Rubbermaid & Web-Boy | P.P.
You're the Black Cat, and you find out the face behind another masked vigilante is more familiar than you ever expected — peter x fem!reader sexual tension
warnings: some adult language
a/n: this is so self-indulgent omg I literally just wanted to experience some sexual tension with Andrew Garfield
The cool night breeze swept through your neatly tied white hair as you walked carefully along the banister of a roof above an abandoned building.
Being a hero is boring, you thought to yourself as you pretended to topple on the railing, the tight material of your suit making a small noise.
Perfectly timed, you heard a police siren in the distance. Looking towards the sound, you located the source, seeing the bright red and blue coming from a cop car.
As you were running towards the sound of sirens, you heard a noise behind you, something like a thwip followed by a whoosh, but you elected to ignore it and focus on the criminal activity a few blocks over. You heard it again a few moments later. As much as you wanted to ignore it again, it was an odd noise you knew couldn't be normal.
You wanted to investigate those strange sounds, but before you could even turn around, you felt yourself being pulled against the wall, but it didn't feel like a person of any sort was doing it.
You looked down at your wrist and saw that it was stuck to a wall, being tied back by a web of some sort. You couldn't pull your hand off of the coarse brick wall, no matter how hard you tried. You looked up from your hand to find a sleek silhouette, dressed in blue and red spandex. You presumed that he was the one to do that to you, and you justifiably got angry.
"What the fuck?! Let me go!" You said, slightly louder than you had expected.
"(y/n)?" The masked figure said in shock.
You maintained the tone when you recognized the voice as one of your friends and asked "Peter?"
He froze in his tracks when he realized that he had just revealed his identity to you. "No." He said sheepishly.
It had taken a second, but you had just realized that he was the so-called 'masked menace' that you had seen pictures and videos of all over the internet and the news. That was your best friend, and he had never told you. But to be fair, you had never told him that you had adopted a vigilante alter ego that you had never told him about either.
"Peter, I know what your voice sounds like." You told him. "You're the Web-Boy?"
"Spider-Man, actually. And you're the, what, Rubbermaid?" He said, gesturing to your black suit that you had put together yourself.
You let out a sarcastic laugh. "Very funny, I know the suit's a little rubber-like, but I'm the Black Cat."
"I've never heard of you." He said. You wondered if he was jealous that there was another hero around Queens.
"Maybe because I'm just better at this and don't have pictures of me scattered across every news station in New York."
"Or maybe you're worse, and you just don't do anything newsworthy."
Now you knew he was jealous of you.
"Excuse you, Parker." You retorted. "Just this week, I've saved a life, stopped five crimes, and even tied a burglar up and left him on the steps of the police station!"
"Impressive. I've done twice that."
"Asshole." You spat, attempting to move your hand off the wall again.
"I thought you were a criminal!" He defended. "You're the one wearing an all black outfit and a burglar mask!"
You were repulsed by the idea of being considered a villain, as you stood for justice and goodness. But if you were going to be honest, the idea intrigued you a little.
"No, but I might become one if you don't let me go."
He laughed and took off his costume mask. You saw his face and could confirm that it was in fact, your best friend Peter Parker behind the webslinger suit the whole time.
"You don't want to stay here and hang out with me?" He asked in a half-joke tone. “Wow, everything changes when you put on the superhero suit.”
You didn't laugh or say anything back. Instead, you responded by looking at him displeased and then gesturing with your head to your arm stuck being raised next to you.
"Alright, alright, I'll let you go."
He pulled out a small blade from the black spider on his chest and cut the white strings so to let your hand free.
"What? No, 'thank you'?" Peter asked after he let you go.
You started to walk away, then walked back to Peter just for a second, long enough for you to throw a quick punch.
"That's for gluing me to the wall with your webs." You said sassily, then calmed your tone. "Now, don't ever do that again, or I swear I'll do as I promised before and just become a villain to take you down."
He started rubbing his upper arm where you had hit him to soothe it.
You continued to walk away, but before you could even get off the roof, you heard him call you. "I'll see you in school, (y/n)!"
Lost The Game
SUMMARY: The explanation your mind settled for was that whoever lived under that mask, also lived somewhere close by. It explained the first time you found him limping and bleeding on an alley, and it explains how you evolved into his personal caretaker for the wounds and afflictions of Spider-Man’s after battle consequences.
The only thing it doesn’t explain, however, is why through the thick and convoluted webs of your strange situationship, a certain tension has built between you two. Palpable. Physical. As electric as some of his tales, and as dangerous as he is.
The tension between you and Spidey grows, and it grows, and it grows. One day, it snaps.
⚠️ Minors DNI. Smut. Explicit depictions of sex. | 🏷️ 8.3K , fluff, established relationship, part three of three, reposting this ‘cause some people missed this one and asked for it.
• PART TWO •
In his world, there was no Avengers.
The bad thing about his inter-dimensional trip he had was this—Peter got an idea of what other worlds looked like and parts of him wished for a supernatural helping hand, sometimes, or maybe just someone who understood him. He had allies, but very few friends on this side of his life. This is why when Peter is almost killed by Kingpin, a decision that he's been dreading for months becomes easy in the snap of a finger.
Do I drop the last vail or do I not?
All of his excuses as to why not fly out of the window when Peter's bleeding to death and realizes that none of it matters. All of life is dangerous, on this or any other planet, and if he's always putting his own damn life — personal or not — at risk for the sake of saving a city, he might as well do that and let the woman he loves kiss him with the lights on while he's at it.
He swallows the metallic and thick taste of red in his mouth, reaches his trembling hand up, and knocks.
The fright in your voice is what startles his eyes open.
God, he loves your voice so much.
A lot less when it drips in worry like this, but the love is there nonetheless.
"Peter, open your eyes. What—oh my god," you choke on your words, and he feels you pulling his body inside your room.
Guiding himself by memory, Peter helps the way he can, letting his body slide down your bed.
"Gonna get your sheets dirty," he mumbles.
"Oh, for the love of god." There's the feeling of his suit being unzipped at the back, and even through the fogginess, Peter notices how your hands are cold. Shaking. "Peter, what happened?" It's a breathless whisper, and it makes his chest ache more than the bruises did because it sounds so small, and nothing about you is diminutive.
"Kin—ow—Kingpin." The ruthless man's minions might still be stuck in webs hung meters above the ground, but Wilson, Kingpin, that man needs no henchmen to do any damage. It was the point he had to prove today—more to Matt than to Peter, but because Peter had decided to help, he got mingled in the mess.
After a heartbeat, he hears. "Who's Matt?" you ask.
Wait—was Peter talking out loud?
"Oh, god," this time, it's a choked-up sob. "Peter, I think you have a concussion."
Y/n is going to be a doctor, so the probabilities of her being right are very high. He probably does have something on his head—Kingpin grabbed Peter's head in his hand, that enormous, gigantic hand that engulfed all of Peter's skull and smashed it against the nearest thing, which happened to be iron polls.
He's still unsure of what the tension and underlying secret were between that man and Matt, but there was so much anger in there tonight.
He feels weak, but he still has some strength left and Peter had made up his mind before he arrived at the staircases of your apartment.
If he went to the hospital, Aunt May would have a heart attack.
If he came to you, Peter would have to let you see him.
With the taste of blood polluting every inch of his mouth, it was a surprisingly easy decision to make.
He ignores the strain and the pull on the sides of his body as he reaches up for the mask, and he hears you gasp when he pulls it off in a clean sweep.
"Hey. That's me." He can't laugh right now — or open his right eye that much — but he can smile at you. A weak, bloody thing. At least it's an honest one. "Hi. I think I might blackout."
"Peter," are you crying? Good gods, Peter would clock himself on the face if someone else hadn't beaten him to the punch. "I don't—I don't know if I can take care of all of this."
"It's just—the one on the back. I think I'm losin' lots of blood 'cause of it..."
"What's on your back?"
"Open gunshot wound closed with webs?"
"I didn't sh... shoot it, baby." He knew she'd be mad the second he threw the webs at himself. "The rest will... it'll fade. Soon."
There's a moment of silence where Peter hears rapid, short breaths. He opens his left eye as much as he can as sees you breathing in through your nose and out of your mouth quickly, then feels the bed dipping when you leave it with purpose. He knows you're going for the first-aid kit, so he already does the job of turning around.
When he hears your footsteps coming back, the last thing he hears is what makes him smile against your duvet.
"I'll take care of you. It's okay. It's gonna be fine, Peter."
While he's aware you're hyping yourself up to believe it more than talking to him, the words are like anesthetic all over his body.
Peter inhales the scent that is acutely yours, and blacks out.
If he were anyone else, Peter would remember close to nothing of his hours alternating between consciousness and not.
Lucky for him, he's part spider.
At first, all he feels, sees, and hears, are small tidbits of you moving things in and around him.
There's the distinct — and nasty — feeling of a needle threading with nylon through his lower upper back.
During that moment, nothing else passes through.
He's distantly aware of your mumbling and whispering, the soft and comforting words not reaching his ears, but the sense they bring drape over his skin almost like a blanket.
Then, when he has a silver of consciousness again, he recognizes through the stinging pain and the dull, throbbing aches all over his body, that the heat he registers is not of his own blood anymore, but of your warm hands along with a warm towel washing him.
That's when he allows sleep to come for the first time.
He wakes up somewhere in the middle of the day judging by the light streaming through your window, and he's happy to access that his body's doing most of the healing by now.
The feeling of a gaping hole is gone, and so is the smell of blood.
Peter wants to look around a bit, but while the throbbing has passed, it's left a dull, sore ache in its place.
You're not there, either.
He knows that because Peter's spidey senses have almost a direct link to you, and you're not in the room.
It takes him a couple of minutes with the taste of sand at the back of his throat and that pounding on the back of his head for him to realize he can open his eyes.
There's a glass of water right next to him, and he smiles.
Of course you'd do that.
Even after he's ruined your nice duvets — after promising he'd never spill blood on your blankets again, shit — Peter still gets the kindest side of you.
And then he remembers—you saw his face.
The lights were on, he was a mess, and fuck—you saw him.
You saw him and saved his life, one more time.
How many times would you have to do it?
Why was his life so dangerous?
Peter's stomach starts to resemble something alive, something with tentacles and it's reaching up, so he swallows it back down.
After gulping the glass of water, he hears it.
Distant sounds of conversation.
Felicity's voice is what registers first. It's not as familiar to him as yours is right now, but it is the reason it brought him to you in the first place, even if Peter hates thinking about that. He ignores your roommate and the things he keeps hidden from you like most people would ignore a spider in the upper corner of their bathroom.
It hurts to try to hear the conversation.
The gun blasted too close to his ear, and Peter's not the biggest at eavesdropping, so he just lets his upper body lay down again and allows the darkness on the corners of his mind to take over the rest.
Next, there are the hours in-between.
As the sun goes down, Peter drifts between the land of dreams and this one, enjoying both of them very much.
In here, there's you with a warm, wet cloth cleaning his wounds that need tending, and in his dreams, there's you sitting next to a blond girl, smiling at him.
At some point, Peter opens his eyes and sees you sitting on your chair in front of your computer desk.
Your eyes widen and you slide the chair closer, looking at every inch of his face with furrowed eyebrows.
"Peter," it's the softest you've ever said his name. "Is there anyone you'd like me to text? About your whereabouts?"
"You can go back to sleep right after, but you came without your backpack, and it's been almost a day—do you want some pain medicine? I can get it for you."
You nod back, then get up and exit the room. Peter takes the opportunity to grab the notepad you have on your nightstand, write down Aunt May's phone number and name and a message underneath it.
I'm at Y/n's. Be back soon, aunt May. Love you <3
It's an ugly scribble, but your handwriting is far worse than anything he could dream of producing, so he sits back against your headboard and waits for you and the pills.
When you come back with them, Peter almost swallows it down without the water, but he's still so damn thirsty that another glass goes in a gulp.
He feels your eyes on him the whole time, and while he wants to talk, he prefers to wait for his body to finish using all his strength in stitching his insides up before he tries any conversation.
You grab the glass from his hand, place it on the nightstand and sit on the bed right next to him.
"Are you cold?" You ask, pressing your palm and the back of your hand to his forehead, neck, cheeks.
He's shirtless. Well—it's not anything you haven't seen before.
He shakes his head and clears his throat. The desert has left the back of his mouth, but the aftertaste of rust is still there.
"I'm sorry." He can say that, at least. "I am really sorry, Y/n. For coming to you like th—"
A hand tapes his mouth shut—your hand, and looking at your face in the bedroom light knowing you're looking back at his is not as terrifying as he made it out to be in the countless scenarios where he thought about this before.
"What's the alternative?" You ask him with a shrug. "You bleed out on the street because some drug lord had some beef with a Matt dude and you tried to help your friend?" He misses the heat of your hand as soon as it's gone. "I prefer you bleed on my death start duvets than on the streets, buddy. These ones I can wash."
'Don't call me buddy—I'm not your buddy. Fuck, I swear you say these things just to get a rise out of me. Do your buddies do this, huh? Touch you like this? Make you this wet? You get so wet for me, baby—'
'Yeah, exactly. I taught you my name for a reason. Don't forget that.'
After a heartbeat, Peter licks his dry lips and looks away from yours. Those memories make his blood rate rise, and he's sure that's not good in the state he's still in. "I'm still not your buddy," he says. His voice comes out raspy, and he watches your gaze dropping from his eyes to his lips.
Peter's in love.
The way you look at him.
The way you look at his tall and graceless body already drove him insane, but the way you look at his face?
Parted lips and that distance gaze of someone who's getting lost in memories and the present?
Peter loves it. He's been in love with you, but seeing the softness and adoration mixing with desire on your face has put the cherry on the cake.
"Good to know that," you whisper back.
I'm happy to know this doesn't change things, he hears.
He scoffs. "I would suck at being your buddy."
"Yeah? Why's that?" You're smiling now, and as a reflex, so is he.
Peter frowns. Isn't it obvious? "I've bled on your bed more times than I can count, you've put your fingers inside me in more ways than you can count, and I'm pretty sure that if I tried to stay away from you, your lips, or that pretty brain of yours for longer than two weeks, I'd have withdrawal symptoms." He's sure of it, actually. He tried staying away from you, and it sucked. "I can't be your buddy, baby." He chuckles. "We're not meant to be buddies. I already explained that to you."
Your lips quiver, moving upwards in a smile, slowly.
"Right." The way you bite on the bottom lower one tells Peter all you need to know about where your mind went.
His body leans forward as if there's a magnetic poll right on the center of you pulling you towards him.
Unfortunately for him, he's still healing from a very big pound.
He makes it only a few centimeters away from the headboard before the muscles inside him sting like a sharp hook and he stops—"Ah."
"Don't move." You're on in an instant. A comforting — and silently demanding — hand on his bicep, scooching closer to him in the bed. "You still need... I don't know how much longer you need, actually." A chuckle. "I still haven't got a clue how your healing works, Spidey. Just... lay down. Stand still until you're not moving won't rip apart the stitches I so beautifully made, 'kay?"
That brings Peter's hand and eyes to the work at hand.
He inspects the stitch-up work and—you're right. It's beautiful, neat, and professional work.
He can almost hear the praises of your teachers during class, as well as the envious looks of your colleagues who have three times less practice than you in the matter.
(Truth be told, Peter's aware you'd have gotten to this point with or without him as a guinea pig because while you may feel or say like everything around you is collapsing, studying is a ball you've yet to let it drop. You do it and do it well. 'If I'm gonna do this, I might as well do it well, huh? you had told him. Peter believed a lot of it was innate talent, but he might be biased to speak of you.)
"Grade A work, Y/l/n."
When he looks up, Peter takes a punch to the chest.
There you are, looking at him again.
Have you lied to him all this time? He's pretty sure this is the effect of actual superpowers and not just the way your eyes glint under the light of the day.
