#tasm spiderman
Pretty Tutor - Peter Parker (Andrew) X Female Reader
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Title: Pretty Tutor
Peter Parker (Andrew) X Female Reader
Additional Characters: May and Gwen (Mentioned)
WC: 4,211
Warnings: Angst to fluff, shy Reader, awkwardness, anxiety, fighting (verbal, nothing bad), crying, Gwen's death mentioned, awkward tension, Peter needs a hug, and fluff
Letting out a breath, you tried to shudder the anxiety away as you entered the library of your college campus. Spotting the person you had been looking for, you nervously wandered over. Stopping at his table where he was studying, you gazed over his appearance, taking in the blue shirt, dark green jacket, and dark blue jeans; everything about him screamed nerd.
His name was Peter Parker, and you had a massive crush on him since high school. You didn't think he would remember you, but it took almost four months for you to get the courage to even speak to him. You needed help with Biology, you were failing and you needed his help. You knew Peter was smart, he was practically a genius. 
Clearing your throat softly, Peter looked up, making your breath hitch slightly as you gave him a small shy smile. "Uh, hi, uh may I sit?" You asked, gesturing to the chair in front of you and across from him. 
Peter looked at you for a quick moment before giving you a polite smile and nodding. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead." He spoke quietly, before getting back to his work.
You slid the chair out, sitting down before him as you sat your bag on the table. You glanced at him briefly, pulling out a notebook from your bag to make it seem like you were going to work on something and weren't just there to sit there and watch him like a creep. You grabbed a red pen, opened your notebook, and wrote down gibberish and random drawings before you glanced up at him again, taking in the way his soft brown hair fell into his eyes. You swallowed thickly, averting your gaze as a flush covered your cheeks. Your heart pounded painfully in your chest. He was so handsome, even when concentrating on his studies. "Um, so, I, uh... I don't think you remember me... But I used to go to high school with you." You began, gaining the young man's attention as he looked at you curiously. "We had Mrs. Webbers and Mr. French's class together."
Peter pursed his lips in thought, tilting his head slightly, "Webber... Webber..." He muttered, thinking, "Webber... Oh. Y/N?" He asked and you nodded rapidly.
"Uh, yeah. That's me. I, uh, was wondering if you could help tutor me in Biology. I, heh, I'm failing and I don't want to drop the class. And you're smart so I was wondering if you could help me?" You asked, only to get no response, worrying you. "Uh, I can pay you for your time. I just need a little bit of help with some of the coursework and homework. I promise I'll pay you for your time and stuff like that." You ranted, glancing up at him with flushed cheeks as you regretfully continued, "I mean... You don't have to if you don't want to-"
"I'll do it." Peter interrupted you, making your eyes widen slightly.
"What?" You asked softly, "Really?"
Peter nodded, shutting his textbook. "Yeah, I'll tutor you. It's not like it's a big deal."
Your eyes lit up, "Oh, thank you!" You exclaimed, getting a harsh shush from the librarian as you ducked your head down in embarrassment before you continued, "Thank you, Peter. Uh, when are you free?"
Peter smiled softly, "I'm free after school on Fridays. Is that good for you?" He asked and you quickly nodded.
"Yeah, Friday's work for me. Where would you like to meet up?" You asked as you began to write down your number on a page from your notebook. 
"Is my apartment alright? We can go to yours if not." He spoke and you nodded again.
"Yeah, your apartment works." You answered, ripping the page from the notebook and sliding it across the table. "Here's my number. Thank you again, Peter." You spoke, before grabbing your bag and rushing out of the library.
Peter grabbed the paper, smiling slightly at the small drawings and random song lyrics you had drawn and written on the page along with your number. He folded the paper and quickly pocketed it, before going back to his work. Peter remembered you from high school, remembering you to be pretty kind. He remembered that you were in a couple of clubs, even his photography club. He could even clearly remember your backpack, Y/F/C with black stripes. Peter felt pretty awkward, not knowing much about you apart from your name. Peter actually hoped that this tutoring would go by swiftly, honestly, he did not mind helping you with Biology but he felt awkward. 
You climbed up the stairs of Peter's apartment building, your backpack weighing heavily on your back and shoulders as you climbed up and up. It was Friday, a little bit after school, only an hour, and the first day of tutoring. You were beyond nervous. Thinking about how you were going to be in a room with Peter and Peter alone, made you anxious. The butterflies in your stomach wouldn’t calm themselves, and it seemed they never would stop fluttering. You kicked yourself mentally, trying to calm yourself down and tell yourself how dumb it was crushing on a guy who'd never like you back. 
You adjusted your bag and let out a breath before you knocked on the apartment door, standing there awkwardly as you heard footsteps on the other side. Opening the door, an older woman stood there, a small sweet yet confused smile on her face. 
"May I help you, dear?" She asked as you nodded, returning the smile.
"Yes, uh, Peter's tutoring me today." You answered and the woman's eyes widened in realization before she nodded and opened the door wider, letting you in.
"Of course, I remember now, Peter told me. Come on in, dear." She spoke, shutting the door behind you, "I’m Peter’s Aunt, you can call me May." She spoke, offering you her hand to shake.
"I'm Y/N, it's nice to meet you, May." You shook her hand softly, as May's smile widened.
"Well, Peter's in his room. That boy's got to remember his manners and guests sometimes." She chuckled lightly. You said nothing as she led you to Peter's room, knocking on the door. The door opened and Peter's eyes widened when he met yours. "Peter, you forgot about your tutoring session already?" May lightly scolded, making Peter cast his gaze down sheepishly as he shrugged one shoulder.
"Sorry, May." He spoke softly as she just sighed, turning to you.
"Let me know if you need anything, dear." She spoke before she left down the hall leaving you to stand at Peter's bedroom door.
Peter cleared his throat before opening his door wider, allowing you to enter. "Sorry about the mess." He spoke up, "I, uh, forgot you were coming over." He explained, watching him as he scooted a few piles of books out of the way. 
You looked around the room in awe, looking at the various posters on the wall and the polaroids on his corkboard, "It's fine. Honestly." You spoke up, "I understand."
Peter pushed more stuff off of his bed, before stuffing his hands into his sweater pockets. "Well, uh, do you want to sit at my desk or the bed?"
You glanced at each spot, biting your lip briefly, "I- I'm fine with either."
Peter nodded and sat down on his bed, and you turned to sit at his desk, setting your bag on the floor at your feet. It was silent for a moment before Peter spoke up. "So, let's do this then. What are you having trouble with?" He asked and you unzipped your bag, taking out your Biology notebook and textbook.
"Well, I am having trouble with Charles Darwin's theory of evolution." You admitted, flipping through the pages of your book until you reached the chapter you wanted.
Peter nodded slowly, leaning forward to grab the textbook you had brought out of your bag. For the next hour or so, Peter helped explain everything you had a problem with, answering your questions perfectly before even giving you a few notes of his own from the course. Tension was still high in the air, but it was a little bit easier to breathe, both of you seeming to get comfortable around one another after a while. 
You slowly found yourself staring at Peter, noticing how his eyelashes flickered against his cheekbones every once in a while. Your fingers twitched ever so slightly, as though wanting to reach out and touch him, but you refrained. His eyes flickered as he looked at his textbook before he raised his head to look at you. He tilted his head, noticing your staring as you blinked your eyes and quickly looked away.
Peter pursed his lips, looking at you for a moment before looking back down at his textbook. He hadn't been dreaming, you had been staring at him, and he did catch you. Why were you staring at him? He thought to himself, furrowing his brows as he tried to figure out why you were staring at him. Did he have something on his face?
For the next month or two, you went over to Peter's apartment, learning more and more about Biology that you were almost not failing at anymore. You had grown closer to the young man, enough that you would sometimes joke around with him and have conversations outside of evolution. You felt at ease with Peter, but you could see that Peter was still acting weird around you. He'd joke around with you and laugh with you one minute but then he'd get all distant and tense a minute later. Sadly, he never got out of that... Tension until after you’d leave. You were confused. Was he alright? Have you done something wrong? Said something wrong? You'd try to bring it up sometimes but Peter would always change the subject.
You would get some clarity the next tutoring session, sitting side-by-side on Peter's bed, textbooks in your laps. The room was quiet except for Peter lecturing you about something, but you hadn't been fully paying attention. Your eyes were on him, watching as he moved his mouth and the words came out. He looked cute, really cute. You could've watched him talk forever. But you snapped out of it when he called your name.
"Y/N. Have you been listening at all?" He asked with a deep sigh and you sat up abruptly, feeling your face flush as you bit your lip.
"I- I'm sorry. I was a bit distracted." You spoke sheepishly, as Peter raised an eyebrow.
"Distracted by what? Me?" He asked, and you rapidly shook your head with wide eyes.
"No! You are just in the way while I was daydreaming. My eyes were just there." You tried to make up an excuse as Peter slightly narrowed his eyes.
"Well, would you please stop? You asked me to help you, so can you please just try and pay attention?" He snapped, causing you to frown in pain.
"Okay, okay. Sorry." You whispered, dropping your gaze to the ground and biting your lip. Silence filled the room again as you sat in silence before Peter just sighed again and snapped his textbook closed, startling you slightly.
"I think we should stop for today." He spoke and you turned to look at him.
"Wait, please, no, I'll pay attention." You pleaded as Peter shook his head.
"No, Y/N. What's the point in helping you if you won't pay attention?" Peter argued.
"Look, I think you should just go." He cut you off. 
You swallowed thickly as you opened your mouth to speak, thinking maybe you could convince him, but you shut your mouth, clenching your jaw as you nodded. Getting up, you shoved your stuff in your bag and quickly left the room, feeling tears of frustration towards yourself well up in your eyes. 
Peter let out a deep sigh, falling back on his bed as he rubbed his eyes. Peter knew he wasn't being fair. He didn't mean to snap at you like that, he truly regretted it and hoped you didn't take it too hard. He knew he shouldn't have gotten so angry; you didn't deserve it. He just couldn't help it. 
After Gwen's death... Peter had gotten so bitter. He wasn't sure when the anger had started, only that it had. He had spent months locked up, trying to escape from his thoughts and memories of her that haunted him day and night. He fell into a depression, barely eating, hardly sleeping. He couldn't even be the Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman. There was no Spiderman without Gwen Stacy. There was no Peter Parker without Gwen Stacy. 
But when Peter started tutoring you, getting to know you more than the girl who he just shared classes with in high school, Peter felt himself coming to like you. Like you, he liked Gwen. And Peter hated himself for that. Soon all he could think about was you. If you were having a good day, or what you were eating for dinner. He felt better than he had in a long, long time, but then Peter would feel as if he was abandoning Gwen. The guilt that weighed on him was horrible, and the constant feeling of grief made him feel sick. 
So he was pushing you away because he feared that if he let you in, he'd lose what he had left with Gwen. Even when you were in his room with him, when he looked at you, he'd see Gwen. She was haunting him, his mind morphing your face into hers, his heart breaking all over again. So he pushed you away. As he stared at the ceiling above him, he felt his chest tighten in regret. He was such a coward. A selfish idiot.
He tried to forget the hurt he saw in your eyes, but it always crept up on him like a thief. He wished there was some way to take those feelings away, but there wasn't. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was you. He missed Gwen. He missed her so much. Her laugh and smile, her soft voice, her warm hugs and kisses, her loving words. Everything. Everything reminded him of Gwen, every small thing. He knew deep down Gwen would've wanted him to move on, to get over her death and stop wallowing in sorrow; to be Spider-Man again and fall in love again. But Peter was stubborn. He was a stubborn and selfish idiot. How could he let himself fall in love again?
You tried your best to avoid Peter as much as you could, even in Biology. You used to sit right at the front near Peter, but you opted to sit in the back. The rest of the school week went on without any further incidents between the two of you until the weekend finally arrived. Friday morning, you woke up early, got ready for classes, and made sure to find some food for breakfast. You went from class to class, taking a lunch break at the nearby Taco Time, before going back to your last few classes. After you got home from school, you grabbed a snack from the kitchen, grabbed your laptop from your bedroom, and settled on the couch for a little movie binge while you ate. You were halfway through your third rice krispie treat when there was a light knock at your door.
You paused, mid-crunch on your sweet treat as you heard someone knock again. You groaned softly, getting up from the couch. Walking up to the door, you looked through the peephole and sighed. You knew that slightly unkempt brown hair anywhere. Unlocking the door, you opened it slightly, looking up at Peter with a frown. He mirrored that frown, but his eyes held some sort of urgency. Why was he here?
"What are you doing here, Peter?" You asked and you guess your tone was a bit harsh because he took a step back, holding his hands up defensively.
"I need to talk to you. Can I come in?" He asked and you bit your lip before slowly stepping aside, nodding. He walked in, standing awkwardly as you closed the door behind him. "Y/N, I..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the floor. You waited for him to continue, but he stayed silent. It seemed like hours passed but it was only seconded. Finally, you gave in.
"Spit it out, Peter." You said sternly, passing him to sit back down on the couch.
"I'm sorry, for snapping at you. It was... Stupid of me to get so frustrated at you." He said, glancing at you, "Can you forgive me?" He added quietly and your heart twisted at the sight of Peter looking so dejected. You were tempted to tell him that yes, of course, you forgave him, but you hesitated, biting your lip.
"I don't know, Peter..." You began, "I would like an explanation."
Peter took his chance to take a seat on the couch beside you, giving you enough room so you were comfortable. He sat there, fiddling with his hands in his lap as he stared down at your carpet. 
"It's complicated." He began, "I don't really know where to start." He stated, avoiding eye contact. You frowned deeply. "I, uh, kind of... Like you." He finally admitted, glancing up at you nervously as you looked up at him.
"Oh, um," You replied lamely and suddenly you felt a lot less confident, "Like, like how, exactly?" You questioned, feeling awkward and shy, as Peter glanced at you once more.
"You're just... Really pretty." He muttered with a small anxious smile. You blushed heavily and ducked your head, looking away.
"You too, but," You began, glancing up at him confused, "What's that got to do with anything?" You asked with a hint of exasperation.
"Nothing... Uh, yeah nothing." Peter quickly stuttered out, and you raised an eyebrow, even more so confused now than ever.
"Then... Why would you bring that up at all then?" You asked and Peter pursed his lips, mentally hitting himself. "If it doesn't have to do with why you were so..." You trailed off, trying to think of the right word, "Harsh?"
Peter let out a shaky breath, staring intently at his fingers as he twitched and flexed them repeatedly. 
"Well, it is complicated." He mumbled once more.
"So explain it to me, then!" You exclaimed, annoyed, and Peter looked at you with wide eyes, "If you want to tell me, tell me. But please don't go around the mulberry bush and just cut to the chase, please." You felt your eyes well up with frustrated tears.
"I shouldn't like you." Peter suddenly spoke, confusing the heck out of you.
You furrowed your eyebrows, your brain feeling like it was overheating as you tried to think, "Shouldn't like me? Why?"
Peter just whispered, "It's not fair to her."
"Her? Who?" You asked, as a million questions ran through your mind.
"... Gwen..." Peter answered simply, still not making direct eye contact with you.
You raked through your brain, repeating the name softly as you did so, "Gwen... Gwen..." And then... It came to you. And you frowned deeply. "Oh."
You knew Gwen briefly in high school. You knew Peter and Gwen were friends or a couple at one point, but you hadn't thought about her in years. You remembered her to be a sweet and nice girl, even though she was popular, she wasn't mean to anyone, which was nice. You shared Math with her. You remembered when you heard that she died, it was heartbreaking, someone so young losing the rest of their life. She didn't deserve to die.
"I loved her," Peter spoke up, looking at you almost pleadingly. You blinked, surprised by his admission. "She meant everything to me. Everything." You didn't speak, knowing he needed to let it all out. "I feel guilty, Y/N. Guilty that I couldn't save her." Peter said in a broken tone and you reached forward, grasping one of his hands and squeezing it gently, trying to offer some comfort. He squeezed back, his grip tightening on your hand. "She was my first kiss, my first girlfriend. My first love." He continued, "And I feel guilty for liking you the way I do. I feel like I am abandoning her." He finished, letting go of your hand and burying his face in his hands.
You pushed your excitement to the back of your mind before you spoke, "That's not true," You murmured softly, rubbing circles on his back, trying to calm him down, "I think Gwen would want you to be happy."
Peter pursed his lips, before looking up at you, tears in his eyes, "I miss her so much," He confessed, "I can't stop thinking about her."
"I'm sorry, Peter," You began, "I wish there was something I could do."
Peter bit his bottom lip, glancing at you, "Could you... Could you hold me?" He asked, "Please."
You nodded, pulling Peter into your arms as he wrapped his own around your torso, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. Peter gripped the back of your shirt tightly, clinging to you as if his life depended on it. You let him cry for as long as he needed to. Your heart broke for him. You had never seen him look so vulnerable and hopeless, he was practically sobbing, his breaths ragged. You rubbed comforting circles on his back as he let out the emotions he had bottled up inside. You wished you could do something for him, you wished you could take away his pain. And the thought of Peter having feelings for you made your heart skip, but you wouldn't push Peter. You loved Peter very much, but you respected him too much to make any moves without him being ready. Besides, you wanted to give him time to heal from his loss. You were content just being Peter's friend, him being in your life in general was already more than enough.
As Peter pulled away, you wiped away the tears on his cheeks with the soft pads of your thumbs, Peter's hands wrapping gently around your wrists, holding your hands there. He shut his eyes, taking in deep breaths as he steadied himself. Once he seemed composed again, you smiled softly at him, offering him a reassuring grin. 
"There we go." You said softly, stroking his cheek. He smiled weakly at you, looking down.
"Thank you." He said.
"Of course." You replied simply and he moved to sit beside you on the couch, turning to look at you. You followed suit and turned your body to face him.
"Y/N..." He began, clearing his throat, "I'd like to... To take you out sometime. On a date." He continued to confess and you smiled up at him sadly. 
"Peter, I'd love to, but I don't want to push or rush you. If you want to wait to see if you'll ever be ready or not-"
"No, I'd also like to apologize for being a real jerk to you," Peter told you and you sighed.
"I won't pressure you into doing anything you aren't ready for." You assured him, "You don't have to take me out on a date to apologize. It's okay."
"No, no, it isn't," He insisted, "I want to ask you. I do. So if you don't want to go, you don't have to. But... I wanna take you on a date. I really, really like you, Y/N."
You felt your lips curl upwards slightly, your cheeks warming at the confession. You weren't sure what to say; this was the most genuine, honest, heartfelt thing Peter has ever said to you. You wanted to say yes.
"How about this," You spoke up, taking his large hands in yours, "We continue the tutoring until I am passing, and at the end of the semester, you can ask me again. How does that sound?"
He smiled widely, relief filling his features. "That sounds amazing," He replied, squeezing your hands.
"Cool." You replied, smiling.
"Cool." He mimicked making you laugh lightly
"So," You began, feeling your face flush, "Since you're already here, and it's Friday... Do you want to help me study?"
Peter let out a small chuckle, running his fingers through his hair, "Uh, I didn't bring my backpack."
You waved a hand dismissively, "It's fine, I was going to binge something anyway. Want to join me for a movie then? I make the best popcorn." You offered.
Peter just simply nodded, watching you fondly as you gave him a smile and did a fist-pump, before hopping off the other couch and moving to the kitchen. Peter sat back on the couch, feeling a bit better. He wasn't entirely over Gwen yet, and he didn't think he ever would be, but with you there beside him, he wasn't alone anymore. He could finally let himself be happy, it's what Gwen would've wanted. And with that thought, he smiled warmly.
Yeah, maybe things will get better.
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sincericida · 16 hours
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Andrew Garfield - aka Peter Parker - promo shoot "The Amazing Spider-Man" (2012, dir. Mark Webb)
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The biggest lie in fanfiction is that everyone has a first aid kit in their house. I have never owned one in my life
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rancidpancakebatter · 6 months
Cornflower Confession-[P.P.]
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Pairings: Florist!Peter Parker x Tattoo Artist!Female!Reader
Summary: A new shop moves on the block along with an adorable nerd with way too much knowledge of flora. How do you make a good impression?
Word Count: 5.2k words
Content: MINORS DNI: 18+
Swearing, Unprotected sex, Size kink, Praise Kink, Light Degrigation, Fingering (f receiving), Overstimulation, Choking, P in V sex
( Masterlist )
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This was written for Wicked's Kink or Treat! and I have a few other things I might consider writing for it
Please enjoy :))
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October was always a busy time for you and for the most part you loved it. People would crowd into your gothic shop for you to compose a spooky design to decorate their bodies. You took great pride in your work. Watching them leave with your art and cheery smiles was worth the stress. 
You had been running this shop for three years now. Before, You had been working at a different parlour for your mentor and with his help, you opened your own place. And now, you are the proud owner of Orphic, the best tattoo shop in all of Queens.
You saw all kinds of people come to your store. You’ve found that the gruffer the exterior, the nicer the customer. You had been told that your aesthetic was rather gloomy, but you thought it was cool and now it was the basis of your store’s popularity.  
Upstairs you sat in your apartment. It was cosy, not nearly as “eerie” as your decorations downstairs. Here you were surrounded by your books, your plants, and your cat Anansi. He was a black cat with a mindless gaze and in another life where magic was real and you were a witch, you would like to believe he would be your familiar. 
You sat in your window, you had built the bench seating area yourself. You looked out at the street below sipping your morning caffeine. You didn’t open your shop for walk-ins until the afternoon and you had no early appointments scheduled so you were enjoying your early hours of the day. You watched as cars crawled through the street and people traversed the pavement. You liked to imagine who these people were, their goals and ambitions, and where they were headed. 
Across the street stood a flower shop, new to the block: Biophilic. It was previously a bodega and you had to say you loved the pop of colour it brought to the neighbourhood. You more so appreciated the new eye candy who ran it. You watched as he set up his window displays and brought out his bouquets for his curbside shelves. 
