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#tasm x reader
luveline · 5 months
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hellooo!! im not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this but i was wondering if you could write for tasm!peter where the reader just got her wisdom teeth removed and she’s all loopy on anesthetics and forgets peter is her boyfriend? i saw this video where this girl got her wisdom teeth pulled and forgot she was dating her boyfriend and fell in love with him all over again😭😭
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7sGQo5/
thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k
"Here she is," the nurse says gently, walking you out with his arm behind your back. "Alright, say hi to Peter." 
"Hi, Peter," you mumble, eyes on the floor. 
Peter grins at you, worry warm at the back of his throat. "Hey. Is that everything?" he asks, nodding at the nurses paper bag of aftercare. 
"Everything you'll need." The nurse helps Peter take over, hoisting your arm over his shoulders before stepping away. "Alright, feel better, okay? And don't hesitate to call if something comes up. We're here to look after you." 
You seem appreciative in your fog, but it's hard to tell. Peter curls his arm around your hip and gives it a soft rub as he leads you to the stairs. Whoever devised the floor plan here had murder on their mind —the second floor is completely inaccessible. Luckily, Peter has a lot of strength at his disposal. 
You can feel it. "Woh, you're strong," you murmur. 
"You know that already." His grip on you tightens, pretty much carrying you down the tight staircase. 
"Do I?" you ask. You make a sound like you're hurting, a squeak. 
"I'd hope so." At the end of the staircase, he sits you down, worried you're not feeling well. "You okay? I can princess carry you if you need me to." 
You look at him with wide eyes. He turns to check there's no one standing behind him, but you're really looking at him. "What?" he asks, touching your knee, imploring. "You look like you've seen a ghost." 
"You're Peter?" you ask. 
Ah, the amnesiac effect of anaesthetic. His touch turns comforting, stroking your thigh with as much care as he can drive into his palm alone. "That's me. Hey, if you're forgetting me, does that mean you're not mad at me for last Friday anymore? 'Cos I know you said you forgive me but I can tell it still pisses you off–" 
Your eyes fall to his hand. "Why would I be mad at you?" you ask. 
"I finished the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, even though I promised I'd stop doing it. You see the jug and think there's milk left. We were gonna have macaroni and cheese..." He nudges your fingers with his. "Are you okay? You don't look like yourself."
"What do I usually look like?" 
"Not so, you know. Daunted." 
"You're really handsome," you whisper, refusing to meet his eye. 
"Oh, you think so?" 
You nod like your head is too heavy. You're embarrassed, you sweetheart, oh my god Peter could cry into your lap. 
"Let's get you to the car, baby." 
"Where are we going?" The gauze gives you the world's most adorable lisp, and it turns your gasp into a hum as Peter stands you up. 
"Home." 
"Together?" 
"Yeah, we live together. It's a nice place, and you're a great decorator, you know? It's cozy." 
"Thank you," you say shyly. 
You're not not shy with him, but it's been a long time since you got so quiet over a practically innocuous comment. He wants to see how you'll react to real compliments, over the top stuff that he one hundred percent means. It's a little mean, but when will you ever be like this again? 
He helps you out past the desk and onto the street to your car where it's parked a half a block down. "Don't worry about all this, okay? I'm gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. There's an ice pack and a brand new comforter with your name on it waiting at home." Peter smiles at your starry eyes as they flash to his, amazed at his simple plans. "How does that sound, beautiful? Is there anything you want before we head home? Anything that would make you feel better?" 
"You're gonna take care of me?" you ask breathlessly. 
"That's my job. That's my number one boyfriend duty." 
"You're my boyfriend?" 
"I am!" he says happily, laughing as he speaks. "For a while. I've been trying to take things further but you're always really shy about getting married–" 
"You want to get married? To me?" 
Peter presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the only person I'd ever want to get married to. We already picked the flowers–" 
"We did?" 
He laughs again, all your questions. He loves regular you but loopy you is especially endearing. "Last time I got super drunk, yeah. You never let me forget it." 
"So you love me?" you ask, stopping short.
"I love you so much," he says immediately, hugging you into his side. He dots another kiss against the top of your head. "You should remember that even if you don't remember me." 
