#tasm headcanon

[gatorbites-imagines]

Andrew Peter Parker x male Deadpool reader, jus headcanons

TASM Peter Parker x Deadpool male reader

Headcanons

I always love when Peter is extra spidery. Been a while since I watched the amazing spiderman movies ngl.

I imagine this takes place after Peter comes back home after the No Way Home movie, so he has a deeper understanding of just how broad and different his universe is.

He keeps being spiderman like he’s always been, but at maybe you show up as a coworker at his job, or just during the night when he’s patrolling, but soon you two are spending a lot of time together.

Seeing as Deadpool is conscious about being inside a comic or media, I have the idea that you to some degree know this too, meaning you make jokes about the multiverse, or memes that don’t exist in your universe.

You would crack jokes about Peter having gone to a different dimension too, and make comments about villains that don’t exist in your universe, which would be what really caught Peters attention.

The white and yellow voices you have are all for you flirting with peter, as peter and as spiderman, and it leads to you guys having a relationship kinda like comic spiderman and Deadpool.

In the beginning Peter isn’t really sure what to do about you, especially seeing as you kill people, but you are super friendly, affectionate, and call him your soulmate.

Youd grow on him over time, and Peter would start looking forwards to seeing you around. He would even start getting worried if you don’t show up for a bit, even though he knows you taken contracts as an assassin and a gun for hire.

Cue you guys teaming up more and more, and you killing less when he’s around. You can’t fully stop, it’s just not in your nature, but you’ll try for Peter, which he appreciates.

Patrol always ends up with you guys eating something, sitting on the edge of a building, masks pushed up over your noses as you guys talk about whatever it is you can think of. If you have scars like most versions of Deadpool, Peter would be surprised at first, but would never judge you or look down on you for having them.

It takes Peter a while to realize he’s got feelings for you, as there’s part of him that scared to lose you like he did Gwen. Sure, you could heal from an atomic explosion, but that doesn’t keep the guilt and anxious thoughts from existing.

Your always very verbal about being in love with Peter, as he’s your other half and perfect partner, in your own words. Your flirt with him, bring him gifts, ask him on dates after every patrol, or ask him for a kiss when you’ve gotten hurt even though you’re healing.

Imagine your surprise when one day, after you had gotten impaled by a lamppost or something, you have your mask tucked up over your nose. And when Peter asks if there’s anything else he can help you with, after he’s patched you up, you pucker your lips and tell him he could kiss you better.

And for once, instead of scoffing and laughing, he actually leans in and kisses you. You immediately bluescreen, eyes wide as saucers as he gives a little grin and salute before he swings off into the night.

After that you crank your advances even more, and you guys share many more kisses before anything becomes official. You’re both dancing around the subject, but there are clear sparks and feelings between you.

Peter still struggles with the fear of losing you and not being enough, and deep down you have many insecurities of your own, but at some point you guys finally become official.

That’s also the first time you get to see him without a mask, if you don’t know each other during your day life. You swoon, flopping down on the ground with an arm over your eyes and a hand on your heart, gushing about how handsome he is.

Peter leaves you completely flustered when he compliments you in return when you take your mask off, especially if you have the usual Deadpool scars. Your yellow and white voices both agree Peter was the right choice.

You guys start officially dating, and going out during the day as much as you do during the night.

You shower him in gifts, since you have a lot of money doing your gun for hire job, compared to his job of the moment. You have a much better finance than he does, since you can work whenever you want compared to him trying to work a day job and also be spiderman.

Some of his coworkers, or most honestly, think you’re weird when you stop by his workplace if he forgot his lunch, or to bring him something.

But they can also see just how smitten you guys are. They’re more likely to be jealous, since their own partners won’t look at them with as much look as you do when looking at Peter.

When you guys move in together, it’s in a brand-new apartment. Peters isn’t big enough for the both of you, and people who want you dead know your current address.

The apartment is kind of a mess, with all your different accessories, weapons, webshooters, suits, the likes, all over the place. But its perfect for you two and just what you need.

Theres just some kind of peace to be with someone who knows the others’ secret identity, and someone you don’t have to worry will get hurt because of your hero, or antihero, work.

Peter still struggles to hold a day job, since you are as scatterbrained as him, or since your own schedule is super wack, so you don’t notice if he’s late or missing work. You could easily finance the both of you, but Peter being Peter won’t accept being a freeloader in his eyes.

Sure, you still kill people for money and just because you feel like it, but it’s a lot less than you use too, and there are moments Peter needs to step in and reel you guys’ in. But it doesn’t lessen the love you guys have for each other in any way, and when things get tough, you always have one another when it matters.

[blooming-violets]

My headcanon for frat peter is that he joined one after gwen dies to distract himself and as a bandaid fucks everything that movies and gains a reputation oc / reader is his best friend very similar to dancing on my own ik but anyway she tries supporting him but peter is really unhealthy and she leaves for a while how do you think peter would feel about the hole she leaves behind cause she used to basically do all his emotional heavy lifting on hard days

He acts like he's fine. He's learned not to show his emotions especially around the guys. They were never big fans of her, anyway. It takes him about two weeks to finally notice that she's gone. It happens the day he's set to touch up his blonde roots. Usually he heads on over to her dorm, sneaking into the women's bathroom, while she does his hair for him. During those times are when he typically feels more free to speak his mind. They shared a lot of heart to hearts over those moments of the two of them, giggling alone in the bathroom, while he enjoys the feeling of her fussing over his hair. He feels the weight of the world leaving his shoulders for a short time whenever she's around.

This time, though, she doesn't come when he calls.

All his texts go unanswered. At first, he's worried she's hurt. He immediately thinks the worst. It's in his nature to assume that the people he loves will end up dead. Taken too early. It's not until he sees her walking around campus he's able to feel a sense of relief.

He jogs up to her, big, cocky grin on his face, and falls in step next to her. He expects her to open up like usual. Expects her to play along with his teasing. When he only receives a cold shoulder and the silent treatment, he reacts with anger.

Peter's been so angry lately. He's been struggling to feel many emotions but anger is one that always seems to make it through his closed off walls. They say that anger is a massive part of the grieving process but it's one he hasn't been able to shake.

They get into a huge, blow out fight in middle of campus over how he treats her now vs before and how he let's his friends treat her like shit. She's sick of his behavior and only using her whenever he needs something. It's never the other way around. Peter no longer shows up for her like she does for him. She can't take their one sided friendship anymore. This isn't the Peter she grew up loving.

It draws a crowd. People are watching them like they're today's entertainment. It ends with her crying, running back to her dorm, and Peter cursing out the crowds and stalking back to his frat house.

He mourns her loss in his life like he mourned for Gwen.

Denial.

It was her fault. She was being stupid. He had done nothing wrong. So what if his frat brothers teased her from to time. It was her fault she couldn't take a joke. He turned a blind eye to their behavior. He let them get inside his head. He didn't need her. He had lines of women waiting to throw themselves at his feet. What was the loss of one, stupid, annoying girl he knew as a kid? According to his brothers, she refused to put out, anyway. It was no loss to him. He didn't need her.

He buried his hurt by sleeping around more often than usual. A new woman every night. Sometimes two in the same day. He even slept with her best girl friend just to extra piss her off and get back at her.

He wanted her to hurt as much as him.

Anger

He was already the king of anger. He felt its power invade his every pore. It lived deep in his bones and consumed his every waking thought. He was getting into multiple fist fights every week. Not even as Spider-Man, just as Peter Parker.

