Tumgik
#tasm peter
Note
So imagine a fic based off the song "boy in the bubble" by Alec Benjamin where reader gets in a fight on the way home from school the one time she doesn't walk with Peter. Preferably have her father be Tony Stark and he'd take place of the mother in the story.
first, i wanted to say that i loved writing this and i love song prompts :) i hope you enjoy this !!
second, i want to apologize to the anon who told me i better not disappear for months because oops–
Tumblr media
WARNINGS (18+ MDNI) — hurt reader, mentions of blood, mentions of pain/wounding, swearing.
✨masterlist✨.
3.6k.
Tumblr media
Typically, stepping into your downtown apartment on a Friday evening would be more exciting for you. It meant that your week of stuck–up students and nerve–wracking tests could be long forgotten. It meant that you had the weekend to live freely from academic cages. At the beginning of that day, you would’ve thought today would be like any other Friday; with Peter accompanying you and your father for dinner like every week.
But Peter didn’t walk back with you.
Your tired limbs ripped from the floor with every step, hobbling out of the elevator with as much grace as you had room to carry. That room was slim, making space for the array of bruises and blood tainting your clothing. You carried the last bit of dignity you could, and tried to replace the sinister words spat at you from your attacker:
“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark.”
See, till now, you’d been grateful to be excused from the attention and popularity that accompanied your title. You didn’t care for followers or anything that catered to your birthright. Your father was your best friend, and you were lucky to be a Stark just to have his light in your life. However, there were some who weren’t like your classmates or peers — people who hated the Stark name, and wouldn’t rest until the family name died at their hand.
Tonight, you’d met the first of who knows how many. The thought alone sent a serpent–like shiver down your body.
And Peter wasn’t with you.
The fumes of Tony Stark’s cooking filled your senses as you limped further into your family room. You consciously knew you were late for dinner, but the pain throbbing throughout your body put that knowledge on the back burner. The sunset was just beyond the apartment windows, and it made you wonder whether Peter had beaten you to your own house or not. It was 6:48 after all, he was bound to be there.
You’d nearly forgotten that the subtle ping of the elevator doors announced your arrival. You heard your dad set down his spatula. “You kids are late.” He greeted, hollering from the kitchen. “I hope you two didn’t stop for Delmar’s on your way back!” You processed the undertones as your knees gave out, left hand pressing into the top of the sofa back.
White knuckles gripped onto your couch as you tried to gain your balance, wincing through gritted teeth. Your right arm remained hugging your abdomen, palm pressed onto a sore–spot on your torso. Every fiber in your body ached for some sense of relief. To sit down. You were a bit too stubborn for your own liking, trying to hike up the steps and get to your room without being spotted—
“Jesus Christ!” Your father cried from the archway of the dining room. You heard his hurried steps across the hard–wood flooring, almost too nervous to meet his eyes. He made his way over quickly, and the first thing you noticed through your periphery was the ‘kiss the cook’ apron he kept tied around his waistline. “Kid, what the hell happened?” Your dad crouched down beside you, finally locking eyes with you.
The cold air hitting your eyes made you realize just how quick the tears were welling. You swallowed the lump in your throat, whether it was sobs or embarrassment or dried blood from thrown punches. “I was jumped.” Your bottom lip trembled a bit before you mustered the words out.
Your dad scanned over your body, eying just how tattered your clothes were, and how much blood painted your outfit. His eyes glistened with a parental look— a look shimmering with something mixed of worry and sadness and anguish and apology. “And Peter wasn’t with you?”
That confirmed that your best friend, in fact, had not beaten you to your apartment.
And for some reason, it made things all the more worse. Your jaw clenched a bit, both of concern and frustration. Disappointment nagged at the corners of your lips as you shook your head. “No, he said he’d meet me here later.” Your imagination got the best of you, replaying your evening but if Peter actually had been with you. The thought alone made you shutter. “But it was probably for the best.”
“Did he say what he was doing?” The look in his eyes said something that he wasn’t communicating. They said something unspoken that made you feel like there were things that you weren’t being told.
You ignored it, feeling a surge of pain in your abdomen. A quiet hiss fought its way up your throat. “He didn’t. But it’s fine.” No, it wasn’t. “Peter can’t throw a punch to save his life.”
A laugh actually left your father’s lips. “You’d be surprised.” He muttered, his tone speaking the same tongue that his eyes were. There was definitely something that you didn’t know, but your intuition couldn’t place its finger on what.
It wasn’t your fault that you were oblivious to your best friend’s vigilante status. You were kept in the dark about what web–slinging activities Peter Parker kept behind closed doors. Tony and Peter kept it secret that you were best friends with Spider–Man. They hadn’t let the news slip yet, and Tony wasn’t about to. They both agreed it was in your best interest to keep you safe.
Apparently, their efforts weren’t enough.
Your eyebrow rose, trying to cut through the bullshit. “Are you kidding, Dad?” You asked, maintaining eye contact as your father rose from his crouched position beside you. “It’s Peter Parker we’re talking about here. He wouldn’t even kill a fly.”
Tony’s hands creased his hips, shoulders shrugging gently with his response. “I don’t know, hon. He told me May had him take Karate years back.” He didn’t leave time for a response as his eyes trailed back down to the developing bruises along your arms. Seeing the crusting crimson on his daughter’s body was a sight that made him lose his appetite. “I’ll go grab my medical kit. You’re lucky that Pepper taught me a thing or two before she got promoted.”
The room fell quiet as Tony put pause on dinner and soon rushed back over with a first–aid kit. You didn’t want to stain any furniture, so you managed to sit on a wooden coffee table until you were given further instruction.
It didn’t take long before your mind wandered off to worry about Peter, and what could be keeping him so long. He did tell you before you’d parted ways that he’d join you guys for dinner? Right? You swore that he told you he’d be there by 6:30, and even you were late. Thinking back to the details made you recall some harsh memories. Your wounds throbbed at the recollection of how they came to be, and the blood that was shed, and the words that were spat…
“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark—”
“We should call Bruce.” Your dad’s voice of concern and reason brought you back to the moment. All you could do was stare. You hadn’t noticed that he’d started to examine your wounds, or just how defeated and pained for you he was.
The look made your stomach twist at the insults your own self–critic threw back at you.
Before you knew it, you were standing up, choking back a wince, fighting against yourself. “No! No– it’s just a few scratches. It’s fine.” Was it? Even though the pain was searing, and you wobbled as you stepped to the bathroom. Clearly your father was overreacting. He had to be. You weren’t weak.
Tony followed your footsteps, treading close behind in case you were to trip. “Hon, I’m serious! You look like you went through a paper shredder!”
You looked at him with a grimace, disbelief shone in your eyes. Almost as if he were calling you pathetic. “Don’t make it so intense! I’m sure it’s—” You halted. Everything froze. The air sucked right back into your lungs at the sight of your bloodied figure in the mirror. Flicking on the light, you couldn’t breathe.
The color palette that covered your body could’ve painted an entire canvas worth; the shirt you wore was hanging onto your shoulders with two threads and a miracle, not to mention the slashes at the thighs of your jeans. You’d nearly forgotten that your attacker had such a thick knife until you saw it— saw yourself. A shiver snaked down the length of your spine, leaving a splintering chill behind it.
It wasn’t until Tony turned off the bathroom light that you’d realized you were staring at yourself. He carefully grabbed your hand, leading you back into the living room. “We don’t have to call Bruce, but can I at least clean you up a bit?”
You didn’t have the words to respond to him. A nod was all you could muster before he sat you back down at the coffee table. “Should I– uh.. Should I shower first?”
Tony shook his head beside you. “Until I figure out if you need stitching, no.” He went to investigate the damage, but hesitated, trying to navigate an approach. “Sweetheart? You decent enough to take your shirt off? I could grab you a blanket if that would help–”
But before your dad finished his thought, you went to try and peel off your shirt. It was a lot more difficult than you thought. Painful, too. You were cold and hot and sweaty and sticky and pins and needles dug their way into your limbs each time they moved. You were grateful your dad didn’t even pause before assisting you. He grabbed his medical scissors, snipping off the sleeves of your top.
You and your dad were really comfortable with one another, so this didn’t bother you. You were more blinded by the burns and the harshness to each ache and blemish coating your limbs and torso. Daggers upon daggers of pins and needles sunk into your flesh, yet it hurt you the most to know that you had to present yourself so battered and bruised to your dad. It made you feel so…useless. So…pathetic.
A minute of silence passed, filled with nothing but pity and the sear in your eyes, holding back tears. You wanted to be strong. You needed to be strong. Showing weakness would mean that your attacker was right. Your throat burned, swallowing hard and pushing back your damaged narrative. The feeling of how feeble you felt.
The subtle ping from the elevator made your blood run cold. Your head snapped up to look at who entered the apartment, eyes wide and teary when they met the pair of Peter Parker. And the second he jogged out of the elevator, he stopped dead in his tracks. He gasped quietly, staring back at you with the same gaping eyes.
You didn’t see the way Tony glared at Peter from beside you, but you felt the way he’d stopped inspecting you. Peter walked closer, taking cautious steps as he minimized the distance. “What happened?” His voice was gentle, perhaps because he noticed the tears coating your cheeks.
Wiping your eyes, you realized your hands were trembling. Your whole body shook from the endured trauma, and you shivered like you were in the midst of a blizzard. Had you been shaking that whole time? You didn’t have time to overthink it. You felt like you were being whisked away into a whirlwind of panic.
Tony stood up, his expression crossed with some unspoken irritation. “I need to finish dinner.” His words were short. “Kid, could you help patch her up? She mainly just needs disinfectant.” There was no room for response from Peter before your father started walking. You didn’t see him leave, but you felt the gentle kiss he placed on your head before he left one final comment with Peter:
“And you and I are going to have a talk later.”
You weren’t sure what was going on with the two. Quite frankly, you weren’t sure what was going on in general. Shaking like this, being emotional like this, it was far from anything you were used to.
It felt like you were being violated, forced open, naked— and that wasn’t just because you were without a shirt. You felt exposed, and you couldn’t hide anymore. There was nowhere you could go and nothing you could do to shield from the fact that you were vulnerable right now.
Peter sat in front of you, kneeling so that you could see him. So that he could see you. “Hey..” His voice got soft, gentler, and somehow it broke you. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth to try and stop the way it shuttered. Metal lingered on your tongue and your throat felt hollow and thick with the cries you held back. But Peter was your best friend, and he knew you.
He knew how stubborn you were with your own emotions, and how guarded you kept yourself from showing that part to other people. He knew that you couldn’t hide forever, either. And maybe he’d figured that out when his right hand went to cradle your face, and the tears finally washed away the walls you’d been keeping up.
Somehow seeing him safe was your undoing. The downfall of the avalanche you’d been hobbling in attempt to support, but you couldn’t seal the dam anymore. The relief of knowing that Peter was unharmed, the ease to all your worries, it made you forget why you’d been trying to stop your tears in the first place.
Your body broke out into violent shivers the second you let it, and your shoulders shook with every sob. Peter didn’t say anything. He merely took you into his arms and held you to him, careful not to press against any wound. It terrified you to think about what would’ve happened had Peter walked home with you, unbeknownst to you that he probably would’ve protected you from any of this happening in the first place.
It took you a minute or two to cry it out before Peter set you back on the coffee table. It seemed effortless to pick you up, and that made you realize just how strong he was. Your dad was right, Peter did surprise you.
Peter knew exactly how to mend these kinds of wounds, too. Where did he learn? It might always be a mystery. Still, it came in handy now. He draped his zip–up jacket over your shoulders, before dabbing a cloth of rubbing alcohol against every cut on your torso. He was so focused. Tensed jaw and creased eyebrow, not wavering for a second until you gained the courage to ask him a question. You took a shaky breath.
“Peter?” You murmured, immediately grabbing his attention. Peter glanced at you, the cold glisten in his focused stare began to thaw when he did. He took a breath, perhaps needing to be broken from the train of thought he’d started to entertain. With his attention, you took another breath, nervous.
Your fingers gripped the edge of the coffee table with white knuckles. If you’d been any stronger, maybe you’d broken the table, or even your fingers. “Do you.. think I’m–” You had to suck in another chunk of air just to muster out that taunting, despicable word. “Weak?” Even in your efforts to say it straight, your voice broke in an instant.
Without a beat, his eyes met yours again and he stopped everything he was doing. “Weak?” He repeated back. “No.” The word was so instantly rejected, you’d almost felt stupid bringing it up in the first place. “You’re so far from weak, Y/N. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
Your hands went to hide your face, too ashamed of how quickly you broke before him. From the solitude behind your fingers, you couldn’t see the way Peter also broke at the words. He wasn’t sobbing as you were, but he couldn’t help the sulking of his shoulders. Peter truly blamed himself for this. Setting down the rag, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists. “Anyone who thinks you’re weak is blind to who you are. That, or they’re idiotically stupid.” He spoke softly, pulling your hands from your face.
“You’re the most courageous person. The amount of bullshit you put up with, and the reporters you call out– Fuck, I can’t even imagine walking away from a fight like you did tonight..” His words of endearment warmed your heart. “You’ve seen the unthinkable, are still going, and you think you’re weak?” He shook his head. “Impossible.”
You and Peter stared for a beat or two before he stood up, carefully helping you to your feet. “I think you’re all set to shower. Do you want me to walk you upstairs?”
Taking a breath, you took Peter’s words to heart. You got this. “I think I’ll be okay.” Ignoring the shakiness in your voice, you took paces to the stairwell. “If I’m not back in thirty, you have permission to make sure I didn’t pass out.”
Peter cracked a small smile at you, “Noted. Text me if you need anything!” He added the offer, to which he saw you nod to, and he caught a glimpse of your timid smile. He knew you’d be okay, but it still didn’t shake the weight of how to blame he was. The sound of Tony clearing his throat from the kitchen only seemed to remind him. And with a second clearing of his throat, Peter realized that Tony was trying to communicate.
Walking into the kitchen, Peter saw Tony leaned back against the counter, arms crossed with a cold stare. “Mister Stark, I–”
“Where the hell were you tonight?”
The tone changed the entire atmosphere. No amount of savory fragrances from the cuisine could take away from the fact that Peter was in trouble.
Peter’s shoulders squared at the intensity carried with Tony’s aggravation. He took a breath, pausing in the doorway. “Sir, there was an armed–”
Tony’s fist met the marble counter in a startle. “Damn it, Pete!” Kid couldn’t get a word in if he tried. “Damn it, you had one job!” His index finger went up to emphasize his point.
“What was I supposed to do??” Peter felt like he was fighting a losing battle. “I had no idea what was going to happen!” In the midst of his hushed defense, his voice broke a bit from the weight of his guilt. “Mister Stark.. I think it’s time we tell her.”
A scoff was what Peter was met with. A rush of air caught on Tony’s disbelief, throat, and dismissal. “We’d tell Y/N what? That you’re Spider–Man? That we’ve been lying for this long?”
It was a tough call, and Peter knew that. Peter also knew that Tony couldn’t keep this shit up any longer than he could. “She deserves to know!” He planned to plead his case. “Whoever attacked her tonight planned this. It wasn’t by chance, she was targeted–”
“You don’t know that—”
“And you don’t either!” Peter wasn’t about to get cut off again. He let out some of the steam he’d began to bottle. “The way she’s acting.. Something’s off about what happened. And I think she deserves to know why I wasn’t there to defend her tonight.”
As much as the two had raised their voices, or grown to anger, they let the reality of the evening sink into the space between them. The thickened air sat within the walls as they both took a breath and collected themselves. Tony’s expression melted, and he finally reached over to turn off the stove.
Dinner was almost ready.
The back of Tony’s hips met the marble countertop behind him, supporting his weight as he crossed his arms, looking at Peter sympathetically. “Look, kid. I don’t blame you for what happened tonight.”
A weight or two instantly lifted from Peter’s guilty–conscious. “I know.” He lied.
Tony’s lips curled ever so slightly at the hasty quip. “As much as I agree with your conspiracy theories on Y/N’s attacker, I don’t know if coming clean about everything will solve this.”
There was a subtle sinking to Peter’s mending optimism. “Then when do you plan to tell her?”
A pause. Tony sighed, releasing a breath he’d been holding since Peter’s spider bite. “I don’t know..” Genuinity. Tony’s paternal protocol kicked in, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate it entirely.
On the one hand, his daughter deserved to know the truth. You deserved to know the truth. His wisdom and knowledge was such a curse when it came to fatherhood, because while being honest was what his role as a father called for, logic came right back to remind him of just how many lies were piled on top of each other. What if there was no coming back from this?
Tony shrugged, appearing more open to the idea of being truthful. “I’ll tell you what.” He started, “You tell me how you’d suggest telling Y/N you’re Spider–Man, and I’ll consider it–”
“Peter’s what?”
Ice. The room turned to ice too quickly, both Tony and Peter snapping their heads to look at you in the doorway. They hadn’t noticed you’d been listening. You’d been standing there for who knows how long, considering that you hadn’t even showered yet.
Both of the men in front of you exchanged glances of sheer panic before Tony cleared his throat to get your attention. He held up the frying pan, looking you dead in the eyes with the most false–confidence you’d ever seen your father carry.
“Dinner’s ready.” His voice cracked.
