#peterparkerblurbs

[cruel-seduction]

You need a massage? (Friends to something else)

You were cross-legged on your bed, laptop balanced on your thighs, trying—and failing—to ignore the dull ache settling deep in your shoulders. Hours of hunching over your desk had left you stiff and sore, your muscles tight in a way that made you shift uncomfortably every few minutes. With a frustrated sigh, you reached up to rub the back of your neck, fingers digging in where the tension was worst.

From where he was lounging against your headboard, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone, Peter glanced over.

"You good?" His voice was casual, but there was something soft beneath it, the kind of quiet concern he never really tried to hide.

You exhaled through your nose. "Just tense. My back’s killing me."

There was a pause. Just long enough for you to look up and catch him hesitating, his phone slipping from his hands as he considered something.

Then, a little unsure, he said, "I could—uh—give you a massage?"

Your fingers stilled against your neck. You blinked at him. Then scoffed. "Since when do you give massages?"

Peter shrugged, aiming for nonchalant. "Super strength. Good hands. What more do you need?"

Your stomach did this weird little flip—one you definitely ignored. Because, well. He wasn’t wrong. The thought of Peter’s hands on you, warm and firm, pressing into all the places that ached… Yeah, that was dangerous. And completely unnecessary.

So, obviously, you played it off. Kept it casual. "Alright," you said, shifting so your back was to him. "Just—don’t break me."

You expected him to be awkward about it. Maybe throw in a joke, squeeze your shoulders once, and call it a day.

What you didn’t expect was for his hands to land on you with just the right amount of pressure—strong, steady, like he actually knew what he was doing. His thumbs pressed into the knots at the base of your neck, and the effect was immediate. A deep, full-body shudder ran through you before you could stop it, your head tipping forward as his fingers dug in, slow and deliberate.

"Jesus, Pete," you muttered, your voice embarrassingly weak.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "That good?"

You just hummed, too busy melting under his touch to form a real answer. His hands worked their way down, easing the tension out of your shoulders, then lower, following the curve of your spine. It was… methodical. Almost too good. Like he was paying attention to every spot that made you relax just a little more, every knot that made you exhale a little deeper.

And that was when you became hyperaware. Of the warmth of his breath near your ear. Of the way his thighs shifted behind you.

Of how close he really was.

It was just a massage.

That’s what you told yourself.

But then his hands slid lower.

Not in a way that felt intentional—Peter wasn’t like that. But when his fingers pressed into the dip of your lower back, something in your stomach clenched. And maybe it was the way your breath caught just slightly. Maybe it was the way his fingers lingered for a second too long.

Or maybe it was the fact that when you leaned back—just a little, just instinct—you felt it.

The unmistakable press of something hard against your lower back.

Your body locked up.

Peter went rigid behind you.

For one long, charged second, neither of you moved.

Then, just as you were about to laugh—pretend you hadn’t noticed—he shifted. Just barely. Just enough for you to feel him again.

A sharp, breathless noise slipped out of you before you could stop it.

Peter’s hands twitched against your waist. His breath, warm against your shoulder, stuttered.

"You—" His voice came rough, strained. He cleared his throat. "You okay?"

You swallowed, turned your head slightly—just enough that your lips nearly brushed his jaw. "Are you?"

His grip on you tightened. Like he was debating pulling away. Like he was fighting against whatever was hanging thick in the air between you.

But then—slow, hesitant—his fingers flexed again. This time, they brushed just under the hem of your shirt. Testing.

Your breath hitched.

And just like that, something shifted.

No longer innocent. No longer just a massage.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you turned, straddling his lap in one fluid motion, your thighs bracketing his. Peter swallowed hard, his eyes flickering between your parted lips and the heat in your gaze.

Waiting.

Letting you decide.

You did.

You kissed him—soft at first, then hungrier, more desperate. He met you halfway, groaning into your mouth as his hands slid beneath your shirt, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. You shifted against him, your hips rolling—just a little, just enough to feel the hard, heavy length of him through his sweats.

His breath caught.

"Fuck," he muttered, his head dropping against your shoulder. His fingers pressed hard into your sides, like he was barely holding himself together. "You—" He exhaled sharply. "You can’t just do that."

"Do what?" you asked, all fake innocence, even as you did it again.

He let out a strangled noise, his hands tightening on your waist. "That."

You grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his jaw. "You sure you wanna keep massaging me?"

His grip on you tightened.

Then, before you could blink, he flipped you onto your back, caging you beneath him. His lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm, uneven.

"Not exactly what I had in mind," he murmured, voice thick, dark, promising.

A shiver ran down your spine. "What do you have in mind?"

The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk.

"Guess you’ll find out."

[p3terparker]

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: peter is too shy to make a move on you

𝘄/𝗰: 0.7k

𝗮/𝗻: hi everyone i'm back from the dead after being gone for over a year as usual give me grace with this fic i haven’t written in forever but i’m trying 😭 i miss writing for peter so much ♡♡

it’s no secret peter is shy. ever since the beginning of your relationship, which was months ago, you were always the one to initiate things between you two. he was too shy to even hold your hand or start a cuddle session. you don’t mind that; in fact, you even find it quite cute how he starts to blush when you do something as simple as kissing him on his cheek. it’s endearing, but sometimes you don’t always want to be the one to make a move, which is why you had completely deprived him of any physical touch.

you can tell he’s bothered. he’s been staring at you as soon as you two sat on the couch together and put on your guy’s favorite TV show. he not so subtly coughs to get your attention, but you choose to ignore it as you hold back a giggle. it’s obvious he wants to cuddle, but you’re not going to give him what he wants unless he does it himself.

as the show progresses to the next episode, you finally decide to speak up after feeling his eyes on you throughout the entirety of the first episode.

“you need something peter?” you ask while looking away from the TV you were watching.

“what? oh um, no. why do you ask?” he stumbles over his words as a slight blush creeps over his face.

“because you’ve been staring at me ever since you got home” you giggle

“oh.. sorry” he murmurs out timidly while finally looking away from your face and towards the TV.

that was the last thing that was said before the next episode started and you were engulfed in the show you were watching again.

it didn’t take long for his attention to fall back onto you, staring at you in disbelief because you’re not giving him what he wants. it’s killing you inside to not just wrap yourself in his arms, but you have to stand strong. you continue watching your show for another 15 minutes before peter finally reaches his breaking point.

“why are you doing this to me?”

you pause the show and get a good look at him. he has a small pout and a look of sadness painted all over his face which causes you to feel a twinge of pain in your chest.

“doing what?”

“ignoring me”

“i’m not–”

“yes you are. you didn’t give me a hug or kiss when i got home and now you’re not cuddling with me like you always do” he cuts you off and lets the words pour out frustratedly.

you kind of feel bad but at the same time can’t help yourself from laughing at how frustrated he is over an issue he could’ve avoided by just making a move on you.

“you know you could’ve kissed me and cuddled me yourself, right?”

now he’s silent because you just called him out.

“yeah but… i don’t know how” he timidly says.

“what do you mean you don’t know how?”

“you make me nervous. you’re my first relationship and i don’t know how to initiate anything between us without making things awkward” he quietly states, barely able to make eye contact with you.

“aww peter, come here” you say while finally embracing him. you can feel the tension release from his body as soon as he lays his head on your chest.

“you could never make things awkward between us peter. and as for me making you nervous, do you know how nervous you make me? like seriously, you’re insanely hot and also have the sweetest personality ever”

“stoppp” he whines but gives you a look that tells you he secretly loves what you’re saying.

“alright alright, but i'm serious peter. nothing you say or do could make things awkward between us. you don’t know how much i want you to initiate something for once, i’m tired of practically wearing the pants in our relationship” you laugh while semi-joking.

you don’t know if it’s the entirety of the little speech you gave him or the comment about you wearing the pants in your relationship that caused a change in his demeanor, but suddenly he flipped your position to where he has you pinned beneath him on the couch and passionately kissed you.

“who’s wearing the pants now?”

[cemeteryspider]

~Imagine~ Goodnight, Spider-Boy

TASM! Peter Parker x Reader (Could be read as any Peter Parker/Spider-Man)

*No Gwen Stacy*

Summary: Reader comes home from work to a heart-warming sight

Trigger Warnings: Safety Precautions, Peter's Night Job, Vulnerability

Word Count: 259 Words

Quietly, you step into the shared apartment you and Peter call home after a calm day at the bookstore where you work. Despite a few customers making purchases, Thursdays are typically quiet, especially when rain clouds loom overhead.

With the clock ticking around five-thirty, the time Peter usually studies between school and his nightly escapades, the apartment remains dark and silent. Frowning, you venture further inside, your fingers instinctively resting on the safety latch of your keychain mace.

As you round the corner into the living room, a heartwarming sight unfolds – your boyfriend peacefully asleep on the couch, his advanced chemistry book sprawled open across his chest. A smile graces your lips, and you shed your jacket and keys. With utmost care, you lift the book from his chest, gently closing it and placing it on the coffee table – a piece of furniture he insisted on having, despite the limited walking space.

You take a moment to organize his hurried notes, completing the chemistry problem he was working on by adjusting the unit of measurement and refining the significant figures. Before extinguishing the lone dim light he switched on for studying, you grab the Spider-Man chibi plush throw blanket hanging behind him on the couch, draping it over his slumbering form.

A few steps toward the bedroom, you pause and turn back, leaving a soft kiss on Peter's forehead, a small sleepy smile graces his lips. Heading to your room, you send a text to your friend Matt, asking if he could patrol the area around your apartment tonight.

[reawritesthings]

“kissing someone’s bruises, scratches or cuts” w/ petey please 🥺

this is really bad, im so sorry

spiderling?

it wasn’t like peter to be out this late, especially on a school night. you both had a project due the next day, and peter hasn’t shown his face since the end of school.

you knew something was up when he didn’t even say goodbye, he just ran out the school. you turned to mj and ned, asking them if peter was okay but they just nodded and walked off.

you shrugged the weird behaviour off and, prayed that peter would come by your window tonight. he always came by, so you weren’t as worried. but as time ticked, and the sun bid farewell peter still wasn’t here.

lucky for you, you lived in the same building as peter so a small little trip downstairs wouldn’t hurt. you knew that you couldn’t just turn up empty handed, and didn’t want to be that weird stalking girlfriend so you brought aunt may a piece offering.

half dead flowers.

“these are— peter just got in.” aunt may laughed, examining the repetition of your hands tapping the wall.

“oh, um, is he okay? we were suppose to meet but it’s okay. i can just see him at school.” you fumbled the words, trying to hold the tears.

“i’ll let him know you stopped by.” she assured you, taking your hand and squeezing it tight.

“thanks… well goodnight, aunt may.”

you dashed towards your apartment, slamming the door shut. you fell to the ground, head in your legs as you let your mind wonder.

not long after, you heard a massive thump in your bedroom. you finally brought yourself up to reality, grabbing a saucepan.

you quickly opened the door, jumping back with the saucepan raised. “is anyone in here? i have a weapon.”

immediately, someone jumped in your view causing you to scream. the stranger matched your scream, and after a moment when you realised the scream that peter was the intruder.

“what the hell, peter?”

peter gave you a half smile, shrugging his shoulder. “i didn’t mean to scare you. i was just trying to make up for being late and, i ran into someone. it wasn’t bad but it was good.”

you didn’t care about his reason and just pulled him into a hug. “i was just worried about you.”

“i know. i worry about myself too.”

you chuckled at his lack of confidence, pulling him away from your embrace.

“hurtful. i was enjoying that.”

you bit your lip as you traced his nose. something was rocky, and as your finger touched the bridge of his nose peter flinched.

“what’s wrong?” you questioned before your eyes widen to see peter’s face covered in cuts and bruises. “what happened?”

“nothing happened. i’m fine.”

you raised an eyebrow.

“okay fine. i was in tights and i found some bad guys, decided to fight them which wasn’t ideal but, i managed to give the the dollar store there cash back. got us free donuts and juices.”

“the truth peter.” you signed, looking at him.

“that is the truth. i was fighting bad guys.”

you huffed, and sat on the bed. “why did you fight them?”

“because it’s my duty.”

“your duty? by who? who is this for?”

“to protect you.. and the whole of new york city…”

and that’s when you finally put the pieces together. “you are the spiderling?”

“spiderman.” peter corrected.

“you are the him.”

“indeed, does this mean we can make out now?”

your rolled your eyes at his response. “yes but, let me just fix you up first.”

“that can wait… i want to make out with you.” peter whined, pulling you closer to him.

“fine. just a bit then i’m fixing you up.” you whispered planting a small kiss on his cut right on the bridge of his nose.

“i love you.”

“i love you too, spiderling.”

