#tasm!peter fic

[literaila]

negotiating 

tasm!peter x reader 

summary: you wake up on peter’s chest. 

warnings: ‘tis just fluff

a/n: welcome to “verity is sick in bed so here comes an influx of blurbs” 

*

when you wake up, it's to peter's heart beating beneath your ear. 

a gentle lull in the dark; a trick he's playing on you. 

because you really shouldn't be asleep at three in the afternoon. and you'd promised him that you'd finish the movie. 

these are the thoughts you wake up to--head throbbing a bit more than it usually does. 

peter's heart laughs at you. it responds with a gentle call back to sleep, telling you that there's no need to be awake when you can fall back into the arms of not having to do a single thing. it sings to you, knowing how fragile your resolve is. 

and it would be nice. 

but you flinch awake, eyes opening all at once. 

you're right on top of peter, so he jolts with you, releasing a breath into the world. 

"woah," he says, hand around your back pulling you even tighter. "you okay?" 

his other hand is on your head, drawing a picture you'll never get to see. you almost keen into the touch. 

you blink away the sleep, looking up at him to find soft eyes on you, a smile, and a crinkle of concern. 

"how long was i asleep?" 

peter hums, rubbing a hand on your back. "about a half hour. not long." 

you frown. "is the movie over?" 

"i turned it off. we'll finish it some other time," he's smiling at you, just enough to ease that shame into your chest. 

you groan into his, tasting cotton. 

"i'm sorry, peter," you say, not that he can hear you, "we were going to finish it." 

peter laughs. his hand is still on your head, still tempting you with the idea of letting it drag you back down. he pulls you even closer, letting a kiss fall right beside his hand. "we were never going to finish it." 

"what'd you mean?" you mumble, into his shirt. 

"i just wanted you to lay down." 

you lift your head, only slightly. "this was a trap?" 

"yeah," peter purses his lips. "you weren't going to settle down any other way." 

"you tricked me with cuddles?" 

you can see it on his perfectly sculpted face--the effort not to laugh. 

"mutual benefits," peter says, simply. 

you push his hand off of your head and he scoffs. 

"i'm not cuddling with you anymore," you tell him, pouting. 

you both know that his hand is still wrapped around your waist in a makeshift hug. and you both know that you haven't moved an inch. 

still, peter's eyes soften. "i did it for you," he claims, with a face that is too sweet. 

you scowl. "you're a liar." 

he only smiles, brings his spare hand to trace your jaw. and he doesn't answer, because he has no excuse. 

"you wanted me to fall asleep so that you didn't have to spend time with me." 

peter laughs at the pure absurdity of that sentence. 

but you're still frowning, so he ruffles your hair. 

"on the contrary," peter says, close to your ear now. voice low enough that you know he's only saying it to you. "i wanted to cuddle with you on the couch for a little while." 

"you lured me in with a movie." 

his sweet words hold nothing to your stubbornness. especially when you've only just woken up. 

and you just completely ignore the hand on your back, rubbing tense places you'd forgotten existed. 

"you didn't want to watch a movie," peter claims. 

"maybe i did." 

"you fell asleep." 

"maybe i was listening to the movie." 

peter snorts. "you were snoring." 

"i do not snore, peter parker." 

the corners of his eyes crinkle, amused at you. at the angle you're at, you can see when he swallows. you can memorize the indents on his skin, sculpt him out of nothing. 

"you do snore," he says, softly. "it's adorable." 

"it's not adorable." 

peter looks up at the ceiling, and you watch his eyes as they move from place to place. "how would you know?" he asks, looking back at you. 

and you just about forget that you're arguing with him. 

you swallow. "i have an app." 

peter raises a brow. "an app?" 

"yes. it records me while i sleep." 

"does it?" 

"and i don't snore." 

at least peter's laugh is quiet. "you trust this app more than you trust me?" 

you pretend to think about it for a moment. 

to think about falling asleep at just the sound of his heart. 

"yes." 

peter mock drops his jaw, frowning. "and i thought you loved me." 

"what gave you that impression?" 

peter proceeds to stare at you for so long that you burst out giggling into his chest. 

and you can't see it, but he's smiling at you in a brand of adoration that is completely his own. he's completely entranced in every single beat of your heart. 

"i'm sorry for tricking you," peter says, to just your head. "but you were tired." 

"i thought you wanted to cuddle." 

"like i said: i got to cuddle and you got some more sleep. joint interest." 

"a breach of contract," you argue, looking back up at him. 

"how?" 

"you're supposed to bring me to bed when i fall asleep on the couch so that i'm not sore. paragraph seven." 

you feel peter's chest vibrate in a silent laugh. 

"i was acting as your bed. that's better than just throwing you on some mattress." 

"you are literally hard as stone." 

"...i'm going to take that as a compliment." 

"there is no fat here. just rock-hard abs," you poke his chest, laughing when he squirms just a little. 

"you know, you weren't complaining earlier when--" 

you groan into his chest and peter wraps you in his arms again, hugging you like he's not sure what else he can do. 

you lean into him, enjoying the warmth. 

enjoying the sound of his heart as it races below you. 

peter mumbles something that you can't hear, but you look up at him, questioning eyes. 

he shakes his head like he's changed his mind about something. "do you want to go to bed?" he whispers, thumb rubbing against your cheek, laughing when he feels you twitch beneath it. "you didn't sleep for very long." 

"can we just stay here?" 

you cuddle into his chest again, now allowing his heart to lure you. 

"sure, bug," peter says, softly. "whatever you want." 

and you fall asleep to the sound of his heart; clenched in your grasp. 

*

my masterlist here. 

tags:  @moonlarking-blog​ @v1ci0us​ @preciousbabypeter​ @alexxavicry​ @directioner5life​ @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah​ @localrockstargf​

[moonstruckme]

Hii again

So after thinking it over, I'd like to humbly request Peter Parker with a reader who casually mentions one time (maybe even before they're dating) that her love language it physical affection

After that, Peter makes sure to always touch her, hold her hand, kiss her, etc

Thank you so much!!

-🔮

Hi my love, sorry it took me a bit to get to this! Thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy it :D

Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 799 words

“Hi pretty girl,” Peter calls as he comes in the door. “How was your day?”

You grin, going to meet him in the living room, where Peter sweeps you into his arms for a kiss. You laugh against his lips. “It was good. How about yours?”

He holds you to his front with one arm, chucking his backpack into the corner with the other before dragging the both of you down onto the couch. “Awful,” he laments, bespeckling your neck and shoulder with kisses. “So long without you. I was cold.” 

“My poor boy,” you coo sympathetically, rolling over so you’re facing him and combing your fingers through his hair. “Get any bad guys?”

“Tons of bike thieves. Nothing interesting.” 

“Hey, bike theft is a serious crime,” you argue. “If I were a college student or a delivery person, I would be very glad you were on the streets today.” 

Peter’s forefinger traces a path from your temple to your chin. “But you’re you, so you missed me, right?”

“I did.” It’s no big admittance. You make it obvious enough. “I always miss you.” 

He laughs, tilting your chin upwards and pecking you on the lips. “You miss hugs and kisses, not me.” His free hand begins roving your back as though to drive the point home. 

“I miss you, and the hugs and kisses,” you counter. “I would still miss you without them, though.” 

Peter raises his eyebrows, hands stilling as though to call your bluff. It takes some serious effort not to pout. “Oh yeah?” His voice is lilting, eyelashes pinching at the corners. “You think you could still love me if we never touched?”

“Of course I could,” you laugh. 

“You really think so?”

“Easily.” 

Peter whistles. “Bold words for someone whose love language is physical touch.” 

You blink, going from teasing to confused in the space of a second. “How’d you know that?”

“Uh, you told me,” he says, grinning. 

“What? When?”

“I dunno…like, a couple weeks after we started hanging out? Before we were dating. We were talking about personality tests, comparing results and whatever, and you said your top love language, by far, was physical touch.” 

“Oh.” You don’t remember that at all. “Is it yours, too?”

Peter’s answering grin is borderline sheepish. “It’s a close second. My first is acts of service.” 

“Huh.” Of course it is. It’s almost funny, that you’d ever thought Peter’s love language could be anything else. So why had he been the one touching you all this time? You don’t hold back with the physical affection either, but you’ve never been the first one to reach for Peter’s hand, or open your arms for a hug, or move in for a kiss. Peter’s always there, ready for you to give him the signal. Ever since your first date, his hands have been on you constantly, keeping you close. Even before that, when his touches were more chaste, they were still there. He’d link arms with you in crowds or squeeze your shoulder when you were nervous or offer you a hug on a bad day. 

“Hey, don’t go all shy on me.” Peter pinches at your side. “What’s going on in that pretty head?”

You realize you have started blushing, thinking of how he’s been accommodating you all this time. “Nothing, just…is that why you’re always so touchy? Because of me?”

Peter runs his hand up and down your side, from your hip to your underarm and back again in a pensive rhythm. “I mean, if you’re asking if I want to touch you, I do. I guess what goes through my head, basically, is I love you and want you to know it, so I just do the thing that I know will register with you.” He shrugs. “And I don’t mind it either, so that’s a bonus.” 

There’s a little smile playing at his lips, but it does nothing to undercut the sincerity in his eyes. Your heart grows heavy with fondness. “Peter, that’s so thoughtful of you.” You take his face in your hand, stroking at his cheek. “God, I don’t deserve you, do I? Give me some acts of service to do for you. Any holes in your suit need mending?”

Peter smiles at you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Thanks, baby, but I’ve got it. Just be here when I get home, and that’s enough for me.”

You start to protest, but he kisses you, palming the side of your face to angle you closer. He tastes like the fruity gum he sometimes chews, and your lips part automatically for him, but you won’t be diverted from your cause.

Starting tomorrow, there’s going to be a cup of coffee waiting when he wakes up and a packed lunch for his patrol.

[frankoceanluvrr]

𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 — 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑

pairing : fem!reader x peter parker, reunited childhood friends to lovers 😫, college!au

warnings : english isn’t my first language, so there could be a couple of grammatical mistakes! plz lmk if u see them! This is so long btw I’m sorry 😭

summary : before he moved away, he gave her a necklace to remember him by. she hasn’t taken it off since.

a/n : you can imagine any peter for this, not specifically tasm i just like the gif -> mj will be included, u can imagine mary or michelle it’s up to you😊 also tysm for 19 followers!!!!!!!!

“Take this,” the young boy sighed, passing the necklace, “it’ll be a reminder of me or whatever. I know I’m not dying or anything but I don’t think we’ll see each other again in person.”

“You really think so?” You sniffled.

“Hey, don’t start crying now you big baby, we can still email and call each other” Peter smiled, nudging your arm.

“You’re the baby, not me, I just had something in my eye.”

“Yeah right [Name], you’re like totally miserable I’m going.”

“You’re the one who got me the necklace! It’s really pretty by the way, I love it,” You said, “I can’t believe you’re leaving me before high school though”

“Look, just promise me we’ll keep in touch?” He asked, eyes meeting yours, “and even if we don’t, take care of the necklace for me?”

“Promise.”

And you hadn’t seen him since that day. It wasn’t like you didn’t try to keep in touch though, it was just a matter of life getting in the way. You had been good friends ever since you were little kids, you had always felt it was a shame you never got to see each other grow up properly. He never forgot you either.

But let’s not dwell on the past. First day of college and you were a wreck. You had always hated change, and you were nervous going somewhere and not knowing anyone except your extremely antisocial roommate, Mj.

You fiddled with your necklace as you struggled to find the room you were in.

“Um, sorry to bother you, but do you know where Professor Browne would be?” You asked, tapping the tall boy on the shoulder.

He turned around, soft eyes looking down at yours, then to your necklace. He smiled, waiting to see your reaction after seeing your childhood friend after years, only to be met with your polite smile. In your defence, he looked completely different. Being bit by a radioactive spider changes a person, including their physique, but it especially changes them while they’re still growing into their bodies. When you knew Peter, he was around about the same height as you and a little chubby. He was now tall and lean, the only thing that hadn’t changed were his brown eyes.

“It’s just down the hall.” He pointed, directing you toward where you were meant to be.

In reality, he was slightly hurt you didn’t recognise him.

“I’m Peter, by the way.” He said, in hopes you’d remember him by his name.

“I’m [Name], thank you for helping me! It was really nice to meet you, but I really need to get going. Thank you again!” You smiled as you walked off.

He felt the urge to call after you, then it dawned on him you probably forgot about your friendship with him. Which obviously wasn’t true, you just didn’t recognise him, but he kept convincing himself it was because you forgot.

“Wait, Peter?” You turned around, “like the Peter from middle school?”

“Took you long enough to realise.” He laughed.

“Shut up no way! You’re kidding right? You look so different! We really need to catch up, what’s your number?” You said, eyes bright and wide.

“Oh, hitting on me already [Name]?” He smirked playfully.

He ended up giving his number as you hurriedly walked to your class, even though you were barely late.

After your class, you decided to meet up with Peter at a nearby cafe. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, but you were excited regardless.

“Hey,” you smiled sheepishly, “what are the chances, right?”

“Your necklace,” he said, completely ignoring what you said, “you kept it?”

“I promised, remember? It’s beautiful.”

He could only blush at what you said, the fact you kept it after all these years meant so much to him. He remembers the day he picked the necklace for you so vividly, because it was the day he was going to confess his feelings for you. He never did, but he doesn’t regret it since it wouldn’t have worked out anyway, you were both young and he was moving away. Relationship set up for failure.

“How did you even recognise me?” He asked, looking at you with curiosity.

“Your eyes.” you smiled warmly.

“Stop flirting with me, [Name]. I know I’m incredibly handsome and all-”

“You’re still a major geek, by the way.” You cut him off, “biophysics, really? I knew you had a thing for science but wow.”

“Hey! No need for that honestly, we both used to like science” He raised his hands in defence.

“Yeah, used to. Past tense.” You rolled your eyes playfully.

The conversation flowed so easily. It was as if he never left, you talked till cafe closed which was around 10pm.

“Hey, let me walk you to your dorm. I’m sure mine nearby anyway.” He shrugged.

“So chivalrous, Parker. Really, I’m impressed.” You teased, walking beside him, “oh, that totally reminds me, you know spiderman right?”