It must have something to do with the frizz in your hair that gives you almost an angelic aura—there's gold, orange, a touch of pink and lilac touching your cheeks and the soft, dopey smile you have on your face, and Peter stands there with his hand hanging halfway to his lap, as frozen in the air as he is looking at you looking at him.
You can see him, and Peter has never felt more comfortable feeling this exposed.
"Hi," he whispers.
Instead of answering, your blinks seem to slow down in time.
One of your hands reaches up to his cheek, and Peter finds himself leaning towards the hand.
When the soft, velvety touch of your palm meets his dry skin, Peter takes in a deep breath.
Closes his eyes.
Your hand cups his cheek, and caresses his face, as slowly as you are breathing.
Then, Peter's spidey senses feel the vibrations and electricity on your skin inching closer, and he thinks the slow-motion of your delicate, almost afraid, and calculated moves are making the energy and waves that travel between your body and his twice as real.
He might get shocked.
Peter feels when your lips are mere inches away from his. He wants to dive in, but he lets you dip your fingers in the water and go as you want.
He can feel how much you're feeling right now.
Seeing him is not only affecting him, and that's perhaps why his body is rendered at your mercy.
When your lips press against his, they're as plump and tender as always.
He exhales, at last, enjoying the sensation of warmth that spreads through his body when yours connects to his in any intimate way. Usually, it takes a little bit more for the tingle to travel from head to toe like this, but something about the kiss and the way you're keeping still and yet he knows you feel it, just as he does, it makes it even better that he's all buzzing.
Peter's underwater, and it's almost a reflex when he exhales and presses harder.
With abandon, Peter lets his body relax on yours, not wanting to push it any further than it can go, but wanting to melt against the welcoming and familiar heat of your body.
His right hand goes up to your hair, and he gets a few more soft, tender presses of your lips on his, as well as the sensual and slow drags of your mouth against his in between them before you move your head back a few inches, still keeping your hand on his face.
Peter swallows the knot in his throat.
"I... should get you food," you whisper.
He's too busy staring at how pink your lips are for a few seconds.
Eventually, he hums. "That'd be nice."
"I got soup." You lick your lips. There's a color on your cheeks, and Peter is definitely in trouble. He hasn't gotten the instinct to draw in a long time, yet here he is, trying to figure out what's the correct shade of your cheeks. "From the deli shop you like."
"Oh." He loves that place. "I love that place!" He whispers excitedly.
Your smile widens. "I know." With a quick, delicious peck of goodbye, you get up from the bed in one quick motion. "I'll be back. I'm gonna text," you pick up the paper from the nightstand and read it. "Aunt May. Wait—you want me to text her this? Will she know who I am? Aunt May knows me?"
Peter laughs. "Of course Aunt May knows you."
In your few blinks Peter sees the surprise. "Right." You turn around sharply, cheeks pulled up from the smiling. "Text. Soup. Then sleep. I gotta go run a few errands, so I'll shut the windows for you." More seriously, you add. "You should really get some rest. You look a bit... pale."
"It's the caucasian in me."
You snort. "God, it's horrible when you try to be funny."
"Yet, you're smiling."
"At you." You get up and regardless of what you say, the nose scrunch proves that Peter amused you, to say the least. "I'm gonna get your food. Stay put, Spidey boy."
He's arguing now more for the sake of your smile than because your 'boy' has gotten a rise out of him.
It used to.
The first time you said it, Peter recalled the tingling on his body and that desire to correct—not a boy, I'm a man, you'll see, I'll show you.
Did he feel silly two seconds afterward correcting you when he saw in your face that you'd be pulling his metaphorical pigtails? Maybe. Luckily for him, the mask hid it back then.
Now, it's just a skit between you two.
The teasing back and forth is almost like the sea tide.
You come back with the soup and sit back down on your desktop chair, returning to your books and papers while he eats. Peter recalls the day when he asked why you never eat when he's there and, on the occasion when you gave him food, why didn't you stay close to him while he ate.
'You're distracting when you're eating.' You had said.
'What? I'm distracting? How?'
'You make all these little noises when you're enjoying it. And your lips get super pink 'cause you keep licking them. It's distracting.'
'From what? You're not even doing anything.'
'I don't need to be doing something. It just... is.'
Later, he realized it was distracting because it made you want to kiss him. To take away the plate in his hands and replace it with your body instead.
He's content to share looks with you over the bowl of warm food and watch your profile as you read and type. The concentrated crease in your brows and your lips set in a firm line are distracting too, he thinks, but he enjoys it.
Peter finishes the food and the result of some protein, carbs and nutrients making their way inside him is instant—his eyes get heavier, and blinking is a bit harder, and all he wanted was to cuddle you. Slide under the blanket, say goodbye to the world.
It's when he lowers the bottom half of his body that Peter feels he's still wearing his suit.
"How come you haven't kicked me out of your bed yet? I'm gross," he says.
Even though his voice is softer and lower than before, you turn to him.
Smiling, you shrug. "I've been gross before. You're forgiven because of circumstances." Then, something happens—you blush. You were looking at his body before but when you look up, Peter recognizes the flash of 'oh, it's him' that passes fast as lightning in your eyes. "Also, you're pretty," you add in a whisper. Your peachy cheeks darken, looking good enough to eat. "Pretty privileges."
Peter feels it—the heat on his face. He laughs, ducking his head down. He's not used to people complimenting him like that, but coming from you it makes it three times worse. "So it is a real thing."
"Oh, it definitely is."
"Good to know." He hates to know he's making your small piece of safe haven dirty, but he'll make up for it. "As much as I'd love to stay awake and watch you study and be gorgeous for the next couple of hours, I think my brain's about to shut down in the next few minutes."
"Sleep, Spidey." If there's such thing as magic through the voice or words, Peter believes you have it. The gentle softness with which you say those two words are better than any of your blankets. "I'll be there soon."
That's even better. God, I love sleeping with you.
He hears a giggle.
"It's mutual, Peter."
He loves the sound of that, too.
If Peter believed in something, he'd have beautiful religious metaphors to use about the way you look in the mornings.
He'd maybe talk about how waking up with you next to him is the only sanctuary he needs, and for a Jewish boy who's missed so much of what one looks or sounds like, he's sure it felt something like this.
If Peter believed, he'd have more words to say about the way your tenderness makes him feel like he's holy.
"How are you feeling?"
"Good. I'm glad... d'you wanna take a shower? I can separate some clothes for you."
"Are you coming with me?"
Peter would have words for what it feels like to sit in your loft's bathroom in his bloodied, mended superhero suit, his feet touching the freezing cold floor and his body still running as hot as ever because he can hear you walking around the place in your fuzzy socks while you wait for the water to warm.
How can he be so at peace like this?
He's beaten himself up for much less, but the seriousness in your tone when you told him to stay put while you changed the sheets only made him warm.
It made him feel cared for and nothing more.
Peter removes the rest of his suit. It comes off with difficulty—the sweat's stuck the material to his skin, and it still hurts to move, but he manages.
He feels the fresh tissues inside of him.
His heightened senses tell him the main wound is still healing, but everything else is almost okay. Peter needs maybe a good meal and a couple more days to be brand new, which is more than he'd expected when he left the bay area with webs sticking his skin together.
When you come back and see him already naked, Peter's happy that his eyes' swelling has done down.
He'd hate to miss the lust in your gaze.
To miss the obvious way your eyes travel up and down his body.
"You could've gone inside already," you whisper.
It's barely nine in the morning, there are only you two in the place and Peter has no idea why you'd think he wants to go anywhere without you.
"Was waiting for you." He's more at ease sitting naked on your toilet than he's been in three, maybe four years. That means something, right?
You start taking off your pajamas, and Peter gets up to help.
Not that you need it. He just loves removing clothes from your body.
The steam takes over the bathroom and by the time you two are immersed underneath the water, wet as rain, Peter already feels new.
Not even the best prayers could do that.
He loves the showerhead here because the water pressure is great and it's big enough to almost give space to the two of you. Almost.
That's why he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his body.
He wants your warmth much more than the water's.
That's when he feels it—the shaky, interrupted way you breathe. Your arms come up around his middle so fast that he almost has to take a step back to keep himself in place, but he's rooted there.
And you're crying.
"Y/n?" Peter looks down.
You shake your head in three quick motions. Not yet.
Peter's not an idiot, and while he may be a little slow to the mysteries of his own heart, the loud and physical thumping of your heart against his ribcage is right there and doesn't lie.
He can feel every beat of it, and maybe there was something in that container that Kingpin had dropped on his head and all that mysterious blue sand inside of it, but Peter's sure he can see the black clouds exiting your head.
He sees the darkness of worry and fear leaving you.
Peter clings on tighter, letting you cry silent tears into his chest. He hopes the kisses he presses on your temple and your face make any worries left to be gone easier. Quicker.
He kisses the parts he can reach of you, and refuses to let go.
Eventually, you pull back against the hold of his arms and when you look up with those swollen, red eyes, Peter realizes what it all means.
What being so comfortable around you, laughing so easily, coming to you many more times even though he knew he shouldn't, watching you sleep, and all those minors or big things that made him stop and go—it means something, right?
It means Aunt May was right.
She was right when she said the world goes on regardless of how much we want it to stop sometimes, and right now, Peter's world is you.
When your lips, trembling just like your chin is, open and say, "I was terrified," in a whispered confession, Peter knows.
He'd give up anything for you. He'd conquer anything for you, as well, which he imagines lives on the other side of that coin.
"I am so sorry, baby," he tells you, blinking through the sting in his own eyes.
You shake your head and his heart almost falls to the ground before you pick it up. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Pete. I know—" you swallow a visible knot, sniffle, and then try again. "You have a responsibility. With your power, and... with what you believe."
With great power, comes great responsibility.
"And please don't take this wrongly—don't shut down, or stop coming. God—if you stop coming I swear I'll die of worry—"
"Y/n." He interrupts because he knows when you're about to spiral as much as you know when he's about to go on a ramble. "I'd never. I—you're allowed to be scared. I'm not gonna go into martyr mode and make that decision for you. If you want me gone, I'll be gone. I know I'm a lot. I know my life, and how scary it is to be around it, but I think I also know you and if I take away your choice of being around me and all my mess—" he shakes his head. "I don't fancy that ass-whooping."
It untangles all the messy knots and webs inside his chest that formed when he saw your eyes puffy, and Peter breathes in what feels like clean, fresh air.
"I'm happy you're smart," you say.
He shrugs his shoulders. "It's what my teachers say."
With your head tilt, he notices—he's nearing territory he used to avoid before.
Peter breathes in again, reaches behind him in the shower, and grabs your shampoo.
"Can I do your hair?" he asks.
Your face remains the same as you nod, but he sees you breathing out. Accepting his silence. The change in subjects, as it usually is.
When he's got enough bubbles forming, he massages your scalp and starts. "I got a scholarship for Biophysics, so I guess I am pretty smart, but it wasn't 'till one of my teachers at ESU told me my paper was 'informative even through the minors detours it took, which funnily enough, were informative as well' that I knew I had a good head for more than just web-developing and stuff like that."
Should he tell you about the time when he traveled between Universes and met the other versions of him?
He'd love for you to know how clever Peter 1 is.
Peter knows if it weren't for that experience, exactly four years after what happened at the clock, he'd be in a much worse place now.
I wouldn't have met you, he thinks.
"What d'you wanna do with the degree?" you ask him.
"Mmm. I don't know yet. Working with genetic mutation is not too on the nose, is it?" he chuckles.
You turn around, smiling wider than ever before.
"Are you for real?" you laugh.
"I am!" He laughs too.
"Gimme that," you take the shampoo from his hand, pour some on your hand, and look up expectantly at him. Peter ducks his head in silent permission, and you start doing the same to him. "I think that while it's a bit on the nose, it also makes a lot of sense, and given your personal experience, you could make breakthroughs no one else would. Your circumstances give you a lot of room."
"My dad was a Biochemist." The information slips out, and Peter opens his eyes. When had I closed them? He gives you a sheepish smile, and closes his eyes again. "I lot of what I know came from his research."
"Did it have anything to do with spiders?" you ask with a giggle, thinking you're being funny.
Here's to hoping. "It did," he answers.
Your movements halt for a second, then start again. "Oh." You stay silent for a moment. "Big brain runs in the family, so I imagine you'll make breakthroughs he's only dreamt of. Just... make sure you pick an area 'cause it's what you want to make yourself happy, you know?"
Peter wonders how many people have the luxury of having someone care for them this way.
"I will." He smiles when you pull him under the water stream. When the shampoo is rinsed, he opens his eyes. "And you? D'you have an area you wanna work at?"
Hearing you talk about your hopes for the future while showering makes Peter notice it's the first he's been thinking about the future and what paths he could take for it.
You two laugh a lot in there, and the only moment when somberness takes over the steamy bathroom is when your fingertips graze over the black nylon that still peaks out of his lower stomach.
Peter ignores the tingle your touch brings, and kisses you instead.
He distracts you by asking you more about residency, school, tests, and anything that comes to mind.
Your voice is one of his favorite things.
In your bedroom, Peter gets dressed in the sweats that now are basically his—one of his designated clothes from when he's around.
Now though, he can wear the sweater and shake his wet hair all over you.
He can pull you to his lap on the bed and kiss you filthy with the sun shining on both of you.
Lights on, face out in the open, nothing to hide because there never was.
When he starts grinding his hips upwards, seeking the friction of your heat—and god, you're already burning on his lap, and he doesn't need to touch your panties to know that you barely put them on and he's already ruined them—but you stop him with a hand around his neck.
"You're gonna bust your stitches," you say, mouth still close to his.
He groans. "Baby, c'mon..."
You shake your head, laughing under your breath. "As much as I want to, you'll have to wait a day more, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you."
"You're hurting me right now," he whines, grinding on you. He hisses, not because of how hard he is from just a few minutes of making out with you and having his mind spin with how good you smell, how dizzying it makes him have you like this, no barriers whatsoever, but because he feels his insides protesting with the sharper thrust.
You give him a look that says I know what you're hiding. "Peter." While you ask him to stop, Peter's yet to feel you stop enjoying the ministrations of his hips. "Hey," you lean in closer and whisper in his ear. "You can enjoy fucking me like you've never fucked me before now... and you're gonna waste that first time of ours by not being able to do all that you wanna do?"
You are evil.
Peter moans. Hides his face in the space between your boobs, and kisses them since he's there already.
"So what you're telling me is that I should take you for a coffee and some breakfast and a few days and then we can come back here?" he asks.
"Yeah," you smile.
"And then I can take my time with you?" he confirms, his kisses going up. He loves the column of your throat. Loves the way you bear your neck for him, breathless and surrendered every time.
"Yeah..." this one comes out breathier, and Peter smiles before sucking on the skin of the space that's really sensitive.
"I can make you cum in all the ways I like?" Peter knows it's just torture at this point, but he keeps doing it. Keeps moving his hips in small little circles, and groans when he feels you meeting his movements. "On my tongue first... then on my fingers..."
"Only if you let me suck you off 'till you cum in my mouth."
Sneaky. "No." Peter hears your brain gears halting at it.
"No!" He laughs. "Listen, I don't know what my—"
"—if you call your cum something weird again I'm leaving your lap right now."
"Ugh. That's somehow worse," you laugh.
"I don't know what's in it! It's mutated, okay? What if you get pregnant from it? I am very fast. My sperm can be too."
Holding yourself with your arms around his neck, you stare at him with the blankest look.
The smile obviously hidden in the corners of your lips is where the truth lies, though.
"You know I'm right," he shrugs his shoulders.
You sigh. Heavily. "Ugh. I hate that I'm paranoid enough to buy your bullshit," you push him backward hard, and he falls into the bed in surprise, laughing. Leaning forward, you cage your arms around his head. "I wanna do so much to you," you whisper.
Just like that, the temperature's closer to the Sun again.
You have powers.
The power to make him religious. To make a conversation shift between the Sun and the Moon, just by laughing or speaking in a different tone.
Peter feels the tip of his cock dripping in his boxer, and he closes his eyes, exhaling from his nose. He grabs you by the neck and pulls you to a kiss, which turns messy and needy the second you moan in that pretty way he loves. Like a kitty, or like someone's squeezing you hard, just the way you like it.