Yeah, there was absolutely no coming back from this.
Tumblr media
92 notes · View notes
sincericida · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
ANDREW GARFIELD
and mystery woman was spotted grocery shopping in Malibu.
Here we go, the thing changed figure.
(source)
20 notes · View notes
astermath · 9 months
Note
uhmmmm
kitchen counter makeouts with pookie bear tasm peter <3
— @inkluvs (ivy)
the way you know damn well you are indulging me adjdkdk and I love you for it bae MWAH @inkluvs
Tumblr media
pairing: tasm!peter parker x fem!reader
tags: just sweet ol fluff, established relationship, first time writing for peter, normal sized text under the cut! <3
word count: 1.2.K
let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for further peter parker related content!
Tumblr media
With Peter going on patrol until the nightly hours, you'd become used to cooking dinner later in the day. It wasn't a huge deal; you worked from home, and you were usually up when he was back anyways. Whether it was to tend to his injuries, hear about what he'd encountered that day, or just to cook some of his favorite pasta, you were always there for him when he returned. And he really appreciated that.
When you're a superhero, especially an anonymous one, it can be hard to find people to fall back on. That's why he considers having you one of his greatest strengths.
You're absentmindedly stirring some sauce when your boyfriend slips in through the bedroom window. He calls it the "spider-door", you call it a bad habit. He still uses it anyways. It's hard to use the front door of your apartment when you're dressed like the city's most popular vigilante.
He can smell the delicious mix of herbs and ingredients from the other room. The stress from the day was already melting off him, and he hadn't even spoken to you yet. He'd taken the liberty of slipping out of his suit and into a comfortable pair of sweats and a shirt. Although he did think it was snazzy, after wearing it almost the entire day, he couldn't wait to be out of it.
A pair of familiar strong arms wind around your waist, an even more familiar pair of lips pressing a soft kiss to the crook of your neck. You're used to it by now, the unexpected, sneaky greetings late at night. You weren't spooked by him, you rarely were. He likes to think his spidey senses have rubbed off on you.
He breathes in the scent of you, cheek resting onto your shoulder, and you can feel him relax into you.
"Good to see you too baby," you move your head to press a chaste kiss to his head, "how was patrol?"
"Fine," he sounds tired, and it's kind of hot, "stopped that coffee shop you like from being broken into."
"My hero," you chuckle, "now I won't have to miss those delicious chocolate croissants."
He whines lowly in response. It's a stark contrast to how he usually is, all talkative, giddy, boyish grins and jokes, bubbly laughter and strong hugs. Being a superhero will do that to you. Not exactly change you, just tire you out. A lot.
"Tired?" You ask, eyes remaining on the sauce you were preparing. It was a dumb question, of course he's tired, but he always hated admitting it.
To your surprise, he doesn't respond. Instead, he leans down and starts pressing kisses to your neck and shoulder again. You silently thank your past self for wearing a tank top, so he had plenty of access to your skin.
His lips leave tingles in their wake, your sauce becoming less interesting by the second, until you eventually turn around. You sigh at the sound of him; his hair is messy, his eyebags are prominent and he definitely needs a shower, but boy is he pretty. So pretty.
He lets you take a second to admire him, like he knows you love to do. Hands come up to cup his cheeks, the tiniest bit of stubble scratching against your palms. Your face is graced by an adoring smile, and that alone always lets him know; everything's okay, I got you.
He leans down, lips searching yours again. You happily indulge, one hand sneaking into the hair at the back of his neck. The kiss is longing, practically aching to be closer. You can feel how much he missed you just by the way his hips slide over yours.
His hands settle onto your waist, and for a moment you think he's just going to let them stay there. Of course not, because your boyfriend is anything if not unpredictable. With a gentle grip he lifts you up and turns the both of you around, setting you down onto the counter across the stove.
You giggle through the kiss, and you can feel him smile along with you, but he doesn't let go. It's like he can't, and not in a "help I just got spider powers and now I'm glued to you" way, no, like a "I'm so in love with you that I want this to last forever" way.
His hands settle onto your thighs, thumbs rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin. It's like this is what recharges him. Not food, not water, this is what he survives on. Your pure unconditional affection.
Unfortunately for the two of you, humans do need air to live, so you're forced to pull away after a while. Still, you remain close, noses rubbing together ever so slightly, foreheads leaning against each other.
“You ‘kay sweetie?” Your voice is gentle, not wanting to ruin the tooth achingly sweet moment the two of you are having.
“Mhm…” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Just so happy to see you again… I missed you.” he accentuates his words with another kiss. “A lot.”
A warm smile adorns your face when he admits to his longing for you. You know he misses you, he tells you every day, and he knows that the sentiment is returned. You both have your reasons to be missing each other; with Peter being a superhero, he has to be careful, so the reality of any day possibly being his last was… Present. Plus, it’s a busy job. Besides the one he already has.
You just enjoy each other’s presence for a moment, basking in the radiating glow of what could only be described as an aura of love. It was like nothing outside that kitchen mattered anymore, at least not for now. You and Peter against the world, out of your small apartment in Queens.
“Honey?” He asks, and you think he’s going to say something else really sweet and heartwarming to really drive the point home. Until you see the furrow in his brows.
“I think, uh— whatever you were making is burning.”
“Fuck!” You hopped off the counter and went back to the pot of sauce, groaning when you realised the bottom of it was burnt. “It’s fine, I can— I can salvage this.” You looked over at your boyfriend, who had an apologetic smile on his face. “We can make out all you want after I make you dinner, ‘kay?”
“And every day after?” His voice is gentle, his hand resting on your lower back to keep some form of physical contact with you.
“Of course,” you stand on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek, “every day after too.”
3K notes · View notes
spiderfunkz · 3 months
Text
thinking about peter parker whos girlfriend is a total book nerd . . . where he'd always take you on dates to the bookstore and insists on buying you a new book. where he'd follow you around the store like a lost puppy while you run around trying to find the book you want.
peter parker who'd always be there to comfort you when your favorite character meets their end, where he would say, "maybe they'll get resurrected in the next book, who knows?" while awkwardly smiling, which usually puts you in the mood again to smile and laugh at his attempt to comfort you. "the series is done peter, that was the last book." you sniff, "hey maybe they'll do a cameo in the prequel!"
peter parker who'd listen to your rambles about your most recent read and do research afterwards because he couldn't process all the lore properly and got confused halfway as you were talking. but even when he is confused, he still listens and nods anyways.
peter parker who waited for it to rain at night so he could recreate the 'kissing & dancing in the rain' scene from one of your favorite books because you wouldn't stop talking about it, and he personally thinks you deserve to experience that at least once. you both ended up getting a cold
peter parker who lays beside you and reads comics while you're reading your books. where he'd slowly inch closer and closer to you and rest his head on your shoulder, placing his comic book down and just slowly fall asleep on your shoulder as you whisper the lines from your book.
peter parker who'd secretly read along from behind and dramatically gasps when a character does something remotely weird. where at the end you two would just start gossiping about how that character would do such things.
Tumblr media
630 notes · View notes
blooming-violets · 1 year
Note
For Inexperienced Smut Prompts
“I can’t believe you’re this innocent…”
With Andrew! Peter Parker x reader ❤️❤️❤️ !!!!!!
Not So Innocent || Inexperienced Smut Prompts
[tasm!Peter Parker x fem!virgin!reader]
Warnings: Alcohol use and depictions of being intoxicated, a lot of dry humping and fingering
A/N: I changed the quote just a tiny bit to “I didn’t know you were so innocent" because it fit better. Same vibes though.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
You weren’t used to being dragged along to parties, especially one’s held in a large penthouse overlooking the city. The host of the party was a friend of a friend of a friend. At least, that’s what your roommate said. She desperately wanted to attend with her boyfriend but was too nervous to go without you. She promised to find you a date so you wouldn’t be third wheeling despite your claims that you’d rather not attend at all. Somehow she had managed to convince you to get dolled up in clothes that weren’t your own and make an appearance. You trailed behind her and her boyfriend as the three of you walked out onto the wrap around terrace. 
The night air was warm and the sounds of the heavy bass booming out of the speakers reverberated inside your heart. You couldn’t even make out what music was playing; it was too loud. You scrunched up your face in distaste, fidgeting with the bottom of the short skirt of your dress, and pushing your way next to your friend. 
“Is this really worth it?” You shouted over to her. 
She either couldn’t hear you over the noise or was choosing to ignore you, “Look! Over there!” 
She grabbed your hand and dragged you over to an elegant, glass table in the middle of the terrace. It was completely covered with different types of alcohol. You weren’t really educated well enough to be able to tell the difference between them all. She poured you something clear and shoved the cup into your hand. 
“Drink this!” She practically forced you to tilt the cup to your lips and held her hand under the bottom while you drained the contents. 
You were sputtering and gagging by the time it was finished, “That was horrible!”” 
“I know, it was pure vodka,” she laughed. “But it will get you loosened up.”
You felt like vomiting. She poured you something else. 
Her boyfriend leaned between the two of you to point over at someone. “Matty is over there. Why don’t you go talk to him?” 
You turned to see where he was pointing. Matt was the guy who was supposed to be your date tonight. He played college football with your roommate's boyfriend. You gave an unenthusiastic smile. That was supposed to be your cue to leave the two of them alone so they could enjoy their night as a couple. You weren’t sure what the point of your coming was. It wasn’t like your friend was planning on actually spending time with you. 
You reluctantly made your way over to Matt and gave him an awkward wave, “You’re Matt, right?” 
He nodded, “Yeah. My friend’s call me Matty, though.” 
“Great,” you replied. You weren’t a friend so you thought you’d stick with Matt. “Uhm, nice to meet you, I guess.” 
He looked you over, overtly eyeing up and down your body. You curled into yourself under his gaze and quickly started drinking whatever was in your cup. It tasted like bleach and lime. You did your very best not to make a face of disgust and keep drinking. 
“You’re supposed to be my date then?” He asked. 
“I guess,” you shuffled the toe of your foot against the ground. “Do you-”
He cut you off, “I was told you were really hot.” 
You laughed at that. It was a self deprecating, uncomfortable laugh. He was already heavily intoxicated, swaying on his feet. You wanted to go home. The forced smile faded from your face as you turned your sights to look out over the city. 
“Sorry to disappoint you,” you stated, feeling like shit. 
Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him shrug, “Nah man. It’s cool. You’re still hot but, like, a prudish kind of hot. Like how the pastor’s daughter is always smokin’ hot but you know she’d never actually go down on you, so you don’t even try to bark up that tree, ‘cause it leads nowhere. Not really fuckable, ya feel me?” 
You didn’t feel him. You felt insulted for some reason. As if being called unfuckable by a drunk stranger was the worst thing you could ever be called. Matt was clearly looking for one thing tonight. He wanted someone easy. He took one look at you, uncomfortable in your roommates clothes, and could instantly tell you weren’t that kind of girl. She could dress you up but she couldn’t change your personality. You were self-conscious and fidgety. Even this dumb jock could see that. Before you could reply, Matt’s attention got pulled away by a group of giggling girls throwing heart eyes at him. He didn’t say a word as he stumbled away, already forgetting your entire existence. 
And, just like that, you were left alone at a party you didn’t want to be at. 
You finished the drink in your hand despite wanting to gag every time it touched your lips. You were already starting to feel the effects of the two drinks. You had never drank in your life so it didn’t take much to make you feel funny. Your skin sort of felt tingly and your thoughts were slow and lazy. Even though you were left on your own, you felt a sudden rush of happiness pushing away the shame. The music was starting to sound less terrible, too. It made you want to dance. You were beginning to feel invincible. Confident. Matty could go fuck himself. You were totally fuckable. You were hot. This dress was super sexy and slutty and short and you were an absolute babe with it on. You could do anything you wanted. You felt like if you stood up on these rooftop railings and jumped, you would simply sore away into the sky like a bird. 
“I didn’t expect to see you here.” 
A vaguely familiar voice popped up behind you before you had time to test your theory of flight. 
You turned around to come face to face with Peter Parker. He was your lab partner for biology. You two usually only ever spoke about class related topics but it was still nice to see a familiar face. You always found him to be very sweet. 
“I wouldn’t expect to see you here, either,” you responded with a big smile. 
Peter laughed, “I guess us nerds don’t usually get invited to rich people’s rooftop parties.” Once the words left his mouth, his eyes widened, afraid that he offended you. He quickly added, “Not that I think you don’t belong here! Or that you’re a nerd. You’re very pretty. Not that nerds can’t be attractive. That’s just a dumb stereotype. I think you’re really smart and you have a nice smile and you look really pretty tonight. Not that you don’t look pretty other days. And not that it matters what you look like. Or…well…I mean…I don’t remember what I was originally talking about…I think I’m drunk.”
The crimson blushing over his cheeks was incredibly endearing. You found yourself leaning in closer. You knew he was always handsome but, tonight, he looked beautiful. Radiant. Mesmerizing. 
You think you might be a little drunk, too. That first cup your friend made you chug was causing your thoughts to swim. The second cup only sealed the deal. 
“Thank you!” It was all that needed to be said. Also, because you sort of forgot what he was saying, too. You got distracted by the way his lips formed each word. They were lovely lips to look at. “I think…” 
His blush deepened and he hid behind the beer bottle in his hand as finished off the contents, “Do, uh, do you want to dance? With me, I mean. Or by yourself is fine too but I’d hope it was with me. That’s why I’m asking. For your hand. Not in marriage! To dance with.” 
You weren’t a dancer but you didn’t think Peter was either. That made you feel more confident in accepting his offer. 
“Okay,” you nodded, laughing at how he managed to out awkward you. 
He took the cup from your hands and put it onto the first table he saw along with his own empty beer. Then, he took your hand and pulled you inside, onto the dance floor that had been set up in the living room cleared of furniture. The feeling of your hand in his, the way he easily maneuvered you through the crowd, sent an excited, pulsating electricity shooting up your spine. Peter found a nice spot off to the edge of the crowd. There, you two could still enjoy the energy without being trampled on by all the sweaty bodies. 
An unspoken tension settled in the air between you and Peter. You were drawn to him. Captivated by him. You’d often spend the two hours of your lab huddled up close to his face while sharing a microscope but this felt different. Stronger. You couldn’t stop staring at the way his body moved. It might be the alcohol talking but he seemed to have a natural flow to his movements. You felt in sync with him. Your eyes shamelessly traveled down his body, much like Matt had done to you earlier. Only instead of feeling nervous like you had, Peter merely smirked, the smile flashing over his lips. Without his usual oversized sweatshirt, you could easily make out the strong muscles of his biceps as they pulled the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his arms. You would have never guessed he was hiding those under there. 
You got lost in the music, loving it a million times more than when you first entered the party. You were moving, swaying, and bouncing along to the beat. Peter was right there with you like he was reading your mind, or reading your body, able to anticipate which way you were swaying and following your lead. The rest of the party faded around you as your eyes locked with Peter’s. It was just the two of you and the unfamiliar sensual tension clouding the air, growing thicker with each passing second. 
You were not a prude. You were not the preacher’s daughter. Matt could go fuck himself. He had no idea what you were like. All he did was take one look at you and thrust his own narrative on your shoulders. Yeah, maybe you were still a virgin, but you gave a guy a blow job. Once. In your senior year of high school. That qualifies you to be a part of a Non-Prude Club. Fucking Matty, that piece of shit. A big giant turd. That’s what he was. His brain had probably been hit one too many times during football anyway. You didn’t even think he was that attractive. Maybe he was the one who wasn’t fuckable? You bet he never thought of that!
Peter didn’t think you were a prude. He thought you were pretty and he wanted to dance with you. That means…well, it doesn’t mean much, but your vodka fueled brain was trying to connect some kind of dots together. Peter wanted to fuck you. That was probably it. Or maybe that was Matt who wanted to do that. Not Peter. You were getting them confused. 
No, no, Matt didn’t want to fuck you. Or he did but he didn’t think you would let him. 
And he was right. You wouldn’t have let him. He was kind of gross. 
But, Peter…
“Am I fuckable?”
His eyes widened, “Excuse me?”
“What?” Did you say that out loud? Shit. “I didn’t say anything!” 
His smile grew. He leaned down to speak directly into your ear, “Yes. You are.” 
Heat flooded your face. Holy shit. A nervous, intoxicated laugh tumbled from your lips. The song changed to a new track and your eyes lit up. 
“I know this one!” You excitedly bounced on the balls of your feet. 
“Everyone knows Britney Spears,” Peter laughed at your enthusiasm as I’m a Slave 4 U blasted out the speakers. 
Someone bumped into you from behind and sent you tumbling into Peter’s chest. He steadied you back onto your feet. Instead of moving away, you embraced the closeness, feeling bold, and wrapping your arms around his neck. His eyebrows raised, slightly taken off guard, but he quickly settled his hands comfortably around your waist. The electricity in the air heightened. You wanted Peter to touch you forever. There was not a single other person in this party except for him. You smiled up at him through hazy eyes. 
“I never drank alcohol before tonight,” you confessed. Something in his eyes felt safe, like you could tell him all your secrets and he wouldn’t tell another soul. He would keep you safe. A protector. “I don’t think I’m too drunk, though. I think I’m just happy. I could still totally drive a car.” 