"I love you," you say quietly. 
Peter doesn't know if that's your memory returning, or if you've fallen in love with him in the last fifteen minutes. He could easily fall in love with you that quickly, and yet he's still amazed at your confession. 
"That's good. That's great. Thank you, sweetheart," he says, desperate to hold your face in his hands but weary of causing you future pain. "There's your car," —he points, lowering his head to yours to make sure you can see it, hand now protectively held between your shoulder blades— "let's go home now. Yeah?" 
You start walking again at his requests. He can pretty much see the steam rising off of your face, giddy with happiness at these revelations. You're together, you're in love, and you think he's handsome. He wonders what you'll have to say about his biceps in this state of delirium; you go crazy for his arms sober. 
Which reminds him. 
"I totally have another secret to tell you," he says, unlocking the car as you approach and helping you into the passenger seat. 
"What is it?" you ask. 
Peter closes you in and skirts around the door, climbing into the driver's seat. He's glad that New York is as ridiculously loud as ever, because not even the closed doors or your sodden gauze can smother the way you shriek.
"My boyfriend is Spider-Man?!" 
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bruisedboys · 3 months
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peter parker and “is that my shirt?” prompt would be so cute!
congrats on 6k
thank u angel! hope u like this!! join the celebration
tasm!peter parker x fem!reader
Peter’s missed you so much he actually feels kind of sick. He’s practically buzzing as he unlocks the apartment door and lugs his suitcase inside.
“Angel?”
There’s a loud and very cute squeal from down the hall. Rapid footsteps, and then you appear in your pyjamas, beaming bright as the sun, looking like the prettiest thing Peter’s ever seen.
“Peter!” You squeal, a ball of excitement. “Baby. Oh my gosh.” You cross the room and throw your arms around his neck. Peter laughs, his chest flooding with warmth, and hugs you back twice as strong.
“Hi, honey,” he says, lovelorn. You smell amazing. You look like an angel. You’re squeezing him to death. He’s missed you so much he could cry. “Holy moly, I missed you so much.”
You giggle, turn your face into the side of his head and drag your nose along his jaw. “I missed you more,” you say, lips hot on his skin.
A shiver runs down Peter’s spine. He’s only had you back for a half a minute and you’ve already got him shivering? Typical. “Impossible,” he tell you. He runs his hands down your back and up again as if to prove to himself you’re really there.
You laugh and pull back, bouncing on your toes, to look him in the eye. You’re so, so beautiful. Somehow prettier than when he left you, which seemed impossible but apparently isn’t, not for you.
You reach up and push a lock of hair from his eyes. Peter’s hypnotised. He doesn’t get how one girl can be so achingly lovely, so pretty and so sweet, but you manage it. He slides his hands down to your waist, feeling like he might explode if he doesn’t touch every inch of you. It’s then that he recognises the familiar fabric of your shirt. He looks down.
“Hey, is that my shirt?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. He nudges you backwards with his hips to get a better look. It is his shirt. His favourite one, which he didn’t pack for his trip because it suspiciously went missing the day before he left. “It is!” He exclaims, pinching at your side. “You had it this whole time?”
You giggle at his prodding, and try twisting yourself out of the way. Peter keeps a firm grip on you, hand spread over your ribs, his glare full of accusatory heat.
“I’m sorry!” You say, giggling like an idiot when he pinches you some more. “I missed you, okay? Is that such a crime?”
Peter makes a face at you but his heart’s soaring. “Well, if you count theft as crime then yeah, I would say so.”
You huff. “You’re so dramatic!”
“I’m dramatic?” Peter feigns offence, pulling his head back incredulously. “You’re the one who stole my—!”
Your lips land on his before he can finish his sentence. His words are lost to your mouth. You push up into the kiss, fervent and hot. Your fingers curl into his collar and brush over the column of his throat, and Peter forgets everything else. He kisses you back just as hard, one arm hooked around your waist and the other bent between your chests to hold your jaw.
“Never mind,” he says between kisses. “You can keep the shirt, baby.”
You laugh against his mouth.