[spideyspeaches]

You're worth it ↬p.p

A/N: I'm in my sick feels so here's some sick whiny Peter 😔😔✨💔 also I wrote this at 2 am in like 20 mins lol so rip.

Wc: 1.3k

Warnings: uhh general sickness, Peter being a dramatic lil bitch.

Pairing: college!Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader (with a lot of platonic MJ)

Masterlist

Peter was pretty sure he was dying. No, he wasn't being dramatic.

In all the years of being Spider-Man, he could count on his fingers the number of times he had gotten sick. And it was one.

He remembered when he got bit by the radioactive spider on the field trip to OsCorp, the week later which he spent in bed, sweating on every surface and a fever so high the doctors wondered how his brain hadn't melted yet.

Even when all the resources were exhausted, they couldn't find a cause, and the miraculous recovery with a plus of the sudden appearence of abs and growing biceps had been more of a relief than a dismissal by the doctors, each of them releasing a sigh of relief, neither of them noticing the strange behaviour Peter seemed to be exhibiting when he opened his eyes to the bright, technicolor world after seven days of brutal bouts of vomiting and brain splitting headaches.

So yes, Peter Parker didn't get sick. Not after the fateful spiderbite that made him who he was. Even Dr. Banner had been fascinated by his body chemistry, and if he hadn't been lost in his fangirling that the Bruce Banner wanted to do more check ins of his body, he would have noticed that he could, in fact, get sick. His immune system may have significantly increased, but he was still not entirely immune to college kids germs who wore their underwear inside out to save laundry money.

"You look like a zombie." MJ deadpanned in true MJ fashion, pointing her pen, the bright pink plastic fake diamond a brief distraction from the headache pounding in his skull. It made him go squint eyed, inevitably increasing the headache when he saw past the blurry outline of the diamond.

"Thanks Em, appreciate it." He muttered, raising an eyebrow to look at her smirking face. He suddenly remembered about You. You and MJ had the same smile, he noticed, a lump of misery forming in his throat.

His mood dropped even more when he felt his throat burn with a strong sense of nostalgia. You weren't in college with him due to your job as a full time avenger, so sue him that he really fucking missed you. It's not like you never talked, but his head was killing him and he was really touch starved and college just really fucking sucked.

"I'm not being mean, believe it or not, but you look dead on your feet and your girlfriend will kill me if I bring you in more than one piece." She said, her voice softer than it had been before.

"I'm fine MJ, just do the project." He sighed, looking at his course book, trying to catch the sudden onset of magenta and green lights in his vision. Huh, maybe he was having a stroke.

Rubbing his left eye in frustration, he groaned, throwing his textbook across his room, flopping on the college issued bunk bed that he swore was going to give him back issues before his spidey shenanigans could.

"Y/N won't kill you, she respects you too much for that." He said, fiddling with the threads hanging on his sheets, a hand behind his head as he looked at the ceiling. Chills were starting to set in his bones, and it was not just by MJ's scrutinizing stare.

"You're sick." She stated, smirking as he rolled his eyes, rolling over and burying his face in the cool pillow.

"No shit Sherlock." He huffed, sitting up to take in a breath the pillow was restricting, the lump in his throat growing. And before he knew it, hot tears were rolling down his cheeks, a strange choking sound coming from his throat, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, and the heat of his fever wasn't making it any better.

"I- I miss y/n so much." He sniffed, his words sound clogged with the mucus stuffed in his sinuses and nose. Wiping a hand across his nose, he choked out a sob, burying his face deeper in his pillow.

"Hey, oh man, hey Parker! Oh god please don't cry, shit ok-" MJ rambled, her shuffling making him cry harder as he whined at the contact of her cool palm, "shit you're burning up! Oh man who do I call who do I call? Of course I'm an idiot."

Her mutters were kind of soothing, but he was too embarrassed to admit that as he brought the pillow closer to him, imagining it was you instead of a stuffed cotten pillow, trying to feel your fingers running through his hair as you repeatedly kissed his forehead.

Sniffling, he blinked hard, watching MJ pace as she talked on the phone with someone, his brain too disoriented trying to get the heat to expel from his body to notice who she was talking to. She looked frantic, her palm over her mouth as her muffled words made his eyes droop, and just like that, he was out like light.

~

"Hey, wake up baby, I came bearing gifts." Your soft voice rose him up from his unrestful slumber, groaning as sudden noises bombarded his ears.

He gave a sigh of relief when he felt a familiar pair of headsets on his ears, the noises quietening. He opened his eyes, slowly at first to see a vague silhouette of you, wondering if this was some kind of fevered dream.

You and Peter face timed a lot, but you rarely visited due to the long drives. You had visited just this weekend, so he was surprised to see you here, his head cushioned on your thigh as your fingers ran over his hair.

"Am I dreamin'?" He croacked, a smile forming on his face as he heard you giggle, warmth spreading in his chest as you leaned in to kiss his forehead.

"No dummy, you just have a temperature high enough to burn Satan." You smirked, booping his nose softly.

"That's pretty hot. I'm so hot." He snickered, turning around to dig his nose into your thigh.

"Yeah, you're the hottest. My hot dum dum." You said. Shifting slightly, he heard the rustling of bottles, immideatly knowing those were his super painkillers Dr. Cho had brewed specifically for his metabolism.

"You didn't have to come all over here baby, did you use your suit?" Peter asked, getting up from his position. Wincing, he cracked his neck, groaning as his body reminded him of his current condition. He felt like a giant bruise, slumping next to you as you wrapped your arm around his shoulder.

"You're worth it Petey. I would go wherever you go." You whispered, brushing his curls back. Getting up, you reached for the filled glass you had kept at the bedside, handing it to him along with the pills. He took them gratefully, gulping the pills and the water down at once.

Leaning on your shoulder, he kissed the exposed skin of your shoulder, rubbing his forehead over there as he thanked you silently, a random chill shooting up his spine, making his muscles spasm.

"Where's MJ?" He muttered, looking at you through his lashes.

"Dunno," you muttered back, "said something about not wanting your germs or something."

"Probably just went to room with Harley. She's got a huge fucking crush on him, just won' admit it." Peter said, smirking from his position.

"Really? I didn't notice!" You snickered, rolling over to squish his cheeks.

"Please, I bet he'll ask her out by the end of this semester."

"This semester? I bet that's gonna happen by the end of this month."

"Bet's on then."

Laughing at the crack oh his voice, you pushed him back lightly by his chest, scratching his sweaty scalp as he sighed under your fingers.

"Y/n?" He asked, holding your fingers to his chest.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks for coming so soon."

"Of course I came dummy."

Smiling at his dimpled face, you wiggled a little to fit next to him, wrapping your hand over his chest and throwing your leg over his.

"Y/n?" He asked again.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

A/N: this is so self indulgent 😋😋 lol. Leave a comment if you liked it! 💞💞

[tommyhearteyes]

Come Cuddle - Peter Parker

(Fluff ✨)

Summary : Y/Ns had a long tiring week studying for her gcse’s and all she wants to do is cuddle with her mans

________

You snuggled up against the warm blanket but pouted when you still felt the cold emptiness beside her. You peak one eye open to the curly headed boy sat at your desk, his pencil moving vigorously against the paper. You frowned when you saw the little dent in between his eyebrows.

“hey pete,... baby...” you said softly.He hummed in response, without sparing you a glance.

“come cuddle bub, im tired”

“why don’t you take a nap, i’ll be done in 5 minutes” he replied softly, his pencil continued to trace the paper.

Your frowned deepened as you slowly got off the bed. You hugged his hoodie closer when you felt a slight breeze come from the window. It was a crisp friday night, it had been raining all day so it was the perfect time to turn on a movie or something and cuddle with your boyfriend. If he would just come to bed, that is.

Peter had a crisis that averted his presence from school today and had a bit of catching up to do. As selfish as it sounds, you don’t care about that right now. Peter is one of the top students in class while you always had to go the extra mile and make an effort to even get a B. You weren’t mad about it though, just want him to take a break and give you attention right now.

He felt your chin rest on his left shoulder as you peered over the work he’s doing.

“just 5 more minutes im almost done”

“noo peter come on, i haven’t seen you all day and im tired and all i wanna do is cuddle with my boyfriend” Your hands wrap around his shoulders while you rock him back and forth gently.

His eyes finally met yours before darting down to the pout you still held on your face.

“i was worried about you, you didn’t reply to my messages all day like you normally do”

“i know, im sorry, i was tracking down this perp i was suspicious of for a while now and finally caught him today. Here, come’er” He turned the chair towards you, making you fall to his lap while your fingers played with his hair.

“it’s alright, im just glad you’re okay.” You leaned forward so your foreheads were touching.

Both of you sat in that position for a bit. Peter knowing exactly what you were doing. You had started softly humming and leaving soft scratches below his head and on his neck.

“come on, i’ll teach you all this tomorrow. just come cuddle”

“but i’m alm-“ You shushed him up with a soft kiss.

Very slowly pulling away, you took soft breaths to match his. Your round pleading eyes meet his. He knew he couldn’t resist those puppy dog eyes.

His eyes rolled back as a smile creeps onto his face. A soft growl came out of his mouth as he hooked his arms underneath you and got up from the chair and heading towards the bed. You giggled in satisfaction when he laid both of you under the covers.

His arms wrapped around you after settling down under the covers. There was still the soft sound of rain against your fire escape and window. You let out a long sigh in his neck, breathing in his scent.

“Happy now?” A warm smile spread across your face.You hummed in agreement.

“I love you bub, night night”

“I love you too babe”

__________

AND THAT WAS MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT THIS!! i tried to read it as if i didnt write it to see if i would read my own blurbs HAHA

Anyways, if you guys have any requests or ideas on the next one please send them in 🥺 I’ll TRY smut one day but i dont know if it’ll be good.

[marvelblahh]

Peter, baby...

Pete and you try something new in bed and it’s wonderful

Warnings: smut, swearing, also first time writing smut ~shrug~ and I didn’t proof read this... also Pete is 18+ (as always when I write) that’s all

Usually, Peter was a gentle lover who would whisper sweet nothings into your ear while he made love to you gently- tonight that was not the case. Peter’s soft touch was replaced with a tight grip on your hip, and his sweet words were replaced with groans as he fucked into you. Your hands were tangled in his brown curls, tugging; begging to be fucked harder. Your silent request was fulfilled as he lifted your legs above his shoulders and rammed his cock deeper into you. Soft coos escaped your lips and echoed through your apartment. The sight of Peter’s face scrunched in pleasure made your pussy drip. All too soon, Peter pulled his cock out of your wet core, which was followed by a whine at the empty feeling. Your pouting didn’t last long though, Peter forcefully grabbed your hips and flipped you on all fours and slammed his cock into your warm cunt. He was thrusting into you so deeply, you could feel him in your stomach. Peter grabbed the back of your ponytail and lifted your head towards him, still fucking you from behind. You felt his hot breath on the back of your ear and moaned at the sensation. “You like being fucked like this, don’t you? You slut” your moans and slapping skin filled the room, your pussy was soaked and you wanted to cum so badly. Peter let go of your hair and pushed your head back down into the mattress. He lifted his hand and smacked your ass, leaving a print. He repeated this action until your skin was covered in red. “You’ve been so naughty, Y/N. Someone needs to teach you a lesson.” He growled. You moaned into the mattress as a response. Tears brimmed your eyes as you felt the knot in your stomach forming. Peter feels your cunt tighten around him, and fucks you harder. Your pussy clenches around him and Peter’s thrusts become sloppy as you release around him- his cum shooting into you. You both flip onto your backs, completely naked and covered in sweat. “How was that?” He said breathily. “Peter, baby...” you giggle. “So good. I love you.” “I love you too, let’s get some sleep.” “Okay bug man, goodnight.”

[hufflepuffhollander]

(requests currently closed) it’s blurb time! 

In celebration of finishing my midterms...

I’ve been wanting to try one of these and I’m finally doin it! Send me a message with any number(s) of dialogue you want to see/or some strung together and I’ll turn it into the best blurb I can! Feel free to add anything extra to your request :)

Dialogue

1. “Babe, I’m trying to talk to you.” - “Do ya’ll hear somethin’?”

2. “H-how long have you been standing there?” - “Long enough.”

3. “Tell me one thing. Why wasn’t I enough? I loved you. Oh fuck, how I loved you. How I still love you.”

4. “I love you, even though you’re an idiot”

5. “Come on, you can sit on my lap until I finish,”

6. “Where did all these puppies come from?”

7. “Honestly, I think it’s impressive how badly I fucked up.”