That was a lie. You didn’t even have your license. It felt pointless when you grew up in the city. 
Peter chuckled. It was a nice sound. 
“I didn’t know you were so innocent,” he teased. “Never had a drop of anything before?”
You feigned a gasp at his comment, “I am not innocent! Why are people always assuming that about me tonight? What vibes am I giving off? My roommate told me these were some of her favorite slut clothes. Apparently they’re doing nothing to help my image.” 
“Oh, trust me, they are,” He nodded with appreciation for her tight fitting outfit. Then added, “You’re at a happy drunk level. Me too…but that might just be because you’re here with me.”
Your stomach tumbled with excited butterflies. With Britney Spears cheering you on, you pushed your body closer, brushing against his. As you swayed to her hypnotic beat, you purposely rubbed your hips into his. The moment you made contact, you felt his arousal. Solid and hard against you. 
You let out a tiny gasp, eyes widening in shock. You hadn’t been expecting that. That was because of you. You had given him that. You. Peter’s eyes had closed and his lips parted when you pushed against him. For a split second, it looked like he was going to let out a moan right there in front of everyone. His eyes shot open when he realized what was happening and a slew of slurred, bashful apologies tumbled out of him. Before he could get too embarrassed, you silenced him by repeating the movement. This time, locking eyes with him with a defiant stare, as you rubbed your pelvis over his erection as if you were daring him to stop you. 
You would show him you weren’t innocent. You would prove him wrong.
He licked his steadily drying lips and swallowed the lump in his throat. He was completely speechless, utterly in awe. This was a new side of you, one you hadn’t even known existed before tonight. A horny, needy side. It only took him until the chorus to snap out of his stunned daze. His hands traveled up your sides, curving around your waist, then traveling back down. He hovered over your butt, watching your reaction to see if you’d object. When all he got a quiet smirk urging him on, his large hands cupped your cheeks. You could feel your dress riding up your thighs as he squeezed you, bunching up the fabric. He pressed you closer, holding you tightly against his erection. You tightented your grip around his neck, smooshing your breasts against his chest, and feeling the flood of wetness rush to your core. 
I’m a slave for you. I cannot hold it, I cannot control it. I’m a slave for you. I won’t deny it, I’m not tryna hide it.
Britney was always right. You really were trying to have him dance up on you. You could not control it and you won’t deny it. Truer words had never been spoken. 
You felt weak. A good kind of weak. Like your knees might give out at any moment and your head was spinning but everything felt wonderful. A happy drunk. That’s what Peter had called it. Or a horny drunk. Maybe both. 
The more you held his gaze, the more attractive he became. You didn’t think that was possible but here you are. The flecks of sparkling light reflected off those beautiful hickory colored eyes. You were lost in them. Lost in his magnetic pull. His lips were centimeters from yours. He wanted to kiss you but he was letting you close the gap, giving you the choice. You took a shuddered breath and smashed your lips together. It might have been a little too eager and aggressive but Peter easily remedied your attack. He softened his lips and gently eased open your mouth with his tongue. The butterflies in your stomach turned to a frenzy at the feeling of his warm tongue gliding across yours. It reminded you of a dance. Much like your bodies were still pressed together and swaying to the music, your tongues were having their own party. 
When your breath became short, you carefully pulled yourself back with a dazed smile. 
Peter’s smile matched your own. The alcohol swam in vision, giving him adorable bleary eyes. He looked more relaxed than you had ever seen him. 
“Have you had your fill of dancing?” He asked once the song ended. 
You had forgotten you were even in a room full of people. You glanced around you, noticing Matt eyeing you from the other side of the room. He looked impressed, wondering if he had gotten the completely wrong impression of you. He raised his drink and winked in your direction as if to apologize for his own mistake. It made you giggle. You flipped him off with a smile. 
You turned back to Peter, the smile still lingering on your face. You were enjoying the tension between the two of you. You liked the dangerous excitement of rubbing up on Peter in the midst of a crowd. You were afraid of the moment ending if you left but your head was spinning and you needed some fresh air. 
“Let’s go back outside,” you offered. “The music is just as loud out there.”
Peter nodded in agreement. You had the feeling he would have gone anywhere you asked him to. He took your hand and tugged you towards the terrace. The entire glass wall opened up to make a seamless transition from the inside of the penthouse to the out. The night air felt cool in your throat. It helped soothe the pounding heartbeat in your chest. A coiled up excitement resided in the pit of your stomach from your adventures on the dancefloor. You wanted more. 
Peter pushed his way to the corner. It was the one place the lights failed to reach. It felt like a very purposeful spot to bring you. He turned around, leaning against the railing, and studying you with burning, passion filled eyes. His gazed forced your own downward, like he was a blazing fire, too bright and hot to stare at for too long. Except now you were now looking directly at what had been pressed against you. 
His dark, skinny jeans left little to the imagination. While the stiff material kept him from achieving his full potential, the bulging outline over his inner thigh was more than enough to get the idea of what he was working with. Truthfully, you had no idea what was considered large or small when it came to dicks. Like with alcohol, your knowledge was limited. But Peter looked quite big to you. He was clearly very excited to be in your presence. That was the nice thing about men. You could always tell when they were attracted to you. You were enjoying the power it made you feel. You felt sexy. Fuckable. 
You had been staring at it for too long. You needed to avert your eyes back to his face. 
When you finally forced your gaze back where it belonged, Peter was smirking at you. He had enjoyed watching you get lost in the sight. He liked knowing that his body was showing you how attractive he found you. He wanted you to know. It wasn’t a secret. Before you could allow yourself to be embarrassed, you twirled around, letting your skirt flare up around your thighs and started dancing again to the music. The perfect distraction. He caught you in his grasp, spinning you away from him, and then pulling you close. He was more suave than you gave him credit for. He might actually have some decent moves. 
You turned around in his hold, leaning your back against his chest. Peter’s arms naturally snaked around your waist to hold you to him. He tightened the hold so your bottom was rubbing once more against his bulge as you lazily swayed back and forth. Your dancing was more of a  gentle rubbing at this point but you didn’t mind. Whatever kept you locked to Peter was okay in your eyes. You wanted to keep him excited. 
His face leaned down, his cheek brushing against your hair, and you heard him inhale the scent of light, floral perfume. You could have sworn you felt his bulge twitch. You had to refrain from squeezing your own thighs together at the thought. Tingly, hot sensations were flooding your core. The need to thrust your hips or rub yourself on something was becoming stronger. 
You swore Peter could sense the subtle change in your breath because, as if he knew how aroused you were getting, his hands started to travel. They slid down your thighs until they reached the bottom of your dress, gliding the material through his fingers. 
“I’ve never seen you wear a dress like this before,” he breathed, voice ragged, in your ear. “I like it.” 
Your ears felt like they were burning, your chest was tight, your toes wanted to curl in your flats. All from the sound of his voice. Of course he had never seen you wear a dress like this. The only other time he saw you was in your early morning lab. He was used to your oversized cardigans, comfy leggings, and a permanent sleepy expression. 
His hand slipped under the loose hem of the dress. He hesitated, testing the waters to see if you’d say something, when no objects came he glided over your underwear to rest on your bare hips. The back of your skirt lifted with his wrists to expose the bottom cheeks of your butt. You could feel him lean back enough to get a quick look. He seemed to like what he saw because he almost immediately ground his hips against you. 
You couldn’t stop the gasping moan that fell from your lips. Your body felt alive. You could feel the jolt of electricity shoot from your nipples down to your clit. You pushed back, grinding your bottom into his erection. You had no idea what had gotten into you but you couldn’t stop. His obvious arousal only fueled your own spreading fire. 
Even your nipples were painfully erect. Your friend had assured you that this dress had a built in bra and you wouldn’t need to wear one. That was a load of bullshit because it was obvious how hard your nipples were poking out. Your breath was becoming labored. You were in the middle of a rooftop party, actively grinding on your lab partner, and drunk on whatever the hell energy Peter was giving off. It wasn’t even the alcohol that was making you act like this. It was all Peter Parker. 
You turned in his grasp, throwing your arms around his neck, and finding his lips. He fell back against the railing with your sudden enthusiasm. He managed to keep himself from falling and slid his leg between yours. Without even thinking about it, you rested your core against his thigh. The wetness seeping into your underwear was now blatantly evident to you. Give it a minute and Peter would surely become aware of it, too. 
His hands roved hungrily over your body without any more hesitation. You opened your mouth, letting in his tongue, as he fervently attacked your lips. You angled your hips downward and thrust them against his jeans. Your aching clit screamed in pleasure at the delicious friction. Peter was back under your skirt and cupping your bottom. He helped push you along, easing the aid of you grinding against his thigh. 
His mouth left yours to leave sloppy, wet kisses along your cheek and down your neck until he found a spot he liked. He suctioned his lips to a pulse point and began sucking and nipping at your soft skin. Your eyes rolled back, mouth parted, at how wonderful it felt. A mix of pain and pleasure. He was bruising your neck, claiming you as his own with a visible mark. You let him dominate you, manipulate you however he pleases. You were his. A slave for Peter Parker. 
When he slowly pulled back from your neck, a trail of saliva connected your skin to his bottom lip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the corner of his lips tugging into a satisfied smile as he admired his work. It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen in your entire life. 
“Do you need a break?” He whispered, his voice hardly heard above the obnoxious techno music now playing. 
You swallowed. You probably should stop. You should probably slow down. You were getting too lost in your own feelings. But you shook your head “no”. You didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want to have to pull yourself away from him. 
“I told you,” you whispered back, resting your forehead against his. “I’m not innocent.” 
“Are you sure about that?” He asked, the amusement coating his voice. “If I dragged you into the nearest coat closet right now, what would you do?” 
You didn’t hesitate in your reply, lust dripping with every syllable, “I would let you touch me however you wanted.” 
That was it.
Peter shoved his way past any person who stood in his way. He lead you through the crowd, swerving and weaving between sweaty bodies. The penthouse was huge. The first door he opened was the bathroom but it left too much probability of someone potentially needing to use it. The next was a guest bedroom. That one was already taken. The three people inside of it weren’t too pleased to see two more show up unannounced. The third was nearest to the elevator. It was a narrow, walk-in closet filled with fancy coats and shoes. 
“Jackpot,” Peter muttered under his breath. 
He pushed you inside and shut the door behind him. It was decently sound proofed in here with all the jackets. The music instantly muffled into the distance. You tugged on a gold chain hanging from the ceiling to flick on a single bulb. It wasn’t much light but it was enough. You turned to face Peter, the spell from outside starting to crack as the nerves set in. You might not have been entirely truthful when you told him you’d let him touch you however he wanted. The thought of losing your virginity in a closet wasn’t exactly how you envisioned it. 
Peter’s smile softened when he caught the apprehensive glint in your eye. He reached out his hand and tugged you close to him as he leaned against the door, making sure no one could enter. He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead. 
“Remember when I told you were fuckable earlier?” He asked. 
You nodded. 
“Well,” he continued. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were nothing more than a quickie in a stranger’s closet. I hope it didn’t come off that way and that was the impression you got. This might have gotten a little out of hand. We might have gotten a bit carried away.” He took a step away from the door so you could leave if you wanted to. “If you want to go, it’s okay, I won’t stop you. I had enough fun tonight to last me a lifetime. Just being able to dance with you made my day.” 
You gave him a light shove, pushing him back in front of the door to act as a human lock, taking back control, “I never said anything about leaving.” You took a deep breath, being brave, and trying to advocate for exactly what you wanted from him. “What I said still stands. You can touch me however you want but just with your hands. Okay?” You trailed a finger down his forearm, grazing over his wrist, and locking fingers with him. “If you want to go, it’s okay, I won’t stop you.”  
His smile grew when you repeated his own sentiment back to him. To help build back up the same electric energy from outside, you pressed closer to him and grazed your breasts against his chest, letting him feel how erect your nipples were. He tenderly cupped your cheeks with his large hands and captured your lips with his.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” he mumbled against your lips. His kiss was slower than the other two like he was really savoring the moment. You felt special. Wanted. Beautiful and sexy all at the same time. The way he worshiped your lips made you feel like the only woman left in the world. Maybe you were. Maybe nothing existed outside of this closet. All that was left was you and Peter. 
“Mmph,” was all you could manage back. Very articulate. 
And, just like that, you were back under the Parker spell. 
His hands made a slow descent away from your cheeks. They traveled down your neck, pausing for his long fingers to gently wrap around it, making you feel small inside his grasp. They brushed over your shoulders, toying with the thin straps to your dress, inching them to the side until they fell down the slope of your arm. The back of his fingers traced over the swell of your breast, letting the hard nub of your nipple feel every bump as he dragged each of his four fingers slowly over it. He was taking his time, carefully watching your every move and listening for every hitch of your breath. He was treating you like a precious piece of art that was meant to be admired and painstakingly inspected under a magnifying glass so as not to miss any precious details. 
The pooling wetness between your thighs caused your soaked through underwear to cling uncomfortably to you. You wished you could remove them but still felt too nervous to make any moves and distract Peter from his work. You stood still as a statue, lids half closed, as he molded his hand to your breast. Your eyes gazed up at him, helpless under his touch, the sounds of your heavy breaths the only thing you were now able to hear. 
A quiet moan whined in your throat when he pinched your nipple through your dress, capturing it between the knuckles of his middle and pointer finger. He shuddered at the sound, giving a sharp inhale. He wanted to hear it again. His free hand wrapped around your thigh to close the miniscule gap between your hips. He thrust his hips forward, rubbing himself against you, as he molded your breast in his hand.
“Can-” he breathed. “Can I?” 
His fingers slipped into cups of your dress, starting to tug them down to imply what he was asking, and pausing to look to you for confirmation. You gave a silent nod. 
Peter nearly stopped breathing as he tugged the top half of your dress down to reveal your naked breasts. His eyes were alive with flames while he took in the new sights. He tenderly cupped under your breast, giving it a gentle squeeze, watching as your flesh melded to his touch. His mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was begging to capture your nipple between his lips, but he stuck to the “only hands” rule, using his thumb to flick over it instead. 
Your hardly audible moans hit his ear. The sound must have awoken something in him because he responded to it with a whimper of his own. You glanced down to his crotch. His erection was thicker than before. It looked painfully locked up behind the confines of his jeans. You wanted to unleash it, let it be free, but you were too scared to take that leap. 
Peter didn’t seem to care about what his cock was feeling. He was too focused on losing himself in your body. He was more of a giver and a taker, you could tell. His hand still gripping onto your hip started to get more daring. You felt him sliding closer to your core. His fingers traced over the elastic band of your underwear, circling around the tiny, ribbon bow adorning the top. If you had known this was how you would end up tonight, you would have bought something sexier. That concern immediately flew from your thoughts as his fingers slipped between your thighs. His palm rested over your mound while the pads of his finger tips traced along the drenched material. His ragged inhale was all you needed to know to understand how turned on that feeling made him. 
“You’re so wet,” he growled in your ear. 
“Mm,” you croaked out, eyes closed. Words were no longer something your brain had access to. 
You bit your bottom lip the harder he pressed your panties against your slit. The thin cotton material was the only thing holding him back from entering you. 
Peter lifted his other hand to brush under your chin. He lifted your head so you were forced to look up at him. You pried your eyes open, staring at him through heavy lids. Your mouth hung open to accommodate your panting breaths. He locked eyes with you, looking into your soul, as he slipped the wet fabric to the side. 
You gave a silent, wide eyed cry when his finger grazed over your bare slit. Your stomach seized, nearly doubling you over, in excitement. You felt your folds open to his touch. His leg resting between yours nudged your ankle, telling you to spread your legs open a little wider for him. You clutched onto the front of his shirt, grabbing a fistful of it into your grasp. Without it, you felt like you might collapse. The look of lust etched into his features caused you to nearly orgasm on the spot. Your body was trembling, craving more, nodding your head as if that would make Peter work faster instead of slowly dragging everything out at a crawling pace. 
He leaned down, whispering in your ear, “I’m going to make you cum for me.” 
That nearly did it. You whimpered, letting your eyes close again. Peter tugged your underwear down your legs. They stopped at your knees, the width at which you were standing not allowing them to go any further. It was enough. His hand cupped between your thighs, rubbing you, teasing you. You grind your hips, thrusting your clit against his palm. He gave a soft chuckle, enjoying how desperate you had become. 
“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he mumbled to himself. 
His long fingers moved gently on you, caressing your wetness, feeling how easily they slid through the slickness you were creating for him. All for him. He continued to simply feel you until you gazed back up at him. He was waiting for your eye contact. Your heart was pounding, waiting for the inevitable, and surrendering yourself over to him. The moment you locked on, he eased his middle finger between your parted lips while his thumb brushed slow circles around your clit. It was the first time a man’s finger had ever touched your sex. You felt the pressure, felt the fear, felt the excitement and the slight searing of pain at how tight you were. You whined as the pain and pleasure mixed to create an intense, swirling storm deep in your sex. Your pussy felt like it was sucking him in, trying to eat him whole, the deeper he sank into you. 
You clung to the front of his shirt, balled up fists, and tears spiking in your eyes. It felt so good. More intense than anything you’d ever felt. You’d touched yourself before but Peter was different. Better. You were sharing the moment, giving up control, and letting someone else learn the intimate details of your body. Your legs were shaking. Your knees felt weak. 