He's grabbing you by the neck, squeezing and letting go, trying to gather his damn thoughts into coherent sentences and not the mess of I want you so bad I love you so much, so all that he can do is rub his forehead on yours.
Bring your body as close to his as possible.
That's what happened.
All these months culminated in this—Peter being unable to stay away, to him smiling in the corridors of his college, to the unfathomable infatuation with your legs, or the way you snort when you laugh really hard.
Into him loving you.
He's suddenly overwhelmed by the truth of it:
Peter is in love with you. He loves you.
Loves you for your brain, your skilled hands, the way you hate the Giants and love music he's never heard of. Loves you for all the ways you're you and the ways you remind him of his very first love too, but more than anything, because he knows he'd love you even if nothing was similar.
He swallows the knot in his throat and pulls you to a kiss.
You feel the difference in it—he knows you do because you hold his face with gentle hands, but answer the kiss with the same devotion.
You let him take over the kiss, let him taste his tongue on yours until he's got no oxygen left in his lungs and has to pull back.
He sees it in your face that something's taken over you, too.
"You can do anything you want. Anytime," he says. He feels your legs clenching around his waist as a response, and thinks to the hell with it. "What if you did all the work, hm? I promise I'll stay still. I'll web my own wrists to the bed if you want, just—please?" he begs.
"I wanna feel you, baby." It's not even about the sex, or about cumming. It's about being as close to you as possible. He needs to be as close to you as possible. "I just wanna feel you. Wanna be inside you." Peter grabs your face again, smashing his lips on yours. "D'you have any idea how fucked I'd be without you? It just—" he's barely breathing, and he knows you feel why. "I realized just how much I adore every goddamn inch of you and I wanna feel you." He kisses you again, and again. "I owe you my life, baby."
You shake your head at his words and Peter moves his hand down to your chin, holding it still.
"Yes, I do. And I love that," he smiles. "I fell in the best hands of this city... and your hands are just one of the reasons why I'm in love with you."
"Peter." This time, it's you who smashes your mouth on his.
The first time he heard his name coming out from your lips, he thought he'd cum on the spot. He remembers feeling his dick twitching inside of you just at the mention of it—his name, and you.
He loved it.
He lets you kiss him to your desire and when you pull back with those puffy lips, he smiles.
You're looking at him like one looks at something they barely believe it's true. He's seen looks like this a few weeks ago when he went to the museum with May and he saw people staring at what he assumes is their favorite art pieces—nothing but attention to detail and a shine in their eyes.
He feels naked, even though he's not.
"I've been in love with you since the day you told me you had glass shrapnel all over your body because Mrs. Levinson was gonna take the fall for Castle's collateral damage, Y/n, I couldn't have that." You shrug like it's easy, like you haven't just given him the present of a lifetime and stolen every last bit of anxiety and sadness he had hidden in the corners of his mind, then kisses him.
Softly press your lips on his, once, then twice.
When he feels your hands sliding down his body, Peter warms up.
Powerful. From Moon to Sun, there he goes again.
There his body goes.
Peter knows standing still will be a bit of torture, and everything will be heightened from how little he can move, but he's okay with that.
Whining under the ministrations of your hands might be one of his top three activities ever. Peter watches you get off from on top of him so you can take off your sweatpants, and he groans under his breath when you slide your leg over his waist again with the panties still on.
"Just slide it to the side—fuck. Yeah, like that, baby. I love it like this."
Your attention to detail is unmatched.
When you learn something he likes, you never let it go. As soon as Peter feels your hand slipping inside his boxer and getting his cock out there, he's already moaning.
"Stand still," you tell him.
He nods, eagerly. Peter watches you pull your panties to the side, guide the head of his dick to your entrance and when the tip slides in, he feels you coming back, caging him between your arms.
You slide down painfully slow, taking your time with it.
To have something to hold on to, he grabs your ass with one hand and your face with the other. Having his hands on you is a must if he's gonna be good for you.
He might've said he could web his hands to the bed, but if he did that, he'd have to web his hips as well.
"Ahhh." Peter feels the walls of your pussy clenching around him, and he closes his eyes at the feeling.
You move back up, then down again until you're fully seated on his lap and he's fully buried inside of you.
"Use me, baby," he tells you. He might be out of his mind already—has it always been this hot to be inside you? "Fuck—you're always so wet for me. How are you this wet—oh."
You slam your hips down, pulling a grunt from him.
"You make me this way and you know it," you whine to him.
Peter admires you for keeping up with a gym routine, but he admires more the benefits it reaps: the way your legs can hold the weight of bouncing up and down as slow or as fast as you like.
He pulls your head closer until he can kiss you.
"You're gonna use me, hm?" Peter asks between kisses, grunting at how tight you are. "Use those thunder thighs to drive me insane?"
"Peter you feel so fucking good," you breathe out.
The praise warms him up even further. Peter's eyes close in response, and he whines at how hard it is to keep his hips on the bed and not pistoning up to meet your delicious thrusts. "You feel better," he mutters, a bit drunk on the wetness pouring out of you. It's so damn hot in and all around him. "So tight for me, baby."
"Hhnh—fuck. Fuck, do that again," he whines.
You do it—you move all the way up until he almost slips out, then slams those hips down again. And again, and again, and again, until the room is nothing but the sound of your skins slapping on one another and your mouths breathing on each other, grunting and moaning.
Peter loves swallowing your moans almost as much as he loves swallowing the slick from your pussy.
"Fuck, if I had a little bit more strength in me I'd ask you to sit on my face after this," he says.
You moan even louder now.
He loves it when you two are alone. Loves when you let go, especially if it's to use him to your pleasure.
Peter holds your hip instead of your ass now and tries to help you. While you don't need it, the strength of even just one of his arms is appreciated, and he watches as you let go of all pretenses and just fuck yourself on his cock.
It's when you grab him by the chin and look him in the eye that Peter feels you're fucking him too.
You clench around him. Purposely.
Peter moans as loud as you, and plants his feet on the bed.
The change in angle makes you scream, and as a response, you smash your lips on his again.
He knows you're close by the way you start whining into the kiss.
Peter lets go, too. He kisses you back, all tongue, teeth, bites and moans of your name. Uncoherent sentences and babbles about your pussy and how fucking good you make him feel, and he feels the tension building up in his groins before he'd imagine.
He hates coming before you. Peter makes it a habit to make you cum before he does, but he's in heaven, he's in you, and you're staring at him.
It's that which does it.
"Baby I can't hold it—oh fuck, Y/n, don't do that," if you keep clenching around him just to get a rise of him you'll get more than just that, and he whines because of it. "I'm close. I'm so so close, you feel too good."
He moves his hand from your head in direction of your clit, but you grab him by the wrist and pin his arm above his head, holding tight onto his wrist. While he could break free easier than breathing, feeling how tightly you're gripping him makes his head spin.
He's at your mercy, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
"Y/n, please." Please stop bouncing so fast, please slow down, baby, please don't clench again.
Your hips slow down just a fraction, and you move until your lips are almost touching his.
Then you ask. "Who has your heart, baby?"
Peter blinks, opening his eyes. His mouth hangs open, jaw wide for a second before he answers. "You."
You move your hips in the way a dancer would, circling like you're trying to spell his damn name or something, and then slam all the way down. "You're mine, baby?"
Peter's head is somewhere too far for him to reach, but he still manages to nod. "All yours."
"I love you so fucking much," you cry on his lips, and then you start again—the merciless speed of your hips against his while your hand holds his arm up and your other is on his neck.
"I love you more," Peter cries back, reaching for a kiss that you give with all the desire in the world. He kind of wants his hand free to hold your face, and kind of wants to see how much you'd fight him to stand still, but neither one happens because you start to speed up and Peter's moans grow louder and louder.
Being as attracted as you are by his sounds, your legs start shaking and squeezing around him.
"Cum for me, Y/n, please, please, please," before I lose it and cum inside you, please.
"Cum inside me first."
"Cum in me." You sound as out of it as he is, and Peter's only human at the end of the day. "Please. Do it. Do it, Peter. I wanna feel you. Please, Spidey, c'mon."
Peter cums with a yell, and his hips can't take it, bucking up to meet your thrusts in the last seconds, and it must be the strength with which he fucks into you, the angle, the way he's crying out your name or just everything together, but you cum right with him.
Both of your bodies shake and tremble together, in a peculiar and hard-to-achieve glorious moment.
He'll need many minutes to recover, and you'll need even more to gather the strength and will to let him come out from inside of you, but none of that matters for the time being.
Peter's content to stay inside you for now, just as you are to lay on his chest.
He lets the sound of your hearts beating like hummingbirds bring him back to Earth.
There's a smile on his face, and with minimum inspection, he feels there's a smile resting on his shoulder, too. Your lips press kisses on the exposed skin there, and he feels your grin when the kisses stop.
Peter's not a very religious man, but he might have just found his heaven on Earth.
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Peter Parker x Reader
Summary: You only have a couple minutes left and you still have to say goodbye.
Warnings: ANGST! (in capital letters). Mentions of death, mentions of blood, injuries.
w/c: 2.1k +
A/N: This is the most harmful shit I have ever written so read under your own risk. I went to sleep at 3 am for this. I was literally sobbing. I hope you like it and likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciate it. Love ya.
Support and author by sharing their work. (Gif not mine)
You should have listened to Peter when he told you not to go on that road trip alone. You didn't want to put it off. A member of your family was going through a difficult situation and you had to be there for support. Your home was 3 states away from where you lived with Peter so it would be a long road trip, you hated planes so you went by car.
It's too late now to regret it.
"I don't like the idea of you going alone. Let me come with you." Begs your boyfriend as you pack your suitcase in the car.
"You know you can't, you have a thesis to present and I can't keep putting it off. My family needs me, Peter."
"I know they need you. I'm not telling you not to go but please take me with you." He takes your hand.
"I'll be fine." You kiss his lips and get into the car.
The smell of blood now flooded your nostrils and your ears endured a ringing that seemed to have no end.
Breathing burned. Your lungs begged for oxygen but it felt like a burn every time you gave it to them.
You had no reason for time or space. You had no idea why everything looked so blurry. Maybe it's a dream, one of those many bad dreams you've had.
There is a face in front of you. A young man with a bloody forehead and nose. You want to ask him if he's okay but you're too stunned to utter a word.
You know he's saying something by the way his lips are moving but you can't hear it, yet.
Your brow is furrowed. You try to bring yourself back to the here and now. ~Concentrate, y/n.
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I'm really sorry." You manage to finally hear what the young man says and pick up his phone to call an ambulance. You don't look at all well. "Can you hear me? Are you okay?" He tries to get your attention.
"I can't move," you mumble. The more you regain consciousness, the more you notice the terrible pain in your head and in your stomach. Right in your right side.
"Yes, yes she's conscious but she's on the tarmac. It's very dark, I can't see anything." The stranger sobs next to you. "You have to come now, please." He mumbles an address you can't make out and focuses his gaze on you. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He moves his free hand towards you but regrets it just before he touches you.
"Hey, take it easy." You try to stay calm for both of us. "What's your name?"
"Tyler" he replies wiping his nose and puts the phone aside as soon as the call cuts off.
"Tyler, it's y/n." You make a great effort to speak. Only one of you can move and that's not you so you do your best to calm him down.
"Are the paramedics coming?" You look him in the eye and feel your side twinge.
"The call went dead." He explains. "The girl on the phone said to stay calm."
"Did you give them our location?" you ask hopefully.
"Yes, I did. They said they would send someone as soon as possible but the call was cut off."
You close your eyes for a moment trying to let the pain subside but it only gets worse. "Try calling them again and stay with whoever answers the phone while they arrive."
Tyler nods and after a few tries manages to connect the call. The girl behind the phone asks him to describe what he sees and that's when you get an idea of how bad it is.
The front window of your car is broken. You were thrown out because of a seatbelt failure. Your leg looks broken, according to Tyler, and worst of all, there's a pool of blood coming out of your right side. That explains the stinging you feel.
"That's not good, is it?" You ask trying to hope. The paramedics will arrive and everything will be fine.
"The girl says to put my hands on your wound and keep them there until the paramedics arrive." Tyler moves his hands and asks permission before placing them on your wound making you cry out in pain. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He repeats over and over.
"It's okay," you try to control your breathing and feel your eyes roll back in your head.
The girl on the other end of the phone, now in a loud voice, asks Tyler not to stop talking to you and he does. You must stay conscious.
You respond a few times to his nervous attempt at conversation, tell him about your life and try to focus on something beyond the pain.
Minutes pass. Many minutes. Forty minutes, to be exact, and still no sign of help.
Your body feels weak and keeping your eyes open becomes increasingly difficult. That's when you remember how far you were from the nearest town or city when you had the accident and reality hits you in the face.
"Tyler?" You put your hands on top of his looking for some warmth. You're cold. it's cold.
"Yes?" he replies almost immediately.
"What does the ambulance girl say?" You ask.
"That we should wait a little longer. Help is on its way," he says with feigned assurance. He tries to convince himself that the paramedics will arrive on time.
"I need your help with something." Tyler nods for you to continue. "Please look for my phone in my car and call Peter. He's my boyfriend." You ask. Now you understand you're on borrowed time.
"No, the girl said my hands are the only thing that stops the bleeding long enough for help to arrive. I'm not moving." He denies.
"Please." You beg, feeling an immense urge to cry but you're too weak to do so. "We're in the middle of nowhere and, look at me, I don't have much time left."
"No, please. They're going to come and you're going to be fine." he cries again inconsolably. He knows you're right.
"Tyler, please," you plead with every ounce of strength you have left. "I don't want to leave without saying goodbye."
The young man hesitates, not wanting to take his hands away and then regret it. But he feels so guilty about the accident that he agrees and reaches for your phone.
One ring, two rings, on the third ring, Peter answers the call. Tyler puts the speakerphone on and puts his hands back on your side.
"Love, are you coming back? Did you stop for lunch?" Peter asks through the speaker.
"Peter..." you smile sadly at the sound of his voice and feel tears well up in your eyes.
"Is everything alright? You don't sound so good." The concern in his voice is noticeable.
"Peter, I had an accident on the way home. You get straight to the point, you have no time to waste. "It doesn't look very-" you cut off your coughing breath and the metallic taste of blood floods your mouth. "It doesn't look good for me."
"Wh-what?" you hear her breathing hitch. "Where are you? I'll come right away. Tell me where you are," he asks.
"I'm far away, Pete," you murmur and close your eyes to rest for a moment, just a moment. "I don't have much time left."
"What about the paramedics? Are you alone? I'll call 911," you hear the keys on the phone in your shared flat click and you open your eyes again.
"I'm with Tyler, he was in the accident with me and he's looking after me" you smile weakly at him. "But we're so far away from everything, love. I don't want to waste my last minutes talking about how far away the paramedics are." You plead.
"Don't say that, please. You're going to be fine" He reasons as fast as he can. He's still processing the information.
"I love you, Peter Parker. I love you with every fiber in my body." You struggle to hold on a little longer. Just a few more minutes, please.
Peter walks out into the street and gets into a taxi.
"I'll track your phone. I'm going to find you. You're not going to die, okay?" You hear his voice crack.
"Remember that summer at the beach when we saw that family playing ball?" You change the subject.
"Y/n..." tries to stop you from speaking but you continue.
"You said you wanted a family as happy as that." You smile at the memory. "A wedding, two or three kids, a little house in the suburbs, a job from home so you could spend time with the kids, and a Golden Retriever for a pet." You feel tears running down your cheeks. "I would have loved to have been able to give you all that, it was my dream too."
"We will. We will, just-" he takes a big breath of air so you he doesn't collapse in the taxi. "Hang in there."
Peter would have preferred to swing but there are no buildings outside the city and he would have had to hang up the call. He wasn't going to hang it up for the world.
"I'm sorry I argued with you about that new TV. I love our movie Fridays." You admit. "It wasn't an unnecessary expense."