He fought his frat brothers, he fought guys at the bar, he fought dudes on the street, he even fought his own reflection in the mirror. That one left him covered in blood and surrounded by shattered glass. He needed stitches to close up the wound. He couldn't stand the sight of his own face. He despised the man who stared back at him.

He didn't know this person. He didn't know Peter anymore.

Maybe she was right. Maybe had lost himself.

Bargaining

If he could just see her again...

If he could just see her one time. Hear her voice. That's all he wanted. He could watch her anytime he felt like it. He could overhear her talking to friends whenever he spied on her. He was Spider-Man. He was the master of stealth and shadows. But that wasn't enough. He wanted her voice to be directed at him. He didn't care what she said to him as long as she was talking. All he wanted was a fraction of her attention.

He would trade it all to get her back in his life. Just one conversation. That's he wanted. One, little talk just like old times.

She refused.

He couldn't blame her. He was a destroyer of lives. Anyone he touched crumbled around him. Whether they were killed in a plane crash, shot in the street, fell from a building, or were shoved away...they all left him in the end.

It was his fault. It was always his fault.

Depression

When he lost everything, he used to turn to sex. Now the thought of touching a woman who wasn't her only made him sick to his stomach. Alcohol was too risky. It fucked too much with his emotions. Made him reckless.

Pot was the cure.

It calmed him. Made him forget for a while. Allowed him to just relax and zone out.

He stopped going to his classes. Stopping talking to his brothers. Stopped answering his texts. It was just him, a strong joint, and the quiet of cave of his bedroom. In here, he could wallow in peace.

Peter Parker was not someone who could be trusted in the real world. He deserved to be locked up like an animal. No one needed him. He was better off alone.

This was where he would stay. In the dark. Where he belonged.

Acceptance

The state of his hair told him how much time had passed. It was back to brown. Greasy and unkempt. Shaggier than he typically liked it but he didn't care enough to get it fixed. The only person he ever wanted to touch his hair again was her.

And she deserved an apology.

He had been reading about grief online. There were five stages, so the internet says. There is no specific time period for each and they can jump between the stages whenever they feel like. He liked to hang out in the anger stage more often than the others. It was where he felt most at home. At least he understood anger. Anger made sense to him. Smoking helped quell the raging beast. That was a vice he didn't want to give up. Not yet. He wasn't ready for that step.

The world was an angry place and he fit right in.

But he was learning where to put that anger. It didn't belong on her. That was misguided. She had done nothing wrong. All she had ever done was love him. Anger was okay as long as it was placed in the right direction. He knew that now. Spider-Man could use anger to his advantage. Bad guys deserved anger. His frat brothers deserved his wrath for how they treated others. He, himself, deserved the anger. But not her.

And he needed to make amends. Even if she didn't fully forgive him, he needed to try, because she deserved to hear it, and he deserved to say it.

All it took was one text. After months of no contact. One text and she replied.

Coffee. 9am. Just the two of them.

One, little talk...just like old times.

I LOVED THIS!

It is very Dancing On My Own coded. I think what some people don't fully grasp in that story is that Peter was severely grieving through the later half of it. Gwen died because he couldn't catch her in time. He lost the love of his life because he wasn't good enough at the ONE thing he was supposed to be good at. He fully blames himself for her death. Do people not realize how seriously fucked that would make someone?? I think that's why I like to write dark!Peter so much. Because TASM Peter would be dark after that. He would not be normal. He would not be able to go back to being friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. It would ruin him. We saw that in NWH. It's still eating him alive like a decade later. The college days of Dancing On My Own took place a year after Gwen's death. The boy is fucked up.

Grief makes you do stupid things. Anger and reckless behavior is part of grief. Obvious that doesn't mean that it's okay but to completely write someone off as a monster undeserving of love just because they're hurting doesn't sit right with me. Not that you did that, I'm just going off the comments and complaints I've gotten on the fic that always low key piss me off.

And maybe I'm just not the greatest writer so that didn't come off as well as I wanted it to in DOMO but I tried my best haha. Maybe I shouldn't have ended it where I did and allowed them to grow a bit more after but I really thought that kind of stuff would just be assumed by the reader because it made sense in my head that that's how grief and healing and forgiveness go. But no one lives in my head but me so that's my fault for not executing my intentions properly!

I lovelovelove exploring grief and the different places it can take a person. Grief/depression/anger/angst are my favorite topics. Always have been since I was young. Like how Peter in this story feels most comfortable hanging out in his anger, I feel most happy in my angst and darkness. Sad people sometimes do bad things. Hurting people sometimes hurt other people. Even people they love very much. Does that make them completely incapable of change? Does that make them forever unlovable or not worthy of forgiveness? Sometimes people think too much in black and white and forget that the world is full of all sorts of grays.

Not that this was even about DOMO and I'm completely going on a tangent I know I'm so sorry haha but it's close enough to domo because it's dealing with Peter's grief and hurting of a close friend.

Here's some of my favorite pages from my favorite children's book (Michael Rosen's Sad Book) that talks about grief and the loss of someone you loved very much that's meant to teach children how to better understand their sadness and hurt and that even if you do bad things sometimes it doesn't mean that you are a bad person who doesn't deserve love and forgiveness:

ANYWAY

I just wanted to say that I love this and I love when people come to me with headcanons. That's what fandoms are supposed to be about. We're all supposed to be pestering each other 24/7 with our ideas and creating stories together and collaborating and building shit that we all love. Always send me your ideas. No matter how unhinged you might think they are bc I'm sure I've got equally as crazy ideas to play along with you!

[mrshipsmcgee]

How do you think Peter would propose? I'd feel like he'd go all out but would also be so nervous 🥺🥺🥺

Abby HEY! I love this… so so so much. And I love you so so so much ;)

Warning: mentions of booboos and stitches and love, ew!

- Peter Parker had bought a ring the day after your first date because he knew that there was no one else in the world that got him the way you did.

- He had told May about the ring after only two months into the two of you more than casually dating and May agreed on that fact that you two were seemingly made for one another. She had loved you from the very start. She knew it would be you that her Peter would spend the rest of his days with.

- Peter waited for a moment, a chance where he felt that the time was just beautiful enough - just magical enough to warrant a proposal to the person of his dreams. Even though he waited for the perfect moment, it didn’t come. Nothing felt right.. nothing felt quite good enough to ask you to marry him.

- And then one day the moment hit him.. not a by-the-book magical moment happened, but one moment filled to the brim with true love, full admiration.

- He sat bloodied in between your splayed legs as you stitch up his newest wounds. “Jesus, Pete,” you hiss, needle threading the twine between his split skin.

- he smirks, letting out a breathy chuckle as he watches you carefully tend to his wounds. “You take such good care of me,” he smiles as sweat drops down his forehead, his gut twisting into knots as he thinks of the ring in the drawer of his bedside table. He imagines how the rock would sparkle on your finger the next time you’d need to stitch him up.

- “Yeah,” you nod, “Maybe I take such good care of your dumbass because I love you - I dunno though.”

- He laughs - belly laughs, drawing your attention from the open wound to his honey eyes, “Well, I would have to say that I love you more.”

- You scoff, “No fucking way.”

- “Yes way!” He lets out a nervous giggle followed by a pained hiss.

- “Shit,” you reply, watching as his brows curve into a pained arch - “Don’t make yourself bleed more trying to say you love me more when you already know that I love you more.”