You buried your head into Peter’s neck as he started a steady, slow rhythm of easing his finger half way in and out of you. He focused most of his attention on servicing your throbbing clit. He could tell you were a virgin, he could tell how tight you were squeezing him, and he wanted to go as slow as possible so as not to hurt you. Even a single finger felt like it was filling you up. You were moaning against his neck, whimpering, whining, beginning for more. Your hips worked with each small thrust of his finger, trying to push it deeper. You thrust your clit against his thumb. Your body was taking over as you tumbled towards a climax. 
Peter’s lips were pressed against your ear. He whispered quiet words of encouragement, urging you on, praising you, comforting you. The night was all starting to meld together. The slutty dress, vodka, the obnoxiously loud music, how easily Matt rejected you with nothing more than a few words, finding Peter, dancing together, Britney Spears, the passionate terrace make out, the closet and how sweet Peter had been to quell your obvious fears, the way his finger felt so big inside of you. The entire night was swirling around your thoughts. A tornado building inside your brain. Ready to wipe out anything it touched. 
“That’s it,” Peter whispered over your pathetic whines. “There you go. Cum for me. You’re right there. Let it go. Let it happen.” 
You gave a sharp cry as light exploded in your vision. The tornado tore straight through you, ripping your mind from your body. You were floating in the air. High above everything else. You had no control of the way your body jerked and spasmed, held tightly against Peter’s chest. You’d never experienced an orgasm this powerful. It would have brought you straight to your knees had Peter not been holding you upright. 
He wrapped his arms around you, tracing his fingers over your back and up your neck. He soothed you with a quiet humming until your mind came crashing back down to earth. You were shaking, shivering, eyes glued closed. Peter was your one tether to cling on to. He kept you grounded as you let the tornado fade off into the distance. 
When you finally managed to get your bearings once more, you took a shaky step back from him. He kept his arms outstretched in case he needed to suddenly catch you if you decided to crumble. You shrugged the straps of your dress back up and adjusted the chest so your breasts were back to being concealed. 
Peter had given you a gift you didn’t even know you were looking for. You wanted to repay the favor but you didn’t think your body could handle anything more tonight. Instead, you slipped the underwear still clinging around your knees down to your ankles. You carefully stepped out of them. He watched in a silent curiosity as you closed the gap between you two, stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans. 
“To give you something to remember me by,” you stood on your tippy toes, planting a kiss on his cheek. A sweet, innocent kiss. 
He looked at you with an awe, loved filled gaze as you pushed open the closet door and stumbled into the hallway. 
When he didn’t follow, you glanced over your shoulder with a sly smirk, “Well? Are you coming?” 
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
bitchyycapricorn · 11 months
Text
Brooklyn Bridge
Peter Parker x Reader
Masterlist Word Count: 1.3k Synopsis: Peter faces one problem constantly: Aunt May knocking on the door at the absolute worst times. Fed up, Peter decides to simply show you off to the public.
Quote: “Good God, look at you you’re doing such a good job.” Warnings: Smut, public sex, praise kink, usage of slut, language, P in V AN: Obviously with my highlighted quote TikTok has reminded me how much of a praise kink I have. Not edited.
Tumblr media
“Oh fuck babe, I’ve missed you so much,” You groan as Peter thrusts into you. Your whole body is on fire at the feeling of Peters lips leaving small kisses on the side of your neck as he pounds into you mercilessly.
“God, “Y/N, you feel so fucking good.” Peter groans as his hand wanders up and down your side, taking in every inch of your body. Peter continues to plant small kiss along your jawline before stopping abruptly at the sound of a knock on his door.
“Peter?” May calls from the other side of the door. “Peter open the door!” Peter groans as he pulls out of you, leaving your body aching for his touch.
“You have to get in the closet,” Peter whispers harshly under his breath, “quick grab your cloths.” You find yourself stumbling out of his bed, scrambling while you pick your discarded cloths up from the ground before making a beeline to Peter’s closet. Even though you now couldn’t see Peter, you could hear him fumbling around while trying to get his cloths on before unlocking the door for May.
“Why do you always keep that door locked Peter?” May stammers as Peter shifts uncomfortably.
“I was trying to get to bed.” He replies slowly, “also I like the privacy.” He admits sheepishly.
May stares up at him for a moment before letting out a sigh. “Yes, alright, well I’m going to bed. I came to tell you goodnight and if you need me make sure it’s an emergency.” Peter nods before giving May a hug and sending her on her way, making sure to tell her goodnight as well.
Peter shut the door, letting out a small groan before or opening up the closet to reveal a disheveled Y/N. You let a smile spread across your lips as you stumble out of Peter’s messy closet. “Well then,” you hum, “Is the mood ruined or…”
“Ruined? What do you think?” Peter mumbles. “Everyone in the world wants to watch us have sex I swear. Constantly needing us, constantly knocking on the door. Might as well just have public sex at this point so people can ask questions without any barriers.”
You let out a small laugh, running your fingers up Peter’s arm. “Public sex huh? Well, maybe let’s keep it tame and go ahead and finish in your bed since May is now asleep.” You suggest, trying to pull Peter with you.
“No.” Peter replies, a smirk forming on his previously solemn face. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”
“Going out? It’s almost 11 at night…” You hesitate as you slip on your pajama shorts and tank top, followed by your jacket.
“Don’t you trust me love?” Peter asks sweetly causing your stomach to erupt with butterflies.
“Of course I trust you,”
+++
“I do NOT trust you!” You shriek as Peter lands on top of the main upper platform on the Brooklyn Bridge. You look down at the cars zooming by below you, feeling your heart drop. “Why the hell are we on the Brooklyn bridge?” You cry, clinging onto Peters warm body.
“Since everyone wants to watch us have sex so bad, thought I’d give them a show.” Peter declares.
“You-You what?” You stammer feeling your cheeks heat up as you stare into your boyfriends masked eyes.
“Hold on to the rail baby,” Peter encourages as he flips you around so your frontside is pressed against the metal railing and you’re staring down at the cars and water below.
“P-peter,” You stutter feeling his cold hand slowly snaking between your spread thighs in order to push your shorts and underwear to the side. His fingers dance across your bare cunt, spreading your wetness in the process.
“Look at my pretty girl, all bent over for me like a little slut.” Peter purrs “Such a good girl aren’t you.” You could now feel his finger slowly entering you, dipping deep into your soaking core.
“Fu-fuck Peter, what if someone sees?” You sputter as your walls close around his slender finger.
His mask brushes against your ear as he whispers “That’s why we’re up her baby, so everyone can watch me fuck you like a slut.” You let out a gasp as his digits thrust in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. “Mmm you like that don’t you?”
You let out a small moan in response, squeezing the railing as his fingers speed up. “Oh god Peter I’m close,” you cry at the feeling of his thumb now toying with your clit.
“Are you now?” Peter hums, smacking your ass as his fingers continue to violently thrust in and out of your heat. “Well then, if you’re so close, cum for me baby. Cum all over my fingers like a good girl.” He praises.
Throwing your head back onto his shoulder you allow your body to let go, convulsing as your orgasm washes over your whole body.
“Good girl,” Peter groans, slowly pulling his soaking fingers out of you. Your hands continue to squeeze the railing while you desperately try and catch your breath. Behind you you could hear Peter unzipping his jeans, shuffling as he removes his hard dick from its restraints. “Ready pretty girl?” Peter grunts as he lines himself up behind you. You nod, forgetting about the cars below you entirely.
Peter helps to bend you over slightly more, before grabbing yours hips and sliding into you with ease. “Oh fuck,” Peter moans as he bottoms out. “You feel so fucking good baby.” Peter slowly pulls out of you before pushing back in repeatedly. Your legs began to shake as Peter speeds up his movement, pushing deeper into you each time.
Small moans and cries escape your lips as you’re thrusted against the metal railing repeatedly. “Peter fuck” you cry. “God, oh, Peter.” Your whimpers fill the air as Peter drills into you without mercy, enjoying the feeling of your clenched cunt squeezing his throbbing cock.
“Good god, look at you you’re doing such a good job.” Peter praises, hands gripping your ass roughly. Your legs were shaking as Peter hammers into you from behind. Each thrust feeling deeper than the last, pushing you closer to your second orgasm. “Such a pretty little slut. Taking my cock so good in front of everyone.” Peters voice and hands felt hypnotic. The way he’s roughly grabbing your hips as he guides your body up and down his thick cock with every thrust.
“Peter-“ you moan, never wanting Peter to stop. “K-keep going please,” you whine.
Peter lets out a grunt, feeling himself getting closer to the edge. Your body capturing his attention as it knocks against the railing the deeper he pushes into you. “Shit-“ Peter mutters as his orgasm begins to creep up even more. “I’m close.”
You let out another string of moans knowing you’re close as well. You feel as one of Peters hands snakes around your front side, slowly rubbing your clit and adding to the pleasure. Throwing your head back you can feel your muscles begging to contract as a wave of adrenaline and pleasure washes over you. “Fuck Peter,” you groan as you finish around his cock.
Letting out a loud moan Peter releases inside of you, overwhelmed by the feeling of you squeezing around him as you ride out the last of your own orgasm.
Peter slowly pulls out and you can feel the hot cum slowly running down your bare thighs. Your body still shaking from the events just moments ago.
“You alright baby?” Peter whispers as his arms wrap around your disheveled figure. Planting soft kisses to your shoulder as he rubs your upper arms.
“I’m good, that was, that was amazing,” you reply, leaning back into his warm body.
“Good, I’m glad you enjoyed it as much as I did. Now let’s get you home and cleaned up hm?” He hums, turning you around so you’re facing him. You nod, allowing Peter to embrace you once more.
You look around at your surroundings for a moment, admiring the beauty of the city from so high up. “Hey Peter,” you whisper, “how many people do you think recorded us?”
Peter let out a small laugh before realizing you were right. “Oh fu-“
+++
TAGLIST @noakrootje
1K notes · View notes
reysdriver · 6 months
Text
Bondage | P.P.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Day 2 of Kinktober: Bondage — peter x fem!reader smut
warnings: 18+, Minors DNI - smut, inappropriate use of Spider-Man webs, fingering, oral (female receiving), mentions of hair pulling
words: 0.6k
Tumblr media
“Is that too tight?” Peter asked you from across the room, from where he had just webbed your hands to the top of your bed frame. 
“No.” You responded honestly. “It’s perfect.”
He started making his way over to the bed, then paused once he sat next to you. “So you’re sure?”
You sighed. “Of course.”
“And you remember what to do if you want me to stop?”
“Yes, Peter.” You sounded exasperated, because you were. Peter’s always been too nice for his own good, it was why he became Spider-Man. But now, his big heart was getting in the way of your sexual experimentation and it was tiring. 
“Okay, I’m sorry, I just worry a lot. I love you.” 
“I know you do, that’s why I want to do this with you.”
You both smiled at each other, and he dove in to kiss you. He did it slowly and sweetly, which you knew was because he didn’t want to be too rough with you. That would change with enough convincing, but you just kissed him back the same for now. 
As you two kept making out, Peter’s hands moved farther and farther down your sundress. Even though you had been planning this for a few nights, you were just in normal clothes because despite Peter being a genius at most things, you didn’t quite trust him to figure out lingerie with your hands tied up. 
As his fingers reached the hem of your dress, he hooked his fingers around the sides of your underwear. Then, he pulled his lips off of yours and looked up at you. 
“Still ready?” He asked. 
You nodded. “I mean, I don’t know how I’ll fare without being able to pull on your hair, but…”
“Well, you could replace the hair pulling with something else. Maybe you could be as loud as you want now that I don’t live with Aunt May anymore.”
You smirked as he pulled your panties off of you. “I think I will try that.”
He slowly slid his middle finger over your slit. “You’re already wet.” He commented.
“For you? Always.”
He smiled, then leaned down again to press a little kiss to your clit. It started out short and sweet, then he kept going, heated and sloppy. You let out a moan, which encouraged him to keep going. His mouth movements kept getting more intense, and your breaths got heavier. 
With enough reaction from you, Peter made the moment ever spicier by fitting a slender finger inside of you. 
You made another sound, the lewdness of which rivalled only by the sound Peter’s finger made when pumping his finger inside of you. He added another, and it just felt even better. 
“You’re still doing okay, babe?” He asked to confirm. 
“So good, Pete.” You replied breathily. “I’m almost there.” 
He smiled, then brought his mouth back to your heat to guide you to your climax. He kept going in the way he knew was your favourite, and even though you couldn’t tug on his brown hair like you usually did, you motivated him by moaning as loudly as you could without your neighbours hearing. 
And there it was, you felt yourself release around his fingers. You let out a string of whimpers as Peter kept softly kissing your core. 
“Did you like that?” He asked quietly, moving his face out from between your legs. 
“Yeah. Did you?”
“I still like when you pull on my hair when we do that.”
Tumblr media
443 notes · View notes
reidslovely · 8 months
Note
Something about helping frat!blonde! Peter touch up his roots. Like he calls you and reader must think its for hooking up purposes - then he surprises her w “can you. uh..retouchmyrootsplease” and she’s like “??? 🤨wat” and you just go over to his place and spend time with him, washing his hairr, he making eye contact with reader through the mirror, etc. But he’s still stubborn about his feelings so he’s like “this was a one time thing only don’t let it get to ya head”
sorry if this was jumbled I just had this in my head for a while now
Yes this idea is so so so so so cute. I have written something vaguely similar before but I love it so much I don't care to write it again
please reblog or comment in place of liking/hearting this post 🫶🏼
Tumblr media
“Pete?” You questioned picking up your phone, your eyes locked on the clock that read 4:00pm. “It’s far too early for a booty call..what’s up pretty?” 
“Ya flatter bashful.” His chesty laugh could be heard on the other end of the phone. It sent your heart doubling in speed, your cheek pressed lovingly into your shoulder. 
“You still with me bashful? I need you to do me a favor.” 
“So this is a hookup call..you only ask me that if-” You're cut off by him rushing out a string of words. None of which you caught. “Pete..baby. I need you to breathe and say that again.” You laughed softly, already gathering your stuff up to head over to the Theta Tau. Regardless if this was a hookup situation or not you were tired of your homework and Peter always seems to take any type of stress away. 
“Can you uh..” There's an awkward cough and sigh. “Retouchmyrootsplease?” 
The questions still came out as one word this time around but at least you actually caught what he was saying. 
“Sure, Pete.” You tried not to laugh. “Do you have what you need or do we need to run by Sally?” 
“No, no I have everything here for you. Thanks for this.”
“Course Pete, anything for you.” You hung up before you could get any type of snarky reply. 
Peter’s blond locks were a new addition about three weeks into your situation ship and you absolutely loved them. They flattered his face, and made his little baby deer eyes even more baby deer like. Which made you want to kiss him even more, and made it hard to say no when he’s asking you for another round. 
“You’re literally the best for this. Just moved up to like number two in my ranking.”
It was a joke, you were easily number one if not the only girl in Peter’s ranking but you have to play along or else you’ll scare him away. 
“Offended, whose number one.”
“May..sorry.” Peter sighs dramatically, leading you up the stairs to his bathroom. Tossing a few nods and hey’s to his brothers walking down the steps. 
“Mhm can’t be mad at that.” 
Peter laughed sitting on the chair he’d tucked away in the bathroom, pulling off his shirt. 
“Awe did you go ahead and set everything up for me?”
“No I was gonna do it myself but that's how we ended up in this scenario in the first place.”
Peter would never admit to it but he had set everything up for you. He’d done it before he even picked up the phone: not that he knew you'd say yes but he could hope. 
“Mhm I see.” You hummed running your fingers through Peter’s hair. He grabbed his phone starting his music, looking at you in the mirror as you started sectioning his hair out. 
Admittedly the whole time he was locked on you. Every move you made he was locked on you, not wanting to miss a moment. His head lolled back as you ran; you painted the bleach on his roots. Earning soft little ‘stops’ and ‘hold your head up’ from you as he relaxed. Your eyes were fixed on his hair making sure you’re applying everything evenly and correctly. Peter held his phone up in the mirror snapping a quick photo of the two of you. The photo falling amongst the others he’s sneakily taken of you or the both of you that you had no clue about. 
“Okay you gotta sit for a while and then I’ll wash it, tone it, all that after.” You said sitting on the toilet lid next to him taking the gloves off, tossing them in the trash can. 
“This is nice.” 
Peter's comment threw you off, you two only really hung out in the context of having sex or it being mutually beneficial for both. You hated to admit you had more moments like this. 
“Yeah?” 
“Mhm no pressure, at least not for you. I still gotta make jokes and keep you entertained.” 
“Tragic.” You tsked resting your arm on the sink hand to head as your free hand started a 30 minute timer. 
“Come on, we have enough time to watch some of that Hulu cooking show you like.” Peter stood taking your hand in his walking to his room. You flopped down on Pete’s bed watching him sitting next to you. “Careful you’ll get bleach on your..”
“No no, I'm good sitting up.”
You nodded and laid your head on his lap watching The Bear, Pete’s fingers combing through your hair switching between watching the TV and you. 
Pete’s head was tilted back in the sink, a towel under his neck for comfort. “Stop looking down my shirt, Parker.” 