You didn’t know him really. You had seen him in passing, he had waved and you had waved back. You put your sketchbook down and got ready for your day. A month has passed since he opened shop and if you waited any longer to introduce yourself it may seem rude. You definitely wanted to make a good impression on the very handsome man who may one day shower you with flowers. 
The bell chirped when you opened the door alerting the shopkeep to your presence. He turned to you from behind the counter clad in a green apron and graced you with a cheesy smile. 
“Hi, Welcome to Biophilic! What can I help you with today?” He was much more handsome up close. Something that you didn’t find fair. You calmed your nerves and tried to remember the script you had written in the shower this morning. 
“Hey, I’m looking for something to spruce up my shop. Got anything?” His smile seemed to grow, as did his eyes. You felt self-conscious as the florist seemed to be observing you much more closely now. 
“I thought you looked familiar! You own the tattoo parlour across the street right?” You nodded shyly as he made his way across the counter. He stood in front of you, hand extended. 
“I’m Peter by the way. Peter Parker.” You shook his hand telling him your name and his smile slipped to the right side of his face. 
“A pretty name for a pretty lady.” He winked and while usually, comments like that would gross you out, something about Peter’s conduct made it cute instead of creepy. His hands found respite on his hips as he peered over his store at the collection of flora. 
“I’ve been meaning to introduce myself for a bit but it’s just been so hectic around here. I haven’t had the pleasure of visiting your shop yet so I’m not sure what would look nice in there. However…” You watched as he leaned down, examining each flower, his hands passing delicately past petals. You followed him as he made his rounds, you wonder what he sees in them. 
He made his way to the counter and began wrapping up a bouquet of blues, purples, and white. He handed them to you with a grandiose smile, seemingly proud of his work. You brought them to your nose letting the sweet smell envelope you. You ran your fingers across the soft petals. 
“I think these would look good with you.” You smiled softly as Peter’s eyes ran across your body.
“What do they mean?” He chuckled a little making his way back around the counter, his hip resting on the exposed wood. 
“This one here,” He pointed to a white plant, tiny blooms crowding together. 
“Is a Daisy. It’s a symbol of new beginnings. And this one here,” He pointed now to a group of periwinkle petals, the flowers blooming in a burst from the stem. 
“Is an African Lily and it’s a symbol of beauty.” You felt yourself blushing as he listed them out. 
“And this big one here is a cornflower,” His fingers delicately grazing the flower brought your attention back to the bouquet. It almost looked like a bunch of smaller flowers parading as one big flower. 
“Cornflowers can mean a lot of things, all of them good. They are believed to bring on wealth or to show devotion or…” You brought your eyes up to meet his once again. In the swimming pools of honey, you saw something lurking, a feeling you couldn’t quite place. 
“It can mean a lot of things.” You nodded your head suddenly finding it hard to breathe when he was looking at you like that. You broke away from the stare, digging into your purse. Peter put a hand out to stop you and you looked at him confused. 
“Consider it a housewarming present.” You huffed slightly. 
“Aren’t I supposed to bring you a present?” He chuckled, the air feeling both light and heavy around you at the sound. Like stainless steel bubbles flitting through the air, knocking the wind out of you. 
“I’m not a big gifts guy. I’m more of a quality time, acts of service, kinda guy.” You watched as he pulled his hands across his chest, marvelling at the muscle as it flexed. 
“Well then,” You reached into your purse again, pushing a small black card toward him. “Here’s my card, It has my number on it, and you’re welcome over any time.” 
He took the card from you, looking it over, before raising it to his brow and giving you a mock salute. You giggled at the action and his chest bloomed with warmth. 
Your phone began to ring and you answered it, your gaze still fixed on Peter, almost hypnotised. 
“This is (Y/n) from Orphic what can I do for you?... Oh, yeah we’re all good, I’ve got a few designs for you to pick from and then we can get started…Okay, see you then.” You hung up playing with the device in your hands. 
“I’ve gotta…get ready for an appointment…so I’ll uh, I’ll see you later?” You wanted to smack yourself for your lack of sophistication. You hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question because now it left room for rejection. Peter only smiled and nodded his head. 
“Yeah, I’ll see you later.” You heard the bell chirp and turned to see an older woman walking into the store. You gave her a polite nod before making your way out. Before crossing the street you risked one last glance. As you turned you found Peter was already looking at you, the customer none the wiser. 
You were cleaning up from your last appointment, mild frustration rolling off of you. You had turned up the music in the store as you cleaned. You were singing along when you heard a knock on the doorframe. You jumped, clutching your heart but feeling relief wash over you as your gaze rested on that familiar amber gaze. 
“Hey Parker, you scared me.” You laughed as you moved to turn down the volume. 
“Yeah, sorry about that.” He had a hand tangled in the hair at the back of his neck, his eyes cast down to the floor with a twinge of pink resting on the apples of his cheeks. You hated to think that even embarrassed he looks devastatingly handsome. You pushed away thoughts your hands replacing his and smacked the chair you had just wiped down. 
“What’s up?” Peter sat down and you settled into your chair before rolling yourself across the floor to sit in front of him. 
“Nothing much just closed up the shop and thought I'd swing by. After all, I was supposed to get you flowers for the studio. Thought I’d finally wander inside.” You smiled before bringing your arm up in a dramatic display. 
“This is Orphic, very dark, very gloomy, very ‘vampire’” Peter got up from his seat and began walking about your parlour. He looked around as if he had found himself in a gallery, carefully admiring each piece, looking for its significance. 
“I think it’s cool.” He said with a shrug. 
“Thank you,” You suddenly felt shy again, unsure of how to interact with Peter. You were definitely attracted to him and you found it a bit embarrassing. You felt like a fool in front of him, all while he had the grace of a trained dancer. 
“I think your tattoos are pretty cool too.” Your smile grew as you absent-mindedly ran a hand down your arms. Years of ink painted, woven into your skin telling a story Peter desperately wanted to know. 
“Do you have any?” He was looking at you so intently and you wanted to bring the attention away from yourself. 
“No, not yet. Why? You looking for another customer?” He fixed you with a smirk and you decided to fluster him instead. 
“I just think you make a lovely canvas. I can imagine a lot of things that would look good on you.” You felt pride in the blush he tried to hide. 
“If you want I can give you a personal consultation.” Peter let out a low chuckle, the bass of it rushing through you. 
“I would love that.” He took a step forward as he said it. He was closer now but still far enough away that it wasn’t a complete invasion of your personal space. He brought a hand up reaching for your arm. You practically preened as you felt the rough pad of his fingers trace over the delicate lines on your skin. 
“What’s this one?” The one he had picked out was a bird, drawn in the traditional style, taking flight with a string of pearls clutched in its beak and a crowbar in its talons. 
“My mentor did this one for me. He wouldn’t let me look at the design, he did it all himself. He said this is how he saw me.” Peter nodded in thought, bringing himself closer to the work. 
“What’s crowbar for?” You smiled at the memory.
“To break free.”
Peter had texted you that he was free this afternoon and you were buzzing with excitement. You had closed the shop early giving you time to clean up and get ready. This was a casual meeting, just a consultation, nothing crazy. 
However, this was not sane either. Usually, you had these meetings in the shop. They would tell you what they want and you would do some rough sketching and then send them home. But Peter was special. This was his first tattoo and you wanted him to love the design. 
You threw on a worn band tee, the cotton stretched and ripped over the years of moshing and abuse, paired with a pair of grey shorts that hung off your ass just right. You made your way back to your perch in the window. You kept an eye out for Peter while also tearing apart your drawings, fixating on every design flaw. 
A mess of brown curls caught your eye and you realised he was making his way across the street. You rushed downstairs and opened the door before he could knock. You exchanged quick pleasantries before making your way up the stairs. 
Peter took in his surroundings. You had a very nice apartment, littered with books and pictures on the wall. As he kicked off his shoes he looked down and was met by a black cat with a curious gaze. 
“That’s Anansi.” Peter smiled, looking up at you from his crouched position. 
“He’s very sweet, unlike the god you’ve named him after.” You looked at him surprised. Not that Peter saw it, he was currently focusing all his attention on shritching the joint of your cat’s ear. 
“You know much about African folklore?” Peter chuckled standing up straight again. His tall frame looked even taller now.
“No, I’m more of a STEM guy.” You grimaced as he laughed. 
“That was a terrible pun.” You made your way to the kitchen and he followed. 
“Would you like anything? I got water, tea, coffee, snacks…” Peter told you water was fine and you focused on fixing something for yourself. 
“Are you making a latte?” You laughed handing him his glass. 
“I used to be a barista. Old habits dye hard I guess.” Peter took his glass and began looking more closely at the trinkets that adorned your home. 
You fiddled with your cup before drawing him away from a picture of you and two other men smiling in front of your shop. Peter observed that one looked much older than the other, but related, more of a father-son dynamic. 
“So, tell me about yourself. What do you want? Where do you want it?” Peter bit his tongue choosing not to comment on your unintentional innuendo. He followed you as you sat on the couch, sketchbook in hand. 
“Uhhh, I don’t really have an idea of what I want, but I want it to mean something.” You nodded your head. 
“That makes sense, it’s your first tattoo. That should always be important. What's important to you?” Peter was looking at you again. The way his eyes bore into you made you think he saw you beyond your flesh. He was peering into your soul. 
“My aunt. She raised me and helped me open my shop. She’s been there through everything.” You nodded your head jotting down ideas as they came to you. 
“I guess my uncle too. He passed a while ago but he was there too, for as long as he could be.” You stopped in your scribbling to rest a hand on his. 
“I’m sorry,” Peter looked at you again but it was like the portal he had opened into you was closed off. 
“I like flowers, plants, biology. That was my major. Biochemistry actually.” You chose not to focus on what he had said before, obviously, he was trying to move on. 
“I like photography. I had considered opening a studio but, I dunno I went with flowers instead.” You continued nodding along as he talked. 
“I don’t think I’m ready for a whole sleeve or anything. Maybe just something small. It’s okay if it’s visible, I don’t need to hide it from anyone.” You put your pen down taking another sip of your drink. 
“I had sketched a few things up for you, nothing crazy,” You tacked the last part on when you saw his face light up with excitement. You didn’t want him to get his hopes up. Slowly he reached toward you and took the book from your hands. You were nibbling anxiously at your nail bed while he looked. You suddenly felt the need to defend your art. 
You sat up on your knees crossing over the cushions to look at the drawings over his shoulder. He straightened up slightly but you couldn’t tell if it was from discomfort or if he was trying to bring himself closer. 
“This one here,” You brought your shoulder over his to point at one of the flowers you had drawn. “Is an Alfalfa. It’s supposed to mean luck and life enjoyment.” 
Peter turned his head to look into your eyes. You brought a hand to his shoulder to steady yourself, nearly toppling over. You were lost in a sea of molasses, the small dingy you were clutching to seconds from capsizing. 
“They are also a provider. As a gift, it can represent respect for your head of household.” You nodded dumbly at his comment. The words he was saying were bouncing off you while his tone, his timbre, was soaking you to the bone. 
Before you knew what was happening he turned around, his back now on the armrest of your sofa, and brought you down into his lap. His breath was heavy as his forehead rested against yours. 
“Please tell me if I’ve been reading the signs wrong here.” You said nothing, mind still reeling. 
“Hey,” he brought a hand up to your face, once again capturing you in his gaze. “I need to know you want this too.” 
You pushed your lips to his. He countered you, pushing back, as his hand slipped from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His other hand trailed to your waist giving it a firm squeeze. You brought your hips down in a quick, teasing grind and he groaned. You took the opportunity to invade the cavity, probing forward with your tongue. 
He took the hand on your waist and wrapped it around you, completely enveloping you as he pulled your body closer. Your hands wandered from his shoulders to his messy locks, pulling slightly to get him to tilt his head. You felt his muscles flex around you and you let out a breathy whine. 
It was as if you had flipped a switch. Where Peter was following before he now took charge. His hand dropped to your ass, his rough digits finding purchase on the soft skin now free and exposed. You began to moan but it was quickly cut off by a gasp when he rutted into you.
Normally, you would be embarrassed by being rendered this needy so quickly but right now, all you could think about was the bulge you had felt against your core, the soft smiles and teasing winks, the warm hands and rough fingers. All belonging to the man underneath you. 
You brought yourself back down desperate for the taste of friction he had given you. You moaned into his mouth as you ground down again. He felt big. He wasn’t even fully hard yet, but you feel the sure size of him. He broke away for a second from kissing, his hands slowly making their way down your sides. 
“Hmm, what’s the matter, honey? You want something?” You couldn’t respond when he brought his hips back up to you, his hands planted firmly on your hips keeping you still. 
“Look at you, already cock dumb and I haven’t even touched you yet. Poor, thing.” The juxtaposition between the sweet names and the crass teasing pushed flaming hot desire through your veins, spreading with every pump of your quickly beating heart. You felt his fingers tease the waistband of your shorts, he pulled it back with a snap and you whined. 
“Come on pretty girl, tell me what you want.” He brought his hips up again in a slow draw and you forced yourself to focus, will the muscles in your mouth to move. 
“Ple- please touch me, please.” A wicked smile spread across his face, you looked into his eyes and saw a rawness. His pupils were blown, the warm honey of his eyes burned with desire, almost black. His hand travelled lower until he was cupping you. He applied a firm pressure and you moaned. 
“Like this, honey? Is this what you needed?” He let you grind against his palm but only for a brief moment before he grabbed your hip, stopping you. You huffed in frustration and he bit back a laugh. 
“Or did you need something more?” You weren’t used to this kind of treatment. Usually, a guy would have his way with you and you were along for the ride. They were, more so, having sex than having sex with you. You had never had to voice what you wanted before, and doing so seemed so lewd. 
“More please” the request was small, your voice barely carrying. He took some pity on you dipping his hands below your shorts again. You lost your breath as he ran a finger through your slit. 
“Oh honey, you’re drenched. This couldn’t have been comfortable. What’s got you all wound up, huh?” He gave a quick swat to your clit and you doubled over, gripping his shoulders. 
“Fuuck” He quickly began circling it, leaving kisses on your neck, his other hand still massaging the muscle of your ass. Suddenly he stopped, leaning you back. You watched in awe as he brought his fingers to his mouth, making a show of licking you off. 
“God, you taste divine. I gotta get another taste. Can I?” You nodded your head and Peter pushed you into the couch cushions. He brought you into another kiss his hands trailing into your shirt. He tore it off over your head before freezing at the sight in front of him. 
You wore a thin lacey bra decorated with embroidered roses. His fingers traced over the gift-wrapped surprise as his hands came up to cup them. He pushed his face between them and you ran a hand through his hair as he left wet kisses and bites across your soft skin. He moved his mouth back to yours and you kissed him hungrily as his thumbs started circling your nipples. He moaned into your mouth pulling away. 
“Are your nipples pierced?” You let out a small airy laugh. He looked overjoyed at the realisation, a giddy child in a candy shop. He brought his hands down ripping the fabric off your body. You would have been mad that he just ruined your lingerie if one, he hadn’t immediately begun showing you how wondrous his tongue felt and two, the display of unexplained strength hadn’t completely made your pussy water. 
He lavished your breasts with kisses and nips and you knew tomorrow you would have to cover up. The thought was quickly pushed out of your mind as his kisses began to trail lower. His lips traced over the ink lining your hips as his fingers slowly pushed down your shorts. You sat up suddenly, catching his attention. 
“Wait,” he pulled his hands from your body so fast it both melted and broke your heart. You brought your hands under his shirt, working your way up his abs (which you were delighted to discover) to his chest, all while dotting kisses on his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. 
“I don’t wanna be the only one naked.” Peter’s smile turned goofy and it made you chuckle. 
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” He stood from the couch removing his shirt and then quickly kicking off his jeans. You found it funny how he could be so sexy to unabashedly charming. It melted you to goo. 
He now stood in his boxers, a prominent bulge making it very clear how much he wanted you. Without thinking you bought your hand to it. Your thumb traced from the base to the tip that threatened to peek out from his boxers. 
“Fuck baby, let me take care of you first.” He brought you into a bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth, as he slowly lowered you back down. He took his spot once again between your thighs, pulling down your shorts. He played with the crotch of your panties and you squirmed.
“Hmm, so impatient. Tell me, did you plan this?” He held up your lacey thong by his pointer finger. “Did you wear these for me?” 
You could feel your nerves starting to fry under his lack of attention. “Yes, just for you.” 
You felt his tongue work between your folds, the pink muscle familiarising itself in the new home it’s found. He moaned into you and it sent shockwaves through your core. 
“So tasty, so pretty, just for me.” Before you could respond he began to suckle your clit. You moaned throwing your head back as he flattened his tongue against you whipping his head back and forth. He held your thighs in a tight grip burying his head further and further. 
You arched your back as you felt a finger enter you. Peter began thrusting and your toes curled. Your fingers found his hair and you pulled working out another moan from the man between your thighs. He added another finger, curling them into your spongy walls. 
“Come on baby, give it to me.” He could feel you were close. Your walls were flittering around his fingers. He brought a third into your cunt, thrusting quickly. You let out a scream as your orgasm ripped through you. He continued to lap up your mess, gentle kitten licks in your sensitive muscle. You pulled on his hair again meeting his eyes once again. 
“Please, need you.” He leaned forward, now towering over you. Your eyes darted from his to his sinful mouth as you watched him clean his fingers. Once satisfied he brought you into a kiss that you quickly lost yourself in. You could taste yourself on his tongue and the thought sent you reeling. You pulled at his boxers, relieved when you felt his dick in your hands. 
You were right about your previous assumptions. You could easily fit two hands along his shaft, the girth stretching your fingers. You began to slowly pump him delighting in the puffy pants he left in your mouth. You let your thumb graze the slit of his cock and he growled. He snatched your hand quickly, pressing a sweet kiss to your knuckles in reassurance. 
He lowered his hips letting himself run through your slit. His tip bumped against your clit and you hummed. He started to enter and the stretch alone was unholy. All thought left your head, leaving you only with the feeling of him slowly penetrating you. 
Peter left kisses to your pelvic bone, your stomach, your sternum, and the muscles pulling in your face. He stopped halfway and began thrusting slowly. You could feel his veins against your walls when he slowly started rubbing circles across your clit. He was working you to another orgasm, you felt weightless. Your fingers gripped his shoulders pulling him back down to a kiss as his fingers sped up. 
“Oh baby, look at you. You really did need me, didn’t you?” You started moving your hips, trying to catch more of him, more of this feeling. He bit down on your pulse point and that sent you over the edge. He lapped at the mark he left as you slowly came back down to earth. 
“Such a messy baby. I didn’t even give you all of my cock. I don’t think you could take it.” You shook your head furiously, trying to pull him closer. 
“I can. I can, please. Still need you.” In one quick movement, he fully entered you, ripping a moan from your throat. 
“So needy. It’s okay honey, I’ll give you what you need.” He was pistoning into you and you felt him in your stomach. He was hitting every part of you as he dragged himself in and out, in and out. You were already so sensitive and this was just so much. 
He hooked his arms under your legs and you felt him go impossibly deeper. He had rendered you a babbling mess, begging for him, begging for another orgasm, begging for more, more, more. And he was happy to deliver. 
He was completely surrounding you, invading each of your senses. You were drowning in Peter Parker. You felt his hand graze your throat and the resulting moan surprised you both. Peter’s wicked smile grew as applied more pressure. 
“Oh, you like that? I can feel your pretty pussy milking me. You like it rough? You like me showing you who's in control?” Your legs were shaking, The way he was hitting your g-spot and your cervix at the same time was intoxicating. 
His hips pistoned faster and he applied more pressure to your throat. For a moment you wondered if he was a god, a modern-day Zeus. You had fallen for his spell. Stars painted your vision and you tried to make out the constellations. The heat in your stomach grew and grew until it ruptured in a heavenly display. A chorus of moans harmonising in a holy ballad. Your body fell away leaving you only with your soul. 
“Earth to (Y/n), You still with me?” You felt fingers brushing your hair from your face, a soft kiss left to your cheek. You only hummed in response. 
“I think you blacked out there for a moment.” You opened your eyes to see Peter hovering above you. He was positively radiant, his hair tussled and skin glowing with a soft sheen of sweat. His eyes were alight with exuberance and jubilee. It was a good look on him. 
He pulled out of you and you winced. “Heh, sorry. Are you okay?” 
The gentleness he treated you with warmed your heart as he pressed small circles to your stomach. “Oh yeah, I’m much more than okay.”
Peter chuckled before asking where the bathroom was. You pointed in a direction and were surprised when he picked you up. He carried you through the hall bridal style before setting you down on the toilet. You pulled your brows together and Peter leaned down to kiss between them. 
“You should pee. And it’s only fair I clean you up.” You tried to fight the blush on your cheeks as he turned the water on. You watched as he adjusted the knobs looking for a comfortable temperature before dipping a rag in the stream. 
He wiped at your stomach, where you hadn’t even realised cum resided. You made a mental note to tell him later you had an IUD. You went to stand and grabbed the wall when your legs began to wobble. 
“Easy there soldier, I got ya.” He scooped you up once again, setting you back on the couch and helping you dress. 
Tag List: @andrews-lovr @brinaslittlefreak @ilovemoonknight @negasonic-teenage-asshole @preciousbabypeter @princesskittycatofmeowland @rudy-the-winged-wolf @whoreforklitz Challenge Tag List: @withahappyrefrain @fallensilencefics @squiddtheekidd @jadore-andor @p3mybeloved @phoebe-danvers @petcr3 @mortwig @renaroo123 @peterthepark @venus616 @spidervee @rae-gar-targaryen @the-amazing-simp @luveline @ddejavvu @nexusnyx @abibliophobiaa @privateanxieties
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peterthepark · 1 year
friends no more
pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader
tags: graphic smut overload, fluff and angst, fwb trope, jealous!peter, college!peter, public sex, rough sex but its also funny, spit kink? edging, romance and pining, mentions of insomnia
summary: the idea of friends with benefits meant nothing to peter parker. but for someone who loved to attest that they could “never get attached,” peter does the very thing he promised himself not to do.
note: 7.9k fic of fluff and smut and its just muwah!!! based off of the weeknd’s song “best friends” enjoy!
