#peter parker x oc

[bonesandchalamet]

perfect - t.holland

masterlist

requested: y- “Could you do reader and Tom or Harry with newborn !!”

pairings: dad!tom holland x mom!reader

warnings: fluff + child has been given a name

a/n: I hope I did this justice 🫡 I’m not very good with writing newborns!

you can’t figure out what you’re more obsessed with: her rolls, feet, or the fact that she looks exactly like Tom.

you haven’t been able to move from the crib. you should be asleep, but your eyes are glued to the crib where your newborn daughter, Emma, lays asleep.

you know Tom will come in any second. he’ll be concerned why you’re not in bed or pumping. he’ll ask if something’s wrong with Emma or with you. he’ll ask a series of questions you’ve heard on record since you came home from the hospital, but you don’t mind them. he’s concerned for his two loved ones.

“everything alright?” there it is. you sigh, taking a look at him for a brief second before looking back at her. she hasn’t moved, yet every rise and fall of her chest makes your heart swell.

“I just can’t decide which part I love more of her.” you carefully tap your finger against the wooden edge of the crib.

Tom exhales quite happily, it’s nothing serious to be worried about. he carefully steps into the room, his hand rests against your lower back, “why don’t you go sleep? we can worry about what we love most once we’ve rested.”

you shake your head. there’s tears welling your eyes, you know this is just hormones— or maybe you’re just so in love you can’t move from her crib.

“I just want to stay here forever.”

“we’ll have plenty of time to stay in here forever. we need some sleep.” he assures you, his palm running over your dirty hair. you can’t remember the last time you’d showered coming to think of it.

“you’re right, I’m being ridiculous.” you nod along with him finally moving from the crib. the emotions had dried allowing the exhaustion to finally settle in your body. Tom promises to take the first shift after napping and you don’t argue, just settle into the mattress.

“and you’re not ridiculous. however, I think her rolls are quite adorable.”

—

three hours.

you’d been asleep for three hours and didn’t even hear a single noise from emma or Tom. you assumed he would need your help at some point, but having not heard anything from either of them. you could trust he had it all under control.

you slowly rise out of bed and exit the bedroom, you see Tom in your living room rocking chair. he’s got a bottle in one hand, and her cradled in his other arm. she looks quite cozy and content with him.

“you’re awake.” he looks up from her with a frown. his plans were to let you sleep as long as you needed, but he knew you couldn’t leave her alone for too long without checking on her. the silence was always scary to hear.

“I know.”

“she’s been sleeping this whole time. you can go back to bed if you’d like?” he recommends rather than offering. you know the suggestion is what you should take, but you can’t get yourself to move from where you’re standing. your eyes glued to her once again.

“it’s everything. that’s what I love about her.” you say finally taking your eyes off of your sleeping newborn to look Tom in the eyes.

he nods in agreement looking back down at her in his arms, “she’s perfect.”

[bittenbyyou]

Pampered

Boyfriend!Peter Parker x Reader

genre: fluff

description: You pamper your boyfriend with skincare after a long day. 

word count: 1.8k

warnings: Peter knows absolutely nothing about skincare and is so endearing. Fluffy fluff. 

a/n: I’m not a skincare expert, but I do love learning about it. And I thought the idea of Peter getting pampered was adorable because he deserves to be taken care of. Please reblog if you enjoyed! :)

You checked the time on your phone, tapping your foot on the floor anxiously. Peter’s nighttime patrols have been getting longer and longer to where he sometimes wouldn’t come home until 2 A.M. Even you, who was a night owl, had your limits.

A subtle squeak soon caught your attention as you whipped your head to look at the window. Sure enough, you saw a red gloved hand slide the window open before the famous Spider-Man crawled through upside-down. 

“Hi beautiful,” your boyfriend said from the ceiling. You got up from the bed, hands on your hips. 

“You had me worried,” you said, though your light-hearted tone let Peter know you weren’t really upset. With a gentle, muffled thud, he touched down on the floor and swiftly removed his mask.

“I know, I’m sorry. I got caught up with a bank robbery and then there was a fire—”

“A fire?!”

“—and then these thugs tried to rob an old lady. Can you imagine that? But she beat them with her cane like bam! Bam! Bam!” he continued, reenacting the scene for you. “I barely had to do anything. You should’ve seen it!”

The way he talked about crime fighting was incredibly endearing. He was always so passionate and upbeat, like it was his favorite thing in the world because… it was. Along with you of course. And that’s why you fell in love with him. He truly loved what he did. Not many would go through such lengths to protect their city the way Peter did. You could tell by the glint in his eyes that he was meant for this.

“Sounds hilarious,” you said, letting out a giggle. You cupped his face with both hands, inspecting for any blemishes or scars. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I’m good. Really.” He grabbed your hands and placed a warm kiss on one of them. “Now let’s go to bed. I’m beat.”

“No. You have to brush your teeth and floss.”

He slumped his shoulders. “I’m really tired.”

“Babe, hygiene is important. Plus we gotta do your skincare.”

“It’s too many steps,” he whined. 

“I’ll do your skincare for you. But go brush first,” you ordered, pointing to the bathroom. He pressed the black spider emblem on his suit where his chest was, making it expand and fall off his body like a deflated balloon. 

“Yes ma’am…” He walked away from you in a sulking, slouching position and you laughed. 

“Quit being dramatic.”

“It’s so~ far~.”

“Don’t make me tickle you.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” he exclaimed, running away from you as fast as possible. 

Peter took longer than expected because he felt the need to shower once he realized how sweaty he was. The water relaxed him but also made him feel more awake. It was already late in the night (or early in the day), so he didn’t care anymore about sleep.

You waited patiently and patted the mattress when you saw him come back in nothing but his boxers. 

“Come on, lie down.” He obeyed and rested his head on the pillow, closing his eyes. “Put this on first.”

Peter opened his eyes to see you dangling the pink headband with a large bow in front of his face. He gave you a “are you serious?” look but put it on anyway, being careful to push all the hair out of his face with it. You tried to refrain from laughing, but failed once he shot you a glare. 

“I feel ridiculous.”

“No~, you’re adorable.”

“You’re laughing.”

You pressed your lips together and shook your head. “No, I’m not.”

Peter chuckled and closed his eyes. “Alright. Make me beautiful.”

Deep down, he loved being pampered by you even if he didn’t want to admit it. With everything going on in his life, taking care of his skin was the least of his worries. But you were adamant about it, passionate even, that he had to take care of his skin everyday. You even created a skincare routine for him, which he felt had too many steps (it was three). How you did this for yourself everyday, he had no clue. But he loved how you cared so much for him and these little acts of love made his heart feel warm and fuzzy. 

"Did you remember to put on sunscreen this morning?" you asked, your voice carrying a hint of playfulness as if you were teasing him.

“Yes,” he answered quite proudly.

“Did you reapply every two hours?”

“... I’m supposed to reapply?”

You grabbed the bottle of micellar water, shaking the bottle before drenching a reusable cotton pad with it. Leaning over, you swiped the pad gently all over Peter’s face. He smiled with his eyes at the cooling sensation. 

“Yeah. The SPF doesn’t last all day unless you reapply.”

“But I wear my suit and that shields me from the sun all day,” he said, every word enunciated with the pout of his lips. God, he didn’t understand how cute he was. It took everything in you not to kiss him right now.

“You take off your mask a lot and if you don’t protect your skin, the sun can damage it. Open your eyes.” He obeyed. “Look at how dirty this pad is. The grime and sweat and oils from your day.”

Peter’s eyes widened a bit at the gray pad, still not used to how much dirt he could accumulate in a day. “Wow, that came from my face?”

“Mmhmm.”

“What’s the thing you used?” he asked, pointing to the bottle in your hand.

“Micellar water. It’s like a makeup remover.”

“I’m not wearing makeup.”

“I know. But it takes off the dirt on your face. And the one layer of sunscreen you had,” you said, emphasizing the word “one”. He gave you a cheeky grin.

“Okay, I’ll put on more sunscreen. I promise.” He held out his pinky and you did the same, locking him in on his promise. 

“Good. Time for a cleanser.”

“What’s that again?”

You pumped some cleanser into your hands and then added enough water from the bowl you had prepared earlier to lather it. You rubbed your hands together until bubbles had formed. 

“It’s like soap but specifically for your face. Close your eyes.”

You rubbed the cleanser over Peter’s face, careful not to touch his eyes or lips. This was one of your favorite parts because you got to admire your handsome boyfriend up close, appreciating every feature. 

“So like bar soap?”

“... Please don’t tell me you’ve been using bar soap on your face.”

“I use it everywhere.”

“Everywhere…? So like… your balls?”

“Um… uh… no? That’d be ridiculous,” he said, letting out a nervous laugh. The loud sigh that left your lips let him know he was in for it now. 

“Peter, you can’t use the same soap bar for your dick and face!”

“But it’s soap!”

“I… I don’t even know what to say. You’re supposed to be the genius here.”

“... It’s soap.”

“Okay, I’m tabling this. At least you were cleaning your face. From now on, use the cleanser I bought you for your face. It’s a hydrating one because you have dry skin.”

Peter gasped and clutched his chest dramatically like you had just insulted him. “I do not.”

“You don’t even know what that means.”

“I thought you said I have beautiful skin.”

“You do, you donut. You’re lucky it’s so nice even though you don’t take care of it.”

You grabbed the towel you prepared and wiped the suds away, revealing your adorable Peter, who was smiling from your touch. 

“Where’s that thing that smells like oranges?”

“Hmm? The cleansing balm? It’s harder to rinse it off if you’re in bed. That’s why I used micellar water today.”

“Aw… but I like the orange one.”

“Then you can do it yourself.”

“No, I’m good,” he said, shaking his head. You rolled your eyes at how childish he could be sometimes, yet you still found him endearing. 

“Okay, two more steps.”

“Two?!”

“Babe, I have like six steps in mine. You’re fine.”

“How do you do this everyday?”

“I don’t know. I find it relaxing. Besides, I want to look my age and not age faster because I didn’t take care of myself. Plus skin cancer is scary.”

Peter nodded because that was the first thing you’ve said tonight that he fully comprehended. “What are the last two steps?”

“I’m putting on a serum treatment for you and then a moisturizer to seal everything in.”

“That sounds fancy.”

You grabbed the bottle of serum for his skin needs, taking the dropper it came with and placing a couple drops on the back of your hand. Then you used your ring finger, the gentlest finger, to dab the product all over Peter’s face. He giggled when you touched his neck, the tickling sensation making him squirm. 

“Babe,” you scolded playfully. “Stay still.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.” His eyes fluttered open and he watched you work your magic, loving your concentrated expression. To him, you were the most beautiful girl in the world and the way you cared for him made him feel special. 

You pumped out a couple squirts of your fancy moisturizer, making sure to tell him it was a fancy moisturizer and he laughed, thanking you for your sacrifice. 

“Seriously, this cost me a lot. And I’m using it on your face so… you’re welcome.”

“Thanks. The villains in this city must be so jealous right now,” he teased.

“They should be.” You leaned back and grinned, satisfied with your work. Peter’s face was glowing, the lamp in his room illuminating his face even more. “You look gorgeous.”

Peter took off the pink headband, placing it on his nightstand before pulling you on top of him. “You’re gorgeous.”

You got into a more comfortable position as you straddled him, pecking his lips, cheek, and nose. “I love you.”

“I love you too. But…”

“But?”

“You messed up my skincare. You just transferred so much bacteria onto my clean face.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious. This is unprofessional. I want a refund.”

“You’re so ridiculous sometimes, you know that?” 

He broke out into another cheeky grin. “You love me though.”

“I don’t know… you don’t want my kisses.” You got off him and laid on your side, pulling the covers over your body.

“No, no, I want them.” 

“Good night.”

Peter forced you to turn around, planting a big smooch on your lips. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, holding onto his soft curls as you pulled him closer. As your lips parted from his, you both looked into each other's eyes with a loving gaze, unable to pull away. 

“[Y/N]... I have a question.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you eat the cleansing balm?”

“Babe, no.”

“But it smells so good.”

“I’m going to bed.”

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt 1 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: I have a meet-cute in a coffee shop. but for mob!peter.

words: 5.5k

warnings: Shameless TASM mob!daddy Peter fantasies, including, but not limited to, kidnapping, knives, bang bang shoot shoot, pining, eventual smut

Part 1

“Just a coffee, black. Biggest ya got.”

Wearily, yet still wired, Peter tapped his fingers on the stainless steel counter. It was late. Or early. Streetlamps still blazed in unholy darkness outside. It had been a long night. But he had felt like he’d been up for years. 

Across from him, a young woman wearing overalls and a daisy-yellow bandana gave him a heavy nod. “Sure,” she replied, gravely. “I have to warn you, though. We over-roast our beans. It’s bitter as hell.”

He blinked at her, not expecting such honesty. She had a trusting face. Pretty eyes. 

“Ya wanna sweeten it up for me?”

He could hear the lame pickup line of a younger version of himself. One that wore a confident smirk, walked with bravado. One that hadn’t lost what he had lost. The older Peter of today brushed that voice away. “I like bitter.”

He glanced up at her eyes and saw sympathy. “Oof, tragic,” she frowned, shaking her head teasingly, her coyness peeking through. She retrieved a paper cup and filled the dark liquid to the brim. 

The personalness of it threw him off. Peter had wandered in like a zombie. He only briefly heard her ask for his order and his name, both of which he gave, and he expected nothing in return but the coffee. He watched her carefully, shifting uncomfortably. He was the only customer in the shop at this hour, but he didn’t expect to be seen. 

“Here you go,” she declared, handing the cup over. “One large black graveyard dirt, extra tears.”

It wasn’t so much the joke, rather the way she beamed when she said it. It was like sunlight peeking through the curtains just right, casting a familiar space in an ethereal glow. 

She glowed.

Seeing it awakened his senses. He felt the way flowers must feel, desperately reaching their petals out toward the sun after they’d been neglected through a long, dark winter. 

Before he knew it, he was smiling back. Teeth bared, eyes crinkled, grinning like a fool. He thought his muscles couldn’t remember what smiling felt like. It ached.

She reached out, extending the cup towards him. But it was so much more than that.

His gaze darted from her sparkling eyes, to the curve of her mouth, back to the apples of her cheeks—

“Thanks for stopping by, Ben!”

The illusion vanished, as did his smile. He pulled away, staring at the stainless steel countertop for a moment. He thanked her and took the cup from her hand, dropping a couple of bucks in the jar. He didn’t spare her another glance as he turned on his heel. 

For a moment there, he felt free. He’d forgotten what he was underneath the leather gloves, thick cashmere coat, the bitter coffee, and the fake name.

His hand found the door, the winter chill penetrating his glove. Just as he began to push it open, he heard a shout.

“Wait!” 

He did, glancing back at her, against his better judgment.

“I forgot to tell you,” she said, almost shrinking into herself with a sheepish expression. She blushed at the eagerness and volume of her own voice. “To have a great day.”

He blinked, brow creased.

“It’s, uh, sorry— it’s stupid,” she rolled her eyes, slapping her palm across her forehead. “But I’m… I’m supposed to say ‘have a great day’ and I always forget, maybe ‘cos I’m a little ADHD, and my boss always reminds me that I need to say it every time, but that’s awkward, right? Like it needs to come up in conversation, I can’t just blurt it. I mean, I can. Like, I just did. But that was weird, right? It was weird. And sometimes, I’m thinking about the next 3 things I have to do, or the thing I just did and I get… I don’t know, a little lost in the moment, and then it passes, and then I felt like I missed out, y’know?”

He stared. “No?”

“On saying what I want really to say,” she said with a voice full of warmth—gentle and genuine in tone. Her babbling ceased as she emphatically declared. “I really hope you have a great day. You deserve it.”

There it was again. That smile. Sincerity and kindness sliced through him like a razor. He was a child again, getting a kiss on the cheek from his mother. Her cheerful gaze lit him up inside, like setting off a roman candle beneath his ribs. It wrapped him in a firm embrace, filling him, shielding him, and grounding him all at once.

This time, he couldn't look away. Didn't want to. He waited until he could hear the flutter in her heart. He was smiling again.

“Thank you. I think I will.”

And as if she’d cast some sort of spell, he did. The way she enchanted him, he was certain if they lived 400 years ago they might accuse her of witchcraft. He always had a good day when he saw her. No matter how painful, or dirty, or bloody. She became his good luck charm. His ability to ‘have a good day’ became entirely dependent on seeing her.

He shouldn’t go back there. He should try the Starbucks down the street. But he couldn’t help it.

She’d pour him basic drip coffee, announcing aloud to the whole shop as she handed it to him. “Here you go! Extra large, extra-hot dark roast, with extra-darkness and a splash of angst.” There was affection in her gaze despite the sarcasm of her voice.

“One extra large coffee, black as the devil’s soul.” She’d whisper to him privately, gifting him with a good-luck smile, even when the coffee shop was full of people during the morning rush. In those moments, she made him feel like they were the last two people on the planet. And it always made something in his belly flutter.

“I have an extra-black ‘Fault in Our Stars,’ with a shot of ‘The Road’ for my friend in the suit!” 

Her friend. He couldn’t help but blush. How could he come to this place every day, stand in line, and feel like he was coming home? She was magic.

The coffee really was awful.

“Let me know if you ever want me to sweeten that up for you,” she graciously suggested, as the cup left her fingers. The brush of her fingertips against his felt like wildfire. Her comment was innocent, but his mind wasn’t. “I think I can make it taste better—I have some window cleaner left.”

He was smiling again. It blossoms into something reciprocal. That should be enough. He shouldn’t be greedy. He should walk away now. He should run. 

“What would you suggest?” he asked coyly. It was the first time he had ever done so.

A million saccharine-infused terms of endearment flowed through his mind—sweetness, sugar, gumdrop, sweetheart, sweetie, cookie, peach, muffin, angelcake—most of them were trash. (Really, Parker? What is this, high school? Whaddya doin’? You ever talk to a woman before? Why do you sound like somebody’s grandpa? Such a creepy —

Some of them weren’t appropriate between friends. None of them appropriate coming from a stranger.

That’s what he was, deep down. God, this precious girl—she was so trusting. Was she friendly like this with everyone? No, he had noticed as time went on. She’s warm and kind to everyone she meets. But not like this. Not the way she is for him.

“Ooh, getting adventurous, are we?” she teased him, stars in her eyes. 

For him. All he could do was stare back in awe at the Milky Way in her gaze. He would follow them and venture on any journey where they may lead.

“How do you feel about lavender and honey?”

Flowers and sugar for Brits and fancy people. He quirked his brow at the concept. “In coffee?”

Her eyes twinkled with excitement, as she spun around and began her concoction. 

For him.

He needed to leave. But he followed the length of her arms, the delicacy of her fingers, the way her hips moved as she danced around her workstation. He was hypnotized again. 

He imagined dancing with her. Letting her body flow and wrap around his like curtains billowing in the breeze. He barely registered that she was holding a new cup out toward him. While he was daydreaming, she had written his name on the cup and drew a little heart next to it.

He stared at it. It’s not exactly his name. But it’s the one he’d given her. And in return, she had given him so much.

He took the cup from her hand and couldn’t help but feel like he was undeserving of her kindness. Or her attention. Or her heart.

“Don’t make that face,” she softly admonished as if she could read his mind, or she might have read his sad look as disproval of her efforts. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

She gave him a smile. She gave and gave and gave. Gave him a reason to keep living. She didn’t even know.

He took a sip. It warmed his tongue, his throat, his heart. It ached.

“S’good,” he hummed, honestly surprised. He was telling her the truth. He reached for his wallet with his free hand, retrieving a wad of bills. He always paid in cash.

She waved him off, mock offense on her face. “No, silly. That’s not how gifts work!” Her laugh sounded like church bells. 

She was a gift. For him. His flower. His Honey.

“This one’s on the house,” she assured him, as he hesitantly lowered his wallet. She whispered low, in a tone that burned him up inside. “It’ll be our secret.” His mind felt like it was rebooting. She said it innocently, but he was anything but. She scoffed with a flippant laugh, “Just don’t tell my boss, okay?”

Her boss. He knew about her boss. Tod. With one ‘D’. 

Some mornings, particularly Monday through Thursday, he’d see the pencil-like man stiffly pacing the back of the bar while she and another young girl kept up with demand. Hawkish eyes, always watching. Always judging. Rarely picking up a milk jug himself.

He dominated the register. Peter hated handing him cash. His face reminded him of a cheese grater if it could look unhappy. “Are you sure you don’t want a pastry?” he offered the ‘add-on’ with what was supposed to be a smile. 

Peter’s eyes shot over to his Honey as she was artfully pouring foam, adding her magic to someone else’s cup. She refused to look at Peter and he hated it. It reminded him of a defense tactic. Don’t look at the thing you don’t want to be taken away. As if he was a prized possession that she wanted to hide away from Tod, who might accuse her of having ‘favorites.’

It stirred wild emotions to be thought of that way, especially by her. 

How dare her boss accuse her of any wrongdoing. How dare he threaten her.

“I’m fine,” said Peter, with a chill he hoped Tod could feel. 

He needed to leave. 

He needed to take his Honey and his Lavender Latte and just go. 

He shook his head. His brain was lagging again. He turned away from the straight-backed scarecrow before a robotic ‘thank you for being a customer’ could be responded to. 

Peter waited. Eyes on the floor. Eyes on the exit. Eyes on the windows. Eyes on her, but only briefly. He waited and daydreamed bitterly, waiting for her to call out a name that wasn’t his. 

“Honey Lavender Latte,” his enchantress called out. Hearing her voice caught him from his downward spiral. He made eye contact with her as he took the cup from her hands. Warmth radiated from her eyes, although muted. It was enough to soothe and comfort him. 

She blushed, sheepishly, unable to contain the smile in her voice. “Have a lavender-ly day.”

His mood lifted. Such a silly girl. Witchcraft, indeed. “Thanks, Honey,” he replied, without thinking.

Her big eyes widened for a moment, and her heart quickened. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked away, unsuccessfully hiding her teeth.

Peter would call her that a million times in a row if it would elicit that reaction.

“Have a great day,” Tod interrupted, murdering the moment.

Poor girl. She cowered slightly, like a dog hearing the word ‘no.’ She took a breath and put on a smile, turning back towards her work. 

Tough girl. She didn’t need Peter to defend her. 

He glanced over at Tod with a deadpan expression, and walked out of the shop before he did or said anything else stupid.

The world was full of Tods. It was also full of monsters. Sometimes Peter was one of them. No Tod was truly worth his attention.

Except for that one time. 

A Tuesday morning in the middle of the holiday shopping season. Peter stood in line patiently, arms crossed, gritting his teeth. He glowered behind the bar at Tod, standing too close to his Honey. She gazed up at her boss helplessly, watching him turn red in the face, as the flagpole of a man waved his arms wildly. Clearly agitated, he kept his volume low but his body language screamed at her. 

“What I need your help with is this,” Tod hissed as he towered over her. “I need you to tell me what is the best method for getting information into your head. How can I communicate with you in a way that you’ll understand?” His voice was soft although he flailed like a wavy-arm inflatable man in a car lot. 

“Tell me honestly,” he sneered, dressing her down in front of a line of customers. At this point, Peter didn’t need any superpowers to be able to hear the conversation. She visibly fought the urge to cry. “Do I need to write it down? Do I need to scream at you? Do I need to throw something? Do I need to take you aside and have an hour-long conversation?” She kept her eyes on the ground as he kept pelting her with icicles. “Tell me your preference here. What is it that you’ll respond to?”

The scene came to an abrupt end when the glass of the shop window shattered. The sound silenced him finally. The front door swayed limply, having been yanked off its hinges and slammed into its frame. His Honey glanced around the shop with concern. 

Peter was no longer there.

He didn’t come back that day. 

Neither did Tod.

Some sort of accident, his Honey told him the following week, although he already knew the details. She explained to him why the shop had a new manager, a well-composed woman named Leyla. By the airiness of her mood, he could tell she greatly preferred Leyla’s managerial style.

She was happy, and that made him happy. 

And that should be enough. 

He should leave. He should run. Get as far away from her as possible.

But he was intoxicated by her. Drunk on her sweetness and her Honey Lavender Lattes.