8. “Now, I’m not saying that I hate you, all that I’m saying is that if you were on fire and there was water next to you, chances are I’d drink it”

9. “Are you the poster child for Hell these days?”

10. “I wanted to say “I love you” for the first time without stuttering, but I guess that failed.”

11. “Are you flirting with me?”-“You finally noticed?”

12. “Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

13. “no. the moment you saw me as a bet was the moment you fucked up.”

14. “Would you just shut up and listen to me for a second?”

15. “I can’t have this argument with you again.”

16. “Where have you been all my life?”

17. “You need to calm down”

18. it’s because i’m so attractive isn’t it?” “I say this. and I cannot stress this enough. I find you completely repulsive.”

19. “Alright Einstein, let’s see how you like it.”

20. “Seeing you between my legs is so hot.”

21. “I think we were a little too loud last night.”

22. “Bite your lip once more, I dare you”

23. “what you gonna do about it, stud?”

24. “god, I love your hands”

25. “Your ass is gonna be seven different shades of red after that little stunt.”

[cruel-seduction]

A World Without You

(Picture taken from Pinterest)

Pairing - Peter Parker x Female Reader

Genre - Angst 

Summary: When Peter Parker wakes up in a world where Y/N never existed, he thinks he's been given the gift of freedom—no one to put in danger. But as the emptiness of her absence consumes him, Peter begins to question the cost of his choice. How far will he go to bring Y/N back, and who—or what—was behind her disappearance in the first place? Can Peter undo the deal he made, or is he trapped in a world where love never existed?

Glimpse - He thought back to their last conversation, where Y/N had called him a "Nerd" for winning at chess everytime, to which he’d fired back, calling them "a hopeless case with zero taste in music."

Warnings: This story contains heavy angst and emotional distress, exploring themes of loneliness, guilt, and the consequences of difficult choices. It also includes elements of reality distortion and manipulation, which may be unsettling for some readers. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to intense emotional scenarios.

***

Peter Parker woke up with a start. His heart pounded in his chest, the remnants of a nightmare clinging to his mind like a fading mist. His body ached in places he didn’t know could hurt. The city skyline blinked outside his window as it always did, but something about the silence felt…off. He rubbed his face, trying to shake off the strange unease gnawing at his gut. It wasn’t unusual for Peter to wake up in a cold sweat after a brutal night of web-swinging, but this time was different. The feeling lingered like a whisper he couldn’t quite hear.

He groaned, rolling out of bed and pulling on a T-shirt. Maybe some breakfast would help clear his head. He padded barefoot into the kitchen, expecting to hear the familiar hum of Y/N’s terrible music playing in the background as they whipped up something quick before heading out. But the apartment was eerily quiet. Too quiet.

“Babe?” he called, only half-expecting a response. Silence. Peter frowned. It wasn’t like Y/N to leave without saying goodbye, even when they had early shifts. Maybe she’s at work already.

But the more Peter looked around, the more he realised something was wrong. The photos on the fridge—the ones of him and Y/N from their last disastrous attempt at a beach day—were gone. He checked the living room; no sign of Y/N’s jacket, their shoes, or the usual clutter that always accumulated near the door. Where the hell are they?

The sinking feeling in Peter’s chest deepened as he began to search the apartment. Their stuff was gone. All of it.

Peter’s mind raced. Has Y/N left him? No, that didn’t make sense. Things had been good between them. They always were, even when they fought. And their playful insults were never serious, just the way they communicated. He thought back to their last conversation, where Y/N had called him a "Nerd" for winning at chess everytime, to which he’d fired back, calling them "a hopeless case with zero taste in music."

But there was love in every jab, every joke. He knew Y/N didn’t mean any of it, and he didn’t either. It was their love language—twisting insults into affection in the way only they could. He could still hear their laugh in his mind, could still feel the way Y/N would poke him in the ribs after a particularly savage comeback.

But now, that warmth is gone. All of it.

Peter’s head was spinning. He pulled out his phone and quickly dialled Y/N’s number. The line rang once, twice, and then, “The number you’ve dialled is not in service.”

Not in service?

Peter’s stomach flipped. He called again, and the same automated voice greeted him. Panic rose in his throat. He rushed outside and knocked on the neighbour’s door.

“Hey, Mrs. Martinez, have you seen Y/N today? She—” Peter began, but Mrs. Martinez gave him a confused look.

“Y/N? Who’s Y/N?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. “You know…my—my girlfriend? The person I live with?” he stammered, his voice unsteady. Mrs. Martinez’s frown deepened.

“I’ve lived here for twenty years, Peter. I’ve never seen you with anyone. You live alone.”

Peter’s world tilted. What?

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He tried to laugh it off, but the horror was sinking in. “You’ve—of course you’ve seen them, Mrs. Martinez. She is always around…”

But the older woman shook her head sympathetically, patting him on the shoulder. “You’ve had a tough week, sweetheart. Maybe you need to take it easy.” She retreated back into her apartment, leaving Peter standing there, frozen.

He sprinted back to his place, his thoughts racing. What the hell is going on?

He fumbled for his laptop, searching through his social media, his phone photos, anything—anything—that could prove Y/N existed. But there was nothing. Not a single picture, no text messages, no memories captured on his phone. It was like they had been erased.

Peter’s chest heaved with panic. This can’t be real.

But it was.

As the day dragged on, the nightmare didn’t end. It only got worse. No one—no one—remembered Y/N. Their friends, their coworkers, even Aunt May looked confused when Peter mentioned their name.

Peter slumped onto the couch, staring blankly at the wall. How is this happening? He gripped his head with both hands, feeling the weight of Y/N’s absence like a suffocating blanket. He didn’t know if it was magic, science, or something worse.

But the silence? The emptiness?

It was unbearable.

At first, he had thought maybe—just maybe—this was for the best. Y/N was safe, right? Without him in their life, without Spider-Man lurking in the background, they wouldn’t be in danger. They wouldn’t have to deal with late-night patch-ups, watching him stumble in bruised and bloodied, hearing him apologise over and over for missing dinner or forgetting plans because someone needed saving.

But this wasn’t peace. This was torment.

Peter thought back to the moments they’d shared, the playful insults and sarcastic remarks that only drew them closer. He remembered Y/N’s smile when they called him a "complete idiot" after he bungled a dinner reservation. Or the time he jokingly told them to "Haww!! You are only with me for that ass" when she tried to help him fix his suit and squeezed his ass in teasinf way. The way Y/N had thrown a pillow at his head, laughing the whole time.

He missed it. All of it. The teasing, the arguments, the late-night takeout dinners where they’d bicker about who had worse taste in movies.

And now…he had nothing.

Peter couldn’t stay here. Not in this reality.

The thought gnawed at him—how had he ended up here? He hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. Sure, he’d been toying with new tech from Oscorp, but nothing experimental. Nothing that should have thrown him into some alternate dimension. Then, in a flash, a memory surfaced.

The last night he spent with Y/N before everything changed. A strange figure had appeared—someone with no face, no form, just a voice. A voice that had whispered to him about choices, about the dangers of loving someone so deeply while being Spider-Man. At the time, Peter had brushed it off, thinking it was just the stress talking, some weird fever dream. But what if…?

What if that figure had done this? Created a world where Y/N never existed?

Peter had to find answers. He had to get Y/N back. He couldn’t stay in a place where every corner, every sound reminded him of what he’d lost. The weight of their absence crushed him more each second.

As he sat there, planning his next move, Peter realised something chilling. The figure—whoever they were—had offered him a choice that night. A chance to live without burdening the people he loved with Spider-Man’s dangers. And in a moment of weakness, of exhaustion, maybe Peter had unknowingly made that deal.

But he hadn’t meant it.

Peter Parker was no stranger to guilt. He’d lived with it every day since Uncle Ben died. But this? This was different. This was the pain of choosing to save someone by erasing them entirely.

He couldn’t undo what had happened on his own. He needed to find the entity who had done this and force them to undo it. But first, he had to survive in a world that was a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

And that meant holding onto the memories of Y/N. The real memories.

He could hear Y/N’s voice in his head now: “Peter, you absolute dumbass, you know you can’t live without me, right?” He could imagine the smirk that came with it, the light in their eyes when they teased him.

“Yeah, well,” Peter muttered to the empty room, his voice cracking. “Turns out you’re right.”

Peter sat in the deafening silence of his apartment, his mind running in a thousand directions. Y/N was gone. No one remembered her, as if she'd never existed. And the only explanation he could cling to was that entity—that faceless, shadowy figure from the night before everything changed. A vague memory whispered at the back of his mind, telling him that he’d been offered a choice. But how could he have agreed to something so horrifying?

The truth, as much as it made him sick, was simple: Peter had been desperate. He’d been exhausted, weighed down by guilt and fear, always worrying about Y/N’s safety. Every time she patched him up after a fight, every time she stayed up late waiting for him to come home, Peter felt that gnawing fear that one day, she wouldn’t be there anymore. And for one brief, weak moment, the thought of her being safe—being away from Spider-Man’s world—had seemed like a blessing.

But he hadn’t realized the cost. Not like this. Not the emptiness.

Peter shot out of his chair, pacing the apartment as a plan started to form in his mind. He had to find the entity. That much was clear. This wasn’t just some glitch in reality; this was a deliberate choice—a deal made between him and something far more powerful. But if Peter had the power to get himself into this mess, then he had to have the power to get out.

First, he needed answers. How did he find the entity again?

Peter remembered that it hadn’t come from nowhere. The figure had appeared while he was messing around with Oscorp’s tech, but it wasn’t just any tech. It had been an experimental quantum destabilizer—a device meant to measure energy fluctuations between different dimensions. Harry Osborn had been talking about it for weeks, trying to figure out if they could tap into the multiverse for...who knows what. Science had never been Peter's strong suit, but he had a hunch that the entity had slipped through during one of those experiments.

Multiverse. The word hit him like a truck.

Was this even his universe anymore? Or was he trapped in another reality where Y/N had never existed?

Peter’s heart raced at the possibility. If Y/N was truly gone—not just from his life but from all universes—he might never get her back. But if she still existed somewhere, in some timeline, then Peter would burn through every dimension until he found her.

He knew the first place to start: Oscorp.

Later that night, after slipping into his Spider-Man suit, Peter swung across the city towards Oscorp Tower. It was late, the city’s streets quieter than usual, but Peter’s mind was anything but calm. He landed on the roof and quickly made his way inside, avoiding security cameras with the ease of someone who had done it countless times before.

The lab was exactly how he remembered it—rows of cold, gleaming equipment, the soft hum of high-tech machinery filling the air. But Peter wasn’t interested in the usual tools. He needed the quantum destabilizer.

Peter found it stashed away in a corner, covered in dust. He hooked it up to the main computer and started running a search for energy signatures. If that entity had come from another universe, there had to be some kind of residual trace left behind.

As the machine hummed to life, Peter’s thoughts drifted back to Y/N. Why had he said yes to losing her? In that moment, when the entity had whispered in his ear, offering him peace, safety, an escape from the constant fear of Y/N being hurt...he had caved. He’d thought it was a way to protect her.

But now he realized how wrong he’d been. Protecting Y/N wasn’t about keeping her away—it was about fighting alongside her, loving her despite the risks. Peter had always known that deep down, but fear had clouded his judgment. He’d chosen what he thought was the easy way out, but now he would do anything—anything—to undo it.

The machine beeped, jolting him from his thoughts. The screen flickered, showing a faint, pulsing signature. Peter’s heart raced as he recognized the same strange energy from that night. It wasn’t from his universe. The entity had come from somewhere else.

He plugged in the coordinates, knowing that if he followed the trail, it would lead him to the source—to the entity.

The next night, Peter swung through a dim, fog-covered alley deep in the city. The air felt thick, heavy with something unnatural. He could sense it—the same strange energy signature he'd tracked.

And then, like stepping through a veil, the air around him shimmered, and the entity appeared. A swirling mass of shadow, faceless and formless, its voice an eerie whisper that seemed to echo inside Peter’s head.

“You seek to undo what you asked for, Spider-Man?”

Peter’s jaw clenched. “You tricked me. I didn’t know what I was agreeing to.”

The entity’s voice hissed, low and mocking. “I offered you peace. I offered you freedom. You accepted.”

“I didn’t want this!” Peter shouted, his fists trembling. “I didn’t want to lose her! I—” His voice broke. “I love her.”

“Love is weakness,” the entity whispered. “It makes you vulnerable. It clouds your judgment. I gave you a world free from that burden.”

“Love makes me strong,” Peter said, his voice filled with determination. “I don’t want a world where Y/N doesn’t exist. I want her with me, in all her imperfect, wonderful chaos. And I’m going to fight you until you bring her back.”