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Peter Parker liked to think that he wasn’t easily attached to people. He knew his boundaries, his limits, where friendships started or relationships ended; while he had the patience of a saint, he could also indisputably burn bridges with a fire he had fanned himself as if it didn’t mean anything to him in the first place. Which is why Peter didn’t have the best luck with relationships anymore. He wasn’t an open book, but rather a book that sat collecting dust on a shelf until people would pick him up out of curiosity, to take a gander, to read paragraphs and an extensive storyline with questionable plot holes — just to put him back again like he wasn’t at all interesting to them.
Peter hasn’t realized that he had become the topic of many college girls’ conversations in his year, unaware of how the whispers and giggles they’d share in the lecture hall were about how attractive he was or their shared fantasies about him and his skateboard.
He was rather oblivious to everyone, except you.
He had seen you working at the university bookstore ever since his second semester, and he had been infatuated with how undeniably pretty the bookseller behind the counter was. You’d recognize him from time to time as he walked through the door, hands in pockets, wearing some variation of headphones or earbuds, with his hood up like an angsty teenager. He’d hesitate to make eye contact, but you’d smile welcomingly at him as he’d storm past you like he was in a rush. He’d linger in the back of the bookstore, where he had his own designated table, and would only leave whenever he had class then return later in the day. Sometimes he’d study till closing, and you’d have to politely ask him to leave so that you could put everything away. But the more you saw of him, the more you became inclined to speak to him; a blossoming friendship was quickly established between you and Peter Parker.
Friendship, if that’s what you’d even call it. Because at some point during your shifts, you had stopped asking Peter to leave whenever you’d close. He’d help you sort out literature and textbooks, and you had learned over the time spent together that Peter was anything but shy.
Leaving two lonely, tired and horny college students was the epitome of an accident just waiting to occur.
Eventually one late night, Peter couldn’t help himself. He kissed you hard on the lips, and the erection in his jeans told you everything that you needed to know.
Closing shifts turned into hooking up with him in the storage room or giving him a blowjob against the bookshelves, where objects would clatter to the floor and you’d have to clean it up again after. Sometimes you’d lock the bookstore earlier than you were supposed to just so you could have Peter fuck you on one of the study tables. And again, the both of you would have to clean everything and wipe the desks off to avoid any suspicion from the openers.
It became more than a regular thing; sometimes it would interfere with Peter’s academia, in which he’d skip class to beg you for a quickie in a closet.
You fucked like hormonal rabbits at every chance you could get, but you and Peter were simply just close friends — with benefits, obviously, because Peter does not get attached. Or at least, that’s what he convinced himself. Maybe the sex was addicting. Perhaps he was addicted to you. He didn’t fucking know anymore, and it was driving him insane because he just couldn’t stop seeing you. Sometimes he’d be confused, you were his friend yet you would kiss him like you were in love and it would install unrealistic ideas into his brain, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep for the night.
But sure, he doesn’t get attached.
The bookstore was silent, except for the loud breathy exchange of moaning that came from behind a shelf. Peter had you pressed up against it, arms pulling you tightly against his chest as he took you from behind with your dress bunching up around your tits.
There was a click at the doors by the entrance.
“Peter.” You swatted his hand with a worried look. He didn’t pay attention, lost in pleasure as his mouth fell ajar with sin. “Peter!”
“Are you close?” He breathed into your hair.
You rolled your eyes. “Dude, no. I think someone’s out there.” He stilled inside you, following the direction of your eyes.
“Y/N,” He nibbled at your neck, leaving hickies that would be visible for everyone to see. “No one is out there. And no one can get in.”
“How sure are you that no one is out there, Peter?” Your head lolled back onto his shoulder as he started to thrust into you again.
“I just do.”
His climax was interrupted by an abrupt noise of someone knocking on the glass, and Peter had no choice but to pull out of you with a face of irritation.
“Jesus fucking…” You cursed sharply, collecting your panties off of the step stool and fixing your dress. The knocks were persistent, and you started to grow anxious. “I’m coming! I’m coming!”
“Yeah, I wish.” Peter muttered to himself, pulling his shirt over his head with a defeated sigh. He stayed behind, glaring over a row of books as you walked to the front of the store with wobbly legs.
Peter didn’t get jealous. And if he did, it’s either a rare instance or over something completely stupid — like that time you went to a rock concert with a bunch of guys and he didn’t get an invite, or that time you talked to your coworker the whole time during your shift instead of him, or that time you bought coffee for your friends and forgot his as if you hadn’t offered it to begin with. But this time, he had to admit that whatever feeling that was spurring in the depths of his stomach was admittedly the closest thing to anger-inducing jealousy he’d experienced.
Flash Thompson was chatting you up outside, even going so far to prop his arm against the door of the bookstore as he sent you a smooth, easy smile. You were laughing at something he had said, and Peter suddenly wanted nothing but to go back to the dorms and play video games in the common room till he went blind. He listened in closely — a perk of enhanced hearing from the persona you were unaware of — and he regretted his decision instantaneously.
“That new place opened down the street finally. Me and some friends were thinking of heading down there tomorrow for lunch around like two.” Flash touched your shoulder. “You should join us, Y/N.”
Peter frowned deeply. “Oh, tomorrow? I don’t know about that.” He recognized a tone of disinterest in your voice, and you were obviously faking a smile with the way your face strained with discomfort. You blocked the doorway, hand splayed out on the other glass door to prevent Flash from peeking further inside. “I'll be working pretty much the whole day since I have no class, but… uh, thanks for the offer, Flash.”
“Oh, no worries. So you’ll be here?”
“Like I always am.”
“I’ll see if I can stop by. Drop off some food for you.”
Peter grimaced at that; the thought of Flash visiting you in the workplace — the place in which you had spent so much time with him, in where your shared laughter and the smell of sex lingered because you were so horribly touch-starved for one another. He laughed at the thought of Flash leaning over the cashier counter, not having a single clue that Peter had bent you over it one too many times the day before. Your whole body visibly relaxed as soon as Flash left, and you made haste movements to lock the door once again before any unwarranted visitors came knocking to interrupt your festivities with Peter.
“What does he want?” The brunette scrunched his nose, taking long strides to follow you around the bookstore while you double checked that everything was in the right place and order.
You scoffed at him over your shoulder. “Don’t act like you weren’t listening, Peter.” You fiddled with a couple books, effortlessly switching them out into their respective places. “Flash Thompson was asking me on a date, what do you think? Should I call off and join him?” You drew your words out teasingly.
You were egging him on. Peter knew it from the moment you popped such a question despite your distaste for the douchebag, and he had to confess: he let it mess with his head. You liked that he was jealous, you liked whenever you’d clash heads, and Peter figured you got off on seeing him bothered as a result of him being too prideful in admitting that he’d grown attached to whatever you had.
“I thought it was great, really. Makes me wonder what other guys you’re fucking in this store.” He spoke blatantly, slowly trapping you between the wall and a shelf of textbooks. His neck craned ever so slightly to look down at you through his eyelashes. His lips begged to be reunited with yours, and he grew hard at the idea of tasting remnants of himself off of you. “Open.” Your mouth parted; you hadn’t even flinched as Peter’s spit met your tongue. “Are you fucking other guys, Y/N?”
You let out a moan, swallowing before you blissfully grinned up at him with wide, lust-blown eyes. Those eyes drove him crazy, and if you’d allow him, he would’ve been on his knees for you.
“What’s it to you?”
The quirk of your brow told him that you were testing his dominance, and he simply took it as an invitation to push you even further. Both his hands squeezed around your throat like it was second nature; his thumbs cradled your jaw as he kissed you softly like you’d shatter into pieces under his touch — as if he hadn’t been shamelessly spitting into your mouth seconds ago.
“Oh, it means nothing,” Peter’s hand trailed up the bare skin of your thigh, slipping underneath the dress you wore. “Just a friend…” He moaned into your mouth, fingers teasingly snapping against the waistband of your underwear. “… looking out for another friend.”
He wasn’t wrong. Because you were, simply put, just friends. Even when Peter’s digits nestled between your thighs, collecting the slick from your folds with a knowing smile. Even when he pushed you up against the drywall, slinging your legs over his shoulders with the devotion to make you cum on his face. Even when he’d crudely watch as his load oozed out of you, spreading you apart so that he could have the best view — it all circled back to friendship at the end of the day.
Peter’s head was buried under the fabric of your dress, swirling his tongue expertly around your entrance before using his fingers to rub gently at your clit. You had to confess, for someone who wasn’t so sexually experienced, Peter knew how to navigate your body. He wasn’t perfect at sex, no one was. But with you, it was like he had memorized every single curve and indent in your body, what kind of language made you tick and how much pressure was needed to make your toes curl.
However, Peter also knew that you were a brat who liked being pleased.
And brats sometimes needed to be taught a lesson.
The brunette pulled himself off of you, wiping the moisture around his mouth with the back of his sleeve. You stood there in a panting heap, looking at him with confusion and desperation as he unhooked your leg from the slope of his left shoulder.
“Forgot I had homework to do.” Peter smoothed the skirt of your dress down with such nonchalance as you stared in shock, unable to comprehend that he had just denied you of an orgasm.
Peter, your friend who loved making you cum, had stopped you from doing the very one thing you wanted to do tonight.
“Homework?! Are you seriously eating me out and thinking about calculus?” He stood up, his taller and lean frame making you squint your eyes in annoyance at him. “You’re an asshole. Why the hell did you do that?”
He shrugged, tucking his hands into the rugged pockets of his coat before heading towards the back exit of the bookstore like he was on a stroll. “Didn’t feel like finishing what I started. Wasn’t hungry anymore.”
Crossing your arms against your chest, you pouted at him. “You think you’re funny. Just wait till I get you back.”
“Bite me, Y/N.” He snarled jokingly at you.
Your eyes didn’t leave his as Peter reached around you, fixing the slanted book on the shelf above. “You kinky bastard, don’t test me. ‘Cause I will.”
His fingers brushed against your waist before they came to rest at his sides. “Hm, and what exactly will you do to me? Have mercy on me, please!” He pleaded dramatically, peppering raspberries on your skin. You giggled at the ticklish sensation, not straying away from him. You hadn’t missed the kiss he pressed to your collarbone before pulling away, and you felt slightly cold from the loss of contact.
Both of your smiles slowly faded as reality washed over you, and there was a sudden stiff awkwardness in the room that reminded you that this situation was too odd for a pair of ‘just friends.’
“We should head out.” You winced as you pointed over your shoulder, before fixing the appearance of your matted hair. “It's really late.”
Peter chuckled, picking a flyaway from your forehead. “Yeah — yeah, totally.”
“But tomorrow, again?” You bounced on your heels, biting the inside of your mouth as you awaited his answer. He hummed in agreement as you both made your way to the back exit; he held the door open for you, whilst checking you out as you walked ahead of him.
“Can I walk you to your dorm?” He caught up with you, doing a little skip that you found undeniably adorable.
“Oh, so now you wanna be nice to me? After edging me?” You kept walking, and Peter continued to skip next to you.
“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow if you stop acting entitled.” He smirked, bumping shoulders with you. “Thought edging was hot to you.”
“It is.” Except today, you desperately needed that release. You needed Peter to relieve you of all stress, especially when finals were around the corner and you were behind on a couple assignments. A cheap vibrator from a sketchy website couldn’t do the same job as Peter, especially when the boy had such talented fingers and a pretty mouth.
Peter doesn’t further the conversation, reveling in the quietness and the start of spring air that felt hot against his skin. You didn't speak either, staring at your phone as you walked beside him. Peter couldn’t help but stare at you, wondering why in the first place he agreed to this arrangement. Sex with you was heaven, yes, but he knew that he could seek that same feeling from anyone else, or someone with much more knowledge about pleasure. But yet, the bond between you was irreplaceable. Peter wanted to believe he was simply romanticizing their circumstances – this secret arrangement that no one knew about, the idea of fucking behind everyone’s backs. Although, his conscience told him that it was something different; perhaps he wanted more than to be labeled as a friend, more to having sex in the dark corners of the bookstore, more to only seeing you at night and pretending like nothing had happened the next day.
He strayed from the concept of relationships as much as possible because his life wasn’t meant for a white picket fence and a golden retriever. His double identity was a cloud of burden that would follow him everywhere — even university. Who knew that Spider-Man needed to patrol around fraternity houses?
“Well, this is me.” You clutched the strap of your bookbag and faced Peter. “Good night.”
“I’ll see you in a couple hours, Y/N.” He chuckled with a bashful smile, hands playing with the cloth of his pockets.
You looked at him longer than you should’ve. “So it goes.” There’s hesitation in your stance as you stepped into the dorm building; Peter had an inkling that something was off. “Have a safe walk back, yeah?”
“Of course. You okay?“
You stopped for a second like you were thinking, however your answer never came and the soles of your shoes echoed against the tile as you disappeared into the building; the doors shut behind you, where Peter was left standing on the steps by himself.
Peter always took you as someone who chose their head over their heart. He’d seen you think in logic, and your intelligence tended to rule over your own emotions unlike other people. Sometimes, he’d wish you’d let that big brain of yours relax and let yourself feel whatever needed to be felt. But like him, you fought to remain detached. You didn’t feel the need to be responsible for his heart. The arrangement between you and Peter had nothing to do with emotions, which was something you had established long ago, or so you thought.
And the way you ignored his question worried him.
The boy was late to his lecture in the morning. Honestly, he had been up all night thinking about you. He’d pondered over his feelings during three cups of instant coffee while studying; the visuals of math formulas suddenly shifted into thoughts of you and the fantasy he was wishing to live (plus the suppleness of your thighs; maybe even how pretty you looked in that dress from earlier). His professor’s teachings about the lesson simply were not registering, and he sat lifeless with his cheek resting against his palm. Words went over his head easily, but the half-assed whispering behind him tingled the tips of his ears.
Flash Thompson unfortunately shared this class with him, and to Peter’s dismay, the athlete sat behind him with his group of token frat boys. He didn’t know their names as much as the next person, but Peter didn’t care. All he heard was Flash’s arrogant tone and he could just see the cocky smirk on that asshole’s face.
“Did she say yes?” One of his friends nudged him.
Flash scoffed. “No, stood me up for her job.”
“Ha, this guy! You sure Y/N isn’t dating… you know?” His other companion lowered his voice. “Peter? Like they hang out a shit ton.”
“Trust me. She wants nothing to do with Peter.” Flash leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms out as confidence dripped off of him. “Y/N said it herself when we went out during her break that time.”
Since when did Flash take you out on your breaks?
Maybe you actually liked Flash and you were lying to him in hopes of keeping your arrangement alive. The pair of you were anything but exclusive — because friends didn’t stop friends from dating other people. At the same time, it felt like betrayal because unlike a true friend, you weren’t telling him anything about this part of your life.
“So, when are you asking her out?”
What in the world was he thinking to ask you out when you clearly had nothing in common?
“Shit, more like when am I gonna get to fuck her…”
The brunette couldn’t help but glance back with daggers in his eyes, but the boys behind him were too immersed in their conversation to even notice his pointed glare.
Flash only wanted to fuck you?
Peter’s eyebrows drew into a line of anger, and he started allowing his intrusive thoughts to get the best of him. He couldn’t handle staying for the remainder of the lecture. Abruptly getting up from his seat and barrelling out the exit with bubbling anger, Peter skated towards the bookstore with a frown and his music on maximum volume in hopes of drowning out his disappointment.
You looked up from your book, squinting as Peter appeared on the other side of the door to the bookstore. He stormed inside in the same manner that he did the first time he walked in.
“Hey, Pete. I thought you had class?”
Your eyes followed him closely as he brushed past you without a word. Awkwardly, you glanced at your novel in suspicion, unsure whether or not to follow him. You had noticed his change in demeanor at some point in the string of your arrangements, only ever associating it with his insomnia or the all-nighters he’d pull — despite your protests and requests for him to take better care of himself. But perhaps, his demeanor stemmed from something else. With a look of concern, you went to search for Peter in the corners of the bookstore, knowing that he’d be at the table you reserved only for him. He didn’t look up as you slowly approached him, even going so far as to sit in the empty chair across his.
“Are you in your angsty teenager era again?” You probed with a lighthearted voice, crossing your forearms atop of the table. He refused to look at you, burying his nose in a book that surely did not belong to him. “Since when did you read books about…” You reached over to check the cover. “Oh, very interesting read here. Toilet Paper Origami? I’m surprised this isn’t a bestseller, Peter.”
He didn’t laugh or crack a single smile. He remained silent and stoic, which was a first in a while.
Something was wrong.
“Pete?” You shook his arm, and Peter pulled away from you like your touch had seared his skin. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine, you should get back to work.”
You didn’t push him, knowing that he’d only become even more closed-off. Returning to your place by the counter, you found yourself constantly checking on him from afar, glancing through the spaces between the bookshelves. The bell above the front door jingled, and you greeted the guests while your eyes remained on Peter.
“Y/N!” Your head snapped towards the sound of Flash’s booming voice — too rowdy and loud for a bookstore, but you didn’t feel it was necessary to tell him off, especially when he was trying to be nice. “Got you lunch from that new place, remember? Here.” Peter couldn’t help but peek over his book, huffing as Flash handed you a take-out bag. “I think it’s your favorite.”
You thanked him and reached into the bag to pull out a sandwich. Peter knew by the look on your face that it wasn’t anywhere near your favorite; he knew exactly what you liked in your food and what you didn’t, and Flash happened to fuck up that part immeasurably. Your smile, again, was faked. It pained Peter to watch the conversation unfold, and he cringed at Flash’s futile attempt at asking you out.
Oh, fuck. He was asking you out.
Peter hadn’t thought twice before he got up from the table, nearly stomping across the carpet as he made his way towards you and Flash. You didn’t realize he was gone from his original place until you noticed a towering presence beside you. Your eyes widened, and you immediately figured the direction of where this was headed as Peter jutted his chin out in dominance.
“Hey, man.” Flash laughed in annoyance. “Kinda occupied right now. You know, in the middle of a conversation and all.” He gestured between you and himself.
“I know.” Peter began calmly, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Yeah, how about you fuck off and stay away from Y/N.”
“Peter.” You gasped at him. You were thankful there was a counter in between the two men; had there not been, you were sure they would’ve been at each other’s throats already.
“Dude, I mean no harm. Just asking her out on a date, that’s it.”
“Asking her on a date or just trying to get into her pants?”
You grew irritated, pushing at his chest as he attempted to confront Flash. “Peter, chill out.”
“Don’t tell me to chill out.” Your friend looked at you. “Flash clearly has the wrong intentions.”
“Okay, enough! Both of you! Flash, I’m sorry. You have to leave.” The athlete started to defend himself, but you saw right through his ‘nice-guy’ façade in an instant and kicked him out of the bookstore, along with the sandwich he’d given to you.
“Asshole.” Peter muttered under his breath, moving to return back to his book.
You pulled him back by the cloth of his top, nostrils flaring as you tried to comprehend what unfolded. “What the fuck was that?”
“Flash wanted to fuck you, not take you out a date.”
“I knew that from the beginning. I’m not dumb, Peter. How is Flash wanting to fuck me any different from you fucking me?” You snapped at him, gesturing at him like he was pathetic.
“It’s one-hundred percent different. I’m nothing like Flash, I… I care about you.”
“Yeah, right. I meant, why the fuck did you intervene?”
“I don’t know! I just had to, okay?”
“What? Did you want to play hero and defend me? You’re not Spider-Man, yeah? I didn’t need you to step in. I don’t know why you’re acting like…”
(He would’ve found the dig amusing, but he’d save that revelation for another instance). You were angry, and so was he, and your tone of voice wasn’t making it any easier for him to listen to you.
“Acting like what, huh? Don’t play coy, Y/N. The only reason why you’re mad is because I got in the way of the ‘possible’ relationship you always dreamed you could have. And guess what? You’ll never be able to get it like this. The only reason why we’re doing this — doing this fucking arrangement shit is because you can’t stand the idea of yourself in a relationship and you can’t stand the idea of getting attached to anyone because you’re scared.”
The store had been empty, but it felt like a million faces were judging you. Nothing hurt more than the manner in which Peter stared at you, blinded by unresolved anger and issues.
“Is that the reason I’m mad? Or is it the reason you are?” Your voice broke as you stepped towards him.
His jaw clenched as he broke eye contact. “I should’ve never been your friend. I should’ve never walked in here. You should never have spoken to me, or else I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have…”
“Okay, Peter. We’re not doing this. Get out.”
“Please just go.” He opened his mouth, then quickly shut it when he realized how much his words had stung. You held back your tears as you watched him leave, sobbing quietly into the sleeve of your jacket because he hadn’t hurt you like this ever.
It was like your heart shattered in a billion pieces. The words spewing out of Peter’s mouth were purely out of spite and frustration, yet every syllable was laced with sincerity and it seemed as if he’d been wanting to tell you that for ages. Almost like he despised you. Were your years of friendship meaningless? Was your arrangement damaging? Did Peter have feelings for you?
And it hit you hard.
Over time, Peter’s touch would linger longer than usual, especially his kisses. What used to be short and hurried hookups turned into full-length foreplay and aftercare that was never part of the package. Pillowtalk (usually happened with you and Peter laying on top of a study table half-naked) turned into the deepest of conversations; he’d ask about your plans for the next week or when you would be visiting home, and you thought of it as a curious friend asking curious questions. On some nights that Peter would walk you to your dorm, he’d ask if he could come in and stay around longer — just to hang out, he’d say. But hanging out after hookups was never a thing between you two, and sometimes he’d prolong helping you close the bookstore by distracting you so that you could have more time together.