He looked at her like she was the queen of the hive. He’d let her take that crown, any anything else she could ever want, if he had the chance. He’d worship her. He already looked at her like she was a goddess. The devotion in his honey-tinted eyes was clear to anyone who bothered to look.

“Peter Parker!”

Hearing his real name while he stood grinning like a fool in front of his Honey one afternoon made him flinch, sending a shiver up his spine. He turned around, yanked from his reverie, watching three men stroll into the shop. 

He positioned his body in front of her, obscuring her from their view. His hands were tight balls at his sides.

Peter was familiar with two of the faces, but razor-sharp focused on the mountain in a suit they called Filch. He’d seen that greasy face more times than he’d want to admit, shrouded in darkness and cigar smoke. Seated at the hand of Wilson Fisk.

His jaw locked in place.

Filch looked overjoyed to see him. Like they were old friends. Like Peter didn’t know that Wilson Fisk was plotting to move against him. 

“I thought that was you!” he brightly exclaimed. He strolled through the shop, like a cheetah stalking prey. Removing a hat and revealing what little hair he had left underneath. “Long way from Queens. Fancy finding ya all the way out here, eh?”

Peter knew better. The only surprise in this situation was intended for Peter. He’d been followed here. Watched.

His spine went rigid, shoulders into stone. 

Don’t look at the thing you don’t want to be taken away.

He could hear her heart flutter faster behind him. As if she could sense the way he bristled when they arrived. Trouble in her kingdom. A disturbance to the delicate sanctuary she had built, like all of her totems and protection spells were wearing out.

Peter kept his back to her. He kept his eyes trained on the three men, who spread out in a familiar pattern. They were scoping the place. Checking for cameras, other patrons, and all possible exits. 

Don’t look at the thing you want—

“Hey, Sugar, it’s cold outside,” Filch called out, with all the grace of flagging down a hooker. “Whaddya got to warm us up?”

Peter stared straight ahead. Glaring. Fuming.

“Might I suggest the coffee?” his Honey answered. “Just made a fresh pot of the dark roast. It’s good.”

He might have cracked a smile if he wasn’t busy envisioning a scenario where he’d have to kill the three men in the room with just the tools available in a coffee shop.

“Pour me a cuppa that,” Filch replied, his eyes never leaving Peter’s.

Peter only slightly relaxed when he felt her presence back away behind the bar. She grabbed a paper cup and filled it with steaming-hot tar. She set the cup down on the counter and backed away, minding her workstation. “That’ll be $2.50.”

Good girl, Peter thought. He saw Filch go for his breast pocket. 

“I gotcha,” Peter cut in before Filch could move closer. He grabbed the cup and handed it over to his rival’s lapdog. “‘S’on me.”

Filch eyed Peter cautiously, reaching out where both hands could be visible. He took the cup with exaggerated gratitude. “No, I couldn’t possibly—”

“I said I gotcha,” Peter firmly cut him off, the cords in his neck going tight. Peter retrieved a few bills from his coat pocket, never breaking eye contact with his opponents. “We good here?” 

Too many seconds passed with no response. He could feel the twitch of his pulse in his throat. Filch’s eyes drifted back behind the counter. He was too close to her. He studied her in a way that was far too intimate. It made Peter’s skin crawl.

“We’re good,” Filch replied. A smile curved his lips. He held the cup up, toasting him. “Have a great day.” 

Peter swallowed hard as the three men sauntered out. He watched them go, his stomach sinking, bile rising. 

They’d been watching him alright. Who knows how long. He’d been a patron of this shop and he would order from this girl and stare at her with doe-eyes and hearts swirling around his head, out in the open where anyone could see. And they did see. He showed his hand and now the game was over.

“Who’s Peter?” he heard her voice softly ask. 

The illusion was shattered. He turned his head, but couldn’t bear to look at her. He felt sick. Empty. Furious. Petrified.

The monsters were gone now. But they’d be back.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say, as he walked out of the door.

They’d be back. He’d be there first.

She watched her favorite customer disappear into the night, her eyes wide with longing as she followed him. He disappeared in a few blinks of her eyes.

Something unsettling crawled beneath her skin. Maybe it was longing, but she was familiar with longing. This was new.

Her hands were shaking and she wasn’t sure how that happened either. One minute she was staring into his dreamy, honey-hued eyes, then the next he was running in the other direction. Not unlike their first meeting, a scene which she replayed over and over again in her head, trying to figure out what made him go so rigid.

Who’s Peter?

Peter Parker.

Peter Parker.

She repeated his name in her mind, reciting it like a mantra. She wasn’t great with names, but he told her his name was Ben on that first morning so many months ago, and she made a point to remember his name, and to say his name, because people liked it when you said their name, it made them feel closer to you and she wanted more than anything to be close to him.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her wheels were spinning again. She used her thumb to push down hard on the center of her opposite palm. The dull pain grounded her back to reality. 

When she opened her eyes, she half expected him to be there. He always seemed to show up when she least expected it. He was a bright spot in her day, despite his gloomy demeanor. He could be dark as a raincloud, but she loved dancing in the rain. 

Or as her co-worker Nasrin teased her one day, he was her “tall, dark, hot cup of coffee.” She hid her face in her hands as Nasrin got to the “sucking him down with a straw” part of the analogy. She was incredibly grateful that he had been standing by the door, and there’s no way he could’ve heard that.

Now she had a first name and a last name and a... another name? And a place — you’re a long way away from Queens. A quick Google search of the names in question pulled up too many generic results. There was a dated article about a Ben Parker who was killed in an armed robbery, but her tall, dark friend couldn’t have had anything to do with that.

It twisted her stomach when she considered the fact that she really didn’t know him. She didn’t know who those guys were, and by the looks of things, she didn’t want to know. She should just drop it.

She did the best she could to keep busy, but there weren’t any more customers after that. She sent a quick text to her new manager that she wasn’t feeling well, and closed the shop early. She took the subway home. 

Once she got on the train, she didn’t make it back to the platform. It was late, but the subway car was still unusually empty, save for a couple of randos sitting at the opposite end of her car. Any other night, the near-solitude would’ve been a blessing. Tonight, something felt off.

Twenty minutes into her ride, just as the train was about to cross the river, it jerkily slowed to a stop. Her cessation of movement stirred her. Her head popped up from the glow of her phone screen curiously. She worried her lower lip as she glanced at the doors and windows, as if she could somehow see whatever it was that was stopping the train. 

She jolted as she felt a hand clamp down on her upper arm. Startled, she looked up at the two other occupants of the train car, now standing inches behind her. Two men that had been seated quietly, also seemingly distracted by their phones. 

“Come on, sweetie pie,” one of them said, towering over her. “It’s time to go.” She didn’t recognize either of them, but her instincts reminded her of the altercation in the coffee shop. These two had the same ‘goonlike’ look.

She tried wrenching her arm away, but the stranger held tight. “Get off,” she hissed. His partner on the left took her other arm, albeit more gently.

“Hey, take it easy,” the other man admonished. “No need to be rude.”

“Yeah, we’re friends,” the first man added, with a greasy smile. Her eyes darted around frantically. Panic set in as she realized she was alone in the subway car. The doors slid open, but there was no platform. Instead, the doors opened to building rooftops. The train had stopped on an elevated track above the street.

“Let’s go,” the gruffer man beckoned, grabbing her arm more tightly. He dragged her through the doorway, on a dark walkway next to the tracks. As soon as he lifted her, she erupted into a fit of screams. She kicked her legs, shrieking for help, but no reply came. She didn’t know if no one could hear her, or if people knew better not to respond.

“Keep it down,” one of the goons ordered coldly, dragging her along. She desperately resisted, letting her legs drop out beneath her. 

She heard a hiss and pop as the subway train sprang back to life behind them. She watched helplessly as it pulled away. 

“A wild one, aren’cha?” the red-haired roughneck tutted, yanking her back up to her feet. “Be a good girl or I’ll throw ya over my shoulder.”

She tried jerking away again, but halted as she faced the edge of the walkway. The dizzying height stunned her into submission. Her knees began to lock up, trembling with fear. 

“Take it easy, Katz,” the man’s partner chided him, albeit insincerely. The two of them practically carried her down the walkway. “You’re scarin’ her.” 

They arrived at an old set of metal stairs leading to the street below. The sharp, steep grade of the steps made her vertigo even worse. 

“No, help! Somebody help!” she hollered, wrapping her fingers in a death grip around the banisters and anything else she could reach. 

“Keep your mouth shut!” the red-head called Katz snapped at her. He reached around and tried to put his beefy hand on her mouth, but she bit down on his flesh the second his fingers reached her lips.

“Ow!” he roared. “Bitch!”

She saw him rear back his fist. Then she saw nothing.

When she came to, her whole body ached. Every muscle throbbing, like she’d been twisted into a pretzel. Her eyelashes fluttered open. Flickering flourescents stung her eyes. Bleary, she gazed around in a dreamlike state until her senses slowly started to awaken. 

She tasted glue. And blood. Took heavy humid breaths through her nose. She was on her side, on a concrete floor in a garage she didn’t recognize. The smell of motor oil and cleaning solution stabbed her nostrils. She gazed up at the shadowy, filthy undercarriage of a Rolls Royce lifted high up above her. Loud bangs jarred her out of slumber further. She faintly wondered who would be jackhammering—

Loud pops. Gunfire.

Her body went rigid, then sprung to life in terror. Attempting to open her mouth to scream, she realized that it was taped shut. Even slight movements of her jaw stung her flesh. She tried to sit up. Her arms tingled, like her limbs had fallen asleep. When she tried to move them she felt a sharp sting on her wrists. 

Alarm started to take hold. She couldn’t move her arms or legs. She glanced down and passed her dirty, blood-stained shirt to the duct tape wrapping her ankles. It might as well have been iron. Her wrists were also firmly bound behind her. Trying to pull them on them felt like ripping off her own skin. She whimpered excruciatingly.

The sounds were getting closer. She glanced around, eyes begging for help. Searching frantically for any reprieve amidst the scattered car parts and junk. 

The gunfire was getting closer.

She scooted, inching her way across the floor until she reached a work table. She was lining her spine up against the table leg when the garage door rattled open. She was out of time. A spill of light from outside lamps flooded in, blinding her. She could only vaguely recognized her own shrieks behind the wall of duct tape.

A group of people stood at the garage doors with their backs to the light. She watched their imposing silhouettes with horror.

A tall, male form approached her, his long black coat trailing behind him. Tears that she couldn’t contain sprang from her eyes. She was trapped, terrified, like a rabbit staring down a wolf. All she could focus on was the gun in the man’s hands as he stalked toward her. She squeezed her eyes closed, waiting to hear a final shot that would end her life.

“Easy, easy,” a familiar, deep, and soothing voice rolled over her. “Shh, don’t be scared, Honey.”

Her breath hitched. Eyes popped open.

Crouched down to her eye level was her tall, dark, and bitter friend. Ben—Peter—whatever his name was— the moment she recognized his soft chocolate eyes and the scattering of a peppery beard on his otherwise boyish face, she felt a wave of relief. 

His leather glove still held firmly onto a pistol. The sight of it dropped her back to reality. Like a bucket of ice water being poured over her body. She shuddered as he scooted closer.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he placated with a calm voice. “You’re okay.”

She wanted to believe him. He set his gun down on the concrete floor and reached for her with both hands. Another sound of a distant gunshot made her jolt. She recoiled away from his touch, shrinking herself up against the table leg. 

He flinched at her reaction with a pained expression, as if she’d stabbed him. His hands faltered for a moment.

A man’s voice rang out from the group lingering behind, a youthful tone from someone barely older than a teenager. “Boss, we gotta go!” 

A deeper voice called out in response, “C’mon, Pete. The calvary’s on the way. Get her on her feet! ”

Her eyes widened, tears streaming down her face. He stared back at her, his expression turning grim. She gazed up at her savior to realize that this was no true rescue. 

A sickly feeling crept over her as she put the pieces together. Whatever this was, whatever was happening, whatever had happened to her—it was because of Peter. 

Her tall, dark, and dangerous stranger. He grabbed her by the hips, scooting her closer. She wailed as he scooped her body up in her arms, dizzy with how fast and effortless it seemed. He carried her like a toddler having a tantrum, except she was restrained already. 

Peter said nothing as he carried her out of the garage, barely looking at her, as he marched towards an idling, blacked-out SUV. She barely had time to spot the driver, a gorgeous woman with long silver hair. 

She smirked at her, eyes sinister.

When the SUV finally came to a halt, all she knew is that they were in an underground parking garage. Her limbs felt heavy, the assault of adrenaline starting to take its toll. Few words were spoken during the car ride, and none to her. Thick tension filled the air.

She was on the floorboard, her cheek pressed up against the carpet. She gazed at the feet of two men seated in the back. One of them was the fresh-faced teenager she heard calling Peter ‘Boss.’ His name was Miles, she had heard. The other was a rugged, haunted-looking man, with large dark eyes fixed on the windows, ever watchful. Miles called him Miguel, before the older man shot him a look to stay quiet.

“That’s the unifying issue with the men in this car,” the woman driving the SUV snarked. “You all talk too much.”

Her heart hammered at the glint of a knife. Miguel opened a switchblade, grabbing her ankles. 

“Whoa, hang on,” Miles talked to her—the first one to do so. “He’s gonna cut the tape, just so you can move your legs, okay?”

She gazed up at his soft dark eyes, her own still welling with tears. She felt the release on her legs give way as she kicked the rest of the tape off.

“Lights out,” a cold, distant voice ordered. The sound came from the front passenger seat, where Peter sat in tense silence.

Both Miles and Miguel seemed to hesitate, glancing at each other.

“You sure?” Miles questioned.

“He didn’t stutter,” the silver-haired woman replied, definitively. There was a bite in her voice, but it carried with it a tiredness filled with frustration. She sounded more like an older sister jabbing a younger sibling.

The woman popped open her door to get out. “Let’s go, boys. We got groceries inside.” 

The world went black again. A dark hood was thrown over her head, obscuring her view. 

Continue to Part 2

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[nexusnyx]

Lost The Game

SUMMARY: The explanation your mind settled for was that whoever lived under that mask, also lived somewhere close by. It explained the first time you found him limping and bleeding on an alley, and it explains how you evolved into his personal caretaker for the wounds and afflictions of Spider-Man’s after battle consequences.

The only thing it doesn’t explain, however, is why through the thick and convoluted webs of your strange situationship, a certain tension has built between you two. Palpable. Physical. As electric as some of his tales, and as dangerous as he is.

The tension between you and Spidey grows, and it grows, and it grows. One day, it snaps.

⚠️ Minors DNI. Smut.  Explicit depictions of sex. | 🏷️ 8.3K , fluff, established relationship, part three of three, reposting this ‘cause some people missed this one and asked for it.

• PART TWO •

In his world, there was no Avengers.

The bad thing about his inter-dimensional trip he had was this—Peter got an idea of what other worlds looked like and parts of him wished for a supernatural helping hand, sometimes, or maybe just someone who understood him. He had allies, but very few friends on this side of his life. This is why when Peter is almost killed by Kingpin, a decision that he's been dreading for months becomes easy in the snap of a finger.

Do I drop the last vail or do I not?

All of his excuses as to why not fly out of the window when Peter's bleeding to death and realizes that none of it matters. All of life is dangerous, on this or any other planet, and if he's always putting his own damn life — personal or not — at risk for the sake of saving a city, he might as well do that and let the woman he loves kiss him with the lights on while he's at it.

He swallows the metallic and thick taste of red in his mouth, reaches his trembling hand up, and knocks.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap.

"Peter?"

The fright in your voice is what startles his eyes open.

"Peter!"

God, he loves your voice so much.

A lot less when it drips in worry like this, but the love is there nonetheless.

"Peter, open your eyes. What—oh my god," you choke on your words, and he feels you pulling his body inside your room.

Guiding himself by memory, Peter helps the way he can, letting his body slide down your bed.

"Gonna get your sheets dirty," he mumbles.

"Oh, for the love of god." There's the feeling of his suit being unzipped at the back, and even through the fogginess, Peter notices how your hands are cold. Shaking. "Peter, what happened?" It's a breathless whisper, and it makes his chest ache more than the bruises did because it sounds so small, and nothing about you is diminutive.

"Kin—ow—Kingpin." The ruthless man's minions might still be stuck in webs hung meters above the ground, but Wilson, Kingpin, that man needs no henchmen to do any damage. It was the point he had to prove today—more to Matt than to Peter, but because Peter had decided to help, he got mingled in the mess.

After a heartbeat, he hears. "Who's Matt?" you ask.

Wait—was Peter talking out loud?

"Oh, god," this time, it's a choked-up sob. "Peter, I think you have a concussion."

Y/n is going to be a doctor, so the probabilities of her being right are very high. He probably does have something on his head—Kingpin grabbed Peter's head in his hand, that enormous, gigantic hand that engulfed all of Peter's skull and smashed it against the nearest thing, which happened to be iron polls.

He's still unsure of what the tension and underlying secret were between that man and Matt, but there was so much anger in there tonight.

"Peter..."

He feels weak, but he still has some strength left and Peter had made up his mind before he arrived at the staircases of your apartment.

If he went to the hospital, Aunt May would have a heart attack.

If he came to you, Peter would have to let you see him.

With the taste of blood polluting every inch of his mouth, it was a surprisingly easy decision to make.

He ignores the strain and the pull on the sides of his body as he reaches up for the mask, and he hears you gasp when he pulls it off in a clean sweep.

"Peter."

"Hey. That's me." He can't laugh right now — or open his right eye that much — but he can smile at you. A weak, bloody thing. At least it's an honest one. "Hi. I think I might blackout."

"Peter," are you crying? Good gods, Peter would clock himself on the face if someone else hadn't beaten him to the punch. "I don't—I don't know if I can take care of all of this."

"It's just—the one on the back. I think I'm losin' lots of blood 'cause of it..."

"What's on your back?"

"Open gunshot wound closed with webs?"

"Peter!"

"I didn't sh... shoot it, baby." He knew she'd be mad the second he threw the webs at himself. "The rest will... it'll fade. Soon."

There's a moment of silence where Peter hears rapid, short breaths. He opens his left eye as much as he can as sees you breathing in through your nose and out of your mouth quickly, then feels the bed dipping when you leave it with purpose. He knows you're going for the first-aid kit, so he already does the job of turning around.

When he hears your footsteps coming back, the last thing he hears is what makes him smile against your duvet.

"I'll take care of you. It's okay. It's gonna be fine, Peter."

While he's aware you're hyping yourself up to believe it more than talking to him, the words are like anesthetic all over his body.

Peter inhales the scent that is acutely yours, and blacks out.

If he were anyone else, Peter would remember close to nothing of his hours alternating between consciousness and not.

Lucky for him, he's part spider.

At first, all he feels, sees, and hears, are small tidbits of you moving things in and around him.

There's the distinct — and nasty — feeling of a needle threading with nylon through his lower upper back.

During that moment, nothing else passes through.

He's distantly aware of your mumbling and whispering, the soft and comforting words not reaching his ears, but the sense they bring drape over his skin almost like a blanket.

Then, when he has a silver of consciousness again, he recognizes through the stinging pain and the dull, throbbing aches all over his body, that the heat he registers is not of his own blood anymore, but of your warm hands along with a warm towel washing him.

That's when he allows sleep to come for the first time.

He wakes up somewhere in the middle of the day judging by the light streaming through your window, and he's happy to access that his body's doing most of the healing by now.

The feeling of a gaping hole is gone, and so is the smell of blood.

Peter wants to look around a bit, but while the throbbing has passed, it's left a dull, sore ache in its place.

You're not there, either.

He knows that because Peter's spidey senses have almost a direct link to you, and you're not in the room.

It takes him a couple of minutes with the taste of sand at the back of his throat and that pounding on the back of his head for him to realize he can open his eyes.

There's a glass of water right next to him, and he smiles.

Of course you'd do that.

Even after he's ruined your nice duvets — after promising he'd never spill blood on your blankets again, shit — Peter still gets the kindest side of you.

And then he remembers—you saw his face.

The lights were on, he was a mess, and fuck—you saw him.

You saw him and saved his life, one more time.

How many times would you have to do it?

Why was his life so dangerous?

Peter's stomach starts to resemble something alive, something with tentacles and it's reaching up, so he swallows it back down.

After gulping the glass of water, he hears it.

Distant sounds of conversation.

Felicity's voice is what registers first. It's not as familiar to him as yours is right now, but it is the reason it brought him to you in the first place, even if Peter hates thinking about that. He ignores your roommate and the things he keeps hidden from you like most people would ignore a spider in the upper corner of their bathroom.

It hurts to try to hear the conversation.

The gun blasted too close to his ear, and Peter's not the biggest at eavesdropping, so he just lets his upper body lay down again and allows the darkness on the corners of his mind to take over the rest.

Next, there are the hours in-between.

As the sun goes down, Peter drifts between the land of dreams and this one, enjoying both of them very much.

In here, there's you with a warm, wet cloth cleaning his wounds that need tending, and in his dreams, there's you sitting next to a blond girl, smiling at him.

At some point, Peter opens his eyes and sees you sitting on your chair in front of your computer desk.

Your eyes widen and you slide the chair closer, looking at every inch of his face with furrowed eyebrows.

"Peter," it's the softest you've ever said his name. "Is there anyone you'd like me to text? About your whereabouts?"

Aunt May.

"You can go back to sleep right after, but you came without your backpack, and it's been almost a day—do you want some pain medicine? I can get it for you."

He nods.

You nod back, then get up and exit the room. Peter takes the opportunity to grab the notepad you have on your nightstand, write down Aunt May's phone number and name and a message underneath it.

I'm at Y/n's. Be back soon, aunt May. Love you <3

It's an ugly scribble, but your handwriting is far worse than anything he could dream of producing, so he sits back against your headboard and waits for you and the pills.

When you come back with them, Peter almost swallows it down without the water, but he's still so damn thirsty that another glass goes in a gulp.

He feels your eyes on him the whole time, and while he wants to talk, he prefers to wait for his body to finish using all his strength in stitching his insides up before he tries any conversation.

You grab the glass from his hand, place it on the nightstand and sit on the bed right next to him.

"Are you cold?" You ask, pressing your palm and the back of your hand to his forehead, neck, cheeks.

He's shirtless. Well—it's not anything you haven't seen before.

He shakes his head and clears his throat. The desert has left the back of his mouth, but the aftertaste of rust is still there.

"I'm sorry." He can say that, at least. "I am really sorry, Y/n. For coming to you like th—"

A hand tapes his mouth shut—your hand, and looking at your face in the bedroom light knowing you're looking back at his is not as terrifying as he made it out to be in the countless scenarios where he thought about this before.

"What's the alternative?" You ask him with a shrug. "You bleed out on the street because some drug lord had some beef with a Matt dude and you tried to help your friend?" He misses the heat of your hand as soon as it's gone. "I prefer you bleed on my death start duvets than on the streets, buddy. These ones I can wash."

Buddy.

'Don't call me buddy—I'm not your buddy. Fuck, I swear you say these things just to get a rise out of me. Do your buddies do this, huh? Touch you like this? Make you this wet? You get so wet for me, baby—'

'Peter.'

'Yeah, exactly. I taught you my name for a reason. Don't forget that.'

After a heartbeat, Peter licks his dry lips and looks away from yours. Those memories make his blood rate rise, and he's sure that's not good in the state he's still in. "I'm still not your buddy," he says. His voice comes out raspy, and he watches your gaze dropping from his eyes to his lips.

Peter's in love.

The way you look at him.

The way you look at his tall and graceless body already drove him insane, but the way you look at his face?

Parted lips and that distance gaze of someone who's getting lost in memories and the present?

Peter loves it. He's been in love with you, but seeing the softness and adoration mixing with desire on your face has put the cherry on the cake.

"Good to know that," you whisper back.

I'm happy to know this doesn't change things, he hears.

He scoffs. "I would suck at being your buddy."

"Yeah? Why's that?" You're smiling now, and as a reflex, so is he.