“I’m not…I’m not.” He lied, turning his eyes up to look at you as you shampooed after toning his hair. “Do I look fabulous?”
“Oh absolutely.” You laughed wrapping his hair up in a towel helping him sit up. Ruffling the towel through his hair you laughed watching it sticking up every which way. You blow dried it for him smiling and singing under your breath as you fixed his hair perfectly. 
“How do you feel Parker?” 
“Amazing..I look great thanks bashful.” He says turning around, capturing your hips in his hands. “Let's get dinner, and then we can come back here.” 
“I hate sex after dinner.” 
“No, no we come back here and finish the show.” 
“Oh I get to come back to the Theta house? And not have sex?” You fake a gasp of shock. 
“I know it’s a rare occurrence. This is a one time thing though, don’t let it get to ya head.” Pete taunts, hand rubbing your side grabbing his wallet off his dresser.
“Oh baby it has.” 
Peter knew and even in his playful disdain and stubborn personality you were slowly craving a spot out in his chest and making a home in it, and at this point he had no say in it.
___________
tags: @helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @moonyslove78 @a-lumos-in-the-nox @messymissy @adhdhufflepuff @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @ateliefloresdaprimavera @eevylynn
809 notes · View notes
reverieblondie · 1 month
Note
maybe for a prompt you could do a already dating smut with TASM!Peter Parker with a lot of praise coming from Peter? Or if you don’t wanna write smut just do already dating fluff <33 also I love love LOVE your Neighbors series so far it’s so good seriously)
Sorry this took so long to get out! I hope it has enough praise! Smut head 18+!
“P-Peter, are y-you sure this is safe?” 
“Of course it is…now stay still and hold on.” 
You grip the thin railing in front of you tightly, trying not to pay any mind to the rushing wind blowing past your ears. Closing your eyes, you focus as his gloved hands slide up your trembling thighs, bunching your skirt over your ass and exposing your white panties. Peter bites off his gloves, and you hear them get thrown to the ground by your feet, then his thumb swips over your clothed folds, feeling the damp spot. 
A low whistle leaves his lips as he pushes the cloth more, teasing your wet entrance and sliding up to rub slow circles over your clit. “You’re soaked…and here I thought this would be too much…It looks like you like it…” 
Peter moves your panties to the side and starts to rub the leaking head of his cock over your clit, Its heat is a stark contrast to the cold, thin metal you're pressed against. You can’t help but shudder. 
"Pete,” you whine as he moves his head along your slit, and you arch your back at the contact, begging for more.
“What baby…talk to me. what do you want?” His other hand comes to rub small circles on your clit while he continues to tease you. You're growing frustrated with his teasing, and you let go of the railing to turn and complain, but when you feel yourself swaying too much, you grab a hold of the building's railing again. Peter laughs as you tighten your grip. “Don’t worry, beautiful; you're in safe hands.” 
You keep your eyes shut tightly. “How did I let you talk me into this?” 
Suddenly you feel yourself getting turned around and lifted; you instantly curl yourself around him, holding on for dear life; you feel Peter move around for a moment before you then feel your back being pressed to something; the sound of the rushing wind is louder now. Peter speaks into your ear again. “You're the one who begged your boyfriend for some excitement; I’m only trying to please you.” 
Finally opening your eyes, you look at Peter's smiling face. Then you make the mistake of looking around, and you feel your breath escape you. Peter has you pinned to the building side; it’s an instant drop to your death if his body's sticking ability were to suddenly go out. You shut your eyes and hug him tighter. "Peter, I hate you!” You squeal
“Well, we’re about to change that.” With Peter's sweetly mocking words, you feel his cock rubbing along your slick folds as he rocks his hips into you, as his other hand snakes down to rub your swollen clit as he presses sloppy kisses along your neck. All the sensations are making you arch into him wanting more as you grind against him moaning his name. 
“Tell me what you want, baby; let me hear you.” 
“I want you…Please, Petey..”
Then, in one swift motion, Peter sinks his length into you, making your eyes shoot open from the stretch of the intrusion. Peter bites his lips as he watches the pleasure take you over, and he starts to rock into you. 
“You still hate me?” 
Before you can answer, he pulls out to his tip, then rolls his hips into you, pushing in so deeply that your toes curl and the warmth in your stomach starts to burn like a fire. You look into his eyes with a half-lidded gaze, forgetting you are being fucked against the side of a building. You shake your head quickly.  
“No, I love you.”
219 notes · View notes
meganslife · 3 months
Text
Party Animal - P.P. x Reader
Frat!peter parker x fem!reader
summary: you see your ex at a frat party, and to avoid him wanting to talk to you, you act like you’re dating the closest guy— who just so happens to play along.
A/N: i’m on my frat peter agenda 😈
Tumblr media
A frat party was the last thing on your mind.
Your roommate, Gwen, insisted that you go with her.
“C’mon, Y/N,” She said, “You and Flash broke up a while ago. It’s time to get back in the game!”
You and Flash did break up a month ago, yet he was still calling you every day and begging to get back together. You never let him get under your skin. College has also been stressing you out lately… maybe a party was exactly what you needed to let loose. Or find someone new.
You put on a simple outfit. Just some jeans and a tube top, and then you and Gwen were off to the party.
The house was surprisingly close, only a couple blocks away from your apartment. It was a little risky walking to a party as two women, but you knew that Gwen was strong, and so were you.
“It smells in here,” Gwen laughs, opening the door for you.
You dart to the kitchen before Gwen can even see where you’re going. You just need something to drink. Something to make all of the stress fall off your shoulders.
When you emerge from digging in the fridge for alcohol, Flash is right beside you, staring.
You look at him for a moment, before scoffing and walking away as fast as you can.
He follows close behind, and you know that.
Someone in the living room has to be fair game. Someone to pretend you’re with so Flash will get off your ass. The first person you see is a guy sitting on the couch, legs spread slightly while talking to another guy. He looks at you, and watches as you approach him.
You sit in his lap, hoping you don’t look too awkward, and that Flash sees.
“Do I know you?” The boy grins, his hand sliding across your hip.
You gulp. “I-I’m Y/N.”
“Hi, Y/N. You’re super pretty, but what are you doing in my lap?”
“I’m trying to get Flash off my ass,” You whisper into his ear. “He won’t leave me alone about getting together again. I just need him to leave me alone.”
He laughs, squeezing your hips like he’s done it a million times. “I see…”
“I told you my name. What’s yours?”
“Peter. Peter Parker,” He smiles, “I’m in the frat.”
You smile, “Okay, Peter, how many girls have you kissed tonight?”
“None. I usually don’t,” Peter smirks, looking down at your lips, “Why do you ask?”
Your hands cup his cheeks, and you nearly forget why you’re in Peter’s lap.
“Kiss me?” You ask.
Peter grins, “I usually take girls out first before I kiss them.”
“Shut up,” You laugh, “If you want to take me out then say it.”
“Am I that transparent?”
You scoff, leaning forward and kissing Peter. He kissed back like he’d been craving this.
“No, but seriously,” He murmurs between kisses, “Can I take you out?”
“Later,” you mumble, kissing down his neck.
Peter laughs, “You’re trouble.”
186 notes · View notes
nexusnyx · 1 year
Text
Lost The Game
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
• PART TWO •
In his world, there was no Avengers.
The bad thing about his inter-dimensional trip he had was this—Peter got an idea of what other worlds looked like and parts of him wished for a supernatural helping hand, sometimes, or maybe just someone who understood him. He had allies, but very few friends on this side of his life. This is why when Peter is almost killed by Kingpin, a decision that he's been dreading for months becomes easy in the snap of a finger.
Do I drop the last vail or do I not?
All of his excuses as to why not fly out of the window when Peter's bleeding to death and realizes that none of it matters. All of life is dangerous, on this or any other planet, and if he's always putting his own damn life — personal or not — at risk for the sake of saving a city, he might as well do that and let the woman he loves kiss him with the lights on while he's at it.
He swallows the metallic and thick taste of red in his mouth, reaches his trembling hand up, and knocks.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap.
"Peter?"
The fright in your voice is what startles his eyes open.
"Peter!"
God, he loves your voice so much.
A lot less when it drips in worry like this, but the love is there nonetheless.
"Peter, open your eyes. What—oh my god," you choke on your words, and he feels you pulling his body inside your room.
Guiding himself by memory, Peter helps the way he can, letting his body slide down your bed.
"Gonna get your sheets dirty," he mumbles.
"Oh, for the love of god." There's the feeling of his suit being unzipped at the back, and even through the fogginess, Peter notices how your hands are cold. Shaking. "Peter, what happened?" It's a breathless whisper, and it makes his chest ache more than the bruises did because it sounds so small, and nothing about you is diminutive.
"Kin—ow—Kingpin." The ruthless man's minions might still be stuck in webs hung meters above the ground, but Wilson, Kingpin, that man needs no henchmen to do any damage. It was the point he had to prove today—more to Matt than to Peter, but because Peter had decided to help, he got mingled in the mess.
After a heartbeat, he hears. "Who's Matt?" you ask.
Wait—was Peter talking out loud?
"Oh, god," this time, it's a choked-up sob. "Peter, I think you have a concussion."
Y/n is going to be a doctor, so the probabilities of her being right are very high. He probably does have something on his head—Kingpin grabbed Peter's head in his hand, that enormous, gigantic hand that engulfed all of Peter's skull and smashed it against the nearest thing, which happened to be iron polls.
He's still unsure of what the tension and underlying secret were between that man and Matt, but there was so much anger in there tonight.
"Peter..."
He feels weak, but he still has some strength left and Peter had made up his mind before he arrived at the staircases of your apartment.
If he went to the hospital, Aunt May would have a heart attack.
If he came to you, Peter would have to let you see him.
With the taste of blood polluting every inch of his mouth, it was a surprisingly easy decision to make.
He ignores the strain and the pull on the sides of his body as he reaches up for the mask, and he hears you gasp when he pulls it off in a clean sweep.
"Peter."
"Hey. That's me." He can't laugh right now — or open his right eye that much — but he can smile at you. A weak, bloody thing. At least it's an honest one. "Hi. I think I might blackout."
"Peter," are you crying? Good gods, Peter would clock himself on the face if someone else hadn't beaten him to the punch. "I don't—I don't know if I can take care of all of this."
"It's just—the one on the back. I think I'm losin' lots of blood 'cause of it..."
"What's on your back?"
"Open gunshot wound closed with webs?"
"Peter!"
"I didn't sh... shoot it, baby." He knew she'd be mad the second he threw the webs at himself. "The rest will... it'll fade. Soon."
There's a moment of silence where Peter hears rapid, short breaths. He opens his left eye as much as he can as sees you breathing in through your nose and out of your mouth quickly, then feels the bed dipping when you leave it with purpose. He knows you're going for the first-aid kit, so he already does the job of turning around.
When he hears your footsteps coming back, the last thing he hears is what makes him smile against your duvet.
"I'll take care of you. It's okay. It's gonna be fine, Peter."
While he's aware you're hyping yourself up to believe it more than talking to him, the words are like anesthetic all over his body.
Peter inhales the scent that is acutely yours, and blacks out.
If he were anyone else, Peter would remember close to nothing of his hours alternating between consciousness and not.
Lucky for him, he's part spider.
At first, all he feels, sees, and hears, are small tidbits of you moving things in and around him.
There's the distinct — and nasty — feeling of a needle threading with nylon through his lower upper back.
During that moment, nothing else passes through.
He's distantly aware of your mumbling and whispering, the soft and comforting words not reaching his ears, but the sense they bring drape over his skin almost like a blanket.
Then, when he has a silver of consciousness again, he recognizes through the stinging pain and the dull, throbbing aches all over his body, that the heat he registers is not of his own blood anymore, but of your warm hands along with a warm towel washing him.
That's when he allows sleep to come for the first time.
He wakes up somewhere in the middle of the day judging by the light streaming through your window, and he's happy to access that his body's doing most of the healing by now.
The feeling of a gaping hole is gone, and so is the smell of blood.
Peter wants to look around a bit, but while the throbbing has passed, it's left a dull, sore ache in its place.
You're not there, either.
He knows that because Peter's spidey senses have almost a direct link to you, and you're not in the room.
It takes him a couple of minutes with the taste of sand at the back of his throat and that pounding on the back of his head for him to realize he can open his eyes.
There's a glass of water right next to him, and he smiles.
Of course you'd do that.
Even after he's ruined your nice duvets — after promising he'd never spill blood on your blankets again, shit — Peter still gets the kindest side of you.
And then he remembers—you saw his face.
The lights were on, he was a mess, and fuck—you saw him.
You saw him and saved his life, one more time.
How many times would you have to do it?
Why was his life so dangerous?
Peter's stomach starts to resemble something alive, something with tentacles and it's reaching up, so he swallows it back down.
After gulping the glass of water, he hears it.
Distant sounds of conversation.
Felicity's voice is what registers first. It's not as familiar to him as yours is right now, but it is the reason it brought him to you in the first place, even if Peter hates thinking about that. He ignores your roommate and the things he keeps hidden from you like most people would ignore a spider in the upper corner of their bathroom.
It hurts to try to hear the conversation.
The gun blasted too close to his ear, and Peter's not the biggest at eavesdropping, so he just lets his upper body lay down again and allows the darkness on the corners of his mind to take over the rest.
Next, there are the hours in-between.
As the sun goes down, Peter drifts between the land of dreams and this one, enjoying both of them very much.
In here, there's you with a warm, wet cloth cleaning his wounds that need tending, and in his dreams, there's you sitting next to a blond girl, smiling at him.
At some point, Peter opens his eyes and sees you sitting on your chair in front of your computer desk.
Your eyes widen and you slide the chair closer, looking at every inch of his face with furrowed eyebrows.
"Peter," it's the softest you've ever said his name. "Is there anyone you'd like me to text? About your whereabouts?"
Aunt May.
"You can go back to sleep right after, but you came without your backpack, and it's been almost a day—do you want some pain medicine? I can get it for you."
He nods.
You nod back, then get up and exit the room. Peter takes the opportunity to grab the notepad you have on your nightstand, write down Aunt May's phone number and name and a message underneath it.
I'm at Y/n's. Be back soon, aunt May. Love you <3
It's an ugly scribble, but your handwriting is far worse than anything he could dream of producing, so he sits back against your headboard and waits for you and the pills.
When you come back with them, Peter almost swallows it down without the water, but he's still so damn thirsty that another glass goes in a gulp.
He feels your eyes on him the whole time, and while he wants to talk, he prefers to wait for his body to finish using all his strength in stitching his insides up before he tries any conversation.
You grab the glass from his hand, place it on the nightstand and sit on the bed right next to him.
"Are you cold?" You ask, pressing your palm and the back of your hand to his forehead, neck, cheeks.
He's shirtless. Well—it's not anything you haven't seen before.
He shakes his head and clears his throat. The desert has left the back of his mouth, but the aftertaste of rust is still there.
"I'm sorry." He can say that, at least. "I am really sorry, Y/n. For coming to you like th—"
A hand tapes his mouth shut—your hand, and looking at your face in the bedroom light knowing you're looking back at his is not as terrifying as he made it out to be in the countless scenarios where he thought about this before.
"What's the alternative?" You ask him with a shrug. "You bleed out on the street because some drug lord had some beef with a Matt dude and you tried to help your friend?" He misses the heat of your hand as soon as it's gone. "I prefer you bleed on my death start duvets than on the streets, buddy. These ones I can wash."
Buddy.
'Don't call me buddy—I'm not your buddy. Fuck, I swear you say these things just to get a rise out of me. Do your buddies do this, huh? Touch you like this? Make you this wet? You get so wet for me, baby—'
'Peter.'
'Yeah, exactly. I taught you my name for a reason. Don't forget that.'
After a heartbeat, Peter licks his dry lips and looks away from yours. Those memories make his blood rate rise, and he's sure that's not good in the state he's still in. "I'm still not your buddy," he says. His voice comes out raspy, and he watches your gaze dropping from his eyes to his lips.
Peter's in love.
The way you look at him.
The way you look at his tall and graceless body already drove him insane, but the way you look at his face?
Parted lips and that distance gaze of someone who's getting lost in memories and the present?
Peter loves it. He's been in love with you, but seeing the softness and adoration mixing with desire on your face has put the cherry on the cake.
"Good to know that," you whisper back.
I'm happy to know this doesn't change things, he hears.
He scoffs. "I would suck at being your buddy."
"Yeah? Why's that?" You're smiling now, and as a reflex, so is he.
Peter frowns. Isn't it obvious? "I've bled on your bed more times than I can count, you've put your fingers inside me in more ways than you can count, and I'm pretty sure that if I tried to stay away from you, your lips, or that pretty brain of yours for longer than two weeks, I'd have withdrawal symptoms." He's sure of it, actually. He tried staying away from you, and it sucked. "I can't be your buddy, baby." He chuckles. "We're not meant to be buddies. I already explained that to you."
Your lips quiver, moving upwards in a smile, slowly.
"Right." The way you bite on the bottom lower one tells Peter all you need to know about where your mind went.
His body leans forward as if there's a magnetic poll right on the center of you pulling you towards him.
Unfortunately for him, he's still healing from a very big pound.
He makes it only a few centimeters away from the headboard before the muscles inside him sting like a sharp hook and he stops—"Ah."