Peter was attached and he liked you.
You and the brunette didn’t talk for the rest of the week. He’d come into the store, but wouldn’t even go out of his way to say hello or apologize and it was making you indignant because you simply had done nothing wrong — until Peter entirely stopped showing up and the back of the bookstore was hauntingly empty without him. He didn’t pick up his phone, nor did his roommate say that he saw him lately. You knew he hadn’t gone back to Queens, because his stuff was still in his dorm except the suspicious backpack he’d sometimes carry around was missing.
It worried you, but you knew that he was fine. Peter never got himself into danger. He’d turn up sooner or later, and like always, you were right.
The bell by the front door chimed, yet your attention never left the new book in your hands.
“Hi, welcome.” You sighed with a monotonous voice, turning the page.
The person approached you slowly, and you asked them if they needed anything before their odd silence made you look up. Solemn, brown eyes met your gaze.
Peter Parker stood with a bouquet of flowers and a bruised cheekbone. He looked at you apologetically with a close-lipped smile, causing the dimples in his face to appear prominently.
“Y/N.” He spoke softly.
“I’m sorry for what I said to you.”
You eyed him deliberately. “Is that it?”
He exhaled audibly, burying his face in the flowers like he was embarrassed before he straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “I am deeply sorry that I hurt you and I said all those awful things. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that I… I just got angry and I didn’t like the idea of — of you being around another guy. None of those insults were true.”
“Peter, I thought we weren’t exclusive.”
“We aren’t. I know we aren’t.” He frowned. “I’m really sorry.”
You pushed the book away from you, leaning over the counter to look at him. “So do you still wanna be my friend or was that part true?”
“I don’t wanna be your friend.”
The hope drained from your face. He continued on, taking your silence to heart.
“I don’t wanna be friends anymore, Y/N. I want — I like you. I always have. When I yelled at you, it was more of me talking about myself. I didn’t want you to be around Flash, I wanted you to be around me. I don’t wanna be friends because I want more with you and — and I don’t wanna keep fucking and running around with each other like it means nothing because you mean fucking everything to me, Y/N.” He held out the bouquet towards you. “I like you and I want to be your boyfriend. If I can. If you feel the same way.”
Too stunned to speak, you took it from Peter with disbelief, losing yourself in the colors of the flower petals and their scent – then the honey of Peter’s eyes.
“I like you, too.”
His face broke out into a huge grin, and for the first time, Peter was able to call you more than his friend. He rushed around the counter and pulled you into a real kiss, fingertips brushing under your chin as he breathed you in. Peter was kissing you with a different tenor, savoring every piece of you as you slung your arms around his shoulders.
You broke away from him, gasping at the intensity and the adrenaline rushing through your body. “Do you wanna go into the office?”
“The office? Right now?” He looked around. “There’s an office here?”
“Yeah, in the back. It’s always locked but… I just so happen to have the keys and maybe we could put it to good use.” You smirked at him, running your nails subtly against his jean-clad thigh.
“Crazy girl. Aren’t you on the clock?” His hips grinded against your front, and he bit his lip.
“No one will notice I’m gone.”
“I thought you were always scared of getting caught.” He held back a whine as you stood on the tips of your toes to kiss the underside of his jaw.
“Maybe I wanna try something different.”
Peter couldn’t waste time any longer. Breathless, he led you by the arm into the back, checking over his shoulder for guests. With jittery hands, you unlocked the office, then Peter had you pressed against the wall in seconds. Your hair was mussed from his fingers and he hadn’t missed the fluttering of your breath from the new hickey he was nursing on your neck. He could hear the increase of blood running through your body, and let his growing smugness take over while he unzipped your jacket.
“You’re nervous?” His nose bumped against yours with each motion, before you were nodding with newfound meekness that formed a cocky smile upon Peter’s lips. “Now why is that, Y/N? You act like you’ve never had my dick in your mouth before.”
You were nearly shaking as his fingers pressed into your hip bones, relishing in the softness of the exposed skin under your shirt. “Because you’re…” A flush of shyness flooded your face, and you shut your eyes as your garbled voice emerged from the back of your throat. “You’re just really hot.”
Peter laughed, taking the chance to hum at the submissive confession. His hand entangled itself in your locks, bunching it together so that he could pull you by the hair. “So shy for me now, reminds me of that first night you let me ruin you. Where did my little brat go, baby?” His forehead fell against the coolness of your cheek, pressing soft yet needy kisses as you mumbled with incoherence. “You wanna tell me something, Y/N? Use your words. Come on.”
“I just really really wanna be fucked right now.” You admitted with playful and heavy eyes, hooking your fingers through the belt loops of Peter’s jeans. “Please?”
The words went straight to his dick, and an unprepared sigh left his trembling lips as you dropped to your knees without hesitation. Clumsy fingers worked around the zipper and button of his pants; Peter looked down at you with wide, trusting eyes as you eased the material down the length of his legs. Desperation was written all over your features as you eyed the outline of his hardening cock through his boxers. You couldn’t help but press a kiss to it, earning a shameless shudder from Peter who had to sturdy himself against the mahogany desk behind him.
He loved this part as much as he loved being buried between your legs.
You ran kisses along the expanse of his abs, and each peck became wetter as you kissed down the path of his faint happy trail. Each motion sent him into a whirlwind of longing, and he had to look away as you tugged his underwear down his thighs. Your hand slowly wrapped around the girth, where your fingers barely met as you began to stroke him. Your lips puckered, pressing a lustful kiss to the leaking tip of his cock. A moan rolled off of Peter’s tongue, and his head fell back in pleasure as you collected the drops of pre-cum off of his length and took him impatiently into your mouth.
“God, Y/N. You’re a fucking angel, you know that?” He cooed lovingly. The praise went straight to the wet patch between your thighs and Peter couldn’t help but admire the string of saliva that connected him to your lips. “My beautiful, beautiful Y/N.”
You moaned at the remark, and Peter let out a gasp as the sensation of your throat vibrating around him. You peppered silky kisses across the underside of his cock, and looked up at Peter with teary-eyes — his swollen lip tucked between his teeth, lids screwed shut, head thrown back in sinful satisfaction.
“Look at you. You suck dick so well.” His hand came to rub over the bulge in your cheek as you took him into your mouth again, bobbing your head with darkened eyes at his comment. He pulled back a little to give you relief, putting his weight onto his palms as you stared with moony eyes at him. “You wanna say something? Go on, baby.”
With his cock resting against your lips, you gulped loudly for air. Your head was pounding while you wiped the edges of your mouth. The flavor of your chapstick mixed with the taste of Peter’s pre-cum, and the disheveled sight of your appearance made Peter want to show you just how much he adored you.
Your throat ached and you rubbed the tops of your thighs with sticky palms through an eager whisper. “ I want you to fuck my mouth.”
“Oh, baby.” Your jaw remained loose, saliva nearly dripping down the front of your neck as Peter swiped the tears away from your droopy eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”
“But I wanna make you feel good, Pete.” You kissed his stomach, laying your head against the bareness of his abdomen. “Pretty please?”
Peter whined, having to suppress the growl that wanted to escape him. His hand came to push the hair away from your face, and you submissively let him hold you by the chin. “Another time, Y/N. Let me take care of you. Up, now.” He pulled you to your feet. Without a word, he turned to the table behind him and pushed everything off it. You flinched with a shocked laugh as the objects clattered to the floor loudly, and Peter shushed you between tiny kisses and giggles, lips finding yours messily as he hoisted you up onto the mahogany. “I love that you wanna please me, but nothing beats pleasing you. This okay?”
You nodded quickly as he stood between your legs, pulling your shirt over your head and taking your bra with it. Your jeans disappeared into the puddle of clothing on the floor, and you blissfully observed how Peter couldn’t take his eyes off your body. He dragged his index finger down your throat, between the valley of your breasts, past the indents of your stomach, and paused by the wet patch of your panties.
“Always such a good girl.” Peter buried his face into your shoulder, letting his fingertips ghost over your clothed core. “Can I?” You answered in a moan, but that wasn’t enough for the brunette. “Words, Y/N. Need to hear you say yes.”
“Yes. Please.”
Your eagerness was a test of his self-control. “Lay down for me.” He cleared off more of the table, guiding you back as he propped your knees up at an angle. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
You missed the way his eyes glistened with want as he pulled your panties to the side. His nose nudged against your clit, to which you reacted with a breathy mewl. His senses are filled to the brim because of you — your fragrance, the taste of you against his textured tongue. He gripped the backs of your thighs harshly, keeping you spread open as he lapped at your folds.
He moaned at the way you tugged on his hair, whining his name in a plea. He flicked his expert tongue over your clit again, chuckling against you at the noises escaping your throat. You sounded broken, like his mouth was just that good and it fully inflated his ego.
“P-Peter…” You hid your face behind your hands through a muffled groan, and Peter’s hands trailed up your skin to knead at your breasts. Your wetness was driving him insane. Peter could just feel it accumulate onto his lips and every drop of you was so intoxicating, it made him drunk off of your pussy. He sucked onto your clit hard. “Oh! Fuck!”
The thing about Peter was that he was a giver. He loved giving, even though he loved receiving just as the next person. But you — your thighs flexing around his head and your moans ringing through his ears — he’d give himself to you any day at any time.
“If you keep going like that…” You breathed out, sitting up on your forearms to meet the intensity of his pupils. “I’m gonna cum.”
“Is that not what you want?” He perked up, mouth still working on you. “Weren’t you just begging me the week before? Oh, Peter, you asshole.” He licked a stripe across your folds, mimicking you with a high-pitched voice. “Why didn’t you let me cum?”
“Listen,” You pulled him by the hair, pushing the hungry brunette off of you as he pouted. “I would love to cum right here, right now, but we both know I’d prefer having you inside me.”
He shrugged, pressing loving kisses to the redness on your knees in an effort to restrain himself. “Well, you could’ve just said that.” He brought you closer to him, sitting you on the edge of the table. “Who am I to say no?”
You let your hand lightly cup Peter’s throat, feeling the apple of his neck bob against the sensation of your fingertips pushing into his pulse point. His arm swooped under the back of your knees, and you took it as a signal to wrap your legs around him.
“Good to go?” You smiled, teeth bumping into his as he held you firmly by the waist.
“Just making sure you’re comfortable.” He captured you in a kiss once more. “But you know by the end of this you’re not gonna be able to walk.”
You bit onto his shoulder as he smoothed his calloused hands over your back, and you shuddered as he parted your wet folds with his cock. The pair of you gasped in relief, at the fullness of Peter and the tightness of you. He groaned as you already began squeezing around him, as if you hadn’t taken his length before. He thrusted slowly, careful of not hurting you with overbearing strength. The pit of his belly pulsated, and his fingers quickly found the button of your clit once more as he bottomed into you.
“Fuck, Peter. Holy fuck.” You wedged the knuckle of your pointer finger between your teeth, too overwhelmed with the feeling of him stretching you out. His thrusts started to quicken, and you began rocking against him in the same desperation he was exhibiting. You let Peter manhandle you, pulling your arched form against his chest so that you were laying flat against him. His hand rested against the nape of your neck, feeling every rush of adrenaline in your bloodstream as a choked moan left his body. Your swollen lips found him in the chaos, and Peter only ever moved away to give the same affection to your jaw.
“I’m so close…” Peter’s sweet voice whined into the saltiness of your skin. His strokes were sloppy, yet it still felt good with every inch of him filling you. “Y/N, I’m — fuck, I want you to come with me.”
“I’m almost there.” Peter attacked your collarbone with open-mouthed kisses, and his heightened senses were sent to overdrive as you clenched once, twice, three times around him. “Cum, Peter. Please cum for me.”
The boy resonated with the dirtiness yet elegance of your voice, resting his forehead against yours as you intently watched him sputter inside of you. The feeling of you squeezing around him left him in a daze, and he clutched onto your thighs as they trembled in the midst of your orgasm.
You stay like that for a moment.
A quiet whimper fell from your mouth, and Peter panted as he slowly pulled out of you. A mixture of your juices and his own trickled down your leg. Peter was quick to find the tissue box on the floor, fishing a couple tissues to wipe at your leg and gently pat against your pussy. You jolted at each touch, sensitive after such activities.
Peter’s voice was softer, contrasting the dominant tone from earlier. “Bend your legs.” You didn’t talk as he patted you clean, mumbling an apology as you hissed at the delightful soreness. “Sorry, let me know if this is too rough.”
“It’s okay. Thank you.” You shut your eyes as he discarded the tissue into a bin, and you sighed in relief as his warm touch met your body once more. “So sweet to me.”
“You’re amazing, you know that?”
“Mmm, I know.” Your eyelids fluttered open, staring at Peter hazily in a dreamy gaze as his hand found yours. “But you…”
“Yeah, what about me?” He questioned, collecting your shirt and bra from the floor.
“Kinda crazy how you fuck your crush before taking them out on the first date.” You joked. He slapped your calf gently at the snarky remark, scoffing at you. You lifted your arms into the air as Peter pulled your shirt over you, helping you get into your clothing before you did the same for him.
“I like doing things out of order, Y/N, if you haven’t noticed.” He smirked, brushing your hair with his fingers.
“How about we take a stroll down that farmer’s market across the street?” You suggested. Peter blushed and pressed another kiss to your temple like he couldn’t get enough of you.
“If you can even walk.”
“If I can even — psh. Watch me.”
You moved to jump off the desk, losing your balance as your knees buckled in front of Peter. The brunette cackled before helping you up, glancing at the plumpness of your swollen lips with full admiration.
“I told you.”
“Just take me on that date, alright?”
“Perhaps I should carry you there!” He exclaimed, scooping you into his arms as you shouted protests through a fit of laughter. His nose buried itself in the strands of your hair, and Peter closed his eyes at how natural this felt.
The bubble of your laugh. The scent of you that lingered on his clothes. The taste of your lips.
The way you memorized him like no one else.
Peter Parker did get attached. But this time, he hadn’t expressed any opposition to the idea.
Because he had you. You, who was no longer his friend, but his girlfriend. So much for just friends, in the end.
4K notes · View notes
lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 3 months
feeling like shit rn, can you please write pete teasing his drunk baby and cleaning her up, holding her hair back when she pukes, she's like "i'm a mess, how can you love me" and he's kissing her face, that kind of fluffy shit <3
this is so stinkin cute
Pairing: Boyfriend! Peter x Girlfriend! Reader
Word Count: 843
Warnings: some swearing, and vomiting ofc. but petnames and lots of fluff:))
"carry me to my bed, lay me in a pillow town kiss me on my head and remind me of the way we will not know
i wish i was your girl..."- your girl, lana del rey (unreleased)
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“M’Peter I’m done. No more.” you moaned, your body feeling weak and achey as you leaned against your forehead against the toilet seat.
You felt like you were being punched in the gut, pins and needles pricking your clammy skin as the world began to spin again. The booze was rushing to your head, and you started to regret drinking so much.
Actually, you started regretting it nearly half an hour ago, the cool bathroom tile becoming an secret oasis for you as you heaved up sweet coolers and warm shots of fireball.
“No, no baby you gotta get it all out. You’ll feel so much better.” he cooed from above you, hand holding your hair back, the other stroking your back in small, soothing circles.
You were jealous of how much better he could handle his alcohol. You were jealous of the fact he didn't have the taste of sickly sweet six percent on his teeth, mixed with the taste of faint vomit.
“I’m not feeling better. M’feeling worse. You’re lying.” you stated, groaning as you felt the contents in your stomach roll over like a tidal wave.
“I never lie sweetheart, you know this. Stop being mean.” he laughed, watching as you weakly attempted to reach behind yourself to swat at him. Before you could make another sly comment back, it was too late.
“Oh g-god-” you hiccuped, leaning further towards the toilet bowl as you felt the room start to spin.
“Oh, there she goes. Atta girl, let it all out.” he winced, patting your back as you heaved everything up, feeling as if you'd choke.
“Good girl. See? It’s better.” he said, reaching over to grab the damp cloth he had been using to help clean you up, so you’d stop (attempting) to use the back of your hand as a means of getting the puke off your lips.
“No not better. You’re better.” you moaned, not relaxing your words had made no sense.
“I am better. Now look up for me, good girl.” he smiled as you obeyed, makeup slightly smudged as he wiped the warm facecloth across the lower half of your face. Leaning down, he scattered kisses across your face, leaving you giggly as his lips brushed every inch of skin, tickling your eyelashes.
“I’m a mess, how can you l-love me?” you slurred, hearing the toilet flush before he helped you stumble upwards to stand.
“You’re not a mess. You’re beautiful.” he shoke his head, and you reached for the edge of the counter to help steady yourself.
You felt awful. You knew tomorrow morning would be hell on earth, and you already could predict the amount of tylenol and gravol you’d have to down with lots, and lots of water. It seemed like a chore, so out of reach as you felt yourself being guided towards the bed.
You couldn't even remember whose bed it was. It certainly wasn't yours.
“Do you wanna try and get out of these clothes?” Peter asked, to which you could only nod. Exhaustion washed over your bones, and you felt weak and nimble as thread as you swayed in place.
“I need them off. They’re sticking to me.” you complained, feeling like a rag doll as he moved your limbs to better suit his needs, lifting your arms up to slide your shirt off.
“I wish I was your girl. I wanna be your girlfrienddd.” you blurted out, slouching back on the bed, head pressed against the crisp sheets and you breathed them in. They were coated in the smell of Peter, and a sigh of relief escaped your lips as you realized you were safe in the comfort of his bed.
You could hear his laughter, though it sounded slightly muffled and distant as he unbuttoned your jeans, sliding the deminum down your legs and letting them plop onto the floor with the rest of your garments.
“You are my girlfriend silly. And I wouldn't have it any other way.” he hummed, shuffling you around so you were vertical, head collapsing on the pillow.
“Really? That's so sweet.” you smiled, content with the idea that the two of you were together (despite being a couple for over a year), as you always wanted.
“Lets just stay here. We can stay here all night.”
“We are staying here all night. And all day, most likely. You’re not moving in this condition.”
You smiled. “That means more time to cuddle.” you giggled, and he leaned over to kiss your forehead before turning away.
“W-where are you going? I thought we were going to cuddle, cause you’re my boyfriend and that's what they do!” you pouted, reaching aimsley for his hand in an attempt to keep him from leaving you.
“We will cuddle baby I promise. I’m gonna get some stuff like meds and a bucket okay? I’ll be right back.”
You nodded, letting your hand fall limp against the sheets. Before you could stop them, your eyelid started to droop, the world turning dark as you dozed off into dreamland.
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corinthianism · 27 days
labyrinth | peter parker
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pairing: peter parker (andrew garfield)/gn!reader additional tags: fluff, meet cute warnings: referenced character death (gwen), angst
summary: peter finds love again nearly a decade since gwen's death. note: this is like. a brain fart. i barely proofread this so like i'm just gonna HOPE it's not complete ass. happy reading!
The air was already biting cold in November. Peter had been sitting on the same bench for about an hour now, orange leaves clinging to his coat. Every so often, he would break out of his trance to brush them off. Gwen had gotten it for him on their first Valentine’s Day together after she saw him wearing one of his uncle’s old ones. She joked about how it made him look like he was hiding little packets of crack in his pocket. His lips twitched into a smile before he inhaled deeply, trying to remember the sound of her laugh. The real sound of her laugh, not the one that crackles through the speakers of his old laptop whenever he missed her. It’s been that long. He was always terrified he’d forget her: how her eyes twinkled when she learned something new, how her hair always seemed to be perfectly in place, or how her scent took over his room after every visit.
There were days when he couldn’t even get out of bed, too consumed by his grief to move a muscle. On the flip side, there were days when he could feel like himself again. Days where he allowed himself to smile and just be the nerd he’d always been. He knew it was what Gwen would’ve wanted. By some miracle, it was what she fell in love with. She loved Peter Parker and that was the only reason he had to not lose himself as Spider-Man. Despite it all, he found it got easier with time. It was easier to live with himself now. It was easier to accept that it wasn’t his fault. Four years has passed since her death and he was just barely accepting it still, but it didn’t hurt so much anymore.
It was rare for him to have the time to just go out and enjoy what the city had to offer. New York could be a real piece of work: that was evident from just how much Spider-Man had to deal with in the past few months, but it was home. Central Park was a place he hadn’t visited in a while, so he tried to not dwell in his thoughts too much and enjoy the rare opportunity. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to do but people-watch, but it was a nice change of pace for Peter. With how hectic things were at work on top of his responsibilities as a vigilante, he was exhausted. He was tired of being Peter Parker. It was nice to just be invisible for once. 
He snorted. If middle-school Peter heard that, he would’ve been firmly smacked on the head by his younger self. He always wanted to fit in with the cool kids back then. He achieved that to some degree. Sure, he was more well-known as a dweeb rather than a cool guy, but he was still well-known. Even now, he realized his desires didn’t change all that much. It’s just that this time, he wished he could have a house and a dog and a proper job and be friends with normal people. Instead, he was still renting an apartment in a less-than-ideal part of town that he could barely keep. Before he could slip further into his self-deprecation, he was pulled away from his thoughts by something sitting next to him. On his right was a puppy, no more than a year old, slobbering all over the bench with a bright green ball in its mouth. Peter could only stare at it before the puppy carefully placed the wet ball on his lap, urging him to throw it. Before he could do anything, you jogged up to them and picked up both the dog and the ball.
“I’m so sorry, sir! I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately!” your eyes wandered down to the wet patch on Peter’s thigh where the ball used to be. “God, you don’t have somewhere to be, do you? I’m really, really sorry!” 