- Peter nods his head towards the beside table, nervously giggling through his pain, “That drawer says otherwise.”

- You open the drawer, a velvet box stared back at you. “Peter,” you choke, eyes darting back to his loving gaze.

- A goofy smile is plastered across his face as he bites his tongue, nodding toward the drawer, “Be a doll and hand me that box.”

- You oblige, sitting the box on his Spidersuit-covered thigh, not knowing whether or not to stare at Peter or the box.

- his glove covered finger opens the box, his eyes meet yours again.

- “Peter,” you whisper.

- “I’ve had this for a long time now,” he says plainly, eyes flickering as he licks his lips. “I’ve known since the first day that-that you and me were supposed to be together. I - I’ve wanted to do this for so long now that I don’t even know what to say.” He looks away, down towards the ring. “But what I do know is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I- I want to be the reason why you laugh.. and- and I want to take care of you.. start a life with you and start a family.. and grow old with you right beside me, calling me a dumbass and making fun of me until the day we die.”

- He holds the box in his hand, “Would you marry me?”

[cosmal]

✪ — oh em gee what about ❛ this is a good look for you. ❜ with peter parker

stained

summary — peter spills a drink on your top at a party.

content — tasm!peterparker x fem!afab!reader, mentions of nudity

note — sorry this is super short! more of a baby blurb!

You sit on the edge of the toilet, naked from the waist up, while Peter is hunched over the bathroom sink, scrubbing at your shirt.

"Peter, just leave it, I'll wash it at home," you say softly. He looks really determined.

He'd spilt his drink all over your top downstairs at the party you're at. He'd felt horrible and insisted that he could get the stain out in the sink. The green stain out of your white top.

Turns out dawn soap and lukewarm water don't do the job. "I'm sorry, baby, really," he frets, holding the top up where it drips into the sink. You're not sure if he's made it better or worse. You appreciate him nonetheless.

"Pete, thank you, really," you start, shifting uncomfortably over the plastic lid. You cross your arms over your chest, where your bra digs into your skin, and look at the wet mess Peter holds in his hands. "It's okay. But now I have no top."

Peter drops the shirt looking really guilty. He feels horrible because he's ruined one of your favourite tops and he's also the reason you're half-naked in some random condo.

"Shit," he curses to himself.

He doesn't think twice. Peeling his jacket off, he stands at your knees and holds it out. "Here," he says bashfully. It's a thin jacket, made of nothing really. It's all you've got and you're not about to start complaining.

You stand to slip it on and hate it when you realise it has no zipper. Or any buttons. You pull it taut over your front and start to feel anxious. "Can you see anything?"

He pulls the collar forwards over your collarbones and smooths it out over your shoulders. "You're safe," he smiles. You watch his throat bob under the skin of his lightly stubbled neck. "It, uh, it looks really good."

"Pete," you groan while tipping your head back. "I'm naked, in the middle of the city, wearing my clumsy boyfriend's jacket, and you're getting turned on?"

"What?" he gawps, clearing his throat, "I am not! You just suit it, that's all."

You pull it tight around your middle and roll your eyes. "You're unbelievable."

He plays with the hem between his fingers, keeping his eyes planted to the floor momentarily. "It's a good look on you."

You straighten your back and ignore the way he's making you feel. Time and place you remember. "Right, we're going outside unnoticed and you're gonna hail a cab with those long arms of yours."

"You don't wanna swing home?" he asks.

"You don't have your shit," you grumble. It'd be convenient, but also reckless.

"My shit? You mean my suit?" he laughs, wrapping a hand around the hinge of your elbow. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that because I deserve it."

Peter makes sure you're decent before he opens the door to the bathroom. You stand behind him, hanging off his arm, hoping his broad shoulders will do you a favour and hide you well.

There's a drunk guy on the other side for the toilet presumably. Peter moves to the side to shield you on instinct when you squeak out a surprised noise. You push your chest against him to cover the slip of skin that struggles to be covered by the jacket, and let Peter guide you down the hall.

You lean in to whisper in his ear, "You owe me, Parker."

You get out onto the street when he says, "I'll show you how sorry I am when we get home."

[bruisedboys]

also also!!!!!! peter x clumsy!reader might be the best pairing. because his spidey senses ugh he’s always catching you before you trip. like an arm around your back and then he dips you down to be dramatic and you get all flustered. and!!! if you’re not in arms reach he definitely shoots a web at you to pull you into his chest before you can do any damage. you both have several heart attacks a day because you’re such a klutz.

I am always on the peter x clumsy reader agenda!! they are so special to me!!! also the thing you said about him catching you and dipping you down omg I could die.

fem!reader 0.7k words

You’re still in the process of patching yourself up when Peter gets home, your knees scraped and a box of big Band-Aids waiting for you on the coffee table. You were hoping to be done by the time he got home, to save him the worry. No such luck. You hear the front door open and you don’t have time to hide your fresh wounds, your evidence of yet another accident.

You’re sure you look quite pathetic when Peter emerges in the doorway.

“Hi, dove! I missed— are you bleeding?” His smile drops and so does his bag. He doesn’t bother taking his jacket off. He strides across the room and gets to his knees in front of you. His hands find your thighs, thumbs just shy of your fresh scrapes.

“Oh, honey,” he coos. He’s not shocked, at least. You think maybe it’s happened so many times it doesn’t phase him anyway more.

His eyebrows pinch together as he scowls at your poor knees, his hands squeezing your thighs. He gives your injuries a once over before lifting his head to look at you sadly. “What happened?”

You frown. “Tripped in the driveway,” you admit moodily. “I’m fine, really. Looks worse than it feels.”

Peter huffs morosely, “I wish I was there when it happened. Could’ve caught you, baby.”

You melt. You’re endeared by his care for you. You smile at him and reach out to push his hair from his forehead, his curls soft under your fingers. You drag your hand down the side of his head, fingers heavy, and let your palm rest over his cheek. Peter’s eyelids flutter under your touch.

“It’s okay, Pete,” you tell him brightly. “You can’t win ‘em all.”

Peter laughs, his smile blinding. “Thanks, babe.” He twists his head so he can kiss your palm, a warm press of his soft, wind-bitten lips. “Let’s get you patched up now, hm?”

Peter patches up your knees, hands gentle as he cleans your wounds and presses Band-Aids over them. He’s a practiced hand, having done this plenty of times, on your legs, elbows, fingers, you name it. Though you must admit, you’re far less prone to accidents with Peter around. He catches you more times than he doesn’t. Today was just bad timing.

When Peter’s done fixing you up he lays a kiss on each of your knees, over your fresh white Band-Aids.

“All fixed,” he says happily, sliding his hand up your thigh to give your hip a squeeze.

You beam and cover his hands with yours. “Thanks, Peter.”

Peter stands and pulls you up with him. Your knees sting, but only a little, and it’s nothing you’re not used to.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, head ducked so he can meet your eyes, his hair tumbling into the space between your heads. “I can get you some ice, if you like?”

You shake your head. You’d much rather have him stay this close forever. “I’m okay, Pete.”

Peter still looks unconvinced, a frown tugging at his lips. He thinks for a second, then, “Do you want a hug? ‘Cos I know I do.”

You giggle. You’d kill for a hug right now. “Sure.”