“Uh, I’ve heard of him before”

“Yeah okay right, you’ve never seen me and him in the same room before,” you started, “I’m definitely him, this is me telling you.”

“Wow, thank you so much [Name] for telling me this massive secret of yours, no idea how you could keep it to yourself honestly.”

“It’s about time I let the whole world know, don’t you think?”

You honestly didn’t mean anything by these comments, you were just joking around, but Peter could feel his heart tighten a bit. He felt like you knew he was Spiderman, which was impossible, but it still worried him.

“Anyways, thanks for dropping me off,” you smiled, “it was really sweet of you.”

He blushed, but you could barely see because it was so dark.

“Before you go,” He said, grabbing your hand as you turned around, “I just wanted to tell you I really missed you.”

You could feel yourself melt a little, “I missed you too.”

He waited for you to go into your dorm as you waved goodbye. His dorm was actually on the other side of campus, he just wanted to walk you.

He spent the whole night thinking about you, how pretty you’d become, how you were still kind. He could feel himself falling for you again already, your energy was just so attractive to him.

Chapter (?) 2 : Late Night Calls

It had been months since you guys had reunited, and you had grown closer than before. It was about 2am and you were still studying. You could feel yourself drowning in what felt like millions of topics, constantly feeling the need to check your phone. You had texted Peter and he hadn’t replied, so throwing yourself into your work was apparently the best option. You liked him so much. It felt silly to have such a big crush on him, but he treated you so well.

While you were studying, Peter was out on night patrol. Balancing education and heroism was always difficult, it left him feeling so overwhelmed he’d shut people out. During night patrol, he’d gotten into a pretty bad fight. He found himself swinging to campus, more specifically your dorm.

Your phone buzzed.

Incoming call..

You answered, squinting at the bright light coming from the device, “Hello?”

“[Name]? I’m so sorry to bother you, but can I come over?” His voice rushed and breathless.

You sat up, feeling way more awake, “Is everything okay? What’s happened? Are you out?”

Your questions were interrupted by a soft knock on the window.

Peter had gotten used to the quick clothes changing by now. He left his suit nearby outside, he was 99% sure no one would take it.

You walked to your window to see Peter, but he had several cuts and bruises across his face.

“Oh my God” you gasped under your breath, trying to stay quiet as you opened the window.

He came through the window as you sat him on your bed.

“Just stay here,” you whispered, “there’s a first aid kit in the other room.”

You came back with the first aid kit and began to help him, no questions asked yet.

“Thank you,” his voice inaudible, “I mean it, you’re so sweet [Name].”

“How did you get to the window?” You asked, placing a bandage on his head.

“Uh, adrenaline?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “what happened?”

He sighed, avoiding eye contact with you. Was he really about to tell you his secret?

“I’m Spiderman.”

“What?” You said, forgetting all about mj sleeping in the other room.

You quickly brought a hand to your mouth, eyes still wide.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s a shock, I just haven’t told anyone before.” He started, “but um, I have something else to tell you.”

He reached for your hands, squeezing them slightly, “I really like you, [Name].”

Your eyes were practically about to pop out your head.

“You’re joking right?” You chuckled sheepishly.

“No, Im serious [Name]. I love everything about you. I love your smile, your laugh. God I love your laugh.”

Your brain was trying to process all of this without making too much of a scene.

Your hands reached for his cheek, “Can I?”

He answered your question by planting a soft kiss on your lips, smiling into it.

You pulled away, “I really like you too, Parker.”

All he could do was blush.

“I cant believe you’re Spiderman, though. I have a million questions.” You laughed.

“Shoot.”

a/n : so sorry this is so rushed 😭 i just wanted to finish it idk why this has taken me SO long to write

[citrusy-lemons]

meet-cute

tasm!peter x reader (university au)

summary: you're late to your class and someone's left a skateboard on your path. the owner of the skateboard has very brown eyes.

w/c: 0.8k

author's note: um, hi. this is the first thing i've written for peter parker (i know, shocking, i mostly read about him) so i'm not sure whether i've captured his essence, but i tried. also i know it's a bit cringey but i started writing it in the reader's pov and i couldn't change it to peter's in the middle like i wanted to so, i guess, next time. i hope you like this! constructive criticism is encouraged, please be nice :)

you had not imagined your first day of university to go this way. it was a cloudy day, pleasant and not too windy. you were hoping to make it to class a few minutes early and have everything set up before the professor arrived. 

but instead, you were late, you were not organized at all, and you were panicking. all because your stupid alarm hadn’t gone off. why? because you’d forgotten to change the timezone in your phone. moving to the new city had not been easy and now you were super late for your class.

cursing yourself for your stupidity, you were hurrying across the campus, you weren’t sure where your class was, but you were hoping that you’re walking in the right direction. 

checking your bag, hoping to god that you’d grabbed the right books on your way out, with a cup of coffee in your other hand, you awkwardly jogged across the campus to the building where you hoped would be philosophy by mr. jackson. 

you were in the midst of congratulating yourself on successfully having the correct textbooks in your bag when the earth shifted. 

okay maybe that was a bit dramatic but that was what had happened to you. the earth hadn’t shifted, but you’d fallen on your butt because someone had left a skateboard lying in the middle of the walking path. 

thankfully, your coffee hadn’t spilled but your books sure had. looking up you found a brown-haired boy bashfully kneeling down and start collecting the books, profusely apologizing.

"-really sorry, are you okay? did you break anything? i broke my ankle a couple of years ago but i was just being stupid, oh god did you break your ankle? i hope you didn't, that hurts a lot. i'm so so sorry, are you okay?" he finished, turning his brown eyes on you in concern.

he looked very... soft. he was wearing a brown jacket and a navy blue zip up over a light blue tshirt. his headphones were hanging out of the neck of his tshirt. he looked like he smiled a lot. his brown hair was ruffled, his brows furrowed and you realized he was still waiting for your answer.

"i dont think i've broken my ankle if that's what you're worried about," you sat up. your butt was sore, but other than that you were okay.

"okay, that's good, that's a start, anything else broken?" he bit his lip, and you tried not to stare at it.

"no, doesn't feel like it," you took a breath, and looked away from him, towards the guilty board, "why don't you explain why your skateboard was just lying there?"

he helped you up, your coffee was still intact, you dusted yourself off.

"oh, uh yeah, again, i'm really sorry, i was checking my schedule on whether philosophy was right now or in an hour and i didn't realise it had rolled away from me," he did look very guilty, his frown saying as much.

he returned your books and you stuffed them in your bag which was lying on the ground. he was still looking at you.

"be careful then," say something clever, why wasn't your brain working?

"i'm really sorry," he offered, why was he still looking at you?

he picked his own bag up from the ground and looked away, grabbing his skateboard too.

you blinked.

"i think philosophy is right now,"

he looked at you again.

"which reminds me," you walked past him, fast. almost running, looking straight ahead.

philosophy is right now and you are very late.

"um, hey!" you heard him call out and turned around, still walking. he was facing your direction, looking at you again.

"philosophy by mr. jackson?" he asked, his skateboard in one hand and his brown bag slung across his back. did he really like the color brown?

"yeah," you called back, hoping he didn't have the same class as you.

"his classroom's that way," he pointed his thumb behind him.

goddamnit.

you stopped and started walking in his direction and he joined with you as you went past him. he took the hint that you were late and didn't really feel like making conversation. you tried not to visually show your panic but he seemed like a good observer.

you both reached the classroom (it was the first room in the building how could you have missed it?), and saw that yeah, you guys were very late.

the classroom was full, and a middle aged man was already talking to the students. professor jackson noticed you both before you had a chance to say anything.

"ah late on the first day, not making a good impression mr. and miss...?"

"peter- uh parker, peter parker," the boy next to you said.

you introduced yourself and mr. jackson let you both get to your seats without further embarrassment.

you sat down, pulled your textbook out and tried listening to what the professor was saying.

you looked for him and found peter parker's brown eyes already on you.

[shewroteaworld]

Movie Date Migraine

Premise: On a movie date with Peter Parker, a migraine strikes you down. You don't want Peter to see you like this, but he refuses to let you go home alone.

Reader is female-identifying. Reader has hair long enough to be put in a ponytail.

Word count: aprox. 3,500

tw: descriptions of nausea and vomiting, reference to childhood trauma (unspecified)

(Y/N) knows she should go home. 

But, she can’t. Not until this movie is finished.

Sitting next to Peter Parker in the darkness of the movie theater, with your forearms touching and fingers brushing when you reach for popcorn, is typically an experience that sends heat dancing up your arms and butterflies flitting around your stomach.

Right now, nausea was the only thing pulsing through your stomach. And with the surround sound tightening the band around your forehead and the lights sending sparks across your vision, Peter’s arm touching yours is only adding to the sensory tsunami slamming you. 

You denied it when zigzags cut across your vision when you touched up your lipstick in the elevator. You denied it when Peter’s voice distorted on your walk to the theater. You denied it when a wave of dizziness hit you on your way to the restroom. But now, you couldn’t deny it any longer: a migraine storm was upon you. A rough night awaits, but you’re not ready for Peter to get up close and personal with your migraines yet.

For your entire life, you battled with migraine. In grade school, the pain forced you out of field trips, sports practices, and musical rehearsals and into bed with blackout curtains drawn, a cool cloth laid on your forehead, and a bucket by your bedside. Not a particularly attractive sight for your new(ish) boyfriend to see. 

The aura for this headache was coming on strong. When the actors’ voices began changing intonation like a chameleon changing colors, you knew a harsh spell encroached. You need to make it through this date and get back to your apartment before Peter sees you collapse in a pile of puke and tears. 

And, you have a game plan. Phase 1: Make it through the film without collapsing or puking. Phase 2: When Peter walks you home, hold his arm and lay your head on his shoulder. It’ll masquerade as a cute gesture, when in reality, you’ll be using him as a human cane. Phase 3: Get home, lock the door, and go into Migraine Emergency Mode. 

Slowly but surely, you were revealing your layers to Peter at a safe, comfortable pace. This shitty action movie was not going to get in the way.

An abrupt on-screen crash shocks you out of your scheming. The main characters sent their car careening into a ditch. Just as the jackhammering in your head began to die down, the car burst into flames.

You throw a hand over your eyes. A gurgle of nausea twists in your gut.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” Peter whispers in your ear. 

You snap your eyes open. So much for appearing nonchalant. You take your hand from your face. Red hot pain radiates down your body, but you clamp your lips into a neutral expression. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“Do you need some air?”

On one hand, you could surrender. You could let Peter walk you into the foyer and buy you an icy drink to hold to your eye. Maybe you could even let Peter take you home and cuddle you through the pain. You know Peter wants to be there for you. 

You shove those fantasies from your mind.

“No.” You whisper at a volume only Spider-Man could hear. 

Suddenly, a yelling match breaks out on screen. You close your eyes shut. You can’t hold back a whimper.

Peter wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Honey, you don’t seem alright. We can leave.”

Your resolve crumples. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry” barely passes your lips before Peter’s slung both your jackets over his arm and looped the strap of your cross body bag around his fingers. “Please, don’t be sorry.” Peter stands in front of you, but you stare at your lap. Peter’s fingers intertwine with hers. “I’m sure this blockbuster will be here all summer.” He jokes, and in your mind’s eye you can see his smirk. You don’t have the energy to crack a smile.

“C’mon, sweetie.” Gently, Peter grabs your limp wrist. 

You focus all the energy in your body to propel you out of the chair. You stumble into Peter’s chest. 

He stabilizes you. “Okay, baby, okay.” He soothes.

“I’m sorry.” You say. 

“Sweetheart, you’re fine.” He’s bending down to meet your eyes, but you refuse to look at his face. “Lean on me. Let’s get you out of here.”

With Peter’s arm wrapped around your waist and your head resting on his chest, you descend the cinema stairs and make your way out of the theater.

***

Getting down the stairs wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. Typically, during a migraine, stairs are your personal hell.

But, with Spider-Man supporting most of your bodyweight, the physical exertion lessens significantly. 

Plus, it’s not just the safety of Spider-Man that’s helping. It’s Peter Parker’s safe hands holding you close. It’s Peter Parker's frame shielding you from gruff moviegoers working their way around you down the mall steps. It’s Peter Parker keeping you upright, and that’s enough to keep your brain generating numbing happy chemicals even in the worst of times.

Peter guides you to a bench next to the atrium. You lay your head on his shoulder, but abruptly sit up. 

This nightmare gets worse from here. You have to go home by yourself. You’re not ready for this. You’re not–

“(Y/N), honey? Are you with me?” Peter’s tenderly cradling your face. “You’re starting to scare me.”

You blink. “I’m here, I’m here.” You take a deep breath to ground yourself from the swirling dizziness. You force a weak smile. “Just a little headache.”

Peter cocks an eyebrow. “A little headache?” He cradles your chin. “You look like you’ve been concussed, babe.” Softer, he asks, “Do you get migraines?”

Your chest falls. The jig is up. “Yeah, I’m having a migraine.”

“Okay.” His tone is soft, but there’s a hardness in his eyes and a pinch between his brows and you know it’s not from worry. He’s annoyed you didn’t tell him. If there’s one thing that puts a rift between you and Peter, it’s that you won’t let him help you. You didn’t tell him when you forgot your lunch the day you had a big presentation. You didn’t tell him when your insomnia came back. You didn’t tell him when you caught the 24-hour bug 2 months ago. And now he knows you’ve been hiding this. 

“I’m sorry.” You squeak.

“Oh, honey, no.” Peter whispers. “Let’s just focus on getting you out of here and in bed. Don’t even think. I’ll get you back to my apartment.” 

“No,” you shake your head but stop when nausea slithers up your throat. You swallow hard. “No, I need to go home.”

“Sweetheart, your apartment’s across town, and I don’t think you can walk or swing right now.”

The damp wool of your sweater constricts your sweaty skin. “I have all my medication and things in my apartment.” You argue, but the fight in your voice is weak.

“I have lots of meds and supplies stocked because of…you know. I think I’ve got everything you need, and I can always swing over to your apartment to grab something.”

Suddenly, a crowd of moviegoers comes stomping towards the foyer, ushering in a cacophony of laughter and voices. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, and Peter drags your face into his shoulder. You fist his sweatshirt and squeeze until your fingers hurt. 