The entity laughed—a sound that rattled the very air around him. “You think you can fight me, Spider-Man? I am beyond your comprehension. I am the architect of realities. I gave you a gift.”

Peter’s eyes hardened beneath the mask. “Then I’ll take it back.”

Without another word, Peter launched himself at the entity, his fists glowing with the energy from the quantum destabilizer. But the entity was fast, shifting and slipping through his grasp like smoke. Every time Peter thought he had it cornered, it would reform behind him, taunting him with whispers.

“You will fail,” it hissed. “I am all-powerful. You are nothing but a boy pretending to be a hero.”

Peter gritted his teeth, focusing on the entity’s movements. It might be powerful, but it had a weakness—every entity did. He just had to find it. And then, as the entity shifted again, Peter saw it—a flicker in its form, a moment where it hesitated.

That hesitation was all he needed.

Peter leaped into the air, firing a blast from the destabilizer at the exact moment the entity began to reform. The energy crackled, surging through the entity’s form. It screamed, its voice splitting the air like thunder. Peter didn’t let up, pouring everything he had into the attack. He thought of Y/N’s laugh, her smile, the way she called him out on his worst habits, the way she never let him get away with anything. All the moments they shared.

And then, with a final surge of energy, the entity shattered. The air around Peter shifted, reality bending and warping.

Peter collapsed to the ground, panting. For a moment, everything was still.

When he opened his eyes, Peter was lying on his apartment floor, the sunlight streaming through the window. His heart pounded in his chest. Was it real? Did he actually get her back?

“Peter? Why are you on the floor, you weirdo?”

His heart stopped. That voice—it was Y/N. He turned his head slowly, and there she was, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee and looking at him with a raised eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked as he scrambled to his feet, pulling her into his arms.

“Whoa, whoa!” Y/N laughed, clearly surprised. “What’s gotten into you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I thought I lost you,” Peter whispered into her hair, holding her tight as if she might disappear again.

Y/N snorted, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Lost me? Please, Parker. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not. Now, stop being a dramatic idiot and help me make breakfast,”

Peter laughed, a tear slipping down his cheek as he smiled at her. “You can call me useless all you want.”

Y/N gave him a puzzled look. “What’s gotten into you?”

Peter just shook his head, kissing her forehead. “I love you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Okay, now I’m worried.Is something wrong, babe?”

He laughed again. “Nah. Just…never leave, okay?”

Y/N smiled, her usual sarcastic grin lighting up her face. “I wasn’t planning on it. But you know, I could leave if you keep talking like a sappy idiot.”

“Shut up,” Peter muttered, pulling her closer. “I’m serious.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stay,” Y/N teased, poking his chest. “But only because you’re the dumbest, nerdiest superhero I’ve ever met.”

Peter chuckled, finally feeling whole again. He had Y/N back. He’d fought for her, and now, he wasn’t letting go.

He never would.

[cruel-seduction]

Bruised and Healing

"Do you know the scene where the heroine repeatedly punches the hero's chest, her blows soft but filled with all the anger and heartbreak she’s bottled up, and he just stands there, taking it, until he finally, slowly, grabs her wrists? And she just breaks, sobbing into him because it’s all too much to bear? Yeah, the real drug. That’s the plot. So sit back, grab your snacks, and enjoy, bitches."

Content Warning:

This story contains themes of emotional hurt, fear, and the aftermath of trauma. It includes moments of intense emotional conflict and personal vulnerability. There are also references to physical injuries.

GLIMPSE - “You don’t get to decide that,” you said quietly, your voice still shaky but steadier now. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”

Peter blinked, his lips parting as if to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, he gave a soft, humourless laugh. “You’re right,” he admitted, a flicker of his usual self breaking through. “You always are. That’s actually very unfair, by the way.”

It had been days. Days of uncertainty and endless waiting, your phone clutched tightly in your hand as you stared at the screen, praying for a call, a message, anything. But there was nothing. Not a single word from Peter. The silence hung in the air like a suffocating cloud, and the longer it went on, the more the anxiety gnawed at you.

Every time you walked into the apartment, the absence of his presence hit you like a punch in the gut. His stuff was still there—his sneakers by the door, his jacket thrown over the back of the couch—but Peter was nowhere to be found. You knew he had to be out there, somewhere, doing Spider-Man things, but you also knew that sometimes that meant danger, and sometimes that meant he wouldn’t come back.

Each minute that passed felt like an eternity, the panic simmering under your skin, threatening to boil over. You tried to be patient. You tried to remind yourself that Peter was strong, capable, that he could handle anything. But you couldn’t help it. The images of him injured, alone, or worse, plagued you relentlessly.

It was on the fourth night, when the exhaustion from waiting and worrying was starting to swallow you whole, that he finally showed up.

You hadn’t heard him come in. Your eyes were half-lidded as you sat on the couch, staring blankly at the wall, when you heard the quiet thud of his shoes hitting the floor. You whipped around, heart racing, only to see him standing in the doorway, looking like he had crawled straight out of hell.

His face was bruised, cut in a few places, and his usually neat hair was matted with sweat. His suit was torn in places, the fabric hanging from his body like something that had been through a storm. His eyes were bloodshot, tired—worse than tired. They looked hollow, haunted. He was barely standing on his own two feet, swaying ever so slightly.

“Peter…” The word came out shakily, as if you’d forgotten how to breathe.

He winced slightly at your voice but gave you a weak smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey… I’m fine, really.”

You stood up quickly, taking a few cautious steps toward him, but then the reality of everything came crashing down like a tidal wave. Your fear, your frustration, and the helplessness of the past few days all rushed to the surface in an instant. The anger burned, and it consumed you like wildfire.

“Fine? You’re fine?” The words came out in a sharp breath, louder than you expected, and you took a step closer to him. “Where the hell have you been, Peter? I was worried. I couldn’t—God, I couldn’t even breathe while you were gone. You didn’t even—you didn’t even call.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He wasn’t ready for this. Hell, he didn’t know what to say either. His chest ached, but not from the bruises or wounds—he was aching from your voice, the accusation. He could feel it in his bones, how badly you’d been hurt, and yet, he couldn’t find the words to fix it.

“You can’t just vanish like that,” you continued, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. “I don’t care how tough you are, Peter! I don’t care if you’re Spider-Man or whatever the hell you think you are. You don’t just disappear and expect me to be fine.”

You took another step toward him, the fury inside of you like a constant hum in your chest. And then, without thinking, you were on him, your hands pushing against his chest in rapid succession. One hit, two, three. Each one harder than the last. Your frustration, your fear, your worry—all of it was exploding in that moment.

Peter didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to stop you. He just stood there, letting you hit him, each strike echoing in the still apartment. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, but he didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t stop you. He knew why you were doing it. He deserved it.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You kept hitting him, more rapidly now, the tension in your body unbearable. You could feel the heat of your anger in your fingertips, each strike a desperate plea for him to acknowledge the panic that had taken over you. Every hit sent shockwaves through him, but he didn’t protest. He stood still, letting you vent your frustration.

And then, just as you were about to pull away, his hand, large and warm, gently wrapped around your wrist. His touch was so gentle, it didn’t hurt—just grounded you, stopped you in your tracks. The rapid fire of your hands came to a halt, and you finally looked up at him, your chest heaving, your face flushed with emotion.

Peter didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, looking down at you, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, his gaze soft, regretful. But it was his other hand that reached out for you next. It moved slowly, almost like he was afraid to touch you, but then it landed gently on your waist, pulling you closer into him.

You stiffened for a moment, the tension between you still thick, but there was something in his touch—something that was more than just physical. You could feel his exhaustion, his guilt, his pain—all of it bleeding through the simple act of holding you. And then, without a word, he bent his head slightly, his forehead resting gently against yours, the space between you still filled with so many unsaid things.

His chest rose and fell beneath your hand, the weight of his exhaustion settling into your bones. And as you stood there, in the quiet of your apartment, surrounded by the remnants of your anger and his mistakes, you finally understood. He didn’t have to say it out loud. You both already knew.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his forehead pressed gently against yours. The heat of the moment, the flood of emotions, everything you’d been bottling up for days, it all surged to the surface. You tried to hold it in, tried to stay strong, but it was no use. The tears began to fall, hot and uncontrolled, stinging as they rolled down your cheeks.

You turned your face away quickly, not wanting him to see, but Peter felt it—he felt the tremble of your body as your shoulders shook with silent sobs. His grip on your wrist loosened, and without missing a beat, he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you, not caring about his own exhaustion or the fact that he was still barely holding himself together.

“Baby… no.” His voice was strained, barely above a whisper, as he gently cupped your face, his thumb wiping away the tears that had escaped. “Please don’t cry.”

You tried to push him away, embarrassed by your breakdown, but he held you tighter, pressing your head into his chest. His shirt was damp, but you didn’t care. You needed to feel his warmth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. You felt weak, vulnerable, exposed, and it terrified you. But Peter didn’t let you pull away. He gently cupped the back of your head, cradling you against him, his fingers threading through your hair as he whispered your name softly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Peter murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He tilted your head up so you could look at him, his eyes searching yours with that familiar, heart-wrenching intensity. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes roughly, trying to gain some composure, but Peter wasn’t having any of it. “Hey,” he said softly, his hand moving to gently caress your cheek. “You’re everything to me. I hate seeing you like this. I can’t stand it.”

You just shook your head, fresh tears welling in your eyes. “I thought… I thought I lost you,” you choked out, your voice raw from the fear that had been eating at you for days. “I couldn’t do it again. I can’t handle the thought of—"

“No.” He interrupted you firmly, his hands framing your face as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours again. “You won’t. You won’t lose me. I swear to you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Peter’s voice was low and steady, his tone a promise, as he brushed your tears away, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips in that slow, comforting gesture. The tenderness in his touch was enough to quiet the storm inside of you. You let him soothe you, letting him wipe away the remnants of your tears as he murmured reassurances. His words, though soft, were solid, like the quiet conviction of someone who had seen and survived far too much to lose anything else.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, his lips brushing the top of your head as he pulled you even closer, enveloping you in his arms completely. “You mean more to me than anything, you know that? More than anything in this world. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll never put you through that again.”

His voice cracked on the last sentence, and you could feel the vulnerability in him, too—his fear of losing you, of failing you. That broken part of him that was so fiercely protective, yet still haunted by the constant weight of his life as Spider-Man. But right now, in this moment, it doesn't matter. You were together, and that was enough.

“I was so scared,” you finally whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

The words nearly broke him. His head dipped, and he pressed a kiss to the crown of your hair, his lips lingering there as he breathed you in. He didn’t speak for a moment, didn’t trust himself to, afraid his voice might crack under the weight of it all.

“Scared?” he finally repeated, his tone soft and reverent. “Of me?”

You shook your head against him, your voice cracking. “Not of you—scared for you. I thought…” You didn’t finish the sentence. You couldn’t.

Peter exhaled shakily, his hand stilling in your hair before cupping the back of your head gently. He leaned down further, resting his chin lightly on top of your head. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice thick. “I know. And I’m sorry I put you through that.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed the dampness from your cheek, even as you tried to turn your head away, unwilling to let him see you like this. But Peter wasn’t having it.

“Hey,” he whispered, his tone firm but impossibly gentle. “Look at me.”

You hesitated, but the softness in his voice—and the warmth in his touch—coaxed you into meeting his gaze. His brown eyes were filled with something you couldn’t quite name, something raw and overwhelming, but it made your chest tighten.

“You know me,” he said softly. “You know me. You’re the strongest person I know, but I—I’ve gotta stop putting you through this. I swear, I’ll be better.” He leaned his forehead against yours again, closing his eyes. “Just… I can’t stand to see you like this. I hate it. You deserve so much better than me coming home looking like—like this.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you said quietly, your voice still shaky but steadier now. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”

Peter blinked, his lips parting as if to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, he gave a soft, humourless laugh. “You’re right,” he admitted, a flicker of his usual self breaking through. “You always are. That’s actually very unfair, by the way.”

Despite yourself, a small, watery chuckle escaped your lips, and Peter’s eyes lit up like he’d just seen the sun for the first time in days.

“There it is,” he murmured with a crooked grin. “That laugh could cure just about anything. Might even get rid of this bruised rib situation I’ve got going on.”

You shook your head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “You’re an idiot,” you muttered.

“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with this idiot,” he said, his tone playful but warm. “Because no matter how mad you get at me, or how many times I screw up, I’m not going anywhere.”

The vulnerability in his voice struck something deep inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you were leaning up, your arms wrapping around his neck. Peter caught you effortlessly, his hands settling on your waist as he pulled you closer.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, his lips brushing lightly against your temple. “I mean it. You’re the only thing that keeps me sane out there. The only thing that keeps me coming home.”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips, and his breath fanned across your skin as he hesitated, giving you the space to pull away if you wanted. But you didn’t. You leaned into him instead, your lips finding his in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with all the things you couldn’t put into words.