"I know. I bought it for you," he sobs. This can't be the end.
"Little May and little Ben would have loved movie Fridays too. Especially since their dad would have made the richest and weirdest popcorn combinations." You laugh before coughing again and spitting up blood.
"May and Ben are the best names" he laughs sadly. "Y/n please, I can't lose you too. You're all I have left" you hear him crying on the other end of the phone. It's clear he's not trying to control himself anymore.
"I'll love you even when I'm gone" you whisper and leave your eyes closed for a longer period of time.
"Please open your eyes, y/n" Tyler moves your face with one of his hands and you open your eyes again.
"Listen to him, don't close your eyes," your boyfriend denies into the phone. He has never felt so helpless in his entire life.
"I'm tired" you fix your blurred gaze on the phone lying on the tarmac next to you.
"You can't leave, not like this" he wipes away his tears and tries to control his breathing but it's unavoidable. "I have to marry you..." he pleads.
"If you want me to marry you you have to ask me first" you joke.
"Will you marry me?" Peter asks between sobs as he thinks about the box with a ring hidden in his old Spiderman uniforms. He was going to ask you very soon, he didn't expect it to be like this.
"Yes and a thousand times yes," you smile with your eyes closed but open them again to look at Tyler. "Did you hear that, Tyler? I'm getting married." You say with as much excitement as you can muster. "You're invited to the wedding." You mumble closing your eyes again.
They stay open too little time, they're too heavy.
"You can take the ring out of your uniform box now," you mutter lower and lower.
"Did you know that?" your boyfriend asks in surprise.
"I know all about it, my super hero" your breathing slows down.
Peter looks at his phone. There are miles between you. He won't make it in time.
"No, you're the super hero. It's always been you," he presses the phone to his ear. "I love you, Y/n y/l/n."
"I love you too, Peter," you murmur almost inaudibly. "Can I ask you something?" You use the last of your strength to speak a little louder.
"Whatever" Parker nods quickly.
"Promise me that you won't stop looking for love and that you'll try to be happy even if it's not with me." You say earnestly.
"I can't do-" you stop him before he says anything else.
"Promise me, Peter. Please promise me. I have to hear you say it."
Peter swallows hard. He doesn't want to do anything you just said. How could he be happy without you? But nevertheless, he responds.
"I promise," he says before bursting into tears again.
This can't be goodbye.
You're exhausted, you don't think you can keep your eyes open for much longer. A few seconds pass and all you hear is Peter's sobs on the other end of the line.
"Y/n?" he asks but you don't answer. You vaguely hear him but the voice is getting further and further away. "No no no no, y/n answer. Please" exclaims your boyfriend. "Don't go" he clenches the phone tightly in his hand.
Endless memories flash through your mind. You are glad that they are happy for the most part.
Is this what it feels like to die? At least you were able to say Goodbye.
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Giving preschool teacher Peter Parker a massage, I know those kiddos use his long limbs as a human jungle gym
[from this prompt list] [feel free to request a prompt from the list]
[tasm!peter parker x reader]
Gray Hairs and Massages
"And then, for some unknown reason, Marcus stood up and started singing Jingle Bells at the top of his lungs while Allie attempted to do the worm around him. She hit her face off the floor and got a bloody nose. Meanwhile, Jessica and Kit have climbed to the top of the bookcase and are attempting to jump off, Kevin has Chubs the hamster in his pocket even after I told him not to touch the class pet, Max is spinning in circles so fast that he starts puking, Rowen is crying in the corner because he misses his mom, and the rest of the kids are sitting on the circle time rug looking at me like they've lost all hope in my abilities to run a classroom!"
Peter let out a loud, exaggerated sigh and flopped face first onto the bed after detailing his chaotic work day to you.
"I thought fighting crime was hard," he mumbled into the bunched up blankets under his face. "Preschool is worse than any bad guy I've ever come across."
You repressed a laugh for his own sanity and took a seat on the bed beside him, "At least it'll be good practice for when we have kids. If you can handle 22 children, I think you should be able to handle four with ease."
He peaked his eyes up from his blanket prison to give you a questioning look, "Four? You want four kids now? What happened to only two?"
You shot him a smile and gave an innocent shrug, "Hearing you talk about the chaos made me excited. I want to see you in action. Super dad, Peter Parker. It has a nice ring to it."
He groaned and hid his face back into the blankets, "I don't think I could even handle one. These children are crazed. They're taking over. They know I'm weak. They can smell my blood in the water and they're circling into attack mode. They're going to eat me alive. One day someone will check in on me and my half devoured body will be staring lifeless up at the ceiling while the children have gone completely feral as they feast on my flesh for snacktime. It's Lord of the Flies in there. My head has been pounding all evening."
You chucked at his over exaggeration of the situation and patted his back, "Such a drama queen. My day was lovely, thank you for asking. I got to sit in a quiet library and sort books."
He rolled over and flopped his head into your lap, staring up at you, "That sounds wonderful. Wanna trade?"
"You wish." You brushed your fingers through his thick hair. "Want me to give you a massage? I'll go grab some ibuprofen for your headache and massage away your troubles."
He responded with a pathetically sad whine, "Please. I'm dying."
You scooted out from under him to go grab a bottle of pain meds from the cabinet, along with a glass of water, and your cooling eye mask from the fridge. When you returned, Peter was laying in his boxers and had half unbuttoned his shirt before giving up. His arms were flopped onto the mattress and spread out to either side of him while he stared in a daze up at the ceiling.
"Help me," he croaked, his voice clearly strained from trying to speak over boisterous four year old's all day. "'m so tired. Can't even finish taking my shirt off. Just wanna be comfy..."
"Oh, honey, you poor thing," you chuckled under your breath. "Come here."
You placed his things on the bedside table and quickly made work of unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugged it off his shoulders, grabbing the pain relief next to him and chugging the entire glass of water with it. You helped fix the eye mask around his face and he rolled back onto his stomach.
You climbed up on top of him, straddling your legs on either side of his hips, and started to rub your hands over his bare shoulders. Peter let out a low groan of approval.
"Your hands are so cold," he mumbled.
"Aren't they always like that?" You replied, working your fingers into his large muscles with circular motions.
"Yeah but they feel nice now. You should quit your library job and work as a masseuse. Libraries are a dying breed."
You gasped in feigned outrage, "How dare you speak of my beloved library like that?"
He shrugged his tense shoulders, a tiny smile gracing his half hidden face, "Truth hurts, baby."
"Yeah, well, at least I know I'll never become a preschool teacher."
"Hey, don't mess with us teachers. We're hardcore."
You laughed, "Says the man who couldn't even take off his shirt tonight."
He gave a sly smile, "Maybe I wanted you to be the one to undress me? Maybe I knew exactly what I was doing?"
"Or maybe you were exhausted and lazy?" You patted his shoulder and rolled off him, sitting upright on the mattress. "Turn around and roll over. Put your head in my lap. I'll massage your head."
He did as he was told and settled nicely into your lap, a lingering smile on his lips. You gently took the eye mask off his face to have better access to him. You started with a gentle pressure, circling around his temples and working your way up his hairline to his forehead.
"Imma fall 'sleep," he mumbled.
"Go for it. You deserve the rest."
You continued to work on massaging his scalp, listening to his breathing get steadier and softer, when you looked down and quietly gasped at what you saw. As you ran your fingers through his thick hair, you noticed a patch of gray glinting under the dim light. The more you brushed through it, the more single strands of gray you saw. It wasn't immediately obvious unless you were up close and grooming him like you were doing but, there was no denying it, Peter was graying.
"Well, shit," you whispered under your breath.
Peter peaked a sleepy eye open and mumbled, "What? Don't tell me a kid gave me lice again."
"Not lice. Did you know that you're graying?" You couldn't hide the tinge of amusement in your voice.
His eyes snapped open, the sleep vanishing from his face, and he shot up right.
"What? I'm not going gray! Don't say that!" He gasped, putting a protective hand to his precious hair.
You laughed at his over the top reaction, "Sorry, Pete, but go look in the mirror."
He rolled off the bed and ran to the bathroom. You laid down to curl up in the warm spot his body heat had left on the bed and smiled when you heard his yelp of horror from the other room.
"No!" He yelled. "Those damn kids! This is their fault!" He shuffled back into the bedroom with a pout. "Am I old?"
You rolled your eyes, "You're 35, Peter."
"Is that old?" He sank to knees beside the bed in front of your face and looked up at you with pleading, but playful, eyes.
You nodded, taking on a serious tone, "Very. Oldest man alive."
"Oy vey," he stifled a laugh with his hand. "Might as well get me a cane and call me grandpa. Now that I think about it, my father grayed really early and so did Uncle Ben. At least they both still had a full head of hair. I'd rather be gray than bald. If I start to bald, I need you to put me out of my misery."
You scooted over to give him space to climb into bed with you, "Come on, old man. I promise if you go bald that I will make you a wig out of my own hair."
He rolled into bed beside you and snuggled his face next to yours so your noses were brushing against each other, "I have gray hair."
"I know," you whispered back. "That's so fucking hot."
You nodded, "Oh yeah. You're giving off serious daddy vibes right now." You gave him a sneaky smirk. "Is this old man too tired to please his wife tonight?"
His smile matched yours as you watched his eyes spark to life, "Wow, look at that, I suddenly feel fully rested. You're the perfect cure to a crazy day."
Steal Some Covers, Share Some Skin (Peter Parker x Reader Smut)
Authors Note: This did not start out as smut. It was a sweet little blurb based on that one Maroon5 song. But it is smut now..it is also very rushed I have papers I need to write for class but this seemed more fun.
Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader
Content Warnings: Nipple play, just vanilla morning sex.
Please reblog and comment!
Rainy New York mornings where the sun was shining were the best mornings, Peter often left late for patrol those days, or opted to not patrol at all. Instead the scanner on their bedside had a low buzz to it as it scanned through police signals in the surrounding areas, the small persistent noise turning (Y/N) from her rain soaked window to her husband's back. The sun washed his back on a golden glaze that filled her body with warmth as she reached out and touched him. Her hand slid up the smooth muscles, stopping in the middle feeling him breath soft and slow, she closed her eyes from a moment letting herself bathe in the warmth and security of the moment.
He was here with her: safe, and in one piece there was no need to worry about where he was, what he was getting himself into.
He was here, with her, in their bed listening to the rain pouring down the window.
“Good morning, Otzàr Shelì.”
Peter whispers, turning to face her. His hand reached our wiping the sleep from her eyes. (Y/N) laughed under her breath, her reflexes of nuzzling her face into his hand kicking in.
“Morning Bugs.” She mumbled into his hand, placing a soft kiss on his palm. (Y/N)’s eyes searched for his, slightly closed from the sun rushing into the window. His brown eyes are a sweet honey color in the sun she noted.
“It’s raining..and sunny. I hate the Spring.” Peter muttered, pulling his hand away to rub over his face as he stared up at the ceiling, a hand over his face. Like a bunny springing into action (Y/N) straddled him, a playful gleam on her face.
“I love spring! For reasons like this, I love watching it rain while the sun's out. It's such a weird phenomena that we get to enjoy..except when thunderstorms follow.” (Y/N) rambled on, her hands rubbing Peter’s chest slowly as she lingered in the moment. “It also keeps you in bed longer with me in the mornings and who can complain about that?”
As she spoke Peter shifted under her, sitting himself up against the headboard of the bed. His hands tucked her messy hair behind her ear, staring at her with a toothy grin.
“Haven’t brushed my teeth yet.” She replied, pulling her head back.
“Don’t care I haven’t either. Kiss me..please.” Peter said bringing his face closer to hers. Their lips nearly touching, he was waiting for her final word.
“Mhm if you say so.”
(Y/N) met him the rest of the way, closing their lips in a tight kiss. Peter’s hand raked up the side of the Midtown Science Club shirt she had worn to bed. She was certain Peter could feel the heat rush her skin as he touched her. Peters lips trailed off her lips to her neck, his nose dragging along her skin as he placed soft kisses down her neck.
“So pretty in the sunlight.”
“You’re just in love with me.”
(Y/N) laughed, tilting her head to the side as Peter lingered. He pulled his head back smiling at her, with a shrug that confirmed her statement. His hands continued their way up her shirt, groping her chest once he reached his final destination. His teeth biting her nipple through the fabric, causing (Y/N) to burst out in laughter.
“You woke up eager this morning.”
“It's spring..it’s the spring fever..”
Peter says as he lifts her shirt over her head.
“I think that only applies to rabbits.”
(Y/N) laughed, helping him pull the shirt off. Before she could process the cold air, Peter bit down on her nipple again. “Ouch! Warning.”
Her laughs bounced off the brick walls of the studio apartment, her hands in his hair as his tongue drags around her nipple, his finger twirling around the other. She spread her legs reaching between them both, placing his cock between her legs grinding slowly. She sucked on the inside of her cheeks holding in a moan, as Peter switched between her breasts. His hands sliding from her hips down to her ass, applying light pressure enough to push his cock against her clit harsher.
“Pete!” She moans out, her hips bucking.
“Let me in Otzàr Shelì..please.”
He whimpered against the skin of her sternum. He lifted her hips as she nodded, falling victim to his eyes she let him take control. She held her hand over his as he slid himself into her, moving his hand off his shaft and onto her stomach. Pushing herself the rest of the way down. Her breath hitched in her throat as she fit herself onto him. Her fingers dug into his chest turning her knuckles and the skin of his pecks white.
“I will never..get over this sight.” He speaks low and slow, his hands starting to grind her hips down getting her started. “Oh come on, you got this. Good girl.”
Soon enough she started on her own. Her hips rolled slowly, as her jaw dropped letting small whines out. Peter lifts her up a little as she goes, thrusting here and there. The both of them were too lost in the moment to find a pattern. (Y/N) dropped her head down to kiss Peter, one hand holding his cheek as the other held her up for support. She pulled away after a few seconds, shaky moans falling from her mouth as she felt herself starting to clench around him.
“Fuck..Fuck yeah.” Peter nodded, nestling himself inside her holding her down in place as he finished inside her, and her soaking his cock. (Y/N) held herself up with her hands on either side of his head, Peter's hands squeezing her hips.
The silence they sat in was sweet, and knowing. After what felt like forever Peter pulled himself out, helping (Y/N) lay across his body. “We need to get up.” She mumbled.
“In a minute, lay here for a minute..come down.” He spoke covering them both up, (Y/N) nodded in his neck feeling his hand rub soothing circles over her back. She turned her head looking out the window, the rain having stopped and the sun shining brighter than ever on Sunday morning.
Taglist - let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future pieces!
@helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @bxcketbarnes @andrews-lovr @raajali3 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @a-lumos-in-the-nox @megmehz @lunaleah @eevylynn @ditzydolli @messymissy
Pete when bunny's ssick headcannons pls babe
in my fluff era rn
WATCH YOU SLEEP- P.B PARKER
Pairing: Boyfriend! Peter x Hybrid Bunny! Fem! Reader
Word Count: 1.1k
Summary: your boyfriend peter takes care of you when things become a little too overwhelming for you.
Warnings: none<3 all fluffiness
"i dont ever wanna leave.. i'll watch you sleep and listen to you breathe ooo..." watch you sleep, girl in red
You were overwhelmed beyond belief.
Overstimulated, your mind was running a million miles per second. The cars honking and speeding by, mixed with the music and the loud banging of the downstairs neighbor.
It was hard on your delicate ears, too hard to concentrate on anything. The room was too hot, the hair on your neck felt itchy and wrong, and your clothes were like a second skin.
They weren't your safe clothes, ones you were comfortable and familiar in.
You swung your legs from your bed, head throbbing from the thoughts that swarmed in your brain. You were dizzy, your vision spotting.
You couldn't eat, you couldn't sleep. You were just.. hollow.
An empty, withered shell as you picked at your cuticles, the stinging of the skin ripping bringing sweet relief as you dabbed at the fresh blood. Your stomach hurt, bursts of nausea becoming the new norm lately.