“Let’s get you home, my love.” He whispers.

You know by home he doesn’t mean your apartment. You know he means his place, where you spend half of your time and have your personal belongings threaded through his. 

Maybe it’s the crippling exhaustion. Maybe it’s the fact that every step sends pain shooting through your skull. Regardless, you surprise yourself with your answer. 

“Okay.”

***

“I know, I’m sorry, honey.” Peter whispers into your hair. He presses your body against his side as he leads you to the second set of elevators in the foyer. 

Dating a chemical engineer has its perks; Peter could afford a nice apartment. However, the first set of elevators broke an hour after you left for your date. More steps for you.

Even with Peter nearly carrying you, the final stretch to the elevator feels like a mile. The wait for the elevator to arrive worsens when a twist of nausea wracks your stomach. But soon, the elevator doors ding open.  

As soon as the doors shut behind you, you push against Peter’s hold.

“Babe?” He asks. He lets you go free.

You sink to the floor and unbutton your jacket. You take a deep breath, reveling in the coolness of the air conditioning and freedom from residual body heat. 

“I feel nauseous.” You groan.

He kneels next to you. “Do you need to throw up?” There was something about his hand on your shoulder, his tone, and his stern yet compassionate expression that reminded you of Spider-Man. He’d likely posed that same question on the beat to trauma victims. The guilt bubbling in your stomach amps up the queasiness. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath. 

“No.” You say. Peter cocks his brow again. Despite yourself, you shrink. “Maybe later. Not at this moment.” 

“Okay, darling. Would you let me carry you in?”

You swallow your shame. “Yes,” you say. 

Peters picks you up as if you weigh a feather. You wrap your arms around his neck as the elevator opens to his floor. 

***

You’re laying in Peter’s bed with his sheets wrapped around your face. Even with the blinds drawn, the New York City lights burn your sensitive eyes. 

Despite your prior objections, you can’t deny the comfort of laying in Peter’s soft duvet with the spicy scent of his cologne filling your nose. 

You hear the creak of the door as Peter steps into the room.

“Baby?” He whispers. “I brought you some stuff.”

Peter’s gait is slow and light, as if he’s trying not to creak the floorboards. Something taps the bedside table next to you.

“Can I see your head, baby? I know it’s bright outside, but I have this wrap around ice pack I think will really help.”

With a groan, you pull the blankets below your chin. You crack open your eyes, and to your surprise, Peter is holding a black version of your favorite migraine ice pack. It’s like a thick bandage that wraps around your eyes and forehead and velcros closed in the back. It’s cold, pitch black heaven.

You smile weakly. “Thanks, Peter.” You mumble. Dating someone with super hearing is a huge perk when you’re a migraineur. 

“Of course.” He whispers. 

Peter lays the ice pack on your forehead, and your body relaxes. The pain still pulses like a bass drum beat in a metal song, but at least there’s something combating it. 

“Can I help you sit up, sweetie? I want to tie this behind your head.” 

You hum your approval. 

Gently, Peter raises your limp body and velcros the ends of the ice pack behind your head, creating 360 degree relief. 

You moan in relief. “Thank you, Peter.” 

“Oh course, sweetheart. There's a glass of water on the bedside table for you. Would you like some Pepto-Bismol?”

You hold back a gag. “No.” You croak. “But thanks.”

“After I change, can I get into bed next to you?”

You can’t help but smile. He’s so conscientious. Too conscientious. “Of course, Peter.” 

A few minutes later, the bed slowly sinks as Peter gingerly adds his weight.

“Can I speak, darling?” He asks.

“Mm-hmm.” You hum.

“I’ve never been with you during a migraine before. I want to know how to take care of you. Could you answer some yes or no questions for me?” He whispers. “You don’t need to speak. Maybe one finger for yes and two for no.” 

You point your index finger.

“Excellent.” Peter says. “Are you sensitive to light?”

You hold up one finger. 

“Are you sensitive to sound?”

Once again, one finger.

“Are you sensitive to touch?”

You hold up two fingers. There’s some nuance to that, but there was only so much you could communicate. You really needed some sleep.

“Okay. Can I hold you?”

Warmth fills your ribcage. “I can’t lay on my side, but could you hold my hand?” Heat burns your cheeks. “And maybe lay against me?”

“Of course.” Peter whispers, a smile in his voice. 

He presses a tender kiss to your shoulder. “Goodnight, my love. Feel better.”

***

You wake to a knot in your stomach. You twist onto your side which only tightens the cramp. 

You moan. Your eyes crack open only to be weighed down by the ice pack from last night. 

Last night. Peter was a saint. You were an embarrassment. A well-loved and well-cared for embarrassment, but falling over yourself all the same. 

Your shame spiral stops as soon as it begins when a bubble of queasiness turns you rigid. 

Shit. 

Not here. 

Not now. 

You take a deep breath. Peter is slumped against your back, and thanks to his spidey senses, an infinitesimal movement could wake him up. To make matter worse, when it came to you, Peter was always extra jumpy. It was a miracle he hadn’t woken already. 

You take another deep breath. Maybe if you lay as still as a statue, the nausea will go away and you’ll drift off to sleep. 

A second later, like a wave careening to shore, nausea swells in your chest and up your throat. You sprint from the bed, shoving the sheets onto Peter who instantly jumps awake. 

You dash into the bathroom, nearly tripping over your own feet when the carpet transitions to ice cold tile. 

You collapse and promptly stick your head into Peter’s toilet bowl. Your face burns with embarrassment, and the humiliation has not reached its peak. 

You dry heave three times. Of course, when you start throwing up, you feel your hair being lifted from your shoulders.

“I’m so sorry.” Peter whispers. He must have grabbed a scrunchie from your purse, because your hair stays off your face and neck while Peter’s hands rub your back and hold your hand gripping the toilet tank cover. 

You can’t get out the words “get out!” to Peter with all the retching in the way. 

“It’s alright. You’re alright. Breathe, baby.” Peter whispers. He draws wide circles on your upper back, and your shoulders betray you by relaxing into his palm.

You didn’t think your stomach could hold so much. You continue to gag, making a mess of Peter’s bathroom, but Peter never flinches. He continues whispering sweet nothings to you until you finish expelling all of last night’s dinner and popcorn. 

Stomach aching, you collapse against Peter’s chest. 

“You okay?” Peter asks. 

“Yeah.” You pant. 

“Take some deep breaths.” He whispers. “Would you like some water?”

“Could you make me ginger tea?” You ask. Guilt tightens your throat. You were already puking in his bathroom– you could’ve settled for plain water. 

But that’s exactly what Peter has been insisting you work on– being honest about asking for what you need.

He kisses your temple. “Of course.” He says, a smile in his voice. 

Two minutes later, Peter returns to the bathroom, a steaming mug in his hand. 

He places your tea on the edge of the marble counter. “It’s still brewing.” He whispers. 

“You can speak at a normal volume now.” You croak. You were laying on the floor, arms and legs limp yet heavy as lead. 

“Is your headache better?” He asks. 

“Marginally,” You say. “If I throw up, it’s usually better after.” Like the climax of a movie, once you puke during a migraine attack, it’s usually coming to its resolution.

“Okay.” Peter said, returning to his normal volume. He sits next to you. “Do you want to brush your teeth and go back to sleep?”

“Yes, please.”

Five minutes later, you’re curled under the covers, half a mug of ginger tea sitting on Peter’s bedside table. 

You’re about to slip into slumber when Peter asks you a question.

“Can I text your boss that you’re not coming in tomorrow?”

Your breath hitches. Your instincts scream “No!” You have to go to work. 

You take what feels like your millionth deep breath in the past 24 hours. But going to work wouldn't be good for your body. You already tried to sit through an action film with a migraine which resulted in you hurling at 3 am. It was time to take Peter’s advice and give your body a break. 

“Yes.” You say, relief and guilt washing over you simultaneously. 

“Okay.” Peter says, satisfaction in his voice. “Sleep tight, my love. Rest up.” 

Peter presses a soft kiss against your hairline as you fall back to sleep.

***

“We need to talk.” 

“I know,” you say. You knew this was coming. As soon as you walked into the kitchen this morning, you could tell Peter was holding something in from the hitch in his jaw. Being the gentleman he is, he gave you the grace of waking up a bit more and making sure your migraine was gone before starting any serious conversation. You watch the brown sugar dissolve into your peppermint tea as you trace the spoon around the circumference of the mug.

“Can we sit?” He asks.

You stop stirring. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.” You keep your back turned to him. Guilty tears fill your eyes.

“(Y/N), look at me. I’m not mad, I’m just….frustrated? I’m at a loss.” He amends. 

Blinking wasn’t helping. You twist your face further away from Peter,  determined not to let him catch a glimpse of your melodrama from the kitchen table. “It’s okay if you're angry with me. We already talked about this. And I ruined your night.”

“But that’s the problem.” Peter says. “You didn’t ruin anything. The reason I’m annoyed is because you think any little inconvenience like you being sick or unhappy is an annoyance when it’s really not. You’re my girlfriend, and I want to help. I want to figure out how to help you.” He sighs. “And before I can do that, I want to figure out what I can do better to build that trust between us."

You face Peter. “Peter, there’s nothing more you can do. You’ve been perfect.” Peter Parker is more of a perfect boyfriend than you could’ve imagined. He’s a human– he’s flawed— but he has one of the most beautiful souls you’ve ever come across. “It’s just me, I’m just…scared.” You admit. You turn your gaze to the kitchen island.

“What can I do to help you feel safer?”

And there was the crux of the issue: Peter has done everything to make you feel safe. But the wall between you and Peter has nothing to do with Peter.

“It’s hard for me to feel vulnerable with people because of…you know.”

Peter nods. He knew most of the unsavory details of your bittersweet childhood. “I know. Did I do something that triggered memories?” Peter asks, anxiety creeping into his voice. 

“Peter.” You meet his eyes for the second time. “Absolutely not. You’re so good to me.” A tear drips down your cheek. “I want to tell you. About everything. I want to call you when I’m sick and tell you when I’m hurting.” You blink up at the ceiling. “It’s just so hard to break through that wall. To feel safe feeling vulnerable again. And I’ve talked about it with my therapist, I’ve been trying it’s just…such a big step.”

“Would it help if we discuss it together? All three of us?” Peter asks. The confusion must have shown on your face. “Maybe we could have a session together so we could work through this.”

“Really?” You ask, voice cracking. 

“Of course, really.” Peter says, half-smiling. 

“You’re not breaking up with me?” The question slips from your lips before you can hold your tongue. 

Peter looks like he’s been slapped. “Over a migraine?”

“Over not being vulnerable enough. Not giving you enough.” The words leave a bad taste in your mouth. You weren’t able to give Peter what he needed. Your caged heart won’t open.

Peter stands. “(Y/N), you’ve given me more than enough. Who’s there to stitch me after patrol? Who’s on the phone with me at 3 o’clock in the morning when I have night terrors? Who has all of my grounding strategies memorized because I have panic attacks?”

A small smile slips onto your face. “Me.” 

“(Y/N),” Peter smiles. “You’re the most amazing girlfriend I could ask for.”

You open your arms, and Peter wraps you in the warmest hug. 

Even with someone as safe and loving as Peter, being vulnerable was going to be hard. But if there’s someone you want to go on this trek with, it was Peter Parker. 

“I wouldn't want to go on this journey with anyone but you.”

Peter squeezes you tighter. “We’ll get through this together.”

---

Author's Note: Hello! This is my first fic I've ever finished, and I'm super excited to post this! I'm new to having a writing blog, but would love to start chatting!

xoxo, shewroteaworld

[parkerpeter24]

Request where reader and Peter are married and on vacay she’s been trying to hide she’s sick because she’s pregnant and she tells him at dinner 🤗

cute cute cuteeee!! this turned out longer than i’d expected 😳 kinda proud of it!

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader

requests are open

masterlist

peter parker, your husband, was as bad at connecting the dots as he was at keeping secrets. usually he was the one who’d sneak around. at a time you didn’t know about his alter ego– spider-man– he used to hide his costume and his web shooters but now he did it with the bruises littering his face. he would steal your concealer on various occasions and try to cover them up. however, you’d know about them reinstating his inability to hide things, especially from you.

but this time, it was you. you were keeping a secret and not just anything.

you were pregnant.

but not quite ready to tell peter, not knowing how he would react. it wasn’t like you guys hadn’t he married for three years and known each other for all eight of them, but having a kid together was quite a big deal.

it was hard to keep a secret. even though peter would never guess, you didn’t want him to mistake your morning sickness for something serious and fuss over it.

it was harder to keep a secret from peter when you two were supposed to be under the same roof for most part of the day.

tony had decided it was time all the avengers had a break so he’d flown everyone to bali. so now you were laying beside him in this extraordinarily expensive hotel room as the morning sun peaked in through the curtain.

you rubbed your eyes, shifting slightly as the first thing you felt was the weird taste in your mouth. and you just had to make a run for the bathroom before you puked all over the soft, lavish carpet under your bed. peter woke up with a jolt when he felt you throw his arm away from your body. he watched with sleepy eyes as you slammed the door to the bathroom.

“babe?” he hurried out of the bed. he could hear you retching on the other side of the door, “baby? what’s wrong?”

“it’s nothing!” you responded, “be out in a minute!”

it took you around two minutes to collect yourself back and brush your teeth before you made your way out of the bathroom. not so much to your surprise, peter’s hands grabbed both your shoulders as soon as you opened the door, “is it food poisoning? maybe it was the hotdog we had before dinner. it must be that! don’t worry, i’ll get you medicines.”

he started leaving but you stopped him, “peter, wait!”

“what?” he turned around.

you wish you could tell peter now but this just didn’t feel like the right moment. you sighed, “you’re not um, wearing any pants.”

“oh. right, silly of me.” your husband chuckled sheepishly as he grabbed his pair of pants that he’d left on one of the armchairs in the room.

you were sure peter would have found out in a week when your baby’s heart started beating, anyway. you felt a little ridiculous as you took the medicine from his hand and assured him that you would take it before you sneakily flushed it down the toilet.

peter noticed you being weird at breakfast too. you poked around at the salad in front of you. the smell of olive oil was making you nauseous itself and you were sure you’d have to rush if you had it. you would really go for a burger right now. honestly, you weren’t up for running three flights of stairs.

peter placed a hand over yours, running his thumb over the ring that rested on your finger, “hey, you okay? did the medicine not work?”

you gave him a shrug, “not hungry.”