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phantomlifes · 7 months
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tasm who got sprayed with an aphrodisiac, so he goes to his roommate and fucks her well into the morning 🤭🤭🤭
A/N this deviated a bit but i needed to spread the munch agenda…hope you can forgive me friend…..
peter enters the apartment like a hurricane, his shaking body and heaving breaths impossible to ignore.
“peter?” you ask, eyes wide with concern. “what’s wrong?”
he doesn’t answer at first as he looks at you. of course you’d be wearing tiny pajama shorts right now, when he has no control of where his eyes land. he’s trying hard to catch his breath, his hands clenching into fists. he brushes the hair curled with sweat off his forehead and forces himself to look you in the eyes, raising his head higher. he anchors himself on your kitchen counter behind him. “aphrodisiac.” he breathed. “came home for my research.” he gulped, pushing himself to his bedroom, still evidently woozy. “gotta be an antidote.” he started to sway to the side, and you moved on instinct for him to fall in your arms.
“easy.” you drawled, arms shaking with his weight. you’ve never seen him in this state before. “where’s the antidote? do we have it?” you try to keep your voice level, but the urgency escapes your tongue in droves.
he shakes his head, looking up at you. his brown eyes have been blown even darker, the pupil completely swallowing his irises. “lab. somewhere. gotta go.” he pushes off of you, but you grab his shaking hand.
“there is no way in hell i’m letting you leave here like this.” you took a deep breath, knowing the ethics of this are dubious at best, since you’ve been attracted to him since the day he moved in and he is technically drugged. he’s obviously in pain, and you can’t let him go out alone all the way to the lab to get the antidote. you don’t even know if he’d survive. “look. it’s an aphrodisiac. i….” you closed your eyes before you continued. “if it will take the pain away, you could….take it out on me.” you swallowed, trying to put it gently.
peter looks at you in shock, managing to push himself off the ground all the way. “you mean it?” he asks, looking straight at your lips. “because it would…” his voice trails off, cracking.
“yes.” you grab his shoulders. “i mean it”
peter immediately grabs your face with his large hands and pulls you into him, his lips sliding against yours in an anxious release. you didn’t imagine your first kiss going like this, but it doesn’t count, right? as soon as he gets a bit of control of himself, though, he slows down a little, capturing you in a breath-sucking kiss, both of you breaking away for air twice. “are you sure?” he asks again, his voice a low rasp this time. you nod and he urges you to jump, carrying you with a kiss into his bedroom.
he lays you on the bed as gently as he can, and you immediately make work of sliding off your shorts and underwear. he’s so obvious with his staring, it’s adorable. “can i?” his eyes wander down and he asks again in that low rasp. “please?”
the way he said please sent a shiver down your spine. “yeah.” you answered breathlessly. “what do you want?”
“my face buried in your thighs.” he responds instantly, with the cadence of a casual conversation for something so brazen. you stifle a gasp and nod. he wastes no time gripping your thighs and hooking them on his shoulders. “you’re fucking dripping, baby.” he remarks as he starts to explore with his fingers. “this for me? you like seeing me worked up?” he almost whispers.
“i think so.” you manage to get out in between gasps from his fingers brushing against your clit. “do…do that more.”
“this?” he asks, rubbing his thumb in circles. “you like that, baby?” you squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back with a stifled moan as your answer, and he grins. he takes this opportunity to start putting his mouth to work, his tongue lapping crudely as his thumb resumes pressing all of your nerves. the way he’s sucking and licking is filthy, the wet noises, his hums of delight and your cries of pleasure create a cacophony of pornography. you buck your hips against his face, pulling him closer lightly by his hair and when he groans you feel it inside of you. you whine, arching your back and he has to pin your hips down with a hand. he pulls his face away for a second, his mouth glistening with a smirk. “now who can’t control themselves?”
“shut up.” you whined in embarrassment, grabbing his hair and pulling him back down. he breathed a laugh against your clit, and you squirmed as much as you could in his hold. you’re not gonna last. he hummed and spoke into you, “yes ma’am.” and you knew you were done for.
“peter?” you whimper in between heavy breaths. “gonna cum.”