Peter’s hands shifted, one sliding up to cup your jaw while the other remained firm at your waist, anchoring you to him. The kiss deepened gradually, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your knees weak. He tasted like salt and something metallic—probably from a busted lip—but you didn’t care.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathless, his forehead pressed to yours again as he whispered, “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

And in that moment, you believed him.

Border by @enchanthings-a

[cruel-seduction]

Peter Teases You About Your Favorite Superhero Crush (Not Him)

It all started when you casually mentioned your love for a certain fictional superhero while you and Peter were sprawled out on your couch, legs tangled together in your usual cozy way. You were scrolling through a Pinterest board, showing him random outfits, memes, and—without thinking—a fanart of your favorite superhero, Nightblade, the shadowy, brooding vigilante from that one movie series you’d been obsessed with lately.

“Wait, who’s that?” Peter asked, craning his neck to get a better look at your phone.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “Uh... no one important,” you mumbled, trying to scroll past it.

“Oh, no one important?” Peter snatched your phone faster than you could react, his reflexes annoyingly good as always. He tilted the screen, inspecting the art. “Nightblade?” he read aloud, a teasing grin already forming.

“Give it back, Peter!” you said, lunging for the phone, but he held it out of your reach, his other hand pressing into your shoulder to hold you back effortlessly.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, laughing as he twisted his body to keep the phone away from you. “Is this... your superhero crush? Oh my god, you’re blushing!”

Your cheeks burned hotter as you smacked his chest. “Shut up! I am not blushing!”

“Oh, you so are,” Peter teased, lowering your phone just enough to waggle it in your face. “Look at you! You’re like a tomato. This is adorable.”

“Peter!” you whined, burying your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment.

Peter leaned closer, still grinning like the smug menace he was. “Okay, okay, hold on. I need to understand this. Nightblade? Really? The guy who skulks around on rooftops and growls at people? That’s your type?”

You groaned, refusing to look at him. “He’s cool, okay? And... and mysterious. And—ugh, you wouldn’t get it!”

“Oh, I get it,” Peter said, his voice dripping with mock understanding. “You’re into the whole dark, brooding, ‘I work alone’ vibe. Got it. But, babe, have you met me? I literally do the rooftop thing all the time. Should I start growling at bad guys now? Would that make me hotter?”

“Shut up, Peter,” you said, reaching out to shove his chest lightly. “It’s not like that.”

But he wasn’t letting up. If anything, your reaction just fueled him further.

“‘It’s not like that,’” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice, scooting closer to you on the couch.

You peeked at him through your fingers, your face still burning. “Stop it!”

But Peter was on a roll now. He threw your phone onto the couch and stood up, dramatically deepening his voice as he struck a ridiculous pose. “I am Nightblade,” he intoned, his attempt at a gravelly tone making him sound more like he had a sore throat. “Justice is my shadow. The night is my ally.”

You snorted despite yourself, grabbing a throw pillow and chucking it at him. “You’re so dumb!”

Peter caught the pillow mid-air, grinning as he tossed it aside. “Dumb? Dumb? Babe, you’re the one who has a crush on a fictional guy who probably hasn’t smiled since birth. Meanwhile, you’ve got me—a real superhero who’s funny, charming, and, might I add, great with parents.”

“Oh my god, Peter,” you said, covering your face again as your laugh bubbled out.

He plopped back down on the couch beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. “I’m not saying I’m jealous,” he said, though the teasing lilt in his voice suggested otherwise. “But I mean... come on. I’ve got to be at least, like, 10% cooler than this guy, right?”

You peeked up at him, still flustered but smiling now. “I dunno,” you said, your voice playful. “Nightblade does have a pretty sweet cape.”

Peter gasped, hand flying to his chest like you’d just stabbed him. “A cape? Oh, come on! Capes are a tripping hazard. I could make one if I wanted, but I don’t because I have common sense.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “And he’s got these cool shadow powers.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer with a mock-insulted expression. “Shadow powers? Pfft. Lame. I’ve got webs, babe. Webs. I can swing through the city, catch bad guys, and tie up robbers in little cocoons. I can tie you up and you know you enjoy it, What can he do? Stand in the dark and look angsty?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of your head. “Peter, you’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” He leaned in even closer, his nose almost touching yours now. “Ridiculous is you choosing him over me! What does he have that I don’t?”

You pretended to think about it, tapping your chin. “Well, there’s the expression—”

“Oh, here we go with the expression again.”

“And the muscles.”

Peter flopped back against the couch, groaning loudly. “You’re killing me, Y/N. Absolutely killing me.”

You giggled, poking his side. “And don’t forget the way he says, ‘I can do this all day.’ So iconic.”

That made Peter shoot upright again, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Okay, first of all, I also say cool stuff when I’m fighting bad guys.”

“Like what?” you challenged, crossing your arms.

Peter paused, clearly scrambling for a good answer. “Uh… ‘Hey, buddy, quit stealing stuff!’”

You burst out laughing, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “Oh, yeah. Super inspiring, Peter. Definitely gives Steve a run for his money.”

You tried to stifle your laughter, but it spilled out anyway. “You’re impossible,” you said, lightly smacking his chest.

Peter grabbed your hand before you could pull it away, bringing it up to his lips for a quick kiss. “And yet, you love me,” he said smugly.

“Don’t push it,” you warned, though your smile betrayed you.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “And to be honest. It’s not like that! I just think he’s… you know… nice-looking.”

“Nice-looking?” Peter repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Nice-looking.” He pointed at himself. “Have you seen me? I mean, I don’t want to brag or anything, but…” He flexed his arm in the most over-the-top way, clearly showing off.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face was impossible to hide. “Oh, please. You’re so full of yourself.”

He leaned closer, that teasing smirk never faltering. “I’m just saying, if you wanted a guy with abs, you could’ve just told me”

And then you flexed your non existent biceps “Yours is not better than mine, Pete”

Peter chuckled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “True true. Seriously, though. You can crush on Nightblade all you want, but just remember: he’s not the one sitting next to you, eating leftover pizza and looking ridiculously cute in sweatpants.”

You rolled your eyes, your cheeks still warm as you leaned into him. “Fine, you win,” you said softly.

Peter’s grin widened, and he pulled you even closer, resting his chin on your head. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head as his teasing finally softened. Sure, Nightblade was cool, but Peter Parker? He is your superhero. 

[cruel-seduction]

Midnight Encounters

Content Warning:

* Blood (minor injury)

* Mildly intense situations

Summary : You thought a midnight snack might cure your insomnia. Instead, you find a masked stranger injured and raiding your pantry. One odd kiss and a few strange confessions later, you’re left questioning what just happened—and if he’ll show up in your kitchen again.

Glimpse - “Do you, um…” he starts, glancing at your kitchen cabinets, “have any… Band-Aids?”

You stare, incredulous, still gripping the countertop in a weird mix of shock and bewilderment. “You’re Spider-Man. I thought you were supposed to be, like, invincible.”

“Apparently not,” he mumbles, looking down with a dramatic sigh. “Turns out, I’m just human enough to still need a Band-Aid every now and then.”

(Picture taken from pinterest)

You shuffle into your dark kitchen, rubbing your eyes and hoping that a mug of chamomile tea might finally bring some sleep. It’s 2 a.m., and the quiet hum of your apartment is a small comfort on this otherwise restless night.

But as you turn on the kitchen light, your heart nearly stops.

A figure, dressed head-to-toe in black and red, sits on your floor. He’s wearing a Spider-Man suit—the Spider-Man suit, complete with the mask—and he’s holding a spoonful of Nutella, chocolate smudged on the white eye lenses. A dark smear trails down the side of his masked head, and you realize with a jolt that it’s blood. He’s been injured.

“I can explain,” he says quickly, as though realizing how insane this all looks.

You stare, stunned, gripping the countertop as your mind races through every logical reaction: scream, run, maybe even call the police. But you’re frozen, your brain failing to compute why Spider-Man, a masked stranger, is sitting on your kitchen floor eating Nutella—Nutella you don’t even own.

After a beat of silence, he clears his throat, though the spoon remains poised mid-air. “Actually, no, I can’t.”

You glance at the jar, realizing with bewilderment that it isn’t even yours. “You… you brought your own Nutella?”

“Well… yes?” He shifts awkwardly, spoon still in hand. “It was an emergency.”

The absurdity hits you at once, and despite the fear bubbling up in your chest, you raise an eyebrow. “So, you break into my apartment… at 2 a.m., bleeding all over my floor, just to eat—your Nutella?”

The masked eyes widen in shock as he sets the jar down. “Whoa, no—no.” He waves his hands in defense. “That’s not—Look, I didn’t mean to break in.” He hesitates, sounding oddly defensive, like he’s scrambling to explain himself without making it worse. “It’s just—I was out there, chasing some guys, and things went south. And I saw your fire escape and… I needed a break.”

His head tilts up to face you fully, white lenses narrowing as if gauging your reaction. He shifts, trying to tuck a torn edge of his suit further behind him, but you’re still too stunned to speak.

“Do you, um…” he starts, glancing at your kitchen cabinets, “have any… Band-Aids?”

You stare, incredulous, still gripping the countertop in a weird mix of shock and bewilderment. “You’re Spider-Man. I thought you were supposed to be, like, invincible.”

“Apparently not,” he mumbles, looking down with a dramatic sigh. “Turns out, I’m just human enough to still need a Band-Aid every now and then.”

For a few seconds, you consider calling the police or just grabbing a frying pan, but something stops you. Maybe it’s the slight slump in his shoulders or the way he mutters about bad timing. Whatever it is, you reach into your cabinet, pulling out the first aid kit and holding it out, staying cautiously a few steps away.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding almost surprised.

As he fumbles with the bandages, you slowly sink to the floor across from him, careful to keep your distance. “So… you’re just gonna patch yourself up here? With my first aid kit?”

“I’ll leave you some web fluid as payment, if you want,” he says, voice muffled as he tears open a bandage.

It’s utterly bizarre, watching Spider-Man—the Spider-Man—clumsily patch himself up on your kitchen floor, trying to look like this is normal.

“You know, breaking into random kitchens is… probably not in the superhero handbook,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself.

He chuckles, sounding as surprised by it as you are. “I’ll make a note of that. Avoid random kitchens.” He glances at you, a bit more cautious, and adds, “You’re taking this a lot better than I’d expect, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m freaking out,” you reply, though you feel your own defensiveness slip a little. “I’m just too tired to run screaming into the street right now.”

For a moment, he’s quiet, the only sound the soft crinkling of bandages and the faint hum of the fridge. But when he speaks again, his voice is almost shy. “Thank you for… you know, not throwing me out.”

You can only manage a small nod, realizing that the man beneath the mask—whoever he is—seems like someone who hasn’t had many moments of kindness like this. In the gentle light, you share a moment of quiet understanding, two strangers who just happened to meet in the strangest of ways.

Spider-Man fumbles with the bandages, his movements uncharacteristically clumsy. He finishes securing a Band-Aid to his temple and mumbles a quiet “thanks” as he lowers his hands to his lap, looking oddly bashful for someone who spends his nights swinging across skyscrapers.

For a few moments, you sit in silence, staring at the floor, wondering if you’ll wake up from this fever dream. But the soft glow of your kitchen light and the distant sound of city traffic outside make it all feel surprisingly real. And he’s sitting right there, masked and bruised, shoulders slightly slouched, as if the weight of the night has finally caught up with him.

Finally, you clear your throat, breaking the silence. “So… you do this often?”

He looks up, those wide white lenses shifting slightly in a way that somehow communicates a sheepish grin. “Not exactly. Usually, I just…” He pauses, tapping his fingers on his knees. “You know, avoid breaking into people’s kitchens.”

You raise an eyebrow, managing a smirk despite yourself. “So, is Nutella an essential part of the Spider-Man toolkit?”

There’s a muffled laugh from beneath the mask, soft and genuine. “Don’t knock it. Chocolate is a top-tier snack when you’re exhausted. Which…” He gestures vaguely to his bloodied suit, “…happens more than you’d think.”

The two of you lapse into silence again, the surreal nature of it all slowly sinking in. But there’s something else in the air too, a kind of mutual understanding that feels strangely… comforting.

Spider-Man shifts, glancing toward the window. “I should go. Before you change your mind about calling the police.”

You laugh, and it surprises you both. “I guess it would be hard to explain why Spider-Man was eating Nutella on my floor.”