“take it easy, parker.” wanda interjected, “just get her a burger and some fries.” she gave you a wink before taking a bite out of her bagel.

she knew.

you gave her a small smile.

thankfully peter took wanda’s advice and got you some fries, a burger and an added milkshake, which made you love him even more than you ever thought you could. you threw your arms around his shoulders as he placed the brown bag containing your breakfast on the table back in your room.

peter hugged you back as he smiled. however, his smile quickly faded away when he felt your shoulders shake against him, “y/n, are you-”

his sentence was cut short when you sobbed into his chest. his hand instantly wrapped around you protectively, “baby, what’s wrong?”

you just shook your head as you continued crying. peter rubbed your back until you calmed down. you pulled away to wipe your tears while the brunette’s arm remained intact around your waist, “i’m sorry.”

“you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” he said as he tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, “is everything okay though, hun? you’ve been acting kinda... weird. which isn’t bad, i-i mean, i’m just worried about you.”

“i’m okay, peter. i just got a bit emotional.” you gave him a little smile.

he nodded, though still unsure.

peter was nothing short of a delight for the whole day after that. he served your breakfast for you and even denied going to the beach with the others because you didn’t feel like going, even though you’d told him you’d be fine in the hotel room. then you two spent the day watching disney movies.

in the evening peter asked you to get ready for dinner and you were a little confused because you thought you two were going to go downstairs and have dinner with the gang. but peter insisted you get ready so you did.

peter then took you to the beach and the two of you walked until a candlelit table was in front of you. you gasped with joy, “remember our first candlelight dinner?” peter asked as he watched your smile grow.

“i do! i was so nervous.” you chuckled.

“you were nervous? i was freaking out! i didn’t know what to speak. you looked so gorgeous.” peter gave you a small smile, “you still do.”

“you’re way more gorgeous.” you gave him a little kiss, “oh my god. i just remembered i spilled wine all over your favourite shirt that day.”

peter laughed. and just like that, you knew. this was the moment. it was your chance. you didn’t wanna wait for peter to figure it out himself or for him to hear the baby’s heartbeat. you wanted him to hear it from you.

the two of you sat down and peter ordered your favorite for both of you. you smiled, watching you two’s fingers interlaced. peter ran his thumb over your ring finger, a habit of his that made your heart swell every time.

“peter?”

“yes, beautiful?”

“there’s something you gotta know.” you stated as your heart started beating a little faster.

“what is it?” peter asked, giving you his fill attention, a look of concern etched over his face.

“i’m... uh, i’m pregnant.” you stated, watching his face for any major expression.

“yeah, what about that?”

“i know! i couldn’t believe it eith- wait what?!” your pupils enlarged in surprise.

“you’ve been pregnant for around five weeks, what’s new with that?” peter asked.

him being so confident made you doubt if you’d already told him. peter laughed softly at your confused expression. you looked at him, raising an eyebrow, “is this funny to you?”

“no! no. not at all.” peter gave a little squeeze to your hand.

“how’d you know?” you asked, your expressions softening.

“well, i noticed the little changes your body was going through.” peter explained, “and i found the pregnancy test you forgot to throw out.”

“oh shoot-” you facepalmed, “that’s so stupid.”

“hey, it’s alright.” peter chuckled, “i would have probably been worse at keeping a secret like that.”

you laughed, “guess we’re both bad a keeping secrets.”

[fragileruns]

welcome backk !!

request for tasm!peter - peter would always blow off reader on dates because he's busy fighting crime and stuff like that, and reader has always been patient with him and understanding until she finally had enough. peter went to her apartment without thinking ( so he was still wearing the suit ) because he wanted to make up with reader right away and then he reveals his identity to her and they make up ( can end with smut )

i am terrible at making requests, and sorry if it would be hard to understand T T

anywaysss happy that you're back :D take caree

sorry this request took so long, lovely! i hope you enjoy! sorry for not including any smut, i’m just not the best at writing it yet.

summary: peter’s been showing up late, or not at all, for all your dates recently and you’re upset, until you find out why.

content warnings: fluff mainly, very slight angst, peter being a stressed baby, gn!reader (i think, let me know if not!), not proofread

The first time it happened was a study date. You had been struggling to grasp the new topic that had been introduced in your mathematics class and Peter, being the braniac he was, had been quick to offer to tutor you. He was supposed to come over that Friday night and have a movie night, after you finished studying. You gave him the benefit of the doubt, that maybe he was just running late or had an emergency, but then the hours creeped on and he still never showed. He apologized the next day, claiming May needed help with something and he couldn’t get away (apparently, this ‘something’ had kept him from messaging you that he wouldn’t come, as well, but you decided not to bring that up).

The next time was a bit more annoying. It was date night. You and Peter always set aside at least one day every week to be ‘date night.’ It usually just consisted of take out food and really cheesy movies, but it was nice to be able to spend time together, especially when classes filled up most of your schedules. You had a stressful week, with exams coming up and final projects being due, and you had been looking forward to spending a night with your boyfriend. He always knew how to put you at ease. You waited up for him for hours, but he never showed, again. At least this time he did text you, even though it was nearing midnight and it only read ‘I’m so sorry, this huge emergency came up. I’ll make it up to you with an icecream date tomorrow???’

The cycle continued on. He kept missing minor dates, sometimes showing up hours late or texting you that something came up, and other times just going radio silent until the next day. And you had forgiven him everytime, but he could tell you were getting annoyed and feeling rejected. Rightfully so. He knew he had to make it up to you, somehow, and his best plan of action was to scrape together whatever money he could and find the fanciest restaurant nearby (which wasn’t as fancy as he’d have liked, but it had foods he had never heard of, so he figured it was good enough).

“Okay, listen, I know I’ve been really, really bad at showing up to our dates on time, as in, I haven’t been,” he had started one night, coming into your apartment after one of his classes. You were sitting on the couch, surfing through movies to find something to watch, and he walked over to plop down next to you. “And I know you’ve been stressed with exams, and I just… I want to make it up to you and tell you I’m proud of you for getting through them. So, I made us a reservation at that fancy place - the italian one, down the road? Anyway, it’s for Saturday at 7, and if you don’t totally hate me, I thought it’d be nice.”

You glanced over him, furrowed eyebrows and with only a hint of hope. It was hard to keep believing he’d show up whenever he had missed so many. “I don’t hate you. I just… are you sure you’re gonna show up? I’m really tired of embarrassing myself by just waiting around,” you admitted with a doubtful sigh, and Peter’s heart nearly broke. He felt even worse for missing everything, and he wished more than anything that he could just tell you why.

“Hey, I swear, okay? I — I’m really sorry for missing any of our dates, and I’m sorry you felt embarrassed. But, the only way I don’t show up for this one is if I’m dying in a hospital somewhere, alright?” He rushed to reassure you, hand reaching out to cup your cheek and keep your attention on him. Seeing his puppy dog eyes made you give in quicker than you would have liked to, and you just nodded with a small ‘okay’ to agree. He grinned, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss, before turning back to the TV, decidedly picking some action movie that he thought you’d like.

Saturday came around, and you hated to say it, but you were excited. You had dressed nicely, taking over an hour to get ready just to make sure you looked perfect. You even arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, waiting outside for Peter to show. He ended up texting you that he’d be running a few minutes late and asked that you went ahead to claim your seats, told you he’d still be there shortly. You lost some hope, but still trusted he’d keep his word and went in to sit down.

By 7:30, most of that trust had died and you apologized to the waiter for wasting so much of her time, but you were sure your date would show. She gave you a sympathetic smile that made you want to curl up and die as you ate your complimentary bread.

By 7:45, you had already send Peter a string of texts, letting him know you were about to leave and would talk to him later. You still hoped he’d respond though, but no luck.

Finally, by 8:00, you had given up all hope and just left, apologizing again to the waiters as you hurried out, eager to get away from the stares. You stopped by a small pizza place on your way back, starving as you hadn’t ate since before noon that day, scarfing down the slice before going to your house. Part of you worried that Peter was, in fact, dying in a hospital somewhere and that was why he didn’t show, though you knew that wasn’t why. Knew he just got caught up with something else, like always.

Peter stared down at his phone, mask held in his other hand as he frowned at your string of texts, all consisting of things like ‘this is humiliating, are you showing up??’ and ‘you promised you’d show.’ He felt that deep pit of guilt, and he didn’t think before swinging to your home, only wanting to make things up to you. Only wanting to make things better before you finally just gave up and broke things off with him. He wasn’t at all focused on the fact that he was wearing his tight suit, mask in his mouth now, identity fully revealed if anyone squinted enough.

His heart was beating a mile a minute, but not because of the adrenaline of the fight or the feeling of whipping through the air. Because he could only imagine how upset and angry you must feel right now, and he felt awful for being the cause of it.

He got to your house in less than half the time it would usually take, moving as quickly as possible, tapping on your bedroom window as soon as he spotted you in bed. You had rolled over at the noise, eyes squinting to see what was going on at first before you spotted him. He noticed the split second of anger that came across your features, but it was quickly replaced with wide eyes as you rushed to let him in. He glanced behind him to make sure nobody was about to throw something at him.

“Peter, you’re —” you had started once you pulled the window up, but you didn’t have time to continue before he started rushing to apologize.

“I’m sosososo sorry, I know I promised and I don’t have a good excuse, and I know you must be so upset right now,” he started, his own eyes wide as he climbed in, hands immediately finding your waist to stand you in front of him, ignoring your own shocked look and attempt at getting words out. “Tell me how to make it up to you, I’ll do anything, I swear. Seriously, Do you want a puppy? A cat? A — a lion? Anything?” He was practically begging.

“Spiderman,” You had responded. His eyebrows furrowed, hands dropping from your waist as he took in what he thought was your request.

“You want — you want Spiderman? Like, a cutout? That’s… okay, I didn’t know you were that big of a fan.”

“No, Peter, you’re… you’re Spiderman,” you stated and he was more confused than ever, but then your hands reached out to grab the mask that had dropped to the floor, and everything clicked together. He had never changed.

“Oh, that — um, I was at a costume party,” he attempted to lie, and it was clear on your face that you weren’t falling for his bluff. “Okay, yes. I’m Spiderman. That’s… sort of why I’ve been so late to everything.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me? Did you not trust me?”

“No. No! That’s not it at all. I just — it’s dangerous. For you to know anything. For you to even be with me, but I’m too selfish to end things. I just didn’t want someone coming after you just because you knew my identity,” he admitted with a frown, upset that you were now in harms way just because of his own stupidity.

“You’ve been doing this alone? You haven’t had any help?”

“What?” He questioned, looking at you as if you had asked the most absurd question possible. You were worried about his help when he had just missed his probably fifth date in a row? And put you in danger? “Um, yeah, I’ve been doing it alone. Look, I’m really sorry about tonight, and I promise —”

“Peter. It’s fine, I’m not mad. Anymore. I just can’t believe you hid this from me. I could’ve helped you, you know?” You cut him off, reaching out to rub your hand over a bruise forming near his eye. He hadn’t really noticed it from the fight, used to being punched around and overly focused on trying to get home to you.

His eyes were wide and filled with both worry and guilt. Guilt over missing tonight. Worry because he had no idea what was going to happen now, because it was about to become ten times harder to keep you safe. If anyone found out you knew his identity, they’d come for you, and Peter really didn’t know how to deal with that.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I was scared something would happen to you. I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice small, and your heart broke.

“You won’t, okay? Nothing’s gonna happen to me, I’m here. But I wish you would’ve told me, I hate thinking about you out there, getting hurt. Not having anyone to patch you up. Is that why you’d wear hoodies so often?”

“Yeah,” he looked slightly embarrassed, and he moved to sit on the edge of your bed, keeping a hold of your hand as you went to sit next to him. “I usually heal up really fast, though, I promise. So it’s not that bad. And I’m really good at patching myself up, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Of course I’m gonna worry about you. I worried about you before I knew you were Spiderman, why would you think I wouldn’t worry about this?” You sighed, scooting closer to him as he wrapped his arms aorund you, moving to hide his face in the crook of your neck. You could tell how messed up he felt about it all with how openly he was craving your affection, but you didn’t say anything and instead just put your hands in his hair, scratching his scalp gently.

“Sweetheart, ‘m gonna fall asleep if you keep doing that,” he said, but you didn’t stop and he didn’t stop you.

“That’s fine. Just go to sleep, bug boy.”

He grumbled something out about the nickname, something about being a man and not a boy, but it was quiet, and he almost immediately fell asleep soon after.

[periprose]

I don't know if my ask got 'eaten' or not, but I did send it while I was on the road so I may have screwed it up anyway. My ask is based on your reblog of the 3 word sentences and if you care to, it's a twofer based plot: numbers 12 and 18 (just do it and you look lost) because I am a dithering decision maker except!! when I am going somewhere in which case my overconfidence gets me in trouble, something Peter knows too well himself. Love your writing!

unfortunately it did but I love this prompt so thank you for resending it!

Prompts can be found here

Peter is fairly sure that he's the one who's always late to everything. Every single seminar for this new Oscorp tech breakdown, he's the one who's five minutes late, and he swears it's not his fault.

It's just that he always happens to run into Spider-Man duties. He always finds another old woman who needs to cross the street, or a newspaper stand that has just been stolen from, and then after saving the day, he can make time towards catching the next subway train to Oscorp and hopefully run up the stairs, through the door, into the lobby, elevator, and then to the board room with a minute to spare. It always works out better in his head. 

He doesn't understand why Harry needs him there. Peter knows technology stuff like the back of his hand– he already understood what the seminar leader who oversaw the development of the new tech was saying halfway through the meeting, and basically put the concluding points together before the meeting was even over. 

Peter is nothing if not a good friend. Or employee who will be sent off with a strict warning if he doesn’t at least try.

This time, though? Peter has just made it to the subway station, and his glance catches onto a woman with a muted blue handbag, looking mostly competent and professional in a blazer, staring at the map, very obviously confused. He decides to be a good civilian and take a moment to help her. Just as Peter Parker, good guy who has two extra minutes to spare. Not because she happens to be a little more pleasant to look at than the rest of the passerby. She does really have bright eyes, though, and the way they catch onto every written detail of the map has Peter wanting those eyes on him.