You were really jittery. That was the only word Peter could think of to describe you. You didn’t know where to put your hands: between holding the happy pup, the ball with said pup’s drool all over it, or trying to introduce yourself to the man your dog decided was “the chosen one”, Peter was pretty entertained. Then he felt bad. 
“It’s no problem really,” he reassured you before pointing to the troublemaker in your arms fondly. “You’ve got a cute puppy. Too bad I didn’t get to throw the ball though.”
The sigh of relief you let out must’ve been cartoony because you swore you saw him smile, then he stood up and handed you a handkerchief. You looked at it for a few moments before accepting it with your one wet free hand gratefully. He remembered thinking at the time that you looked so welcoming. Like a friend you can always talk to even if you haven’t seen each other in a while. It might’ve been his senses messing with him, but the air felt clearer then. Your arrival cleared a fog in his mind, and he didn’t even know your name. So he told you his instead, his gloved hand touching yours for the first time in what seemed to be just a polite handshake. Looking back on it now, perhaps that was the first sign. 
You told him your name, trying not to stare at the man in front of you. His eyes were so… kind. They were big and round and full of wonder, maybe a little dampened by age. Kind but tired. They should’ve been just as average as any other set of eyes you’ve seen, but when the sunlight hit them just right, it reminded you of swirls of honey. The rest of him surely didn’t disappoint. Maybe a few seconds in, you realized you must’ve been gawking at him, so you said your goodbyes and tried to forget about it on the way home.
Not that you could, but he couldn’t either. 
A couple of weeks had passed. His patrols happened less often now with him working so much during the day. Between the bills and the pressure of being a functioning adult, Peter found it difficult to keep his head above water. He stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror he got from May’s old stuff. He was older. He was sadder. The suit still fit as well as it could, but squeezing into it was more of a chore now than an exciting flipping-of-the-switch into his alter-ego. His hands shook, if only for a moment, before he pulled down the mask over his head. The fire escape creaked under his weight before bouncing back into place as Spider-Man finally leaped off and swinged into the night.
“It’s just another patrol,” he reminded himself. “You get this done and you can get some sleep.” 
It must’ve been two hours into his patrol when he heard you. His ears perked up at the sound of your voice. Before he could even register what was happening, his body was already swinging its way to you.
“Sherlock!” you called out. “Sherlock! Where are you?”
This was impossible. You loved your dog to bits but you’d think he’d think twice before dashing away from you at the slightest rustle of a bush.
“You need some help?” a voice came from behind you.
You jumped and swung your fist at whoever it was. Peter managed to narrowly avoid your sucker punch so he stepped back and held up his hands, in fear of freaking you out even more.
“WOAH! Woah, woah, hey…” he tried to calm you down, his actions about as frantic as your own. “I’m Spider-Man! I’m here to help!”
Red and blue spandex. Wide white lenses. Your mind finally processed what was going on in front of you. Spider-Man was here. 
Holy shit, Spider-Man was here.
Once again, you were apologizing to him. Not that you would ever know that it was the same person. You explained that you were trying to find your dog, and he listened. He clung to your every word, whether he meant to or not. That same fog in his head cleared up and soon he found himself engaging in easy conversation with you as you both searched the neighborhood for your dog. He felt light, like this was the simplest thing ever. Why was it so easy to be with you?
How long has it been since he was in the company of someone other than May? Someone who wasn’t from Midtown High who would awkwardly comment on how different he looked. Someone who wasn’t from the Bugle who would sneer at him every time he messed up because he was exhausted. How long has it been since he spent time with somebody who could get to know him the way normal people did? 
He tried to shake off these thoughts. Who said anything about the two of you getting to know each other anyway? Peter looked back at you from the dark alleyway. You were on the opposite side of the street from him, hellbent on finding Sherlock. A happy bark echoed from his side of the street. The puppy he once could’ve scooped up with one arm was now thrice the size of what it used to be. Sherlock stopped to smell Peter. The dog barked once again, as if to say “Hi, I remember you!”, and then ran back to you before you could burst into tears of frustration.
For a minute or two, Peter stayed just to watch. You were so gentle with your pup, so genuinely concerned for its wellbeing that it struck something inside of him. With how long he’s been Spider-Man and how much he lost as a consequence of it, he often forgot that people like you still existed. He forgot that there were still good people in this world, people who would do the same thing he did if they were the ones bitten by a radioactive spider. People that would help a tourist get to their hotel safely, reunite a mother with their child or, like you, spend the rest of the night looking for their dog in the freezing cold. 
Peter tried to leave as soon as he could because there was something about you he couldn’t quite figure out and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like not knowing what it was about you that rekindled a flame in him he thought he’d lost. You didn’t even get a chance to thank him properly. He shot one web after another and then it was back to work.
Your voice and Sherlock’s cheerful barks echoed after him, “Thank you, Spider-Man!” 
He felt himself smiling underneath the mask. Even if it was just for that night, he felt like the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man again. For you, the walk home was peaceful, even with the ever-present noise of the city in the background, but you felt safe. Since that first meeting with the masked hero, you’d feel that someone was watching you every now and then… and you knew exactly who it was. It was always a blip of red and blue in your peripheral, but it was more than enough. 
In February, you got laid off from your job. You’d seen it coming but that didn’t mean it still wasn’t a complete pain in the ass. You just turned up to work, got handed your box of stuff, and sent on your way. It all happened so fast. Next thing you knew, you were sitting in some dingy old bar, your box of stuff forgotten in the trunk of your car while you nursed your drink. Some guy took a seat a couple of stools away from you, huffing as he rested his head on the counter.
It took you a while to recognize him.
“Hey! We’ve met before… Peter, right?” 
Peter sat upright then, an awkward smile adorning his face as he turned to you. He stopped himself from speaking right away. After all, you met him once. He met you twice, both as himself and Spider-Man. He had to keep that in mind. 
“Oh, uh, yeah! (Y/N) from Central Park?”
You laughed, “Yeah. (Y/N) from Central Park.”
There it was again. The ease of the conversation. The natural flow of your back and forth banter. He couldn’t tell if it was just you or his heart finally giving in after years of self-isolation that brought about this sense of calm, but he was grateful for it all the same. You told him about what just happened earlier that day and… something pushed Peter to just take one more step into the deep end.
“You could come work at the Bugle,” he blurted out. Fuck. You’re so stupid, Peter.
“What? The Daily Bugle? The newspaper?” you repeated in disbelief, all of your attention now on him as you shifted in your seat. It was overwhelming. Why was it so overwhelming? This was only the third time he’s talked to you!
Maybe it was liquid courage, but he found himself nodding and just going down the rabbit hole of trying to convince you to apply, “I mean, you’ve been at that company for how many years? And I heard they don’t just hire anyone, too. If anyone could land a spot at the Bugle, it’s you,”—he grinned and put on an accent—”mi amigo.”
You stared at him, perplexed. Then, a smile. You were his friend.
“Okay,” he smiled back, trying to hold back the hope blooming in his chest. “I guess… I’ll be seeing you again soon?” 
You wasted no time writing down your number on a piece of tissue and sliding it over to him, “You bet, Parker.”
In the safety of his one-bedroom apartment, Peter smiled at the messy line of numbers you scrawled on the two-ply tissue. He called you the day after, eagerly telling you abut what life at the Bugle was like. In true Spidey fashion, he was honest about it. His horror stories of his boss didn’t seem to faze you at all. In fact, it only made you more determined to apply and prove yourself. He admired that.
One call became two, and two became three. And one after that… and another after that. That wasn’t counting the daily texting that ensued in between. Peter found himself looking forward to your texts in the morning, when he finally fixed his sleep schedule just enough to wake up before his alarm started blaring. By the time you were officially an employee of the Daily Bugle, he couldn’t contain his excitement. 
It was exhilirating to not be alone anymore. It was even better when he realized your cubicle was just right next to his. Peter made it his mission to ensure your work experience was a fun and pleasant one. It was so unequivocally him to do something like that. Each gesture started out small: he decorated your desk with two succulents when you started out. After a while, he would leave candy on top of your paperwork while you went to the bathroom. He always denied this. Then there were the sticky notes.
Peter didn’t come to work regularly, he was juggling two other freelance jobs most of the time but he always, without fail, managed to leave a sticky note on your computer if he wasn’t going to be around the next day. Like his other acts of kindness, these started small too. Imagining him hunched over a desk and writing these notes just for you made you more flustered than you could even begin to admit.
“Don’t forget to eat!”
“You’re doing such a good job :)”
But your favorite, favorite one, the one you kept safe in your phone case, was the note he left when you finished some of his paperwork for him. The two of you never spoke about the notes he left, both too scared to ruin the comfortable dynamic you’ve created. The very next morning, that familiar bright yellow poked out from in between the stacks of paper on your desk. You remembered the warmth you felt as you read his words. Something about his handwriting only intensified that.
“My hero :D Tell me how to make it up to you, you beautiful human being,” followed by a doodle of you in a Spider-Man costume. 
One day, when he’s ready, maybe Peter would tell you how you saved a life just because you finished his work for him. In your own act of kindness, you allowed him to start his patrol earlier and save a teenage girl from getting mugged, or worse. When you invited him over to your house that weekend and saw the angry bruise on on his cheekbone, he let you tend to the cuts that were littered all over his body. He let himself bask in your gentleness and care and sweetness and everything that made you, you. You asked him if he got attacked. He shook his head and ignored the sting of the hydrogen peroxide. 
“I fell into some bushes while hiking. Turns out it had thorns,” he lied. Lying to you didn’t feel great.
Instead of prying any further, you laughed and told him to be more careful. He could’ve sworn the room felt brighter then. 
In June, May came over to his apartment to drop off some good homemade food; something she was sure he had gone far too long without, since his culinary taste consisted solely of instant noodles and microwaveable meals. The TV hummed in the background as the older woman made some small talk with her nephew. The realization that he was no longer a little boy dawned on her. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, but it was a hard pill to swallow. May saw how tired and beaten down he was, especially after Gwen’s death, and it wasn’t until recently that she noticed a change in the young man. The stubble he always forgot to shave was nowhere to be seen, his unkempt hair finally trimmed into a manageable shape, and his eyes were brighter. He was still tired, but he was happy. For a brief moment, she saw the little boy she used to bathe and sing to before bed. 
Peter was too busy munching on the chicken casserole she prepared to see his aunt smiling at him. Finally, she decided to speak up.
“Who is it, Peter?”
He looked up, not expecting the question, “Who’s what?”
“Who’s making you happy?” 
Peter thought about it for a while, not sure if the answer he’ll give was actually the right one to describe what had transpired these last few months, “I made a friend, I guess. They’re really nice and uh… they just started working for the Bugle. So. I see them more often.”
May nodded, a content smile on her face as she processed the information. A coworker. A friend.
“Tell me about them, they seem nice.”
Peter hesitated for a second, only to be reminded of your face and your bad jokes and your dog. Nice was an understatement. You were amazing.
“They are. Nice, I mean. We just sort of ran into each other at Central Park and then I saw them again a couple of months later and I recognized them. They’re… they make me feel comfortable. Appreciated, you know? I haven’t had somebody to talk to like this since—” he stopped. 
Since Gwen.
In the time Peter’s known you, not once did he think about her. Then that horrible sinking feeling in his gut came. Years of falling and learning how to get back up went down the drain because he was reminded once again of what he lost. His thoughts were running a thousand miles a minute, all of them connecting back to that one fact that he was sure would haunt him forever: Gwen Stacy was dead and she would stay dead and Peter couldn’t do anything about that, no matter how much he wished he could. Somewhere, deep down, a part of him never really grew up. How could he? What gave him the right to live the life he wanted when she couldn’t live hers because he couldn’t catch her?
Then you came into his life and pulled him out of his self-imposed exile. All at once, it was you flooding his senses and you weren’t even there. This was wrong. This was all wrong.
May could only watch her nephew go through a whole lifetime’s worth of pain all over again. In a flash, he was gone. May Parker was alone.
He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to leave his apartment. He couldn’t bear to let May see him like that again. He couldn’t… It felt too much like the first time. It felt too much like losing his uncle and his girlfriend. He didn’t want to relive it. New York’s skies were painted pink and orange as the sun began to set, but all he could think about was getting away. His feet simply walked and walked and walked, his mind in a haze until finally, finally, he stopped at the headstone that haunted him for so long.
Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy
Beloved daughter and friend
March 2, 1996 - July 2014
A breath he didn’t know he was holding in escaped him. It had been nearly a decade since she died. She would’ve been twenty-seven. The air felt colder somehow, but Peter, even with his scientific mind, wanted to believe that she was there with him in that moment. He wanted to believe that Gwen Stacy never truly left. It was true, in a way. It was Peter that kept her alive, even if it was only in memory. 
“Gwen, help me out,” he whispered. “Help me out, please. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”
He struggled to keep his composure.
“I met someone, Gwen. It was an accident. Their dog was all over the place and for some reason, he chose me. Gave me his ball to throw. And then they came along and GOD! They’re just— They’ve been nothing but kind to me, but I just can’t… I can’t do that to you. Never to you. And I know what you would say and how I’m an idiot but,” his voice wavered. “How can I ever look at anybody else the way I looked at you?”
Soft footsteps came from behind him.
“You can’t, sweetheart,” May placed her hand on his shoulder. “You can’t look at anybody that way you did Gwen. What you had with her was special. It was you and her, but that doesn’t mean you can’t start something new. Something entirely different and just as special. You know this is what she would’ve wanted for you, why would you deny her that, Peter?”
The dam broke. 
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
May held him tight. She didn’t know how long she stayed there in the cold with Peter, but the moment that little boy was left on her doorstep, she knew she would do anything for him. No longer was he little, but he was her boy, and he always will be. If she had to rub circles on his back for as long as he needed to pour his heart out to the world, she would do it. So she did.
You didn’t hear from Peter for the next few days. He always managed to evade you at work and when you did see him, he avoided your gaze and left as soon as he could instead of hanging around to chat about random stuff like he always did. You would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. Peter was probably your first true friend in this city. He looked out for you in ways nobody ever bothered to, even people you’ve known your whole life. Peter Parker was your friend and you were determined to get to the heart of the problem and fix it.
Miraculously, you caught him just as he was about to leave the lobby. Hearing his name from your lips stopped him in his tracks, so he turned around to face you. You knew what he was going to say. It was going to be another excuse to leave and not talk to you.
“Oh, hey!” he greeted lamely. “Look, I can’t stay around for too long, I have to—”
“Cut the shit, Parker,” you hissed. If it came out harsher than you intended, you didn’t care. You deserved to know whatever it was that made him start avoiding you like the plague. “What’s going on with you? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because it’s definitely something!”
He was caught. With nothing else up his sleeves, he pleaded quietly, “Not here. I’ll tell you, I promise, I just… Not here.”
A couple of hours later, you were face to face with his door. You hesitated to knock and as if on cue, Peter opened the door with a tired smile. His hair was damp and he was dressed in a shirt much too large for him and plaid sweatpants. He smelled of cheap bar soap and mint toothpaste. For a moment, all you could feel was him. It took all of your strength to push that thought to the back of your mind. There was a more important matter at hand, and that was figuring out what was bothering your friend.
He ushered you inside and you both awkwardly next to each other on his worn out couch. The broken leather pricked your legs every now and then through the old bedsheet Peter covered the couch with. All the confidence you mustered up throughout the day to confront him was lost now. You fiddled anxiously with the strings of a throw pillow, avoiding Peter’s gaze.
He broke the silence, “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I haven’t been myself recently but… what I did to you this week was wrong. Sorry. Again.” 
You sighed. This wasn’t easy at all. The words came out before you could think, “I know. I just wish you would tell me. I think I deserve to at least know why you’ve been acting this way.”
Your heart thrummed in both anticipation and fear. Peter, with his enhanced everything, could hear it. That’s when he took in the sight before him. You were so gorgeous; an angel on Earth in his eyes. You, so beautiful in ways he didn’t think was possible, sat in his living room because you were concerned. May’s words of wisdom echoed in his mind. She was right. What he had with Gwen was special, she was his first love, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t form something new. It took all this time to realize he wanted to build that with you. Your eyes told him everything you didn’t say out loud. You cared. You cared, you cared, you cared. He loved you.
Peter Parker loved you. He just had to figure out a way to say it.
He was sure he looked weird in that moment. You stared at him so intensely, trying to figure out the enigma that was his emotions. His hands found yours and the first thing you could think was how warm they were. He squeezed, as if trying to reassure himself that you were real and that this was happening.
“I lost someone. She… she was my girlfriend,” he began shakily, trying to find the right words to describe the massive lump of something in his chest. “Her name was Gwen. We met in high school. All these years, I’ve tried to hold on to her. You know, to keep her alive in some way. It wasn’t until recently that maybe I was doing more harm than good.”
There it was. It was all out in the open now, bits and pieces of his heart sprawled out across the floor as he waited for your reaction. Thousands of scenarios ran through his head, all of them ending in you leaving him alone. Each version of you in his mind reflected the guilt he bottled up for nearly a decade, screaming at him and cursing him for the things he’s done and the things he couldn’t do. Then he felt your arms wrap around him. He didn’t even realize he was already crying.
“Peter Parker, you are a good person. I might not know the full story, but if she loved you as much as you loved her, then I know for a fact that she would want you to be happy. You deserve that. She deserves that.” 
You prepared yourself for his protest; for him to rebut everything you just said. You hoped you said the right thing but nothing could’ve prepared you for what he said next.
“If you keep saying things like that, I’ll fall in love with you even more.”
It was so quiet, just a little above a hushed whisper that you could almost fool yourself into thinking he didn’t say it if it wasn’t for that fact that his hold on you got tighter. He must’ve seen the confusion on your face because he spoke again, “I hated myself for falling in love with you because I thought it was a disrespect to Gwen’s memory. I wish I couId say I didn’t see it coming. I always knew I would love you. I just didn’t want to see it.”
For a few moments, the two of you just stayed there, his confession lingering in the air you breathed. It might be a trick of the mind, but you knew it was sweet. Peter pulled away; too kind, too selfless, too afraid to consider the possibility that you might just feel the same.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 
“—ruin everything we had, I just couldn’t—”
He gulped, clearly not expecting you to stop him from rambling. In his mind, you deserved an apology. In yours, you deserved a chance to speak.
“Peter,” you spoke softly, trying to reassure him that you weren’t offended in any way. “Have you ever once considered that maybe I like you too?” 
Ever since he got bitten by that spider, Peter learned to tune out the stimuli in his environment. It used to bother him so much; hearing and smelling and feeling everything all at once got overwhelming. Now, when all his senses pointed back to you, he finds he doesn’t mind at all. In that moment, he was so sure he’d die a happy man if your face was the last thing he ever saw. It took him a while to respond to your own confession, too wrapped in all of you to think clearly.
He asked you if you were sure. You said yes. He asked you again. You kissed him. 
The feeling of your lips on his both grounded him and blew him away. Somewhere in between that make-out session, his hands found yours. He decided this felt right. Maybe Peter will never fully overcome his own insecurities, and there was a lot of them. He was worried he was too tired, too beaten-down for you… and that didn’t even begin to describe the fear he felt knowing that you would have to find out about Spider-Man at some point. Again, he was reminded of your friendship and your kindness. You had given it to him so freely. He just needed to take another leap of faith and learn to trust himself as much as you did.
When November came, Peter didn’t find the air so chilly anymore. Not with you around.
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Need you here
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Summary: You haven’t seen Peter since you left for college, so you decide to send him an alluring photo
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, mutual masturbation, phone sex afab!reader
Pairing: Peter 3 x Fem!reader
You pressed the send button with red cheeks and butterflies in your stomach. You hadn’t seen your boyfriend Peter since you left for college, and now you were all alone in your dorm your roommate spending the night with her boyfriend, and you being three states away from your own was really starting to get to you.
The message you sent said 
Hey spider boy, miss you ;)
with the message was a picture of you in his favorite red underwear set your perfect body spread out in an alluring angle on your cotton bed sheets. 
Now you waited, but not for long. 
In less than two minutes he was typing a response and your head felt woozy, after all these years of dating Peter, you had never sent him an alluring picture, there wasn’t a need too. But you couldn’t understand why you were so nervous; he had seen you naked before. 
Y/n call me
you read the message and immediately hit the call button placing the phone to your ear. 
“You look so beautiful,” was the first thing he said a heaviness in his breathe. 
“I miss you,” you whined, and he let out a quiet laugh, “Me too baby, me too,” there was a silence for a moment before you started, “I want to touch myself,” you spoke uneasily testing the waters of phone sex. 
“Go ahead angel I was about to after that fucking picture,” you smiled to yourself, “I’m taking my underwear off,” you told him. “Fuck, me too,”
It had been about three minutes and you both were touching yourselves imagining one another and moaning occasionally. “Fuck it never feels as good unless it’s you angel,” he went on, “Miss you, your hands and perfect pussy, miss that sweet little mouth and those perfect tits,” he let out a groan and you increased the pace of your finger circling your clit the knot in your stomach and the feeling of your finger rubbing your sensitive area was euphoric.
“My fingers- aren’t as good as yours, I want you here,” you moaned and placed the phone beside your pillow turning the speaker on as you used your now other free hand to grope your left boob pinching the nipple. 
“Peter I’m close,” you moaned out after a couple more rubs on your clit. “Me too angel--” he groaned his breathe heavy into the speaker. “Come for me baby,” his voice was breathy and only encouraged you more.
“Peter-- fuck,” you moaned and moved your finger impossibly faster your legs twitching as your released washed over you, your face contorting and eyes squeezing shut. 
You heard Peter let out a loud groan of your name and assumed he had also. 