You push your arms under his and he circles you in his strong hold, pulling you as close as he can to his chest. He’s careful to avoid your knees bumping his, legs moving so yours are between his. You push your face into his firm chest and breathe him in, his smells, his cologne and the wind on his clothes and that lovely scent he carries around with him everywhere, like old books and coffee shops.

Peter’s face falls into your neck and he sighs, practically melting into you, latching onto you like glue. He’s warm and he’s soft and he’s Peter. The pain in your knees is completely unnoticeable when he’s holding you like this.

“My poor, clumsy girl,” he says eventually, mostly fond, but there’s a whisper of cheek that you don’t miss.

You scowl into his chest. “M’not clumsy,” you whine, though you definitely are and you both know it. “The pavement is uneven.”

Peter pulls back, his big hands on your upper arms. He’s smiling like an idiot. “It is?”

You nod fervently. “Yeah. S’why I tripped.”

Peter nods slowly like you’re telling the truth, like the pavement in the driveway isn’t perfectly even.

“Stupid pavement,” he says.

You giggle and hide your face in his chest again.

-

[st4rlex]

i like to think that nobody in noir's universe knows what he looks like either because his hat shadows out his face

[spider-stark]

SPIDER-BOY

Pairing - Peter Parker x Reader

Summary - Thinking he has no chance with y/n as himself, Peter begins approaching them as Spider-Man.

friendly reminder - the best way to support writers on Tumblr is to reblog their work or comment <3:)

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

Two months. 

That was how long it had been since Peter first indulged in his ridiculous idea of talking to you under the guise of Spider-Man. Of course he hadn’t meant for it to last this long, promising himself that it was just to help him build his confidence–maybe even learn a bit about what kind of things you liked–so that he could actually ask you out as himself. Unfortunately, though, things hadn’t gone quite as he had planned. 

Spider-Man offered him a type of courage that he just wasn’t able to muster as Peter Parker. Under the cover of his mask he was able to come across as easy-going and flirtatious, never failing to leave your cheeks a deep crimson from the playful banter. Yet, when he did manage to speak to you as plain ole’ Peter, all of that was suddenly lost on him, leaving him a complete and total bumbling mess. As far as he was concerned, Peter Parker had no chance to be what any girl wanted, especially you. But Spider-Man was a different story.

And so he continued to exploit Spider-Man, using the masked hero as a means to continue getting closer to you, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to hide behind his secret identity forever. To be fair, he would rationalize to himself, Spider-Man had taken a lot from him, it was only fair that he got something in return. 

Plus, the interactions had been mostly innocent. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself, opting to ignore the many times that coy attitudes began to border on actual sexual attraction. He tried not to think about those times (though there had been many nights where he purposely let those interactions slip into his mind, reliving them from the privacy of his bedroom), instead just promising himself that he wouldn’t let his romantic escapades as Spidey go too far. 

“So,” your voice filled his ears, his heart skipping a few beats at the sound, “at what point should I start to wonder if you’re stalking me?” 

Peter chuckled at the question, his fingers gripping the railing of the balcony to your apartment, effortlessly hanging from it. “Do you feel like I’m stalking you?” 

“Hm,” you placed a finger against your chin, pretending to be deep in thought, evoking even more laughter from the boy. “Maybe a bit.” 

“Oh yeah? What did I do to give that impression?” 

“Well, to be fair, you’re currently dangling a couple hundred feet in the air off the side of my balcony.” You told him matter-of-factly, gesturing to where he was still hanging from the railing. 

His brows furrowed beneath his mask, an expression that was barely noticeable due to the fabric covering his face. “And that makes me a stalker? I thought you’d find it romantic, a sort of Romeo-and-Juliet moment.” 

“Romeo threw pebbles at her window, he didn’t scale an entire apartment building dressed in spandex.” You reminded him, “But, actually, it’s more so that I don’t remember ever giving you my address.” 

Peter froze for a moment, having not thought about the fact that your previous run-ins with Spider-Man had always been in public spaces–catching you after work or just happening to bump into you on the street while patrolling–never at your home. He only knew where you lived because you had told him, but as Peter Parker, not Spider-Man, when the two of you were assigned to a project together last week. He mentally face-palmed at his own ignorance. 

“Superheroes keep up with where all the pretty girls live. One of the lesser-known parts of the job.” He quipped, hoping that flattery would keep you from thinking too much into it. You only rolled your eyes at the comment, luckily not pressing any further. 

“So what did I do to deserve a surprise Spidey visit this time?” You hummed, leaning back against the cold brick of your apartment building.  

Peter hoisted himself over the edge of the balcony so that he was standing across from you, his arms finally beginning to ache from holding up his bodyweight for so long. “What, I’ve gotta have a reason to stop by and see my favorite civilian?” 

“Civilian?” You snorted. “And here I was thinking you and I were friends.” 

He dramatically placed his hands on either side of his face, feigning shock at your words, “Oh God no! You and me? Friends?” he let his hands fall to his waist, an exaggerated breath leaving his mouth, “No, not at all. I think that would be a conflict of interest.” 

You cocked a brow at him, “How so?” 

“I mean–I just think it would really interfere with our whole superhero slash damsel-in-distress routine, ya know?” 

“Damsel-in-distress?” You gasped incredulously at the claim, though the corners of your mouth were still quirked up in a smile. 

Peter nodded, “Uh, yeah. That’s literally our whole thing, isn’t it? You constantly running into trouble, me swinging in and saving your life.” 

“You haven’t had to save my life once Spider-Boy.” Peter scoffed at the name, acting like he was insulted. 

“Oh c’mon!” Peter dragged the word out, practically whining as he took a fraction of a step towards you, the movement enough to leave only a few inches between the both of you due to how small the balcony was. “You are literally always getting yourself into danger.” 

“Okay,” You crossed your arms over your chest, craning your neck so that you could actually look up at him, the masked vigilante having several inches on you, “give me an example then.” 

Peter rolled his eyes, a gesture only evident by the dramatic way his head moved along with them. He reached a gloved hand to your face, letting his fingertip gently brush against the semi-healed cut along your forehead. “You literally got this by tripping over your own shoes and banging your head against the counter at a coffee shop. Not to mention the fact that you spilled your entire coffee on yourself in the process.” He trailed away from the cut, moving to brush a stray hair behind your ear. He didn’t take his hand away, though, letting it rest against the side of your face. “You are always in danger because you are the danger.” 

Your eyes widened for a moment, so quick that he didn’t even notice the reaction. He was right, you had done that, an unfortunate consequence of being the clumsiest person alive. But, still, his words left you confused; remaining silent for just a moment as you turned them over in your head. When you finally opened your mouth to speak you were cut off by the sound of distant sirens, a groan immediately coming from him, knowing that your interaction would now be cut short. 

His thumb brushed against your cheek, acting as an unnecessary silent apology. 

“Sounds like somebody needs Spider-Man.” You told him as he let his hand fall from your skin, forcing himself to the railing. If he didn’t go now, he wouldn’t leave at all. “You better hurry, it could be one of those pretty girls you keep tabs on.” You shot a teasing grin in his direction, referencing his earlier comment. 

“Ugh, they just never give me a day off.” He joked, swinging his feet over the balcony railing before gripping onto it and allowing himself to once again hang from it. “Try not to trip into anything dangerous until I’m back.” 

He turned his head and reached one hand out, likely to shoot a web at the building across from yours, but hesitated when he heard you speak again, a sudden panic filling his body at your words, “Be safe, Parker.” 