"Don't move." You're on in an instant. A comforting — and silently demanding — hand on his bicep, scooching closer to him in the bed. "You still need... I don't know how much longer you need, actually." A chuckle. "I still haven't got a clue how your healing works, Spidey. Just... lay down. Stand still until you're not moving won't rip apart the stitches I so beautifully made, 'kay?"
That brings Peter's hand and eyes to the work at hand.
He inspects the stitch-up work and—you're right. It's beautiful, neat, and professional work.
He can almost hear the praises of your teachers during class, as well as the envious looks of your colleagues who have three times less practice than you in the matter.
(Truth be told, Peter's aware you'd have gotten to this point with or without him as a guinea pig because while you may feel or say like everything around you is collapsing, studying is a ball you've yet to let it drop. You do it and do it well. 'If I'm gonna do this, I might as well do it well, huh? you had told him. Peter believed a lot of it was innate talent, but he might be biased to speak of you.)
"Grade A work, Y/l/n."
"Thanks, Spidey."
When he looks up, Peter takes a punch to the chest.
There you are, looking at him again.
Damn.
He's frozen.
Have you lied to him all this time? He's pretty sure this is the effect of actual superpowers and not just the way your eyes glint under the light of the day.
It must have something to do with the frizz in your hair that gives you almost an angelic aura—there's gold, orange, a touch of pink and lilac touching your cheeks and the soft, dopey smile you have on your face, and Peter stands there with his hand hanging halfway to his lap, as frozen in the air as he is looking at you looking at him.
You can see him, and Peter has never felt more comfortable feeling this exposed.
This vulnerable.
"Hi," he whispers.
Instead of answering, your blinks seem to slow down in time.
One of your hands reaches up to his cheek, and Peter finds himself leaning towards the hand.
Magnets.
When the soft, velvety touch of your palm meets his dry skin, Peter takes in a deep breath.
Closes his eyes.
Your hand cups his cheek, and caresses his face, as slowly as you are breathing.
Then, Peter's spidey senses feel the vibrations and electricity on your skin inching closer, and he thinks the slow-motion of your delicate, almost afraid, and calculated moves are making the energy and waves that travel between your body and his twice as real.
He might get shocked.
Peter feels when your lips are mere inches away from his. He wants to dive in, but he lets you dip your fingers in the water and go as you want.
He can feel how much you're feeling right now.
Seeing him is not only affecting him, and that's perhaps why his body is rendered at your mercy.
When your lips press against his, they're as plump and tender as always.
He exhales, at last, enjoying the sensation of warmth that spreads through his body when yours connects to his in any intimate way. Usually, it takes a little bit more for the tingle to travel from head to toe like this, but something about the kiss and the way you're keeping still and yet he knows you feel it, just as he does, it makes it even better that he's all buzzing.
Peter's underwater, and it's almost a reflex when he exhales and presses harder.
Closer.
With abandon, Peter lets his body relax on yours, not wanting to push it any further than it can go, but wanting to melt against the welcoming and familiar heat of your body.
His right hand goes up to your hair, and he gets a few more soft, tender presses of your lips on his, as well as the sensual and slow drags of your mouth against his in between them before you move your head back a few inches, still keeping your hand on his face.
Peter swallows the knot in his throat.
"I... should get you food," you whisper.
He's too busy staring at how pink your lips are for a few seconds.
Eventually, he hums. "That'd be nice."
"I got soup." You lick your lips. There's a color on your cheeks, and Peter is definitely in trouble. He hasn't gotten the instinct to draw in a long time, yet here he is, trying to figure out what's the correct shade of your cheeks. "From the deli shop you like."
"Oh." He loves that place. "I love that place!" He whispers excitedly.
Your smile widens. "I know." With a quick, delicious peck of goodbye, you get up from the bed in one quick motion. "I'll be back. I'm gonna text," you pick up the paper from the nightstand and read it. "Aunt May. Wait—you want me to text her this? Will she know who I am? Aunt May knows me?"
Peter laughs. "Of course Aunt May knows you."
In your few blinks Peter sees the surprise. "Right." You turn around sharply, cheeks pulled up from the smiling. "Text. Soup. Then sleep. I gotta go run a few errands, so I'll shut the windows for you." More seriously, you add. "You should really get some rest. You look a bit... pale."
"It's the caucasian in me."
You snort. "God, it's horrible when you try to be funny."
"Yet, you're smiling."
"At you." You get up and regardless of what you say, the nose scrunch proves that Peter amused you, to say the least. "I'm gonna get your food. Stay put, Spidey boy."
"Man, Spider-Man."
He's arguing now more for the sake of your smile than because your 'boy' has gotten a rise out of him.
It used to.
The first time you said it, Peter recalled the tingling on his body and that desire to correct—not a boy, I'm a man, you'll see, I'll show you.
Did he feel silly two seconds afterward correcting you when he saw in your face that you'd be pulling his metaphorical pigtails? Maybe. Luckily for him, the mask hid it back then.
Now, it's just a skit between you two.
The teasing back and forth is almost like the sea tide.
You come back with the soup and sit back down on your desktop chair, returning to your books and papers while he eats. Peter recalls the day when he asked why you never eat when he's there and, on the occasion when you gave him food, why didn't you stay close to him while he ate.
'You're distracting when you're eating.' You had said.
'What? I'm distracting? How?'
'You make all these little noises when you're enjoying it. And your lips get super pink 'cause you keep licking them. It's distracting.'
'From what? You're not even doing anything.'
'I don't need to be doing something. It just... is.'
Later, he realized it was distracting because it made you want to kiss him. To take away the plate in his hands and replace it with your body instead.
He's content to share looks with you over the bowl of warm food and watch your profile as you read and type. The concentrated crease in your brows and your lips set in a firm line are distracting too, he thinks, but he enjoys it.
Peter finishes the food and the result of some protein, carbs and nutrients making their way inside him is instant—his eyes get heavier, and blinking is a bit harder, and all he wanted was to cuddle you. Slide under the blanket, say goodbye to the world.
It's when he lowers the bottom half of his body that Peter feels he's still wearing his suit.
"How come you haven't kicked me out of your bed yet? I'm gross," he says.
Even though his voice is softer and lower than before, you turn to him.
Smiling, you shrug. "I've been gross before. You're forgiven because of circumstances." Then, something happens—you blush. You were looking at his body before but when you look up, Peter recognizes the flash of 'oh, it's him' that passes fast as lightning in your eyes. "Also, you're pretty," you add in a whisper. Your peachy cheeks darken, looking good enough to eat. "Pretty privileges."
Peter feels it—the heat on his face. He laughs, ducking his head down. He's not used to people complimenting him like that, but coming from you it makes it three times worse. "So it is a real thing."
"Oh, it definitely is."
"Good to know." He hates to know he's making your small piece of safe haven dirty, but he'll make up for it. "As much as I'd love to stay awake and watch you study and be gorgeous for the next couple of hours, I think my brain's about to shut down in the next few minutes."
"Sleep, Spidey." If there's such thing as magic through the voice or words, Peter believes you have it. The gentle softness with which you say those two words are better than any of your blankets. "I'll be there soon."
That's even better. God, I love sleeping with you.
He hears a giggle.
"It's mutual, Peter."
He loves the sound of that, too.
If Peter believed in something, he'd have beautiful religious metaphors to use about the way you look in the mornings.
He'd maybe talk about how waking up with you next to him is the only sanctuary he needs, and for a Jewish boy who's missed so much of what one looks or sounds like, he's sure it felt something like this.
If Peter believed, he'd have more words to say about the way your tenderness makes him feel like he's holy.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better."
"Good. I'm glad... d'you wanna take a shower? I can separate some clothes for you."
"Are you coming with me?"
Peter would have words for what it feels like to sit in your loft's bathroom in his bloodied, mended superhero suit, his feet touching the freezing cold floor and his body still running as hot as ever because he can hear you walking around the place in your fuzzy socks while you wait for the water to warm.
How can he be so at peace like this?
He's beaten himself up for much less, but the seriousness in your tone when you told him to stay put while you changed the sheets only made him warm.
It made him feel cared for and nothing more.
Peter removes the rest of his suit. It comes off with difficulty—the sweat's stuck the material to his skin, and it still hurts to move, but he manages.
He feels the fresh tissues inside of him.
His heightened senses tell him the main wound is still healing, but everything else is almost okay. Peter needs maybe a good meal and a couple more days to be brand new, which is more than he'd expected when he left the bay area with webs sticking his skin together.
When you come back and see him already naked, Peter's happy that his eyes' swelling has done down.
He'd hate to miss the lust in your gaze.
To miss the obvious way your eyes travel up and down his body.
"You could've gone inside already," you whisper.
It's barely nine in the morning, there are only you two in the place and Peter has no idea why you'd think he wants to go anywhere without you.
"Was waiting for you." He's more at ease sitting naked on your toilet than he's been in three, maybe four years. That means something, right?
You start taking off your pajamas, and Peter gets up to help.
Not that you need it. He just loves removing clothes from your body.
The steam takes over the bathroom and by the time you two are immersed underneath the water, wet as rain, Peter already feels new.
Not even the best prayers could do that.
He loves the showerhead here because the water pressure is great and it's big enough to almost give space to the two of you. Almost.
That's why he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his body.
He wants your warmth much more than the water's.
That's when he feels it—the shaky, interrupted way you breathe. Your arms come up around his middle so fast that he almost has to take a step back to keep himself in place, but he's rooted there.
And you're crying.
"Y/n?" Peter looks down.
You shake your head in three quick motions. Not yet.
Peter's not an idiot, and while he may be a little slow to the mysteries of his own heart, the loud and physical thumping of your heart against his ribcage is right there and doesn't lie.
He can feel every beat of it, and maybe there was something in that container that Kingpin had dropped on his head and all that mysterious blue sand inside of it, but Peter's sure he can see the black clouds exiting your head.
He sees the darkness of worry and fear leaving you.
Peter clings on tighter, letting you cry silent tears into his chest. He hopes the kisses he presses on your temple and your face make any worries left to be gone easier. Quicker.
He kisses the parts he can reach of you, and refuses to let go.
Eventually, you pull back against the hold of his arms and when you look up with those swollen, red eyes, Peter realizes what it all means.
What being so comfortable around you, laughing so easily, coming to you many more times even though he knew he shouldn't, watching you sleep, and all those minors or big things that made him stop and go—it means something, right?
It means Aunt May was right.
She was right when she said the world goes on regardless of how much we want it to stop sometimes, and right now, Peter's world is you.
When your lips, trembling just like your chin is, open and say, "I was terrified," in a whispered confession, Peter knows.
He'd give up anything for you. He'd conquer anything for you, as well, which he imagines lives on the other side of that coin.
"I am so sorry, baby," he tells you, blinking through the sting in his own eyes.
You shake your head and his heart almost falls to the ground before you pick it up. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Pete. I know—" you swallow a visible knot, sniffle, and then try again. "You have a responsibility. With your power, and... with what you believe."
With great power, comes great responsibility.
He nods.
"And please don't take this wrongly—don't shut down, or stop coming. God—if you stop coming I swear I'll die of worry—"
"Y/n." He interrupts because he knows when you're about to spiral as much as you know when he's about to go on a ramble. "I'd never. I—you're allowed to be scared. I'm not gonna go into martyr mode and make that decision for you. If you want me gone, I'll be gone. I know I'm a lot. I know my life, and how scary it is to be around it, but I think I also know you and if I take away your choice of being around me and all my mess—" he shakes his head. "I don't fancy that ass-whooping."
You laugh.
It untangles all the messy knots and webs inside his chest that formed when he saw your eyes puffy, and Peter breathes in what feels like clean, fresh air.
"I'm happy you're smart," you say.
He shrugs his shoulders. "It's what my teachers say."
"Is it?"
With your head tilt, he notices—he's nearing territory he used to avoid before.
Peter breathes in again, reaches behind him in the shower, and grabs your shampoo.
"Can I do your hair?" he asks.
Your face remains the same as you nod, but he sees you breathing out. Accepting his silence. The change in subjects, as it usually is.
When he's got enough bubbles forming, he massages your scalp and starts. "I got a scholarship for Biophysics, so I guess I am pretty smart, but it wasn't 'till one of my teachers at ESU told me my paper was 'informative even through the minors detours it took, which funnily enough, were informative as well' that I knew I had a good head for more than just web-developing and stuff like that."
Should he tell you about the time when he traveled between Universes and met the other versions of him?
He'd love for you to know how clever Peter 1 is.
Peter knows if it weren't for that experience, exactly four years after what happened at the clock, he'd be in a much worse place now.
I wouldn't have met you, he thinks.
"What d'you wanna do with the degree?" you ask him.
"Mmm. I don't know yet. Working with genetic mutation is not too on the nose, is it?" he chuckles.
You turn around, smiling wider than ever before.
"Are you for real?" you laugh.
"I am!" He laughs too.
"Gimme that," you take the shampoo from his hand, pour some on your hand, and look up expectantly at him. Peter ducks his head in silent permission, and you start doing the same to him. "I think that while it's a bit on the nose, it also makes a lot of sense, and given your personal experience, you could make breakthroughs no one else would. Your circumstances give you a lot of room."
"My dad was a Biochemist." The information slips out, and Peter opens his eyes. When had I closed them? He gives you a sheepish smile, and closes his eyes again. "I lot of what I know came from his research."
"Did it have anything to do with spiders?" you ask with a giggle, thinking you're being funny.
Here's to hoping. "It did," he answers.
Your movements halt for a second, then start again. "Oh." You stay silent for a moment. "Big brain runs in the family, so I imagine you'll make breakthroughs he's only dreamt of. Just... make sure you pick an area 'cause it's what you want to make yourself happy, you know?"
Peter wonders how many people have the luxury of having someone care for them this way.
"I will." He smiles when you pull him under the water stream. When the shampoo is rinsed, he opens his eyes. "And you? D'you have an area you wanna work at?"
Hearing you talk about your hopes for the future while showering makes Peter notice it's the first he's been thinking about the future and what paths he could take for it.
You two laugh a lot in there, and the only moment when somberness takes over the steamy bathroom is when your fingertips graze over the black nylon that still peaks out of his lower stomach.
Peter ignores the tingle your touch brings, and kisses you instead.
He distracts you by asking you more about residency, school, tests, and anything that comes to mind.
Your voice is one of his favorite things.
In your bedroom, Peter gets dressed in the sweats that now are basically his—one of his designated clothes from when he's around.
Now though, he can wear the sweater and shake his wet hair all over you.
He can pull you to his lap on the bed and kiss you filthy with the sun shining on both of you.
Lights on, face out in the open, nothing to hide because there never was.
When he starts grinding his hips upwards, seeking the friction of your heat—and god, you're already burning on his lap, and he doesn't need to touch your panties to know that you barely put them on and he's already ruined them—but you stop him with a hand around his neck.
"You're gonna bust your stitches," you say, mouth still close to his.
He groans. "Baby, c'mon..."
You shake your head, laughing under your breath. "As much as I want to, you'll have to wait a day more, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you."
"You're hurting me right now," he whines, grinding on you. He hisses, not because of how hard he is from just a few minutes of making out with you and having his mind spin with how good you smell, how dizzying it makes him have you like this, no barriers whatsoever, but because he feels his insides protesting with the sharper thrust.
You give him a look that says I know what you're hiding. "Peter." While you ask him to stop, Peter's yet to feel you stop enjoying the ministrations of his hips. "Hey," you lean in closer and whisper in his ear. "You can enjoy fucking me like you've never fucked me before now... and you're gonna waste that first time of ours by not being able to do all that you wanna do?"
You are evil.
Peter moans. Hides his face in the space between your boobs, and kisses them since he's there already.
"So what you're telling me is that I should take you for a coffee and some breakfast and a few days and then we can come back here?" he asks.
"Yeah," you smile.
"And then I can take my time with you?" he confirms, his kisses going up. He loves the column of your throat. Loves the way you bear your neck for him, breathless and surrendered every time.
"Yeah..." this one comes out breathier, and Peter smiles before sucking on the skin of the space that's really sensitive.
"I can make you cum in all the ways I like?" Peter knows it's just torture at this point, but he keeps doing it. Keeps moving his hips in small little circles, and groans when he feels you meeting his movements. "On my tongue first... then on my fingers..."
"Only if you let me suck you off 'till you cum in my mouth."
Sneaky. "No." Peter hears your brain gears halting at it.
"Peter!"
"No!" He laughs. "Listen, I don't know what my—"
"—if you call your cum something weird again I'm leaving your lap right now."
"...my semen."
"Ugh. That's somehow worse," you laugh.
"I don't know what's in it! It's mutated, okay? What if you get pregnant from it? I am very fast. My sperm can be too."
Holding yourself with your arms around his neck, you stare at him with the blankest look.
The smile obviously hidden in the corners of your lips is where the truth lies, though.
"You know I'm right," he shrugs his shoulders.
You sigh. Heavily. "Ugh. I hate that I'm paranoid enough to buy your bullshit," you push him backward hard, and he falls into the bed in surprise, laughing. Leaning forward, you cage your arms around his head. "I wanna do so much to you," you whisper.
Just like that, the temperature's closer to the Sun again.
You have powers.