Peter frowns. Isn't it obvious? "I've bled on your bed more times than I can count, you've put your fingers inside me in more ways than you can count, and I'm pretty sure that if I tried to stay away from you, your lips, or that pretty brain of yours for longer than two weeks, I'd have withdrawal symptoms." He's sure of it, actually. He tried staying away from you, and it sucked. "I can't be your buddy, baby." He chuckles. "We're not meant to be buddies. I already explained that to you."

Your lips quiver, moving upwards in a smile, slowly.

"Right." The way you bite on the bottom lower one tells Peter all you need to know about where your mind went.

His body leans forward as if there's a magnetic poll right on the center of you pulling you towards him.

Unfortunately for him, he's still healing from a very big pound.

He makes it only a few centimeters away from the headboard before the muscles inside him sting like a sharp hook and he stops—"Ah."

"Don't move." You're on in an instant. A comforting — and silently demanding — hand on his bicep, scooching closer to him in the bed. "You still need... I don't know how much longer you need, actually." A chuckle. "I still haven't got a clue how your healing works, Spidey. Just... lay down. Stand still until you're not moving won't rip apart the stitches I so beautifully made, 'kay?"

That brings Peter's hand and eyes to the work at hand.

He inspects the stitch-up work and—you're right. It's beautiful, neat, and professional work.

He can almost hear the praises of your teachers during class, as well as the envious looks of your colleagues who have three times less practice than you in the matter.

(Truth be told, Peter's aware you'd have gotten to this point with or without him as a guinea pig because while you may feel or say like everything around you is collapsing, studying is a ball you've yet to let it drop. You do it and do it well. 'If I'm gonna do this, I might as well do it well, huh? you had told him. Peter believed a lot of it was innate talent, but he might be biased to speak of you.)

"Grade A work, Y/l/n."

"Thanks, Spidey."

When he looks up, Peter takes a punch to the chest.

There you are, looking at him again.

Damn.

He's frozen.

Have you lied to him all this time? He's pretty sure this is the effect of actual superpowers and not just the way your eyes glint under the light of the day.

It must have something to do with the frizz in your hair that gives you almost an angelic aura—there's gold, orange, a touch of pink and lilac touching your cheeks and the soft, dopey smile you have on your face, and Peter stands there with his hand hanging halfway to his lap, as frozen in the air as he is looking at you looking at him.

You can see him, and Peter has never felt more comfortable feeling this exposed.

This vulnerable.

"Hi," he whispers.

Instead of answering, your blinks seem to slow down in time.

One of your hands reaches up to his cheek, and Peter finds himself leaning towards the hand.

Magnets.

When the soft, velvety touch of your palm meets his dry skin, Peter takes in a deep breath.

Closes his eyes.

Your hand cups his cheek, and caresses his face, as slowly as you are breathing.

Then, Peter's spidey senses feel the vibrations and electricity on your skin inching closer, and he thinks the slow-motion of your delicate, almost afraid, and calculated moves are making the energy and waves that travel between your body and his twice as real.

He might get shocked.

Peter feels when your lips are mere inches away from his. He wants to dive in, but he lets you dip your fingers in the water and go as you want.

He can feel how much you're feeling right now.

Seeing him is not only affecting him, and that's perhaps why his body is rendered at your mercy.

When your lips press against his, they're as plump and tender as always.

He exhales, at last, enjoying the sensation of warmth that spreads through his body when yours connects to his in any intimate way. Usually, it takes a little bit more for the tingle to travel from head to toe like this, but something about the kiss and the way you're keeping still and yet he knows you feel it, just as he does, it makes it even better that he's all buzzing.

Peter's underwater, and it's almost a reflex when he exhales and presses harder.

Closer.

With abandon, Peter lets his body relax on yours, not wanting to push it any further than it can go, but wanting to melt against the welcoming and familiar heat of your body.

His right hand goes up to your hair, and he gets a few more soft, tender presses of your lips on his, as well as the sensual and slow drags of your mouth against his in between them before you move your head back a few inches, still keeping your hand on his face.

Peter swallows the knot in his throat.

"I... should get you food," you whisper.

He's too busy staring at how pink your lips are for a few seconds.

Eventually, he hums. "That'd be nice."

"I got soup." You lick your lips. There's a color on your cheeks, and Peter is definitely in trouble. He hasn't gotten the instinct to draw in a long time, yet here he is, trying to figure out what's the correct shade of your cheeks. "From the deli shop you like."

"Oh." He loves that place. "I love that place!" He whispers excitedly.

Your smile widens. "I know." With a quick, delicious peck of goodbye, you get up from the bed in one quick motion. "I'll be back. I'm gonna text," you pick up the paper from the nightstand and read it. "Aunt May. Wait—you want me to text her this? Will she know who I am? Aunt May knows me?"

Peter laughs. "Of course Aunt May knows you."

In your few blinks Peter sees the surprise. "Right." You turn around sharply, cheeks pulled up from the smiling. "Text. Soup. Then sleep. I gotta go run a few errands, so I'll shut the windows for you." More seriously, you add. "You should really get some rest. You look a bit... pale."

"It's the caucasian in me."

You snort. "God, it's horrible when you try to be funny."

"Yet, you're smiling."

"At you." You get up and regardless of what you say, the nose scrunch proves that Peter amused you, to say the least. "I'm gonna get your food. Stay put, Spidey boy."

"Man, Spider-Man."

He's arguing now more for the sake of your smile than because your 'boy' has gotten a rise out of him.

It used to.

The first time you said it, Peter recalled the tingling on his body and that desire to correct—not a boy, I'm a man, you'll see, I'll show you.

Did he feel silly two seconds afterward correcting you when he saw in your face that you'd be pulling his metaphorical pigtails? Maybe. Luckily for him, the mask hid it back then.

Now, it's just a skit between you two.

The teasing back and forth is almost like the sea tide.

You come back with the soup and sit back down on your desktop chair, returning to your books and papers while he eats. Peter recalls the day when he asked why you never eat when he's there and, on the occasion when you gave him food, why didn't you stay close to him while he ate.

'You're distracting when you're eating.' You had said.

'What? I'm distracting? How?'

'You make all these little noises when you're enjoying it. And your lips get super pink 'cause you keep licking them. It's distracting.'

'From what? You're not even doing anything.'

'I don't need to be doing something. It just... is.'

Later, he realized it was distracting because it made you want to kiss him. To take away the plate in his hands and replace it with your body instead.

He's content to share looks with you over the bowl of warm food and watch your profile as you read and type. The concentrated crease in your brows and your lips set in a firm line are distracting too, he thinks, but he enjoys it.

Peter finishes the food and the result of some protein, carbs and nutrients making their way inside him is instant—his eyes get heavier, and blinking is a bit harder, and all he wanted was to cuddle you. Slide under the blanket, say goodbye to the world.

It's when he lowers the bottom half of his body that Peter feels he's still wearing his suit.

"How come you haven't kicked me out of your bed yet? I'm gross," he says.

Even though his voice is softer and lower than before, you turn to him.

Smiling, you shrug. "I've been gross before. You're forgiven because of circumstances." Then, something happens—you blush. You were looking at his body before but when you look up, Peter recognizes the flash of 'oh, it's him' that passes fast as lightning in your eyes. "Also, you're pretty," you add in a whisper. Your peachy cheeks darken, looking good enough to eat. "Pretty privileges."

Peter feels it—the heat on his face. He laughs, ducking his head down. He's not used to people complimenting him like that, but coming from you it makes it three times worse. "So it is a real thing."

"Oh, it definitely is."

"Good to know." He hates to know he's making your small piece of safe haven dirty, but he'll make up for it. "As much as I'd love to stay awake and watch you study and be gorgeous for the next couple of hours, I think my brain's about to shut down in the next few minutes."

"Sleep, Spidey." If there's such thing as magic through the voice or words, Peter believes you have it. The gentle softness with which you say those two words are better than any of your blankets. "I'll be there soon."

That's even better. God, I love sleeping with you.

He hears a giggle.

"It's mutual, Peter."

He loves the sound of that, too.

If Peter believed in something, he'd have beautiful religious metaphors to use about the way you look in the mornings.

He'd maybe talk about how waking up with you next to him is the only sanctuary he needs, and for a Jewish boy who's missed so much of what one looks or sounds like, he's sure it felt something like this.

If Peter believed, he'd have more words to say about the way your tenderness makes him feel like he's holy.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"Good. I'm glad... d'you wanna take a shower? I can separate some clothes for you."

"Are you coming with me?"

Peter would have words for what it feels like to sit in your loft's bathroom in his bloodied, mended superhero suit, his feet touching the freezing cold floor and his body still running as hot as ever because he can hear you walking around the place in your fuzzy socks while you wait for the water to warm.

How can he be so at peace like this?

He's beaten himself up for much less, but the seriousness in your tone when you told him to stay put while you changed the sheets only made him warm.

It made him feel cared for and nothing more.

Peter removes the rest of his suit. It comes off with difficulty—the sweat's stuck the material to his skin, and it still hurts to move, but he manages.

He feels the fresh tissues inside of him.

His heightened senses tell him the main wound is still healing, but everything else is almost okay. Peter needs maybe a good meal and a couple more days to be brand new, which is more than he'd expected when he left the bay area with webs sticking his skin together.

When you come back and see him already naked, Peter's happy that his eyes' swelling has done down.

He'd hate to miss the lust in your gaze.

To miss the obvious way your eyes travel up and down his body.

"You could've gone inside already," you whisper.

It's barely nine in the morning, there are only you two in the place and Peter has no idea why you'd think he wants to go anywhere without you.

"Was waiting for you." He's more at ease sitting naked on your toilet than he's been in three, maybe four years. That means something, right?

You start taking off your pajamas, and Peter gets up to help.

Not that you need it. He just loves removing clothes from your body.

The steam takes over the bathroom and by the time you two are immersed underneath the water, wet as rain, Peter already feels new.

Not even the best prayers could do that.

He loves the showerhead here because the water pressure is great and it's big enough to almost give space to the two of you. Almost.

That's why he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his body.

He wants your warmth much more than the water's.

That's when he feels it—the shaky, interrupted way you breathe. Your arms come up around his middle so fast that he almost has to take a step back to keep himself in place, but he's rooted there.

And you're crying.

"Y/n?" Peter looks down.

You shake your head in three quick motions. Not yet.

Peter's not an idiot, and while he may be a little slow to the mysteries of his own heart, the loud and physical thumping of your heart against his ribcage is right there and doesn't lie.

He can feel every beat of it, and maybe there was something in that container that Kingpin had dropped on his head and all that mysterious blue sand inside of it, but Peter's sure he can see the black clouds exiting your head.

He sees the darkness of worry and fear leaving you.

Peter clings on tighter, letting you cry silent tears into his chest. He hopes the kisses he presses on your temple and your face make any worries left to be gone easier. Quicker.

He kisses the parts he can reach of you, and refuses to let go.

Eventually, you pull back against the hold of his arms and when you look up with those swollen, red eyes, Peter realizes what it all means.

What being so comfortable around you, laughing so easily, coming to you many more times even though he knew he shouldn't, watching you sleep, and all those minors or big things that made him stop and go—it means something, right?

It means Aunt May was right.

She was right when she said the world goes on regardless of how much we want it to stop sometimes, and right now, Peter's world is you.

When your lips, trembling just like your chin is, open and say, "I was terrified," in a whispered confession, Peter knows.

He'd give up anything for you. He'd conquer anything for you, as well, which he imagines lives on the other side of that coin.

"I am so sorry, baby," he tells you, blinking through the sting in his own eyes.

You shake your head and his heart almost falls to the ground before you pick it up. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Pete. I know—" you swallow a visible knot, sniffle, and then try again. "You have a responsibility. With your power, and... with what you believe."

With great power, comes great responsibility.

He nods.

"And please don't take this wrongly—don't shut down, or stop coming. God—if you stop coming I swear I'll die of worry—"

"Y/n." He interrupts because he knows when you're about to spiral as much as you know when he's about to go on a ramble. "I'd never. I—you're allowed to be scared. I'm not gonna go into martyr mode and make that decision for you. If you want me gone, I'll be gone. I know I'm a lot. I know my life, and how scary it is to be around it, but I think I also know you and if I take away your choice of being around me and all my mess—" he shakes his head. "I don't fancy that ass-whooping."

You laugh.

It untangles all the messy knots and webs inside his chest that formed when he saw your eyes puffy, and Peter breathes in what feels like clean, fresh air.

"I'm happy you're smart," you say.

He shrugs his shoulders. "It's what my teachers say."

"Is it?"

With your head tilt, he notices—he's nearing territory he used to avoid before.

Peter breathes in again, reaches behind him in the shower, and grabs your shampoo.

"Can I do your hair?" he asks.

Your face remains the same as you nod, but he sees you breathing out. Accepting his silence. The change in subjects, as it usually is.

When he's got enough bubbles forming, he massages your scalp and starts. "I got a scholarship for Biophysics, so I guess I am pretty smart, but it wasn't 'till one of my teachers at ESU told me my paper was 'informative even through the minors detours it took, which funnily enough, were informative as well' that I knew I had a good head for more than just web-developing and stuff like that."

Should he tell you about the time when he traveled between Universes and met the other versions of him?

He'd love for you to know how clever Peter 1 is.

Peter knows if it weren't for that experience, exactly four years after what happened at the clock, he'd be in a much worse place now.

I wouldn't have met you, he thinks.

"What d'you wanna do with the degree?" you ask him.

"Mmm. I don't know yet. Working with genetic mutation is not too on the nose, is it?" he chuckles.

You turn around, smiling wider than ever before.

"Are you for real?" you laugh.

"I am!" He laughs too.

"Gimme that," you take the shampoo from his hand, pour some on your hand, and look up expectantly at him. Peter ducks his head in silent permission, and you start doing the same to him. "I think that while it's a bit on the nose, it also makes a lot of sense, and given your personal experience, you could make breakthroughs no one else would. Your circumstances give you a lot of room."

"My dad was a Biochemist." The information slips out, and Peter opens his eyes. When had I closed them? He gives you a sheepish smile, and closes his eyes again. "I lot of what I know came from his research."

"Did it have anything to do with spiders?" you ask with a giggle, thinking you're being funny.

Here's to hoping. "It did," he answers.

Your movements halt for a second, then start again. "Oh." You stay silent for a moment. "Big brain runs in the family, so I imagine you'll make breakthroughs he's only dreamt of. Just... make sure you pick an area 'cause it's what you want to make yourself happy, you know?"

Peter wonders how many people have the luxury of having someone care for them this way.

"I will." He smiles when you pull him under the water stream. When the shampoo is rinsed, he opens his eyes. "And you? D'you have an area you wanna work at?"

Hearing you talk about your hopes for the future while showering makes Peter notice it's the first he's been thinking about the future and what paths he could take for it.

You two laugh a lot in there, and the only moment when somberness takes over the steamy bathroom is when your fingertips graze over the black nylon that still peaks out of his lower stomach.

Peter ignores the tingle your touch brings, and kisses you instead.

He distracts you by asking you more about residency, school, tests, and anything that comes to mind.

Your voice is one of his favorite things.

In your bedroom, Peter gets dressed in the sweats that now are basically his—one of his designated clothes from when he's around.

Now though, he can wear the sweater and shake his wet hair all over you.

He can pull you to his lap on the bed and kiss you filthy with the sun shining on both of you.

Lights on, face out in the open, nothing to hide because there never was.

When he starts grinding his hips upwards, seeking the friction of your heat—and god, you're already burning on his lap, and he doesn't need to touch your panties to know that you barely put them on and he's already ruined them—but you stop him with a hand around his neck.

"You're gonna bust your stitches," you say, mouth still close to his.

He groans. "Baby, c'mon..."

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. "As much as I want to, you'll have to wait a day more, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You're hurting me right now," he whines, grinding on you. He hisses, not because of how hard he is from just a few minutes of making out with you and having his mind spin with how good you smell, how dizzying it makes him have you like this, no barriers whatsoever, but because he feels his insides protesting with the sharper thrust.

You give him a look that says I know what you're hiding. "Peter." While you ask him to stop, Peter's yet to feel you stop enjoying the ministrations of his hips. "Hey," you lean in closer and whisper in his ear. "You can enjoy fucking me like you've never fucked me before now... and you're gonna waste that first time of ours by not being able to do all that you wanna do?"

You are evil.

Peter moans. Hides his face in the space between your boobs, and kisses them since he's there already.

"So what you're telling me is that I should take you for a coffee and some breakfast and a few days and then we can come back here?" he asks.

"Yeah," you smile.

"And then I can take my time with you?" he confirms, his kisses going up. He loves the column of your throat. Loves the way you bear your neck for him, breathless and surrendered every time.

"Yeah..." this one comes out breathier, and Peter smiles before sucking on the skin of the space that's really sensitive.

"I can make you cum in all the ways I like?" Peter knows it's just torture at this point, but he keeps doing it. Keeps moving his hips in small little circles, and groans when he feels you meeting his movements. "On my tongue first... then on my fingers..."

"Only if you let me suck you off 'till you cum in my mouth."

Sneaky. "No." Peter hears your brain gears halting at it.

"Peter!"

"No!" He laughs. "Listen, I don't know what my—"

"—if you call your cum something weird again I'm leaving your lap right now."

"...my semen."

"Ugh. That's somehow worse," you laugh.

"I don't know what's in it! It's mutated, okay? What if you get pregnant from it? I am very fast. My sperm can be too."

Holding yourself with your arms around his neck, you stare at him with the blankest look.

The smile obviously hidden in the corners of your lips is where the truth lies, though.

"You know I'm right," he shrugs his shoulders.

You sigh. Heavily. "Ugh. I hate that I'm paranoid enough to buy your bullshit," you push him backward hard, and he falls into the bed in surprise, laughing. Leaning forward, you cage your arms around his head. "I wanna do so much to you," you whisper.

Just like that, the temperature's closer to the Sun again.

You have powers.

The power to make him religious. To make a conversation shift between the Sun and the Moon, just by laughing or speaking in a different tone.

Peter feels the tip of his cock dripping in his boxer, and he closes his eyes, exhaling from his nose. He grabs you by the neck and pulls you to a kiss, which turns messy and needy the second you moan in that pretty way he loves. Like a kitty, or like someone's squeezing you hard, just the way you like it.

He's grabbing you by the neck, squeezing and letting go, trying to gather his damn thoughts into coherent sentences and not the mess of I want you so bad I love you so much, so all that he can do is rub his forehead on yours.

Bring your body as close to his as possible.

That's what happened.

All these months culminated in this—Peter being unable to stay away, to him smiling in the corridors of his college, to the unfathomable infatuation with your legs, or the way you snort when you laugh really hard.

Into him loving you.

He's suddenly overwhelmed by the truth of it:

Peter is in love with you. He loves you.

Loves you for your brain, your skilled hands, the way you hate the Giants and love music he's never heard of. Loves you for all the ways you're you and the ways you remind him of his very first love too, but more than anything, because he knows he'd love you even if nothing was similar.

He swallows the knot in his throat and pulls you to a kiss.

You feel the difference in it—he knows you do because you hold his face with gentle hands, but answer the kiss with the same devotion.

You let him take over the kiss, let him taste his tongue on yours until he's got no oxygen left in his lungs and has to pull back.

He sees it in your face that something's taken over you, too.

"You can do anything you want. Anytime," he says. He feels your legs clenching around his waist as a response, and thinks to the hell with it. "What if you did all the work, hm? I promise I'll stay still. I'll web my own wrists to the bed if you want, just—please?" he begs.

"Peter..."

"I wanna feel you, baby." It's not even about the sex, or about cumming. It's about being as close to you as possible. He needs to be as close to you as possible. "I just wanna feel you. Wanna be inside you." Peter grabs your face again, smashing his lips on yours. "D'you have any idea how fucked I'd be without you? It just—" he's barely breathing, and he knows you feel why. "I realized just how much I adore every goddamn inch of you and I wanna feel you." He kisses you again, and again. "I owe you my life, baby."

You shake your head at his words and Peter moves his hand down to your chin, holding it still.

"Yes, I do. And I love that," he smiles. "I fell in the best hands of this city... and your hands are just one of the reasons why I'm in love with you."

"Peter." This time, it's you who smashes your mouth on his.

The first time he heard his name coming out from your lips, he thought he'd cum on the spot. He remembers feeling his dick twitching inside of you just at the mention of it—his name, and you.

He loved it.

He lets you kiss him to your desire and when you pull back with those puffy lips, he smiles.

You're looking at him like one looks at something they barely believe it's true. He's seen looks like this a few weeks ago when he went to the museum with May and he saw people staring at what he assumes is their favorite art pieces—nothing but attention to detail and a shine in their eyes.

He feels naked, even though he's not.

"I've been in love with you since the day you told me you had glass shrapnel all over your body because Mrs. Levinson was gonna take the fall for Castle's collateral damage, Y/n, I couldn't have that." You shrug like it's easy, like you haven't just given him the present of a lifetime and stolen every last bit of anxiety and sadness he had hidden in the corners of his mind, then kisses him.

Softly press your lips on his, once, then twice.

When he feels your hands sliding down his body, Peter warms up.

Powerful. From Moon to Sun, there he goes again.

There his body goes.

Peter knows standing still will be a bit of torture, and everything will be heightened from how little he can move, but he's okay with that.

Whining under the ministrations of your hands might be one of his top three activities ever. Peter watches you get off from on top of him so you can take off your sweatpants, and he groans under his breath when you slide your leg over his waist again with the panties still on.

"Just slide it to the side—fuck. Yeah, like that, baby. I love it like this."

Your attention to detail is unmatched.

When you learn something he likes, you never let it go. As soon as Peter feels your hand slipping inside his boxer and getting his cock out there, he's already moaning.

"Stand still," you tell him.

He nods, eagerly. Peter watches you pull your panties to the side, guide the head of his dick to your entrance and when the tip slides in, he feels you coming back, caging him between your arms.

You slide down painfully slow, taking your time with it.

To have something to hold on to, he grabs your ass with one hand and your face with the other. Having his hands on you is a must if he's gonna be good for you.

He might've said he could web his hands to the bed, but if he did that, he'd have to web his hips as well.

"Ahhh." Peter feels the walls of your pussy clenching around him, and he closes his eyes at the feeling.

You move back up, then down again until you're fully seated on his lap and he's fully buried inside of you.

"Use me, baby," he tells you. He might be out of his mind already—has it always been this hot to be inside you? "Fuck—you're always so wet for me. How are you this wet—oh."

You slam your hips down, pulling a grunt from him.

"You make me this way and you know it," you whine to him.

Peter admires you for keeping up with a gym routine, but he admires more the benefits it reaps: the way your legs can hold the weight of bouncing up and down as slow or as fast as you like.

He pulls your head closer until he can kiss you.

"You're gonna use me, hm?" Peter asks between kisses, grunting at how tight you are. "Use those thunder thighs to drive me insane?"

"Peter you feel so fucking good," you breathe out.

The praise warms him up even further. Peter's eyes close in response, and he whines at how hard it is to keep his hips on the bed and not pistoning up to meet your delicious thrusts. "You feel better," he mutters, a bit drunk on the wetness pouring out of you. It's so damn hot in and all around him. "So tight for me, baby."

"Oh, god."

"Hhnh—fuck. Fuck, do that again," he whines.

You do it—you move all the way up until he almost slips out, then slams those hips down again. And again, and again, and again, until the room is nothing but the sound of your skins slapping on one another and your mouths breathing on each other, grunting and moaning.

Peter loves swallowing your moans almost as much as he loves swallowing the slick from your pussy.

"Fuck, if I had a little bit more strength in me I'd ask you to sit on my face after this," he says.

You moan even louder now.

Peter smiles.

He loves it when you two are alone. Loves when you let go, especially if it's to use him to your pleasure.

Peter holds your hip instead of your ass now and tries to help you. While you don't need it, the strength of even just one of his arms is appreciated, and he watches as you let go of all pretenses and just fuck yourself on his cock.

It's when you grab him by the chin and look him in the eye that Peter feels you're fucking him too.

You clench around him. Purposely.

Peter moans as loud as you, and plants his feet on the bed.

The change in angle makes you scream, and as a response, you smash your lips on his again.

He knows you're close by the way you start whining into the kiss.

Peter lets go, too. He kisses you back, all tongue, teeth, bites and moans of your name. Uncoherent sentences and babbles about your pussy and how fucking good you make him feel, and he feels the tension building up in his groins before he'd imagine.