He snorts, moving to stand. “Let’s keep that between us, then.”

But before he can fully rise, something stops you. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you—through the mask, yes, but there’s a gentleness there, a warmth that you didn’t expect. Or maybe it’s the fact that tonight feels like a moment outside of time, a brief connection with someone who risks everything for strangers every day, yet somehow ended up needing you tonight.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you reach out, gently catching his hand. “Wait.”

He pauses, tilting his head in curiosity as he glances down at where your fingers brush against his glove. Without thinking it through, you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his masked cheek.

“Thank you for protecting the city,” you say quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “And… for trusting me. Even if it’s just for a minute.”

You see him stiffen for a second, as though the gesture has completely caught him off guard. Then, his shoulders relax, and he lowers his head, the hint of a smile somehow visible even through the mask.

“Thank you,” he replies softly, voice tinged with genuine warmth. “For not freaking out. And for, you know… the Nutella.”

You laugh again, and it’s then that he gives your hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away, moving toward the window.

“Take care of yourself, Spider-Man,” you say, a soft ache already building in your chest as he reaches the fire escape.

He pauses on the ledge, glancing back at you, his white eye lenses narrowing in a kind of gentle, playful expression. “Sweet dreams. And hey—maybe next time, I’ll bring peanut butter.”

Then, in one fluid movement, he’s gone, disappearing into the night, leaving you alone in your dim kitchen, with a half-eaten jar of Nutella and the lingering warmth of an unexpected kiss.

[cruel-seduction]

Deal breaker? 

Pairing - Peter Parker x reader 

Glimpse - “Because the only thing that matters to me is you.” His voice was steady, every word deliberate and full of conviction. “I don’t care if we have kids, if we get a goldfish, or if we just grow old together surrounded by a hundred cats. All I care about is you, spending my life with you. That’s it. That’s the deal, okay? And guess what?”

You tilted your head, your heart swelling as his hand shifted from your cheek to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb brushing softly along your jaw. “This deal? It’s never breaking. Ever.”

Genre - Fluff, hurt/comfort, and angst. 

Summary - Peter Parker has always had his own unique ways of bringing comfort—an unpredictable mix of sincerity, awkward humor, and boundless love. When a difficult conversation arises, he does what he does best: turns a moment of doubt into one filled with warmth, laughter, and quiet reassurance.

Content warning - Talking about children, Reader not wanting children, Peter being the cutest dork ever known. I guess that’s it. 

The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden hue over the sky, yet a soft chill began to settle in the air, hinting at the coming evening. It was the kind of weather that carried comfort in its breeze, the kind that invited you to curl up, warm and safe. Perfect weather, the kind you longed for—perfect for snuggling on the couch with Peter, your head resting on his chest while a horror movie played softly in the background. The type of night where you’d drift off to sleep halfway through, wrapped in the comfort of his presence. Yes, this was supposed to be the perfect weather for that—the kind of evening where everything felt just right.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the air felt heavier, thicker with tension. The familiar warmth you once shared with Peter felt distant, as distant as the gap that had grown between you over the past few months. Instead of the usual laughter, the usual easy silence that you could fill with simple words or shared glances, there was only the harsh, bitter sting of words that you both threw at each other in frustration.

You had been arguing for what felt like an hour, though it could have been longer. And in that moment, it didn’t matter. The time didn’t matter; it was the silence in between the words that did. Oh, sure, you’d both raised your voices—but not in the way arguments were supposed to go. No, you had been the only one shouting, the only one letting the anger and confusion spill out like a dam that had been holding back too much for too long. Peter hadn’t raised his voice in retaliation; he’d just stayed quiet. Almost too quiet.

It was a silly argument. Something so trivial that, in another time, you’d both laugh about it and shake your heads, wondering how such a small thing could have escalated to this point. But it wasn’t about the argument anymore, not really. It was about everything else—the months of silence, the coldness, the distance that had grown between you two like a slow-moving fog you hadn’t noticed until it was too thick to see through.

You couldn’t bring yourself to admit it to Peter. To say what was really bothering you. You were dragging this argument out, clinging to it like a lifeline, hoping that the tension would force the conversation you knew had to come. The one you had been avoiding for so long—the talk that had the potential to either fix everything or break it all apart.

But you weren’t ready for that talk. Not yet. Not tonight.

You had made a choice, however selfish it may have been. You chose to extend this fight, this silly argument, because it felt safer than facing the truth. It was wrong, you knew it was, but how could you not be selfish when it came to Peter? How could you not be when he meant so much to you? How could you let everything go—let him go—if you were to say what you truly felt? The things you were too afraid to admit. The things that made your heart ache just thinking about them. The things that might push him away.

You loved him. You loved him in a way that was overwhelming, in a way that terrified you. You needed him, as much as you hated to admit it. He was a part of you now, and the idea of losing him, of seeing him walk away because of the confession you had been holding back for so long, was a fear too vast to even acknowledge.

But you were also terrified that staying silent, letting this cold distance between you grow, might push him away all the same. The thought gnawed at you, as sharp and cruel as the wind outside. If you spoke the words, confessed what had been eating away at you, would he still stay? Or would it be the final thing that broke you? Would he leave?

You wanted to believe that confessing, being honest with him, would bring you closer. That it would clear the air, push the shadows away. But the fear of losing him, of being too much for him to bear, clouded your judgment. You wondered, deep down, if the only way to keep him was to remain in this limbo—pretend that everything was fine, even when it wasn’t.

And so, you let the argument drag on, hoping for something, anything, that would force the words out of your mouth before it was too late. Because deep down, you knew this silence, this distance, would only tear you apart more slowly than any argument ever could. And still, you couldn’t bring yourself to face the truth.

Peter ran a hand through his messy hair, a telltale sign of his growing frustration. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’ve been distant for weeks—no, months—and don’t even try to deny it. You barely talk to me, you avoid me like I’m some stranger in my own apartment, and—God, it’s like you’re trying to shut me out completely. Don’t you see that?”

You sighed heavily, a shaky breath that betrayed the calm you were trying to project. “Peter, you’re imagining things. I’m just tired, okay? That’s all it is. Work’s been stressful. Life’s been stressful. It’s not about you.”

“Not about me?” His voice rose, and he took a step closer, the desperation in his tone slicing through you. “I don’t care if it’s about me! I care that it’s about you! Something’s wrong, and you’re hurting, and you won’t let me help you! Why do you keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not?”

Your chest tightened, your arms instinctively crossing in front of you as a weak shield. “I’m not pretending! Peter, you’re making this a bigger deal than it is—”

“No, I’m not!” he interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. He exhaled sharply, trying to reign in his emotions. “I know you, okay? I know when you’re shutting me out. You don’t have to tell me that you’re fine, because I can see that you’re not.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, to deny the truth that was clawing at your insides, but no sound came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred. Tears. Of course, there were tears.

Peter’s expression softened when he saw them, and his tone dropped to a pleading whisper. “Baby… please. Just tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Together. But you have to let me in.”

He reached out, his warm hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed against your skin. The gentle touch made the dam inside you crack even more, your resolve crumbling like ash in the wind.

“I can’t,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

“Yes, you can,” Peter said, leaning closer. His voice was soft, but there was a firmness behind it, an unyielding determination to break through the barrier you’d put up. “You can tell me anything. Whatever it is, I’m not going anywhere. You know that.”

The tenderness in his voice, the way his hand stayed so steady against your face—it was too much. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. The pressure that had been building for weeks finally exploded.

“Why do you want a kid, Peter?!” you burst out, the words ripping from your throat. Your voice was raw, trembling with the weight of all the fear and frustration you’d been bottling up. “Why?!”

The question hung in the air like a thunderclap, and you immediately regretted the way it came out, the way your voice cracked under the strain of emotions. Peter blinked, stunned by your outburst, but his hand never left your cheek.

“What are you talking about?” he asked softly, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“You keep bringing it up,” you continued, your voice shaking as tears streaked down your face. “All these little comments, these hints, and I know you’re trying to be subtle about it, but I hear you, Peter. I hear you every time you say something about how great it would be to have a family someday, or how much you want to be a dad. For fucks sake you searched baby’s name in your computer. And I—” Your voice broke, and you shook your head, overwhelmed. “I can’t give you that”

Peter’s eyes softened as he held your gaze, his confusion evident, but his patience unwavering. His thumbs brushed lightly across your tear-streaked cheeks, a silent encouragement for you to speak. His voice was steady, but the faint crack in it betrayed his worry.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, dove,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. His touch was firm yet tender, grounding you even as your heart thundered in your chest.

You took a deep breath, the kind that filled your lungs with an ache that mirrored the knot in your stomach. This was it. You couldn’t avoid it any longer. The words you’d been holding back for weeks sat heavy on your tongue, desperate to be set free, yet terrifying in their weight.

Finally, you found the courage to start. Your voice came out slow, measured, as if each word was a fragile thing that needed to be handled with care. “Peter… I don’t want a kid. I don’t see myself having one anytime soon. Maybe not ever.”

The first sentence hung in the air between you, and you watched his expression shift, the crease in his brow deepening as the meaning began to settle. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The dam had burst, and everything you’d been keeping locked away poured out like a flood.

“I don’t see myself going through that pain,” you continued, your voice trembling but steady enough to push through. “It hurts, Peter. It hurts a lot. And I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of pain. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for it.”

You paused, inhaling sharply before your words gained momentum. “You’re Spider-Man. You’re out there every night, putting your life on the line, and you know what that means for me. How much I have to sacrifice just to keep myself together when you’re gone. How could I possibly add a child to that? How could I carry that weight on top of everything else?”

Peter’s hands remained steady on your face, but his silence was deafening. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to respond, but he held back, giving you the space to say everything you needed.

“I just want to focus on us right now,” you said, your voice firming as your emotions spilled into clarity. “On me and on you. If you still want to be with me.”

Your voice cracked slightly, but you pressed on, your words tumbling out faster now, no longer held back by hesitation. “A child is a lot, Peter. They cry. They need you constantly. They scream for no reason. They poop, and Jesus—” you let out a bitter laugh, the absurdity of it clawing at your throat, “—you have to clean their shit. All of it. I can’t do that, Peter. I can’t. I won’t. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to handle that. The idea of it just…” You shuddered, exhaling the thought like it was poison. “It terrifies me.”

Your words slowed, the rawness of your confession leaving you drained but lighter. For the first time in weeks, the weight of your fears wasn’t solely your own. By the time you finished, the frantic pounding of your heart had softened, replaced by a strange sense of calm.

Peter stayed quiet, his gaze locked on yours, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between you, the air thick with unspoken thoughts, until you finally spoke again, this time in a whisper.

“So…” you paused, your voice barely audible, trembling under the weight of your own vulnerability. “Is that a dealbreaker for you?”

For a moment, Peter just stared at you, his lips slightly parted as if he hadn’t even registered the question. Then he blinked, his face morphing into pure confusion. “A deal breaker?” he repeated, his voice pitching up like you’d just told him the moon was made of cheese. “What—what are you even talking about? Deal breaker? Are you kidding me right now?”

His reaction startled you, and your hands fidgeted nervously in your lap. You couldn’t meet his gaze, but Peter wasn’t having that. He leaned closer, trying to catch your eye. “First of all,” he began, voice slightly exasperated but tinged with something softer, “this is not a deal. What deal? Did I sign something and forget about it? Was there a secret contract? Because if there was, I want to renegotiate the terms. Immediately.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his sudden humor. Peter didn’t stop there. “Secondly,” he said, sitting up straighter, “you’re seriously asking me if not wanting a baby is a deal breaker? Babe, if I made that my hill to die on, I’d be the biggest idiot in the history of relationships. And trust me, there have been some huge idiots in history. Like, I’m talking cavemen-licking-fire-level idiots.”

You tried to stifle a laugh, but the corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. Peter grinned, seeing the crack in your armour. He was relentless now.

“Let’s talk about the real disadvantages of kids, shall we? First of all, do you have any idea how expensive diapers are? It’s like they’re spun out of pure gold dust or something. And don’t get me started on baby food. Have you seen that stuff? It looks like... prison gruel.”

That did it. A laugh bubbled out of you, small but genuine, and Peter’s grin widened in triumph. He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And babies? They’re like tiny drunks. They scream, they cry, they throw up on you—and they wake you up at three in the morning because they’ve forgotten how to sleep. I mean, really, how do you forget how to sleep?”

You laughed again, louder this time, the sound shaking loose some of the tension in your chest. Tears still pricked at your eyes, but now they were mixed with the warmth of Peter’s words, his ridiculous lamest jokes. “That doesn’t even make sense baby” You chuckled. 