The sirens continued blaring, growing closer with each second, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heart wildly thumping against his chest. “What?” He sounded completely dumbfounded, his head slowly turning back to look at you, only to find you standing with your own finger pointing to the cut he had traced on your forehead, a wide grin on your face. 

“Spider-Man wasn’t there the day that I fell.” You shot a knowing glance in his direction, one that had his cheeks heating up. He had never been more thankful to be wearing a mask, aware that his face was likely beet red. “I asked Peter to meet me there so I could borrow his biology notes.” 

Peter didn’t speak, too stunned by his own stupidity for slipping up and not thinking about how he was there that day as himself, not Spider-Man. This time you were the one to take a step forward and close the gap between you, having to lean down just a bit in order to be face-to-face as he dangled from the railing. 

“You’re a lot more confident in the suit.” You mused, your hands finding the base of his mask, lightly tugging the material up to reveal his face. Even though it was dark out you could still see that he was blushing. “But I prefer you without it.” 

His jaw fell slack, words getting caught in his throat as a million thoughts raced through his mind, though one thought in particular was a lot louder than the rest: I prefer you without it. 

“You should definitely go.” The sirens were now close enough that you could actually see the faint red-and-blue lights a few streets over. He looked in the direction of them but still didn’t make a single move to leave. You seemed to recognize his hesitation, tugging the mask back down over his face. “If you ever remember how to talk then you can come back when you’re done. But ditch the mask.” 

Peter nodded at your words, his eyes remaining glued to you as you straightened back up, turning your back to him to go back inside your apartment–leaving him to go off and be a hero. Once you were inside he couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head as he forced himself to get into motion, swinging in the direction of the police lights. 

Turns out Peter Parker did have a chance.

[lovelettersforthedamned]

thinking about nerdy!peter...

--gif credits: @capinejghafa

-first of all...his glasses oh my god. peter looks so delicious with his glasses, and it makes you melt.

-especially in the morning when his hair is a mess and he's still in that half awake state. oh my godddd.

-nerdy!peter loves a good movie night. he's lowkey a movie guy, but won't admit it. he loves to geek out about the little things while watching a movie you've never seen, but he's seen a million times.

-peter's pretty quiet, but is a more outgoing when he's around you. it took some time before he could come out of his shell, but with you, it was easy.

-when you guys go out to parties or get togethers, he doesn't talk much. he usually is stuck by your side all the way until you guys get home.

-nerdy!peter loves to figure out what your interests are and cater them around you. like if you're obsessed with a certain artist right now, he will make it his mission to get you every single album from them.

-he loves to get you flowers, and he especially loves to surprise you with them.

-sure, he's pretty quiet and awkward, but he knows when to step in when things get a little crazy. he suddenly loses all of his introverted tendencies when something happens, especially when it involves you.

-he would fully bend backwards for you. he thinks that you're an angel reincarnate, and that you deserve the entire world. or, at least the best parts of it.

-sometimes he has these thoughts that you could do better than him:(...you always reassure him because he is quite literally the sweetest boyfriend ever?? like hellooo?????

NSFW BELOW!! MINORS IF YOU SEE THIS, YOU'RE SO GROUNDED!!!!!!!!

-lets be real, nerdy!peter is a virgin when you met. teaching him about being intimate wasn't hard, but you didn't want to rush things with him. if you were his first, you wanted it to be special and loving for him.

-peter is so submissive at first, but when he gets more comfortable around you, he realizes that seeing you under him is something he can get used to.

-since the first time peter has tasted you, he can't get enough. sometimes he'll just eat you out for hours. you try to do something in return, but he says he's alright and that "seeing you cum was more than enough."

-when you guys do have sex, he goes hard. of course, you've had very slow and intimate sex, but holy shit??? peter likes to fuck you, hard.

-aftercare with him is so special. you want to make sure he feels loved every single time, especially since you are his first intimate partner. you often prioritize his needs before yours, but peter quickly realizes you need to be taken care of too. showers after are quiet, usually you are standing with him under the stream of hot water as you hold each other. you two are connected the entire time. all the way up to the moment you fall asleep, limbs wrapped around each other.

[ddejavvu]

'you're a very good kisser.' - send me a request for a baby blurb! give me a character, and a plotline, and i'll write you a little fanfiction :)

omg what about tasm!peter taking you to the library for a ‘study date’ but you just end up kissing in the history section oops 🤭

join my 20K celebration!

'you're a very good kisser.' - send me a request for a baby blurb! give me a character, and a plotline, and i'll write you a little fanfiction :)

--

Everything's going fine, more than that, actually, until a textbook digs into your spine. Peter's too far gone to realize that your squirming is out of discomfort rather than pleasure, and you have to push against his chest to get him to break away from the kiss he's pressing you against the shelves with.

He blinks dazedly, his lips slick with spit as he pants slightly.

"What- what's wrong?"

"There's-" You reach behind you, squinting at the cover of the book you'd been bruised by, "Napoleon decided to join us."

"Oh," He laughs softly, keeping his voice down in case anyone comes to bust you for using the library inappropriately, "I think that's why we're not supposed to make out in the library."

Despite his previous statement, he leans in for another kiss.

"Peter," You mumble, unable to resist the temptation to reciprocate. He kisses you firm and steady, but you peck his lips once, twice, "Peter, I think we should move."

"Mmm okay." He hums, nose still prodding at your cheek, lips on your own, "Romance section?"

"Bedroom," You worm out of his grip, taking his hand and dragging him towards the exit. He follows eagerly, nodding with a hazy grin.

"That- that works, too." He decides, "Much less dusty."

[spiderfunkz]

all i can think abt is tasm!peter in his room listening to music and stitching up his suit 😞

in my head he’s a smiths and mcr fan

this is soooo real!!! slow days with peter where he just plays music in the background as he stitches up his suit & you're on his bed reading his messy journal entries, it's quiet, the weather is perfect, the sun isn't too bright, and you're enjoying each others presence.

small blurb ahead, not proofread.

new york is always busy and loud. no matter what time it was or how the weather is, the city never sleeps.

though this particular afternoon was quiet. maybe it was because the music peter was playing, the old cd player still works to your surprise, or maybe it was because you were so focused on peter's old journal he let you read.

"oh this ones funny. april 19th, a year ago." you giggled. peter hummed, "what did i say?" — "dear diary, today i was in a rush to class. instead of grabbing my pencil, i stupidly grabbed the banana on the counter beside it. i think i was half-asleep because i didn't question the texture difference until i stepped foot in the class holding a half opened banana."

"that wasn't me," peter shook his head. "i would never write 'dear diary' at the start of my entry."

"but you would bring a half opened banana?"

peter nodded his head.

you lay back down at the bed. flipping through the pages of the journal. peter had his glasses on, which you think is adorable, he doesn't wear it that often though. he thinks it's nerdy but thankfully you like nerds. obviously.

"ooh i like this song." you commented.

"everyone likes the smiths," peter stated. "no one likes it as much as me though." he smiled at you, rather threatening-ly.

"okay.. do they help you focus?" you raided your brow. peter was still looking at you, "yeah.."

"really? the hole you're trying to stitch is getting bigger, peter."

[blooming-violets]

😤

KATIE JEALOUS PETER PLS ILYSM

Peter Parker Jealousy Headcanon

OKAY

I'm looking to my crystal ball of headcanons and there's about three million jealousy ones spinning around in there. I'm going to close my eyes and grab one out at random...