He hates coming before you. Peter makes it a habit to make you cum before he does, but he's in heaven, he's in you, and you're staring at him.

It's that which does it.

"Baby I can't hold it—oh fuck, Y/n, don't do that," if you keep clenching around him just to get a rise of him you'll get more than just that, and he whines because of it. "I'm close. I'm so so close, you feel too good."

He moves his hand from your head in direction of your clit, but you grab him by the wrist and pin his arm above his head, holding tight onto his wrist. While he could break free easier than breathing, feeling how tightly you're gripping him makes his head spin.

He's at your mercy, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Y/n, please." Please stop bouncing so fast, please slow down, baby, please don't clench again.

Your hips slow down just a fraction, and you move until your lips are almost touching his.

Then you ask. "Who has your heart, baby?"

Peter blinks, opening his eyes. His mouth hangs open, jaw wide for a second before he answers. "You."

You move your hips in the way a dancer would, circling like you're trying to spell his damn name or something, and then slam all the way down. "You're mine, baby?"

Peter's head is somewhere too far for him to reach, but he still manages to nod. "All yours."

"I love you so fucking much," you cry on his lips, and then you start again—the merciless speed of your hips against his while your hand holds his arm up and your other is on his neck.

"I love you more," Peter cries back, reaching for a kiss that you give with all the desire in the world. He kind of wants his hand free to hold your face, and kind of wants to see how much you'd fight him to stand still, but neither one happens because you start to speed up and Peter's moans grow louder and louder.

Being as attracted as you are by his sounds, your legs start shaking and squeezing around him.

"Cum for me, Y/n, please, please, please," before I lose it and cum inside you, please.

"Cum inside me first."

"What?"

"Cum in me." You sound as out of it as he is, and Peter's only human at the end of the day. "Please. Do it. Do it, Peter. I wanna feel you. Please, Spidey, c'mon."

Peter cums with a yell, and his hips can't take it, bucking up to meet your thrusts in the last seconds, and it must be the strength with which he fucks into you, the angle, the way he's crying out your name or just everything together, but you cum right with him.

Both of your bodies shake and tremble together, in a peculiar and hard-to-achieve glorious moment.

He'll need many minutes to recover, and you'll need even more to gather the strength and will to let him come out from inside of you, but none of that matters for the time being.

Peter's content to stay inside you for now, just as you are to lay on his chest.

He lets the sound of your hearts beating like hummingbirds bring him back to Earth.

There's a smile on his face, and with minimum inspection, he feels there's a smile resting on his shoulder, too. Your lips press kisses on the exposed skin there, and he feels your grin when the kisses stop.

Peter's not a very religious man, but he might have just found his heaven on Earth.

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[tooearlyforthis]

Are We Still Friends? | Peter Parker

Ayo, did someone ask for a slightly depressing Peter Parker fic? Anyways, this fic is somewhat inspired by the song Are We Still Friends by Tyler the Creator <3

Pairing: Peter Parker x bsf!reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Synopsis: After being rejected by the only person that matters, Y/n struggles to come to terms with no longer having a best friend.

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining

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Every Friday of the summer, the residents of Forest Hills would stop whatever they were doing for one big barbecue. Fire hydrants were opened for the kids to play as the adults cooked whatever meat the butcher had given them that week. It was pure bliss. 

Y/n always looked forward to these Fridays during the summer. Even when the sun was beating down hard on the asphalt, the community gathered to have a great time. She spent almost every barbecue this year with her best friend and neighbor Peter Parker. The two had been close friends ever since he had moved in with his aunt and uncle as a little boy. 

They were inseparable from the moment they met, playing together, going to school, club activities; you name it, they did it. Their favorite hang-out spot, which hadn’t changed since they were little, was the fire escape. Y/n's apartment was only two over from Peter’s which meant they shared a fire escape overlooking the street below. 

It was the perfect getaway for whatever life threw at them. Shitty birthdays, a breath of fresh air, when uncles pass away…it was the remedy for everything. It also happened to be a great spot to watch the barbecue festivities below. 

On this particular Friday, Y/n sat atop the stairs, letting her legs dangle down below as her best friend settled into sitting next to her. She felt her heart leap as their shoulders collided, hoping that what she was about to tell him wouldn’t change this. 

“If I have to hear Mrs. Duval talk about her skiing trip one more time I might just run away,” Peter said, adjusting his position on the stairs. 

Y/n laughed and said, “Give her a break she has dementia!”

“Dementia or not I’m running away and I’m taking you with me.”

She watched as he stared off the fire escape, looking at the neighborhood below. He didn’t know how much that meant to her. A little joke about running off together and she felt herself being swept off her feet. 

“Hey Pete?” 

He turned to her with a smile.”Yeah?”

“Can I talk to you about something?” She rubbed her hands together, hoping that clammy feeling would go away. 

Turning his body to face her more, his expression getting a little more serious he joked, “Oh no am I being called into the principles office?”

Y/n chuckled. “No uh…I just wanted to…” She trailed off, not knowing how she was going to confess. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Y-yeah I just. Over the past couple months,” she began. “I just loved hanging out with you.”

She watched him smile, he cheeks getting slightly red. That was a good sign right? “Yeah I love hanging out with you too.”

“And like, we’ve been friends almost our entire lives so it feels silly that I’m only realizing this now but, I… I like you Peter. As more than a friend.”

Slowly looking up, she saw what she feared the most. The color had drained from Peter’s face, his eyes darting everywhere but at her. He shifted back slightly, adjusting himself a few inches away from her. 

“Oh…” he said, unable to think properly. “I’m not sure what to say to that, Y/n…”

What had she done? Why did she think this was a good idea? 

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, swinging her legs around back into the stairs. “I thought you felt the same but clearly I was wrong.”

“Y/n I’m sorry wait-“

“No, it’s okay. I misread things. Bye Peter.”

She got up quickly, climbing back through her apartment window without looking back. His voice rang out as she moved further into her apartment but she chose to ignore it. She knew what he was going to say. I’m sorry it’s not you, it’s me. I just don’t like you that way. She didn’t need him to hurt her more in this moment than she already felt. 

That was the last time she had spoken to Peter Parker. 

🕷🕷🕷

The school year was finally beginning and even though they weren’t friends anymore, could you still call them friends? It didn’t matter, even though they weren’t talking anymore, Y/n's crush never went away. 

Because of their lack of communication, she didn’t know what classes he had been given for the year and as she walked through the halls of her first day of junior year, she felt her heart leap with the chance that they might share a class. 

Scanning the room, she felt relief when she saw MJ. That was one of the harder parts of not speaking to Peter, they still shared all of the same friends. MJ was thankfully alone, something that felt increasingly rare as time passed. Approaching her at the lockers, Y/n crossed her arms and leaned against them. 

“Hey,” she said. 

MJ looked up from her book bag with a smile. “Hey,” she responded. “You ready to be seniors?”

“Ugh, I don’t know, I’m really not looking forward to the AP Gov class.”

“Yeah, I heard Mr. Gonzales isn’t that great. But…”

As MJ went on about their next class, Y/n felt her mind drifting away. She felt so nervous coming back to school after everything that had happened that summer. Her eyes scanned the halls, students filing in for the day's first class. 

That’s when she saw him. Peter stood at the other end of the hall, looking around before locking eyes with her. No, this is not where she would see him again. It was the first day of school and she didn’t want to deal with their situation. Without another word, she pulled MJ into the first empty classroom she could find.  

“What are you doing?!” MJ exclaimed as Y/n shut the door behind her. 

“I saw Peter and panicked,” she responded, taking a deep breath.

“You can’t keep avoiding him, Y/n. He’s your best friend.”

“Was,” she corrected. “I don’t think I could call him that after what happened.”

Y/n slumped down on the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees as she tucked them against her chest. Sighing, MJ got down on the floor, sitting next to her friend. There wasn’t much she could do right now. Emotions were still high and the best thing was to just let it happen. 

“I know it hurts,” MJ began as Y/n leaned against her shoulder. “But eventually things will get better. Who knows, maybe you and Peter could still be friends after all this.”

“I don’t know if we could…I mean, I’ve liked him for so long and the way he dismissed me was like it was a joke. I knew that confessing to him would change our relationship but I was so sure that he liked me back I hoped that it would be for the better. I took a chance and I chose wrong; there’s no going back from it.”

MJ wrapped her arm around her friend as she shed a tear. “I know, I know…” she consoled her. 

🕷🕷🕷

The first three periods of the day went surprisingly fine; once math class started it was hard to think of anything but the equations on the board. MJ wouldn’t be joining Y/n for lunch. She had to go to a meeting for journalism which was just starting back up again. 

As Y/n sat alone at the lunch table, silently eating her sandwich, she felt standing at the table in front of her. When she looked up, her lunch suddenly didn’t seem that appetizing. 

“Hey,” Peter began playing with the hem of his shirt. He pointing at the bench in front of him. “C-can I sit here?”

Y/n stared back up at him, not mouthing word, not even swallowing her sandwich bite. She watched as he sat down anyway, awkwardly shuffling in the seat. It was clear he hadn’t rehearsed this as the two sat in silence - she felt like he was starting into her soul. Her heart rate sped up and she knew what would become of her if she stayed. 

Peter began to open his mouth. “Je-“

He didn’t even have time to mutter name before she bolted upright, hastily grabbing her lunch before scurrying aware, dodging and weaving between students. She spit out her sandwich in the nearest trash can as she gasped for a breath. Why did he have to speak to her? In school for that matter?

Peter Parker was going to be the death of her.

🕷🕷🕷

Even though only a week had gone by since the start of school, Y/n had an ungodly amount of homework to complete. She sat hunched over at her desk, the lamp being the only source of light as the sun set throughout her study session. One of her moms had come in earlier that day asking her if she wanted to go out for dinner but she had refused, opting to finish her school work for the evening instead. 

So she sat at home, listening to the soft sounds of some lo-fi playlist she turned on as she struggled to complete an essay. A thud sounded loudly and Y/n looked up for only a minute, choosing to believe it was from the song she was listening to and went back to her work.

Soon, there was another thud, and then another. It was so loud and eruptive to becoming from the speakers. Thud! The sound rang out again. No, that wasn’t the song, it was coming from the fire escape. 

Y/n got up from her desk, turning off the music before walking over and lifting up her window. She peered onto the fire escape and seeing nothing coming from the left, she turned to the right and couldn’t believe the sight before her. 

Spider-Man was on her fire escape, clutching his side as he tried to open a window. No, that wasn’t Spider-Man, that was Peter. She gasped for a moment, trying to take it all in. Peter was Spider-Man? How and when? But most importantly, why didn’t he ever tell her?

He must’ve heard her small gasp because he twisted his head around, unsure of what was behind him. A little relief flashed in his eyes before he remember that he wasn’t standing in front of her as Peter, but the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

“Y/n, hey-“ he began.

She already begun to pull herself inside her room, not wanting to face him, especially with all this new information. “I should leave-“

“No!” he called out, watching her freeze in her window. Slowly she stuck her head back out. “Please don’t go just-“ he grunted, grabbing his side more. “Can you help me open the window?”

She could tell he was in pain, not from the amount of blood seeping onto the metal stairs beneath them but from the disgruntled look in his face. She hated that look. She had seen it plenty of times before. After a fight with Flash, tripping on the sidewalk and apparently being shot at. She could never turn him away with that look.

Without saying another word, she pulled herself full onto the fire escape, making her way over to help push his window open. She crawled in first, lending a hand for him to lean on as he jumped inside.Tossing his mask on his bed, he opted to lay on the floor, still gripping his side. 

“Thanks,” he said, looking up and seeing no Y/n in sight. 

She must’ve crawled back through his window because it was once again shut. Peter led his head fall back in a sigh. He needed to fix this but first, stitches. 

🕷🕷🕷

It was finally the next day of school and Y/n was still freaking out from the night before. She didn’t get back to studying, how could she after finding out her best friend- neighbor was Spider-Man? 

She silently walked to her locker, letting her head hang low as she continued to mull over everything she was feeling. Her first reaction was anger. Angry at him for not telling her of his secret life. Spider-Man had of course been around since before they stopped talking so why didn’t he tell her? Why did he tell his - at the time - best friend? 

Then the realization hit her. She didn’t need to help him. She couldn’t left him on that fire escape to fend for himself. From the stuff she had seen on the tv of him she knew he had probably gone through worse. But she did help him and that realization, that no matter what state their relationship was in, she would running to his aid. That no matter what - she would always love him. 

It’s a lot, to realize that you’re not just going through a phase of having a crush. And it’s so much worse when you hear said crush calling after you.

“Y/n!” Peter’s voice rang out through the halls. 

Why did he always seek her out in school? Y/n didn’t even bother to look back as she bolted down the hall into the first empty class room. Pacing back and forth she tried to calm herself down. Everything that had happened in the past week was becoming too much for her. Maybe breathing excesses could help?

Before she could even take a deep breath, the classroom door bursted open, a very out of breath Peter Parker standing in its wake. As the door slowly closed behind him, he moved towards her. 

“Hey-“ he began before getting cut off.

“What are you doing here Peter?” she asked in defeat. “Why did you follow me?”

Whatever confidence he had before this suddenly went away, leaving a stuttering boy in its place. He looked down at the ground, trying to form a sentence.

“S-sorry.. About last night…”

“Oh my god Peter, if you’re here because you think I’m gonna tell people?” she scoffed. “You know my lips are sealed.”

“T-thanks,” he muttered out, watching as she began to pace again in front of her. “Hey Y/n?”

“What?” she asked annoyed. 

“Are we still friends?” She stopped, looking over at him as he lifted his head to look at her, his brown eyes starting straight into her own. “C-can we still be friends?”

Y/n sighed, opening her mouth but know words came out. Could they still be friends? That was such a loaded question when everything was still fresh, like a wound that hasn’t had time to heal. 

“I-I don’t know, Peter,” she opted to tell him.

“I keep repeating that day over and over again in my mind and… everything went downhill so fast. We barely had time to talk-“

“-We didn’t have anything else to talk about,” she interrupted him. Glancing at the clock behind her, she realized what time it was. “I have to get to class,” she told him, walking past him.

She barely got the door open when he called out to her again. “Wait! Meet me on the fire escape? 9:30 tonight?”

What was she supposed to say to that? No, she didn’t have to agree to anything. “Goodbye, Peter.”

🕷🕷🕷

The whole day felt it went by in a flash and before Y/n knew it, she was back home studying again. Only this time, she hadn’t been able to focus. In fact, she hadn’t been able to focus all day.

She stared at the math homework in front of her, unable to even lift her pencil as there was a rapping at her window. Turning her head, she sighed knowing who was on the other side. Reluctantly, she opened it, letting him climb in. Moving to her bed, she watched as he awkwardly looked around like he hadn’t been in her room a million times before. 

“You didn’t meet me at 9:30,” he said, a crack in his voice.

Turning she looked at her alarm clock. It was 11:00. Had she really been staring at her homework for hours? 

She shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t think we had anything else to say.”

“That’s not true we’re friends-“

Scoffing, she interrupted him. “Are we Peter? Are we still friends? I know you think so but it doesn’t feel that way to me.”

“Only because you won’t let us,” he tried with her, only to be met with the shake of her head. 

“I don’t know how we could go back to being just friends. You broke my hear that day… I thought you liked me too and-“

“I did like you!” He interrupted her, his voice erupting like he had been shouting the whole time. Y/n looked at him in shock, feeling her blood boil by the second. “I still like you.”

That was her breaking point. Liked her? He liked her and let her go through all this bullshit? Quickly, she stood up. 

“No!” she exclaimed.

“Y/n-“

“Don’t Y/n me! I confess my feelings to you, you tell me you don’t feel the same way and then turn around with this bullshit and expect me not to be mad? We haven’t even talked about the Spider-Man stuff yet.”

“Can you just let me explain?” he pleaded, making her look back up at him. 

She could see the hurt in his face, like she had done more damage to him than Flash or a bullet could ever do. And when Peter’s hurting, no matter how much she’s upset with him, she’ll go running to his aid. With a huff she sat back down on her bed, ready to hear out a boy that probably didn’t deserve speak at all. 

“I’ve been replaying that moment after the barbecue, every day in my head since it happened,” he began. “I had been waiting so long to hear you say those things. That the girl I liked finally liked me back. The little voice in my head was jumping with joy, itching to tell you I felt the same way. But then, this other little voice appeared taking over, it was Mr. Stark-“

Y/n scoffed. “Tony Stark?”

Peter nodded, pleading with his expression to let him finish. Not being able to resist, she let him.

“His voice was just, ringing through my head. Keep everything you care about at a distance, never let anyone get too close or you could lose it all. I-I didn’t want to lose you so I didn’t tell you about Spider-Man. And that was fine at first, only two other people knew about it - it was a secret I could keep.

But then you said all those things I desperately wanted to hear and I just wanted lean forward and kiss you and…Mr. Starks words echoed in my head. If I kissed you or told you I felt the same way. That meant telling you about Spider-Man and than meant a great possibility of me losing you.”

Y/n felt her heart break more than it already did, feeling a tear roll down her cheek as she watch Peter break down in front of her.

Soon, he continued. “Uncle Ben once told me that with great power comes great responsibility … and I didn’t want to have to choose you or my power because I would chose you every time.”

The room fell silent with his last words, Y/n trying to process everything he had told her. She wiped a tear from her cheeks, trying to compose herself.

“I understand if your still mad at me or don’t like me anymore but please,” Peter begged. “I just need my best friend back.”

Y/n shook her head, standing up to meet his eye line. “I don’t think we can ever just be friends, Peter.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, watching her walk closer to him until she was standing just a foot away. 

“You’re sure you still like me?”

“Yeah but-“ 

“Good,” she cut him off, grabbing both sides of his face and pulling him into a kiss. 

She could feel how tense he was, surprised by her sudden action before melting into the kiss. It was slow and sweet, neither of them having much experience between the both of them. But that didn’t matter, there was time to improve. Right now, they just needed to know everything was going to be alright.

As she pulled away from the kiss, she felt as he rested his forehead onto hers, a smile forming on his face. She smiled back, happy to see that sad, hurt look leave.

“No more secrets, okay?” she asked. 

“No more secrets,” he repeated. “So… more than friends?”

Y/n smiled wider than she thought was possible, pulling him back in for one more kick peck. 

“More than friends,” she repeated. 

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

Can you make a story where dark Peter uses a vibrator on the fem!reader till she squirts and shakes and fucks her till she's cock dumb

yaaa ya ya

THE TEASE- P.B PARKER

Pairing: Darkish! Peter x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 750

Warnings: SMUT, squirting, over stimulation, use of vibrator on reader, biting, degradation kink, darkish stalker content, choking, pet names, peter finishing inside causes he has a breeding kink

“This is your fault.” he whispered, hand tightening around your neck the vibrator buzzed against your swollen bud.

A gasp torn between a moan escaped your lips as his hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, before he gave it a little bite.

“You just had to be such a little tease, with that slutty little skirt of yours.” he growled gaze slipping down to where he held the toy, watching as your ankles dug into the sheets as you attempted to get away from the overwhelming sensations.

It was getting harder and harder to think, and you could barely focus on his words as he coaxed them in your ear.

“I was watching you today, you know. But you didn't see me- did you? No, no too focused on that little lecture hm?” he pressed, rubbing the vibrator in little circular sensations against your clit as you moaned and panted.

It was a mix between pleasure and pain- what he was giving you, and the lines seemed to be blurring over one another the longer you felt your body uncontrollably shake.

“Peter I’m sorry-” you gasped, clawing at his hand down by your cunt, but it wouldn't budge. Peter had you pinned down and spread open- just the way he wanted you.

Vulnerable and alone, for him. He deserved you. You just weren't focused enough on him to notice that.

“You are eh? Cute.”

“I am!” you protested, the whiney tone in your voice rewarded with his hand tightening around your airway. He knew just how to choke you properly, just squeezing the sides of your neck gently.

He had done his research after all, he didn’t want you passing out on him yet. He had so much to tell you.

Still, whether it was from the pressure of the stimulation, your vision began to go fuzzy around the edges. He tsked, shaking his head mockingly as he heard your breaths quicken, knowing you were getting close.

“Listen to how wet you are angel. Your cunnie gettin all messy sweets?” Peter asked gently, making your squeeze your eyes shut, as if you were bracing yourself for what was coming.

His smile turned evil, mocking, and you hated him for it. You hated how well he knew your body and how to tease you, making the rubber band in your core snap past its breaking point.

Every single time he pushed you, and every single time you broke harder than before.

“No, no please.” you begged, yet your words were useless. With a little twist of his wrist, the toy hit just the right spot, the eye contact he gave you the final push to send you over the edge.

You screamed, begging him as the orgasm washed over you. “Shh, shh just let it happen, princess. You need to stop fighting it.” he cooed, hand releasing from your neck to stroke your cheek, a stray tear lingering on the heated skin.

Wetness squirted from you, spraying over the sheets and Peter's hand as you mindlessly babbled to him, your words slurring together as your legs shook harder.

“Atta girl. Attaa girl.” he smiled, removing the toy from its place, setting it down before he pressed a hand down on your lower abdomen to steady you.

“Peter I can't– anymore-” you panted, words coming out between gasps as you attempted to catch your breath.

“You don't have to, but m’gonna use you for a bit okay? Just rest, let me use your princess parts.” he whispered, positioning himself despite your sleepy protests, hands coming up to claw around his biceps.

“Sensitive.” you moaned, body jerking as he wasting no time slipping inside of you, stretching you out around him as he threw his head back and moaned in pleasure- ignoring you.

“You're getting what you deserve. You're supposed to be used angel. But only from me.” he smiled sweetly, grip tightening on your thighs as he spread your legs further apart, watching as your own hands slipped down to palm your tits.

“You like this, don’t you, angel? Just a lil dumb baby, can't think for herself eh?” You nodded, moaning as he sank deeper, brushing up against your g-spot.

“Just not- not inside mkay?” you requested softly, head falling slack against the sheets as sleep spread through your bones. “Whatever you say angel.” he smirked smugly, knowing your request go un funfilled.

Oh well, he thought, beginning to piston into you for his own pleasure. Oh well.

[jahayla-parker]

🎆 Hey J!! Congrats on your 1.5 followers I'm so proud of you girl!! So for my request I was wondering if it could be a Peter Parker one where y/n is somehow transported into Spider-Man: Homecoming, Spider-Man: Far From Home, or Spider-Man No Way Home you pick and chaos ensues 💜

Multiverse : Peter Parker x Real-world!Reader

Descr: short fic in which y/n finds herself in her favorite movie and has to decide how to proceed.

Warnings: I’m not really great at these kind of AUs but other than that, I can’t think of any but let me know!

This sucks; I'm sorry, nothing was coming to me

Y/n bounced her right leg nervously as she looked around. She didn’t understand what was going on. One second she had been rewatching the latest Spider-Man movie, No Way Home from the comfort of her apartment. The next, she was standing in front of a glowing circle, identical to the ones that were portals in the movie she’d been watching. She hesitated briefly but nevertheless let her courage guide her into the multi-dimensional opening.

Y/n squinted as her eyes adjusted to her new surroundings. She quickly realized she’d somehow seemingly entered into the Marvel Cinematic Universe. How that was possible, she wasn’t certain. Had it not been for her literally pinching herself several times, she’d have thought she was simply dreaming. But she wasn’t. This was real.

Y/n slowly made her way across the bridge, stopping the moment she heard the fighting begin. She was actually in No Way Home.. or… in the universe that held the No Way Home events..? She wasn’t sure how to phrase it, it was all so bizarre. Either way, she knew from having seen the movie countless times already, that she ought to run and hide unless she wanted Dr. Octavius or Green Goblin to harm her.

Y/n let her feet guide her away from the immediate threat, only looking up when her legs came to a halt. She blinked rapidly as she found herself standing in front of Doctor Strange’s Sanctum. Of course she’d managed to make it here. Perhaps she should just go with the flow and try to help. After all, she knew how things would go, maybe she could prevent Tom Holland’s char Peter from getting hurt and May from dying.