“yeah, baby?” he pulls his face away a bit, still keeping his thumb in position, only switching it to take your clit between his lips. “go on. cum for me.”
that’s all it took for you to release all over his chin with a weak little cry, your voice hoarse and breathless. you try to catch your breath, laying your head back on his pillow. “alright…” you breathed. “just give me a second…and you could…we could-“
“-about that.” he interrupted you. “i….i already did?” he says in a question, almost like he’s embarrassed, stark contrast to what his tone was minutes ago. “the effects wore off. let’s just leave it at that…” he trailed off, coughing. you prop yourself up on your elbows.
“did…did you…” you look down. “cum in your suit just from eating me out?”
he takes a deep breath, looking at you up and down. “maybe.”
you fall back with a giggle, and he immediately gets defensive. “what?”
“nothing.” you shake your head, the blood rushing to your face. “just so fucking hot.”
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cosmal · 1 year
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✪ — oh em gee what about ❛ this is a good look for you. ❜ with peter parker
stained
summary — peter spills a drink on your top at a party.
content — tasm!peterparker x fem!afab!reader, mentions of nudity
note — sorry this is super short! more of a baby blurb!
You sit on the edge of the toilet, naked from the waist up, while Peter is hunched over the bathroom sink, scrubbing at your shirt.
"Peter, just leave it, I'll wash it at home," you say softly. He looks really determined.
He'd spilt his drink all over your top downstairs at the party you're at. He'd felt horrible and insisted that he could get the stain out in the sink. The green stain out of your white top.
Turns out dawn soap and lukewarm water don't do the job. "I'm sorry, baby, really," he frets, holding the top up where it drips into the sink. You're not sure if he's made it better or worse. You appreciate him nonetheless.
"Pete, thank you, really," you start, shifting uncomfortably over the plastic lid. You cross your arms over your chest, where your bra digs into your skin, and look at the wet mess Peter holds in his hands. "It's okay. But now I have no top."
Peter drops the shirt looking really guilty. He feels horrible because he's ruined one of your favourite tops and he's also the reason you're half-naked in some random condo.
"Shit," he curses to himself.
He doesn't think twice. Peeling his jacket off, he stands at your knees and holds it out. "Here," he says bashfully. It's a thin jacket, made of nothing really. It's all you've got and you're not about to start complaining.
You stand to slip it on and hate it when you realise it has no zipper. Or any buttons. You pull it taut over your front and start to feel anxious. "Can you see anything?"
He pulls the collar forwards over your collarbones and smooths it out over your shoulders. "You're safe," he smiles. You watch his throat bob under the skin of his lightly stubbled neck. "It, uh, it looks really good."
"Pete," you groan while tipping your head back. "I'm naked, in the middle of the city, wearing my clumsy boyfriend's jacket, and you're getting turned on?"
"What?" he gawps, clearing his throat, "I am not! You just suit it, that's all."
You pull it tight around your middle and roll your eyes. "You're unbelievable."
He plays with the hem between his fingers, keeping his eyes planted to the floor momentarily. "It's a good look on you."
You straighten your back and ignore the way he's making you feel. Time and place you remember. "Right, we're going outside unnoticed and you're gonna hail a cab with those long arms of yours."
"You don't wanna swing home?" he asks.
"You don't have your shit," you grumble. It'd be convenient, but also reckless.
"My shit? You mean my suit?" he laughs, wrapping a hand around the hinge of your elbow. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that because I deserve it."
Peter makes sure you're decent before he opens the door to the bathroom. You stand behind him, hanging off his arm, hoping his broad shoulders will do you a favour and hide you well.
There's a drunk guy on the other side for the toilet presumably. Peter moves to the side to shield you on instinct when you squeak out a surprised noise. You push your chest against him to cover the slip of skin that struggles to be covered by the jacket, and let Peter guide you down the hall.
You lean in to whisper in his ear, "You owe me, Parker."
You get out onto the street when he says, "I'll show you how sorry I am when we get home."
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urrockstar-xe · 2 months
Text
math test - p.parker x fem!reader
posted jan 27th, 2024 3:28 pm
came up with this cutesy idea the other day, hope u enjoy :)
summary: Peter's tired of allowing Spider-Man to be a shitty boyfriend, so he makes up for it the only way he can think of that wouldn't get you in trouble.
masterlist
not proofread
wordcount: 0.8k
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It was nearing 2 in the morning when Peter slowly lifted his window open from the outside, not so gracefully falling inside once it was a wide enough gap, followed by him stumbling several times as he tried to close his window while simultaneously trying to take off the red and blue spandex suit that so badly needs a wash.