Peter softened at the sight of you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed against your skin, wiping away a stray tear. “Hey,” he said quietly, his tone shifting to something tender. “All that stuff? It doesn’t matter. None of it does. You know why?”

You shook your head slightly, your gaze finally meeting his.

“Because the only thing that matters to me is you.” His voice was steady, every word deliberate and full of conviction. “I don’t care if we have kids, if we get a goldfish, or if we just grow old together surrounded by a hundred cats. All I care about is you, spending my life with you. That’s it. That’s the deal, okay? And guess what?”

You tilted your head, your heart swelling as his hand shifted from your cheek to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb brushing softly along your jaw. “This deal? It’s never breaking. Ever.”

Before you could respond, Peter leaned in, closing the small space between you. His lips met yours in the gentlest, sweetest kiss you’d ever shared. It wasn’t rushed or demanding—it was steady, deliberate, full of emotion. His other hand found its way to your waist, anchoring you to him as if you might disappear.

You felt the warmth of his palm on your neck, the slight press of his fingertips, grounding you in the moment. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, his lips moving against yours with a softness that made your chest ache in the best way.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and mingling with your own. “You’re it for me, okay?” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Baby or no baby. You’re my future. Nothing else matters.”

You smiled at him, the last remnants of doubt melting away under the weight of his love. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky but steadying with every breath.

Peter pulled you into another kiss, this one shorter but just as tender, before grinning against your lips. “Now, about those hundred cats…”

You laughed, playfully shoving his chest, but your heart felt light again. Peter Parker, your ridiculous, amazing, nerdy Peter, had managed to remind you once again why you loved him so much.

[cruel-seduction]

Peter Parker Masterlist

(All the stories written below can be read from both the Peter's perspective unless specifically mentioned)

𖦹 A world without you

Summary: When Peter Parker wakes up in a world where Y/N never existed, he thinks he's been given the gift of freedom—no one to put in danger. But as the emptiness of her absence consumes him, Peter begins to question the cost of his choice. How far will he go to bring Y/N back, and who—or what—was behind her disappearance in the first place? Can Peter undo the deal he made, or is he trapped in a world where love never existed?

𖦹 Midnight Encounters

You thought a midnight snack might cure your insomnia. Instead, you find a masked stranger injured and raiding your pantry. One odd kiss and a few strange confessions later, you’re left questioning what just happened—and if he’ll show up in your kitchen again.

𖦹 Deal breaker? - Peter Parker x Reader

Peter Parker has always had his own unique ways of bringing comfort—an unpredictable mix of sincerity, awkward humor, and boundless love. When a difficult conversation arises, he does what he does best: turns a moment of doubt into one filled with warmth, laughter, and quiet reassurance.

𖦹 Our Christmas

When Peter’s Christmas plans go awry, he’s left heartbroken and guilt-ridden, thinking he’s lost everything that matters. But a surprise awaits him at home—one that leaves him questioning everything he thought he knew about love and forgiveness. As emotions run high, Peter finds himself torn between the holidays and the one person who makes everything worth it. Will it be too late to fix what’s broken?

𖦹 Bruised and Healing

Do you know the scene where the heroine repeatedly punches the hero's chest, her blows soft but filled with all the anger and heartbreak she’s bottled up, and he just stands there, taking it, until he finally, slowly, grabs her wrists? And she just breaks, sobbing into him because it’s all too much to bear? Yeah, the real drug. That’s the plot. So sit back, grab your snacks, and enjoy, bitches.

Drabbles -

❀ Peter Helps You Conquer Your Fear of Heights

❀ Peter Teases You About Your Favorite Superhero Crush (Not Him)

❀ You need a massage?

More yet to come

[cruel-seduction]

Peter Helps You Conquer Your Fear of Heights

The city stretched out below you like a glittering ocean of lights, but the view didn’t thrill you. Your heart hammered in your chest, blood roaring in your ears as you clung to the edge of the rooftop, eyes wide and glued to the far-off ground. The night air felt thin, the faint hum of the city lost beneath your anxious breath.

“Come on, just a little closer, baby.” Peter’s voice came from behind you, teasing yet comforting, a perfect balance. You could hear the smirk in his words as he took a small step toward you.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “I’m good right here, thanks.” You took a cautious step back, bumping into the metal railing that was supposed to keep you safe. You hated that it didn’t help your nerves.

"Come on, it’s not that high," Peter said with a grin, motioning for you to join him.

"Peter, this is a literal rooftop. If I fall, it’s game over for me," you retorted, shaking your head firmly.

Peter chuckled, tilting his head at you with mock disbelief. "Game over? Baby, I’m Spider-Man. What do you think I’m here for? To watch you plummet like Wile E. Coyote? I got you."

"That’s not comforting," you muttered under your breath, glaring at him.

He hopped down from the ledge with effortless grace, landing mere inches from where you stood. "Okay, okay," he said, hands raised in surrender. "How about we start slow? You don’t even have to go near the edge. Just... trust me, alright?"

You squinted at him. "Trust you? You’re the guy who thought it was a good idea to swing through Manhattan with me dangling like a wet noodle last time. I screamed so loud I lost my voice for a day."

Peter laughed, the sound warm and boyish, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, I deserved that. But this time, no swinging. Just standing. Maybe sitting. Baby steps."

His hand found yours, fingers lacing through softly, and despite yourself, you felt a flicker of comfort in his touch. He tugged you gently toward the ledge, your feet dragging slightly, your heart already racing.

"Peter, I swear if you try anything—"

He stopped abruptly, turning to you with a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like you’d just stabbed him. "You wound me, my love! Do you think so little of me?"

You couldn’t help it; you swatted his chest lightly, a laugh escaping despite your nerves. "You’re such a dork and No, I don’t think of you at all."

"And yet, you’re still holding my hand," he quipped, his grin softening into something more genuine.

You reached the ledge—not the edge, but close enough for your knees to wobble. Peter stopped with you, standing behind you now, his hands gently resting on your shoulders.

"Okay, breathe," he murmured, his voice calm and grounding. "You’re not going anywhere. Just look out. Not down, okay? Look at the skyline."

You nodded, exhaling shakily as your gaze drifted to the horizon. The lights were breathtaking, a tapestry of glowing windows and streets that stretched endlessly. For a moment, you forgot where you were.

Peter’s voice brought you back. "See? You’re doing great. And for the record, you look really cute when you’re not glaring at me like I ruined your life."

You laughed softly, feeling the tension in your chest ease just a bit. "Don’t get cocky, Parker."

"Too late," he shot back, resting his chin on your shoulder now. His breath tickled your ear, and you shivered, but not from fear but cause it was getting really cold..

"Okay," he continued, his tone gentler, "how about sitting? I’ll sit first, and you can just... stay next to me. No pressure."

You hesitated, but Peter was already lowering himself onto the ledge, his legs dangling once more. He patted the spot beside him, looking up at you with those wide, puppy-dog eyes that made it nearly impossible to say no.

"Fine," you muttered, lowering yourself cautiously. Peter’s arm immediately wrapped around your waist, steadying you as your legs dangled over the edge. Your heart thudded in your chest, but you weren’t sure if it was the height or Peter’s touch.

"There we go," he said softly, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your side. "Not so bad, right?"

You glanced at him, his face so close now, and you couldn’t help but smile. "I guess. But if I die, I’m haunting you forever."

Peter’s laugh was loud and carefree, his head tipping back. "Deal. But you won’t, because I won’t let you.”

"And beside you’re so brave," he said suddenly, his tone softer now. His gaze met yours, earnest and filled with pride. "Seriously. I know this isn’t easy for you, but you’re doing amazing. I’m proud of you."

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away, embarrassed but secretly grateful. "Don’t try to butter me up, dumbass."

He grinned, leaning closer to press a quick kiss to your temple. "I think we can work something out. I’ve got a lot of ideas for helping you get over that fear. Maybe you’ll moan a little bit but that’s the fun."

"That’s it, you’re definitely haunted," you shot back, but the smile on your face said otherwise.

[cruel-seduction]

Our Christmas 

Summary:

When Peter’s Christmas plans go awry, he’s left heartbroken and guilt-ridden, thinking he’s lost everything that matters. But a surprise awaits him at home—one that leaves him questioning everything he thought he knew about love and forgiveness. As emotions run high, Peter finds himself torn between the holidays and the one person who makes everything worth it. Will it be too late to fix what’s broken?

Genre - Angst & fluff.

Content Warning:

Mild angst, emotional conflict, mild language, and themes of guilt and self-doubt.

GLIMPSE - “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured softly, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled, touching your nose gently against his. “You did nothing. You just......you just showed up in my life and heart. And that’s enough for me.”

____

It was the first Christmas Peter Parker and you were spending together. And for the past month, you had been nothing short of excited, planning out every detail of the day. You told Peter a thousand times how this Christmas would be special, how you wanted it to be perfect, the kind of day you’d remember forever. You’d spent weeks planning the decorations, picking out the perfect tree, baking cookies with the kitchen filled with the smell of gingerbread and cinnamon. You had even gotten Peter to help with some of the little tasks, like stringing lights along the balcony railing and picking out matching Christmas sweaters for the two of you, all the while joking about how this would be the Christmas card photo you’d never send.

Peter, in his quiet, understated way, had been thrilled to see you so happy. He loved watching you, your excitement infectious. The way you talked about Christmas, about what it meant to you, made him want to be the person who helped make it magical. You had even gone so far as to set up the living room with candles, soft lights, and your favorite Christmas movie ready to play. The anticipation was palpable between the two of you, and Peter was eager to spend every moment with you, his heart feeling like it was growing fuller with every smile you gave him.

But as fate would have it, life had other plans.

It was Christmas Eve night, and everything had been set. The table was laid out with the meal you’d both cooked together—turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, everything. A perfect Christmas spread. You’d set out your favorite plates and glasses, knowing the night was supposed to be perfect.

However, Peter’s phone had buzzed earlier in the day. It was a call from work. Spider-Man duty, the kind of thing that didn’t take holidays off. At first, he’d tried to assure you that it would be quick. He promised he’d be back in time to enjoy everything you’d prepared. You hadn’t believed him. You knew how his work went, how emergencies didn’t stop for the holidays, but he still gave you that soft, sheepish grin as if his words would make things better.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Peter had said before he kissed your forehead, stepping out the door. "Promise."

You didn’t think it would be so bad. After all, he promised he’d be back.

But now, it was 3 AM.

Peter had saved the lives of a dozen people, all from a building that had caught fire, running into the burning structure when the fire department wasn’t even close yet. He’d carried people down dozens of flights of stairs, using his webbing to douse flames, making sure every person was safely outside before the firemen even arrived. That alone would’ve been enough to keep him out late. But of course, there was more.

After the fire, there had been a girl—a woman in her twenties, trapped in an alley by a group of men. Peter, still wearing his suit, swung by just in time to prevent something awful from happening. He’d stayed to make sure she was safe, speaking softly to calm her down, making sure the situation was under control before police arrived. He couldn’t leave her alone, not with what had almost happened. His heart was pounding in his chest, both from the fight he’d just had and the overwhelming need to make sure she was okay.

And then, after that, there was another emergency. A robbery. A gas station hold-up. He couldn’t leave, not until the cops had everything sorted out. It seemed like there was always one more thing. Always someone else who needed saving. And each time he made a promise to himself: once this is over, I’ll get back to her. I’ll make it up to her.

But each moment, each call for help, pulled him farther away from you.

And now, here he was. Exhausted, drained, his body sore and aching, not from the work itself but from the emotional toll of failing you. He had failed the person who meant everything to him.

Peter opened the door quietly, not wanting to wake you, but when he stepped inside, he saw the scene that broke his heart.

The apartment was dim, the soft glow of the Christmas lights casting long shadows on the walls. The table was still set with the untouched food. The cookies you’d baked together sat cooling on the counter, the decorations you’d spent hours putting up now looking a little less festive.

And there, on the couch, curled up in the blanket you’d picked out for the two of you to snuggle in, was you. Fast asleep, your hair messily falling around your face, lips slightly parted in a quiet breath. You looked so peaceful, so perfect, and yet the sadness that gripped Peter’s chest made him feel like he couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t want to wake you. He didn’t want to ruin this moment, not after everything, but the guilt weighed on him like a crushing force. The weight of the night had followed him inside, and for a moment, all he could do was stand there and look at you. You’d been so excited. You’d done all this, for him. And yet, here he was, showing up at 3 AM after failing to keep his promises.

His throat tightened, and his hands clenched at his sides, struggling to stop the tears that were threatening to fall. You didn’t deserve this. You deserved someone who could be there when they said they would. You deserved a perfect Christmas. And he couldn’t give you that.