Unfortunately, as she’s dithering and Peter approaches a little too slowly, about to work up the nerve to ask if she needs help, she suddenly mutters “Just do it! Who cares…” with a sudden bout of confidence, and she walks off towards the train heading North. The same train Peter is due to take.

Peter is kind of elated by this, even though he knows he’s a total dork and he doesn’t actually have the courage to speak to her. Even though Harry makes life sound like a romance movie– that apparently all it takes is the right conversation starter– Peter knows he can’t manage it. He’ll trip over his words and make the wrong jokes, and she’ll give him a polite nod while secretly dialing 911.

He’s just happy to have a commute crush to stare at.

The southbound train arrives from the opposite side of the road, and loudly beeps as the doors open.

Peter’s Spider-Sense goes off and he sees that a bunch of people are starting to exit the train, right into the poor woman who gets turned around a bunch of times and then looks utterly lost. Helpless. Eyes widening with the telltale fear of someone who doesn’t know where they’re going. 

Well, we can’t have that, can we? Peter decides to saunter up to her and be her hero of the day.

/

You are so horrible with making decisions sometimes. Unless, of course, it’s taking a new journey somewhere, with directions you’re not exactly familiar with– for some reason leaping into it headfirst works better, cements it into your brain better if you have to travel around these parts around later, and you usually have the time to figure it out.

Of course, this time you’re late. This time, when you need to present a great big presentation at Oscorp, where your big new tech job is, you’re late, and you had to be overconfident about figuring out the directions.

God, couldn’t you have just asked for help?

As you’re beginning to spiral– was it the north train, or the south, will this crowd ever dissipate properly, and is there time to look at your notes for your presentation on the train?– someone taps your shoulder.

“Hey.” A friendly looking guy with warm brown hair, and eyes, is staring at you, not unkindly. He pulls you aside, out of the crowd, and you’re thankful– but a little wary. 

“You look lost. Are you good?” The man has to lean in closer to you, and kind of yell-speak over the crowd, who are finally moving away to the above ground.

“Uh… No. I’ll be honest.” You cross your arms and huff, glad that someone could see that you needed help, and you feel a little happy that your saviour happened to be a smart, handsome guy who doesn’t look particularly judgemental, and you pull out your phone from your bag. “I’m trying to get to–”

“Oscorp?” He reads your phone and blinks, and then looks affronted that he spoke so soon. “Sorry. I just read your phone screen– I know that’s not proper etiquette. I’m going there too.”

“Uh-huh.” You fix your eyes on him, and Peter feels a funny twinge in his heart– something warm and soft as you size him up, making your own teasing assumptions of him. You half-smirk. “How do I know I can trust you? That you won’t just lead me to a random dungeon full of murdered women?”

You feel that you might’ve scared him off– you always come off a little too strong.

“Uhhhh, I was going to say I probably don’t look like a serial killer, but then again, you never know as a woman, right? Plus that’s some unnecessary bias and profiling on my part.” Peter fishes around in his pocket for his Oscorp ID, snorting at your joke, but also knowing that you’re not wrong to be concerned. “See? I’m Peter Parker. One of Oscorp’s biotech engineers.”

“Alliterative. Very cool.” You smile at him genuinely, glad to see that he is worth trusting, and he’s about to say something when the northbound train comes in.

“Hey, that’s us. Just two stops and then we’re at Oscorp.” Peter lets you walk ahead of him into the train, and you do so with some speed.

“Nervous?” He asks as the train starts going. He’s holding onto the loop for stability, while you lean against an arm rail. The train is kind of packed– and Peter is just a teeny bit happy for it, since it means he gets to stand a little close to you. He’s not trying to be a creep– you’re just cute.

“Very.” You shake out your hands, trying to chill out, and then reach inside your bag for your cue cards. “I’m starting out as a software developer– working on a genome editing program– and I’m doing a presentation on that today.”

“Oh, I’m in that seminar too. Although usually it’s just some dude presenting… not exactly someone like you.” Peter immediately facepalms, hiding in his hands for a moment before shaking his head, brown hair flopping about. “Sorry, I just mean… he’s not a cute girl, you know?”

Nice going, Parker. Peter groans and his hands remain on his face now, totally embarrassed by what he’s said.

“Oh–” You turn to him, but Peter interrupts you first.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean your looks are everything– I know how hard it is to be a woman in STEM, to get judged on things that have nothing to do with your credentials–” Peter swallows and sighs. “I’m not saying you were hired for your face– I’m sure you’re a very intelligent person.”

Peter feels your hand hesitantly touch his and move them, so he can get a look at your expression. You don’t look upset, just flattered, maybe with a hint of a laugh crossing your eyes.

“Hey, don’t worry. I didn’t take it that way. Good to know you’re not a typical STEM bro, though.” You read through your notes again, and Peter feels a bit of relief. “Thanks, by the way. You’re a cute guy too.”

You don’t know where exactly that came from, maybe an unexpected bout of courage bolstered by the adrenaline from your oncoming presentation, but it’s not like it’s false– this guy is very cute and you know you’re going to struggle if you have to work with him. You can’t quite look at Peter for the rest of the train ride, staring out the window. You catch a little grin on his face.

/

“So, genome editing, huh? That’s actually part of my work right now. Except more in the lab at the moment– working on synthesising frog DNA.” Peter shudders jokingly, and you laugh as you walk with him.

“Yeah, I’m basically the one who made the software program you’ll be using from now on. I just gotta make it easy for you guys to understand.” You inhale, and Peter can see that you’re still really nervous about your presentation. 

“Hey.” He gives you a comforting squeeze of the shoulder, in front of the building. “You got this.”

“Really?” You look up at him, bright eyes glassy with sudden fears. “But you don’t really know me, right? For all you know, I’m going to run out of the room with stage fright.”

“No way.” Peter grins, self assuredly. “You wouldn’t be talking to an almost stranger if that was true.”

“I mean… kind of true. I just don’t want to mess up.” You sigh and pinch your forehead, thinking it over.

“Okay, how about this?” Peter decides on something silly, but something that also allows him to shoot his shot. When else was a pretty software developer going to just fall into his lap like this?

He ignores that image. 

“If you don’t ace this presentation: who cares? People might be a little awkward about it, but they’re just people. It’s not a big deal.” Peter starts, and he sees you visibly brighten a little at that. “But if you do, you win something real special: a coffee date with Peter Parker.”

“Oh, I do?” You snort at his blatant flirting, but you can’t help but feel better with that potential date hanging over your shoulder. Peter Parker happens to be very sweet, at least so far, and you want to see just how far this could go. “Okay. I like the sound of that, but acing this presentation probably involves being there on time…”

You and Peter run through the lobby into the elevator– and you swallow your fears as you enter the boardroom, apologizing to the many developers and technicians about having to make them wait.

/

At the end of your very enlightening presentation– Peter knew there had to be no way he knew everything about this particular software since he had never tried it yet, and the fact that the original presenter seemed to be kind of vague on the details made it seem simpler than it was– you smile at him, and Peter grins back, knowing that he’s just won himself a date with you. 

[railingsofsorrow]

RAILINGSOFSORROW'S FIC RECS (0.2)

2nd part of the recommendation list from my fav fics! (i had to split in two because tumblr was being a nightmare) have it in mind that they can either be on tumblr or ao3.

the (+) means it has a smut masterlists: [0.1] [0.2]

↯

━━ OBX 

↬ little village by @thegreatestofheck (jj x routhledge!oc) 

best thing that's ever happened to me.

↬ whipped by @ptersparkers (jj x reader) 

↬ wake by @obxsummer (jj x reader) 

↬ aftermath by @maybaenk (jj x reader) 

↬ once a cheater... by @sl-ut (s.cameron x fem!kook!reader; t.thornton x platonic!reader) 

↬ lucky by @↑ (k.carrera x f!reader) 

↬ two of the same by @jjmaybud (k.carrera x f!reader) 

i, too, want to get married with kiara carrera.

↬ skin by @↑ (p.heyward x reader) 

↬ kie loves you... but you're not hers by @infictionalwonderland (k.carrera x f!reader; jj x f!reader)  

↬ angels like you by @cryonme (p.heyward x reader) 

↬ the 7 times he realises he loves you by @fandomtravels (I can't tag this acc :/ it's glitching) (r.cameron x reader) 

彡 

━━ MCU 

↬ one heart by @ichorai (tasm!single parent!p.parker x single parent! x reader) (major angst!) 

ok so I stumbled upon this while I was in class and I was bored so I thought let's give it a go until I get to go home. terrible idea because I was holding my cries, can you believe it? this fic stole my heart and it's so well-written, I don't think there's anything like it, it talks about loss and grieving in the most realistic way possible, I almost felt inserted into the story. plz go read it it will be so worth it.

↬ on thin ice by @leahsficemporium (peter parker x reader)

learning how to skate with peter <3

↬ like slow-slipping redemption by artist_artists (ao3) (tasm!p.parker × male mj) 

I don't understand how this one doesn't have more recognition. I was craving for a bi!peter fic and I found it's the best piece of work I've read, it played with my emotions and left me of the edge of my seat. it's set on a post-no way home universe and it features tasm!peter x male mj. it's a happy ending!!! plus it's not long, only 3 chapters.

↬ getting old by @kiss-inthekitchen (husband!tasm!p.parker x reader)  

↬ peter parker can't flirt by @curseofaphrodite (tasm!p.parker x marauder!reader)

it's a crossover btw marauders era + the amazing spiderman universe.

彡

━━ TVD/T.O 

↬ apotheosis by atriums (klaus mikaelson x reader) 

it's finished and it has a sequel called alkaline.

↬ familia supra omnia by IAMiniquity (poly!mikaelsons x oc) (currently being updated) 

the best thing I've read in the originals universe, spent less than month reading it and I keep craving for more.

↬ treading on thin ice by @fitzs-trained-monkey (kol mikaelson x reader)

they write the best kol fics istg.  

↬ wasteland, baby! by trustsalvatore (kol mikaelson x oc) 

incomplete since 2020 :(((

彡

↬ coming home by @acourtofwhatthefuck (azriel x reader) (series)

━━ MISC 

↬ troublemaker by @itsapeterthing (druig x avenger!reader)  

I will tell you one thing: I wasn't into a court of thorns and roses until I stumbled upon this one. yk when the writing grips you and chains you in a way that you can't leave? that's what happened to me. I was so addicted I read this whole series in three days at most. then I proceeded to read all of their work, you should do the same, you won't regret it it's so good. 

↬ resident healer by @15-dogs (newt scamander x reader)  

↬ no one knows by @pillow-titties (billy russo x reader) +

↬ no one knows p.2 by @↑ + 

↬ by your side by @alaynes-writings (paul atreides x reader)  

↬ stormy nights by @marvelmusing (aleksander mozorova x reader)  

[backupanddoitagain]

Conversations With Peter Parker

Kitchen Conversations

**Rating: Mature/Warning (innuendo) Pure fluffy fluff**

Reblogs and likes are great; please do not repost elsewhere/deposit in AI software.

You: Peter, is something the matter? You've been staring at that box of granola in your hand for five minutes.

Peter: I'm reading the list of ingredients.

You: It's granola; how complicated can it be?

Peter: I don't know, but I don't see it listed so it must not be in here.

You: ????

Peter: I sit across from you every morning watching you eat a bowl of granola for breakfast and every morning you get prettier and prettier.

You: That's so sweet, Peter.

Peter: Are you blushing?

You: No!

Peter: I believe I'll have to test my hypothesis.

...to be continued....

[literaila]

still here 

tasm!peter x reader 

summary: there’s an ache in me, put there by the ache in you

(for @elysian-chaos)

warnings: angst, fluff, feeling unworthy, feeling useless, you know, seperation 

a/n: ‘tis the damn season is the best song ever. dont argue 

*

there's this little thing called stress baking. 

typically, stress baking is referred to as coping by making something delicious to scavenge on, instead of dwelling on the feelings scavenging you. and typically, it's done with a certain type of elegance--one that is made up of chaos. completely insane, yet completely in control. it's a messy dance, but perfectly choreographed. 

stress baking is a very reviving task. filling up the house with muffins and pies is not only good for distracting yourself, but also for making friends when you run out of room. or smiling at the cashier every time you have to go to the store for ingredients. 

it's something you've practiced for years. something you've become somewhat addicted to. 

but then there's baking while stressed. which, you swear, hadn't been your intention. 

brownies from a box were supposed to be easy. they were notoriously easy. a couple of eggs, some oil, and some water. the hardest part of your job was mixing, but you'd done it so many times that you zoned out while doing all of it. 

box brownies were supposed to be non-stress and quick. but when you burn the brownies and batter rises over the top of your glass pan, and the oven is dirty, and the apartment smells like burnt batter and oven cleaner--well, you have to reread the directions. 

you're a good baker. you've been making cookies and cakes for parties for years. you pride yourself on not needing measuring cups because you can eye a recipe by the gram. 

not that these brownies would agree. 

and it's already five-forty-five. peter is going to be home in the next fifteen minutes and this was supposed to be a treat. something good. 

"surprise! i ruined our oven, and now we're going to have to spend the next few nights at your aunt's house in your twin-sized bed until the smell of death goes away!" doesn't typically bring out any smiles.

and peter's been stressed lately, and you've been stressed about him. 

and now you're making brownies from scratch without butter--because you used it all on the last batch, oops--and the number of candles you've lit is a sure fire hazard. 

but if peter would just smile at you, pull you in by your waist and laugh while he kissed you with a chocolate mouth, it would all be fine. 

if there wasn't so much riding on this one (two) pan(s) of brownies. like being able to sleep comfortably tonight. 

you turned the oven down, found a new pan--threw the other one out because it was nothing but a source of disappointment--and cleaned the oven just enough to not draw any suspicions. but you could still feel the failure lurking. 

peter was going to come home to a chaotic house, and it was your fault. 

so you scrubbed at the counters. fixed the stack of bills on the table so that you couldn't see any of the stamps, folded the blankets, and even swept the kitchen floor. 

still, you knew peter would know. because he always knows. and maybe that was why he was acting so weird lately--maybe that's why you were acting so weird. 

the door opened when the timer on the oven went off. 

you'd wanted to watch peter walk through the door--so you could gauge how tired he was, how miserable--but maybe it was better not to know. to let him put on a mask while your back was still turned. 