The power to make him religious. To make a conversation shift between the Sun and the Moon, just by laughing or speaking in a different tone.
Peter feels the tip of his cock dripping in his boxer, and he closes his eyes, exhaling from his nose. He grabs you by the neck and pulls you to a kiss, which turns messy and needy the second you moan in that pretty way he loves. Like a kitty, or like someone's squeezing you hard, just the way you like it.
He's grabbing you by the neck, squeezing and letting go, trying to gather his damn thoughts into coherent sentences and not the mess of I want you so bad I love you so much, so all that he can do is rub his forehead on yours.
Bring your body as close to his as possible.
That's what happened.
All these months culminated in this—Peter being unable to stay away, to him smiling in the corridors of his college, to the unfathomable infatuation with your legs, or the way you snort when you laugh really hard.
Into him loving you.
He's suddenly overwhelmed by the truth of it:
Peter is in love with you. He loves you.
Loves you for your brain, your skilled hands, the way you hate the Giants and love music he's never heard of. Loves you for all the ways you're you and the ways you remind him of his very first love too, but more than anything, because he knows he'd love you even if nothing was similar.
He swallows the knot in his throat and pulls you to a kiss.
You feel the difference in it—he knows you do because you hold his face with gentle hands, but answer the kiss with the same devotion.
You let him take over the kiss, let him taste his tongue on yours until he's got no oxygen left in his lungs and has to pull back.
He sees it in your face that something's taken over you, too.
"You can do anything you want. Anytime," he says. He feels your legs clenching around his waist as a response, and thinks to the hell with it. "What if you did all the work, hm? I promise I'll stay still. I'll web my own wrists to the bed if you want, just—please?" he begs.
"Peter..."
"I wanna feel you, baby." It's not even about the sex, or about cumming. It's about being as close to you as possible. He needs to be as close to you as possible. "I just wanna feel you. Wanna be inside you." Peter grabs your face again, smashing his lips on yours. "D'you have any idea how fucked I'd be without you? It just—" he's barely breathing, and he knows you feel why. "I realized just how much I adore every goddamn inch of you and I wanna feel you." He kisses you again, and again. "I owe you my life, baby."
You shake your head at his words and Peter moves his hand down to your chin, holding it still.
"Yes, I do. And I love that," he smiles. "I fell in the best hands of this city... and your hands are just one of the reasons why I'm in love with you."
"Peter." This time, it's you who smashes your mouth on his.
The first time he heard his name coming out from your lips, he thought he'd cum on the spot. He remembers feeling his dick twitching inside of you just at the mention of it—his name, and you.
He loved it.
He lets you kiss him to your desire and when you pull back with those puffy lips, he smiles.
You're looking at him like one looks at something they barely believe it's true. He's seen looks like this a few weeks ago when he went to the museum with May and he saw people staring at what he assumes is their favorite art pieces—nothing but attention to detail and a shine in their eyes.
He feels naked, even though he's not.
"I've been in love with you since the day you told me you had glass shrapnel all over your body because Mrs. Levinson was gonna take the fall for Castle's collateral damage, Y/n, I couldn't have that." You shrug like it's easy, like you haven't just given him the present of a lifetime and stolen every last bit of anxiety and sadness he had hidden in the corners of his mind, then kisses him.
Softly press your lips on his, once, then twice.
When he feels your hands sliding down his body, Peter warms up.
Powerful. From Moon to Sun, there he goes again.
There his body goes.
Peter knows standing still will be a bit of torture, and everything will be heightened from how little he can move, but he's okay with that.
Whining under the ministrations of your hands might be one of his top three activities ever. Peter watches you get off from on top of him so you can take off your sweatpants, and he groans under his breath when you slide your leg over his waist again with the panties still on.
"Just slide it to the side—fuck. Yeah, like that, baby. I love it like this."
Your attention to detail is unmatched.
When you learn something he likes, you never let it go. As soon as Peter feels your hand slipping inside his boxer and getting his cock out there, he's already moaning.
"Stand still," you tell him.
He nods, eagerly. Peter watches you pull your panties to the side, guide the head of his dick to your entrance and when the tip slides in, he feels you coming back, caging him between your arms.
You slide down painfully slow, taking your time with it.
To have something to hold on to, he grabs your ass with one hand and your face with the other. Having his hands on you is a must if he's gonna be good for you.
He might've said he could web his hands to the bed, but if he did that, he'd have to web his hips as well.
"Ahhh." Peter feels the walls of your pussy clenching around him, and he closes his eyes at the feeling.
You move back up, then down again until you're fully seated on his lap and he's fully buried inside of you.
"Use me, baby," he tells you. He might be out of his mind already—has it always been this hot to be inside you? "Fuck—you're always so wet for me. How are you this wet—oh."
You slam your hips down, pulling a grunt from him.
"You make me this way and you know it," you whine to him.
Peter admires you for keeping up with a gym routine, but he admires more the benefits it reaps: the way your legs can hold the weight of bouncing up and down as slow or as fast as you like.
He pulls your head closer until he can kiss you.
"You're gonna use me, hm?" Peter asks between kisses, grunting at how tight you are. "Use those thunder thighs to drive me insane?"
"Peter you feel so fucking good," you breathe out.
The praise warms him up even further. Peter's eyes close in response, and he whines at how hard it is to keep his hips on the bed and not pistoning up to meet your delicious thrusts. "You feel better," he mutters, a bit drunk on the wetness pouring out of you. It's so damn hot in and all around him. "So tight for me, baby."
"Oh, god."
"Hhnh—fuck. Fuck, do that again," he whines.
You do it—you move all the way up until he almost slips out, then slams those hips down again. And again, and again, and again, until the room is nothing but the sound of your skins slapping on one another and your mouths breathing on each other, grunting and moaning.
Peter loves swallowing your moans almost as much as he loves swallowing the slick from your pussy.
"Fuck, if I had a little bit more strength in me I'd ask you to sit on my face after this," he says.
You moan even louder now.
Peter smiles.
He loves it when you two are alone. Loves when you let go, especially if it's to use him to your pleasure.
Peter holds your hip instead of your ass now and tries to help you. While you don't need it, the strength of even just one of his arms is appreciated, and he watches as you let go of all pretenses and just fuck yourself on his cock.
It's when you grab him by the chin and look him in the eye that Peter feels you're fucking him too.
You clench around him. Purposely.
Peter moans as loud as you, and plants his feet on the bed.
The change in angle makes you scream, and as a response, you smash your lips on his again.
He knows you're close by the way you start whining into the kiss.
Peter lets go, too. He kisses you back, all tongue, teeth, bites and moans of your name. Uncoherent sentences and babbles about your pussy and how fucking good you make him feel, and he feels the tension building up in his groins before he'd imagine.
He hates coming before you. Peter makes it a habit to make you cum before he does, but he's in heaven, he's in you, and you're staring at him.
It's that which does it.
"Baby I can't hold it—oh fuck, Y/n, don't do that," if you keep clenching around him just to get a rise of him you'll get more than just that, and he whines because of it. "I'm close. I'm so so close, you feel too good."
He moves his hand from your head in direction of your clit, but you grab him by the wrist and pin his arm above his head, holding tight onto his wrist. While he could break free easier than breathing, feeling how tightly you're gripping him makes his head spin.
He's at your mercy, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
"Y/n, please." Please stop bouncing so fast, please slow down, baby, please don't clench again.
Your hips slow down just a fraction, and you move until your lips are almost touching his.
Then you ask. "Who has your heart, baby?"
Peter blinks, opening his eyes. His mouth hangs open, jaw wide for a second before he answers. "You."
You move your hips in the way a dancer would, circling like you're trying to spell his damn name or something, and then slam all the way down. "You're mine, baby?"
Peter's head is somewhere too far for him to reach, but he still manages to nod. "All yours."
"I love you so fucking much," you cry on his lips, and then you start again—the merciless speed of your hips against his while your hand holds his arm up and your other is on his neck.
"I love you more," Peter cries back, reaching for a kiss that you give with all the desire in the world. He kind of wants his hand free to hold your face, and kind of wants to see how much you'd fight him to stand still, but neither one happens because you start to speed up and Peter's moans grow louder and louder.
Being as attracted as you are by his sounds, your legs start shaking and squeezing around him.
"Cum for me, Y/n, please, please, please," before I lose it and cum inside you, please.
"Cum inside me first."
"What?"
"Cum in me." You sound as out of it as he is, and Peter's only human at the end of the day. "Please. Do it. Do it, Peter. I wanna feel you. Please, Spidey, c'mon."
Peter cums with a yell, and his hips can't take it, bucking up to meet your thrusts in the last seconds, and it must be the strength with which he fucks into you, the angle, the way he's crying out your name or just everything together, but you cum right with him.
Both of your bodies shake and tremble together, in a peculiar and hard-to-achieve glorious moment.
He'll need many minutes to recover, and you'll need even more to gather the strength and will to let him come out from inside of you, but none of that matters for the time being.
Peter's content to stay inside you for now, just as you are to lay on his chest.
He lets the sound of your hearts beating like hummingbirds bring him back to Earth.
There's a smile on his face, and with minimum inspection, he feels there's a smile resting on his shoulder, too. Your lips press kisses on the exposed skin there, and he feels your grin when the kisses stop.
Peter's not a very religious man, but he might have just found his heaven on Earth.
Tumblr media
↳ my inbox 💌 | tip jar ♡ | ✒️ masterlist ↲
1K notes · View notes
Text
“ twenty–bucks. „
Tumblr media
mcu!peter parker x fem!reader.
IN WHICH — the avengers had their theories about you and peter’s secret pining, but it wasn’t until a mission went wrong that they realized how serious it was.
WARNINGS (18+) → mentions of blood/wounds, cursing, angst, fluff, hurt reader.
✨masterlist✨.
2k.
Tumblr media
Peter had been counting the minutes since you two started dating. It had been twenty months since you joined the Avengers, seventeen months since he realized how hard he’d fallen for you, nine months since you first kissed, and eight and a half months since you started your relationship.
It were though it all happened yesterday. Everything felt like it happened so fast; yet on the other hand, everything felt like it hadn’t even happened at all.
Tony Stark had scolded Peter about the difficulties of dating an Avenger, and what harm that would do to their reputation, how the government would respond, the amount of paperwork the two of you would have to fill out…blah blah blah.
Despite how often their teammates teased them, or encouraged the other to make a move, you two decided to keep your relationship a secret.
Hiding a relationship from the Avengers wouldn’t be too difficult. At least, that’s what you told him. It certainly added some adrenaline to your dynamic; the secret hand holds under the table at meetings, side–eyed conversations across the room, fucking in the storage closet as quietly as possible, the little things.
You made it all worth the risk. That is, until he remembered what the real risk of dating an Avenger really was.
Peter practically flew off the ground with how fast he ran towards you. His ears rang, deafening him from how quiet the world fell around him as he kept himself focused on your limp figure. The glossing breeze over his suit felt numbing, especially as he tripped and slid on his knees til he was finally able to take you in his arms.
“Baby..” He broke the silence, shaky fingers grazed your arm as he rolled your body over. “Babe, we–” Quick to examine you, his eyes fell wide at the large gash in your abdomen. Blood pooled out through your suit from the glass lodged in your stomach, still poking out of your skin. Peter swallowed thickly, trying to keep himself from panic.
The entire world stopped moving.
His entire world stopped moving.
Everything ran cold.
Peter didn’t know what happened. He didn’t know how he could’ve let this happen. One second, you were assigned to keep watch in the abandoned foyer, and the next? Peter left you for what felt like two seconds to kick a grimy dude’s ass or two, and there you were: unconscious and bleeding out.
“Kid? Squirt?” Tony asked through the earpiece intercoms, referring to both Peter and his unconscious girlfriend. As startling as the sudden voice was, Peter needed it to ground him back to the present. “Do you kids copy?”
It took everything in Peter to keep his lip from quivering. He nearly forgot to answer with how clouded his thoughts were. Cradling you carefully in his arms, he adjusted his grip to fumble over the earpiece. “We need a medic!!” Peter exclaimed, taking in as deep of a breath as he could muster, “Y/N’s unresponsive–”
You laid cold in Peter’s shaky grasp, not moving other than the shuttered lifting and easing of your shoulders with your breath. You were still alive, and Peter tried to cling to that as much as he could. He’d lost too many people. He couldn’t bear to lose you, too.
“Don’t freak out. And don’t touch her wound.” Tony sounded extra stern, which was how he typically expressed panic. It felt like a personal jab at Peter, but he knew better than to interpret it so malicely. “Bruce has your location and is on his way now.”
Peter could barely process the sentence, but all that registered was that help was on the way. He pulled the mask off his face before pulling yours off as well. Vision blurry, he could still make out the cuts that managed to scrape your cheeks.
He pressed his lips to your hairline, holding you gently in his arms. Your skin was cold against his touch, and he treated you as delicately as he could. He knew you weren’t dead, but knowing that you got hurt and he could’ve done something to stop it, he blamed himself. And he didn’t know what else to do besides rock you back and forth while the tears spilt from his eyes.
Footsteps approached behind him, but Peter was too focused on counting your breaths to shift his focus onto them. He kept hold of you, only moving his stare from your tattered face when someone shadowed over the two of you.
Natasha met Peter’s stare for a moment before crouching down to examine your injuries. Her lips pressed into a small line, tensing at how much blood you were losing.
“Do you know what happened?” She broke through the silence — At least, what would’ve been silence if not for Peter’s choked sobs.
He exhaled, shaking his head. “She was– She was keeping watch while I.. While I fought off the–”
Rushed footsteps through the rubble of the warehouse cut Peter off as he and Natasha looked over, Bruce and Steve running in.
Peter felt Natasha snake her arms under you, lifting you out of his grasp with ease. He felt himself panic at your absence.
“W–Wait!” He cried, more intensely than he intended.
The three looked at him, curious at his urgency. They watched as he stood up, finally wiping the tears from his eyes. “I don’t want to, uh- to leave her..”
A small, sympathetic smile touched Bruce’s lips as he nodded. “You don’t have to, but we gotta hurry back to the quinjet.” He started, taking steps back the way he came from, “I don’t have the supplies to treat her right now.”
Tumblr media
“Has he eaten today?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.” Bruce replied solemnly, “I’m starting to worry about him, Nat.”
As you began to come to, faint murmurs grasped at your attention.
“He’s barely left this room since we got back yesterday. We’re lucky he’s stretching his legs to go find her some blankets.” You recognized Bruce’s voice instantly, though you kept your eyes shut as your consciousness collected itself. “I’ve never seen him so distraught.”
“Y’know..” Natasha spoke up, “He slept here last night.”
You felt your heart break and skip a beat at her words.
There was a pause. “I–I know. He was asleep beside her when I came in this morning.” Bruce mentioned.
You blinked your eyes open, quick to regret it when you were greeted by an overwhelmingly bright light.
“I can feel it, Banner.” Nat chimed, “They’re smitten.” There was a faint song to her words. “I think I caught him kissing her cheek before he left.”
It warmed your spirit to hear how affectionate Peter had been, but you could barely remember what happened, let alone why he’d be so distraught.
Bruce chuckled quietly, “I’m sure Tony will be thrilled to hear that.”
Once your eyes adjusted, you realized you were in the medical wing. Did you hit your head or something? Slowly, you sat up, freezing when the realization hit you.
Your hand flew to your lower stomach, hissing in pain at the wound by your hip. “Jesus.. Fuck!” You muttered, seething through gritted teeth. The pain was quick to shoot through every nerve in your body.
Before you could lay back down, you met eyes with an all too familiar pair as they entered the doorframe.
Peter lit up when he saw you up, rushing over. “You’re awake!” He beamed, quick to set the blankets down at the foot of the bed before he kissed you. He kissed your lips, then your cheeks a few times, then your nose, before pressing a sickly sweet kiss to your lips once more.
His hands cradled your jaw before he pulled back from the kiss, moving his hands to better support you as you laid back down.
“Baby, don’t you ever scare me like that again, okay?” He started, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Peter–”
“God, you scared me so bad.. I thought–” He cut himself off as he rambled, quick to shut down the dreadful thought. “I wasn’t sure if you’d ever wake up again–”
“Peter–!”
“I should’ve been more careful.. Fuck, I’m so sorry I let that happen to you–”
You gently cupped his face, “Peter!” You spoke a bit more urgently, which seemed to catch his attention. He simply stared at you while you glanced over his right shoulder about four times.
His face flushed red, turning back to meet Natasha and Bruce’s dumbfounded expressions.
They blinked at one another, each unsure of where to start.
Natasha broke the silence, pressing herself off the wall she was leaning on with a small smirk. “I’m gonna go tell Steve that he owes me twenty–bucks.”
Peter opened his mouth to say something, but immediately shut it. He watched Bruce glance at the door Natasha walked out and back at Peter, “I’ll, uh.. Give you two some privacy.”
And then there were two.
His hands slid down his face as you contained your laughter, though it was hard not to. Watching your boyfriend’s face turn red was one of your few guilty pleasures.
“You couldn’t have warned me sooner?” Peter asked as he turned to you, muffling his words under the hands that covered his face. You weren’t sure how long you were out, but you knew you missed seeing how cute he was.
You missed seeing him.