You sat with your thoughts, staring at the wall as you tried to tune them out.
No luck. They buzzed and buzzed. They buzzed so loud you didn't even realize your boyfriend Peter had opened your bedroom door, slipping inside.
A look of concern was plastered across his face, forehead scrunched as he adjusted his glasses in his nose. “Princess?” he called to you quietly, your eyes wearily drifting over to emptily meet his.
“Icky again?” he asked, walking over to sit beside you, giving you some space. You nodded. Icky was the only word you could use to describe this feeling of overwhelmingness that consumed most of your evenings, when your fingers began to tap too quickly, your lips peeled raw.
He sighed softly, not in disappointment but in sadness.
You knew deep down he hated seeing you like this. You just didn’t know what to do. “I’m sorry.” was all you could croak out, instantly making him shake his head.
“No, no princess dont say you're sorry. You have nothing to apologize for, okay? I just feel so awful you go through this.” he murmured, reaching out to stroke your cheek, hand hovering mid-air.
“Can I touch you?”
You nodded, his sigh of relief evident as his back knuckle brushed against your cheek, his skin soft and cool to the touch.
Peter was a very clingy person, almost always needing to be touching you. Whether it was picking you up to drape you up on the counter while he cooked, or setting your legs across his lap at school, so he could fiddle with your shoelaces, he was always touching you.
A hand on your lower back, a kiss to your forehead and a gentle hand squeeze was a daily ritual, and you knew when you got distance it was hard for him.
Nonetheless, he put your needs first- respecting every single one of your boundaries.
“Overwhelmed again?” he asked, and you leaned into his touch.
“My head hurts and I feel so sick. It's too much.” you whispered, picking at your tight clothing. Peter looked down to where your fingers met, a frown on his face.
“Can you lift your arms up for me sweetness?” he cooed, standing up in front of you as you obeyed. The shirt was tugged off you gently, and Peter tossed it down on the hardwood floor, far away from your frame. He shimmed your shorts off, revealing the fluffy little bunny tail he adored so much.
One of his sweaters was snatched off the hanger, and you watched in silence as he made his way back over to you, slipping it in replace of the clothes you had dreaded today.
“There we go bunny.” he smiled, patting your head softly, a low purr escaping from your lips. You loved when he acted like this. Soft and comforting, looking after you and being able to read your silent cues.
It seemed he knew you better than you knew yourself half the time, always providing you with whatever your heart desired.
“Where are you going?” you asked shyly as Peter walked to the door, as you were scared he was leaving you. “M’just shutting the door bun. You really think I’d leave my precious girl right now?” he teased, the door latch clicking into place as he secluded the two of you from the outside world that haunted you.
Drumming your fingers on your thigh, your eyes hazily followed his tall body as he grabbed a lighter from the dresser, illuminating the fall candle he had gifted you. Blankets were grabbed from the chair in the corner, a water bottle snatched from the mini-fridge.
The fairy lights you had pinned up across your walls were switched on, the room becoming a safe haven that you and Peter shared.
Warm, comforting scents of pumpkin and cinnamon wafted through your nose as it twitched. “You still like this candle eh?” he smiled, to which you nodded.
“It reminds me of when we baked pies with your aunt last fall.” you hummed gently, the cheerful memory clear as day in your mind. “When I got flour all over myself? Very therapeutic.” he joked, making you giggle as he lay gathered the blankets in a small little nest-like position, so you could crawl in.
Peter lay down in the nest, watching as you crawled over to him, laying on top of him. He sighed in comfort, loving the familiar weight of you draped across his chest, so you would rise and fall in sync with his chest.
Peter wrapped a soft, fuzzy blanket across your body, the fabric tickling your thighs as the sweater rose higher. “There, is that better princess? Hmm?”
You purred into his chest, hands clenching the cotton as he began to pet your delicate, fluffy ears in soothing strokes. “Just a headache from the ickiness.” you replied, body submitting to relaxation under the sheets.
“Oh bun I’m sorry. It's all done now, okay? You're safe.” Those were some of your favorite words that slipped from his mouth, the reassurance comforting.
You're safe. I’ll always protect you, my precious girl.
“Sleepy..” you trailed off, chirping as you felt his hand slip under the covers, tugging gently at your fluffy tail, giving your ass a little squeeze.
“Sleep then bunny. Sleep, sleep, sleep because you deserve the rest.” he cooed, grabbing your hand to bring each finger to his lips, placing gently kisses and nibbles to the skin.
You heard his soft voice sing out a gentle lullaby as he bounced his knee, rocking you to the depths of sleep.
I don’t ever want to leave, I’ll watch you sleep… and listen to you breathe.
A little smile crept up on your face, dimples showing before you sank into unconsciousness filled with sweet dreams and the smell of him.
NEEDINESS. Peter Parker.
summary: you and peter are just having your annual show night, watching one of your favorite shows but you can't push down the unbearable lust and need you feel for him.
pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!black!reader.
word count: 933 | requests: OPEN.
a/n: no, this is not proofread, none of my works are proofread. istg if i see one comment correcting my grammar i will rage 🙁
YOU AND PETER had just been laying on the couch, cuddling with each other; his arm wrapped securely around your waist.
Clueless played on the television in the background, and even though it was possibly your favorite show in the whole entire world, you couldn't help but be less than focused on it.
Your face was pressed into the crook of his neck, thigh thrown over his, so you were basically now sitting on the muscular skin, and every now and then you could just feel how his thigh clenched, pressing deliciously at your core.
What you had figured out after the two of you had begun dating is that Peter Parker is a huge tease, so you couldn't tell whether his actions were accidental or not.
As his thigh rocked up to meet your clothed, sopping cunt, you couldn't help but let out the filthiest whimper into his skin.
It was so quiet that an average man probably wouldn't have been able to hear it; but Peter could.
Due to his enhanced senses, he could tell when you needed him most, he could always feel how wet you were, tell how aroused you were, know how much you wanted him. But, he always waited. Waited until you came to him yourself.
This time was no different.
"Mm? What is it bug?"
God, his voice. Just the tone of his voice sent a blast of heat down to your core, and you squirmed uncomfortably in your shorts.
Another whine would leave you, dipping your head further into his neck, whispering into his skin, "Pete, 'need you so bad.. Please.."
You could've sworn you heard him chuckle, but maybe it was his ears playing tricks on you. "You gotta speak up, 'can't hear you baby."
A pout etches across your face, leaning away from him slowly. "Said I need you, please Pete.."
Peter smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head, "Could've just said that lovely." One of his hands reaches down, gently tugging down your shorts and you help him by kicking them off.
He shifts a little bit, sitting up and pressing his back against the couch's armrest, helping you to straddle his leg.
The show in the background was now long forgotten as you stared into his gorgeous, brown eyes. God you loved those eyes.
"You gotta tell me what you want from me, okay?" His voice was soft, making you shiver.
He could feel how soaked you were, your thin layer of panties not doing you much justice really. "Want to ride your thigh .. please?" You managed to squeak out, cheeks heating up.
Peter moved his free hand to rest on your cheek, caressing the flesh gently. "Wanna get yourself off on my thigh pretty girl? Hm? Well go ahead, use me for your pleasure bug."
God, the words just seemed so natural, but yet it left you all the more hot and bothered.
Though, you didn't need to be told twice, moving your hands up to rest on his shoulders, slowly rocking your hips back and forth.
You'd moan out, taking in a deep breath as you set a steady pace. He'd place his hand on your hip, squeezing it gently, slightly moving your hips with his hand, guiding you.
"Come on sweet girl, you can do it." He'd mumble in your ear, kissing your earlobe.
You'd whimper, moving your hips at a bit of a faster pace now, clit getting perkier by the second. With each rub of the cloth of your panties rubbing against it each time you move your hips, you let out a slight gasp of his name.
Squeezing your eyes shut you'd lean in, clumsily pressing your lips to his.
Immediately he dove right in, kissing you back with passion, nose bumping against his every now and then. Peter licked into your mouth, tongue exploring every inch of your cavern.
The kiss was slightly sloppy, but you couldn't care less, all you needed was to feel him.
You pulled away, snapping your hips back and forth even faster. You were sure that you were already soaking up his pants, and you hadn't even come yet.
You were sure your inner thighs were dripping with your own arousal, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.
"Ah- Pete, 'm close-" You gasp out, causing him to grin, moving your hips faster.
He'd duck down, capturing your earlobe in between his teeth, biting gently as you gasp out. "Gonna make a mess all over my pants like the dirty girl you are, yeah? Go on, go ahead baby."
Peter's words made you moan, hips stuttering against his thigh. You could feel your cunt fluttering around nothing, desperately trying to find something to wrap around.
As you grind your hips faster and faster, a strangled moan mixed with a whimper leaves your lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into his shoulder.
"Fuck Peter- 'm coming."
He'd snake a hand down in between your bodies, slipping his hand into your panties, rubbing fast circles on your clit. "Come on baby, come for me come on.."
One last breathy moan would slip past your pretty, pretty lips, before you came undone on his thigh, soaking both your panties and your boyfriend's sweats.
And god, to him it was so hot.
Your little pants were swallowed up by his lips pressing gingerly against yours, still rubbing slow, little circles onto your clit, causing you to shine about sensitivity.
"You seriously thought we were done? You may be, but I'm not."
tags: @jackierose902109 @kidavalentine @playgurlxoxo
add yourself to my marvel taglist!
Are you opposed to writing headcanons? If not, could you write your headcanons of what it's like to fall asleep with Peter Parker?
Hi! I'm not opposed to writing headcanons. Thank you so much to the request :)
Napping with Peter Parker [tasm]
He’d notice you looked tired from all the late nights of studying you’ve had recently. You finally finished your last final and wanted nothing more than to hangout with your boyfriend.
Peter convinces you to watch this movie he claims is his new favorite, and lays across the entire couch.
He’d pull you down and settle you atop him with your head on his chest, facing the television, his arms settled around you with his hands gently rubbing circles on your back, and the blanket from the back of the couch draped over the two of you.
You try to stay awake, wanting to see what movie has captured Peter’s attention now. Barely even twenty minutes into the film you can no longer fight the heaviness of your eyes.
Peter had felt your slight jerks as you tried not to fall asleep, but he knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your eyes open much longer. He’d chosen a random movie and just wanted you to finally rest.
Once you do doze off, Peter mutes the television and tightens his hold on you slightly. He kisses the top of your head and naps with you.
You wake up first, and are confused. The television is now off, Peter’s face is buried in the back of the couch, and he’s quietly snoring.
You stare at his face, admiring how relaxed he looks. Eventually his eyes slowly blink open and meet your eyes, his cheeks immediately lifting into a smile seeing you looking the most rested you have in two weeks.
“How’d you sleep?” He asks groggily. / “Amazing, actually,” you smile and bury your face into his chest.
“Sorry I fell asleep,” you mumble, “I know you wanted to show me the movie.” / “I don’t actually know what that movie was,” he sheepishly admits. / “What?” You lift your head up to look at him. / “You looked tired, and I knew you wanted to hang out and not sleep. So, I decided our afternoon together should just be us napping together,” he smiles at you with a shrug.
You can’t help but give him a kiss at that, and you can feel him smiling into the kiss.
Once you break away, you also can’t help the yawn that escapes you. Peter chuckles and kisses the top of your head.
“Still tired?” He pokes your cheek. / “No,” you deny as you yawn once again. / “Alright, c’mon,” he sits up under you and sets you in his lap, “off to bed we go.” / “No, you’re too comfy.” / “Baby, you’ll feel better tomorrow if your back doesn’t hurt from cuddling on the couch.”
You groan and let him get off the couch, just to make grabby hands at him. He pulls you up with an affectionate eye roll.
The two of you walk through the apartment and crawl into bed.
Peter immediately wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him. Your foreheads rest together, legs tangled together, and holding onto each other. The blanket pulled up to your shoulders while the two of you basked in the other’s presence.
The night continues with the two of you tangled together, Peter’s soft snores, and your quiet mumbles.
When the two of you wake up in the morning, Peter’s on his back with you tucked safely into his side, the sun casting lines across his face, and your eyes meet his.
may i request for an andrew!peter parker one-shot? I'm imagining the reader and peter are partners for a school/university project, they have this "old married couple" vibes where they bicker and have petty fights all the time but it actually made them a lot closer. they actually became close friends when one day peter falls for her and in the middle of yet another argument over their project, he blurts out "stop yelling at me or i swear to god I'm gonna fall in love with you!"
hehe thank you so much for reading this request!
ahh this is so exciting!! Thank you for the request and I hope I completed it just how you imagined!! 🤍
peter parker x female reader
summary : you soon realize that being lab partners with peter parker is quite eventful.
The door swung shut behind Peter as he entered your house for the first time, hands holding his backpack against his chest anxiously. He was your new lab partner, being assigned by the teacher for this half of the summer term.
He began to feel nervous as his shoes squeaked against the wooden floor leading to your bedroom and he hesitated slightly before rapping his knuckles onto the wooden surface.
You voice floated through the crack in the door, “Come in!”
Peters hand pressed down on the door handle and he took a sharp intake in breath as he looked around your room with great interest. Currently, you were sprawled out on your bed, pencil between your lips, eyes scanning the sheets of science assignments which were scattered across your duvet.
You looked up, eyes widening ever so slightly, “Oh..Peter, hi,” you said in slight surprise.
“You weren’t expecting me?” Peter asked, eyebrows furrowing as he reached out, pulling a chair out from beneath the desk and straddling it so his arms rested against the top of the chair.
A hum of agreement left your lips as you sat up on the bed, eyes tracing over his backpack that lay crumpled on the floor. His hair was mused and windswept, clothes a dark shade of green which were a few sizes too big for him.
“I didn’t think you would show up,” you replied, hands rearranging the sheets of paper on your bed to form a straight line.
“You are aware that I actually want to pass this class?”
You pointedly looked up at him as Peter took out his black rimmed glasses and slipped them onto his nose, “And I hope that you are aware that this is my house and i can kick you out of it when I please.”
Peter held his hands up in surrender as he began listing subjects and topics that you both would study over the course of the semester. A groan left your lips as you face planted your bedsheets, realizing that you were in for a lot more than you had first thought.
The past few weeks has flown by in a whirlwind of revision, late night phone calls and multiple packets of paracetamol that helped ease your relentless headache.
Peter Parker had become somewhat your friend - as you had spent almost every afternoon together, studying for the upcoming evaluation on your science project.
And you somehow found yourself actually enjoying his company.
Hands snapping in front of your face brought you out of your daydream, the noisy chatter of students around you bringing you back to the present.
“Hello?” Peter questioned, eyes boring into your own, “You in wonderland?”
A scoff escaped you in exasperation as you slammed your locker shut behind you, single hand running through your hair.
“Yes Peter, I was just discussing with the Queen of Hearts the many different ways of chopping off someone’s head. Do you want me to demonstrate a technique on you?”
A grin blessed Peters face, as he picked up his pace to match your long strides, “Well, if you were to cut off my head, you wouldn’t pass the project - which you need my help for.”
You mumbled a stream of profanities under your breath and Peter bent down so his ear was level with your mouth, “What was that?”
Reaching up, you tugged his ear sharply, before briskly walking away from him, a laugh escaping your lips as you yelled behind you, “Sod off Parker!”
Peter stood bewildered behind you, watching carefully as you turned the corner and disappeared from sight. His hands held onto his backpack straps as his head slowly shook from side to side. His mouth tilted upwards and he began to quietly laugh, rocking on the balls of his feet.
An odd feeling surfaced in his chest as he stared at the place where you had been a moment before, warmth blossoming throughout his body. Peters hand came up to rub his ear where you had pulled him, as he walked towards his next lesson, the stinging pain a constant reminder of your touch.
Sun beamed down through the open blinds of your window, rays of light dancing across your carpeted bedroom floor. You were sat cross legged next to Peter, bent over a towering model of the human body. Connected by a red wool string lay a cardboard cut out of the solar system, each planet slowly spinning around in a clockwise direction.