That idea turned out too optimistic as Peter understandably was weary of y/n. It was one thing to bring people who knew him/Spider-Man from other universes. But a universe in which he was actually just a character and not real, that was another thing to digest. Nevertheless, Peter didn’t want to take any chances so he let her help him, Ned, and MJ.

It was a bit difficult at first to get Peter to trust her. As in his eyes, she seemed to be able to tell the future and was offering to stop the bad things before they happened. Luckily, having seen Far From Home, y/n understood why he was so weary of such a thing being too good to be true. So even when Peter trapped her in a sheet of webs as he demanded answers he could understand, she remained calm.

Once he had heard her out and understood that she meant no harm, Peter let y/n guide him on what to do and what not to do. There were some moments of chaos nonetheless as they were trying new things that y/n knew Peter hadn’t done in the movie before. But, she figured it was worth all the danger and chaos because she was helping her favorite superhero.

Only that too was much more intense than y/n had anticipated. Yet, she was simultaneously thrilled to be playing an active part in the movie she loved so much. Especially since they were now near the ending and May hadn’t died!

The only issue is y/n now had to return to her own universe. As much as she wanted to stay and make a place for herself in this one, she refused to risk ruining the MCU by accident. So, with a sigh, y/n closed her eyes as she said goodbye to this universe before stepping back into hers.

Taglist: @justapurrcat @natswife-marvelicious @directioner5life @ell0ra-br3kk3r @galaxyholland @bigbirdstwins @mcushvft @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @theslayerofthevampires @wonderland2425

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[supernovafics]

𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋

pairing: hoco!peter parker x fem!reader

word count: 4k words

summary: in which peter can see that you’ve changed so much in the past three months and he desperately wants the old you back. however, being honest is hard because he doesn’t want to lose you completely.

warnings: homecoming era, explicit language, a shit ton of angst, some fluff

author’s note: hope y’all enjoy this one! i’m pretty happy with how it turned out<33 (full folklore series masterlist here)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“hush, when no one is around, my dear. you'll find me on my tallest tiptoes. spinning in my highest heels, love. shining just for you.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Peter’s POV

It was hard for Peter to see you essentially change yourself completely for a guy that he knew– or at least wholeheartedly believed– didn’t deserve you.

However, he couldn’t allow himself to say anything to you about it. For the most part, you seemed happy, and right then, as he looked at you from across the cafeteria, you really did look happy.

You were sitting with the cheerleaders and basketball players since Levi was on the team, and his arm was draped around you as a laugh fell from your lips because of a joke someone must have said.

Somehow you must have felt Peter’s gaze on you because you turned your head a bit and met his eyes. You immediately smiled widely at him and waved.

Peter attempted to fight the way that you simply smiling at him made him feel, but he failed miserably, and he was glad that you were far enough away so you couldn’t see the redness that flooded his cheeks. He gave you a small smile and wave back, and then looked away to turn his attention back to Ned, who was talking about how his Spanish test went and how he was slightly worried about his grade.

“Mrs. Martinez isn’t a super strict grader. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Peter told him.

Ned nodded at that and then turned his head, taking notice of where you were sitting in the cafeteria as well. “We’ve completely lost her.”

“She’s still our friend.”

“Yes, in a sense, but she’s more so one of them now.”

Although he was reluctant to do so, Peter looked over at where you were once again. You did look as if you fit in perfectly with that crowd, but Peter knew you better than anyone, and deep down, he felt as if none of this was truly who you were. A part of him felt like he was being biased because of the way he felt toward you and how much he missed you as one of his best friends. However, the other part of him simply knew that it was the truth.

You were different. You changed.

No longer were you just the girl that lived in the apartment above him who he used to sit out on the fire escape with and talk about nothing but also everything. You also were no longer the girl that he could ramble to about being the “friendly neighborhood spider-man.” In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten the chance to tell you anything new about what was going on with him and the creepy vulture guy that was illegally making weapons.

Maybe Ned was actually right. You were solely one of them now, one of the popular kids.

And Peter wasn’t sure how to accept that or if he would ever be able to. He desperately wanted the old you back; what he knew was the real you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“i want you to know i'm a mirrorball. i can change everything about me to fit in.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It was a knock on his window that forced Peter’s attention away from his Chemistry textbook and onto you. You were waving and smiling at him through the glass, a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants adorning your body, which made sense to him since it was nearing midnight.

“Hey,” He said when he opened the window, trying to hide the shock in his voice that was due to the fact that you were there right then. Although you lived in the apartment above him, it had been a while since you knocked on his window.

“Hi,” You responded as you stepped inside Peter’s room and slipped off your shoes before making yourself comfortable on his bed.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. It’s just… It’s been a while since we’ve really talked, y’know?” You said, and it was a statement that Peter wholeheartedly agreed with. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” He told you before taking a seat next to you on the bed. A part of him felt like you might have meant it in a different way than he did, but he didn’t want to think about that too hard. Instead, he solely wanted to focus on the fact that he was with you right then. Because that meant that you hadn’t forgotten about him, even though it felt like the two of you were now living completely different lives.

You leaned back against the wall and then looked at him. “Tell me everything that’s been happening with you. You’re freaking Spider-man. I’m sure I’ve missed a shit ton of stories.”

He smiled at you before beginning to catch you up on everything that had been happening in the past few weeks; the vulture guy, the alien weapons, everything.

In your eyes, he could see that old but familiar glimmer of genuine interest that he felt like he hadn’t seen in forever. Maybe things were finally going back to the way that they were.

“How have things been with you?” Peter asked. He didn’t necessarily want to hear you talk about how happy you were with Levi, but he could hope that maybe things between you and him were finally over and that you would tell him that instead. And then he immediately felt bad for hoping that you were heartbroken.

A certain look that Peter couldn’t decipher passed your face for a brief moment before you spoke. “Actually, I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

You were quiet for a few moments, and Peter was confused but also slightly worried about what you were about to say.

“Ugh, it feels so weird saying this,” You told him before pulling your eyes away from his. “I’m gonna be a cheerleader.”

After the initial millisecond of shock wore off, Peter’s response was immediate. “But, you hate cheerleading. You hate doing any type of sport.”

“Levi thought it would be a good idea because then I could join him at the away games for basketball. And a spot just opened up, so I’m gonna do it,” You explained with a simple shrug.

It was at that moment that Peter wanted to go back to the night over three months ago when you told him about the crush you had on Levi, and he wished that he could’ve stopped it all right then. He wished that he could have told you something, anything, to make you not like the guy.

But he didn’t. And he also knew that if he had tried, he probably wouldn’t have been able to stop it because of how smitten you already were with Levi. Therefore, Peter just learned to accept it.

So ultimately, he did the same thing in this moment too.

“Okay,” He said and looked away from you.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his one-word response. “What? What’s wrong?”

That was a pretty loaded question because Peter felt like there were many things wrong with everything that had happened in the past three months, but he didn’t want to talk about that right then. Not when this was the first long conversation that the two of you had in weeks, and he didn’t want it to be ruined by finally being completely honest with you.

Although he didn’t want to say anything, he knew that he had to say something in response to your question, though. “It’s just… I don’t know.”

“What does that mean?” You asked, and you didn’t seem mad at him, just genuinely confused and maybe even a little concerned.

“You’ve changed.” Before he could think too much about it, Peter let the two words softly fall from his lips.

You almost immediately started laughing because you thought the words were a joke, but when he didn’t eventually laugh along with you, your laughter stopped, and Peter could see the offended look on your face. “What? No, I haven’t.”

“Then, how do you explain the last three months?”

You sighed. “I’m in a relationship now, Peter.”

“But it’s not just that you are in a relationship with Levi. You’re different now, too,” Peter said. He already felt like he was in deep with the conversation that was happening, so he decided to plunge even deeper into honesty. “And I know people change and grow in high school; I get that. But you completely changed yourself for him. To be the perfect dream girl that he wants. And I really miss how you used to be.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Peter shook his head. “It’s not, though. I see it, and Ned does too. And if you really thought about it, you would too. You quit Academic Decathlon, although you loved it. Stopped playing video games with Ned and I even though you would demolish us at pretty much everything. And I can’t even remember the last time you rambled to me about a book you were reading. Did you stop that too?”

You disregarded his question. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just don’t like doing that stuff anymore?”

That thought actually had occurred to Peter, but it never fully made sense to him. Most of what he just mentioned made up the entirety of your personality and who he’d grown to know since the two of you met in middle school, so he never thought those things would change.

Before Peter could say anything in response to you, you got up from his bed and started making your way toward the window. You didn’t immediately open it and leave, though.

You turned your head and met his gaze again. “We might not hang out that much anymore, but I still saw you as my best friend.”

The fact that you said the statement in past tense hit Peter hard, and he wanted to say something to make all of this go away. He would quite literally do anything to rewind the past ten minutes.

But he couldn’t. And the hurt look on your face was something that he’d never forget.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“you are not like the regulars. the masquerade revelers. drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Y/N’s POV

Last year had been so different.

Back then, you could count on one hand how many days you’d gone without talking to Peter. The max was three, and it was only because you’d been grounded for an entire weekend because you broke curfew and went to see a midnight showing of the latest Star Wars film with him and Ned on a Wednesday.

Now it had been two weeks since the conversation you had in his room that eventful night and the two of you hadn’t spoken one word to each other since.

You wondered if it was more of his doing or if it was yours. And you eventually settled on the answer that both of you had equal parts in the prevailing silence.

Although you hadn’t talked to Peter in fourteen days, the conversation that took place that night lingered strongly in the back of your mind.

Personally, you hadn’t thought you had changed in the past three months.

You were in a relationship for the first time in your life; you didn’t count your two-week relationship with Brian Feldman in fourth grade. And you knew that your friendships would change a bit because you wouldn’t be able to hang out with Peter and Ned at any given moment anymore. But you didn’t for one second think that you had changed yourself for Levi.

When you started only hanging out with him and his friends on Friday nights and mainly doing things he liked, you didn’t think much about it. Instead, you found yourself slowly growing to like those things too; at least, that was what you’d convinced yourself.

And when Levi passively mentioned that movies were always better than books, you found yourself agreeing and always watching any movie he suggested to you. And you never thought too deeply of it. Until now.

Until Peter called you out.

You didn’t know whether to hate that Peter had been right or happy that he finally woke you up from the lovesick haze you’d found yourself in for the past three months. The feelings conflicted with one another, but the one thing they had in common was that they both made you want to cry.

A soft sigh fell from your lips as you lay down in your bed, alone on a Saturday night for the first time in what felt like forever because Levi was out of town with his family for the weekend. But you were grateful because, with this newfound realization, you were unsure of what you wanted anymore.

As you blinked back the tears, you grabbed your phone and began typing out a message to Peter.

You: You were right

DELETE

You: I’m sorry

DELETE

You: I’m an idiot and a horrible friend

DELETE

Nothing felt right to say in that moment.

You thought about going down to Peter’s apartment and telling him that he was right about everything and maybe even allowing yourself to let out all of the tears that were bottled up because he had seen you cry many times before. However, something about that didn’t feel right to you. You weren’t ready to be honest with him, and maybe that was because you weren’t ready to be completely honest with yourself.

A part of you simply wanted to forget any of this was happening.

You wanted to forget that you had been unknowingly lying to everyone, especially yourself, for the past three months. Your life had become so deeply intertwined with Levi’s that you couldn’t just accept the truth for what it was and let everything go back to how it used to be. Although your heart slightly ached for your old life, your mind told you that it would be too hard to let everything new go.

It may have been fake, but there was some truth in the fact that you liked who you had become. You had a boyfriend that was genuinely nice, more people than just Peter and Ned liked you, and more often than not, you felt happy.

Because of that, you wanted to, more so needed to, pretend that everything was fine. So, you decided to do exactly that.

You looked down at your phone again and swiped out of your messages with Peter, and then clicked on Levi’s contact name.

You: Hope you’re having a good time with your family. Can’t wait to see you when you come back tomorrow night <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“all i do is try, try, try. i'm still on that trapeze. i'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

For some reason, you had liked the dress you chose for homecoming more when you tried it on in the store than right then as you were inside the school’s gymnasium, sitting next to Levi at a table that was unsurprisingly full of basketball players and cheerleaders.

“I can’t remember if I said it already or not, but you look really great tonight, baby,” Levi told you as he pressed a kiss to your cheek and gave your hand a light squeeze.

“Thanks.” You smiled at his words, already feeling a thousand times better in the red dress, and then deep down, you immediately hated yourself for needing his approval to feel good about yourself. That quick chain of events had been happening a lot since your conversation with Peter, and especially since the night when a tiny part of you wanted to accept the truth, but you couldn’t because you felt like living a lie was easier to do.

Turned out it was not.

And with each day that passed, you got closer to breaking your silence with Peter and allowing yourself to run back to what your life used to be. But still, for some dumb reason that you couldn’t even fully explain to yourself, you refrained from doing so.

Another few days went by since you almost texted Peter, and neither of you had said anything to one another. You blamed it on the fact that the two of you managed to not once cross paths in the past weeks, even though that was a shitty excuse because if either of you really wanted to talk to each other, you would’ve.

However, you knew that you would definitely see him tonight at the homecoming dance. You heard from a few of your old Academic Decathlon friends that he was coming with Liz Allen. You actually felt happy for him because last you knew, he really liked her.

As if on cue, you saw both Peter and Liz walk into the gymnasium. Your heart sped up at seeing Peter for the first time in almost a month, and before he could spot you as well, you stood up.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick,” You told Levi and didn’t wait for him to say anything before you started walking off.

When you entered the bathroom, you were surprised but grateful to see it empty. You stood at the sink and sighed when you looked in the mirror. You really did hate the dress you were wearing, and the fact that you were simply wearing it because you knew that Levi would like it made you feel disappointed in yourself too. You were unsure how you would survive the rest of the night.

When you exited the bathroom and turned the quick corner, you almost immediately collided with someone and the impact from it was so abrupt and forceful that you actually stumbled backward and fell on your butt.

“Jesus Christ,” You said right before you hit the floor.

“Crap! I’m sorry,” The person said as they held out a hand to help you up. It was slightly dark in the hallway, but you could clearly see that the person was Peter, and it was even easier to recognize his voice.

“It’s okay,” You told him as you grabbed his hand and let him pull you up. You wondered why he’d been in such a rush just then but didn’t ask. “Also, um, hi.”

“Hey,” He responded and gave you a small smile. It was quiet for a few moments before he spoke again. “Listen, I’m really sorry about what I said that night.”

“Don’t be sorry,” You were quick to tell him, not allowing yourself to think too far ahead about what you were saying. “You were right.”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and you could tell he was surprised that you were saying this. “I was?”

“Yes, and I should’ve told you that weeks ago, but I was being dumb, and I was scared.” It felt good to be completely honest for the first time in a long time, and you knew that if you were going to finally be honest to anyone, it was going to be Peter. Not just because he was the one that called you out on everything but also because he was probably the one person you trusted most in the world. “I miss how things used to be.”

Peter nodded at that. “Me too.”

“I’m sorry,” You said, trying to mask the sadness in your voice but failing miserably. “For everything.”

He pulled you in for a hug instead of responding to your apology, and you immediately wrapped your arms around him and pressed your face into his chest. Your eyes were squeezed shut so that no tears would come out because it felt a little too movie-like and cliche to cry at a school dance.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. Everything’s okay,” Peter told you as he rubbed your back soothingly in small circles, and you were sincerely grateful for the simple action.

It was quiet for a few moments, and you admired the comfortable silence as well as the feeling of Peter’s arms around you.

You didn’t know how long this could last. You knew that you would have to eventually go back to Levi and pretend that everything was fine, at least for the night, because it would be shitty to ditch someone at a dance, especially since that someone was your boyfriend. But, also, you knew that deep down, you would leave in a heartbeat and go anywhere Peter wanted to if he asked you to.

You didn’t want the silence to be broken anytime soon, but after a little over a minute, Peter did. “I really wish I could stay right now, but I have to go.” His words came out quietly, and you were quickly confused by them, but then you remembered the fact that, only moments ago, he’d been in a rush was what led you both to this current moment in the first place.

“What’s wrong?” You asked when you pulled out of the embrace.

Peter looked at you, and you could tell that he was pondering how to explain everything to you. “It’s kind of a long story because a lot has actually happened these past couple of weeks, but basically, Liz’s dad is the vulture guy, and he’s planning to rob Mr. Stark tonight since they’re moving everything upstate. So, I need to stop him before that happens.”

“Oh, wow. Okay, yeah, that’s a lot,” You responded and wanted to immediately ask more questions, but knew that right then it would be best if you didn’t. “Yeah, you should go.”

He nodded at that, but before he left, you couldn’t help but pull him into another hug. Everything that had come out in the past few minutes felt way too emotional, but you were glad that you had been pushed into that moment with Peter. You were grateful to have him in your life, and you were also grateful that the past few weeks, and even the past few months, hadn’t irreversibly change anything between you two.

“I love you, Peter.” Your soft words were muffled by his neck, but he still heard you.

“You can’t say stuff like that,” He said, voice matching your same soft tone.

“Why not?”

“Because,” He paused for a moment, and you thought he might backtrack in his statement, but he didn’t. He pulled back from the hug and looked at you; you were quick to notice the slightly sad look on his face. “Because you don’t mean it in the same way I do.”

“What?” Your one-worded question came out so quietly that it barely felt audible.

Peter heard you, of course, and he looked sincerely nervous as he thought about what to say next. You were going to tell him that it was okay, that he didn’t have to say anything else because you understood him almost too clearly, but the other part of you wanted to hear exactly what he wanted to say.

“I love you. I’m in love with you, Y/N,” He told you, and suddenly, it became “that night” all over again; long hidden honesties finally coming out. “And I didn’t want to admit that in our school hallway or in a rushed way like this, but that doesn’t change how true those words are.”

His revelation was a lot to process at that moment, and after a few quick moments of thinking, the only thing your brain could think to respond to Peter’s confession with was, “You’re here with Liz.”

“And you’re here with Levi.”

You couldn’t help but inwardly laugh at the situations the two of you were in. It was hard to let yourself fully accept Peter’s confession, even though you could hear how truthful it was, because if you accepted it, you would have to look inward and see what you wanted. But Levi was still your boyfriend, and it felt wrong to do that. However, the initial thought you had about loving Peter in more than just a friendly way genuinely felt okay and good, and a part of you wanted him to know that.

“I really should go.”

Peter’s words pulled you out of your thoughts, and you remembered everything that he’d just told you about Liz’s dad. “Yes, yes, go. Tell me about everything tomorrow on the fire escape. I’ll bring pizza.”

He smiled at that. “I can’t wait.”

He quickly hugged you one final time before you watched him rush off and turn a corner. A large part of you silently wished that you could go with him to get far away from the dance and Levi and the friends you made who no longer felt real, but of course, you couldn’t. It was nice to daydream though, and pretend that everything was different, but in a good way; in a way that it hadn’t been in a long while.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“i’ll get you out on the floor. shimmering beautiful. and when i break it’s in a million pieces.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

let me know ur thoughts<333

[bananabread-nana]

Part 1

Spiderman!EthanLandry x Enchantress!OC

Slow burn, Violence, suggestive(eventually?)

past/flashbacks

A/N: I haven’t written anything in FOREVER so please bare with me. Ignore any punctuation or grammar mistakes 😭 comment if you want to be on the taglist and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy 🤸🏻‍♀️

———————————————————————————

An ear-piercing scream ripped through the poor woman’s throat, adding to the burn that only got worse with every breath she took. She couldn’t run much longer the only thing keeping her going was the sound of the man’s heavy footsteps behind her. Taunting her. Getting closer to her. Closing her eyes bracing for impact..

THUD

The confused woman opened her eyes just to catch a glimpse of the alluring emerald haze that disappeared just as fast as it appeared revealing the man that had spent the last two hours tormenting her, robbing her of her belongings and dignity, lying in a pool of his own blood.

———————————————————————————

Loud police sirens roared through the streets of New York interrupting his thoughts bringing him back to reality. Quickly packing his things Ethan bolted out of Sam and Tara’s shared dorm which sparked some confusion and concern within the group for a split second before it faded away due to persistence of this exact situation. As far as they know they just think his control-freak of a dad, Sheriff Bailey is blabbing at him to get home.

In reality, he got straight to work putting on his vibrant red and blue onesie he calls his suit as soon as he turned the corner.

TWIP TWIP

Swinging from building to building with the flick of his wrist all while desperately searching for the crime scene. His attention was quickly drawn by an ear-piercing scream that sent a chill down his spine. Now heading towards the general direction of the call for help, he began articulating his plan. It was just another night as the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, web up a greedy criminal, occasionally giving them a taste of his enhanced strength, and leave. There was something about this particular moment that gave him an unsettling feeling in his stomach.

Nervous?

Scared?

No, never?

I’m Spiderman, THEY’RE scared of ME not the other way around

The boy tried so desperately to ease his nerves, he had never felt nervous let alone afraid of putting himself in danger but there’s a first for everything.. right?

The scene was quiet, too quiet.. he swore this was where the woman had screamed from, his enhanced hearing never failed him. Right?

Spiderman?

His head nearly snapped by the way his head whipped towards the direction of the voice. He couldn’t believe what he saw, a man laying face down drowning in a pool of his own blood and a woman in the corner with a mix of multiple emotions plastered on her pale face. Before the spider-boy could ask any questions, the woman stared blurting out what had happened prior to his arrival. She spoke too fast and her shaky voice made it hard to decipher her words but one thing stuck out..

..THEN I saw a flash of green and before I knew it the guy was dead! That person or thing or whatever it was SAVED ME! Do you know who it is? Or what?…

She continued to spew unanswerable questions but he wasn’t listening because he was deep in thought..

Who? What? How?

———————————————————————————

Reblogs are greatly appreciated 🫶🏼

Taglist: @tuktuk34 @netey6m

Comment if you want to be added

[rissararity]

Hello!

I'm new here but not new to the Fanfiction scene. One of my fics was recently deleted by Wattpad and I'm devastated as it had only been up since October but had since garnered 31k reads and over 400 votes.

You can still find it on my AO3 account, called Little Soldats! I'm also going to post it here in hopes it can be enjoyed again! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48939712/chapters/123465391

Please check the story tags because it is NSFW and has dark themes. Like dead dove do not eat themes.

Please follow me if you're a Marvel fanfic reader :)

My AO3 is in my bio

[mehphoobia]

DON'T TELL YOUR MOM - Tom Holland one shot

Pairing:- Tom Holland!step brother x Reader

______________________________________________________________

Summary:- "Shh we don't want mom and dad hear your moans now do we?" he joked. He noticed fresh slick oozing out of you and smirked to himself.

"Moan louder" he commanded.

______________________________________________________________

Warning- Pure Filth 🤐 that's it | WC:- 1.7k

______________________________________________________________

Rings and vows were exchanged; promises of never leaving each other again were spoken between your mother and your step dad. God knows if those promises would be kept for long, considering this is your mom’s second marriage and your step dad’s third.

Your step dad was rich wait that’s underrated. Your step dad is filthy rich. Even after diving all of his property between his three sons and now you, he still had enough money to go up and about all by himself. After the traditional wedding ceremony, all the guests were then taken for a cruise for the reception. What’s a 20 year old girl like you gonna do among 60 something years old businessmen and not to mention their wives. So you decided to go hangout with people below the deck.

As soon as you made your way down the stairs, Peter pulled you in squeaking in excitement. “Where were you? Me and ‘Vin were looking all over” he pouted. “I was upstairs, you know these parties and their formalities” you shrugged. “You mean the wedding. Our parent’s. Aren’t you happy? With Arvin, Tom and of course Me” Peter was concerned for you. He knows how much of a new family, new place, new people can get to your head and being the youngest amongst those three, he could connect.

Easing him out you said, “Especially you. I’m really happy with you guys, couldn’t be happier.”

“Oh Sis, don’t worry about the old man, you won’t see him as much, to be honest, neither do we.” Arvin stood behind you holding a glass of not-so-soft-drink. You smiled as you eased out in their comfort. Arvin was an amazing elder brother, caring, supportive and loving. After all he was supposed to take the business on so the responsibilities came to him naturally. Peter, well, obviously was a happy bouncing pumpkin. All the time, he was happy there was finally someone he could take care of.

But the middle one, Tom, was a force to reckon with.