"hey, baby," he said, as you were pulling the brownies out of the oven, setting his house keys on the counter and sighing. "i'm home." 

you peeked over your shoulder, giving him a hint of a smile--the same type he was giving you. "hey, honey," you said back, "you're home." 

peter walked around the island to stand right behind you, kissing the back of your head and stealing a look over to the stovetop. he clears his throat. "brownies?" 

you shrug. "thought you might like something sweet when you got home." 

you take off the oven mitt, not really wanting to look at him--maybe because you're scared of what you'll see, or maybe just because you can already feel his eyes tearing down your skin. 

but you can feel his breath on your neck as he chuckles. his exhaustion as he leans into your back. 

"i've already got you, though," he whispers one peck at the edge of your jaw, another by your ear. 

you snort and pull away, turning so you can look at him. and then you pretend to throw up. 

he laughs and pokes your forehead.

you're not looking at him and he's not looking at you. 

you turn back to the brownies. 

"did you drop something in the oven?" peter asks, leaning his chin on your shoulder. 

"no," you answer, a bit too defensive. 

"sure?" 

"am i sure that i didn't burn something in the oven, peter? yes." 

there's a beat. "...cause it smells like it." 

you headbutt him. "you smell like it. go shower. you can't eat these yet." 

"yes, ma'am," peter takes a step back, and you look at him again.  you can see the question in his eyes, and see your own reflecting the same question. 

what are you hiding? 

"we have some ice cream, too." 

peter moans, his head back. you roll your eyes at him. 

and you start cutting the brownies, worries, and chocolate chips sticking to the knife, listening to peter's footsteps, feeling his presence sticking to you like sugar, sticky and rich, his eyes keeping you on edge. 

you know you shouldn't feel stupid--peter doesn't actually know what happened, or care--but you do. because he knows, and because even from the split second you looked at him, you could see the strain on his skin, the pressure weighing him down, dragging his feet across the floor. 

you feel stupid just because you don't know what to do. so before he can close the door, you turn around. choosing reaction instead of pretending. 

"peter?" 

he pauses, his head whipping towards you. his eyes are as soft and loving as they always are--his attention remains the same, even when his energy doesn't. like he's wasting himself away just to take care of you. 

he swallows. "yeah?" 

"are you--" you blink, look away, try not to taste burnt brownies. "are you okay? you seem tired. was work… alright? 

peter smiles, shaking his head. "just the usual, bub. work and... work. i think i'll go to bed early tonight?" 

you raise a brow. 

peter clears his throat. "i mean, i think i'll take a nap tonight before i go out." 

you nod. "okay." 

you both stare at each other for a moment. he's far enough away that it's easier. you don't have to feel his emotions as he processes them. don't have to see them from up close. 

you hate yourself for being afraid of him. for being afraid for him. 

“d’ya want to join me?” peter asks, whisper slipping from his mouth, smile taunting from his lips. “we can cuddle and eat brownies.” 

you lick your lips, shaky smile enough. “you sure? i’ve heard i can be a bit distracting…”

peter’s laugh makes his shoulders shake. “you heard correctly,” he says eyes crinkled, “but i don’t mind.” 

you nod. you’re grateful for his ease. the careful reveal of his true face, the peeling of a mask. the admittance that not everything is perfect, no matter how small. 

“go shower. i’ll get the sugar.” 

peter kisses you on the cheek before he goes.

and at least you got a couple of smiles out of him. at least you can feel his kiss lingering on your skin. 

* 

it's not that serious. honestly. 

you hardly even think about it. you're not thinking about it. 

you're not dwelling on the smell of soft skin and the feeling of calloused hands running up and down your back, the tickle of a breath against your neck. 

you're not thinking about it at all. 

and if it's been a week--or a week and a half, or two, or three--since you last spoke, or shared the same space with peter, then it's fine. 

this is something you've grown used to. something you're supposed to be used to. 

peter has obligations. 

he has things he needs to fulfill--not just for himself, but for others, for the guilt that you can see rocking his bones all of the time, the shame in his eyes when he comes home a bit too early. he has places that he needs to be, if only because he won't be able to live with himself if he's not there. 

but then again, you're not sure how to live when he's not here. especially when the sink breaks. 

still, as long as you can feel him pull you into his chest every night, imagine him kissing your forehead before falling asleep, then it's fine. 

you're not thinking about any of it because it's fine. 

but you miss him. if only momentarily. 

he'll come back--you repeat this like a promise, like it's his voice whispering it to you--because he always does. 

space is good for the heart, some part of you swears. though you don't think you could think of peter any fonder than you already do. 

he comes in too late at night and is already gone when you wake up. he texts you updates--because you've talked about communication before--and tells you that he loves you through sweet little notes he sends during the day. 

if the thing he wishes to share about his life is the worm he found in his apple, then you're perfectly happy to listen (read). 

it's normal to miss the person you love most in the world. 

and it's normal for your boyfriend to disappear for fourteen hours each day, just barely cuddling with you for three hours before he's gone again. 

it's normal for you, at least

he’ll come back. 

and so, instead of thinking about peter, and wondering when he might notice the frayed edges of your relationship, you make sure that he doesn't have to worry about anything. 

you clean up after the two of you, running the dishwasher and cleaning the bathroom, and packing him lunch on days you know he'll be gone for the office. making sure there's always something he can eat in the fridge when he gets home late at night, and texting him to know what he wants from the store. 

you make the bed and wash his clothes and hope that maybe it'll keep him from burning out. 

you hope that maybe it will keep you distracted enough to not ask him for anything. like love or support or a five-minute conversation. 

if taking care of him is the only way to keep him going--the only way to keep yourself going--then you'll do it. peter takes care of you enough. 

but even if you're not thinking about it, it's there. 

because you've just fallen asleep--which is extremely rare recently, mostly because you like to wait until you hear the window and then slow your breathing until you feel peter crawl into bed with you--and just woke up. 

woke up with sweaty skin and a headache. it's night ten and you're getting nightmares again. 

it's ridiculous that you can't even last two weeks without peter there. without him kissing you to sleep. 

and when you burst out of bed, you almost fall into him--almost scream because you're sharing the bed with someone else. 

tears are running down your face. your heart feels split open--like your dreams have revealed something inside it. 

but you look over to peter and he's there; he's still here. 

so you take a deep breath--chest caving in, body following--and you rest your head in your hands. 

if there's anything you want right now, it's for peter to wake up. 

it's for him to know all of this. 

you want him to appear next to you, leaning over your back like he's going to shelter from the world if that's what you need. rubbing your back and whispering in your ear. you want him in your house and laughing when you break the shower rod again. 

you want him to cuddle with you before he leaves, and cross his heart when you scold him while he crawls out the window. 

you want him in more than just your memory. 

but peter is snoring next to you, and so you sit there in silence until the tears begin to ease.

*

peter's not supposed to be home. 

he works until five, and then takes the subway home--and you're not expecting to see him anyway. he's been shoving his suit into the bottom of his backpack right as you pull it out of the hamper.

so it's not that unusual for you to be laying in bed, shoes and socks kicked across the floor, hands gripping for some stability, and eyes puffy and red. 

and it's not that unusual for you to squeak when the window opens, and spider-man's head peeks into your room. 

you can feel peter's wide eyes behind the mask. 

you're quick to wipe your face, throw on a clumsy smile. "peter," you say, exhaling. "what're you doing here?"  

a body crawls into the window, dirt and grime on clothes finger-tips reaching out to you. "what's wrong?" he asks, voice only slightly muffled. 

but you take a step back, moving away from him when he lands on the floor, leaving spots for you to vacuum up later. 

"what're you doing here?" you repeat, voice a bit harsher, a bit faded. 

"i need--" he reaches his hand out toward you again, retreating when you do. "i needed some more web fluid. i don't--" he shakes his head. "what happened?" 

"i, um," you wipe traitorous tears away again. "i think there's some more in the closet. i keep moving it when i'm cleaning, sorry." 

"you're crying," peter scolds. like you're being ridiculous. like you're not trying to save him the effort it's going to take to fix this irrational piece of you, these lonely broken bits. 

you bite your lip and look away. 

because although you can't even see his eyes--they are still scolding. they are quick and cruel reminders that you haven't talked to peter in two weeks. 

you turn towards your bedside table, pretending to organize the contents on top. 

you can hear peter moving. 

"what's going on, bub?" he says, soft enough for the words to crawl under your skin. he's taken the mask off. his voice is clear. 

"oh, nothing, you know," you pause, shrugging. "just the usual sad movie type of cry..." peter's hand reaches your back and you flip around, almost knocking over your lamp. 

"c'mon," he whispers to you, far closer than you'd been expecting. 

you try and take a step back, only meeting a dead-end. he's cornered you. "you should go, peter. you were just--" 

"this is more important."

you laugh. "some silly tears are more important than a collapsing building?" 

"you're more important," peter swears, his eyes so focused on yours, "to me." 

you blink and shake your head. gesture back towards the window. "go and save some people. you don't have to help me too." 

peter swallows, brows furrowed. "will you tell me what's wrong?"

"i can take care of myself, peter. you don't need to worry about it." 

"well, i'm going to." 

you roll your eyes. and then you break free of his hold, moving away from the table, from the cage he's built around you. "move along, spider-man." 

peter doesn't move any closer, but his limbs are tense. his face is concerned and hurt--you try and shield that out.

"i'm not leaving you when you're crying."

"i'm not crying anymore." 

peter scowls. "stop deflecting." 

you take a deep breath, throat dry and aching. "i'm not--" you clear your throat, shaking your head and looking away from him. "i'm fine, peter. but some people actually need you. go and save the day," you tell him. "i'll still be here when you come back." 

*

and you are. 

you're sitting on the couch, staring at photos peter took on the wall, wondering how to explain any of it. 

how to explain yourself without digging the two of you any further in this hole. 

you've been trying to prove just how little you need peter--just how useful you could be--and by doing so, you've put yourself in this situation. 

because you do need him. you just hadn't wanted peter to know that. 

so you're sitting on the couch, trying not to flinch every time the air conditioning comes on, or there's a footstep from the apartment above you. you're waiting for peter to climb in through the window, waiting to see how exhausted he is before he has to deal with you. 

and you've bitten your lip raw. completely eliminated any evidence of fingernails you once had. 

your heart stutters with every minute that comes by. 

and when you finally hear peter hop in from the fire escape, your heart stops completely. 

you wonder if he's going to change before he comes and finds you. before the inevitable happens, and you give him another reason to work so late. 

your restlessness must be audible because it only takes peter forty seconds before walking into the living room. he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. 

he's wearing a frown like a well-tailored suit. known and made for him. 

you're trying not to frown back. 

"hey," you say, putting on a smile, voice flighty and an octave too high. "everything okay?" 

"no one got hurt," peter says, the antonym to your tone. 

"good." 

apparently, your tight-lipped smile isn't enough to ease the tension in the room. 

"are you ready to talk?" peter asks, slowly stepping toward you, just barely meeting your eyes. 

you'd scrubbed your face after he left. sobbed in the shower as you washed away any of the shame you hadn't meant for him to see. you'd made sure that your eyes weren't puffy, and your eyelashes were dry before he'd got home. 

so when peter scans your face--as he's doing now--he shouldn't notice anything unusual. 

besides the facade you're putting on. 

you clear your throat, eyebrows lifted like you're unconcerned. "there's not much to talk about." 

peter's sullen face doesn't move an inch. "why were you crying?" 

"i already told you. i watched a sad movie," you wave a hand, "you just came in at the wrong time." 

peter sighs. he sits down on the couch next to you, keeping his distance. "don't lie." 

you frown. "i'm not lying." 

"you've got some pretty obvious tells, you know," peter whispers, giving you a hint of a bittersweet smile. "you don't have to talk to me. but i'd like it if you did. i just want to make sure that you're... okay." 

"i'm fine, peter." 

he looks away. "and if you're not then we'll figure it out. i just want to know." 

"well, you do." 

peter opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. 

he's sitting three feet away from you, but his hands are clasped together, his legs are opposite of yours, and he can't even look at you. 

you can feel it, as you push him away. as you try so desperately to hold him close without touching him. 

"okay," peter says, eyes meeting yours again. "i don't want to push you." 

no, but he should pull you off of this ledge. should keep you from falling any further than you already have. 

you shake your head, laughing. it's not funny. 

"what?" 

you close your eyes. count to ten. forget how to breathe, or how to speak to the person you love most in this world. 

"what?" peter repeats, but softer. 

you open your eyes. 

and then it all crumbles. 

you scoff. "can you stop looking at me like that?" you plead, breaking away, physically distancing yourself from him. 

"like what?" 

it's his fault, really, for coming home so early in the day. 

"like you can't deal with this. like this is exhausting." 

the tears sneak up on you, knocking you out before you even notice that they're there. 

peter's eyes are wide as he stares at you. "you're not--" he swallows, frantically reaching towards you. "this isn't exhausting--i'm not--" a moment, tears beginning to fall. "what do you--" 

you sigh, shaking your head. "you're always gone, and you come home exhausted every night after you think i've fallen asleep, and you only talk to me through text, and even now you just--" you stop, voice breaking. "if you can't do this," you say, softly, "then you should just tell me." 

peter is closer than he was a moment ago. "what?" 

"i know this is a lot of work, okay? and i know that you're already pushing yourself, so it's fine if i'm too much. if--if loving me is too much." 

there's a moment of silence, and you're almost sure that peter has already left. 

but then there's a thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. you can't open your eyes, can't face the reality you've been desperately holding off. 

"you're not too much." 

peter moves closer to you, his leg touching yours, his hands moving so that he can hold you closer. 

you couldn't push him away if you tried. 

"you're not too much," he repeats, the words sinking into your skin, his breath meeting yours. "i can't believe you would think that." 

you half laugh, half sob. peter wipes away those tears too. 

"you're the only thing keeping me going," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "i'm sorry i haven't been there. i didn't realize..." he shakes his head. 