Peter watched contently as you bit your bottom lip in concentration, a sigh leaving your lips as you leaned back, allowing you to fix your posture.
“I think we should add planet Pluto to our space,” Peter said, eyes connecting with yours in a serious manner.
“Are you serious? Pluto isn’t even considered a planet anymore and the size of it is too small to fit next to Neptune.”
Peter sighed, “Let me see.”
He leaned forwards slightly, grabbing a scrap of tinfoil and rolling it into a ball. Ignoring the warnings that came from your lips Peter began to construct a support beam for Pluto to sit on unaware of the damage he was causing to the main building.
Peter tugged on the project, checking the stability for the planet but as he did so, the red string of wool grew taught with pressure and it snapped. You could only watch in horror as your skeleton of the human body toppled over, bones and diagrams of organs scattering across you carpeted floor.
Just as Peter was about to apologize, you silently held up a hand dismissing him.
Seething, you narrowed your eyes at Peter, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Look, we can rebuild this. Calm down and relax.” He said, hands fumbling with the small bones littered across the floor.
“Don’t tell me to relax, Peter.” you warned, voice raising ever so slightly.
You could see that Peter was clearly distressed. His eyes carefully watching your every move as he frantically attempted to reassemble your skeleton but you didn’t care.
“We won’t have time to finish it!” You yelled, stilling Peters movements on rebuilding the model. “We have one week Peter, one week! And thats clearly not enough time now that you’ve ruined the biology factor! We’re going to fail and there’s nothing we can do!”
You had stood up by this point and began pacing, voice fully raised. “I don’t know why I trusted you with this! I should’ve done it myself, then everything would’ve turned out okay!”
Peter gently grasped your arms, stilling your movements, “It’s not just my fault okay? The glue wasn’t tight enough on the skeleton.”
Pushing Peter away you glared at him, “You’re blaming me?!”
“I’m just saying it’s not all on me okay? You need to breathe.”
Shakily, you brung your hands up to your face, shielding your eyes from Peter. “I don’t really want to look at you right now Pete.”
Peter felt his chest sink and before he could stop himself he blurted out, “just stop yelling at me or I swear to god I’m going to fall in love with you!”
Peter immediately regretted his words as he watched a pink blush spread across your cheeks, eyes going wide in shock. Your mouth hung open slightly and your hands lowered from your face slowly.
Peter looked taken aback, “I think you heard me the first time.”
He stepped closer to you and you took a sharp intake of breath. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he ran his hands along your arms in comfort. “Breathe with me okay?”
You followed his instructions, your heart level lowering to its normal rate. “I’m still pissed at you, y’know.” you exclaimed, eyes staring into Peters.
Searching your eyes, Peter leans forward, wrapping you in a short embrace. Against the shell of your ear he whispered a gentle “I know.” before pulling away to gather his belongings.
“I’ll come back later yeah? I just need some fresh air.”
Before you could reply, Peter had left you alone in your room. Staring at the broken skeleton model you flopped down onto the bed behind you, a large groan escaping your lips as your hands covered your face.
What are you going to do now?
TASM! Option 1: Peter can never seem to catch a break from injuries, except one night things are especially bad. He decides to swing to his best friends house in hopes she can help him. The problem? Y/N knows absolutely nothing about injuries and has no idea what to do or how to help. (Fluff fluff flufffff, friends to lovers, lots of humor-meant to be a funnier story of reader berating Peter for thinking she could help him because she’s “in anatomy”. )
TASM! Option 2: Peter faces one problem constantly: Aunt May knocking on the door at the absolute worst times. While having sex with you Aunt May starts banging on the door and Peters had just about enough. After shoving you in his closet briefly he decides that if everyone wants to interrupt he might as well just take you somewhere public. (Smut. That’s it. Smut. This will literally be sex on top of the Brooklyn Bridge because you know damn well my man’s would do it.)
MCU! Option 1: Ned Leeds can’t keep a secret. No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t help but start talking. When Peter mentions having a massive crush on you in gym, Ned can’t help but accidentally let it slip during your next class together. Which is exactly, how Peter Parker finds himself in the girls bathroom the next day. (Fluff! Super cute confession at a really horrible time.)
MCU! Option 2: Peter Parker loves to play with fun gadgets he finds around the Stark tower. Especially when it comes from an alien space ship. Which is exactly how you end up completely pressed to the ceiling of Peters without knowing when you’ll come down. (Smut with humor. But definitely a lot of smut. Cute little floating device and a horny Peter.)
Skate Park | P.P.
Your boyfriend wants to teach you how to skate — peter x gn!reader fluff
warnings: mentions of injury (no actual injury tho)
"Eight out of ten." You tell your boyfriend after he does a kickflip. "Pretty good, but you could have stuck the landing better."
"I was distracted looking at you." Peter flirted back.
"Try it again, don't look at me this time."
He attempted the trick again, but he kept his eyes on you the whole time, causing him to stumble a bit at the end.
"Four out of ten for that one!" You laughed. "I told you not to look at me."
"Oh, come on, that was not a four!"
"I'm the judge, and you love me, so you can't question me." You said with a smug grin.
"I can when the judge in question doesn't even know how to skate."
"No, skating is your thing." You told him. "Plus it's dangerous."
"No, it's not."
He slowly skated towards you while you sat on the bench beside the empty skate park.
"Do you want me to teach you?" He asked.
He stepped off the skateboard, keeping one foot on his board and having the other on the ground to keep him steady. He held out his hand like a gentleman asking for a dance.
"Absolutely not." You said, taking his hand and standing up with him.
He smiled at you as he took your hand and pulled you onto the board with him. He pulled you closer to him so you could both fit.
"Are you ready?" He asked with a smile.
"I think so." You muttered.
"Perfect." He said, using his foot to push the two of you down the concrete.
As you felt the board start to move you both, you clung on to his arms for safety. He felt your tightening grip on his body, and tried unsuccessfully to suppress a simper that was rising onto his cheeks.
Though the board was moving quite slowly, you felt like you were flying. And though Peter had his arms wrapped around you, you still had your eyes shut tight in anticipation of an accident.
"You alright?" He asked you.
"I feel like we're going to fall."
"So you want to speed up?" He teased, kicking the ground so you'd go even faster.
"No, Peter, please."
"You want to go faster?"
Though you were absolutely terrified, he kept the increased speed and headed towards the ramp.
"No, Peter. Not towards the ramp thing." You pleaded. "No, I'm already scared I'm going to break something."
"Come on, (y/n/n), it's the only way to face your fears."
He kept you held tightly into his chest as he sped up and projected you both towards the curved ramp on the side of the park.
The two of you went up and around it, so that in five seconds, you were back on the bottom level of the concrete structure.
"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" He said quietly. Well, maybe it was quiet. Maybe it was just the ringing in your ears from your first time skateboarding.
You opened your eyes at the sound of his voice and the tense feeling in your stomach calming like the end of a thunderstorm.
"No, it was actually alright." You admitted, pushing your (y/h/c) hair behind your ear.
"What did I tell you? Now, do you think you can try it alone? I'll spot you, of course."
"Only if I get to go really slowly." You said as a half-joke.
He smiled, then loosened his hold on you and stepped off of the skateboard, leaving you on the unsteady plank all alone.
"Okay, so I'll hold your waist just a bit, but you'll be fine. We'll go up that little one over there." He said, gesturing to the smallest ramp in the park.
"That one might be too much for me."
"You'll be great. But you've got to push yourself over there. Just use your foot and kick to move."
"Like this?" You asked, attempting to move the skateboard like you have seen your boyfriend do a million times before.
"Yeah!" He said proudly. "Just like that, you're a natural."
You kept doing that, moving yourself across the skate park, thankful no one else was there to witness that. Once you got to the base of the ramp, Peter used his grip around your waist to help push you up since he knew it would be a little harder to go up an incline, but he let go again when you reached the top.
"Alright, and now you just go down slowly, 'cause you'll build up a bit of speed as you go down."
You nodded and inhaled softly before you went down for the first time on your own, and the second time ever. You went down as slowly as you could, and were honestly amazed that you hadn't broken any bones on the way.
"I did it!" You said gleefully.
"You did!" Peter said, placing a sweet kiss on your temple as he held his foot on the skateboard for a moment. "Now do you want to try all on your own?"
"Why not?" You replied since you felt like you were in the clouds after that.
He removed his foot from the sticker-covered skateboard and let you do your own thing, while still being close by for moral support or help if you needed it.
You pushed yourself over to the same small ramp, but slightly more efficiently than last time. Once you got to the top, Peter flashed you a smile and held up his thumbs so you would feel comfortable before going down again.
You did it, even better than last time, and you were now rolling down across the concrete when your boyfriend held out his hand to stop you from going too far or falling.
"I did it!" You repeated. "How was it? Not bad for a first time, right?"
"Meh." He said with a faint smile. "I give it a four out of ten."
"Oh, shut up." You said with a giggle as you stepped carefully off the board.
Lost The Game
SUMMARY: The explanation your mind settled for was that whoever lived under that mask, also lived somewhere close by. It explained the first time you found him limping and bleeding on an alley, and it explains how you evolved into his personal caretaker for the wounds and afflictions of Spider-Man's after battle consequences.
The only thing it doesn't explain, however, is why through the thick and convoluted webs of your strange situationship, a certain tension has built between you two. Palpable. Physical. As electric as some of his tales, and as dangerous as he is.
The tension between you and Spidey grows, and it grows, and it grows. One day, it snaps.
⚠️ Minors DNI. | 🏷️ 4.9K , fluff, part one of three, reposting this 'cause some people missed this one and asked for it.
The explanation your mind settled for was that whoever lived under that mask, also lived somewhere close by.
It explained the first time you found him limping and bleeding on an alley, close to passing out and too lost in pain to make it wherever he wanted to in his mind.
That was the first time you helped Spider-Man, and the day that set the motion for one of the strangest turns in your life. For him to barge in through your metaphorical walls and literal window, and make his little nest inside your mind.
Spider-Man never shared his identity, and you never asked.
After you help him that night—the bad guys of that night turned out to be the first in a string of problems Oscorp created, and therefore the first of many visits you'd have from Spider in your area for the next two months to come.
Your apartment became the place he came to after he discovered something in his investigations, or even if it had just been a bad night filled with bad guys and bullet scrapes.
You never asked any questions, he found he could breathe inside your room, and hence commenced this... situantionship.
It was obvious you thought about it a lot.
While at work, during your classes and lectures, as you walked by the grocery shop and bought your eggs, it was often that thoughts of him stole all of your attention and derailed your mind to one of thousand questions:
Why does he keep coming back?
Why is so easy to talk to?
Is it normal that I want to hear his laughter, like, all the time now?
Does he think about me when he's living his everyday life being... whoever he is?
To some of your questions, eventually, you found answers.
To others, not so much.
The question: Why does he keep coming back? Was the easiest one to reply.
He did it for you, three months after the first visit.
"You're like, really chill about all of this, you know?" Spider said.
That night, his wound was a gash on the middle of his back. He said he'd fallen out of a roof after a miscalculated web shot, and while chasing the robber and trying to keep the bag from falling out of his other hand, he'd landed on something and it resulted in this.
"I told you before, I'm a—"
"Nurse student, uhum, I know," he interrupted.
Spider always kept his mask lifted above his lips at your house. It was tradition since you had to give him water that very first night after he passed out. You'd lifted his mask only halfway, taken the straw to his lips and then, you'd seen his lips tremble as he thanked you for keeping his identity to himself.
You were ninety percent sure that was the whole reason he trusted you so easily.
"I'm not talking about the horrible and gross stuff on my body that I come to you with, though," he continued. Spider's smile was nice, but you never kept your eye on it for too long. You liked how he rambled a lot—it was a nice contrast to your blunt and short way to be. "I'm talking about the whole—I have a secret identity and keeping that part of me hidden is something important to me not because I'm me, but because Spider is Spider and I don't want people to be related to me when I'm also Spider 'cause that's—that's dangerous." Spidey licked his dry lips, and you put the cotton back on his back, cleaning the stitches. "That part."
That ramble in particular carried more than your usual nonsensical, silly conversations.
Spider came around not often, but enough times that you know knew some random facts about him. He may not share who he was, but the mask gave him an outing to share other things.
Like this. The fear of why knowing who the man behind the mask is.
You wondered who he'd lost already.
"It makes sense," you finally said. "And plus. I told before: I don't need to know anything you don't wanna tell me." That part was very true. You were content with how things were—the tidbits he shared about himself, the weird and random late-night visits that made your tedious life at least a little exciting every now and then. "You're a funny dude, Spider-boy—"
He jumps in. "Man, Spider-Man."
Oh, it was so easy to tease this Spider-Man. You continued, as if he hadn't interrupted. "I'm content with our little talks about the planets and the late stages of capitalism. Don't need much else."
He chuckled. You were done patching him up, and Spider gets up to check his back on your mirror. "You're a rare and peculiar being, Miss Y/l/n. And this is a neat job, woah." He looked back at you, and you realized you were getting used to the big eyes. "You're getting better at this."
You preened under the praise. "Really?!"
"Yeah. This is worlds better than the first stiches you gave me. Like—not a single comparison," he laughed.
You threw a pillow at him. "Ungrateful fuck. You were dying—"
"I was not dying, I was a few blinks away from a momentary state of unconsciousness—"
"—that's literally one of the first stages before death—"
"—Is it? Are there stages of death? 'Cause I'm pretty resilient. I don't know if you know this about spiders, but like—we're very strong. I heal fast, you said it yourself."
"Why do I even patch you up?" You crossed your arms. There was a ridiculous, huge smile on your face. "If you're so good at healing yourself."
Spider threw his hands in the air, and ducked his shoulders in retreat. "No—no, that's not—let's not get ahead of ourselves here. I may not have been dying, but I would've been in very bad sheets if it hadn't been for you. Really." He put his hands together in prayer. "I thanked you every day I came for weeks after that. You know I'm grateful, c'mon."
It was hard pretending to be mad at him. "I know, Spider-boy." This time, the nickname pulled a smile out of him. Every time you said with fondness, that was the result. Still, you wondered. "But seriously, though. Is there... a reason you come back to me, now? I'm not asking because I mind. Or because it's a bother—I meant when I said I like our talks. I just wonder, 'cause... I imagine you don't want people who live with you to see you wounded."
I know it hurts me when I do, and I barely even know you.
He must've seen how you meant it. How that was one of the questions brought by him being in your life, and maybe for that reason, he answered.
"I actually live close by," Spider chuckled. "I was trying to get home that day. In the alley."
"Yeah... And you were so nice, that I just..."
"Yup." He smiled with his lips closed, and you nodded, glad to have an answer to at least one of your questions.
So he came back because he did live close by. Your assumptions on that had been right, and it made sense, too. It explained his visits, and how this was always the direction he ended in at the end of the day.
The only thing it doesn't explain, however, is why through the thick and convoluted webs of your strange situationship, a certain tension has built between you two.
As the months grow, so does the inevitable and clear reality that there may be a mask between you and him, but that you two are people.
The heat of your hand against his back, his ribs, his torso—they're real.
The way his lips get dry whenever he drops by your window with a broken rib or an excuse to be there in the first place and he's greeted with the sight of you sleeping in nothing but a t-shirt—that's real.
Tension. Building up like electricity in the distance, only the wind blowing stronger and the air getting crisper as an indicator that a storm is brewing and close by.
Connection. Growing with each conversation and thick moment of silence, the number of times when either one of you has to rip your gaze away from each other's lips.
That's real and palpable. Physical. As electric as some of his tales, and as dangerous as he is.
The tension between you and Spidey grows, and it grows, and it grows.
One day, it snaps.
It's 03:19 in the morning, and if Spider arrived ten or fifteen minutes later, you'd be out.
Dead to this world and unable to answer his taps on your window.