The two brothers pulled you in through the party, in midst of the dancing figures, ugh the stench of all the perfumes mixing together could potentially kill you. So you decided to sit in front of the projector with Peter already passed out on the couch. Figured. That kid

Among the shadows, preying eyes were set on you as you unknowingly sat there innocently. Tom was looking at you hungrily. The way your eyes peeked at the adult movie playing on the screen, how to hid your eyes between your palms during an ‘inappropriate scene’. How smooth your legs were, as the lace of your skirt rested on your thighs. If adjusted, it could give a perfect view of your untouched, virgin womanhood.

As he watched you, he noticed a young man sit beside you and have a small talk just to engage conversation. While talking he slyly slipped his hand on your thighs and Tom noticed how supple your flesh was, as it sank under his fingers which merely grazed your skin. Him and only him, was allowed to experience it around his face, ears and lips as he ate you out.

“Hey Andrew” Tom spoke which startled the young man. “H-Hey Tom”

“Mr. for you, Andrew” Tom spoke coldly. Andrew gulped on the sheer dominance Tom exerted. Tom’s alpha pheromones and aura caused Andrew to trip back and hit the wall as Tom threatened.

“Listen, if I see you near Y/N, tonight or ever again, I’ll start …..peeling your skin …..from the point you touched her. Understood” Tom bent Andrew’s fingers so hard, he could hear his fingers break. Not to startle anyone, Andrew had no choice but to keep quite as he ran away from there.

Tom adjusted his tux as he returned to his seat, set his hair and looked at you again. Sitting there all innocent, blushing at the scenes. “You’re ruining me” he thought. “…and I’ll spoil you.” He continued.

During all the lunch and dinner dates your parents had before the marriage, to get the children bond, bonded too much for Tom. He would drop his cutlery often just to bend down and see your smooth legs and feel them if he was lucky. His fantasies of having bent over and pounding into you over and over again got him hard as he showered and came hard on the wall. Things you were doing to him.

It had been six months since the wedding and your family of six were living in your step dad’s mansion. But somethings had changed, Tom started visiting you often. After his shifts at the office, he would come directly in your room. But not to talk.

He would come and talk about your womanly instincts. How you felt sexually. Discussing all of this with your step brother was weird but after some time it got a little comfortable. Too comfortable.

He then installed a projector in your room, and installed some porn videos and asked you to watch them. You had never seen anything as obscene as this. Hell you never even liked anyone so you never bothered to explore and experience yourself. “Why are you doing this?” you asked Tom, who was sitting their silently, as if nothing happened. “I’m taking care of you, till you find someone, whom you love, so you could all of that with him. I’m your brother right?” he spoke while slowly walking towards you and caressing your face. The hell he was.

It had been weeks, since he was showing you those videos. One particular one of them had a girl touch herself down there. You had never tried it before so you decided to change that today. Hesitantly, as you reached to your panties, you experienced something wet and slimy. But just as you were going to get your hand out feeling disgusted, you hit a spot that got you screaming. You get touching that spot and now in a faster motion and you continued till you felt like peeing. You stopped then and took heavy breaths.

Tom stood there and saw everything. Heard everything. He stood there cupping his bulge which was so hard it was almost numb. He had to do something. So he made a choice.

That night after everyone was sleeping, he went to your room and to his surprise, he saw you, getting off to the mobile phone. You kept the vibration mode on and on your soft spot. Tom slowly walked in and saw you.

Eyes closed, mouth apart and a sheen of sweat covering your body, reflecting light from all the right places. Your boobs were swollen as you kept denying yourself an orgasm as you thought you were about to pee.

He got on his knees and found his opening as he attached his lips on your red and swollen lips. You jolted at the sudden pleasure only to be calmed down by Tom.

“Hey babygirl, big brother’s gonna help you now, let go” he said circling your sensitive pearl. “I think…I think..ahhhh I’m gonna pee” you talked half moaned. “Let go babygirl, cum on my tongue.”

You heard what he said and let yourself go, “Tom, ahhhh, Tom please” you whispered as you came on his tongue. It drove him crazy, the way you moaned his name. You were meant to be his. Even if you weren’t no one else was getting you anyways, you were his in every literal sense.

As you came down from your euphoric high, you were bought to reality with Tom’s zip being open and stroking his rick hard dick. “To-“ you tried to speak only to be mummed later. “Shhh” he placed his fingers on your lips to shut up, the sift pink flesh, he wondered how it tasted until he did. The kiss was soft and slow as he started to explore every bit of your mouth, your tongues touched and lapped with a slow and soft chaste. But to your surprise, the slow and chaste motion was broken when he pulled you towards himself, grabbed your legs and spread them wide.

“It’ll hurt, you’ll have to take me well babygirl” Tom commanded. All you could do was nod. You never felt all those things before, so wet, so supple so ready and all for him. He lubricated himself with his pre-cum, completely unbothered about protection.

He lined himself at your center, looked at you with lust filled in his eyes. “All mine”

He thrusted himself in you in one swift motion and touched that spongy soft spot inside which had you moaning so loudly he had to cover your face. He thrusted in and out of your virgin cunt which swallowed him like as if it was devoured. After hitting the spot again and again he repositioned himself as he drew you closer and had your ankles touch his lowered back. He kept massaging the soft and sensitive pearl as he kept fucking you.

It was driving you crazy, all these touches. You were moaning mess and he didn’t complain until. He hit that spot so hard this time as he got up stand so he could get deeper.

"Shh we don't want mom and dad hear your moans now do we?" he joked. He noticed fresh slick oozing out of you and smirked to himself.

"Moan louder" he commanded. He had to sprawled below with your legs apart and he stood as he fucked you into oblivion. As you approached your edge yet again so did he.

He could feel the slick covering his dick, but it wasn’t, it was blood.

Tom took your virginity just like he wanted and no one else was getting a taste, ever. You both came at the same time. He almost fell on top of you when your walls held him so hard he couldn’t move. After the strenuous episode, you were tired so you drifted off to sleep.

Tom already had so many fantasies to fulfil. With you. Only the thought of it got him hard. Again.

______________________________________________________________

A/N:- Hey you guys, though its a one shot, why do I smell a part 2? It was so fun writing this, me and my horny brain I swear. No matter how smutty the fic is Peter fluff kills me 😭, he is so adorable.

The tag list is still open and I would love to hear from you guys. 🖤

Check out my other fics here; duh its a masterlist, stupid me.

@tomhollandsslut, @allywthsr

[spider-man-199999]

Pacifier pt 3

pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader;

word count: 5K

part1 part2

warnings: mentions of sex ; Peter is younger than the reader, but still 18. Reader is around 20. Peter is trying to pin reader even though he is younger.

summary: In this one you’re hired as Morgan’s babysitter (and low-key underpaid Stark!assistant). Looking after a little girl isn’t too hard, but looking after her “big bother” as well, definitely is.

an: Peter and reader are just Tony's kids at this point. I've never really written anything about people actually being in a relationship so apologies if it's kinda sucky.

"No, we're not making an official Avengers tik-tok account, forget it." You told Peter, who had been begging you for days now.

"But it's going to be soo good! People will see the silly, goofie side of everyone and that way we can build more trust!"

"Pepper, please back me up here!"

"Peter actually has a point." Pepper said.

All of you were sitting at the dinner table, it was the first family dinner since the Starks had come back from their vacation.

"Tony, please!" you looked at him, begging him to support you this time. "Do you seriously think anyone would want to participate in supid dance trends or prank wars?"

"I'm a great dancer!" Tony said, he was taking Peter's side to mess with you.

"I cannot believe this is actually about to happen. Imagine making Steve do a tik-tok dance. Or anyone for that matter. Imagine Tony doing the makarena in the iron suit!"

"It's going to be hilarious, exactly my point!" Peter whined, drinking some of the orange juice he had poured for himself.

"I'm not doing the makarena, I have a daughter!''

"Should have thought about it before backing up Spider-man on that one!"

"Should have thought about it before back up Spider-man on that one!" Tony mocked your tone "The world should see what these hips can do! We're definitely making a tik-tok account now!"

Your "relationship" with Peter was still in the closet, since the first month wasn’t over, you didn't really feel comfortable sharing it with anyone, especially Tony. Peter on the other hand was pretty much settled down. He spent every free minute he had at the tower just to be with you, which was really getting in the way of your studying. He was a lot of help with Morgan, most of the time you felt like both of them shared one brain cell. It made so much sense now why Tony loved Peter like his own son. And that being the case, your secret relationship with him was in the clear.  

You gave Morgan a tissue, helping her wipe away some of the food that was on her face. She giggled because the corner tickled her nose, turning to look at you. You smiled at her, petting her head as she continued eating with her spoon, spilling most of the contents all over the table. 

"Tony, do you even know what tik-tok is?" you asked.

"I'm not that told, of course I know!"

"It's that video app that Morgan watches on your phone." You explained anyway, sure he had no idea what the conversation really was about. 

"It's that? Then no, we're definitely not making a tik-tok account."

---

Somehow Peter managed to persuade all of you into this. But if you think about it, he persuaded you into dating him, he could practically get anything he wanted. And because of this absurd idea, you were now setting up a phone on a tripod, placing it in the middle of the living room. Peter was next to you in his spider suit and the other Avengers were talking on the couch while you two worked. 

"So you guys have to go rounds?" you asked, looking over at Peter. He had his mask off, holding it in one hand. 

"Yeah, and after we film, we have to put the names after every round with an X on an O, depending on who managed to hide in time."

"Sometimes I think you started this whole thing because you don't have any friends." 

"I have friends?"

You took a few steps back, seeing what was in the frame. 

"Yeah? Like who? And you're not allowed to say me, we're not friends."

"Well, there's Ned and MJ."

"I don't think this is going to work out."  You said, looking at the others. "You literally have gigantic, muscular men, trying to hide in a minimalistic living room. And then there's also the Hulk."

“Did you just thirst over muscular men right in front of me?” Peter laughed, placing his hand on your waist. Usually you would tense up when he did that, but since you were now dating, you didn't.  "Trust me, it will be fun!" 

"Mask on please, get everyone in position." 

He nodded, putting his mask on and telling everyone to gather in front of the camera and pose. You stood behind the phone, looking at the frame. Everyone was in it. They were gathering like they were about to take a picture, standing in cool superhero poses. 

"Okay guys, you look poster worthy. I'll count to 3 and all of you have 5 seconds to hide somewhere before the camera takes a picture!" you explained. Peter had ran through this with them before but you felt the need to explain again. "1, 2, 3..." 

And you pressed record. Pure chaos was unleashed after that. Peter shot a web and stuck to the ceiling, Thor jumped over the couch along with Cap, laying flat on it so they were not visible. Hulk just grabbed the couch with both of them on it, lifting it and putting it in front of him sideways, while the others just fell on the ground on top of each other. Natasha practically jumped on an armchair that got knocked over from her force and got out of the frame entirely. The 5 seconds were over and you were barely holding in your laughter at that point. You had expected this to go badly but not nearly as bad as it actually was. 

You did a few more rounds, each one more ridiculous than the previous. And after that you got to work, writing out the winners and losers to each round in your notes. Now all that was left was editing it and posting. 

—

You were sitting at your desk, biting your lip as you were concentrating on figuring out where to place all the names and scores on the screen so they wouldn’t block out any important things in the video. Or should you have them appear at the end? Your work was interrupted by Peter walking in your room, making your head turn. He had the mask in his hand, still wearing the suit. 

“Hi, pumpkin!” he said, which made you raise an eyebrow at him and squint your eyes in displeasure. 

“That sounded ridiculously cheesy and I really hate it.’’ 

“I thought introducing some kind of pet name into this relationship would be nice, I need to change your name in my phone.” 

“Think of another one.”

He walked over to you, a gentle kiss was immediately placed on the top of your head while his eyes wandered to your phone, looking as the video played with half of the scorings written in the middle of it. 

“Ooo, did I win?” he asked, his hand resting on your shoulder.

“Mmmm, you didn’t lose definitely, but you lost a point on the third round when you stuck yourself in fetal position to Hulk’s back and he started spinning in circles trying to get you off.” 

“That’s not fair! I hid well!”

“But the camera still saw you, I don’t make the rules.”

He kissed your cheek before laying down on your bed. You finished up the video and hit upload before following him. It was still new and uncomfortable for you to be affectionate with him in public, but your room offered a safe space to try. You wouldn’t shut him down when he tried making a move on you in front of the others like you used to do, but initiating intimacy yourself was really out of the picture. He put his phone away when he saw you get up, opening his arms. You lay on top of him as he wrapped his arms in a warm embrace. You relaxed your weight on him, head pressed against his chest. Cons to having a spider-man boyfriend was you were never worried you’d crush him.

“I need to say something and I don’t want it to turn into a fight.” he said, making you look at him.

You placed your hands on top of his chest, resting your head on them as you watched him. 

“What is it about?” you asked.

“Since the month of us trying to date is almost over…” 

“Pete… I know what you’re gonna say and the month isn’t over yet. Please don’t let it get over your head before it actually happens.”

“But we’re a week away from a month!”

“I know but a lot can happen in a week… You know exactly how much.” You told him, referring to the time you two had spent alone together almost a month ago. 

“Okay, okay, baby mice steps. I get it.”

“Precisely.”

You tried to relax after the conversation, laying your head on his chest while he stroked your back gently. For some reason it was just not working to calm you down. You turned to look at him again and he was already staring, a soft smile painted across his lips. A soft sigh escaped yours, your hands reaching out to wrap around his neck and pull yourself closer to him. Still feeling uneasy from what he said, you slid your body on one of his sides, hiding your face in his neck. He giggled softly because you tickled him in the process, squeezing you gently.

“I’m sorry.” you mumbled against his neck, your hand drawing soft circles on his chest. 

Peter hummed softly, raising your chin with his hand to place a soft kiss on your lips. 

“It’s okay, I know I’m impatient.” 

“No, I think you’re being reasonable. I’m the one who’s overreacting.”

He kissed you again, slowly and gently, his lips moving against yours while he still held your chin with his hand.

“You’re alright, babe. Baby steps.” 

You nodded, letting your head fall on his shoulder this time, placing soft kisses on his jawline.

“Baby steps.” You repeated in a whisper.

You enjoyed cuddling with him more than you had anticipated, neither of you expected your primary love language to be physical touch. But Peter didn’t mind that even one bit, he loved touching you for comfort, his hands were on your legs whenever you two went somewhere with the car, no matter who was driving. He would make sure to place his hand one the small of your back whenever you two would pass each other in a hallway. His knee would touch yours under the dinner table when he was over. It was subtle and it brought the both of you so much comfort and adrenaline. You were basically hiding in plain sight. 

You had no idea if Tony was onto the two of you yet or not. Peter was over way more than he used to be, he even sneaked in a few times during the night. The alarms wouldn’t go off because, well it was Peter after all. It wasn’t like you were trying to sneak in someone who wasn’t registered into the security systems. And Tony adored the kid, so he was extra happy about having him around more. Things were going pretty smoothly if anyone had to ask you.

—

You hated to admit, but Peter was right. This whole tik-tok thing was an absolute hit. It humanized all of the Avengers so much that people started trusting and liking them more than ever before. You were getting millions of likes and comments on all of the videos you uploaded, which were more or less different trends. It was annoying that you had to run the whole account, like you didn’t have enough work to do. 

Today you filmed the tortilla slap challenge with Bucky, Natasha and Sam. Peter desperately wanted to join it but everyone was against the idea of him publicly announcing his secret identity, especially for a tik-tok. So you made him mop up the floor after, since he wanted to be involved so badly. 

All of them went into a meeting straight after that, leaving you with 10 minutes to run and grab a coffee for everyone. The 10 minutes you had were definitely not enough to make it back with so many cups. And to top it all off, the Parker family was on a mission to make it extra difficult for you. Peter was spamming your messages begging you to listen to “Yellow hearts” by Ant Saunders because somehow it was “exactly describing the relationship you two had.” And you were walking down a street, trying to reply to a message, hands full of coffee cups, when you ran into Peter’s aunt - May.

“Oh, Y\N! Lovely seeing you!” she said with a bright cheerful smile, making you look up from your phone. You were trying to support the cups with your chin while you texted, because all of them couldn’t fit in the paper bag. 

“May! Hey!” you replied once you shook off the surprise, shoving the phone in your back pocket.

“How are you, sweetheart? I’ve been hearing about you lately, but not seeing enough.” she smiled, placing a hand on your arm as she spoke. 

“I’m alright, a little busy actually. Are you here to pick up Parker JR after the meeting?”

“Yes, and I thought I could drink some coffee while I’m waiting. Peter recommended the place.”

“He did, didn’t he?” you asked, trying to mask how frustrated and overwhelmed you were becoming. “I need to run, I’m already late.”

“It’s okay, we can catch up another time? Dinner over at Queens this week?” she asked, but you were already walking away from her. 

You turned your head to look at her in a little bit of a shock, not expecting a whole dinner invitation to her house. Your fears turned out to be true, Peter had told her about dating you.  

“I’m very busy, I’ll tell the spider whenever I can.” You smiled politely at her before walking away, in the most rapid pace you could manage without actually running.

--

“Hey, kid, these are for you.” you heard Tony say as he walked into the living room.

You were helping Morgan with a coloring book, or rather watching her color in it from time to time while you read through your biology textbook. Exams were coming up and you didn’t have a second to spare. Tony’s voice captured your attention, making you look up and see him hold a beautiful bouquet of yellow and white roses, decorated with little daisies.

“For me? Thank you Tony, but that’s so weird.”

“They’re not from me. They were left for you at the door.”

“The front door?”

“No, by the doggy door.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, getting up to look at the flowers yourself. In the meantime Tony took the card out reading out loud. You tried stopping him by grabbing the card but he lifted his hand up, making you jump to try to get it but failing. 

“Thank you for coming to dinner last night, love, your secret boyfriend.” he read, looking at you in shock “You have a boyfriend?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Does Peter know about you having a boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yes, and he’s not sending you flowers at your door for having dinner with him. Who is he?”

“Tony, you’re not my dad.”

Your words made him snap out of his protective mode, giving you the flowers and the note. You took them in your arms reluctantly, reading the note to be sure he was actually right about what was written on it. Tony looked at you with an expression that you couldn’t really decode, it looked like shock, pain and worry at the same time. You were going to kill Peter, for real this time.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.” you said, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the two of you.

He placed an arm on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly. 

“Nothing to apologize for here, I know I can never replace your parents, I’m not trying either.” Tony gave your shoulder a pat, turning around to look at Morgan, who had stopped coloring and was now listening to the two of you.

“Thank you… For worrying about me, I appreciate it. I know I don’t say it enough but I value your presence in my life, or rather my presence is yours.”

“Please don’t make this more awkward than it already is.”

“Usually I’m the one who says that.”

“Would you look at that, your boyfriend has made you cheesy.” 

You shook your head in disgust from his words, watching him as he walked over to Morgan and lifted her up in his arms, spinning around as he hugged her. It was your queue to leave before it got any weirder, so you gathered your books and left as fast as you could.

Shutting the door of your room behind you, phone on your ear as you had already dialed Peter’s number. He picked up on the fourth ring, right before you gave up on this call. 

“Hey!” His cheerful voice on the other side of the line.

“What’s with those flowers?” you asked, cutting right to the chase.

“Don’t you like them? May said it was what I was supposed to do after you came over for dinner and she said flowers would be a ni-”

“I love the flowers, but Tony found them before I did.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you for not being dumb enough to not sign your name on that card.” you sighed, placing the bouquet on your desk next to the messy piles of notebooks. “Now he thinks I have a boyfriend.”

“But you do have a boyfriend.” he laughed softly. You could hear his smile on the other side of the line.

“I know this label makes you very happy, I’m glad it does, but please be more careful next time.”

“Alright, bet, next time I want to bring you flowers I’ll stick them to the ceiling of your room with my webs so no one else can see them.”

“Now that’s a thought.” you laughed, looking at the ceiling just to make sure he hadn’t already done that.

In reality, you weren’t mad at him for sending you flowers. You loved them, it was a very nice gesture and it made you feel warm on the inside. Sure, it wasn’t the best way to receive them and it stressed you out, but at the end of the day, you had a very good boyfriend that wanted to make you happy.

— 

Peter walked in the apartment holding a red rose in his hand. His smile was spread across his face as the elevator door opened in front of him, leading him into the big living space. He came here straight from school, after his Math quiz. He didn’t bother going home first to leave his backpack, went straight to a flower shop to get you a rose and head to the Stark tower so he could invite you on a very special date. He expected you to be watching over Morgan alone and it caught him by surprise when he saw Tony sitting on the couch. You were standing next to him, reading over something which he had probably given you. Tony turned his head, noticing it was Peter with the side of his eye. 

“Hey, kid.” he said.

Peter froze in his spot, his heart pounding in his chest from the fear of how this was going to play out. He had to think of something really fast. He threw the rose in the air as Tony’s head moved to face you again for a second, shooting a web at it to stick it to the ceiling. 

“What’s with that rose?” Tony asked a second later, after he processed what he had seen, turning fully around to look at Peter.

“What rose?” Peter replied, looking around, his hands empty now. 

“I swear you were holding a rose just now.”

“No, I wasn’t. Maybe you saw my Math quiz with this big red A written on it.” The paper was folded in half and shoved in his back pocket because he was in such a rush to get here, he didn’t have time to put it in his bag. He took the paper out of his pocket, showing it to Tony. 

Their conversation made you look up at Peter. You knew he was lying. The tone of his voice sounded nervous and like he was going to crack under the pressure. 

“You need to work on your lying skills.” Tony said, turning his back to him and looking at you again. You looked at Peter, then at Tony and your gaze fell on the papers. 

“Everything seems fine.” You told Tony, handing him the red folder back. He had hired some new engineers for his labs, helping him and wanted you to review their work just in case. It wasn’t like you were majoring in engineering, your passion was biology and biochemistry, but you just knew math well enough to spot any mistake if there was any.

“Okay, thank you. You’re free now” He told you, reading through the folder again. 

Ten minutes later Tony was still sitting on the couch, reading through the folder. You and Peter silently decided to study on the kitchen table across from each other. You were already engrossed in the textbook you were reading, highlighting, writing things down in your notebook, sticking sticky notes in the book. You were trying your best to ignore Peter’s constant fidgeting in his seat, the annoyed flipping through pages with sighs escaping his lips. His hands moving on the table when he would get bored, making you flinch in your seat, worried he would try to touch you in front of Tony. You heard silent ripping of paper, trying to ignore it, but Peter threw it a small paper ball at you to get your attention. You looked over at him, annoyed by his overall behavior in the last 10 minutes. Both of you had finals knocking at your doors and he was doing everything in his power to distract you. He pointed at the ceiling as soon as your eyes met, making you look in the direction. And there it was, the rose Tony was talking about earlier, a single red rose, webbed onto the ceiling. You wanted to burst out laughing but held yourself back, looking at Peter again. He was writing something, passing it to you a few seconds later.

“Will you be my prom date?” it read, looking at him and shaking your head no. You had already told him a million times you were not going to do it. He pouted, putting his hands together and locking his fingers into a prayer, begging you to say yes. You shook your head again, giving him back the note. 

“What the hell are you two doing?” Tony asked, making the two of you jump in your seats. 

He had been looking at the two of you for the past 5 minutes, he saw the rose as well, saw Peter begging you and you declining. He was standing by the table. This whole time you felt like you were in detention with Peter, and now that Tony caught you, the feeling got deeper. Neither of you said anything, staring at Tony in shock. And since you wouldn’t speak, Tony took the paper and laughed. 

“I don’t think her boyfriend is gonna like that.”

“Her boyfriend?” Peter asked, looking at you.

“Yeah, she has a boyfriend.”

“I don’t think he’ll mind.” Peter continued. 

“I definitely think he will.” 

“No he won’t, he’ll be quite happy actually.”

“What is making you think that?”

“Because it’s me, I’m her boyfriend.”

You didn’t say a word the entire conversation. A few weird looks were shared between the three of you in complete silence. You felt like you wanted to die. Peter turned to stare at you, waiting for you to confirm it. Tony was staring at you too, unsure if this was real or another attempt of Peter’s to flirt with you. Then he laughed, Tony started laughing loudly and sincerely. He was laughing so hard you could see a tear running down his cheek. Peter whined, throwing his head back in frustration from his reaction. 