“I need you here,”
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http-barnes · 1 year
the sex scene || andrew garfield
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: being a new actress in the scene is hard enough, especially with sudden script changes. ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: andrew garfield x fem!reader ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: as many as I please ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut
[ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2]
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Holding the script in your hands felt unreal. Although it was just a supporting role you felt incredibly proud of yourself for pulling it off, but there was still a long way to go. Your screen test was with one of the casting crew since the actor who was cast for the main role had interviews scheduled for the day, and a million questions went through your head. What if you didn't get along? What if there just wasn't that chemistry that makes movie couples so special? What if you failed to connect and that got you kicked off the movie?
Just as tears of nervousness and stress brimmed in your eyes, you realized you were gripping the script so hard it had started to crumple.
"Oh God..." You sighed and flattened the paper on your table, as you messily wiped away the tears.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door of your room.
You mumbled a couple of curses as you tried to make yourself look presentable and opened the door.
"Good morning miss, I hope you slept well, Andrew has arrived to the set so the directors can see if you work well together."
"Right now!?" Your heart started racing and the nervousness that you had just calmed down from came back.
"Yes, since the shooting starts in two days they want to make sure you two work well together, if we wait any longer it will be harder to find a replacement for your role if you two don't get along in your roles."
Well there was a nice way to say 'we need to do it now 'cause if you fuck it up we have time to replace you'...
"Alright, could you just give me a second to change?"
The man nodded and informed you he'd be waiting at the reception for you.
"Shit, shit, shit."
You showered in record time and fixed yourself up as fast as possible to meet the man that was waiting for you, and once you found him, you two were off to the set. It was at a walking distance from the hotel you were staying in.
Every step you took seemed to fuel your stress and anxiety, and had you not been in public, you would have slapped yourself to calm down, but since there were people around, counting to 10 backwards would have to suffice.
The second you entered the room your eyes met with Andrew's, and he smiled at you. You smiled back, trying your hardest to hide how nervous you were.
"Hi, I'm Y/N Y/L/N, nice to meet you!" You introduced yourself, and held out your hand.
Andrew immediarely stood up and shook your hand.
"I'm Andrew Garfield, it's a pleasure."
You took your seat and the director proceeded to explain to the both of you that you'd be doing an exercise, sort of like the screen test, to test your chemistry together as the main couple. The man indicated which scene you'd be playing and you both stood up to act it out.
"No need to be nervous." He whispered, as you two walked to the place where you'd be performing.
You smiled shyly, embarrassed that he'd picked up on your agitation, but happy he was actually really nice.
You took a deep breath, and did your job as best as you could. And it went a lot better than expected. Turns out that Andrew was really approachable and easy to work with, making it a lot better to get through. The director still had some tips and fixer-uppers, which you very much appreciated, and although it wasn't perfect, you were happy at how comfortable you had become by the end of the session.
"I'm looking forward to working with you, I hope you're not as nervous as you were..." Andrew told you, as he slipped on his jacket.
"I'm less nervous now, but I'm still very shaky 'cause this is my first time in the big screen. I've done some small roles but the vibe is a lot different right now."
Andrew nodded, as the both of you headed outside.
"It is pretty harsh, I remember my first time and I was just as nervous as you, but you'll do great. If you need anything you can always come to me!"
"Thank you so much! You've been so helpful, I'll make sure to buy you dinner after we shoot, if I'm not kicked off that is." You laughed.
Andrew laughed along.
"Don't say that! But hey," he stopped and pointed at you, with a cheeky smile on his face "I'll take you up on that offer!"
The man told you goodbye, as you went on your separate ways. Andrew had his own place on set since he'd be needed for a lot longer than you.
You hid your nose and mouth in your jacket, trying to warm your nose while simultaneously hiding the way you were smiling like an insane person, after the night had gone that well.
However, your happiness wouldn't last for long. The very next day you received a call from the directors about a script change. They told you you'd need to come by to pick up the new script, so they could discuss it with you and Andrew (since the scene they changed happened to be between the two of you).
Once you got there everyone was already sitting down, with the script in their hands. You greeted the men in the room and immediately sensed the discomfort in Andrew's voice. You found it strange, since you seemed to get along just fine the night before... Your tried to remain calm, however, and just took your seat.
But the reasoning of his uneasiness came rather sooner than later. The robust man handed you your new script.
"Well, Y/N, after yesterday we thought the scene wasn't enough, it was lacking a certain something that we saw would really get a good reaction of the spectators, and since you seemed to click so well we've decided to add a sex scene after the fight scene."
Ah, so that is why Andrew was so uneasy. You could see him staring at you from the corner of your eye, searching for what your reaction would be. You gulped, trying to suppress all feeling rushing right into you at the moment, and smiled.
"Sounds good!"
It had to sound good, you were far too scared of losing your first decent role by objecting to a director decision.
"Alright, Andrew agreed as well, so we're all done here, tomorrow we'll start with that scene, since it will be a rather climax point in the movie we want to get it done first."
You nodded and left without another word.
"Y/N!" You heard a familiar voice call from behind you.
You stopped and turned around, to find Andrew with a worried look.
"You alright?" He asked.
You smiled slightly and nodded.
"I'm okay."
There was an awkward silence, one of two people who knew the conversation was pointless. He knew you weren't okay, and you knew he was aware of your lies.
Andrew stepped in front of you.
"I know you're nervous, it's a big scene that just got bigger, with more feelings and emotions to act out, it's okay to feel nervous, it's the most normal thing in the world... Why don't we go over the scene tonight? I can come by your hotel and we can act it out."
You looked up at him.
"I don't want to bother you, you have weeks on end shooting scenes I don't wanna take up your last night of proper rest."
"It's okay, I was going to be up all night anyways, I can never sleep well before the first day of shooting, I'm always too anxious and excited." He told you.
You bit your lip, trying to hide how happy you were he offered to help you through it.
"So you really don't mind?"
"No ma'am." He replied with a smile.
You laughed at his goofy antics and nodded.
"Alright then, I'm in room 104B, come by whenever."
"I'll see you then!"
You waved goodbye to each other as you went your separate ways. The state of your room sent you into a slight panic. You had asked for the cleaning ladies to not clean your room since you had a bunch of things related to the movie around and you were afraid something would get leaked to the public if someone came in and saw those things. As a consequence, everything was everywhere. Clothes on the floor, papers all over every surface, makeup brushes sprawled on the sink counter and shoes and bags covering the floor. You continuously cursed yourself out as you cleaned your room and put everything in its place. You made the bed, folded the clothes neatly and put all the makeup in a proper bag.
By the time you were finished you were sweaty and hungry, so you made some 3 minute ramen on your room and took your sweet time taking a shower, so you'd at least be presentable when your co-star arrived.
You were blow-drying your hair when you heard a knock on the door.
"Shit- Just a second!"
You turned off the blow dryer and got dressed at the speed of light, you didn't expect him to come so soon, but then again, you might have taken a little too long cleaning up and lost track of time, with the dance breaks you took during a couple songs you played to help with the chore.
You opened the door, breathless, as soon as you were done.
"Hi! Sorry you had to wait I was... fixing myself."
"Oh no need to worry," he said, as you stepped away so he could come in "I didn't wait for long."
"You can take a seat, do you want anything to drink? I have tap water and tea made with tap water." You joked.
His laugh and smile were contagious, and you couldn't help but follow along as he giggled at your joke.
You sat in front of him, on the chairs by the big windows that showed the bright city underneath you, divided by a small circular table, where you placed your scripts. You had taken a little time to read it so you weren't unprepared when he came.
Andrew made sure to hit you with continuous small talk, to make you more comfortable with the scenario, and it worked very well.
By the time you started the scene, you were fully relaxed for the first time while holding those pages.
You started out by just reading the lines to each other, getting accustomed to it, and imagining the scene in your head. And you thought that was going to be it.
"Should we act it out now? Or do you want to read one more time just to make sure?"
You choked in the water and looked at him with big eyes.
"Act it... out?"
"Yeah I mean I thought that was the point? Acting it out is sort of the hardest part, trying not to look awkward on camera. But if you don't feel comfortable that's totally fine! I can help you out tomorrow when we shoot."
You looked away and chewed on your bottom lip as you thought. It should be a no-brainer really, but you weren't mentally ready for a fake sex scene with a man that good-looking, alone. If you made a fool out of yourself it would give you a couple sleepless nights, but you figured it was better to look like an asshat for one person only.
"Alright, let's do this. But please take the lead and tell me what to do."
Andrew set down the script on the table and stood up.
"Let's take it from the end of the fight scene, 'cause you have that one down really well."
You blushed slightly at the compliment.
"Alright so we end looking at each other angrily, and then I'll push you against the wall, alright?"
"Okay, let's do this."
You took a deep breath and shook out all the nervousness, as you got into character.
"So you can go fuck yourself!" You yelled the last line of your character and stared daggers at Andrew as he looked at you with the same intensity.
Just as promised, he gripped your hips and pushed you against the wall. The man inspected the way your body stood, and his hand crept down until it settled on the small of your back. He pulled you towards him softly yet confidently.
"Try to arch your back on this part, the closer our bodies are the better." He whispered.
His hand went back to holding your waist and your body maintained the shape he had carved, when his lips finally took yours, you were surprised at how passionately he kissed. Andrew had the sensation of someone who was incapable of being rough, but there he was, handling you like you were his puppet, and for a second you wished it wasn't all fake.
You instinctively pressed your crotch against his, and Andrew had to suppress a couple sounds that threatened to leave his throat. It wasn't his first sex scene, but the fact that you two were practicing alone, touching each other so intimately alone made him feel something else.
His fingers trailed up your body, from your waist to your hips. They went under your shirt, and his touch on your skin made your hand grip his hair a little harder. With one movement, Andrew removed your shirt, and his lips grazed your neck.
"Keep your back arched, lean your head against the wall, and make sure you don't cover your chest with your arms." The man whispered once more, before his lips left a wet trail of kisses down your jaw, kissing and sucking on some spots on your neck, hard enough so you'd feel it, but soft enough as to not leave a mark.
It was insanely hard not to say 'fuck it' and beg him to do it harder, but you maintained calm. His lips trailed back up and caught yours in a passionate, sinful kiss that would have you dreaming with him that night.
His hands held your ass, and he gave you a little pat as a signal, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, so he could carry you into bed.
Andrew laid you down quite harshly, then muttering a small 'sorry' in your ear.
He bent your legs and spread them apart so he could settle between them. The man glued his body to yours, your lips almost touching.
"Your thighs," he started, running his hands up your legs slowly "need to be covering our crotches to mask the fact that we won't actually be... well, fucking." He blushed a little as he said those words.
He kept straight eye contact as his hips moved steadily against yours.
Suddenly, you felt something hard against your crotch, and then Andrew stopped moving.
"Ah, shit... Sorry, that's... That's awkward."
He looked away for a second, unsure of what to do. A shot of adrenaline suddenly ran through your body, and in an unknown moment of bravery, you held his chin and made him kiss you again. Andrew gripped your thighs as he deepened the kiss. Your hands tangled in his hair and for the first time you didn't have to hold back.
Your fingers trailed down his body, and hooked around the hem of his shirt. The man got the message and immediately removed it. He looked into your eyes as you admired his physique. His tongue explored your mouth once more, as your hands grew more and more curious.
You undid the button of his jeans and slid one hand inside, earning a breathy moan from the contact of your hand against his boner. You teased him a little by squeezing his hardened member.
"I'll make you regret that, darling." He whispered in your ear.
His hand slid inside your underwear so fast you only noticed it when his fingers teased at your entrance.
"This wet? Already?" Andrew whispered, before kissing the spot right below your ear.
One finger entered you, followed by a second one right after, and then a third, stretching you out just enough.
You were trying not to be loud, and he could tell.
"None of that princess, I wanna hear you." He demanded, keeping a steady grip on your neck.
That was your kryptonite, and moans left your mouth non-stop. You were so drunk in pleasure from his fingers you didn't even notice him getting rid of the rest of his clothes. That is, until he pulled his fingers out.
"Open wide."
He placed his fingers by your mouth, which you gladly took and licked clean, never breaking eye contact.
"Good girl."
You winked at the man, and his soft side was brought up once more as he blushed, looked away and smiled slightly.
"Are you ready?" He then asked, his tip by your entrance.
You gripped the sheets and nodded as a response. Once he had your permission he didn't take it slow, he rammed inside of you, and a scream-like moan left your lips.
His hips snapped against yours almost melodically and you gripped his biceps for dear life.
"S-shit you're so good-" You moaned out.
He desperately tried to hide his blush every time but to no use. Your eyes were focused on his pleasure-filled face.
You clenched around him, and a string of curses left his mouth as Andrew tried his best not to cum yet.
"You're doing s-so good, y-you feel so good princess."
The praises sent you closer and closer to the edge, and as he hit just the right spot multiple times, your walls tightened around him and you came with a cry for his name. You didn't have time to ride out your orgasm, as the feeling of you and the way you moaned his name threw Andrew over the edge, and he pulled out, staining your body with hot spurts of cum.
Your foreheads rested against each other as you tried to catch your breaths.
"So... Are we doing it like this tomorrow?"
Andrew smiled and kissed you softly, tucking a strand of your messy hair behind your ear.
"If you want to, I don't mind."
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svftvluv · 1 year
Pairings: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: Tutoring lessons are meant for studying, well maybe not always.
Warnings: smut, dirty talk, praise kink, p in v, hair pulling(once)
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“Peter…please.” You whined out from the feeling. You definitely didn’t plan to be putty in your tutor’s hands. Let alone have him relentlessly pound into you right where you were both supposed to be studying. But here you are now. “You’re doing so good. You feel amazing, baby.” He breathed out into your neck before leaving kisses all over. You couldn’t deny though that this was a dream come true. You always had a thing for him even though you were in denial about it. But when you were assigned a tutor and found out it was Peter you found yourself getting dolled up before his arrival every session. Now that you were being fucked into the oblivion it was all worth it.
“I-I’m close, Peter” You felt the familiar knot forming in your stomach rapidly. “Hold it in.” His thrusts become more consistent and animalistic. You weren't the only one who had been waiting for this day. Peter, himself was infatuated by you. You were just too oblivious to notice it. So when he was asked to tutor you he did not hesitate to say yes. He cursed you everyday for wearing skirts everyday to school and to each session. Now that skirt is somewhere on the floor ruined after he literally ripped it apart. “God, don’t stop” You moaned as you threw your head back in pleasure. You wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him even closer. As if he wasn’t practically on top of you.
“So fucking beautiful” You blushed at his comment and hid your face in his neck. He tangled his hand in your hair pulling you back up. “Don’t hide your pretty face from me” You nodded frantically before he pulled you in for a kiss. Your hands held onto his biceps for support. “Cum for me.” You bucked your hips creating even more friction until you both released. You both gasped trying to catch your breaths.
“Should we get back to studying?” You questioned not quite sure what to do after what just went down. “We could or we could…” He trails off as his eyes made their way to your bed before bringing them back to your face. You smirked at him as he picked you up. Will you both ever tell each other your feelings towards each other? Maybe after multiple “study sessions” it’ll come out. Hopefully.
[a/n: send in requests :)]
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eunoiathewriter · 1 year
Hi hi hiiiii could you please write andrew! Peter but make it hella spicy? Like i wanna see this man either whimper and beg or dom the hell outta the reader
.ೃ࿐ 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧
𝘼𝙣𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙬!𝙋𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Peter is often needy but never really asks his girlfriend for anything, but boy oh boy dose she love to tease him when she finds out.
𝙍𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜: Spice under the cut, I guess. Peter is a sub okey? Okey.
𝘼/𝙉: Go easy on me okay, this is my first spice thing to write. It's maybe not the best but eh, I tried okey!
𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1k
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Often times when Peter was over at (y/n's) house and felt in need of more than what he was given, well, he sucked it up. It was often because he didn't like to seem so needy. But what he didn't know was how much (y/n) loved it.
Peter had come over to (y/n's) place to study with her and then watch a movie. Nothing that was new, it was almost weekly they did this now so none of it was new. But today was one of those days where Peter wanted more, more than just her presence.
She was sitting with her computer in her lap at the end of the bed, Peter sitting by the headboard trying to focus on his work. Well, he wasn't even trying, he was just intensely staring at (y/n). He moved around, trying to get comfort even in this state but his mind was racing. Sure the two had sex before but Peter preferred to not throw himself all over her and trying to just get a yes out of her, he wanted them both to be in on it.
(y/n) wrote down the last few sentences on her essay, it was one of her best essays yet and she was for sure going to get a high mark on it. She let out a sigh of content as she wrote in the last word, her sources already in the end of the text, also with when she got the source and when it was published. Everything was prefect.
"Finally done with that," (y/n) closed down her computer and stretched. Her shirt lifted a bit, exposing her back for Peter to see and he gulped.
"G-good." Peter looked down at his work as she turned to see what he was doing.
(y/n's) eyes stayed on Peter and she bit down on her lip. His hair was messy like usual, but as always it suited him. He wore his glasses while studying, something (y/n) found he looked really good in, but she noticed how he looked almost uncomfortable. He seemd tense and it seemd he was trying hard to keep his eyes on his work.
"Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?" (y/n) raised a brow at him and moved to sit next to him.
"Nothing," Peter mumbled as he continued to try and focus.
"Are you sure about that, pretty boy?" Her hand moved some hair out of his face, this action caused him to look up.
Her eyes weren't soft like they usually were. They had become intense and wanted answers, he knew that look well enough to know there was no lying about it.
Peter sighed and didn't answer. (y/n) looked at him expectantly and slowly Peter leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled back her head.
"Woah there spidey," She teased, lips only mere centimeters away from his and Peter tried to connect their lips once more.
"Come on, please" Peter whined as she pulled her head back from his. It wasn't that she didn't want to, she just loved to see Peter miserable at times like these.
"You're a bit needy, don't you think Peter?" Her hands reached up and took off his glasses, laying them on her nightstand.
"Just.. please," Peter begged, grabbing her hips. (y/n) didn't say anything and just thew her leg over Peter's, straddling him. Peter took in a sharp breath as she did so, (y/n) knew why and didn't have to ask.
"Just please what?" (y/n) asked with a smirk as she leaned down and placed kisses up Peter's neck.
Her kisses were slow, she worked her way up from the neck of his t-shirt and to the underside of his jaw, saving his sweet spot that was right under his ear. Peter moaned at the feeling of her lightly sucking on his skin. It was sure to leave a mark.
"Come on pretty boy, tell me," She whispered to him, kissing closer to his sweet spot.
"Please just do whatever! I just wanna feel you," Peter quickly told her as she landed a kiss right on his sweet spot causing him to close his eyes and moving his head more to the side.
"Hmm," (y/n) hummed, pulling away. "Whatever, you say? Oh, how fun I'll have with you,"
(y/n) pushed away his books that laid on the bed, they fell with a thud and at that moment Peter was happy they were alone. He could feel her slightly move around on his lap, this made him groan as he was already struggling to hold back.
"Such a pretty boy I have," She hummed and leaned in, placing her lips on his in a kiss. It wasn't sweet like their kisses usally was but this one was passionate and desperate and heated.
Her hips didn't stop moving, Peter moaned into her mouth at the feeling but she swallowed it as she deepen the kiss. There was no fighting for the dominance, she had it all along, Peter had no way to dominate her.
Peter's hands moved from (y/n's) hips to the end of her shirt, slowly moving underneath it. She didn't do anything about it cause she knew what he what gonna do. His hands landed right underneath where her bra started and Peter just keept his hands there. He did it even in soft moments and not only these kinds of moments.
(y/n) let her hands lift the end if his shirt, hands running up his toned chest. His skin soft against hers. Peter pulled away for a second, going to kiss her neck but her hands quickly pushed him back against the headboard.
"No." "Please, I just wanna show you how much I love you."
"No Peter. You said I could do whatever I wanted, so I am," She stared at him deeply, Peter swallowed and nodded. Her hands reached the bottom of his shirt again, this time lifting it over his head.
"There's my pretty and obedient boy," Her hands ran along Peter's chest, he arched his back a bit when her hands came to his V line, but she just leaned forward.
"I'm gonna enjoy this,"
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clints-lucky-arrow · 1 year
inhibitions. || tasm!peter parker x f!reader.
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Having high sex with Peter Parker has fast become one of your favourite past-times.
Based on this ask.
Explicit Sexual Content. Drabble. Recreational Drug Use.
WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY. Explicit Sexual Content. Cannabis Use. Vaginal Sex. Use of Pet Names. Not Beta-Read. Minorly Edited.
Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!
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It goes like this each time - he comes over, you smoke a joint together, and then he fucks you.
Lazily, with low words whispering against your lips and airy giggles. Nose inches from yours and his soft, feathery hair brushing against your forehead. Always face to face, with your back against the sofa underneath.
His hands on your waist. Sometimes his knuckles are scuffed, or his lip is burst. You don't ask why - long since learned that doing so will get you nowhere. But you have your suspicions all the same. Not that it plays too heavily in your mind during those particular moments, when his trousers are pulled down to his knees, and your ratty sweatpants are cast aside on the ground.
Warm breath wafts across your lips. It smells like weed. Almost makes you light-headed sometimes. The world swims past in a disjointed haze. All that you can feel is how good it feels as he rocks against you - into you.
He thrusts like he's savouring the sensation. Alternates between holding you and taking it deeper, or bracing himself up on his forearms for the unsteady balance needed to plunge quicker. Your legs locked around his back all the while - looser than usual because your mind is rippling and your muscles feel like warm jelly.
Fingers teasing the slight curls on the back of his neck, your voice breaks into a groan as you murmur his name and tell him just how well he's doing. The combination of the praise and the sensations has him whining. His words come stuttering in response.
Honestly? The fact that you have that effect on him might be your favourite part.
"Good boy," you whisper. "Just like that."
Your fingers twist into his roots - tugging. The pain resulting is dulled by the cannabis high. It only makes him gasp. His mouth is agape, lips bruised from the catch of your repeated kisses. Dimly, you think about how perfect he looks when rolling himself inside of you like this.
"So pretty," you whisper. "You're so fucking pretty."