You and Peter are friends. College. Senior Year. You run the photography club and convinced him to join sophomore year after you found an old camera in his dorm room. You've been besties ever since. And, by besties, I mean Peter follows you around everywhere and you let him.

Peter doesn't talk to anyone else unless he's forced to.

I'm picturing depressed and disheveled Peter. After Gwen's death. He took a year or two off from college. When he finally attended, he kept to himself most of the time even though he was a part of the club. He only joined because you asked him to. Plus, taking pictures is a fairly solitary thing anyway. He'd do anything you asked him to.

None of your friends really like him. They think he's kind of mean and they're not wrong. He likes to sit and sulk and glare at people.

But, for some reason, he hates everyone except for you.

He always looks like he's two days past his shaving due date but never actually commits to the full beard. Permanent scruff. Constant messy bed head in need of a cut. Sad boy eyes. Same pair of jeans he's worn for the past two weeks. Wrinkled shirt. You get the idea.

The first year you two became friends, you thought the friendship would turn into something more. You kept hoping he would ask you out on a date. When he never did, you worked up the courage to ask him yourself. His response was awkward and it didn't seem like he was super interested so you quickly let it drop. You figured that he only wanted to be friends. You tried to let that be fine. You tried to push away your feelings for the beautiful emo trash human.

OOPS THIS GOT LONG READ MORE TIME

By senior year you'd all but squashed those feelings into the earth. (or so you liked to pretend)

You invited Peter to a party some friends are having at their new apartment off campus. He says he'll "show up if he has time" and you wonder what else this man could possibly be doing because you're his only friend. But you agree with it and decide to head off to the party alone. If Peter shows up, he shows up. If he doesn't, well, you're not going to waste your time begging him.

He does show up. Conveniently right as you do. Almost as if he planned it that way. You two enter and immediately can tell that the party is already getting out of hand. There's a lot of people you don't know in this apartment. People you don't think your friend invited. They probably heard about it from someone and decided to crash. Whatever. It's not your house. Let's get drinks.

Peter and you find the drink table and get busy. Shots shots shots! You're starting to feel good. Happy. Bubbly. You want to dance with the crowd of people middle of the room. You try to pull Peter over there. He refuses.

He gives you a scowl and shakes his head.

"I don't dance!" He shouts over the music.

"You suck," You shout back.

You leave him there to pout on his own and squeeze your way into the mass of sweaty people to dance. You start to lose yourself in the beat of the music. The drinks are spinning around in your head to amp up your happiness. It feels good.

Now some guy is dancing with you. He's grinding up behind you. You turn to look at him. You've never seen him before in your life but he's cute enough. At least the drinks are telling you he's cute and you don't really care. It's been a long time since you've gotten with anyone. Your last boyfriend broke up with you three years ago. You'd been pining over Peter for a while. It was time to have your needs met.

You start dancing back with the stranger. His hands are all over you. You like the feel of being appreciated by someone else. He's making you feel sexy. Beautiful. You turn around in his arms and start to kiss. Right there in middle of everyone. You don't care anymore.

You secretly hope Peter is watching.

And he is.

But he's not just watching. He's glaring. His fist tightens around red plastic cup in his hand so tightly that the contents spill out over the top and the plastic cracks and crumbles. He tosses the crunched up cup off to the side. His jaw is tight. He can't pull his eyes away from you. He wants to look away but he can't. They're glued on to you. Blazing into the back of your head. Even over all the music and noise he can hear the tiny moan of approval in the back of your throat.

The sound sets off all the raging alarms in his head. Fire burns behind his eyes. His shoulders are squared off and tense. And then he sees it.

The stranger, with his greedy arms wrapped around you, slides his hands down your waist. He flips up the bottom of your skirt, right there in the middle of everyone, to expose your underwear to whoever might be looking. A thong. The string is lost between your perfectly plump cheeks. Your ass is on full display should anyone decide to look down. He lets his hands grab fist full of your cheeks, his fingers digging into your flesh, before the skirt flops back down over his wrists to hide the rest from view.

And you're moaning. Kissing him harder. Shoving your tongue down his throat. You like it. You like that he takes control. You like that doesn't care who could see. He's not ashamed of you. He's not afraid. Your heart is spiking. Your skin is getting hotter. You're horny. You're sick of having no one but your vibrator for the past three years. So you whisper into the strangers ear to bring you to the bedroom.

Peter can hear it. He can hear and feel everything you're doing because he's zeroed in on you. You are his target. His senses are set on you and only you. The rest of the room and the people in it have faded away. All he sees is you.

He's watching as you take the strangers hand and lead him through the crowds. You're headed to the bedroom. Peter can't let you reach it. His heart is pounding. His breath is tight in his throat. He can't let you get to that bedroom.

In mere seconds he is across the room. His hand has grabbed a fistful of the stranger's collared shirt. He's throwing him backwards. Hard. Away from you.

Your hand breaks contract with the enemy. There's a brief sense of relief for Peter until he sees the confused shock in your eyes. You're glancing wildly between himself and somewhere off behind him.

The room has gone silent besides the steady beat of the music.

Peter blinks, his other senses starting to come back into focus. There's no longer only you. He can hear the music again. The hushed whispers. He can see the other people. They're all staring at him. No one is dancing anymore.

He turns to look. The stranger has been flung across the entire room and crashed into a kitchen cabinet. Its fallen off the hinges as he holds the back of his head in shock. When he pulls his hand away, there's blood on his palm.

Peter couldn't remember throwing him that far. He only meant to grab him away from you. He didn't mean to lose control of his strength like that. He turned to look back you, expecting to see the same horror as everyone else at the party. Instead he saw something else.

The corners of your lips turned into a smirk. There was a spark behind your eyes. The same one he saw threes years ago on the day you asked him on a date. An expectant hopefulness. He already let you down once. He wasn't going to do it again.

Before anyone could react, he'd taken your hand and fled from the scene. The night air was cool. It refreshed his lungs and helped steady his breath. He pulled you along behind him. Picking a direction and just going with it. Anywhere was better than back there.

You stayed quiet. Afraid that if you spoke, it would break whatever revelation he was having.

Finally, four blocks from the scene. He stopped to turn and face you.

"I-" he hesitated. He didn't know what he wanted to say. He didn't know how to tell you that you were his best friend. He didn't know how to tell you that you were the only person in his life who he wanted to keep. He didn't know how to say that he was terrified of losing you to. He didn't know how to open himself up and let you in without bringing along the pain of his past. He didn't know if he could treat you the way you deserved. He didn't know how to tell you that he brought along heartbreak and devastation where ever he went. He didn't know how to tell you that if you were with him, he would end up breaking you, too.

He didn't know how to tell you that, despite all that, he loved you.

You watched the words of all the things he couldn't say flash across his face. He didn't need to say them. Not to you. Not yet.

"If you can't say it, Peter," you whispered to him. "Then show me."

KISS

THE END

[mrshipsmcgee]

I crave some of the classic “random villain kidnaps Peters girl and tortures her in order to get info on him” add in some “Peter shows up at the last minute and goes feral” to make me happy

Yes ma’am. Anything for you my darling 😏

WARNINGS: blood, booboos, owies, hurt

Peter steps into the open window of his shared apartment with his best friends, Miles and Mary Jane. Peter thumbs the switch of the floor lamp beside him before discarding his mask, pausing as his brows lace together - scanning his surroundings realizing his normally warm and inviting home was dark and empty.