You shrugged, “I tried to.” Despite the secret being out, you couldn’t care less. A small laugh spilled from your lips at how embarrassed Peter was, but it was cut off by how painful it was.
Peter sat on the bed beside you, grabbing your hand. “Easy, now.. It’s still pretty fresh.” He hushed, brushing some of your hair out of your face. His affectionate actions made your heart swell.
While the two of you stared at each other, you couldn’t help but see the solemn look that lingered in his eyes.
You brought the hand that wasn’t intertwined with his up to cup his cheek, gentle as you caressed the new purple creases under his eyes. “Peter..” You started, “I’m safe now. This wasn’t your fault either, okay?”
He looked like he was about to protest, but you were quick to him. “It’s not your fault.” You repeated. You hoped by saying it again, it would stick in his head better.
His stare flickered from one eye to the other before he sighed, defeated as he leaned his forehead against yours. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
You smiled up at him, pecking his lips once or twice. “It’ll take a lot more to get rid of me than some shattered window.”
He laughed quietly, his breath fanning over your lips before he whispered, “God.. I love you.”
“I love you too..” You trailed off as he leaned forward to kiss you again. No matter how long you and Peter had been dating, you never failed to feel butterflies in your stomach when he’d kiss you. It made you feel like you were the only two people on the planet.
“I fucking knew it!” Of course, you weren’t the only two people in the world. You heard someone speak from the doorframe, noticing how Peter immediately added three feet of space between the two of you.
Tony Stark looked between both of you, pointing at your connected handhold on the hospital bed in victory. He had the smuggest smirk you’d ever seen touch his face at the sight of you.
His grin made him look like he’d won the fifth–grade spelling bee. You would’ve never thought that you and Peter’s relationship would make such a grown man so happy.
“I’m going to go tell Steve he owes me twenty–bucks!”
2K notes · View notes
sincericida · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
11 years later, we got an amazing reunion with Aunt May & Peter Parker. Andrew Garfield presents Sally Field with the Lifetime Achievement Award at The 29th Annual Screen Actors Guild Awards SAG | February 26, 2023
3K notes · View notes
astermath · 7 months
Text
peter parker is a bit of a loser skater boyfriend.
Tumblr media
okay, he's not that much of a loser. he takes cool photos, he's good looking and he's done a skate grind on the campus staircase at least once.
and being spiderman is pretty cool too I guess.
but when he's around you, it seems like all the charm melts right off his body, and he's reduced to a nervous college student who's seemingly never interacted with a girl before.
he doesn't mean to, and neither do you, but you seem to bring out that side of him. the side that fails a skating trick every time you're looking. the side that makes him stumble over his words and almost forget his own name. the side that makes him run his hand through his hair until it sticks all over the place, and somehow he's not all that confident in his charisma and wit anymore.
and yet, every time, you offer him that sweet giggle that sends his heart into overdrive, that overtakes all his senses and makes him want to record it and listen to it on loop.
it makes him want to keep trying. until he gets the courage to finally ask you out.
531 notes · View notes
spiderfunkz · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media
✦ A VELVET NIGHT.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
— summary : she might want a kiss, before the end of the song!
— word count : 0,5k
— warnings : tooth-rotting fluff, fem!reader, established relationship, pet names, teasing, peter & r share an apartment together.
a/n : so basically peter takes reader to a concert but in a classic spiderman style. also god knows how many times i've used that summary😛😛
Tumblr media
peter got used to the loudness of new york nights, during swings and late night patrols, the noise felt like a rhythm almost. a sort-of familiar melody in his ears.
yes, the constant traffic noise and honking can be annoying at times, but it's nice knowing you're not really alone during the sleepless patrols.
peter recognizes most of the noises. the tune coming from a jazz bar somewhere, the sounds of endless honking from tired workers & the occasional yelling from apartments. but this night, there was music and lights peter had never heard or seen yet.
it was coming from a hidden place, not visible unless you really, really try. it was nicely tucked between a few tall buildings and an old fancy restaurant.
peter peaked from a rooftop, observing the area. the lights and music were coming from a concert down below. a band seemed to be performing as a decent crowd dance and sing all together.
shit, was this the concert you've been talking about for the past weeks? the concert peter wanted to take you, but couldn't find tickets for?
i think it just started, peter whispers.
he spots a couple, resembling you and peter, they seemed so happy, swaying around to the song as they smile so brightly at each other.
peter sighs, swinging away, knowing he should've tried harder to get the tickets even though you've already repeated a million times that it's okay and it's not that big of a deal.
he lands at the shared apartment, specifically by your fire escape. before knocking, he pauses for a moment, observing you all huddled up in bed, reading. then he spots a dress you just got back from the laundry.
peter gets an idea.
knocking on your window, quite aggressively— "y/n! open the window!" he muffles. his spider-man mask in his mouth.
you groan, putting your book down.
"do you not know we have a front door, peter? or do you just prefer looking like a stalker every night knocking on my window?" you unlock.
"yes and yes." he nods, "also, get dressed. quick."
"for what?" you raise your brow.
"just get dressed."
"this sounds like a kidnapping."
peter scoffs, "i can guarantee you i'm not, just- do you remember that concert you've been talking about?"
you nod.
"just get dressed, bub." he repeats.
you look at him, confused and excited. you quickly get dressed, grabbing the leather jacket peter gifted you, "i'm all dressed." you smile.
"perfect, now how would you like to go for a swing again?" he gestures.
landing on the rooftop, peter carefully lets go of your waist as you gain balance. "careful. okay, follow me." he holds your hand, guiding you near the edge of the rooftop.
"there." peter points at the concert, you could hear the music even if it's a bit muffled. the view was wonderful too, it's a bit far, but not too far.
"i'm sorry i couldn't get you a ticket." peter pouts, his spider-man mask nowhere to be seen. "it's okay, peter. this is perfect." you smile, sitting near the edge, admiring the band that's playing.
peter sits beside you, "yeah, but we could've been down there, with the lights and festival stuff."
"so? i'm up here with you, and that's perfect." you kiss his cheek.
Tumblr media
383 notes · View notes
blooming-violets · 1 year
Note
“You’re doing so well.”
"You're doing so well." || Inexperienced Smut Prompts
[tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader]
Warnings: It's a smut prompt so you will be reading about two people fucking. Obviously.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
“I can’t study Physics like this,” you whined. “We can’t do this here.”
Peter had taken it upon himself this semester to personally tutor you for your finals. He had developed an interest in you when you quietly shuffled into the seat beside him on your first day. He knew Physics was your least favorite subject and, if you failed, you’d have to retake the class again next year without him. Every week he would inch himself closer and closer to you during your sessions until, late one night, tucked away in his dorm room, you experienced both your first kiss and lost your virginity within the span of an hour. Peter knew how to manipulate your body in ways that made it impossible to ever want to stop. He could turn you from a studious, quietly reserved woman to a moaning, desperate whore in a matter of seconds. 
Tonight, he had you sat on his lap. Literally. He picked you up and placed you down wherever he saw fit. Your underwear had been torn down your legs and stuffed into his pocket the second you met him in the student lounge. There were no “hellos” or friendly greetings. You hadn’t even had time to remove your bag from your shoulder before you were being exposed to him. He knew what he wanted, when he wanted, and he didn’t care where it was. The student lounge was empty this Sunday evening, thankfully, but it still terrified you to be doing this in such a public area. You tried to encourage him to take you back to his dorm room but that was when he had pulled you onto his lap, ending the debate before it even started.  
Your legs straddled on either side of his thighs, your pleated skirt curtained over the two of you to hide what was happening underneath, though any college student who glanced this way would know exactly what was going on. Peter’s cock was buried inside of you as you faced him on the couch. Large, hard, and completely stretching you as far as your recently deflowered pussy could handle. His cock was the first thing you ever dared put inside of you and it wasn’t a small task. You had cried the first time he split you open despite how gentle he tried to be. Now, it felt almost at home buried between your folds, even if you were in a public area. Your brain was saying no but your body was screaming yes.
There were no thoughts inside of your head anymore. Only Peter and his cock. His hands brushed over your baby pink blouse, running along your spine, as he cooed in your ear, “Shh, baby, it’s alright. No one is going to see you. No one will see how much of a needy, little whore you are. Your secret is safe with me. I’ll know if anyone is headed this way. You just focus on the questions.” 
You shivered when you felt his cock twitch inside of you. Neither of you moved a muscle. Your eyes closed as your breath hitched in your throat, another whine whimpering from your lips, “Peter.”
“Come on,” he urged. “Answer the question I asked. You should have been listening.” 
His hands slipped to the front of your blouse, his fingers working to slowly undo every button. You held your breath, biting down on your bottom lip. You had no idea what he had said prior to sitting on his lap. He had been reading something out of the textbook leaning on the cushion beside him. He knew you weren’t listening. He enjoyed the turmoil he caused and liked watching your brain short circuit in his presence. 
Peter reached behind your open shirt to unhook your bra, giving him easy access to your chest, “If you don’t answer me, I’m going to remove your shirt and leave you completely topless…out in the open…where anyone could walk by at any moment…I wonder how embarrassing it would be if someone saw you like that? Imagine what they would think of you then?” 
You gave a sharp inhale, eyes widening in horror, “Please, don’t.” 
“Would it really be a shame if someone else saw these beautiful tits?” He raised the cups of your bra so he could admire your chest. “I can’t be the first person to have laid eyes on them. Surely someone else must have gotten there before me.” 
He knew damn well that no one had ever seen you naked before him. The wicked glint in his eye told you everything you needed to know. His teasing was nothing more than empty threats. Peter would rather die than share you with anyone.
You gave a bratty grumble and rested your forehead against his, “You’re a terrible, mean tutor.” 
A devilish smilish toyed on his lips, “Do you need me to repeat the question?” 
“Mhm,” you whined. 
His hand slipped under your loose bra to cup your breasts. He carefully pinched your nipple between his finger and thumb, brushing over it with small, fast flicks. 
Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you inadvertently bucked your hips. The sudden movement on his cock caused a satisfied groan to rumble in the back of Peter’s throat. 
“Focus, baby.” He growled in your ear. “Don’t lose yourself. Not yet. Sit still.” 
The urge to wiggle your hips was too much. Your clit was aching, begging to be touched, desperate for any sort of friction. Your toes curled in your shoes as you repressed a whimper. 
“The question, Peter. Ask me the question again. I’ll be good.”
He nipped at the side of your jaw and mumbled the question against your skin, remembering the exact phrasing without even having to glance back at the book, “A charged particle traveling along the +x axis enters an electric field directed vertically upward along the +y-axis. If the charged particle experiences a force downward because of this field, what is the sign of the charge on this particle?” 
He was speaking a language foreign to you. All you could think about was how wonderful he felt inside of you and how all you wanted to do was move your hips.
When you took too long to answer, he responded by giving a hard tug on your nipple, causing you to flinch in pain. 
“Is the charge positive, negative, or neutral?” He began kneading your breast to help soothe out any pain he gave you. “Come on, pretty girl. You know this. Use that brain of yours for something other than cocksucking. If you get it right, I’ll give you a nice reward.” 
“I-” You tried to steady your breath. The fact that you had his dick inside of you in the middle of a public space didn’t even bother you anymore. All you wanted was for him to satisfy you. You didn’t care who saw. “Negative! It’s negative.”
A proud smile broke out across his face, lighting up his eyes, “Good girl! Now tell me why it’s negative and I’ll give you what I know you want.” 
“Nnghh,” words were becoming difficult to form. You couldn’t stop yourself from moving, just a little bit, to give your body what it needed. 
“Use your words, pretty girl, come on,” he chided you. 
“It’s…oh, god…it’s negative because positive charges in an-an electric field will have an electric force in the same direction as the field. And…negative…will be in the opposite direction…so…it-it’s negative because the charged particle experiences a force opposite to the electric field.” 
“That’s my smart girl. Let me show you how proud I am of you, baby.” He placed a quick peck to your lips before thrusting his hips upwards as you stifled a shocked yelp. 
You didn’t even know he could reach that deep. You felt like you could feel him bulging out your stomach. His hands left your chest to fall down around your hips, gripping them tightly, helping to move you with each small thrust. It wasn’t enough. He was dragging it out, still teasing you, wanting to make you work for it. If you wanted to give your body what it needed, you would need to take control. 
You braced your hands on his shoulders for better leverage and began to ride him. Your pace grew from soft, little thrusts to long, hard strokes, finding a steady rhythm. Tears blurred your vision at the overwhelming sensations of how exceptional he felt. The wait was almost too much but now there was no stopping you. 
Peter’s head had fallen back against the couch cushions, his eyes closed, “Fuck, that’s good.” 
You responded with a quiet whimper, nuzzling your face into his cheek to try to get his attention back on your face, “I want to be good for you.” 
He opened his eyes to give you a soft smile, murmuring against your puckered lips, “You’re always so good for me, babygirl.” His slights gazed down to watch as you rose and fell over him, impaling his cock into you. He liked to watch it disappear, liked to watch as you took it all, every last millimeter like the good girl you were. “That’s it. Take it all. You’re so tight, babe. So tight for me.” 
You couldn’t do anything except chase the divine sensations rolling through your body. The pleasure rippled through you, the knot tightening in your stomach. With every thrust, you were closer to the finish line. It didn’t take much for you to get there. Everything still felt so new, so fresh, that every sensation sent you spiraling. Peter’s hands tangled in your hair, gripping onto the back of your head, as he pulled you close against his chest. Quiet sobs racked through your body. You felt silly for crying over how good his cock felt but you couldn’t stop. He reduced you to a shaking, shivering, sobbing mess in a matter of seconds. 
“Shh,” his soothing voice whispered in your ear. “It’s okay, pretty girl. You’re doing so good for me. You’re doing so well. That’s it. Just take a little bit more. We’re almost there. I’ve got you.” 
Peter took over, moving his hips, filling you to your core. He switched his pace from yours. Instead of your frenzied, jerking thrusts, he penetrated you with a slow, deliberate intensity. He cupped your cheeks, drawing your attention to him. 
“Kiss me,” he whispered in a husky, low tone. 
Your nose brushed against his soft skin as your lips crashed onto him. Your tongue pried open his mouth and slipped past his lips to tangle with his. You grabbed fistfulls of his shaggy hair, moaning into his mouth, panting, getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen. It didn’t matter if you passed out. It didn’t matter if anyone saw you. It didn’t matter if you failed your class. All that mattered was Peter Parker and the way he lit a fire between your thighs. 
You could feel your climax growing, Peter’s too. His rhythm sped up. The quiet, needy whines in the back of his throat got lost under your own whimpers. The swell of his cock twitched inside of you. He gripped onto you so tightly like he was terrified of you disappearing from his grasp at such a pivotal moment. 
“Be a good girl and come for me,” he gasped out between heavy breaths. “Let me feel you.” 
You rested your forehead against his sweaty one, gazing through half closed lids at him, taking in every look of needy desperation that flashed across his features. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. His words were all you needed to let yourself go. 
Your climax washed through you like a tsunami, overwhelming your senses, and sweeping you away in a whirling maelstrom of pleasure. A scream got caught in the back of your throat, burying your face against his shoulder in an attempt to keep it from escaping. Somewhere, in the back of your blissed out brain, you remembered that you were still inside the student lounge. 
The sensations of your sex spasming and squeezing around his cock was exactly what Peter needed to finish. He wrapped his arms tight around your waist and forced your body down as he thrust up his hips, making sure he was entirely buried inside of you, as he erupted. Spurt after spurt of hot cum emptied into your waiting cunt. 
“Ah,” you whimper, hiding your face into his neck, the tears spilling freely down your cheeks now. “Oh, Peter. Yes, yes, yes. You feel so good.” 
Your arms felt numb and tingly, your head spun and your vision blurred. You had to actively remember to breathe or else you’d fail to do so. You tried to squeeze out everything he had to give you, feeling him throbbing inside of you, twitching as a shiver shot through your body. You adored how he felt without a condom. It felt raw and real like this was how it was supposed to happen. The night you gave him your virginity, he had used one, but once you started taking birth control, you had asked him to stop. You wanted to feel every part of him, wanted him to live inside of you. He was the kind of person who shouldn’t ever be covered up. 
You stayed wrapped around him, safe in his arms, as you came down from you high. Peter traced lazy lines up and down your spine while you focused on your breathing. You felt like your body was glowing, brighter than the sun, and ready to float away. It would give a shudder every so often as his cock softened inside of you until you finally lifted yourself from his lap. If you weren’t the first one to move, you two would never untangle yourselves. Peter never moved away until you did. He always followed your lead. You often wondered if he would hold you forever if you never pulled away. One day, maybe you would test that theory. 
You could feel parts of him dripping down your inner thigh as you rose onto shaky legs. You hurried to fix your bra and button your shirt back up. Peter made no attempts to get off the couch, his softening cock resting against his thigh, a large wet spot made by you damping his pants. He gazed up at you, admiring your body while you tried to make yourself presentable again. 
“You know we’re not finished, right?” He asked, raising his brows in amusement. “We went over one, single question. You have an entire chapter to get through.” 
Your mouth fell open in shock, gasping in his direction, the realization setting in, “But-”
“But what? I told you I was going to help you pass this test. We still have work to do.” His mischievous smile grew. “Sit back down.” 
1K notes · View notes