing that he rendered your brain useless, only able to think of him and your high. There was truly no more beautiful sight. Your jaw slacked, as a cacophony of lewd sounds fell from your open lips. Your brows furrowed as you chase your peak. Your unfocused eyes, half-lidded, looking down, searching for him. Your body quaking around him. He wished he could capture this moment on camera, encapsulate this moment forever.

You pushed your hips forward in a final thrust, taking his fingers deeper and his unholy tongue pressing harder against your sensitive bud. This time you scream, nearly collapsing over. Peter brings a hand to your throat, keeping you upright while he drinks from your fountain.

He gently removes his fingers from your core, and you whine slightly, bringing a spirited smile to his face. He wrapped your legs around his waist, admiring your completely blissed-out face. You were so beautiful. In any way, but especially this way.

You rested your head in the crook of his neck, not caring that you were panting on your auditorily sensitive, always-way-too-warm, boyfriend. To be fair, he didn’t care either. He would suffer through anything to hold you like this. And it was deserved. He did kinda render you useless.

He laid a kiss to your temple and you hummed, cuddling into him more. “Alright, coach me through the washing.”

He listened intently as you told him how much product to use and where to massage it in. He was careful to try and keep all the shampoo on your scalp, heeding your warnings of drying out your curls. He was so tender and sweet. He was much gentler with your hair than you ever were.

He peppered you with kisses as he coaxed you under the shower head. Despite your recovery and your ability to stand once again, Peter refused to let you down. Keeping you wrapped around him like a koala or sloth. You couldn’t say you minded all that much.

Peter was most excited to brush your hair. He had never really gotten to do that, as you only ever did it in the shower. He felt proud that you trusted him to do it now. It felt intimate, special.

Sometimes he would get to brush May’s hair. It was long and beautiful, and when he was younger, she would let him if he asked. He would have her sit on the floor as he stood tall, bending at the knees to accommodate his short little arms. He missed those moments with her. He missed her. But in you, he found new things to miss, and he was forever grateful for that.

He continues to run the comb through your hair, even when the knots were gone, because he loved how you melted into him. You were practically purring, and it felt nice to take care of you for a change.

He couldn’t count how many times you had patched him up, made him food because he had forgotten to eat, checked up on him, or helped him through an existential crisis. You were always there for him, his rock. He would be lost without you.

The water started to get cold, so you begrudgingly left, feeling a little betrayed by your water heater for ruining such a wonderful moment. Peter only set you down then, but ordered you to stay on the bathmat. You chuckled as you watched him run, butt-ass naked, through the hall. When he returned, he held a few towels and worn shirts in his hand. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to his smile. It will always make your heart stutter.

“Arms up,” He directs and you follow.

He wraps a towel around you, and you can’t stop the satisfied sigh that leaves your mouth. It was warm and fluffy, almost enough to put you to sleep. Once he’s secured it around you, he gently moves your arms back to your sides and places a sacrosanct kiss on your lips. Your only complaint was that it was too short; your body naturally follows him as he pulls away.

He chuckles, “Steady sailor. We still got a lot of work to do. Can’t get distracted now.”

You lovingly swat at him, and he rewards you with a laugh, one that squishes his eyes and crinkles his nose. It takes everything in you not to kiss him silly. But it’s not your fault; he knows better than to look at you like that.

“I brought you these to choose from. I remember you telling me cotton is better for your hair. So, here’s three of my shirts to choose from, and whatever you don’t pick, we get to wear.”

You can’t help but beam at him. You felt absolutely spoiled. You weren’t sure what you did to deserve such royal treatment. Usually, this kind of behaviour was reserved for birthdays and other such occasions. Not a Thursday afternoon.

But you relished in it anyway, telling him which shirt you wanted to wear and which one you wanted to use. He kissed you on the nose as he passed them both to you.

You explain every step you take as you do them, even coaching Pete through some parts as you let him try it. Peter is amazed by all the products and smells. He’s a little embarrassed as he struggles through some steps; you work with such grace and ease. You explain that the steps are a little different because you’re styling your hair today, instead of enhancing your natural curls. Peter tries his best to commit everything to memory.