It's Saturday, the very first one of your summer break, and that means all windows are closed to avoid the bugs and to keep the air conditioning in. It also means baby dolls to bed, hair tied up if you want to stay alive without sweating like a pig, and being so sleep-drunk after binge-watching endless hours of tv shows you needed to catch up on that you had no right to answer the door.
Or the window.
You drank half a bottle of wine alone in bed.
You were almost out.
It had been two weeks since you last him (not that you were counting) and you weren't expecting him—truly, you weren't, but when Spider knocks, you answer.
It's rhythmic, like every time:
Five quick taps. Tap, tap.
Your eyes blink wide open, despite their desire to be very closed right now.
The alcohol seems gone from your body. In its place, it left a thirst, a low hum, and there he is.
There's no need to get up from your bed; it's placed right under the big vertical window that leads to the staircase outside the building, so you just ruffle through your duvets until you reach the lock and let him in.
Spider does the favor of not falling with his sticky, likely bloody suit on your bed. Instead, he drops to the floor with a loud thud and a grunt, and you chuckle to yourself.
Thank god you live with a roomate in a loft and not with your parents.
"And he says he's gracious, ladies and gentlefolk," are your greeting words to him. "Evening, mister. You injured?"
From your bed, it's impossible to see his figure on the floor. Your bed is tall, and after all these months, you know better than to worry yourself sick every time he comes to your house. The first visits were almost certain heart attacks, but you pray this isn't one of those times where Spidey met a weird mutation or some semi-alien thing.
"I'm good," he says from the floor. There's a ruffling and some more grunting, and you picture him lifting the mask—up, up, up; stopping underneath the nose, perched right on top of it so he can breath fresh air. "Oh, fuck."
"What's wrong?" So much for not worrying. Well, you tried at least. He can hear your heartbeat rising—and fuck, that is embarrassing every time.
"I think—I thiiiiink..."
"Dude. You're scaring me," you cat-walk on the bed until you're positioned at the edge and you can see him, and Spider's got his right hand over his left shoulder. "What did you do?"
"I don't know?" He sounds and looks confused. And a bit in pain. Usually, when there's that thin layer of sweat covering his body, it means he's in pain. "I think I dislocated my shoulder. I wouldn't know. Never dislocated a shoulder before."
"Jesus fucking christ," you get out from the bed, wobbling a little to detangle from your sheets. You kneel by his side and slap his hand away from his shoulder, inspecting it with caution. What would he have done if he hadn't stumbled upon you? Fallen on multiple houses until some merciful soul who knew basic medical care agreed to patch him up? Jesus. "You did."
"Stand still and breathe through your nose."
"What?" Spider perks up. "Ah! Are you gonna put it back?"
"Yes. Now breathe for me." If there's one thing to be said about him, is that he's a good listener. "Good. I'll feel you up 'till I got the right place, I'll count to three, I'll snap. Easy-peasy. 'Kay?"
"You done this before?"
You scoff. "I've got three brothers and they all play sports, Spider-boy. I was on the wrestling team. Does that answer your question?"
He nods, smiling in amazement. "Yeah. Alright."
"Okay. Breathe through your nose, outta your mouth. Relax the best you can."
Popping shoulders back in place is a tricky thing to do if you have no idea what it's the goal, but once you learn it, it's basically like closing a lid. You run your palms smoothly and gently through Spider's shoulders and he breathes, and as soon as you feel his relaxation, you pop it back.
"Ow! Fuck! Ow, ow, Y/n, what the hell—there was no counting! Where was the counting? Ow, fuck—"
"If I counted you would've tensed up," you chuckle. "Breathe again, steady and easy. Don't move that shoulder around too much."
Spider focuses on your face, and you imagine his eyes must be burning holes through your forehead. You laugh because all you can see is the bug-like eyes, and it's a comedic, but fond sight to have—he thinks he's being intimidating, you just wish he smelled a little worse after a whole night of helping save the city.
You climb back on your bed, feeling the sleepiness creeping around the corners of your mind.
There's silence for a while, and you can feel Spider moving around the floor. He must be feeling up his sore shoulder, and you've grown used to the peaks in quietness and never-ending words that come out of him.
A pendulum, and a balance.
You open your tablet once again, then restart the episode of the documentary you'd been seeing from zero. It's just background noise, and given the hour, Spider will probably leave soon.
That's what you're thinking.
He usually leaves when the injury's minor. He hangs around if the time is somewhat earlier than it is today, asks about your day, or just continues the flow of conversation that started when he sat down and you started tending his wounds. Then he leaves. "I don't wanna impose too much."
"Thank you for the hospitality, milady."
"As always, Miss Y/l/n, goodnight and thank you very, very much."
"You have, like, glitter in your hair. Did you know you've got glitter in your hair? You should shower again. What—don't throw pillows at me—oh, is this Dori? I'm taking this home with me, this is so fucking cute. Oop. No, this isn't yours—you used it as a weapon against me so now I'm taking it as collateral damage. Bye, Y/n!"
This night, Spider props his head on the edge of your bed.
You pause the video, and look to your side.
With most people, silence feels suffocating or uncomfortable.
With him, it's nothing but another blanket to lie on.
"What's on your mind?" You ask. Your voice is a breath, a soft whisper, but you're aware of his listening abilities by now.
Spider's mouth presses on a thin line. Dances in a pout from left to right, and he looks around your room instead of answering.
Patiently, you wait for his answer.
When it comes, he's looking over to your wardrobe. Specifically, the part where you hang all your polaroids. He looks over to that part a lot.
Whatever thought is running through his mind, it's a big one.
Spider shakes his head from left to right abruptly. "No," he says. "It's stupid."
"Spidey." You're tired. His presence makes you feel a bit drunk—it's impossible to be sleepy when he's around. "Spit it out."
He shakes his head again.
"I won't laugh," you promise. "Pinky promise."
You lift your pinky.
He smiles, and hides it on your duvet.
His right-hand reaches on top of your blankets and he links his pinky with yours. He says: "Is it stupid that sometimes I wished we could just... hang out?" He asks. He sighs deeply. "I had a really, really shitty day today. Not even because of—crime, or whatever. It was just not my day," he shrugs his shoulders. "I kinda wanted to just with you for a bit and, I don't know, watch something. But I can't—How stupid would I look with some hoodie and sweatpants on and this mask?" He laughs at himself.
Nothing of what he said sounds stupid to you. You frown, then unlink your pinkies so you can slap him in the most playful and non-violent way you can think of. "I told you to stop talking about yourself like that." Whenever he did, it hurt you almost more than his cuts and bruises. You nod with your chin towards your wardrobe. "There's a hoodie or two in there that could fit you. Your lucky I've got brothers with the memory of fishes, though, 'cause it'd be between you and god to get into one of my pants."
"So, me lying in bed with you, moping my ass off, in sweats and mask... that won't be strange?"
"Not even a little?" He's got his chin propped up on the edge of your bed and the bug eyes along with that smile should be a polaroid itself.
"No," you chuckle at his disbelief. "Spidey, what's the difference between your mask and the random character avatars I see daily in my online friend's pages?" You snort and pet the spot on the bed next to you. "Just get your bug ass in here, man. I thought we were past these dilemmas."
Spider nods, chuckles to himself, and gets up from the floor, walking to your wardrobe. "Thanks," he says. His voice comes out low and rough, and you thank the sleepiness in your body for the lack of response from your heart.
"No problem." While he changes out of the suit, you re-organize the bed as a way to quiet your nervousness, making way for Spider to lay by your side.
When he comes out from the wardrobe, you see him in the black sweatpants and your Marge grey sweater. On you, it's a dress for cozy autumn nights, while on Spider, it fits just right. Not too baggy, not too lose.
The mask is a bit of a funny sight, but you've grown so used to seeing only half of his face that the mirth passes in a second.
He plops his body next to yours, and then a groan comes out. He forgot about how sore his shoulder must still be.
"Still hurts?" You confirm.
He's lying a few inches away from you. His thigh is so close to yours you can feel its warmth, and his shoulders are so big that when he leans against the headboard with you, they brush.
"Yeah," he nods. "I don't heal that fast."
"I wouldn't know," you chuckle. "Your healing factor is insane to me. For anyone, you realize that, right?"
"I guess. I don't think much about it."
His strength, speed, and other enhancements are things you try thinking about the least because the shudder that runs through your body anytime one of those thoughts slips through your crafted locks is not something to joke with.
"Superheros," you mutter with sass. "You wanna watch mindless TV or d'you wanna talk?"
Spider looks from the screen propper on your legs to you.
"Mindless TV, please," he nods.
You press play on My Octopus Teacher, and every wire in your brain fries for a moment when you feel him snuggling underneath the blankets, getting closer to you. As an instinct, you snuggle closer too, and you two end up with your sides pressed against each other.
It makes your heart settle.
Sitting side by side with Spider like this is... new. Even though your best efforts are to always keep in mind this friendship has its guidelines, sometimes the wandering thoughts are impossible to stop.
What's it like hanging out with him when he's taking pictures of the things he likes registering?
Is he good in the kitchen? Does Spider have dinner dates with his friends too?
Questions. All the questions you don't get an answer to.
Not if your friend is Spider.
You've made peace with it.
What you never had time to process, though, is how his skin makes yours respond.
It happened a few times by now. The times when you're cleaning a wound too close to his face, or he has to remove the upper part of his suit—the sharp intakes of breath when your palm brushes his skin a certain way; the way his muscles tense underneath your hold when you have to grab him, apply pressure to his wounds.
You know he notices you too. Your mind reels with the possibilities, and the voices in your head fight against any of the scenarios where his reactions come from the same place as yours.
Embarrassing. That's what it is, feeling that way over a man who trusts you as a friend and who probably has a girlfriend he never mentioned—what are the chances he'd want you, too?
This is Spider-Man.
There's no way he's not interested in anyone—he's a college guy. There's no way in hell whoever he wants doesn't want him back.
Spider pulls you from the depths in your head with a whisper close to your ear. "This dude was definitely a mermaid in another life."
You hope your laughter masks any other sounds. "I think we can call him a mermaid now. That breath control is crazy."
Spider nods at that, and then his body slides down lower in your bed until his head fits on the crook of your neck.
By the time the movie's over, you've been swallowed by the heat radiating from his body and the calmness that his presence brings you.
He's in silence, but you know he's awake. The clock reads past four in the morning, but you've reached the point where it seems your body's restarting all over again. "We can talk if you want," you offer in a whisper.
"I don't wanna burden you," he replies immediately.
"Damn." This man. "Am I just, like, your resident nurse, dude?"
His head snaps up from your shoulder, "What?! No."
"Then why would you burden me?" When you will get it? When you accept that I'm here for you? "Spidey. We are friends, aren't we?"
He exhales, and his shoulders deflate when he sees what he's doing again. When he speaks, it's a low mutter. "I'm doing it again," he states.
"I'm sorry—I'm trying," I'm trying not to push you away. You two have had this talk before. It's in moments like these that you remember how close six months of a lot of patching up and random, yet at times deep talks can do to two people. "Of course we're friends, Y/n."
"Good." You scooch a little closer so your bodies are fitting together again, suddenly missing his touch. "So. If you want to talk, you can."
He takes a moment, then gives you a sharp nod. "Alright. You're ready to hear about the tales of a very shitty day?"
"You can totally laugh, by the way—now that it's almost over I can see the universe just took the day to take the piss, so. It's fine. I won't be mad." Spider sits up straighter and the movement makes your body slide down a bit; he gets both of your legs and places them on top of his thighs. You giggle, your hands tingling with the proximity. "Alright. Picture this: I woke up. First thing I see when I come out of my room is Harry's naked ass and his hook up of last night sitting on the kitchen counter where we eat..."
It starts funny, it gets sad, then a little unbelievable. If it were anyone else other than Spider-Freaking-Man sitting by your side, you'd have to call the mental hospital for check-in without a doubt, but this is him. His life isn't easy, or normal, and fairness seems to run low on whoever wrote his life outline.
You do laugh at some points. In others, you hold his hand.
Spider had a day. One of those days where it simply isn't your day.
When he says, "...Yeah. So now—I don't know," with a shrug. "I'll have to find out if I can get some help on this one. Maybe that Daredevil guy. Or someone else. I think—No, I need help. I really do," he ends with a sigh.
Your heart's squeezed tight inside your chest.
"That sucks," you whisper.
"Yeah," he gives you a sad smile.
"Hug?" You offer, opening your arms.
His smile grows to a more real one. "Please."
Your arms come up to wrap around his neck, and you make sure to fit your chests together properly so you can squeeze him. Hug him tight, and pass him as much of your comfort as you can.
In two heartbeats, Spider melts inside your arms.
His whole upper body mellows like someone pressed the right button. He nuzzles his nose on the same place his head was lying on a few minutes ago.
Spider squeezes you back, and all you can think about how lucky you are to have him.
You wish you could card your fingers through his hair, but since you can't, you bring your palm to the nape of his neck. You squeeze your fingers around it—you want to bring him the peace he brings you, but instead, what happens is the last thing you expected.
At the first caress of your fingers at the base of his neck, a shiver that starts on his head and electrocutes his whole body is felt.
With your bodies this up close, there's nothing you two could hide from each other.
The spike on your heartbeat—he'd hear it, but this time, he feels it.
The heat on the bottom half of his cheeks—you might see it due to the proximity, but you feel it.
Your heart's thumping like it's about to take off.
Your throat runs dry, and—is he shaking? Oh, god, he's shaking.
It's Spidey who breaks the silence. "I—It feels like you're about to have a heart attack," it's an awed, low whisper. Anything louder than that would feel wrong in the bubble that's created around you two.
The energy vibrating between your bodies must have its own gravitation pull.
You wanna say, Yeah, your lips make me feel like that, but Spidey's still nestled on your neck and you can still think. "I..." I'm getting wet. His lips are too close to your neck, and his hand on your lower back is squeezing around your pijamas.
Mortification seizes your body as the next question comes to mind:
Can he smell you too?
Spidey must mistake the tense-up of your body for discomfort because he starts pulling away. "I'm making you uncomfortable, right? I'm sorry, I—"
He's taken his head off your shoulder and pulled only a few inches when you grab him by the arm, fingers gripping on his—yours sweater.
"No, don't. You're not—I'm sorry—I'm the one being weird," you make me feel so good, why do you make me feel so good? You swallow down the knot that crawls up, that stupid need to cry that arises every time your embarrassment gets too much. "I'm just paranoid sometimes. About how much you sense. Don't mind me," you shrug.
"What I can sense?" He echoes, shrugging. He shouldn't have pulled away.
Now his faces are inches away from yours.
You're thinking of an excuse when his smile starts dropping, fading away.
Your hands are still on his biceps, so you feel when his body tenses.
The sirens in your head turn on, every single one of them.
Oh, he can definitely smell you. If he hadn't caught on before, your stupid, loud mouth just gave you away.
"Oh, god. Y/n," he huffs in a breathless whisper.
"I'm sorr—," you start, but he cuts you off.
Well, his lips do.
Spider's head leans in quick, and in one blink, you feel his chapped, dry lips pressing against yours.
Everything comes to a standstill.
The white noise in your head goes away when he pulls back a few inches. You two have a moment, simply staring at each other. Then, the next words out of his mouth make any thought disappear from your head. "You really want this? Me?"
You lick your lips, getting a taste of Spider and everything you denied yourself so far.
"I really want you," you confess.
Spider lets out a shaky breath. "Good." He nods. The hand on your waist holds on tighter, and he pulls you closer. "I haven't wanted anything this bad in a long, long time."
When he kisses you again, you can feel that.
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• PART TWO •
↳ do you trust me? 𖤐𓈒࣪₊˚
synopsis: y/n finally confronts peter about his recent unusual behavior. little does she know, he only did it to protect her from the truth. the truth about him being spider-man.
pairing: peter parker x female reader
cw: angst, fluff
word count: 1.3k words
a/n: i’m pretty sure this fic can apply to any of the peters (tobey, andrew, and tom) so choose whichever you want to imagine this story with. there’s no right or wrong answer.