No Miles.

No MJ.

They should be up still.. the house should smell like fresh popcorn and the fireplace should be filled with orange flames as Miles and Mary Jane played through their newest video game together.

They always stayed up together for whoever was on patrol.. but tonight something was wrong.

Hair stands up straight on the back of Peter’s neck as he steps deeper into the home, the old wood floors creaking under the weight of each step he took.

He hears a small whimper - MJ’s whimper.

His stomach drops as he crosses the into Miles’ room.

“Shit,” Peter whispers, hot tears forming in his eyes as they fall upon Miles. Peter is frozen, chest rising as he approaches where Miles sat on the ground propped against his bed, crimson blood flowing from his abdomen as he stares up at Peter.

Peter drops to his knees, immediately inspecting the stab wounds on Miles’ stomach. Peter cries, cupping Miles’ face - his normally warm eyes now panicked as he stares at his wounded friend.

“I- I’m okay, Pete,” Miles tries to point to the door. “He has her. Go.”

Peter’s palm drops from Miles as he stands, gritting his teeth, “Where are they?”

Miles shakes his head, “I don’t know Pete. She… she stopped crying a few minutes ago,” he begins to cry. “He came through the window. We- we thought it was you, Pete. I swear. I promise I tried. My powers failed me.. I’m so sorry, Peter. I should have known-.”

“-No, Miles,” Peter interjects, dropping to his knees again and taking his friend’s face in his hands before planting a loving kiss to his forehead. His eyes meet Miles’, “There’s no need to apologize. You’re still learning.. it’s okay.”

Tears run down Miles’ cheeks as he nods at Peter, “I love you, man.”

“I love you, too,” Peter whispers.

“Please, go find her.. He’s going to kill her,” Miles sobs. “She can’t die. I can’t handle another death.”

Peter stands, already stalking towards the door as he cracks his knuckles, “You won’t have to.”

Rage courses through Peter as he nears the cracked door of his bedroom, kicking it open and stepping through the threshold.

“I was wondering if you’d get home before or after I’ve killed them,” a familiar voice comes from the corner of the room. “I’ve been waiting for this day for so long now. I had hoped you’d be here to watch them die. I’m so happy things are working out as planned. You know, Peter - it’s been an awful long time since you’ve watched a loved one die. Hasn’t it?”

“Show yourself, Harry,” Peter growls. “I’m the one you want anyway, right?”

“Peter Parker… such a bright mind, but still can’t figure out the purpose of this all,” Harry let’s out a gravely laugh. “I’m simply doing what I have done before. I’m killing your hope. I don’t want you dead, I want you miserable. I want you to wish for death.”

“Where is she?” Peter asks, fists clenched as his chest rises and falls, “Where is Mary Jane?”

“Oh, the pretty one?” Harry’s voice is playful. “Pete, do you remember what I like to do with pretty women?”

Peter gulps, eyes flickering between rage and sorrow.

“I like to do whatever the fuck I want with pretty women, Peter,” Harry finally steps out of the shadows. “And god damn did I do whatever the fuck I wanted with her.”

Peter charges Harry, hands wrapping around his scaly neck as he begins to choke him, “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Do you know who she cried for the entire time?” Harry laughs as he chokes. “You. And - and you - you weren’t there. You - you never are.”

Peter throws Harry against the wall before slamming him onto the ground, holding him by the collar as he screams, “Where is she?!” Peter’s fist meets Harry cheek, then his jaw, then his left eye, then his throat. Harry gasps for air as Peter pulls away, his face beet-red as he screams “Tell me!”

“Go to the bedroom,” Harry smiles. “I’ll just say that she couldn’t move whenever I was done with her.”

Peter immediately runs to Mary Jane’s bedroom.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he sees MJ laying naked on her toddler bed, “Mary Jane.” He rushes to her side, a scream escaping from his throat as he sees the markings all over her beautiful body. Her body already bruising from Harry’s abuse.

His fingers ghost over her bloodied gut, carved perfectly was

H A R R Y

Peter lets out an anguished cry as his hands hover over Mary Jane, to afraid to take her into his arms.

She wakes, eyes lazily opening as she looks to Peter, “Peter.”

“You’re here,” a small smile spreads across her face, her busted lip ripping more due to her drying lips. She hisses.

Peter cries, “MJ.. MJ, I- I- I’m so sorry. Mary Jane… I wasn’t here to protect you. Or- or Miles…”

“But you’re here now,” she blinks before passing back about due to pain.

He sobs, taking MJ by the hand and planting a tender kiss to the top of her limp hand. “I’m going to take care of this, and then I’m going to take care of you and Miles.”

Peter’s face drops, wiping the tears from his warm cheeks as he steps into his bedroom and grabs Harry by the collar.

Peter’s face is expressionless as he starts to pummel his ex-friend - beating him to the point of being unrecognizable. His fists finally stop as he hears Harry’s skull crunch under his final blow.

The hero stands, staring at his work - the bloodied piece of shit lying dead on his bedroom floor. “No one fucks with my family.”

[foggyredkastle]

Y/N: Would you like something to drink? *They open the fridge* We have water, milk, juice, spiders, Dr. Pepper-

Peter: Spiders?

Y/N: Spiders it is then.

Peter: No, that wasn't-

* But they were already pouring him a brimming glass of spiders…*

[mlm-writer]

Peter Parker & the 5 Love Languages Headcanons

Pairing:  Peter Parker (TASM) x Gender Neutral Reader Rating: General Audience Summary: The Big Tober Day 11 - The 5 Love Languages

Words of affirmation

Peter is not that good at words, he often gets a little tongue-tied. He can’t help it. He is just always enthralled by you and it makes it hard to get the words together. 

Peter also sometimes just doesn’t know what to say. He is really more a man of action. 

He loves to be on the receiving end of it though. His whole face lights up when you praise or compliment him. Words mean a great deal to him, especially since he hangs onto everything you say to him. 

Acts of service

Peter is a big acts of service guy. He would do anything for you, especially helping you with college work. He has this big brain anyway, what better use for it than helping you?

Peter would clean your apartment if you’re going through shit. 

Peter doesn’t like being on the receiving end of this very much. He is prone to feeling like a burden. Sure he appreciates it, but too much makes him uncomfortable and it is too much real quick. 

When he is sick and you offer to take care of him, he will accept, but he must and shall repay the favour or he will feel bad about it. 

Gifts

Peter will mostly give flowers, but when he has been on a trip without you, you can bet on a tacky souvenir. 

Favourite gifts are t-shirts, snowglobes and fridge magnets. 

When you give him something, he will cherish it each time. 

Peter keeps everything you give him in a box or puts it on display or uses it daily. He loves to show off whatever you give him as well. He is just so cute about it. 

Quality time

One of Peter’s favourites. Just being together makes him happy. 

Peter also loves trying new things with you. Tinkering with left-over components is one of his favourite things to do, but he also likes to cook with you or bake. 

Pottery workshop was one of the favourite things you did together. 

Peter is a bit clingy. He wants to have quality time all the time. 

Physical touch

Ultimate favourite!!!

Like I said Peter is a little clingy and this extends to physically clingy. 

Why do you think he likes swinging together? 

It's all about the hand holding, comforting hugs and cuddles on the couch while bingeing something. 

Peter also needs that reassure sometimes that you are unharmed. He lives a dangerous life and he needs that physical confirmation that you're alive and safe in his arms. 