He took a slow step back, his mind racing with self-blame, until he turned, heading toward the balcony. He needed space. He needed to clear his head.

Stepping out onto the cold balcony, Peter leaned against the railing, his gaze lifting to the moonlit sky. The chill of the winter night didn’t reach him; the real cold was inside him, deep in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, the sting of tears threatening again.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if speaking to the universe, or maybe to you, wherever you were. His breath fogged in the night air, and he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He had failed you. The one person who had been there for him through thick and thin, the one person who made his life brighter, and he had failed you on Christmas.

Peter let out a shaky breath, the weight of the disappointment crashing over him.

As Peter stood on the balcony, his body leaning against the railing, the cold air biting at his skin, he was so lost in his own guilt that he didn’t hear you stir on the couch. You blinked awake, your mind still groggy from sleep, but something felt wrong—something in the air felt different, colder than the winter night had any right to be. The warmth you had expected to wake up to was gone, and when your eyes landed on the empty spot next to you, the absence of Peter hit you like a ton of bricks.

Your first instinct was panic, but then your gaze shifted to the bags on the floor—the ones Peter had dropped when he walked in. A breath caught in your throat. He was home. But something told you this wasn’t the sweet reunion you had been hoping for. You could feel it—the tension, the distance, even though you hadn’t spoken a word to him yet.

Suddenly, anger began to bubble up from somewhere deep inside. You had waited. You had put so much effort into making this Christmas special, hoping for a moment of peace with Peter, only for him to disappear into his responsibilities, leaving you behind. You had been patient, but the frustration had built up all day, a slow burn that was impossible to ignore anymore.

Your bare feet hit the cold floor as you stood up, pulling on the warm, worn-out sweater you’d tossed aside earlier. You had to see him. You had to ask him why this was always happening, why he kept choosing everyone else over you, why he made you feel like you were never enough.

Walking swiftly, your thoughts running wild, you moved toward the balcony. The anger was real, and you wanted to yell at him. You wanted to make him feel as bad as he’d made you feel tonight. Why wasn’t your love enough to make him stay? Why was his work always more important?

But as you stepped closer to the balcony doors, ready to confront him, you froze.

There he was. Peter. Still in his suit, but something was different. His posture was slumped, defeated, and the faint glow from the city streets barely illuminated the dark bruises on his face. The burn mask on his face was just visible enough for you to catch it in the faint light. He was crying, though he was doing his best to hide it. His body trembled slightly, whether from the cold or from the emotional weight of everything pressing down on him, you didn’t know.

All your anger drained away in an instant, replaced by a quiet ache in your chest. You could see the way he blamed himself—how much he hated himself for what had happened. You knew Peter. You knew he was a hero, and he carried the world on his shoulders whether he wanted to or not. 

A lump formed in your throat, and your anger melted away, replaced by something more painful: empathy. You could never feel the pain he was going through, the guilt that was suffocating him. You knew that right now wasn’t the time to fight with him. This wasn’t the moment for accusations or demanding answers. He needed space. He needed quiet. He needed you to let him breathe.

You took a small step back, moving silently, not wanting to interrupt the fragile moment that was unfolding before you. Instead of confronting him, you quietly walked back to the couch, curling up under the blanket again. You closed your eyes, trying to quiet the hurt inside you. But deep down, you knew Peter was doing his best—even if it didn’t feel like it to you in that moment. And that was enough for now. It had to be.

When you awoke again, the apartment was silent, the faint glow of morning light spilling in from the windows. The first thing you noticed was the warmth of the bed around you, the sheets tangled in a way that suggested you hadn’t gotten into them alone. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you realised where you were—safe in the bed you shared with Peter.

But Peter... He wasn’t beside you.

Instead, you turned and saw him on the couch. The couch, where you had slept just hours ago. His eyes were closed, but he was still in his suit, the mask discarded beside him, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. His body was curled slightly, as if trying to find comfort in a place that couldn’t offer it.

For a moment, you just watched him. You thought about everything: the hurt, the confusion, the love you both shared. But this—seeing him here, like this—told you everything you needed to know. He hadn’t wanted to leave you. He had just been so lost in everything that he couldn’t find his way back to you right away.

You stood quietly, gathering your thoughts as you grabbed your sweater from the floor. You didn’t want to wake him. You didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace that existed between you two. But you also knew that leaving a note would only make things harder. Peter would need to wake up and realize what he had done, and then, you would talk.

You stepped softly toward the door, your heart heavy with everything you had been through. But as you glanced back one last time at Peter, you knew that you would never walk away from him. Not really. Even if things weren’t perfect, you would always fight for him. You would always be there, even when it hurt.

And with that, you left the room, quietly shutting the door behind you, giving Peter the time and space he needed.

Peter had been staring at his phone for days now, the screen lighting up with a stark, silent absence. No new messages. No missed calls from you. Nothing. Every attempt to reach out to you had gone unanswered, and while a part of him understood why—he had let you down in a way that was impossible to ignore—it didn’t make the silence hurt any less.

He spent his days replaying everything in his mind, trying to find the moment he could have fixed it. What he could have said or done differently. His nights weren’t any better. They were filled with restless tossing and turning, his bed feeling far too big, far too empty. He craved the sound of your voice, the warmth of your laugh, even the way you would roll your eyes at his dorkiest jokes. But most of all, he missed you.

He had told himself not to push. To give you time. He owed you that much, after all. But as each day stretched into the next, a sinking feeling began to grow in his chest. What if you didn’t want to talk to him again? What if you were done? He hadn’t just failed to show up for Christmas; he had failed you.

This morning was no different. Peter sat at his desk, the hum of the office around him a dull background noise. He wasn’t even pretending to work at this point, his phone resting in the center of the desk like it was mocking him. It had been a week. A whole week of silence, and every second of it chipped away at him a little more.

Then, his phone rang.

The sound startled him so much that he knocked over his coffee, the lukewarm liquid spilling across his desk. He didn’t care. His hands fumbled to grab the phone, his heart leaping into his throat when he saw your name on the screen.

You. You were calling him.

Peter barely managed to swipe the screen to answer. “Hello?” he blurted, his voice cracking with a mix of surprise and relief.

“Peter.”

Your voice. It was shaky, breathless, filled with something that made every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Panic.

“I need you to come to my apartment. Now.”

“What? What’s going on?” His words tumbled out in a rush, alarm flooding him.

“Just—just come. Please.”

The call disconnected before he could ask anything else.

Peter’s blood ran cold. His mind raced through every worst-case scenario imaginable. Were you hurt? Were you in danger? The thought of you in pain, of something happening to you, was unbearable.

He shot up from his desk, his chair screeching loudly against the floor as he grabbed his jacket. His coworkers gave him questioning looks, but he didn’t stop to explain. His mind was focused on one thing: getting to you.

His body moved on autopilot, weaving through the bustling streets with a single-minded determination. Every second felt like an eternity, the city around him a blur as he pushed through the crowd, his breaths coming fast and shallow. He didn’t care about anything else—not the job he’d just abandoned, not the people staring as he sprinted down the street, nothing.

Your apartment building came into view, and Peter barely slowed down as he burst through the front door, his boots pounding against the stairs as he took them two at a time. His heart was racing, pounding so loudly in his ears that he could barely hear anything else.

When he reached your door, he didn’t hesitate. He knocked hard, his hand trembling slightly.

“Hey, I’m here!” he called out, his voice loud and desperate. “Are you okay? Open the door!”

Seconds stretched into what felt like hours as he waited, his heart hammering against his ribcage. His mind was a whirlwind of questions, his stomach twisting with dread. What could have happened? Why had you sounded so scared?

But more than anything, he was afraid of what he might find on the other side of that door.

Peter’s hand trembled slightly as he turned the doorknob, the sound of his breath filling his ears. It had only been a matter of moments since the call, and his mind had been racing a hundred miles per minute. His heart had been pounding with every step, every breath he took, as he climbed the stairs, as he rushed to get to you. And now, standing in front of your door, he found it unlocked. His breath hitched as he slowly pushed the door open, feeling an immediate sense of confusion, followed by an odd tension.

The apartment was silent. The lights were off, casting everything in shadows, and Peter felt a cold shiver down his spine. His first thought was that something was wrong, but then he saw it. The soft glow of twinkling lights, the colorful garlands hanging on the walls, and the smell of something sweet in the air. It was Christmas décor, albeit a bit late, but Peter’s confusion deepened. He took a few tentative steps forward, still unsure of what to expect.

As he flicked the switch on the wall, the lights burst on, illuminating the room in a warm, golden glow. There, in the middle of the room, stood you. You were holding something in your hands, your back slightly hunched from the weight of what you were carrying. As soon as you saw him, your face broke into a huge grin, the kind of grin that could light up the world. And in that moment, Peter’s heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t the tears of panic he had expected to find—it wasn’t the fear he had been preparing himself for. No, it was you. You were standing there, smiling so brightly, holding a chocolate cake—the one flavor he loved more than anything—and Peter’s confusion only deepened. Wasn’t it almost New Year’s Eve? Why were you still celebrating Christmas?

You placed the cake on the table in front of him, the soft chocolate frosting glistening under the light. He stood frozen for a moment, his mind unable to catch up with what was happening. Before he could even gather his thoughts, you were moving toward him, stepping into his space with that same radiant smile still on your face. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling yourself into his chest, and in that instant, all the tension in Peter’s body melted away.

You were so small compared to him, your face almost level with his chest as you looked up at him with that look he adored. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you in tighter. You reached up, your lips gently brushing against his, a soft peck that sent sparks of warmth through him. For a moment, he just stood there, stunned, still processing everything.

Then, without thinking, his hands slid around your back, drawing you closer to him as the kiss deepened. He felt your hands slide to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair as the kiss grew more intense. His thumb brushed over the curve of your waist before sliding down, finding its place on your lower back. Slowly, his hand drifted down to your backside, and though it was playful and sweet, his touch was possessive, as though claiming the moment.

He felt you gasp slightly into the kiss, your body pressing against his, the warmth of your body meeting his in perfect harmony. The softness of your lips, the delicate pressure of your hands, everything about this moment seemed like a dream, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Peter felt like he could breathe again.

When you finally broke the kiss, your breath was shallow, your lips still tingling from the contact. You pulled back just slightly, looking up at him with those bright eyes that had always made his heart flutter. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you placed your hands gently on his chest.

“This... this is our Christmas,” you said, your voice soft but firm, as if the declaration alone was enough to make it true.

Peter blinked, still trying to catch up. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had been so sure that you were upset, that you were angry, that you’d never want to speak to him again after everything that had happened. But here you were, standing in front of him with that radiant smile, as though none of it mattered.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s Christmas or not,” you continued, your voice getting softer, but no less sure. “I wasn’t excited for Christmas. I was excited to spend the holiday with you. That’s all I wanted.” You said it so simply, so honestly, and Peter’s heart swelled in his chest. How had he gotten so lucky to have you?

You reached up to wipe a few stray strands of hair out of his face, your touch gentle but affectionate. Peter’s chest felt tight, not from anxiety but from the overwhelming affection he had for you, the overwhelming sense of gratitude that you were here with him. That you were still here with him.

Peter swallowed, his voice coming out hoarse. “I can’t believe this. I’ve spent all this time worrying about you, about how I messed things up. And you... you’re still here. With me.” His words caught in his throat as emotion threatened to overtake him.

You smiled again, your fingers brushing lightly over his cheek. “Of course, I’m still here. Where else would I be?”

That question hung in the air, sweet and sincere, and Peter was struck by the depth of it. It was so simple, yet so profound. It didn’t matter what had happened before. You were here, with him. And that was all that mattered.

Before he could say another word, you leaned in and kissed him again. This time, it was more than just a kiss—it was a promise. A promise that no matter what had happened, no matter what had kept them apart, they were going to be okay. They were together, and that was enough.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, a shared moment of warmth between them. Peter’s hand cupped your face, fingers softly tracing your cheekbone as he kissed you deeper. His other hand pulled you in closer, the weight of your body leaning into his as he savored every second. He was sure that time had stopped, that nothing else mattered except for the two of you, right here, in this space. His lips parted from yours for just a moment, and he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured softly, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled, touching your nose gently against his. “You did nothing. You just... you just showed up in my life and heart. And that’s enough for me.”

And there, in the soft glow of the Christmas lights, with the warmth of your bodies pressed together, Peter kissed you again. This time, it was a kiss full of everything. Full of longing, of forgiveness, of love. And as you kissed him back, you knew without a doubt that no matter what the future held, you and Peter were going to be alright. Together, forever.

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I am feeling very romantic lately. Like I am just in my fluffy soft core. So I need you to send me hardcore smut request. I don't like my this cringe side.

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