His face lowers. Chest heaving, Peter pants into the crook of your neck. His mouth is soft as he peppers gasping kisses across your skin. Your legs tighten further, pulling him even closer in. The rocking of his waist has grown stronger. His cock drags in and out of your core.
It slides through your walls - a delicious stretch. The tip rubs that spot deep inside of you. A moan leaves your lips, fingers tightening so that your nails bite into the skin of his shoulders. He knows your body so well by now. Can recognize that this sting is encouragement rather than a bid to stop.
And so, he keeps going - bumping into you more clumsily than usual. Still, he gets the angle right. Always does. Moves in a way that makes you gasp and your toes curl. Your heels dig into his rear in encouragement.
There's a low heat coiling in the pit of your stomach. It simmers underneath your skin. Mixes with the weed haze. Leaves your mind floating when you finally come - clenching hard enough around him that your cunt flexes and you see stars.
It takes him a little bit longer. The cannabis dulls his senses, and as such the sensitivity of his cock. He manages to coax out two, three, four, five more orgasms from you. Time passes in a dusted starlight - sliding by as lazily as the sky seems to move when cloud-watching.
When you tighten the sixth time, shuddering atop him, Peter can finally drive himself far enough to let go. He pushes himself deep inside. His leanly muscled shoulder jars into your cheek. Your teeth catch on the smooth line and you can't help but bite down. A low groan vibrates through his chest as he releases heavily into you.
You just hold him - listening to him pant as he gathers himself. When he eventually pushes his lightly sweating body off yours, a smile twists your lips.
"I have another joint somewhere in the bedroom, if you want?"
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Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!
A/N: I don't know why, but this concept is just so hot to me 😭
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sincericida · 3 months
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I'm unwell.
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strawberrysmoochesxo · 6 months
Birthday Gifts — Peter Parker/Spider-Man
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Warnings: none, it’s just really short
Summary: you get your boyfriend a gift for his birthday <3 not proof read
“Oh! Peter wait, I forgot to give you this!” You ran out your apartment door in nothing but your pajamas to chase the boy that was about to walk down the stairs.
Peter turned back to you with a small smirk, “What happened? You always seem to forget something, beautiful.”
You sighed at the word. That boy always was one to woo you.
“I forgot to give you this.. open it up right now! You’ll love it.. especially for later.” You winked at the end of your sentence and pushed the little gift box into his hands.
Peter quirked his brow at you with a questioning look. He let out a small huff of a laugh and opened the box.
He smiled once he saw what was in it and pulled you into a hug, placing his nose into your head full of kinky curls. You smiled and pressed a kiss to his neck.
“Happy birthday, Parker! I know you’ve been eyeing them in the shop near the apartment..” you said, wrapping your arms around his slender frame.
“Oh Baby these are beautiful, thank you, thank you, thank you!” He smiled from ear to ear, pressing sloppy kisses all around your face.
You giggled, pushing his face away from you with your manicured hands. He kissed your hands instead which only made you laugh more.
“Pete! You have to go! You’ll see me later.. don’t forget the date ok?,” you leaned closer to his ear, pressing a chaste kiss on the shell of it, “or I’ll have to whoop Spider-Man’s ass.”
He placed his hands up in surrender and stool a step back, “Yes ma’am.”
He kissed you again before you had the chance to say anything and ran down the stairs with your gift in his hands, the different colored lenses he could put on his camera and take even more beautiful photos with, like a small child.
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helloheyhihowdyheya · 2 months
The Life You Build
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Peter Parker x gn!reader
Summary: You first met Spider-Man, then you met Peter. OR Peter looks back on the photos that built your lives, the good and bad.
Word Count: ~5.1k
Warnings: Fluff. Awkwardness. Angst & Peter's anger (not at reader). Description of injuries.
A/n: I did a version of this for Eddie, so of course I had to do it for Peter :) He's a lovestruck idiot, and I love him. Thank you for reading <3 let me know your thoughts!
The first picture Peter had taken of you was by accident. He’d been trying to capture the opening of a newly renovated wing of the library near his apartment. Since crime had been a bit quieter lately, making Spider-Man’s activities quieter as well, Jameson had sent him on more menial jobs for The Daily Bugle. 
He’d only seen you in the photos after the fact when editing them, finding you amongst the crowd with sunglasses resting on your head and a book in your hands, your smile wide with a happiness that permeated throughout the air.
The photos only caught part of your face, but he could see the excitement and wonder in your eyes, embarrassingly finding himself returning to them more than necessary. When documenting events for the paper, they often didn’t have such a happy ending — misused public resources, corrupt members in power, or something much more sinister and violent. Between that and his job of saving this city, he didn’t find as many calm or nice moments anymore, even forgetting about them altogether.
But here you were, unequivocally full of joy at something that should’ve had him smiling as well, if he weren’t so focused on taking pictures Jameson wouldn’t yell at him for. And so, he picked one of the photos in which you were off to the side alongside other joyful people and families looking at the ribbon cutting, and he put it right at the top of the story.
The next day at work, he found himself going to get coffee as usual, but maybe he’d had a lighter step to walk . A more relaxed of drifting through the world as he entered The Daily Bugle’s office. If you could find happiness in the small things, maybe he could too. 
The next time Peter got a photo of you wasn’t actually one he took. You did.
He’d done something menial, saving a cat from a tree, and came back to the ground, kitty in hand, to a crowd gathering around. He didn’t mind the attention, he’d gotten used to it by now, especially when it wasn’t negative. This wasn’t a mob – rather a group of people pleased to see him, including the cat’s owner thanking him over and over again. A cat owner he definitely recognized.
You’d had a rough morning, spilling coffee on yourself and creating a mess on the floor – only for your cat to walk through and get his fur drenched. Giving him a bath did not go well either, full of his hissing and your groan when knocking came at your door. Half-soaked and tired, when you opened up the door to your neighbor, your cat took the chance to book it. Shoving your head out into the hallway, you caught a glimpse of his tail disappearing out the window at the end of the hall. 
Your neighbor handed you a package that’d accidentally been delivered to her apartment, which you threw inside your place before slipping on your nearest shoes. Grumbled “sorry’s” passed your lips as you passed others while racing to the building’s front door to chase after your horrible (and adorable) cat. Cool morning air of the late summer greeted you as your eyes flashed across every inch of the streets, buildings, even trash cans. But the pitiful cries of your cat came from above.
Straining your neck, you saw flashes of orange swishing in a tree near your building. “Oh god,” you muttered while racing to the bottom of it. Bark scratched against your palms as you leaned against the trunk, looking up at him. His claws sunk into the tree far out of reach for you to grab.
Calling the fire department certainly felt like overkill to get your now traumatized (read: overdramatic) cat out of a tree, and a bit cliche. Shaking your head, you told him, “Please just get down here. I will give you a hundred treats and unlimited attention.” A long sigh loosened from your lungs, hoping he somehow understood your pleas.
“Sure wish I got that kind of reward,” a soft voice laughed out behind you. 
Any embarrassment heating your face seemed to drain away when you turned to come face to face with Spider-Man sticking to the wall of your building, looking right at you with those big white eyes. Words escaped you for a second as you kept staring. You’d only ever watched him swing on television, barely catching him as a speck in the distant horizon of the city’s skyline if you were lucky. You couldn’t stop staring, even as he tilted his head at you.
“Guess all I need now is the hundred treats,” he said, and you could’ve sworn he smiled under that mask. You would’ve laughed along with his silent ones if he hadn’t pointed out your incessant gazing.
“Well, only if you get him down, that is.” Your nervousness bled through your words, maybe from his presence. Probably your cat. The sweat coating your palms didn’t know anymore.
Breaths floated past your lips a little easier when Spider-Man lept up into the tree and grabbed your cat, much to his dismay. More cries came from above until they sounded from directly in front of you, webbed gloves wrapped around his middle and holding tight as he wiggled. 
“Oh thank you,” you said before whispering to your cat, “And hush, you got yourself into this, Samwise.” You took him from the superhero, silently chastising him. Of course your cat would do this to you – send you out into the streets in dirty clothes and disheveled… well, everything, only to stand in front of literal Spider-Man like this. The people that had gathered only for a moment started dispersing after the excitement died down, not that there’d been much to begin with besides you talking to a cat.
“Samwise?” he questioned while brushing a finger along your cat’s forehead. Soon, soft purring began vibrating against your chest.
With a small laugh, you said, “Yeah, he’s just as sweet as Samwise Gamgee, but it seems he’s just as adventurous too. Thank you, again.”
“Of course. Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, right?” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck, but you doubted he could actually itch anything through that suit. Was he as nervous as you?
Though it mostly went against your judgment, you knew your friends wouldn’t believe you if you didn’t have some sort of proof that this all happened. “Okay, I know you’re probably really busy and I look completely wild, but could I take a quick picture with you?”
He looked up from where he’d been staring (and cooing) at Samwise to lock eyes with you, and though you couldn’t see any part of his face, it still brought a heat to your cheeks. “If wild means pretty, then I’d love to.”
Oh. If you hadn’t been flustered before, that sure did it. Fishing your phone out of your pocket with a cat in your arms and shaking fingers proved difficult. But you finally held it up, hoping to finish with all this and let him get on with his life – only for the sun to shine right into your eyes at this angle.
“Ah, maybe I should turn the other way…” you started but were quickly cut off by the sound of Spider-Man shooting webs from his wrist.
“Does that help?” 
Looking up, you saw that he created a web in between branches of the tree – right where the sun had been shining into your vision. 
“Yeah… yeah, that’s great. Thank you,” you said in a quiet voice, suddenly unsure whether all Spider-Man fan interactions felt this intense. Was it just you? 
You brought the phone back and focused it, though selfies were never your talent. So while you balanced Samwise and struggled to get the three of you in frame, Spider-Man brought his hand up and angled it up slightly.
“There…” he mumbled, and the body heat rolling off of him had you frozen, had you in a hold until you saw that hint of his mask moving in the camera as if he were smiling for the picture. So you followed suit, capturing a picture of you, him, and your cat he just saved all bathed in the morning sunlight. 
“Hey, be sure to share that with me on Twitter, okay? If you know my page on there… it’s been a while since I’ve done the whole ‘save a cat from a tree’ thing.” He laughed again, and you weren’t sure how to feel about it quickly becoming one of your favorite sounds.
“Yeah, I know it,” you started saying, aware that everyone in New York knew about his social media presence, but… “I’m just not sure it’s the best picture of me, you know?”
That time, there was no denying the way the eyes on his mask shot up. “Well I’d be dying to know the best picture there is of you, because that must sure be something,” he told you. And you were about to respond (you absolutely were, not just stand there and stumble over your words and unable to make eye contact), but sirens began to start up in the distance. 
He yelled out, “You better share that with me!” as he shot out a web, leaving you with no argument as he swung away. Holding Samwise close to your body, you let out a breath and watched as Spider-Man floated above the skyline.
And later that night, you did end up sending it to him despite how you thought you looked in it. He had stood so close to you, and your heart melted everytime you saw the way his hand rested against Samwise’s cheek – who all but adored the attention and pressed back into him. Peter had to keep himself from opening your message immediately, especially since he was in the middle of taking down a man trying to break into a store. 
“Hey! You can’t just leave me here!” the man clothed in black said as he hung from a fire escape in the alleyway next door. Meanwhile, Peter stood there, hovering his thumb over your message after shooting a web over the man’s mouth. 
Peter internally groaned as he began pacing back and forth. Was he overthinking this? He probably was. He ran a hand over his face before deciding to wait until he got home to open it… to play it cool – he was being really cool about all this.
Until he did open it and fell in love with a different part of you each time he glanced at it.
The next picture Peter had of you came from someone else, a fan of his that tweeted at him a day after he’d talked with you again.
You’d been sitting out on your fire escape, sweater on and hot drink in hand as fall quickly approached, watching the dipping sunset about to kiss the tops of New York’s buildings. And you nearly spilled it all – almost dropped the mug down on top of pedestrians passing by – when Spider-Man landed on your railing and sat down on it.
The sudden gasp threatening to come out stopped in your throat, your fingers tightening against the mug’s handle as you tried to calm your breathing. 
“Oh god, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to scare you,” he rushed out, reaching his hands toward you as he apologized. All of his super strength would go into internally smacking himself in the face later.
By the time you could think clearly again, you looked up at him and his legs swinging back and forth. “Not sure how you thought landing on someone’s fire escape from the sky wouldn’t scare them, but it’s okay,” you said with a breathy laugh.
“Fair. You’ve got me there,” he admitted. And before the following silence became too overbearing and overwhelmed by the traffic below, he asked, “How’s Samwise doing?”
You blinked at him, eyes wide as you thought about it. “He’s…” you paused, “He’s well. No more climbing trees for him, unless I get you on speed dial.”
The eyes on his suit narrowed for a moment before he hopped off the railing, coming to stand just a little closer to you. “Is this your way of asking for my number?”
He couldn’t help but laugh – at your own surprised giggle, at the way you hid your burning face behind your cup, and at how the skin of your face crinkled with each laugh. “So Spider-Man– Can I call you that?”
“Mr. Spider-Man, The Spidester. Any of the following adjectives between ‘The’ and ‘Spider-Man’: Amazing, Spectacular, Friendly Neighborhood, Handsome… the list goes on,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Through a smile you desperately tried to hide, you said, “Okay, Spidey, I was going to ask whether you’re this flirty with all of the citizens you help.”
God was he glad you couldn’t see the red painting his cheeks or somehow sense the warmth in his chest from your words. “Maybe it’s just the lucky ones that I help save their cats.”
“Ah, so it’s luck then?” you asked, and there was no missing the teasing look you gave him or the way your body subconsciously leaned toward his.
He felt the suit pull taut as he nodded. “Yeah, luckier than winning the lottery, I’d say.”
Pursing your lips, you considered him for a moment. And Peter had never felt so seen by someone who couldn’t actually see him. It made him want to know what went on in that pretty head of yours. Really pretty.
Your hands rose up to gesture at him, breaking him from his staring as a chilled breeze went by. “Okay, next question. Do you ever get cold in that thing? Snow’s not far off here, and your suit doesn’t look very… winterized.” 
For a moment, he thought about teasing you, saying something about how you were checking him out enough to notice that about his suit, but he wouldn’t deny an audience to talk about his technology with. “For a while, it wasn’t. I wore a hat sometimes, a scarf made by my… relative – but that didn’t exactly scream ‘intimidating’ to people, so I had to make adjustments to the suit. It’s now a bit more insulated, but moving around and beating ass usually warm me up too.”
The sudden laugh you let out at brought an unmissable smile to his lips. Oh, how he wanted to make you do that again and again. “I suppose it would,” you said in between breaths. And maybe you thought better of it, but you followed up with, “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee or something? As a thanks for Samwise.”
Peter almost said yes in an instant, anything to keep you talking to him for just a little longer. But angry yelling erupted a block over, some argument he picked up with his hearing. The screaming in his head telling him to ignore it and choose you instead nearly drowned it out, but he couldn’t.
With a weight in his stomach, he said, “Raincheck? Duty calls.” You only nodded, eyebrows all scrunched up before he lept from the fire escape and off to the fight starting to break out. It was that moment right before he left that a fan caught with their phone.
It looked a little fuzzy from how far away it was taken, but it was unmistakably Spider-Man standing across from you. It’d be difficult to make out your face, but he knew it was you. The two of you almost looked domestic there, having a sweet conversation about your lives before the day ended.
The tweet came with speculations as to who you were and what he was doing with you. All of that ate away at the lump in his throat, so he found a way to get it deleted in case anyone tried finding you – but not before saving the photo himself to dream about a simpler life where you knew who he was.
Peter shouldn’t have done it. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but he did it anyway. Why? It seemed he never could think straight when looking at you, or being near you. Or even thinking about you for that matter. Sometimes, he wondered whether you had powers too, but just for making his mind all fuzzy and dull when it came to you. So against better judgment, he took the assignment The Daily Bugle had given him to interview workers about a series of recent break-ins – like the flower shop you worked at.
He’d found himself catching glimpses of you here and there while on patrol, not that he was looking for you, of course. But he just so happened to see you walk into the same shop almost every day, so he kept an eye on it to make sure you were safe as you trudged home after too-long shifts in your work clothes and uncomfortable but “work-appropriate” shoes. Not that him doing so meant anything. Right?
And he rationalized to himself that it was all worth it when he saw someone trying to force inside the building after hours while you and a coworker cleaned up and readied it for the next day. The man made his way in, shouting something to you two, a gleaming knife extending past his fingertips. 
But Peter had been there, moving faster than he had in months. His vision nearly blacked out as his webs pulled the man back out onto the street, and he had no control over the hands that pressed this worthless man into the tar – wanting to push him into it. The knife had been thrown when he’d been pulled, landing somewhere too far to save this man, not from Peter. He could barely feel the writhing below him, the angry shouts of this person barely reaching his ears.
Then, he heard your voice. Something about calling 911, something about checking whether Spider-Man was okay. They should’ve asked about the other guy. But Peter loosened a breath, dropping his head for a moment before picking the man up and webbing him to the nearest street lamp. You were okay.
Still, when he turned to you, your coworker on the phone in the shop, he had to ask. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
You blinked a few times, your arms wrapped around your middle. “Uh, yeah we’re okay. I’m okay, just a bit shaken up. Thank you… again.” Despite what had happened, you let out a small laugh. “We should really stop meeting like this.”
And in seeing that soft smile of yours, he was Peter again to himself. Not Spider-Man. He wished you could do that for him every day.
“How would you rather meet, then?” he asked, and if he didn’t love the flustered look you got, he would’ve been sadder about you turning away from him from embarrassment.
“Any other time than my or my cat’s life in danger. I think that’d be a good start.” You clasped one hand over the other as you rocked from one foot to the other. Only did his grin drop when you said, “We’ve, um, called the police. So you should probably head out before they get here.”
He took a bit of solace in how sad you sounded about him having to leave, so he swung away with a little hope in his heart. And really, it should’ve ended there. But he accepted the assignment to show up at the flower shop to interview people about it. Who knows? Maybe you wouldn’t work that day.
“Hi! Are you from The Daily Bugle? My boss said you’d be coming in.” You’d opened the door when he knocked on it, that brightness you always brought took his breath away in the best way.
Appropriate answers to your question would have been “Yes, I am” or “Yeah, my name’s Peter. Nice to meet you.” But he stared at you for a few seconds trying to come up with anything – the way your eyes lit up keeping him off balance and constantly teetering on some unknown cliff. He held up his camera as some sort of answer before finally breathing out, “Yes, sorry. It’s just a bit early for me.”
Laughing, you waved him off. “I get that. Come on in.” You told him your name and a bit about the place while showing him the few things inside the shop – most of it just being wall-to-wall flowers.
He followed you in, shaking his head and letting his hair flop against his face. Peter swore he tried his hardest not to stare like some love-sick fool, but he watched you lean against the counter like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. You asked, “What can I answer for you, uh…”
“Peter,” he offered as he scribbled down notes of what you’d said in between glances at you, as he didn’t trust himself to remember anything but your name that repeated over and over again in his head like a mantra. “Could you tell me a bit about what happened last night, if you’re comfortable with that.”
Subtlety, less violent this time, you wrapped an arm around your middle again as you nodded. You gave a smile, but it looked like a performance. He could feel your heartbeat.
“Of course. I and another coworker had locked the doors and began shutting the shop down when the man forced himself inside. He… he threatened us with a knife to unload the cash register,” you said, your eyes flicking between Peter’s face and the floor. “Not that we had much to hand over. But luckily we didn’t have to. Spider-Man showed up and stopped him.”
Peter felt some strange sort of pride at how relieved you looked as you continued describing the events once he had gotten there. The tension in your shoulders relaxed, your breathing evened out. Even your smile looked more real, authentic. He’d done that. Not that you knew it. 
You let him take a picture of you for the story he’d write up, not that Jameson would be too pleased about anything in support of Spider-Man. But Peter wasn’t going to pass up on an opportunity to get another picture of you.
Even in black and white, the photo laid out in next week’s newspaper did your kindness justice. It somehow looked imbued within every expression you gave. You were surrounded by flowers and bouquets you had put together yourself. You belonged there, and Peter couldn’t help but feel that he belonged there behind the camera trying to capture you in as many photos as possible – keep you close to him as a picture if he couldn’t have you next to him living, breathing, being you.
And maybe he shouldn’t have, but Peter came back to the shop again and again, quickly becoming your favorite customer. Almost every time, he wanted to buy the flowers just to pass them right back across the counter and give them to you. Instead, Aunt May looked pleasantly surprised every time he came home with them, accompanied by red cheeks and an exasperated look on his face.
That photo of you in the flower shop, of your grinning face immortalized as the most beautiful person Peter had met – it was the same photo news outlets and newspapers used for you a few weeks later when you’d been attacked, targeted. He couldn’t bring himself to keep it anymore, not when it sat below headlines that made him sick and hateful.
His inner voice was right, the one that told him to stay away from you. That shouted at him to remember all the other people that’d gotten hurt because they knew him, because someone had found out you were important to Peter. And he didn’t really know you – had no reason to care about you as much as he did. But you’d crashed into his life at a time when he didn’t have many people to care about, especially now that he lived alone.
And he’d gotten to know what book you were reading at the moment, your favorite flower combinations to say just the right thing, the subtle way you quirked your mouth when trying to hide a smile. It’d overridden any self-preservation or reminder of what could happen to you.
Every night on patrol, he watched over your hospital room to make sure no one came near to hurt you. After, he’d spend hours tracking down the crime group that did it. That wanted to rid Spider-Man of the city. He’d almost kept the mug shots of each bloodied scum criminal he took down, who dared put a finger on you.
As Peter, he swallowed down his shame and self-hatred to visit you in the hospital – a bouquet in hand. Opening up your room door, he slipped in, letting out a sharp breath before facing you. The parts inside his chest that had hardened over these past days softened, nearly crumbled, at the way your eyes lit up at seeing him.