"you shouldn't have to take care of me as much as you do," you whisper. 

peter nudges his head against yours. "hey. you take care of me way more than i take care of you. you clean up after me and stay up with me when i can't sleep. you help fix my suits, and do all of the laundry. and you never complain. you're practically my guardian angel." 

"that's all easy." 

"not for me," peter says, voice lighter than before. 

you shrug. 

"but you do all of that cause you love me," he adds, kissing your forehead again. "or, i hope that's why." 

"it's the sex." 

peter laughs, nuzzling his head into you. "well, at least you're honest. but, it's the same reason that i take care of you. you shouldn't feel... guilty because of that. you're no burden on me." 

"no?" 

"absolutely not." 

you bite your lip. try and believe peter. but honestly, you're most lovesick from how close he's holding you. how you can feel his skin and listen to him speak somewhere that isn't your bed. you're not quite sure that this isn't a dream. 

"hey," peter moves his head so you're looking at him. "we suck." 

you laugh, leaning your forehead against his. 

"i'm sorry it's been so long since we've... anything. it's been a rough couple of weeks." 

"for me too. it's not your fault." 

"you have to tell me if it's not enough, okay? i don't want you to suffer through it by yourself. if you need to talk to me--even for ten minutes--then you have to let me know." 

"okay." 

"do you promise?" 

you nod against him, nose brushing his cheek. "i promise, peter." 

peter smiles, satisfied. he groans, pulling you even closer to him. "i love you, bug. so much." 

you can barely hear him because of how tight he's hugging you. it sort of hurts, but mostly heals. 

"i know," you say back. but peter probably can't hear you, because you say it right into his shirt. 

*

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl    invisibletrolleyson-jeremy  @sharkswaters  @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys

[weird-is-life]

Golden hour

Pairing: Tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Summary: Peter is so in love with you, that he has to ask you that one question

Warnings: like one swear word, so so much fluff

Words: 0.7k Masterlist

A/N: English is not my first language, so please excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes

You and Peter were sprawled on the sofa. He was snuggling you close, a movie playing on the tv. You had your favorite novel in your hand, your entire focus on the book.

Peter loved moments like this. He loved, that you enjoyed each others presence even if you didn't talk. He wouldn't change this quiet, peaceful time with you for anything.

His attention was on the movie, sometimes stealing a glance at you, until the streaks of the sunlight peeked through the window. It started bothering him as it was making his eyes burn.

He was about to walk to the window and close the curtains, but his attention shifted to you.

The sun shined bright on your face, making you look like an angel. He couldn't help but to stare. You were clearly enjoying the warm on your skin, not at all bothered by it.

His head was tilted as he admired your pretty features. Honestly, Peter thought you were always beautiful, the most beautiful. But right now, you looked like from a whole other world.

He didn't know if it was the sun kissing your face or of it was the expressions, you were making, while reading the book, that pulled at the strings on his heart. He didn't want for this moment to ever end.

He tenderly brushed the hair, that was falling to your eyes, behind your ear and that made you look up at him.

He had the most love-sick look on his face and you confusedly frowned at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you questioned his dissociated expression.

"Pete?" you called out his name.

"Marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me..." he breathed out.

"Peter, are you feeling okay?" you ignored the fast beat of your heart from his surprising question.

"Perfect. I'm perfect" he oh so softly smiled at you. You were getting concerned, he was looking at you like some puppy and you didn't know what to make of it.

"But i could be better if you would marry me" he curled a strand of your hair around his finger.

"Baby, did you hit your head last night during the patrol?"

"No, why would you think that?"

"Well, you did just ask me to marry you" you sheepishly admited.

"And will you?"

"Will i what?" your heart was really going like a thousand miles an hour.

"Marry me?" he affectionally brushed your cheek.

"Pete, are you being serious?"

"Of course, i am" he responded, " i have my best girl in my arms, looking ridiculously pretty may i add. How could i not be asking that? Jesus, sweetheart, you don't even know how much i love you. It's driving me crazy, i feel like my heart is gonna burst out of my chest whenever i see you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So what do you say, will you marry me? Please?"

You sniffled and giggled when he added the please. You weren't expecting Peter to ask you to marry him this afternoon.

But you weren't complaining, you loved Peter with every fiber of your body. You've been together for a while now and you loved everything about him and your relationship. It was always felt so real with him, so you didn't hesitate about the answer.

You threw yourself on him with glossy eyes," Yes, yes, yes."

You locked your hands behind his head, squeeling in happiness. Peter squeezed your body so tight, that you almost couldn't breath.

"I love you so so so much " he whispered against your neck, warm breath tickling your skin and his eyes were full of tears, aswell.

"I love you more."

"Not possible" he argued and you had to giggle.

"Can't believe, that i'm gonna marry you" he slightly pulled back to look at your damp face and brushed the fallen tears away.

"Me too" you rubbed your nose against his in fondness.

"You know, as your fiancée now, i think you should kiss me" you grinned at him.

"You're right, i definitely should kiss the love of my life" and he did.

He kissed you like he had for the first time. So soft and slow, like he wanted to imprint it to his mind, so he could remember it forever. It was a kiss, full of raw emotions.

"Fuck, i can't wait to marry you" Peter sighed against your lips.

He fidgeted with your fingers and said, "i don't have the ring yet, but i'll go and buy you the most perfect one for you tomorrow."

"I'm sure, i'll love it" you shyly beamed and Peter kissed you again.

...

...

...

Hey guys, thank you for reading. I had to post this for the second time, it wouldn't show up in the tags....

Let me know what you think. Feedback is always appreciated.

Have a great day and stay safe everybody. Peace out ☀️

[vhagarlovebot]

— BREAK ME LIKE A PROMISE

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader.

warnings: just pure angst, no happy ending.

gwen’s thoughts: i’m a real whore for angst so this will be very angsty. also partly based on all too well by taylor swift. you can picture any peter parker you want but i wrote this thinking of andrew’s peter.

you stared at the door as if doing that peter magically would appear, wearing his beautiful smile and lighting the room with his presence.

but peter doesn’t show up.

you wait and wait and wait, getting pity looks from your dad and the few friends you invited to your birthday party that know about your relationship with peter.

he knew today was going to be a special day. he promised you today you finally were going to go public. and you believed him as you always do.

for the first time in the night you stop looking at the door. tears in your eyes and a knot in your stomach as you prepare yourself to face the truth.

a hand on your shoulder makes you look up from your lap. “i’m sorry.” one of peter’s best friends is looking at you ashamed. as if this is any of his fault. “don’t know what happened but i spoke with him yesterday and he was very excited for this.”

“yeah, well, where is he then?” you get up from the chair you’re currently sitting on, drawing everyone’s attention. “thank you all for coming, it was a lovely evening. but i’m really tired and need to sleep.”

you know you’re being rude but you’re going to be sick if you stay there any longer, pretending everything’s fine while your heart is being crushed more and more every passing minute.

it’s only when you’re in the safety of your room that you let the tears fall.

what were you thinking giving peter another chance? this wasn’t the first, or the second, or the third one. peter parker has let you down more times than you can count. and every time he gets on his knees to apologize you say it’s going to be the last time. but it never is.

peter with his charm, his beautiful and bright smile, and his soft words knows how to make you fall for his lies again. and he just keeps getting better at them.

curled up on the floor you start thinking of the peter you fell in love with. the shy and cute peter parker who went to a pottery class just to give you a mug made by himself for your first anniversary. that peter parker would never to the things this new version has done to you.

you don’t know how much time passes but eventually you don’t have any more tears. you can’t keep crying over someone you had lost long time ago.

a knock on the window startles you and you immediately try to cover your tear-stained face from whoever is outside. and when you open the curtains, there stands the last person you want to see.

he’s fucking smiling and waving at you.

you open the window for him, against your will. and turn around not wanting to be laughed at. or make him angry, you’ve been through that with him before.

“you won’t believe who i saw today,” peter says, tossing his backpack on the floor and lying on your bed, arms behind his head and looking to the ceiling. “fucking brad pitt was at the table next to us.”

your heart breaks a little more. “us?”

“yeah, i told you i was going to have dinner with an old friend today.” you feel his eyes on your back but don’t turn around. you can’t do this looking at him because you’re weak and you know what’s going to happen if you let your guard down.

“you didn’t tell me anything.” you fight the urge to cry and scream and slap him. “at least not yesterday when i reminded you that today was my birthday party.”

“oh shit,” only then he remembers. he’s quickly beside you, grabbing your hands and trying to look you in the eyes. and you know what comes next. “i’m really sorry, sweetheart. but i told you today was special. we’ve been planing this dinner for over a month.”

your lips are trembling and you need to breathe in and out before speaking. “today was special for me too.”

he pulls away, your hands falling by your sides. “and i’m telling you this date was special. i haven’t see her in years.”

“today was my birthday, peter!” you can’t fight it anymore. your eyes filled with tears look at his brown ones, and he does not look sorry at all.

“now you’re just being selfish. it’s not like i have missed something important.” peter grabs his backpack, ready to climb out the window. “call me when you stop being a baby.”

he hasn’t even told you happy birthday. this is how much he cares about you.

before he can leave, you turn around. “i won’t.”

he stops, looking at you from his position. brows furrowed and a smirk on his face. he looks evil. “don’t do this to yourself. we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“i won’t be calling you. not tomorrow or any other day.” tears are streaming down your face. it’s hurts so much giving you the place you deserve because you know you can’t do it by his side. “i’m done with this. with us. i can’t do it anymore. i just can’t keep pretending everything’s okay between us when you’ve been acting like a total stranger for the past year.”

he doesn’t move from his position. it’s like seeing you cry doesn’t matter to him. “we’ve been through this before. we know how this will end.” at least he’s not smirking anymore. “i love you, you love me, we’re good to each other.”

“that’s the problem…” you laugh, no emotion on your face. “you don’t love me and we’re not good to each other.” it’s like those words snap him out of a trance and then he’s climbing back into your room. “don’t get closer!” there’s terror on your face, your whole body shaking with fear and sadness. if he comes closer you know you’ll fall right back into his arms.

“what are you talking about?” he sounds really confused.

“we’re done, peter. you’re a whole different person, it’s like i don’t even know you anymore.” you hug yourself, creating a invisible wall between the two of you. “you’re not the same peter i fell in love with.”

“people change.” he excuses himself.

“i know people change, peter. but you didn’t change for good.” he runs his hand through his hair, chest heaving. he really wasn’t expecting this. he tries to talk again, but you don’t let him. “leave, please.”

he stands still and you can see the engines working inside his head. you think he’d start begging for forgiveness, saying how much he truly loves you and how he’ll make this work. but he gives up. you’re not so important to him after all. this is how easy it is for him to let you go. and yes, you’re begging him to let you go, but deep down there’s still a flame of hope. you know the peter parker you knew and love is hiding somewhere.

he doesn’t say anything, just chuckles and climbs out the window, swinging away from your life. leaving a shattered version of yourself behind.

you fall to your knees, sobbing and hoping someday the pain will go away and the pieces peter parker broke will eventually fall back into place.

[citrusy-lemons]

pancake-cakes

tasm!peter x reader

summary: late night cravings bring out some deeper feelings.

author's note: HOLY SHIT, count on me to go MIA for a month after posting. honestly tho i'm so sorry, i've got school and extracurriculars and projects and shit and i haven't really gotten time to write and my schedule is still super hectic, hopefully i'll be able to get other stuff out soon but no promises :/

let me know what you think? constructive criticism is welcome and please be nice :)

see, the middle of the night wasn't meant for this. it's to sleep and dream and pee.

not for baking a cake without having most ingredients of the cake. but you'd gotten a sudden craving and it was a weekend tomorrow, so bad decisions were inevitable.

did you have a million assignments to do? maybe. but peter also had a million assignments to do and he was still here, so technically, he's also making bad decisions. he was aware of that fact.

mind you he did try to convince you to go back to sleep at first but you wore him down. he didn't put up a big fight, he never did, against you.

he's convinced himself that he was only there to watch over you and make sure you didn't slice a finger or spill the flour, not to help you out with your late night shenanigans. but he was cutting up the strawberries so, really, he didn't have a strong resolve.

"you know, i think that when the box says 'pancake mix' you're supposed to make pancakes," he said, turning to you, who was reading the back of said box.

were you trying to bake a cake in the middle of the night with pancake batter cuz you didn't have the stuff for the cake and didn't want to go to the grocery store to get it? kinda. would peter have gone and got the stuff himself if you'd asked? yes.

"i didn't listen to you the last 17 times, i'm not gonna listen to you now, and besides," you said, pouring the mix into a bowl, "a pancake is just a cake but made on a pan instead of an oven. we're just changing the recipe a bit," you shrugged, like it was obvious and he was the stupid one.

"there are so many things wrong with that sentence, i dont even know where to begin,"

"here's a hint, don't."

you were being mean, you knew that. you didn't mean it. peter knew that. and you knew that peter knew that but you would apologize later. he knew that. he sighed dramatically.

"you wound me,"

you rolled your eyes at that. pretending to be annoyed at him was easy. wiping the smile away from your face when you were around him wasn't.

"if i had a dollar for every time you're wounded, i'd be filthy rich."

he glanced up at you. he knew that that wasn't completely a joke, it had a bittersweet tone to it. was that the reason why you were up at this ungodly hour? peter knew that you'd been stressed lately, he didn't know he had a hand in that.

"hey, you wanna tell me what's up?"

you didn't meet his eye, but you did stop fiddling with the bowl. almost immediately, you grabbed the knife out of his hand, mumbling, "you're cutting them all wrong,"

you both knew that wasn't true. one of the perks of having grown up with may was that peter was a fantastic cook. he'd been doing this sort of stuff forever. you needed to get better at excuses.

he gently laid his hand over yours to stop you and said your name softly, pleadingly. a long pause. you complied.

"it's just that," you started with a sigh, and dropped the knife, "you're my best friend peter, and i know that being spiderman means a lot to you," hesitation creeps up as you get to the actual issue. peter senses a 'but' coming. you look at him.

"but you come home every night with bruises everywhere, in pain, and i know you say that they'll go away in the morning and they do but," you're rambling now, he doesn't stop you.

"you have to see it from my perspective, i-" another sigh, you look away, "i get scared, peter."

oh. you were worried for him. he wonders how he didn't realise that before. that time he came home with a stab wound and you looked like you were going to cry he thought you were nauseous at the sight of blood. peter was an idiot.