It was 2AM in the morning and Y/N had almost drifted off to sleep a couple of times before she heard the door creaking. Now alarmed, she focuses on the door and spots her boyfriend stepping into the house.
"Hey, you okay?"
Peter shuts the door behind him as he slowly walks towards the voice, a bit surprised. "Babe, what are you doing up so late?"
Shrugging, Y/N gives him a tiny smile of guilt and shyness.
"Don't tell me—you were waiting for me this entire time, weren't you?"
Y/N gazes into Peter's eyes before sharply inhaling. "Well, yeah. But I was just worried for you."
"Look, I appreciate it. I really do, but you seriously didn't have to." Peter sits on the couch beside her. "You must've waited for so long. I'm so sorry, I know that you must be tired and—"
"No, it's fine, really. If anything, you're the one anyone should be worrying about."
"I- I guess. It's just.. the Stark internship was kind of rough tonight."
Y/N frowns at his response. "'Kind of rough?' Peter, you have a bruise on your face!"
Y/N reaches for the wound on his right cheek, causing Peter to close his eyes at the touch of her hand.
"Oh, I didn't even notice," he spoke softly.
"Hey, what's going on with you? You haven't been yourself lately and it's starting to bother me. A lot."
Peter glances up into his girlfriend's worried eyes, unsure on how he would tell her. "Look, I'll explain everything to you eventually, I promise. But for now, you're just going to have to trust me."
"Just—trust me on this one. Please?"
Y/N carefully scans his serious and desperate expressions, almost giving in to them. Gulping hard, she shook her head, feeling the tears forming in her eyes. "No, this is absolutely ridiculous. You should be able to tell me what's going on. Are you gambling or something?"
"No! No, it's nothing like that," Peter hastily insists, the befuddled expression not leaving Y/N’s face.
"Then what is it like? What aren't you telling me, Pete?"
Peter opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. No words were dictated. Not even a slight noise. Nothing. For some reason, he couldn't tell her the whole truth. And it was absolutely killing him.
The hesitation only caused the tears in Y/N’s eyes to increase in size. Horrid thoughts and scenarios flowed through her mind as the silent tension only grew thicker and colder. "Are... are you cheating on me?"
Peter's eyes immediately grew wide with worry and shock. Oh God, what was he doing to her...
"No! No no no, I'm not cheating on you. I would never do that. I just..."
Goddamnit, why couldn't he just say it? The words were so simple to enunciate yet so difficult to say out loud.
"You just what? Peter, I am tired of this and all the lies you've been telling me. Please, I love you, what are you hiding from me? What are you.. what are you doing?" At this point, Y/N was raising her voice with worry and anger. Peter was not only her boyfriend, but he was also her best friend, which is why she was so hurt by his lies.
"You know, I thought I knew you. But apparently, I don't," she sternly stated, not even staring at him anymore.
"Hey, hey, please, don't... please look at me," he desperately called out, moving closer towards her.
She didn't budge.
"Y/N, please, I love you too, okay? I love you so much," he sincerely states, softly grabbing her hands.
Finally, she turned to face towards him, with tears filling her eyes. "I love you so much too, and... if you're not ready to tell me whatever it is you're hiding, I guess, I can wait a little while longer. But you're going to have to promise me that you'll explain everything to me sooner or later, okay?"
Peter nods at her. "Yes, of course, I promise."
He chuckles at her playfulness. "Pinky promise."
She sticks out her pinky finger as he accepts it and grips onto it tightly.
"God, I'm so lucky to have you. I love you so much."
She smiles warmly at him. "I love you so much too."
Peter doesn't hesitate to lean in and kiss her, filled with love and compassion. She holds onto his good cheek as he roams his hands around her waist. Hesitating, he pulls away from her due to the need for oxygen.
Their eyes lock intensely for what seemed to have lasted forever. Y/N allowed herself to get lost in Peter's gorgeous caramel eyes. It seemed like an infinite abyss that was calling out for her.
Recovering, Y/N begins to observe Peter's exhausted features. His eye bags, his ruffled hair, his wrinkled shirt, and his sleepy eyes. She felt extremely awful for him, because—well, she couldn't do much to help him.
"Aw, you poor thing. Come here."
She opens her arms, inviting him to cuddle on the couch. Peter gladly accepts and melts into the hug.
"You don't know how amazing this feels."
"Actually, with the overload of cuddles you give me every night, I think I do."
Peter chuckles softly at her response. "Well, how else could I possibly show my eternal love for my exceptional girlfriend?"
Y/N giggles and plants a soft kiss on his forehead. She wraps her arms protectively around him with a warm embrace.
"Hey, I really appreciate this. For staying up so late waiting for me. For trusting me. And, just... for never leaving my side. You're the best."
Peter rolls around and gives her a small yet passionate kiss on the lips. "The absolute best."
He suddenly notices a pink hue starting to paint across Y/N's cheeks, which causes a playful smile to grow on his lips.
"Not used to being pinned down, I see."
This only managed to somehow cause her cheeks to redden even more than before.
"See, I can be smooth too."
Giggling, she pecks his soft lips gently. "I love you."
"I love you too, babe."
Once again, Peter relaxes into the cuddle, feeling safe and secure in his girlfriend's arms.
And then, the words tipped out of his mouth. He couldn't hold it for any longer. He couldn't bear to keep a secret from her. He knew that she deserved to know. After everything she's done for him, it was only right.
Caught off-guard, Y/N glances down at Peter, unable to tell if it was sarcasm or not.
"Y-You're what now?"
Peter sat up straight on the couch, carefully staring into her shocked eyes. "I... I'm your friendly, neighborhood, Spider-Man."
"You're not kidding, are you?"
"No, I'm not."
It all made so much sense now. The pieces started to form together in Y/N's brain, answering so many of her unsolved questions. The sudden disappearances, the bruises, the coming-home-late-at-nights, the Stark internship, the horrible excuses he had sometimes—everything. And, it felt as though a part of her always knew.
"Oh, Pete, I am so sorry." Y/N practically threw herself at him, giving him a tight hug.
Out of all the scenarios Peter had thought of, not once did y/n apologizing ever come across his mind.
"Oh, Y/N, I am so sorry. Why are you sorry?"
"Because—you have to go out there every night and literally save the world while I'm at home complaining and wondering why you always came back so late. I'm so sorry, I never knew."
"Hey, it's okay. Everything's going to be okay. No more secrets now, alright?"
A tear of mixed emotions formed from her dark eyes, falling onto Peter's back. "Yeah, no more secrets."
Peter tightens the hug, tears falling from his exhausted eyes.
"I love you, okay? If you ever need anything, I'm always here for you."
He chuckles lightly at the words he had heard. God, he felt absolutely lucky to have her. "I love you too, Y/N."
likes and reblogs are vv appreciated. ♡
Fucking her while she’s doing the dishes 🙃🙃🙃
You got it!
TASM Peter Parker x Fem!Reader smut || The Dishes
TW: I use the term "daddy" in a sexual manner in this, if that's not your jam, skip it.
The suds of the dish soap coated her hands as she idly scrubbed the same glass she had been working on for the past few minutes. Her mind was elsewhere. Work, family matters, friendship troubles. Anywhere but here. It wasn’t until she felt an arm snake around her waist did she pull herself back from her wondering.
“I think that glass is clean enough,” a gravelly voice murmured against her ear.
The sound of his tone made her shiver. She knew it all too well. It didn’t matter what he was saying, the moment his voice shifted into that low, scruffy sound, she knew. He wanted her. Now.
“Mm,” she gave a content sigh, rinsing the glass under the stream of steaming water. “I’m a bit distracted tonight, I think.” She could practically hear his smirk as his fingers splayed out over her stomach. He toyed with the white fabric of her sundress. Despite being late into the evening, they were going through a heat wave in the city. She couldn’t handle the thought of anything heavier than a light dress weighing her down.
“I can bring you back down to earth,” his breath was hot against her neck. She could feel the sweat start to bead up down her spine the closer he pushed himself into her.
Her head felt like she was spinning. He had that effect on her. Always had.
“No, Peter. I’m trying to finish the dishes,” she tried to hold firm. “If they don’t get done now, they never will. I know us. There will be a mountain of unwashed dishes in one week if I don’t do them.” She felt his hand slide over her hips and under the hem of her dress. Her soapy hand slapped down over his wrist, “No!”
His grip only tightened, nails digging into the fleshy bits of her thigh, “No?” He sounded amused. “Are you sure about that?”
“I-” her face felt heated. “I’m busy…” The lack of confidence in her voice was evident.
Peter’s hand only paused momentarily before continuing his descent, “Busy? Washing the same glass for the past ten minutes? You’re so, so busy, aren’t you? You poor thing. I’m working you to the bone over here. You sound like you need some motivation to get the job done.”
She sighed, a deep and satisfied sigh, as her head lulled to the side. It was an invitation for him to attack her sweaty neck with hot kisses. She held her breath as his hand approached her sex. It was only a matter of seconds before he realized she wasn’t wearing underwear. Then it would be over. Any attempt to finish her evening chores would fly out of the open window. Peter wouldn’t be able to resist himself and she had no desire to actually stop him.
Despite her best efforts to squeeze her thighs together, he prevailed. His palm found its destination and he let out a soft inhale.
“You naughty girl,” he rumbled in her ear. “Do you really think I wouldn’t notice you had nothing on under here? I knew it the second I walked into this apartment. What do you think I’ve been staring at all night?”
She could feel herself growing hotter and wetter with each word that fell from his lips. His tone was nothing but pure raw lust.
“Peter,” she whispered, stuttering over her own tongue. “I have to…to…the dishes…”
“I never said you had to stop. Please, continue.”
His hand slipped out from under her dress to instead tug the thin straps from her shoulders. He jerked the material down her arms to expose her breasts until the dress hung loosely around her hips. With a more leisurely caress, he ran his fingers lightly over the swell of her breast.
“Well,” he ordered. “Keep working. I wouldn’t want to force you to stop.”
Her pulse quickened. She loved it when he got like this. The more dominating and controlled he became, the more she craved him. She wanted him to puppet her to his will. She wanted him to take what was his without asking.
She grabbed the wine glass she drank out of for dinner tonight but it slipped from her soapy grasp. The glass landed perfectly over a steak knife and shattered into pieces at the bottom of the sink. Before she even had time to react, Peter’s hand was tangled in her hair and yanked her head back.
“I didn’t say to break the dishes. I said to clean them,” he growled, the amused smirk evident despite her not being able to see his entire face. “Does someone need to be taught a lesson?”
Heat flooded her core at the thought and she gave a dry swallow, “Yes, daddy.” The pet name fell out with ease. She knew exactly how to make him lose control.
He responded with a low, dark chuckle. Her head was still snapped back, forced to stare up at the ceiling. She couldn’t see where his other hand was hiding until she felt a sharp pinch of her nipple. Hard. He twisted and tugged at it until she couldn’t hold back the whimper of pain. He wanted to hear her cry out but she held strong. He grabbed at the other one, giving it the same torture as her sister. She bit her lip to hold in any noise.
“What’s the matter? You don’t want to scream for daddy tonight?” He tutted his tongue. “Are you trying to be a brave girl?” The growl in the back of his throat only turned her on more. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you screaming for mercy by the end. I always do.”
Peter released both her sore nipple and her hair at the same time causing her to fall forward. She gripped the side of the counter for support. He took that as an opportunity to flip up the back of her dress to expose her bare, pantieless bottom. A palm press against her upper back, urging to bend over and arch her spine for him. Once she was in the position he deemed acceptable, his open hand came down with a deafening crack over her plump, expecting ass cheek.
She yelped with the shock that followed the slap and couldn’t hold back the loud moan that tumbled out after the yell. She loved the sharp sting. It awakened every cell in her body. It made her feel alive. Again and again his palm ricocheted off her bottom, leaving a searing, delicious pain in its wake.
When he paused to take in the state of her, bent over the counter, dress bunched around her waist, breasts swaying under her with each heaving breath, soap suds drying on her delicate skin, it was almost too much to handle. His fingers slid between her thighs to tease her sex. She was soaking wet. Her slick glistened on his coated fingers under the dull lights of their kitchen. A beautiful sight. One that would never get old. He probed deeper into the swollen, aching flesh, feeling her body crying out for him.
She felt humiliated as she listened to pornographic sounds her sopping pussy made with each thrust of his hand. He pumped three fingers in and out of her without any resistance. The harder he abused her needy cunt, the more she cried out. She could feel flicks of wetness splattering down her thighs. It trickled down her legs. Her mouth hung open in a silent cry as that familiar warmth started to grow in the pit of her stomach. He was a master with his hands. A man who perfected his craft. He could bring her to a screaming orgasm with nothing but a finger if he desired.
But, tonight, he chose a different method.
Just before she could catch that high, Peter yanked his drenched fingers out of her. She whimpered in protest. Her head turned to beg for more but she saw that his cock was already clutched in his hand. He wasted no time guiding it into its new home. Her eyes slipped closed at the sensation of him filling her. The orgasm he had been building her towards with his hands reignited exactly where it left off as his cock plunged deeper. It was as if a strike of lightning shot straight up her spine only to explode somewhere in the depths of her skull.
Her eyes shot open with a shocked yelp as Peter landed another hot slap against her quivering ass. She could feel her cheek jiggle from the force of the blow. That wonderful mix of pain and pleasure set off another explosion, this time down in her mons. She no longer had control over her body. Peter was holding her up. She couldn’t remember when he had moved her from bending over to arched tightly against his chest but he held her up with a strong arm locked around her neck. Her own arms dangled uselessly by her sides as he pounded into her. Her head tilted back to lull against her shoulder like a rag doll. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t make a sound. Only feel.
The explosions kept going off. As long as Peter kept up his pace, her orgasm never ended. Each thrust of his heavy cock brought on another set of fireworks. It was almost too much for her to bear. There was nothing but the hot, persistent throbbing electrifying her skin. Peter wasn’t stopping. He was there. Pounding into her. Spreading her. Impaling her. Using her like the sex doll he craved.
His breath was ragged, his grunts were low and deep, filling her ears with the sounds of his pleasure. He was loving this as much as she was. They were melding into one. There was no her without him. No him without her. Their bodies were entwined. Two beings moving together as one.
She knew he was close. She did her best to fumble out the words he’d want to hear despite her lips not wanting to form anything but mindless screams.
“F-fill me, daddy.” She mumbled, vaguely coherent. “I wan’ your cum. Fill me up. Make me yours. Take me…have me…cum inside me. I n-need you. All of you. Let me have you, daddy. Give it to me. I need it…please…please…” Tears pricked her eyes, the heightened emotions and feeling of ecstasy too much for her to handle. She wanted him. So badly that it physically hurt.
And then the burst of warmth rocketed out of him.
He filled her sweet pussy with the remnants of himself and she gladly accepted it all.
Her body was being pushed back against the counter as Peter nearly collapsed on top of her with a loud, long groan. He emptied himself into her depths with shivering, jerking movements. The edge of the counter cut into her soft stomach but she didn’t care. She bore Peter’s weight, letting him finish how he needed to, until he managed to stumble back, sliding out of her, and wrapping an arm around her waist. He pulled her onto the nearest kitchen chair, cradling her in his lap. They were both dripping in sweat. Her thighs were slick with a mixture of both of their fluids. She could only give quiet, little moans with her head resting against his shoulder. Every so often another shot of lingering electricity would strike through her and she’d give an erratic shake of delayed pleasure.
Peter’s chest rose and fell with his labored breaths. He stroked lightly down her spine and trailed patterns over her skin with the calloused pads of his fingers. They stayed like that for some time, breathing each other in, and soaking in the essence of their love.
It was Peter who eventually spoke first. She would have been perfectly content to sit, cuddled, in silence until the morning.
His voice was raspy and weak, “I promise I’ll do the dishes in the morning. Let’s clean you up and I’ll bring you to bed.” He placed a gentle kiss on her jaw and nipped at her earlobe.
“It’s too early to sleep,” she managed to squeak out.
“I never said anything about sleeping. That was just round one.”