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

Likes do not help exposure!A comment in tags or replies can sustain a writer for months!

[cosmal]

✪ — sender  is  found  drunk  by  receiver, ❛ i just wanted to make sure you’re okay. ❜

tequila makes me sleepy

summary — pete comes to find you at a party after you call him.

content — tasm!peter parker x fem!afab!reader, drunk!reader, metnions of gross guys sexualizing reader

Peter doesn't have his mask on. He's been swinging about Queens trying to find the party you're at and he hasn't thought about how he's recognisable the entire time.

He thinks about how tired you'd sounded on the phone. How you'd begged him to stay on the phone so you wouldn't fall asleep. Thinking about it more makes him panicky, but he can't help it.

"Tequila makes me sleepy, Parker."

"Yeah? Where are you, honey?"

"Some party. Stay on the phone? Don't wanna fall asleep."

Eventually, he finds the party. In the back of his dizzy mind, he remembers you mentioning it on Tuesday when you were over at his apartment. He remembers how excited you were about it and how upset you were because he wasn't coming.

He lands in the alley beside the building and wastes no time in pushing through the front door. He stands in the front entranceway and starts to get frustrated. Most of the time, he hates his enhanced senses. Even more so right now because he can't hear you.

He blames it on the crowd. There are way too many people here for him to be focusing on just one. But it's you. He knows more about you than he does himself and he can't fucking hear you. He hopes that he's too overwhelmed. The reason why he can't hear you. Not because you've left and you're somewhere, drunk and unsafe, where he can't find you.

"Hey," he grabs the arm of some drunk guy, "where's the bedroom?"

Pointing down to the left with a wobbly arm, "Down that hall," he slurs.

Peter doesn't say thank you. He drops his arm and heads In that direction. Avoiding PDA and more rowdy drunk guys.

The relief he feels when he pushes open the door only lasts a few moments. He finds you, on your stomach with your face smooshed against your arm, asleep. Your sparkly dress rides up your legs to reveal enough bare skin to make Peter feel uncomfortable. He's grateful he's here right now.

The mattress dips down where he sits down by your head, and can't help himself from pushing your messy hair from your face.

Your lips parted, you wrinkle up your face when you start to rouse. Peter is selfish with his hands, squeezing at the fat of your shoulder, running a knuckle down your soft cheek. Slowly, you come to, blinking away your fatigue. Peter, and he's super sorry for it, thinks you're adorable.

"Hello," he says softly. He doesn't know why, but he feels guilty for waking you.

"Peter," you say, lips sticking together with blotchy gloss, "Pete, hey." This time when you say it, it's just understandable. He appreciates the fond hum to your words nonetheless.

"Hey," he says and pushes his thumb into your cheek. You groan because he's a nuisance but he doesn't care because you're okay.

You sit up on your elbows and he can tell you're trying not to wobble. He wants to stable you but doesn't know how to in your position. You seem as dizzy as he'd expect because you always are when drunk. You have the scars on your knees to prove it.

"What are you doing here?" you mumble, scratching at your face with a flippancy he hates.

He catches your hand and rubs your face for you. Gently, because he's not mean, he smooths the back of his hand down your cheek and pushes his fingers over your eyebrow and into your hair.

"Just wanted to make sure you were okay," he tells you. "You sounded bad on the phone, honey."

"Shit, I'm," you hiccup and he panics for a moment. "Shit I'm sorry, Pete, I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," he says honestly. You did scare him but it's okay now because it was reasonable. And you're okay.

You sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed and he stables you with a hand on the bottom of your back. Pulling your dress down your legs, he frowns when you shiver.

"You cold?" he worries.

Nodding, you clearly regret it with a groan. "A little. This dress is horrible."

"You think?"

"Yeah, it's itchy and-" you're hiccuping some more and he hopes you don't make yourself sick, "it's too small. The guys here- they, they're gross."

Peter goes rigid. "They didn't do anything did they?"

You shake your head and there's a timidness to you that Pete wants to capture and keep forever. You, an image, rumpled clothes and droopy eyes. Despite how worried he'd been only ten minutes ago, he thinks you're amazing. It's terrifying, honestly.

"No, they just look at me..." you trail off and look at the wall over Peter's shoulder quickly, "They look at me like I'm a piece of meat."

Peter doesn't know what to say. He feels queasy.

"Well, they don't look at me like you are right now."

"Like what?" he lets his tongue catch up to his head.

"I don't know." You shrug and look at your lap.

Peter can't help himself. "I hope they don't look at you like I do. Like you're the prettiest girl in the room. If they do, they need to find someone else."

You let your head fall against his shoulder. "Pete..."

"It's true."

"They don't." He can hear your smile.

"They don't?" Peter now sounds half-offended. "Who else are they looking at like that? You're the prettiest girl in the room."

You have the decency in you to scoff. "You're unbelievable."

"I know," he says when you yawn. "I know. C'mon let's get you home."

[bruisedboys]

peter parker who always lets you hang off his arm. you’re always holding it to your chest when walking or just standing. letting him do the guiding because you just want to stick to his side. you wrap both your arms around his and just fiddle with his fingers and maybe tug on them when you need his attention. you rest your chin on his shoulder when he’s stopped to talk to someone or when you’ve both sat down. you just have to be near him tbh <3333 and he doesn’t care one bit, he actually hates it when you’re not as close.

aerial why would you do this to me!!! I want to be his clingy gf so bad. also this is really short sorry </3

Peter sometimes finds it hard to breathe when you cling to him like this. You’re so close and your warmth is seeping into him and your perfume smells like honey and flowers and hell, he’s so in love with you he could die.

One of your hands is slotted in his, your fingers having searched for his and found them the moment you’d stepped outside. Your other hand is curled around his elbow, clutching his arm to your chest. Peter thinks it’s cute, how close you want to be to him. How you don’t seem to want to let him go.

“Y/N, honey,” he says with a poorly contained grin. “You okay?”

You look up at him, pretty as ever. Peter’s chest burns at the sight of you.

“Fine,” you say, and you look it. Your smile is bruising.

The breeze has blown a strand of hair across your face. Peter lifts his free arm and pushes the stray lock behind your ear, his hand lingering on your jaw.

“Did you decide what you feel like eating?” He asks slowly. It’s hard to get the words out when his fondness and adoration for you is making his chest tight.

You don’t notice, and besides, you look like you’re feeling an equal amount of fondness for him. “I was thinking Thai,” you say thoughtfully. “But only if you want that too?”

Peter grins. He doesn’t care what he eats, as long as it’s with you. He presses his thumb to the corner of your mouth, then leans down to press a chaste kiss to your wind-bitten lips. “Thai it is.”

Peter and you walk the short distance to the Thai restaurant. You cling to Peter the entire way. He can’t stop smiling. He wants you this close forever, even if it means you’re so close he has to be extra careful not to step on your feet.

The Thai place is busy tonight. Neither of you mind. You stand in line, so close your shoes press up against each other. You fiddle with Peter’s fingers, trace the lines on his palm, the veins on the inside of his wrist. Peter is putty in your hands. His chest feels like it’s on fire, worse when you press into his side and let your head fall against his shoulder, your weight familiar and soft and warm all at once.

By the time the food comes out, hot and fresh and smelling delicious, Peter’s chest is already so full with fondness for you he’s not sure he can fit anything else in there. He tries his best.