"i know i shouldn't but i dont like the thought of you getting beat up every night." you were talking with your hands now, "imagine how you would feel if i came home with bruises all over my body and told you not to worry and that i'll be fine in a couple hours." you looked at him again. there was a sort of pain in your eyes. peter wishes it weren't there.

"it doesn't feel good peter. and you assume that i'm supposed to be okay with it?" you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, turning back to the strawberries. your hands were shaking.

peter thought about it. about what you'd said. you were scared for him and he understood that. it couldn't have been easy to be with someone like him. but he couldn't very well abandon spiderman. it was a part of him now. he knew that you knew that, but at the same time, he understood your point.

he thought about how he'd feel if the roles were reversed. if you came home with the type of wounds he did every night, he would be terrified. he couldn't blame you, of course he couldn't.

but he was spiderman, he had a responsibility, an unspoken vow to this city. he had opportunities and powers that no one else did, and he wanted to do good with it.

he hadn't asked for it, but he still had it. if he gave up being spiderman, he didn't think his conscience would let him live with it.

"i'm not asking you not to be spiderman," you spoke, finding your voice, "of course i won't do that. i'm just saying..." you trailed off, unsure of what you wanted and whether you were allowed to have it.

peter took both your hands into his, silently begging you to look at him. you did.

"i know what you're saying, and i understand. i don't blame you, i get where you're coming from and i promise, i'll be fine," he said, softly. he knew you were anxious about his safety.

"i can't give up being spiderman, and i know that's not what you're saying, but you have to understand, i can't not do it, it's a part of me, and i swear i will be more careful," his brown eyes bore into yours, willing you to understand. you blinked and unconsciously looked to the floor.

"but what if, being careful isn't enough one day? what if it isn't just some robbers or burglars but some other things? what if it's one of those aliens or mutants or something and you can't defend yourself? what am i supposed to do then, pete?"

you closed your eyes again, trying to stop the tears. peter's heart was tearing itself knowing that he was the reason for them. how could he tell you that him being the cause for your tears hurt more than any knife in the world?

"hey, look at me," he said, searching for your eyes. you shook your head but looked up at him anyway, the tears in your lashes resolutely not giving in to gravity.

"nothing is going to happen to me. i've handled stuff like that, you know. i know you're worried and upset but i promise, nothing will happen. you need to trust me, okay? we're going to be fine. please, I need you to trust me."

he said your name like it's the last time he'll ever get to, not in a way a friend is supposed to.

you sniffed, "i trust you, i do. it's this city that i don't trust," you steeled yourself, "but if you're sure, and you believe we'll be fine, then i do too."

he cracked a smile then, and pulled you in for a hug. a tight one. neither of you let go for quite a few minutes. you relished in it.

"god, okay i know i'm being silly, i'm sorry," you said after you'd pulled away, rubbing at your eyes.

"you're not being silly, don't be sorry. it's completely okay and valid. don't ridicule your thoughts, you're allowed to feel," peter said, in a scold-ish manner that he'd no doubt learnt from may.

"and please step away from the strawberries, and go back to butchering your so-called 'cake'," he said with a teasing smile, bumping his hips into yours to move you back to the bowl of pancake mix.

you scoffed incredulously, back into your playful demeanor, "excuse you, i would have perfected this pancake-cake if i weren't feeling sleepy right now, so, unfortunately for you, you won't get to taste this deliciousness, whenever i do get to make it,"

"oh, what a tragedy, i won't get to torture my tastebuds with whatever concoction you manage to brew up,"

you shoved at him, not that he moved an inch, and grabbed the plate of cut strawberries.

"just for that, i'm gonna eat these strawberries in bed using your pillow as a table, and you know i can be a very messy eater," you laughed like an evil sorcerer and ran towards the bedroom.

peter, horrified at the thought of sleeping on a sticky pillow, ran after you, forgetting that he had sticky hands himself. (pun intended, i'm sorry i couldn't not do it)

"come back here you!"

the pancake mix in the bowl, the half pack of strawberries waiting to be cut, and the anxiety were all left forgotten back in the kitchen.

[whiskeyswriting]

Peter's Way Home | Chapter 1: Peter's Ladybug

{ Masterlist }

A/N: Image header by me using Canva; divider by @silkholland

It had been the hardest three months after losing your mom and now today is the first day back at Midtown Science High School. While it wasn’t the first day of school, that’s what it felt like to you.

It had been an accident they said. The fire couldn’t be contained in the restaurant's kitchen. She died saving her coworkers. She was a hero. Yet, it didn’t feel like an accident when it felt more like negligence on her job’s part. Had the fire extinguishers been properly maintained or the windows not been painted shut, you would still have your mother.

The sound of a skateboard along the sidewalk drew you out of your thoughts. “Hey, ladybug!” Your best friend calls out to you.

“Hi Peter,” you say softly, needing to get used to using your voice again.

“Are you sure you’re ready to come back to school and deal with the idiots?” He teases.

“Someone has to keep them in line right?” You bump your shoulder with his. “So tell me everything that I’ve missed.”

You smile as Peter starts on his rambling catching you up on everything that had been going on at school.

The morning at school had gone by quicker than you anticipated. Your teachers had already been reminded that you had been homeschooling while you were in your months of grief.

It wasn’t easy. There was no point in lying about it. There were days when you would do your schooling at your dad’s fire station. On other days, you stayed with Peter’s Aunt May and Uncle Ben. They had always been great neighbors since you moved into the neighborhood but in the last few years, they became your second family.

During lunch, you head to the courtyard and you spot Peter and make your way to him. Before you can reach him, you hear him telling Flash to put another kid down. Next thing you know, Flash is beating Peter up.

“Eugene!” You yell out at the same time as Gwen approaches him. “I’ll walk with Flash. You check on Peter,” you tell Gwen, knowing of Peter’s crush on her.

You had once hoped he would crush on you but his happiness mattered more to you, so you would help him win the girl of his dreams.

“Flash! What the hell was that for?” You ask him harshly. “You promised me you would leave Peter alone.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in close for a hug. “I’m sorry. Welcome back to school. I should have given my best girl a hug before now.”

You return the hug. “Thank you, Flash! But I won't tutor you again if I see or hear you making fun of Peter... No matter what.”

You didn’t notice that, as you talked with Flash, Peter spotted you and felt annoyed that you two were hugging. He knew he had no right. You were entitled to your own friends. But did Flash have to be one of them?

It was surprising to anyone to hear that Flash Thompson and you were friends. You were considered one of the nerds. Flash was the jock everyone loved. Well, mostly everyone. Your friendship with Flash blossomed from your days studying at the firehouse. His father and older brother were firefighters, so he would often visit and sit with you as you tutored him.

“Since you’re my best girl, it’s only fair that I take you as my date to homecoming,” he says smiling charmingly at you.

“That would be fun,” you reply. “Come on, let’s get to class and we can talk more later about homecoming.”

“Actually,” he shuffles his feet nervously. “I was hoping you’d say yes to being my girlfriend. I’ve got a crush on you and well we’re a good team.”

You weren’t blind. Flash was handsome. You both got along pretty well. You both actually had things in common. Though it’s not the guy you would have hoped for, you nodded yes. 

“Woooo! She said she’ll be my girlfriend,” Flash yells with a laugh.

When you’re in class, you can hear Gwen asking Peter if he knew his name. You try not to giggle when you sense him getting flustered at talking with her. 

After school, you and Gwen discuss what topics to go over at the next debate team meeting. The subject then changes to boys.

“So I heard Flash asked you out,” Gwen says with a teasing smile.

“Did the whole school find out?” You reply laughing.

“Oh Flash was telling everybody that would listen that he got his dream girl.”

“Dream girl?” You scoff in disbelief.

“That’s what he was saying to the basketball team in gym,” she continued teasing.

You groan and hide your face. Never had Flash shown any such interest in you so it left you confused as to why he would say you were his dream girl. It’s not that you weren’t pretty, but you knew the more popular girls in school would typically be the Dream Girl for someone like Flash. 

Of course, hearing those words boosted your self-esteem a bit. It took you a few more minutes to refocus on the debate team. 

Once done with debate, you waited for Peter to finish his photographs so you could walk home together. 

“Ladybug!” He came and hug attacked you, wincing when his sides brushed up against your backpack. 

“Peter, when will you stop calling me that?”

“Mmmm… Let me think about it… Never.”

“What about when you get married? And then I get married? And we’re both old…? You’ll still call me ladybug?”

He turns to you and grabs your shoulders. “We’ll be ghosts and I’ll still call you ladybug… Besides, it’s how I keep your mom’s memory alive.”

You stop walking for a moment. “What?”

“Your mom. The day you moved into the neighborhood… you were wearing a ladybug dress and so was your mom. She was calling you her little ladybug.”

“I never knew you knew.”

Arriving home, you find your dad had the night off today. “Hey! So I decided we could have pizza and wings. I also got your mom’s favorite movies so we can make fun of her taste,” he teases but the pain could still be heard.

You rush to hug him. “Sounds like the best night we’ve had in a while… So, uhm guess who asked me out?”

“Peter finally asked you out?”

Your eyes widen. “No. Why would you think it was Peter?”

“Because you two are always together and inseparable. I know one day you’ll end up together.”

“Sorry to burst that bubble, Dad. But it was Flash that asked me out… Both for homecoming and as his girlfriend.”

Your dad sighs deeply and pouts. “I don’t want you growing up. But know I’ll help you with anything for the dance… You know you have May to help too… I have some of your mom’s jewelry that you can use.”

“I love you, Dad.”

As you’re getting ready for bed after the movie, there’s a knock on your window. “I’m decent Peter. You can come in.”

He smiles at your fuzzy socks and the fact that you’re wearing your mom’s cheerleading sweater as your pajama top. “Do you still have her perfume to spray on the sweater?”

“Yeah. I sometimes wear it to feel her close again.”

“Tell me more about her,” he says as he lays on your bed. He knows you have been having a hard time sleeping after your mom’s death so he’s kept his promise of being there with you at night to help you sleep.

Only that today would be the last night for a while he would be there for you. Eventually, another entity would take over your thoughts at night.

--

PWH 🏷 List: @dxmerons @1lellykins @scarlett-witchh @asoulsreverie

Whiskey's Barrel (Permanent Tag List): @askmarinaandothers @bayisdying @breadsquash @callmemana @callsignscupcake @cycbaby @dragon-kazansky @gracespicybradshaw @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ladylanera @starlit-epiphany

[parkerpeter24]

Sending in req, wedding anniversary w/ peter can be smut or not but a lot of fluff <3

OKAY I LOVE THE IDEA thanks so much for sending this in 🤍 i tried my best idk why my writing feels a bit rusty and this isn’t that long 🥸🤧 also i accidentally made this pre-wedding anniversary 😭

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader

requests are open

masterlist

the remnants of last night flooded your mind, leaving a wide smile covering your face as soon as you woke up. peter’s arm were wrapped firmly around you but he shuffled when he heard the change in your pattern of breathing.

you turned around in his arms and he pulled you closer, “g’morning, boyfriend. happy anniversary.”

you watched with partly closed eyelids as peter’s eyebrows furrowed, lips downturned, “i’m your fiancé!”

“right. i know.” you chuckled as he nudged his nose against yours. peter, your boyfriend since four years, had finally proposed to you one night before your anniversary, and despite him being the worst at secret-keeping, this one was exceptionally well kept. but knowing peter, you would have expected something like that from him anyway.

“why’d you say boyfriend?” he asked.

“you know, it was fun being your girlfriend. it’s like an end of an era.” you shrugged, getting up finally to start the day.

peter shook his head, “happy anniversary, fiancé.”

the two of you made breakfast together, stealing kisses every once in a while as you worked around the kitchen in co-ordination. peter cut up some strawberries while you baked pancakes.

“we should run to the grocery store later.” you stated as the two of you sat down at the dining table, besides instead of sitting across each other.

“why?” peter asked.

“there’s basically nothing left in the fridge.” you said before dipping your spoon in the nutella jar and pulling out a flood of the chocolate spread, covering your pancake in it.

“whoa! easy there, willy wonka.” peter teased, making you laugh.

“it’s alright. not like i’ve gotta maintain a figure, i got a boyfriend.”

peter’s face, once more turned sour with distaste. not from your pancakes but from what you’d just said, “i’m your fiancé.”

“yes, i’ve got a fiancé.” you gave him a grin before taking a bite from your stack of pancakes.

the two of you took a trip down to the grocery store around noon. peter gathered all the items from your list while you were busy exploring the snacks section, finally deciding on a few packs of readymade popcorn for your movie night later and some reese’s peanut butter cups.

on your way out from the store, you stumbled into your neighbour, mj. she noticed the ring immediately and her eyes widened in excitement.

peter realised you two hadn’t told anyone about your engagement. peter noticed the look of confusion over your face as mj congratulated you.

the brunette took your hand in his, pulling it up to your eye level so you could see the beautiful ring sitting on your ring finger, “fiancé.” he mouthed to you.

“oh! thanks a lot, mj.” you smiled at the kind girl.

you were sitting on the couch, legs stretched to rest over the coffee table as you waited for peter to bring the snacks out. the first scene of the movie you two had mutually agreed upon– after a long, long conversation over how star wars is better than rom coms– was paused over the screen as you tapped away on your mobile phone.

you were talking to gwen, telling her the whole thing since she wanted every little detail about how peter proposed to you. you sent her the last text as peter settled beside you, leaving against your shoulder, “watcha doin’?”

“nothing, just telling gwen about my fiancé.” you emphasized on the word.

“finally!” peter cheered, making you laugh as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

the two of you cuddled on the couch as you started ‘the proposal’.

not to your surprise, peter was straddling your hips as the end credits rolled. his hands, warm under your t-shirt, travelled up, pulling the fabric along with them.

your tongue worked its way past your lover’s lips, exploring his mouth. your hand travelled to the nape of his neck, playing with the soft curls as he pulled away for breath. his lips attached to your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake, then over your neck. you felt him gently bite the skin over your sensitive spot, making you gasp, “peter! no teasing.”

peter pulled away to look you in the eye, giving you a smug look “what? i just wanna make sweet love to my girlfriend.”

“fiancé!” you scolded before sealing the gap between you two once more.