“It’s true! Tell him!”

You gulped, looking at the still-laughing Tony. 

“It is.” you almost whispered, hoping he wouldn’t hear you. 

“Wait.” Tony stopped, looking at the two of you with furrowed brows. “Really?”

“Yeah.” you said, nodding softly. 

—

The lights flashed softly as you walked in, blinding you for a second. You tried to walk in a straight line but the lights did not help you at all. You grabbed Peter’s arm for support, scared you would miss a threshold that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and trip. Peter looked over at you in concern, thinking something had suddenly made you anxious. You looked at him as well, blinking rapidly, trying to adjust to the light changing all of a sudden. Your hand was holding his biceps, squeezing it softly. He placed his other hand on yours, patting softly. He stared at you until you nodded that you were okay now and you could continue walking. Of all the cringe things you were expecting to see tonight, a disco ball was definitely not on the list. 

“Penis Parker with an actual date to prom? This will go down in history as the biggest plot twist!” You heard a somewhat familiar voice from behind you, turning around only to be faced with Flash. 

“Oh, it’s that annoying guy.” You said, looking at Peter, who nodded in agreement. 

“Wait, I know you, you were at my party once.”

“Unfortunately, yes, I was.”

“Why are you with that loser, ditch him, you should be my date instead.” Flash said, reaching a level of annoyance you didn’t even know existed.

“Sorry, I don’t do charity work on evenings but you can try the homeless kitchen in Queens on Saturdays and Tuesdays, I’m usually there to help on those days.” you told him as Peter wrapped his arm around your waist. “Plus we’re kind of already matching.” you pointed at Peter. “Your costume wannabe will clash with my dress and that’s a big no from me.”

Peter was trying his best not to laugh as you were absolutely destroying Flash verbally. It brought back memories from when you used to do the same with his attempts to flirt.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t want to know what kind of sado-maso sex you two freaks are having.”

“Did you just call me a sadist? I didn’t know you could read people so well, Flash!” you asked, looking at Peter for back up.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Peter said, pulling you closer to him and walking the two of you away. “That was brutal, can’t let you ruin his ego on his prom night!”

“Someone had to do it!” you whined, your hands crossing in front of your chest.

“We’re here to have a good time! Come on! Let’s dance and not think about Flash.”

“Remind me, how exactly did you convince me to come to this? I hated my own prom and I’m definitely hating yours too.”

“You want me to remind you?”

You nodded, his hands resting on each side of your hips as he looked at you. His forehead pressed against yours, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. 

“Are you sure you want me to remind you here?” he whispered in your ear.

You nodded again, looking at him. Your arms still crossed on your chest. 

“In front of all these people?” He asked with a fake shocked expression on his face, pulling your body closer. You rolled your eyes at him, his arms wrapping around you, chests pressed together. 

Your heartbeat accelerated as you looked at him, faces inches away from each other. His hot breath glided across the skin on your face, making your eyes fall shut as his lips gently touched yours. His fingers dug into the soft skin on your back. You rested your hands on his chest as he kissed you, consciously trying not to ruin his suit by grabbing anything you shouldn’t. He wasn’t that careful tho, his other hands scrunching the fabric that was so perfectly wrapped around your waistline, in desperate attempts to feel your body closer to his.

“Did I remind you?” he asked, breath heavy as he broke the kiss seconds before.

“You basically just admit to seducing me into this.” you told him, your head resting on his shoulder as he rocked the two of you gently to the rhythm of the blues that was playing in the background. 

“You can never just fall on your back, can you?”

“Never!” 

The two of you laughed, him kissing your forehead as you continued swaying, wrapped in each other's embrace.

---

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@asthmaticcchoeee @ivyquill

[bittenbyyou]

Inferior Flames (1)

MCU!AU | MCU!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader | MCU!Spider-Man x Stark!Reader

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, slow burn, lil cute moments

description: Your father wants you to knock Peter down a peg. OR Peter is bitter because you’re an Avenger and he’s not.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: Tony Stark being your father is already a warning as to how ridiculous he could be lol, mentions of Spider-Man: Homecoming, references from Captain America: Civil War, idk where this would fit in the MCU timeline per se b/c I’ve only recently started watching all the Marvel movies. 

a/n: maybe it’ll be a series? idk, if you like it, lemme know!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Firefly, I need a favor.” Your father plopped onto the couch next to you, so you paused your show with the TV remote.

“What is it?” you asked, turning your body to give him your undivided attention.

“You know Spiderling, Spider-Boy?”

“Peter Parker, Spider-Man? Yes. How do you still not know his name?”

“My names are better.”

“Uh huh. Wait, he’s the one that rejected your proposal to become an Avenger.” You nudged him with your elbow, flashing a smirk.

“No, no. I don’t do rejection.”

“But he did turn you down.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to alleviate his frustration. “Sure. Whatever. Anyway, the kid wants to be an Avenger now. Been texting Happy nonstop about when’s the next mission and he’s wanting to see me tomorrow.”

You blinked twice and stayed quiet, a blank stare on your face as to why this was an issue. When he didn’t say anything, you gestured for him to elaborate.

“I don’t think he’s ready,” he added, crossing one arm over the other.

“You’re serious? Dad, you’ve never shut up about him ever since you gave him the suit. Even when I was abroad, I’ve seen what he can do. He’s amazing. You wanted him to be an Avenger.”

“I’m aware. But he said no and now… the ball is in my court.” The shit-eating grin on his face was soon replaced with a chuckle that sounded almost sinister.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, he turned me down and now he wants me back. God, I’m making him sound like an ex-girlfriend.” He shivered in disgust and you rolled your eyes. “Anyway, I get to turn him down now. It’s great.”

“So you’re turning him down because he turned you down first. Petty much?”

“Hey, that is not what’s going on here.” He turned his attention to the paused TV screen instead of meeting your judgmental gaze.

“Dad, that’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re really letting your pride stop you from recruiting someone as amazing as Spider-Man? Let Peter join.”

“What, are you in love with him or something? You think he’s so amazing?” he asked while doing jazz hands at the word “amazing.”

You wouldn’t call it love; it was more along the lines of admiration. During your time abroad, your father filled you in on all his adventures and antics so if anything, it was his fault as to why you were somewhat enamored with Spider-Man. Deep down, you knew your father adored Peter, so it was only natural you did too.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“You can’t date anyone until you’re 21.”

“I’m telling Mom you’re being ridiculous.”

“I already told your mom and we’ve already established that I’m ridiculous,” he said proudly, as if it was a badge of honor.

“You told me you were proud of his decision to lay low.”

“I am. I was. But now the tables have turned and what kind of person would I be if I let him in so easily? The others think I’m crazy recruiting a 15 year old.”

“16 now actually,” you corrected.

“God, this is like deja-vu.”

You giggled. “I’m the same age as him and you’ve been wanting me to join too.”

“Don’t remind me. You were the first person to ever turn me down and I’m still recovering. I’m waiting for you to crawl back and beg me, saying ‘Dad, please! Let me be an Avenger!’ Like the kid is doing now,” he said, using a high-pitched voice when he was imitating you.

“Good luck with that. I have no interest in being an Avenger.”

“See,” he said, pointing his index finger at you, “that right there is why I need your help.”

You crossed your arms in the same way he did, skeptical of where he was going with this. “Go on.”

“I want you to pretend to be another recruit who wants to be an Avenger. I’ll tell him there’s only one position and make him work for it.”

“Dad…” you said sternly.

“What? He doesn’t know you’re my daughter. And I’m trying to protect him too. The kid’s been going off doing things on his own and not thinking clearly. He can wait on becoming an Avenger.”

“He stopped Vulture. He kept looking for those weapons when no one else would.”

“He’s reckless.”

“You’re using me to make him jealous.”

“A little,” he said with a shrug. “But I’m also looking out for him.”

“Uh huh.”

“He’s coming here tomorrow and I want you to battle him. If he beats you, he’ll get to join.”

“This is so stupid.”

“It’s genius, really.”

“You’re making a kid fight for something that you already want to give him.”

“No. Not yet.”

“You know he can’t beat me.”

Your father leaned in and pecked you on the forehead. “Exactly. Him losing will help him work harder to be better. This’ll give him that push he really needs. So will you help me?”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to fight Peter Parker and make sure he loses just so he doesn’t get to become an Avenger even though deep down, you want him to be one?”

“Precisely.”

“That’s the stupidest idea ever. And it’ll hurt his feelings.”

“No, it’ll build character. He needs to understand it’s not that simple. You can’t ask to become an Avenger and get it.”

“... But he can… because that’s what you wanted in the first place.”

“He turned me down so it’s only fair that he proves to me how much he wants it. Like a test. I’m testing him.”

“No. Dad, I’m not doing that.”

“I’ll enroll you in school right now instead of waiting for the following year.”

You sighed, contemplating his ridiculous proposition. He had adopted you when you were 10 on one of his missions overseas and has kept you a secret from the public. As much as it pained him, he could not bring you home right away because you required guidance on using your powers responsibly. You had to remain abroad for a while longer until the adoption forms went through and your mentors felt you were ready to leave the tiny village where you resided.

However, he and his wife Pepper, kept in touch and always checked in. He showed up every birthday and made it his mission to be a part of your life. Now that you were in high school and your powers were restored, he flew you into New York City right away.

It’s been a few months since your transition and you absolutely loved it. The Avengers who resided in the compound were very welcoming and so far, they were the only ones who knew of your existence along with your mom. Your father had yet to announce your identity to the world because he didn’t want the spotlight to overwhelm you. Originally he planned on having you relax a bit and then enroll you in public school next year, but going earlier was enticing to you.

“... Which school?”

“Spider-Man’s.”

“... Fine.”

“You do have a crush on him.”

“Shut up, Dad.”

The next day…

Upon entering the foyer of the Avengers Compound, Happy led Peter to where Stark was. The man stood in the middle of the main entrance hall, sporting a classy suit and sunglasses. Peter clenched his fists in determination, carefully reciting the words he wanted to say in his head since the car ride over.

“Hey kid. What do you want?”

“Mr. Stark,” he squeaked. He shut his eyes in humiliation, clearing his throat and lowering his voice a bit to sound more confident. Once his eyes fluttered open, he puffed out his chest and said, “I changed my mind.”

“You changed your mind,” Stark deadpanned.

“Yes. I want to be an Avenger.”

“You understand why I’m skeptical.”

“Um… yes, but—”

“Look, you turned me down last time and am I used to rejection?” Peter opened his mouth to answer but was immediately cut off. “The answer’s no, but I respected your decision. All that talk about looking out of the little guy—great—so what changed?”

“I’m ready for more than that now.”

“No, you’re not.”

“That’s not what you thought when I took on Captain America,” Peter argued.

“Trust me, kid. If Cap wanted to lay you out, he would’ve.”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows at the realization that he got off easy, questioning his entire existence.

Stark pressed his palms together and pointed at him. “You really want to be an Avenger?”

The boy nodded eagerly. “Yes.”

He inhaled sharply through gritted teeth. “See, here’s the thing: there’s someone else.”

Peter’s face fell, heartbroken at the thought of being replaced. “What—What do you mean there’s someone else?”

“Well, after you turned me down, I recruited someone else. If you really want to be an Avenger, prove to me you’re better than her.”

“Wait, her?”

“Yeah. You think you got what it takes?”

“Well it’s rude to attack a lady—”

“No. Gender equality’s a thing, right? You beat her up, she beats you up. You both end up in casts—”

“Casts?!”

“Suit up and let’s go.”

With no other choice, Peter obeyed and did what he was told. His thoughts were racing at the thought of battling someone to prove his worth. But this was his dream and he had to get out of his own head. After he finished suiting up, Happy led Tony and him to the outdoor training area that featured a wide-opened space with reinforced surfaces.

It had strategically placed obstacles to encourage agility and tactical thinking during battles. Additionally, the area incorporated holographic projectors to create any virtual landscapes to simulate specific scenarios for the Avengers to train in.

And that was where Peter’s eyes landed on a figure in the distance. You, who was practicing your combat skills with a large kung fu spear. The way you moved was calculated, graceful, like a beautiful yet deadly dance. You performed many high kicks and flips, mesmerizing Peter as your hands maneuvered the spear so flawlessly around your body. Your father and Happy watched you, proud smiles plastered on both of their faces.

“That’s who you’ll be battling today,” Stark said, clapping his hands together once to catch your attention. You stopped what you were doing and landed in a perfect split with the spear parallel to your body, noticing your father and Happy’s presence. You got up and rushed over, your eyes quickly finding its way to the boy in the iconic red and blue costume.

“Hi D-... Mr. Stark. Happy.” You turned to Peter, loving the fact that he didn’t have his mask on yet so you could finally meet him as him. He was far cuter in person, you weren’t going to deny that. “I’m [Y/N].”

Your dad wanted this “test” to be authentic, so you couldn't tell Peter you were, in fact, a Stark. Plus you didn’t look like a Stark anyway, with you being adopted and all. It’d be a cinch.

“P-Parker, Peter. Parker Peter—I mean, Peter Parker,” Peter said softly, shaking your hand. God, you were so pretty that it made him a fumbling mess. He wondered if you two were the same age.

“Great. Now that both you kiddos are here, you both know what you have to do, right?”

You and Peter looked at each other and exchanged awkward smiles. “Mr. Stark, I’m not comfortable battling a… um…”

“Girl?” you finished. “I’d be more worried about yourself, darling.”

The way the word “darling” rolled off your tongue caused Peter’s face to redden like a cherry.

“I’m not saying girls can’t battle, I’m just saying I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Are you going to hold back if the enemy is a woman?”

Peter opened his mouth to say something but to no avail.

“You said you wanted to be an Avenger. There’s only one position available, so we’re going to be testing you both. Happy will launch the simulation sequence and then you two will be fighting one-on-one,” your father explained.

“Good luck,” Happy said, trying hard not to laugh. The two men walked a safe distance away where they could observe you both.

“What’s the simulation sequence?” Peter called out before putting on his mask.

“We’re going to be launching drones at you,” Stark called back from afar with cupped hands.

“Drones?!”

“Yeah, we want to see how much you’ve improved!”

“In 3, 2, 1!” Happy shouted as he pushed some buttons on his phone.

You and Peter both stared up at the sky as a swarm of drones lined up in a similar fashion as the game Space Invaders.

“May the best Avenger win,” you said, sending him a wink. He laughed nervously as you immediately launched yourself in the sky. Peter gasped in awe.

“She can fly?!”

Hovering in front of the drones, you closed your eyes and pressed your index and middle fingers together, forming a "V" shape. Bringing the fingers perpendicular to your forehead, it felt as if you were beckoning an unseen force. With unwavering focus, you opened your eyes, and the spear you held multiplied tenfold, floating effortlessly beside you. Extending your arm forward, you pointed confidently at the drones, issuing a resolute command for the spears to launch their attack. Explosions scattered throughout the sky as you managed to wipe out half the drones with one attack.

“And she can multiply things. Great,” Peter huffed, launching a web at one of the drones to join you.

“She’s going to destroy him,” your father said, chuckling to himself.

“Kid, come back. Don’t be such a sore loser.”

Peter shook his head while removing his mask, muttering self-deprecating thoughts to himself at his performance. You watched as he walked away, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Did I go overboard?” you asked, a tinge of guilt eating away at your conscience. Your father chuckled and waved off your concern with a flick of the wrist.

“No, you did great. He’ll be fine.” He went after Peter and placed a hand on his shoulder to prevent him from going any further. “Hey. You put up a good fight.”

Peter spun around, exasperated and using his hands to express his frustration. “I lost. There was no way I was going to win. She can fly, she can multiply things, she can use telekinesis, she can breathe fire—is she part dragon? How was I supposed to compete with that?!”

You saw him pointing at you from afar, giving him a small smile but was only reciprocated with a frown.

Tony put on a contemplating face. “Is she part dragon…?” he mumbled. “Anyway, I told you that I had to find someone else after you said no. And she’s earned her place. I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but you lost fair and square.”

“But—”

“No buts. You aren’t ready. So lay low, be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and work your way up. Go to school, focus on classes, and finish that homework you’ve been putting off.”

“I don’t need to go to school.”

“Yes. You do. Even she goes to school,” Stark said, pointing over in your direction.

You went over to where Happy was, your eyes still glued on your father and Peter. “Happy, he looks so heartbroken.”

“I know. But it’s for the best. Kid’s too eager and knocking him down a peg might do him some good.”

“I feel bad.”

He patted your back and gave you a reassuring smile. “He will be okay. Your father appreciates your help.”

You immediately straightened your posture when you saw Peter come over with your father.

“Anything you want to say to [Y/N]?” your father asked, giving Peter a gentle nudge from behind.

“Congratulations,” Peter said, mustering up as much strength as he could to give you a smile. Because he really was happy for you, but it hurt for him. The smile didn’t reach his eyes and the pitiful gaze in yours wasn’t helping.

“Thanks. You did really well.”

“Yeah, but I have all the bruises,” he joked, pointing at his face in a circular motion. You took a step forward and placed your palm out in front of his face.

“May I?”

His eyes widened in confusion, but he nodded anyway. An ember glow emitted from your hand and all his bruises healed in a matter of seconds.

“You can heal people too? What on earth can’t you do?” Peter was both fascinated but also very annoyed at your perfection.

“I can only heal minor bruises,” you said quickly.

“Of course,” he muttered.

“Happy, take him home for me.”

“Got it. Come on, Peter.”

“Bye Peter,” you said, giving him a shy wave. He only gave you another meek smile before walking away. You glared at your father, who only let out a sigh of relief.

“Great job, kiddo.”

The next day at school Ned practically crashed into Peter, who was at his locker minding his own business.

“Dude, dude, dude!”

“Whoa, what is it, Ned?!” Peter said, a hand on his chest from the sudden heart attack that was his best friend.

“There’s a new girl and she’s so cute. Have you seen her yet?”

Peter closed his locker shut, wracking his brain for a moment when he saw an unfamiliar face today. “No, I haven’t. What’s her name?”

“Uh… I can’t remember. Was it [wrong name]? Or maybe [another wrong name]?”

Peter looked down the hall and somehow amongst a cluster of students, he spotted you walking towards him. Like a moth to a flame, his eyes somehow went straight to you and only you. Irritation overcame him as he remembered the battle from yesterday. How you beat him so effortlessly, so ridiculously cool and being all perfect. And now you’re at his school? What, were you mocking him?

“Ned,” Peter said, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Is that her?” He pointed at you and nodded his head in your direction.

Ned looked over in your direction and snapped his fingers. “Yeah! That’s her.”

“Dude, that’s the girl,” Peter muttered.

“Huh? What girl?”

He thought about how he sulked on the apartment balcony, venting to Ned about you. “The… girl… remember what I told you over the phone yesterday?”

It took a few seconds, but Ned’s brain finally clicked. “She’s the one that beat you? Her? Oh my god, you didn’t mention how cute she was!”

“Will you keep your voice down? She’s coming this way!” Peter opened his locker again and hid his face behind it. Ned shook his head in disapproval.

“Are you embarrassed? Come on. Challenge her again.”

“I can’t.”

“I’ll do it for you.”

“No, dude, stop. You aren’t supposed to know about her. Mr. Stark will kill me.”

“But she goes to our school.”

Peter hid his face in his locker until you finally passed. He let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling like he had dodged a bullet. That was, until Ned shouted out, “Hey! New girl!”

You stopped at the familiar label people were referring to you as. Once you turned around, you saw Ned’s huge smile while Peter still cowered in his locker. The boy you were walking with scoffed at Ned’s boldness.

“You don’t need to engage with them. They’re nobodies.”

“That’s not very nice, Flash,” you said, frowning at his poor choice of words.

“If we’re nobodies, why is she friends with Peter then, huh?” Ned exclaimed loudly. If a black hole could open up and swallow Peter whole, now would be the time.

“What, you know Penis Parker?” Flash asked you, incredulous at the new information. Peter carefully pulled his head out of his locker enough to take a tiny peek at you. He wondered what you were going to say.

“Yeah. I know Peter, Flaccid Flash,” you replied, bumping into his shoulder deliberately as you made your way over to Peter and Ned. The entire hallway filled with laughter at your stinging remark.

“Hi. I’m [Y/N]. I think we maybe got off on the wrong foot. How about we start over?”

Peter looked at your extended hand as if it was a foreign object, standing still as a statue. When his brain finally registered what you said, Ned had beat him to it, shaking your hand so fast like he was in the presence of royalty. “We would love to start over. I’m Ned. Peter’s best friend.”

You let out a laugh. “Hi Ned. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Without thinking, Peter grabbed your other hand. “Come with me.”

You didn’t have time to react and he led you to the nearest empty classroom, thankful class hadn’t started yet.

“What are you doing here?” he interrogated, letting go of your hand. You leaned against the wall, crossing one foot over the other.

“I go to school here now?”

“But why here?”

“Because… it’s a nice school?”

Peter placed a hand on his forehead, his jaw clenched as he thought of what to say next without sounding like an ass. “Look, you beat me and you’re an Avenger fair and square. I’m happy for you, really.” His words became soft and broken towards the end. “But seeing you reminds me that Mr. Stark will never be impressed with me. So can you give me space?”

His voice was frail but sincere. You got off the wall and gave him a nod. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thank you.”

Before Peter could leave, you asked him one last question. “Sorry, but could you tell me where gym class is? I have it first period.”

It took everything in Peter not to curse out loud. He had to fight back his bitterness and said through gritted teeth. “Yeah. I have it first period too.”

You smiled to yourself, trailing closely behind him as he led you both to your first class. Together.

Reblogs and thoughts are appreciated! Thank you!

Update: I might be in the middle of writing a part 2. :) Your support means a lot!

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt 5 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: what is the appropriate amount of time to forgive your kidnapper?

words: 3.9 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. allusions to violence. coersion. kidnapping. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. 'only ten one bed oops' trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. nudity. extremely toxic relationships.

a/n - as many of you pointed out in the last chapter, this version of Peter is darker and messier than TASM canon. expect him to make a lot of mistakes before he becomes a changed man. if he changes.

18+. you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you don't remember watching an episode of pop up [music] video on a television network, then keep it movin'.

Back to Part 4

Part 5

She awoke to darkness. Her whole body felt sore. Head throbbing from the onslaught of tears. She felt like a ceramic pot that had been roasting in a kiln for hours.

Stirring from her dreamless sleep, she glanced left and right. Her hands were free of the bindings. Brow curled, she looked over at the closed door, pondering if her captor had snuck into the room while she was out.

Honey sat up with a start, blinking the remnants of sleep from her eyes. She reached for her wrists, finding nothing but an oily residue left behind. Still puffy from the duct tape rash, her skin was sensitive to her touch, but otherwise unharmed.

She glanced up at the closed door. Her stomach churned. She fought the instinct to curl up and hide beneath the bed. The memory of Peter’s fierce gaze lingered, a raw burn in her mind. 

Despite her logic telling her that she was the victim, she still felt conflicted. 

She had been kidnapped, sure— and she needed to do whatever was necessary to survive. Strangely, she still felt guilty for taking a swing at him like she did. As soon as her fingers touched the rock, she slammed it into the side of his head, without much thought.

“What are you, stupid? It’s a wonder you even make it home alive each night!”

She couldn’t quite name what came over her. She dealt a blow to his temple that could’ve killed him. Surprised that it didn’t. And then what would that be like? Could she really find it in herself to kill another human being? Not to mention, she’d be alone in the woods with a dead body, with no clue where she was. 

The thought made her queasy, twisting her stomach into a pretzel. She could’ve just run away, but when it came time to do so, she froze. Typical.

While she was hiding, she watched and listened quietly to his rampage below. Rage was one thing she expected, but not the misery she witnessed. The look she found in his eyes was something else entirely. Heartbreak and relief, like he would burst into tears at any moment.

It made her heart ache to witness it.

And then she hit him with a rock. Like some kind of cavewoman. 

Brilliant idea, she thought disdainfully.

“You need to slow down!” More bitter thoughts flooded her, this time with the voice of her mother. “Always talking too fast! Always moving too fast! You do without thinking. No wonder you mess everything up.”