“Peter, you came,” you sighed out. You couldn’t move all that well, not with the bruising and the few fractures you sustained, but he could see the energy fighting in your body. Could feel it.
Holding out the flowers toward you, he said, “Yeah, of course I did.” He found himself unable to look at you long, each discolored part of your skin and wince at your body’s pain unbearable to witness.
Your hand brushed his, caressing his fingers as if to tell him it’d be okay, as you took the bouquet. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” Your voice barely broke the humming of the machines hooked up throughout the room, but the smile you hid behind the petals explained your feelings well enough.
He took a seat next to you, his body aching to touch yours in some way. To rest a hand on yours or kiss each bruise you had. But he didn’t, not after what he’d done. “How are you feeling?”
You gave a sad sort of laugh, one that wasn’t funny but at least didn’t bring tears with it. “Let’s just say I’m better now that you’re here.”
He knew you meant it, but it couldn’t be true, not when him being there had led to all of this. Biting back a groan, he said, “I… I wanted to see how you were doing, but I also wanted to say goodbye.” His eyes stayed glued to the tiled floor, speckled in beige and too shiny. “I just–”
“I know it was you.”
Peter Parker always had a smart remark, a witty comeback. Especially when it came to you and the joy he could pull from you. But not now. Your words froze him, sending ice through his skin and shredding down into his nervous system.
You made the first move, reaching out a hand to his knee to stop its shaking. He hadn’t even known he had been shaking his leg. But it made him shut his eyes, force even breaths through his nose.
“There was no way I could forget your voice, or how you tilt your head when you’re confused,” you told him, and his throat felt tight at the slight crack in your voice. “I forgive you, Peter. As long as you don’t say goodbye.”
You made him so careless… carefree, for once in his life. His calloused palms scratched against his face, the pressure of his fingers against his scalp like iron weights – weight as heavy as his mistakes that he paid witness to right in front of him. “I can’t.”
“At least stay with me for a little longer,” you pleaded. Your hand reached up to wrap around his wrist and pull them away, forcing him to look at you. And you smiled, the only smile that he couldn’t resist. So he stayed, holding you until he embedded his fingerprints into your skin.
For a long time, Peter had forgotten all about those photos – they were just wishes thrown into the wind for some future he hoped to have with you. So when you took that first picture of you as a couple, a picture of him kissing you on the cheek in Central Park, arms wrapped around one another and no world outside the two of you, how could he think about any other photo?
He’d brought you there after you’d healed, the painful memories faded from your skin. You fell asleep in that hospital bed with your hand entwined in his to find him still there when you awoke. He hadn’t said goodbye.
Peter had asked you out with another bouquet, one that you’d told him meant eternal gratitude and affection. If you hadn’t had gone through everything, maybe you would have been embarrassed at how fast you told him yes. But with the way his honey eyes melted at your answer, you couldn’t regret something like that.
That photo of that first date stayed with him all the time, printed out and everything. Peter did the same for the next one – of you both lounging lazily in his bed and morning sun streaming in through the blinds. Then the same for the one from the photo booth at the mall. His wallet soon stretched against its seams before you made him choose one to keep in there or he’d end up losing all of them somehow. The rest decorated the walls and shelves while others found their way into a shoebox he hid so it’d never be damaged. 
But he never stop taking photos of you to remind himself of what he had. In the middle of cooking dinner, sauce and measuring cups everywhere, he took a picture of you, hands of your hips and trying to not look amused. But he saw you in a way his camera could never capture, so you smiled against your will. Peter even took one while swinging through the air with you, your body clung to his as you tucked your face against his neck. You’d smacked him for that one, but there was no helping him when it came to you.
The one photo he chose to keep tucked against his body, to remind him to make it home, was the one from a family dinner. It looked simple, cute with friends and family surrounding you two with wide smiles, but it’d always been more to him. There was his family, his life far away from his hidden one. The life you had given him.
A/n: Thank you for reading, it means the world.
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peterthepark · 1 year
pairing: tasm!peter parker x black cat!reader
summary: peter parker has had enough dealing with strays like you, the black cat. when he shows up to your hideout uninvited, he tries to correct your behavior - yet peter finds himself falling for your tricks, and can’t help but give in to your sweet claws.
tags: pure nsfw filth, graphic 18+ smut, oral sex (m receiving and f receiving), fingering, witty banter, degrading, anger issues, blood and mentions of wounds from fighting, choking, lots of sexual tension, no protection but wrap it before u tap it
note: enjoy my first peter smut! probably did not edit this, so forgive any typos! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 mwah! (based off of doja cat’s “streets”) this is literally pure sin and i hope u love it!!
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Rain patters against the thick garage door, thunder booming from the outside of a dark New York night. Peter’s fingers trail down the edge of a cold, metal table. He feels the coolness through the material of his Spider-Man suit, and it’s enough to make him uneasy. Though, the contents atop of the table is what sends a shiver down his spine, and his hands hover over quite personal pictures of you, the Black Cat.
Peter knew you by the alias Felicia Hardy, but it didn’t take much for him to figure out you were straight bluffing. He figured out your name through your own disclosure, when he personally revealed himself to you after you begrudgingly helped him in stopping a bank heist. You, of course, had gotten a couple money clips and jewels out if it. (Peter didn’t know that, but he had suspected something of the sorts). He was drawn to you in the same manner you were to him. Occasionally, you would be of assistance to him, but those times were rare. Peter viewed you as a thief, and you were a nuisance to the city.
Perhaps, he saw you as a threat or a challenge.
On the other hand, you saw Peter as someone to conquer. He had secrets that you wanted to uncover, but you committed crimes that he couldn’t just let slide because of your history.
His cheeks flush as he sifts through the collection of the grainy photographs - you were barely dressed in any of them. Was there ever a time Peter hadn’t seen you out of that stupid - but fucking hot - latex suit? His body grows warmer as he pauses at the final picture, mouth agape. This was inappropriate, an invasion of your privacy. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have snuck in. He felt almost dirty staring, no, memorizing it. You were wearing nothing but a see-through red lace set - a Spider-Man bandage covering the small gash on your upper thigh and the split skin on your cheekbone. His fingers traced the outline of the cobweb pasties beneath your bra.
His eyes flicker to the bounce of light across the room, and the soft scuffle of boots against the concrete floor. The hairs on his body stand up as imminent danger fills his senses, and he turns in time to see a shadow sitting in the dark.
“You can stare all you want, Spidey...” The room illuminates with a dark red light as you turn on the spotlight beside you. Peter drops the picture, letting it land at his foot as he looks at you straddling the arm of a jeweled, velvet throne. God, that voice. You smirk at him with painted lips, mask nowhere to be seen. You were baring yourself to him. “But the real deal is right here.” His breath hitches, and you notice. “Hello, Peter.”
You shift your weight on your hands, leaning forward on the armrest. Peter clenches his jaw, fighting off the urge to look at the curvature of your hips and the way you sat so perfectly on the furniture.
“Y/N, what the hell are you up to?”
There’s distance between your two bodies. Peter looks as if he’s unsure in leaving his place by the table, letting his arms rest by his sides as he remains in a defensive stance.
“I’m up to no good.” You mewl with a pout, nails following down the seam of your outer thigh. “Are you here to punish me?”
“What the fuck are you thinking… pulling off a robbery like that?” He growls angrily. You see it in the curl of his lip, the snarl of his mouth, the way he grinds his teeth together. “You’re stupid, Y/N. You don’t think, ever! I told you specifically not to mess with Kingpin…”
You interrupt him, and your façade breaks for a second.“Oh, fuck off, Peter.” The brunette is caught off guard, and he carefully studies the way you break eye contact.
“I told you if you’re gonna take him down, you’re not doing it alone.” He scolds, wagging a pointed finger at you. Peter’s words clash together as he hurriedly speaks, almost as if he weren’t able to say everything in one sentence, you wouldn’t hear him. “You never fucking listen, Y/N. I don’t know why I even trusted you to begin with. You’re a criminal. This is so below me.”
“The Black Cat is never to be trusted.” You say calmly now, sliding off the armrest as you stand across from Peter. “And yet here you are,” You coo as you approach him slowly. He doesn’t level his stare at you, and you look up at the spider through innocent lashes. Your knuckles ghost over the dried blood on his cheek, “…coming back for more.”
He swats your hand away in a flash, pinning it over your head as he roughly backs you up against the scrap metal garage door with long strides. Your head and back hits it with a loud bang, and you let out a pained groan from the harsh contact. Peter’s eyes bore into you like daggers, searching your face for remorse. He’s breathing heavily, hand still gripping tightly around your pinned wrist and the other digging into your abdomen. You make use of your opposite hand - the one that’s free - and claw down the side of his face with a grunt, throwing him against the door as well. He clutches the right side of his body as the gashes on his face reopen.
“Don’t fight me, Peter.” You close the distance between you two, standing behind him while his back faces you. The whisper of your voice tickles his ear, and he wonders what it would be like to hear you plead his name. You place a kiss on his wounded shoulder, “You know I’ll win, hm?”
“I hate you. You don’t understand how badly I wanna…”
He looks down, balling his hands into fists with a defeated sigh. Peter turns to face you. There’s a slight difference in his posture, and he’s slumped over in pain. Blood trickles down the side of his jaw, and you mindlessly reach out to wipe it. Peter winces, catching your thumb before you pull away. He studies the blood-covered digit, how the dark liquid shines on your latex glove. Peter’s lips part as he takes your thumb into his mouth, sucking the blood off of it.
You hold back a moan, never tearing away from his intense glare. You nearly whine when your finger leaves the warmth of his tongue, and he lets it go lazily.
“Who were those photos for?” He asks you with an accusatory tone.
“For myself.”
The front of his webbed suit rubs against your chest. “No, I don’t believe you. Try that again, Y/N.”
“For you.” You whisper longingly, eyes blown with lust. Peter shudders.
“You’re filthy for that.” Peter’s moral compass turns sour, and he forgets what he’s here for when he sees you rub your thighs together. Without thought, he reaches over your collarbone, pushing your hair away from your face. “Filthy girl.”
You chuckle cockily, humming in approval as Peter’s bloodied fingers trail down your neck. They wrap around your throat like they were meant to be there from the beginning. Your smile grows wider, and Peter draws you close to his body.
“Guess you aren’t such a good guy after all, Spidey.” You remark, fighting off a grin as a provoked Peter shoves you against the metal table. He has you turned around in his grasp, so that your back is to him and your ass is pressed up against his dick. He bends you over just enough, and his other hand grabs a fistful of your hair.
“Look at those fucking pictures.” He holds you, so that you have no choice to admire the self-portraits littered about. “All for me? Is that right?”
“Yes,” You gulp, breathless. “All the times you caught me stealing… and sent me home with nothing… I couldn’t help but think about you and what you could do to me.” You submit for now, knowing you weren’t in a position to undermine Peter’s strength. But you let the back of your heel follow up Peter’s thigh, just above his knee to tease him. He groans audibly, and you take that moment of vulnerability to press up against him harder.
“God, you’re fucking…” Peter hisses, unable to resist your sweet voice and the way you sounded so desperate for him. He kisses the underside of your jaw, peppering them across your body till he turns you and kisses you roughly on the lips.
“I thought about you, taking me in handcuffs.” You say between kisses. “I thought about you fucking me in that museum. In a police car. In the alleyway where we first fought. In the bed of my apartment.” Peter whines loudly, his lips messily searching for yours. He’s hard at the thought of you just even thinking of him that way. You fantasized him, the way he did to you. “I think about you fucking me now.”
“If I don’t? Are you gonna beg, Y/N?” Peter reaches for the zipper of your suit, toying with it. “Beg for it.”
“No, I don’t beg.” You growl, leading him by his arm. He follows, surprisingly. And he’s in awe as you push him onto your (stolen) velvet throne to straddle him. “But you, Peter, you’ll beg.” You take his hands into yours, guiding them down your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, till you lead them back to the zipper of the latex suit.
Peter doesn’t wait any longer, pulling it down the tracks without care. It breaks, and Peter pushes the suit down your front hastily. “Oops,” He whispers against your flesh, nursing a mark on your neck. “Forgive me, Y/N.” His big hands cup your bare breasts, not even questioning your lack of a bra. He stares, lips wet and stained from your gloss.
He takes a nipple between his mouth, eyes flickering up at you for approval. You nod rapidly, cradling the back of his head as your jaw hung open in pleasure. Peter’s nails dig into the tenderness of your hips that you grind against him, earning a breathy moan from the hero.
“Oh, Peter…” You run your hands through his wild hair, tugging at the brown locks. “You’re so pretty like that. Fucking… god, I can feel you under me.”
Peter pulls away momentarily, attacking your lips once more. He tastes of saliva and blood. “I can’t get enough of you already. You’re gorgeous, and I’m so fucking hungry for you.” You feel his hips buck up into you, and you have to place your hands against his chest to calm him. He looks like he’s on the verge of tears, and you soothe him with kisses down his clothed chest.
You watch him intently as you slide onto your knees and slowly run your tongue down the spider logo on his sternum, pressing a gentle kiss to the black symbol. It’s enough to have him forget his name, and he throws his head back as he prays an ‘Oh, fuck’ into the thick air.
It was like you were tainting him, poisoning him, corrupting him… and he liked it.
He wouldn’t be able to look at the symbol the same ever again.
He reaches to unzip the honorable suit, and you make use of the time to get rid of yours as well. Peter’s in nothing but his underwear, and you admire the way his abs shine with sweat under the red light. Your black nails draw down the middle of his stomach, and your core warms at the sight of the hairs beneath his waistband. You tease, brushing over his clothed hard cock with a mocking moan.
“Please, Y/N.” He mumbles.
“Please what?” You rest your head against him, drawing hearts around his knee. “Do you wanna fuck me, Peter?” A pornographic moan slips from his body, and it takes everything in you not to give in immediately. “Do you wanna fuck my mouth?”
He nods, “Gonna watch you, make sure you take all of it.” There’s a constant back and forth of dominance between the two of you - was it a vigilante thing? You weren’t sure, but you were wet and you didn’t care.
“Are you sure you just don’t want me to shut up?”
“Oh, trust me. I’ll make you shut up.”
Peter’s pride grows extensively as he admires the adorned marks on your neck and chest. His.
He marked you, the Black Cat, once untamed and untouchable - yet now, he has you on your knees, his cock in your hands. You pull his underwear down, flinging it to the side in the darkness of the garage. Peter’s tip is a bright pink, dripping with precum. Your tongue follows the vein on the underside of his cock, a smile breaking out on your face as his moans spur you on.
“Such a pretty sight.” He comments, running a hand through your hair. His thumb strokes the back of your head, gently and softly. Peter looks like he’s afraid to hurt you, as if he hasn’t thrown you off buildings and kicked your ass before. He notices the fingerprints on your neck, and he remembers to be a little more careful with how he handles you. “Y/N… shit, that feels so good.”
You take note of how Peter’s hand envelopes your free one, interlocking your fingers together. It makes you feel safe, and you feel your face flush. You let your thumb press against the slit of his cock, before you shift to take him into your mouth. He marvels at the sensation, your hooded eyes gazing up at him as you bob your head up and down the shaft.
“I’ve… Y/N, I’ve fantasized about you, too.” He confesses, guiding your head down. He closes his eyes as you gag wonderfully around him, and he stops to recollect his thoughts. “I’ve imagined how your lips would feel against mine. How fucking amazing your body would look under that beautiful suit.” You take all of him, hand splaying against his thigh tightly. His voice lowers with a rasp. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look without it? Fuck, Y/N, you - you do things to me. I wanna please you. I wanna make you cum. Christ, I can’t.”
Peter’s hips buck up once again, and he’s quick to pull you off before he has an early release. You send him a questioning look, and he shakes his head at you. “You keep going like that, I’ll cum all over you.”
“Aw, boo. Should’ve done it.” He pats the seat of the throne, scooting over to make room for you. “I would’ve savored every damn drop.”
You sit atop of the armrest, parting your legs for Peter. Somewhere along the blowjob, your panties had ended up on the floor. Your folds were wet with slick, nearly dripping down your inner thighs.
“Oh, Y/N, you’re so wet.” Peter croons, spreading your legs further apart as his tongue flicks up your clit. You jolt, suppressing the moan from your lips. Peter whispers against your mound as his eyes meet yours, fingers playing with your entrance. “Don’t go quiet on me now. I wanna hear you, angel.”
“Peter, please put your fingers inside me.” You moan with wanton, cupping your hand over your mouth as his middle finger curls into you. His tongue laps at your clit, and Peter watches you like a hawk.
He finds pleasure in your reaction - the arching of your back, the way you’d push yourself against his finger as if it wasn’t enough, the needy expression on your face. He adds another digit, his ring finger, and copies the ‘O’ shape of your mouth as he pushes against your g-spot.
“Feels good?” He asks, before he replaces his fingers with his tongue.
Peter Parker eating pussy was a sight for sore eyes. His jaw flexed as he tilted his head, angling his tongue better inside you. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, and it was hot to see someone so riled up by another person’s pleasure.
“Holy… fuck, I wanna come. Can I come?” You try to move his hand away from your clit, but he keeps circling, pulling you closer to the edge. “Peter, I’m gonna - shit, I love your mouth. I love it so much.”
You cry out of his frustration when his talented mouth leaves you, and you embarrassingly plead when his fingers fill you up once more. They pump in out of you, curling as the squelching of your juices echoed throughout the dim room. Peter’s wrist snaps in and out, and his fingers are buried to the hilt as your walls tighten around them.
“Mhm, go on. You’ve earned it. Cum, Y/N.” He praises you, and you gasp through chants of Peter’s name as you squirt all over his hand. He chuckles, awed by your capabilities. “You’re so perfect. My filthy, filthy fucking girl.”
You’re a mess by the time Peter takes you into his arms and positions you into the throne. He lays you onto your back, pushing your knees up to your chest. He quickly pumps his cock, hissing at the sensitivity in his tip.
“You’re okay?” He asks you, and you recognize the softness of Peter Parker in his hazy gaze.
“Yes. Fuck me.”
“Good.” He pushes himself into you, fully. Peter’s cock feels big, and it fills you up snugly. You clench around him, adjusting to the girth as he rubbed saliva against your clit. “We’re not done with each other yet.”
You moaned, out of pain and out of pleasure as he leaned over you. His right hand finds solace around your neck, while the other grips onto the curve of your ass. Peter’s hips snap at a slow antagonizing pace, and you fear that you’ll cum again before he’s gotten to properly fuck you.
“Peter, oh my god. It feels so good.” You stare into his warm eyes, hands scratching against the expanse of his wide back. The intimacy of seeing your dilated pupils, the quiver in your lip, the feeling of your throat gasping for freedom pushes him to go faster. His thrusts are messy, and he moans your name at the sight of cum dribbling down your ass.
“Y/N, I’m right there.” He manhandles you without difficulty, turning you so that your ass was in the air and your tits were pushed up against the velvet cushions. “Your pussy is so tight, like it was meant for me. And me, only.”
“Just for you. I’m yours for tonight.” You breathe out, squealing when Peter’s strong arms wrap around the front of your stomach so you were pressed upright against him. “I’ve dreamed of you being inside me.”
He fucks you harder, and you pull his head down to kiss at your neck. Peter bites down on your skin, moaning with cries of pleasure as your hips came to meet his.
“You’re mine always, Y/N.”
You cum at that. Peter has to steady you, forcing your eyes to stay open as he admires the lustful stars in your irises.
“Oh, god, Peter.” A tear falls down your cheek, and Peter kisses it into nothingness. “I’ve always wanted this. Always wanted you.”
He grunts, and the laziness of his hips give him away.
Peter cums inside you, and your thighs tremble at the new feeling of warmth and fullness within you. He falls forward, trapping you against the throne and his heaving chest.
“I want you, too.” He whispers, the sweat in his hair mixing with the sweat on your neck as his head drops to kiss your clavicle. Both of your heavy breaths fill the air, and Peter finds it hard to move away from you.
Was he guilty? Were you?
Hesitantly, you turn your head to look into his concerned eyes.
“Well, Spider-Man knows how to fuck.” You say, matter of factly.
He laughs at that, and you hiss when Peter slowly pulls out of you. Cum drips from between your legs, and Peter uses a nearby tissue to clean it. He gingerly wipes away any remnants from your body, even cleaning the bloodstains he had transferred onto you as a result of his wounds.
He’s tender. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed.
“And Black Cat can be tamed.” He bites his lip, brushing the matted hair away from your face. You’re about to speak before he beats you to it, “Y/N…”
The tone of his voice is apologetic, and soft.
“I think I should go.” He blushes, looking unsure and you see hesitation in the way he tries to reach for you. You silently hand him his suit, his fingertips lingering over your palm for too long.
You turn away from one another as you redress, and he clears his throat when you’re finished. You spin to meet his eyes, and you see it.
Your hands shakily trace over the black spider symbol of his suit, contrasting from the confidence you had bared to him earlier.
He doesn’t say anything, but he takes you into his arms without mention.
“I won’t let you go after Kingpin alone.” He rasps, and you try to wipe at the lipstick stain on his Adam’s apple.
“Then come with me. I can end this.”
Your face glimmers of fear, and he recognizes a roughened, nervous Y/N - no sight of the cocky Felicia Hardy he had fought before.
Peter moves to cradle your chin, his swollen lips ghosting over yours. He kisses you, his index and middle finger settling on either side of your ear as his thumb presses into your skin.
Spider-Man knew the Black Cat was horrible for him, like you were an oil spill - a darkness dominating over the serenity of water.
But there was no one else in the city like you.
Peter Parker was drawn to your darkness and your mystery.
Maybe he was made to play in the shadows, or maybe he was just another toy in a cat’s game.
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