While you’re blowing out your hair, Peter leaves to make breakfast. You don’t really need his help for it, and honestly, the sound of the fan bouncing around the tiled walls was a bit too grating for him. As he whips up your favourite breakfast meal, he scrolls through google images, trying to get a better idea of what you were wanting to do.

He sees a lot of looks he thinks you would like, but one sticks out the most. He hadn’t really seen it before, but he thinks you would look absolutely stunning. He’s watching a tutorial when you enter the kitchen. He’s so engrossed in the video you startle him as you wrap your arms around him.

His spidey senses work differently around you, and that’s something he’s still figuring out. His best guess is it doesn’t warn him about you because there’s not a single bone in his body that sees you as a threat. You’re the only person since he was fourteen who could sneak up on him. You don’t often do it on purpose, either. And he thinks his body knows that too.

Usually, his “tingle” lays dormant unless there’s a general danger, but now it’s…evolved in a way. If he focuses, he can almost feel you. He can just think of you, and his body will tell him if you’re distressed and where you are. His instincts lead him like a compass- to you, his true north.

There have been more than a few times he rushed home to check on you just to see that you’ve dropped something or were watching a scary movie by yourself...again. He loved it, though. He had never felt so close to anyone before. He loved that there were no defences between you.

“Whatcha watchin'?”

Pete pauses the video before he turns in your arms.

“Have you heard of butterfly locs?” You grin, delightfully surprised.

"Yes, I have,” you say as you peck him on the nose. “Why?”

“Well, it’s your hair, and you can do whatever you want. And I’ll help no matter what you decide. But I think you would look absolutely gorgeous in them. And you can do fun colours or add funky charms. But also, I know you said you were planning on the box braids, and I’m unsure how easy it would be to switch up the plan like that.”

God, could you love this man anymore?

“It’s actually really easy. I still have to make a Sally’s run; I haven’t bought any hair yet. Do you wanna come with?” Peter nods his head fervently, and you can’t help but giggle at his excitement.

Pete is in awe of the selection here. He had no idea there were so many options. He excitedly asks questions, and you’re happy to answer all of them to the best of your understanding. He happily holds everything you pass him and even convince him to get some products for himself, like a hair mask and some mousse.

When you get home, Peter shows you the videos he watched and his strategy. He helps you section your hair and tries not to complain about the sticky gel too much. With his help, it doesn’t take nearly as long. You play around with the length and stylings, and once finished you’re very happy with it.

Peter was right; you look fine as hell. You check yourself out in the mirror and laugh when you catch Peter watching you from his seat on the bed through the reflection. He’s completely in his own world, his eyes ooze raw adulation, and you can’t help but feel a little flustered.

You walk over, slotting yourself between his legs. His hands come to rest on your hips, something he doesn’t even think to do. It’s just so natural. It’s where his hands belong.

“Do you like it?”

His expression never falters, as if he didn’t even hear you.

“Did you know that I am so in love with you? Like do you know? Because I am. So, so, very in love with you.”

You feel your cheeks warm, “Yes, I know.”

His dopey smile stretches, “I don’t think you do. But I’ll be sure to tell you until you’re sick of hearing it.”

Your heart is doing summersaults, “I don’t think that’s possible.”

He places a kiss to your sternum, “Well, I’ll do my very best.”

Suddenly you’re being pulled forward. You land directly on Pete, and if you weren’t aware of all his body was capable of, you might have worried about hurting him. Instead, you giggle at his antics and let him hold you tight.

Your new locs fall around his face, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so lucky. Here, hidden behind the curtain of your hair, it’s just you and him. You lay there for a while like that, just drinking the other in. It’s the perfect respite from all the chaos in the world. Your hearts beating together, your love flowing between you.

“I got you something,” Peter whispers.

There’s no need for anything louder in this proximity. “What?”

His hand leaves your waist, and you hear a familiar thwip, then the crinkling of a bag.

Peter opens his palm to you, and a small gasp leaves your lips. There rested a little charm; hung on a small ring. You picked it up and admired how it twinkled in the evening sun. A little spider, from your man. You sat up, looking in the mirror as you strung it through a loc.

“Petey, it’s perfect!”

“Not as perfect as you.”

Taglist: @barbecuetiddy, @heejinw0rld, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @secretaccountlol, @scorpiolystoned, @thatblackravenclaw, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz,

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