Her eyes grew heavy with melancholy and exhaustion. Despite the darkness wrapped around her, she felt like sleep was out of the question.

A strange melody crept up through the closed door to her room. Voices. Percussion. Music. Upbeat and entrancing. 

There wasn’t a clock in her room but she had figured it was the middle of the night. Why would Peter be jamming out in the middle of the night?

Her stomach twisted again. The thought of coming face-to-face with him gave her chills. She rubbed her wrists idly. She could feel bruises there. She was afraid to leave the room. But she was also starving, and lamented not having at least one sandwich before her daring and ill-conceived escape. She was also miserably dehydrated, as every bit of moisture had leaked through her swollen eyelids.

And she had to pee. And that was now all she could think about. Her room thankfully had its own bathroom. Swinging her still-booted feet over the edge of the bed onto the floor, she tiptoed to the bathroom and relieved herself.

She thought she heard singing. Bad, out-of-tune singing. Creeping to the door, she placed her ear against the cool surface, trying to identify thes source. Out of curiosity or courage, she twisted the handle and peeked her head around the frame.

By the time she reached the bottom step of the staircase into the living room, she had a full view of the area and Peter was nowhere in sight. The one person who was in the room (and the source of music) was Miles, as he sat at the kitchen bar and dangled a pizza slice larger than his head above his mouth. 

The music was echoing across the room from a tiny portable speaker on top of the kitchen bar. In his own world, the teenager’s head bobbed as he blew steam from his pizza, then took a giant bite. 

She watched curiously as she approached from behind. The giant decorative clock built into the great room wall confirmed that it was incredibly late. Or early. One wouldn’t know it from Miles’ energy, or the volume of his jam session. She looked left and right, expecting to find more people, but saw no one else.

The flow of the music was broken when she accidentally walked into a low-height side table, her knee knocking to the corner. The lamp on top of the table jolted and Miles spun around in the barstool, letting out a piercing screech that could best be described as falsetto.

Honey responded in kind, letting out a shrieking Ahhhhhh of her own. Miles curled himself up on the stool, pulling his palms and one leg up defensively. “Sorry!” she blurted, as he clutched his own chest. “Sorry! So sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“You scared the crap outta me!” Miles said, his panic ebbing.

“I didn’t mean to—wait, is that how you really scream?”

“What about it?!” Miles exclaimed indignantly. “Not the point! You’re the one who’s creepin’ up on people like we’re in a horror movie... Crazy... La Llorona stuff!” The pitch of his voice normalized as he took a deep breath, frustration subsiding. “I dead-ass almost punched you in the face—I don’t mess around!”  

“Sorry, sorry...” Honey babbled, her face twisted in a grimace. “I, uh, didn’t mean... to, uh... Llorona...”

“It’s fine!” Miles sighed, his heart rate slowing. It didn’t sound fine. “It’s over—maybe let’s just not ever mention this again, okay? To anyone? Especially not to people I know.”

Honey nodded her head in agreement, motioning that her lips were zipped and she was ‘throwing away the key.’ 

A few awkward moments of silence passed between them as he reached over and turned down the music on the speaker. He straightened out his zip-up hoodie uncomfortably. A small smile crept up on her face. She found his reaction endearing, and not at all what she expected from—whatever it was they were involved with.

“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Hi.”

Miles gave her a sheepish look. “Hi.”

There was a mountain of awkwardness between them. She looked around, then pointed at the massive box of pizza. “So... post-midnight snack?”

“Oh,” the teenager responded, looking back at the pizza. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re probably hungry.” He reached for the box, opening the lid. “Here, have some. It’s Lucia’s. There’s plenty.”

“Lucia’s?” she exclaimed, pondering the distance between wherever they were to downtown Flushing. She moved to the box, peering inside. “I like Dani’s.” 

“Well, nobody’s perfect. This pie heats up better,” Miles remarked, taking another bite of his slice. 

“Yeah?” Her eyes slid over to Miles. “How fresh is it?”

“Boss said to bring Lucia’s. So I did.” He shrugged his shoulders idly, placing his attention back on his slice of pizza. She slumped with a huff, having been dismissed.

“Boss,” she repeated, a chill going down her spine. “You mean Ben. Or...Peter, I guess,” She glanced around the mostly empty kitchen and living area, almost as if saying his name would summon him like Bloody Mary. “Is he here?”

Miles smacked his lips, wiping his mouth. “Nope, just me.” 

There was a pleasant calmness in his demeanor. It seemed to her that he was the only normal person that she’d met since being pulled off the train. The only person that treated her like a real person. Not that Peter hadn’t tried to show her kindness... or at least, what his mind perceived as kindness.

She rocked forward on her toes, suddenly interested in the fibers of the cardboard box. “Is he... Is he okay?”

Miles avoided looking at her, and she wondered how much Peter had told him about her escape attempt. She wondered why she felt suddenly embarrassed by her actions. Ashamed even. What did that say about her?

“Didn’t say much,” he replied. “Said he needed to take care of some stuff. Told me to hang out in case you needed anything.” 

Something burned in her chest, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. “That was nice,” she stated in earnest. “I guess.” 

“He’s pretty cool,” Miles nodded, matter-of-factly. “Nice guy.”

She bitterly scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He didn’t respond. He was skilled at avoiding her provocation despite how badly she wanted to start a fight. Passively, he devoured his pizza in record time, then reached over the box to grab a paper plate. It looked sorely out of place compared to the grandeur of the kitchen. 

“Wan’some?” he asked. “I also brought soda and stuff. Boss said no TV, but we can watch a movie on Netflix or something. Or we got a Switch. You ever play Smash Bros?”

It took her a moment for the implications to sink in. “‘No TV?’” she repeated with a growl, letting out a frustrated sigh. “What are we, children?” 

She snatched the paper plate from his hand and reached into the box, grabbing herself a slice of pizza. Without further protest, she bit into the pie, savoring the taste. Lucia’s was superior, she recognized. 

“He said to get you whatever you needed,” he answered, paying her complaints no mind. “The whole house is free range except for the office. But everything else is cool. You can use the gym. There’s a library. The sauna. A pool, if you wanna check that out, too.”

She blinked at him, nearly choking on her pizza. “This place has a pool?” 

“Heated,” he wiggled his eyebrows enticingly. 

She glanced down, conniving. “What about a computer?”

Miles shook his head. “Don’t know about that.”  

“Could I borrow your phone?”

“No can.”

“C’mon,” she pleaded, her voice gentle. “I’m not gonna call the cops. Just wanna check in with my mom.” 

“Can’t bring phones out here,” he shrugged apologetically. “It’s a rule. Phones can be hacked and traced. All you need is a sus text like ‘Hey, I’m here,’ or ‘We issued you a refund for $600,’ and you click on the link and boom. They got you.”

Honey peered at him suspiciously, “Who’s they?”

“No clue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your ‘boss’ sounds pretty paranoid if you ask me.”

“That actually wasn’t his rule,” Miles explained conversationally. He leaned back in the barstool in a way that made her anxious. “That was Peni. She’s our tech nerd.”

“Peni?” she repeated.

“Yeah, she’s like—a genius.”

Her pizza suddenly became too chewy. “So I’m just a prisoner?” she huffed.

Miles looked over at her for a few moments, considering her. He let out a quiet sigh. “I know it’s a lot,” he said kindly, then added with consolation. “Pete’s a lot. Sometimes.”  Stone-faced, she stared back skeptically. “But he’s a really good dude. Just... he worries. He wouldn’t do all this if he didn’t care.”

She glared at him through lidded eyes. “Do you hear yourself right now?” she spat. “You sound like a Lifetime movie. Do I need to call Child Protective Services?”

“Hey, not cool. M’not a child,” he bristled, offended. “I’m sixteen.” She stared at him with a raised brow, watching as he stuffed another slice of pie into his mouth. “Wan’some Mountain Dew?”

She blinked. Several times. Then resigned herself. “Sure.”

The eerie indigo and orange glow of civil dawn peeked through the bay windows of the great room. It was silent except for soft snores. With weary eyes and a suit jacket which had been wrinkled by physical exertion, Peter wandered into his house even more of an alien than when he’d left it. 

The sort of activities in which he’d participated in earlier that night did that to him. It made him a stranger in his own home. Even more in his own skin.

He paused briefly and took a moment to gaze upon the lanky teenager sprawled out on one of the leather couches. Jordans crossed. sticking up over the sofa arm. A Nintendo controller rested on his chest as he dozed deeply, film forming in the corner of his open mouth. The sight made Peter crack a bittersweet smile. Nostalgia accompanied by an ache of longing. Somewhere beneath Miles’ oversized clothes, there was a good kid who wasn’t all that different from Peter.

Who he used to be. 

His eyes roved across the room to the opposite sofa. Honey was curled up like a cat, still in the blouse and jeans that she arrived in. Her hiking boots were placed neatly next to the couch. The snuggly sight of her made his heart leap into his throat. Her upper body expanded and deflated in a steady rhythm like ocean waves, and the action both entranced and haunted him. The bittersweet feeling in his chest soured and blackened, until it became a guilt-ridden tumor wrapping tendrils around his heart.

He had been so cruel earlier. He erupted into a fit of blind rage. A brute. The kind of anger that made people want to turn their heads. Anger that if Gwen were still alive, she wouldn’t be able to look at without being sickened. He was the sort of person that Aunt May and Uncle Ben would cross the street to avoid.

He thought he’d lost her too. And he was terrified.

No wonder she was scared. It was his fault, to think that she could somehow see him as something other than a monster. Now, there wasn’t much hope in changing her mind.

Peter felt his eyes burn as he peeled them from her lithe form. He glanced down at his hands, observing the deep crimson stains in his skin. Rusty-brown spots soiled the wrinkled cuffs of his dress shirt. 

He’d have to throw it out, he mused. There’d be no getting those stains out. No matter how much time he put into scrubbing. No matter if he flayed his own skin off his bones, the blood would always be there.

His heart rate quickened. He felt bile rising in his throat. With alarm, he disappeared down a hallway, tucking himself swiftly in a washroom. 

When he returned, he was shirtless. His forearms were bright red, stinging with how hard he’d scrubbed. Head down, he crept quietly towards the staircase leading up to the bedrooms on the upper level. 

He paused at the sofa, glancing down longingly at the woman he would never deserve. 

The woman that would never forgive him for how he acted. 

Never forgive him for what he was. The thought made his lower lip tremble.

He didn’t deserve her. This was an undeniable fact. 

But regardless, she was still his responsibility. His to protect. His to keep safe. 

His to keep.

His shadow fell over her as he reached down and gently lifted her from the sofa. Effortlessly, he carried her weight like a towel over his arm, or a down-pillow in his hands. Ascending the staircase with her tucked against his chest, he didn’t miss the way she huddled closer to his warmth. She sighed against the skin over his heart in a way that made gooseflesh rise. 

Gently, he ferried her, like a small boat on a glass lake. He strode past the door to the room that she had occupied and continued down the hallway, headed to the southern-facing end of the house. He approached the heavy oak door to his bedroom and used his toe to push it open. The action barely disturbed her at all. Like floating on a cloud.

Moving through the bedroom darkened by blackout curtains, he drifted across his room and rested her body on the silk surface of the California-king bedspread. Delicately, he placed her head on a 1000-thread count pillow void of any scents other than his own. He hoped that it would smell like her shampoo by the time she woke up. 

He stepped back from the bed, listening the pulsation of her heart. Studied the pace of her breathing. Fixated on her soft features as she floated in her slumber. A familiar pang reached his chest as he watched her, hesitating for only a moment more before he padded to the other side of the bed. 

She sighed in her sleep, nuzzling the softest pillow she’d ever laid on, and shuddered comfortably as two arms wrapped around her waist. She felt herself pulled back and was cradled by a firm form shaping her own. It was warm. She was warm. The breath on the back of her neck was warm.

Her eyes shot open, a small gasp catching in her throat. Rapidly, she blinked through the murky twilight of the foreign bedroom, her heart spiking. 

“Don’t,” she heard a deep, raspy voice whisper in her ear. She went rigid, recognizing the owner of the voice and the body pressed up against hers. Alarm flooded her.

“Please don’t,” he said softly, with a tone that sounded shockingly broken. She was frozen. Stunned. By fear or surprise, or both. 

Another murmur, “Stay with me.”

It was a whimper shaped like a demand. With it, she swore she could feel a tremble in his grip. He buried his face in her hair, his bearded chin tucking into her shoulder. His arms locked her into an impenetrable grip. 

Instinct was screaming at her to break the hold. Told her she needed to fight. Or run, as far and fast as she could manage. 

It wouldn’t be very far. The previous afternoon he proved that he was more than capable of bringing her back. 

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The way the air from his lungs ghosted over her nape made her eyes flutter shut. 

His arms were heavy. Firm, but not painful. Solid, not tight. She imagined the hearty limbs of the oak in the backyard of her childhood home. Three seasons out of the year, she’d scale into its arbor, hiding from her troubles. She once wanted to build a home there.

She should fight. She should run.

There was a monster in her bed. She was in a monster’s bed. 

And yet, sleep took her soon after. The most peaceful rest she’d had in ages.

When she emerged from her rest, she was alone again. Harsh daylight flooded into the bedroom she hadn’t had the chance to see. After a moment of confusion, she turned around to see the other side of the bed unoccupied. The blankets undisturbed. She glanced down at her own clothes. Though wrinkled and dirtied from her tree climbing adventure and attempted escape, they were intact. 

She was surprised, but even more surprised at the strange mix of... anxiety? 

When is the appropriate amount of time when you’re forced into your kidnapper’s bed for him to... you know... make a move? Was it her? Was she awful, or even worse—did she smell bad? 

The line of self-conscious questioning and odd disappointment frustrated her further. She sighed, silenting cursing her own stupidity, shaking the thought from her mind. 

Someone once told her that if life was a horror film, she’d be the first to die. It would’ve offended her more if she wasn’t wrapped up in the notion that if life could be a horror film, how would any of us know we were in one?

Her mother answered— ”Stupid, stupid girl.”

Attention now turned to the surroundings, she came face-to-face with another real-life magazine spread. A dream bedroom. The coziest jewel of this particular dream home. 

Although it was a modest size, it didn’t feel that way. The primary bedroom was decorated with a soothing blend of alabaster stone, exposed beams of reclaimed wood, and snuggly linen tones. Vaulted ceilings lined with ash. A winding, black iron chandelier dangled over the four-post bed she laid in. A stone fireplace stood opposite from the bed, accompanied by an overstuffed linen chair. Just as in the other rooms, a double-height window accented with floor-to-ceiling drapes towered over the room and revealed the breathtaking mountain landscape.

She sat up and gathered her jaw up off of the bedspread. Wiped drool from her lip. The room was charming and warm, like fuzzy socks and sherpa blankets. Marshmallows melting on hot cocoa. It wrapped around her, like a hug.

Like her visitor last night.

She yanked her eyes off of the rustic-contemporary decor, searching for Peter, as if he would’ve somehow camouflaged himself into the space. Placing her socked feet down on the blessedly toasty hardwood, she peered around curiously. The gentle roar of water running caught her attention as she wandered to the other side of ithe room. An open doorway led into another massive space, one side lined with wardrobe cabinetry and the other half of the room obscured by a wall. 

Idly, she followed the path through what she recognized as a closet larger than her apartment, rounding the corner of the freestanding wall. Clouds billowed around her, as she gazed open-mouthed at the primary bathroom. Sunlight poured in, lighting up the space, bouncing off of white marble and black obsidian glass tile—

And Peter Parker. 

Steam wafting off of his nude form, hot water pouring down his backside. She paused midstep, eyes like saucers. Felt the blood rush to her face. Panic swallowed her. She imagined this is exactly what deers must feel right before getting plowed by an F-150, blinded by headlights. 

Except that she was blinded by his wet pale skin, the way the steam rose from it, like he was the source of heat. The smattering of freckles spread faintly across his shoulders. His palms were flat against the backsplash as he bowed his head into the stream of water. His dark locks slicked back by a cleansing cascade. 

She followed the current down the curve of his shoulders and the peaks of his spine, down to the dimpled valleys of his lower back, and that breathtaking canyon ridge that dips down in a V at his hips— whatever that’s called— and never in her life would she see herself as an ‘ass enthusiast,’ but her mouth was watering now, maybe from the lack of hair on his body (his skin was so buttery smooth, what was his skincare secret?) or the subtle curvature of his shapely cheeks— 

Aimlessly, she collided with a freestanding towel drying rack, sending it clamoring to the tile floor. To her ears it sounded like the whole Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade falling down a staircase into a pile of cookware. She didn’t bother to see if Peter could hear the racket.

Like Icarus into the Sun, she hurled her own body back into the closet before she could be seen. Landed hard on the carpeted floor with a thud. She scattered, scrambling like a crab, on her hands and knees until she could get to her feet and bolt from the room.

In a frenzy, she rushed to ‘her’ bedroom, the one nearest to the stairs. She didn’t breathe again until the door was slammed shut and she rested her weight against it. A fire raged beneath her skin, her face aflame with embarrassment. She dragged her palms down her cheeks, groaning with mortification, sinking to the floor.

At what point is it acceptable to creep on your kidnapper in the shower?

Continue to Part 6

a/n - I've gotten such overwhelmingly amazing feedback on this. thank you so much to each of you that commented, sent me an ask, and big thank you to those of you that reblogged!

don't forget, to be tagged you must reblog so I can keep track of you!

thank you so much, angels!

[nexusnyx]

hello, i hope you're doing alright! i was wondering if you could write a tasm!peter fic based on the song "Honest" by The Neighbourhood! (it can be really angst, i won't complain) 🤭 Thank you so much in advance, and i'm completely in love with your writing!

i'm doing great babe, thanks for asking. and you? i secretly love writing angsty scenarios with my fav boyfriend so tysm for this one. hope you like it <3 | tasm!peter parker x gn!reader ; 1.4k

🎧 i wish you could be honest with me...

Despite the idea of a 'victory', Peter's bones screamed at him that it was all lost.

They ached.

No matter how much they hurt, he carried you all the way home in his arms, swinging from building to building while biting back his tears because a blurry sight was a terrible idea. Your arms holding tight around his neck grounded you to the present. Everything hurt, but it would be okay, he guessed. Hoped, with everything in him and a bit more.

Peter wondered why you stood by him.

"Peter."

"Not now," he asked—no, begged. The lump on his throat was hanging by a threat as thin as a hair, and he needed it to be as strong as his webs.

"Okay."

Nothing could erase the fact that you were hurt because of him. Because of who he was.

Peter accepts your silence with loosened shoulders and takes you home—his home, not yours.

The place you share with Felicity reeks of other problems and things I'm not thinking about right now and Peter needs to have eyes and hands only for you.

He needs his head still fixed on top of his shoulders as he cleans your wounds, and as always, you give him what he needs.

It's eerie staying in the silence with you, but he's grateful even for the weirdness in the air.

Embracing it means he gets to taste it, and if it stains his tongue, then it's real.

The blood in your stomach is metallic, hot, and sticky. The roof of his mouth tells him — warm, rich, precious — and his temples throb underneath the shower stream.

Outside your bathroom window, the noises of New York City deafen his ears to the sound of your teeth chattering.

"You know it has to be cold," he mutters.

There's a nod from you. Warm or hot water dilates the skin—it's not good for wounds that are starting to heal, baby.

It was your own sermon, back when you first discovered who he was and why he always had something purple and ugly painting some part of his body, or why sometimes Peter had nightmares that woke him up drenched in sweat and screaming until his throat was sore.

He couldn't just say—I'm sorry, because words of regret meant nothing next to the blood on his hands. Your blood on his hands.

Peter had a lot of things he kept to himself.

Most of them were ugly. Truths filled with rage, bursting with red, spiked energy of moremoremore.

Peter couldn't just say he was fucking glad he killed the people who laid their hands on you.

Instead, he finished cleaning you up.

That's how long you graced him with time to process—you allowed him to carry you home cradled in his arms, let Peter remove each item of your clothes, and clean, wash, and care for every inch of you until you were as okay as you could be.

Then you spoke.

"Now you."

Peter wanted to shake his head.

"Hey." Your hands reached up to his cheeks, cupping his face in your palms. Peter's eyes found yours. "Hi, Spidey."

You should've never said yes to me. "Hi."

"I know what you're thinking," your voice deepened when you were serious about something, and Peter felt himself swimming in your depths.

"Hardly think so."

"Can I take a guess?"

"Go ahead."

"You're thinking..." that going after you at that museum was a mistake. "That I would be better off without you."

It hurts again when you smile. "Close call." That smile—the softness around your edges that only he saw; he couldn't have stayed away even if he prayed to the skies for it. I was doomed from the start.

"Sucks to be you, Spidey."

He barked a laugh. "Oh—that's on the spot."

"But—" he braced himself for it. "It sucks even more for anyone who never gets to meet you. Because—when I met you, I found it again. I found... peace. And — call me cheesy, that's fine — I found that... some things just are. And they're beautiful. And they're colorful. Even though all the horrific, pale, lifeless things suffocating us. And you're that for me."

It hurt to keep all the horrible, poignantly sharp things about him locked away inside a cave, but Peter could have this.

His knees gave out, but you were there.

With arms wrapped around his upper body holding him firmly in place, cradling him into your embrace. You were there to place his head on your shoulders and whisper soothing words as he cried, anchored only by your hand rubbing circles on his back.

Peter cried in silence at first, but when all of his air ran out and he struggled for a breath letting the first sob rip its way out, all he could do was cling to you.

You held him with care.

He cried, thinking about that date in the museum and how he knew.

"So you have a spider?"

"Yup. Her name is Arabelle."

"Wow. Arabelle. That's not scary at all."

"She's not scary. Was she supposed to be?"

"I don't now. Most people are terrified of arachnids."

"Most people can't be trusted with most things... I mean. Have you looked around lately?"

"Wow—"

"—have you seen things? It's like... a nightmare."

"Very Black Mirror."

"Yes! Exactly! Very Black Mirror."

"What's a spider, right?"

"A beautiful and artistic animal. Not terrifying at all."

"What are you scared of?"

"Uhm... humans. First and foremost."

"Of course."

"Space. Angry geese. And people who are obsessed with nothing but true crime and horrible things."

He told you that day more things than he remembered telling anyone.

Peter still felt like an invisible hand gripped his throat most of the time. Maybe his control was slipping. Maybe traveling between universes unscrewed more things in his mind, but there was less regret and more fire than he'd had in years.

"But that's okay. You're allowed to be angry, Peter."

He feels dizzy— "I'm scared," he confessed, pulling back to look you in the eye.

All the soft glow you had when leaving the shower was gone—Peter's aura mingled with yours and he could see the bags under your eyes as well as the cuts on your face.

"I'd be weirded out if you weren't. That was scary." You patted his cheeks. "I haven't thanked you yet."

"For what?" he frowned. All he did was destroy. Break. Shatter.

"Saving me," you stated simply.

He stopped. His breathing slowed. "You saw what I did." He may not be able to say I liked it and I would do it again, but Peter's not blinded by the truth. You were there. You saw sides of him he wished didn't even exist.

"Yeah." So simple. Not a hint of judgment.

Peter held his breath. "You saw I could've stopped."

You smiled at him. "I wouldn't have."

Peter's world narrows down to the floor of his bedroom. There are parts of his body mending and stitching themselves up together as you two speak, but he feels as light as a feather. "What..."

"Peter, if someone kidnapped you, kept you in a dark room for 24h, and made you bleed just before bringing you to see me... I'd have done exactly what you did." You leaned in, sealing your lips on his. "And I wouldn't regret a second of it."

I love you.

Peter was unsure if the words are what he felt or an echo of your thoughts that he might've heard, but they released him of more than a hot shower and some stitches could have.

"Can I help you now?"

Peter nodded, swallowing the knot in his throat with the tears he bit back.

He no longer felt like crying.

"Yeah." You can do anything. "Thank you." I love you.

Your eyes said you heard the sentiment—or felt it, just like he did.

"C'mon'," you helped him get up, and Peter spent the night with you laying on his chest, wondering what else he kept locked away that was safe in your knowledge.

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[witchywcmans]

peter parker & sloane bernstein. 🕸

except on midnights like this . . .

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