The sound of his old bed frame creaking caught Peter’s attention once he finally pulled on some sweatpants. 
He whipped around, his gaze immediately falling to your half-asleep figure in his bed, a familiar sight now, one Peter had adored. Your half-opened eyes tried to focus on his silhouette. 
“Shit, hey sweetheart I didn’t mean to wake you” Peter’s whispered apology was laced with a soft muffled tone as he pulled a hoodie over his head, not bothering to fix his hair as he made his way towards his bed. “Didn’t know you were sleepin’ over tonight” He said with a tired smile playing on his lips, the bags under his eyes failing to distract you from the beauty that was your sleep-deprived boyfriend as you merely scooted over for him to join you. 
“Supposed to help me study for that test” you mumbled, no malice in your voice, no hints of irritation, not even a slight sadness to your voice at the thought of him forgetting about your plans. All you cared about at this moment was your boyfriend cuddling with you, using all your energy to open your arms for him to slide into. 
Peter stopped dead in his tracks, looking down by the nightstand and seeing your backpack on the floor, a math book sitting on the floor beside it next to a few pens. So that’s what he tripped on when he came in.
“Oh, man. I’m sorry, doll. We can work on it first thing in the morning, swear.” Peter promised, giving into what you wanted and sliding in bed next to you, wasting no time in wrapping you in his arms. 
“It’s due tomorrow, and I have to leave early for that dumb field trip.” You mumbled into his shoulder, not meaning to but making Peter feel all the worse for forgetting as he softly smoothed his hand up and down your back.
~
By the time Peter woke up the next morning you had already left, leaving behind a note on his desk.
”don’t think too hard about that test, I’ll just ask if I can have extended time on it. I’m just happy you got home safe” 
The little hearts surrounding your name at the bottom and the emphasis on him getting back at all seemed to have the opposite effect on Peter than you had intended. 
As now, he just seemed more determined to fix this problem he had made.
~
You laughed as your friend lifted her arms into the air, taking in a big deep breath as you both finally got off the bus, “freedom!” she exclaimed. 
“We have that test in like 30 minutes” You reminded her with a smile, earning a glare in response. “Buzzkill”
You chuckled this time, before watching her lift her finger and point behind you, turning as you followed where she was pointing, “that’s geek charming, what’s he doin’ here?” she asked quietly, expecting you to have an answer as you watched your boyfriend hurry over to you, green folder in his hand. 
“No clue, I’ll meet you inside” You smiled at her, watching her nod and smile back in response, walking backward towards the school while she obnoxiously waves and says “Hi, Peter!” 
Peter waved back, finally in front of you as he turned his gaze to see you already looking at him, with a soft smile. 
“Hey,” Peter matched your smile, holding out the folder to you before you could respond. “For your test, you forgot your math stuff in my room, so” 
You smiled, taking it gratefully, “Thanks, Petey. Although I don’t know how much help it’ll be-” Peter cut you off, “I mapped out in your notebook exactly how you can find any answers for the test and explained it in notes how I knew you’d be able to understand” You looked at him in awe as he rambled, watching as he took off his backpack and fumbled with it before pulling out your math notebook and handing it to you. “Peter-” “I almost wish I could take the test for you, I’ve just had so much to do lately as you know who and that’s no excuse for ditching my best girl when she needed my help so I figured this was the least I could do” Peter continued, taking a breath once he had finished. 
You set the folder and notebook down on the grass, pulling Peter into a tight embrace. “This is nice” he mumbled into your shoulder, squeezing your waist ever so slightly. “I love you, Peter Parker” You mumbled back, pulling back just enough to set a soft kiss to his lips. 
“I love you more, now go pass your test and make me proud, you can do that, can’t you, sweetheart?” Peter smiled at you, chuckling as you placed one, two, three more kisses on his mouth before pulling away and grabbing your stuff. 
“When I pass, you’re buying me dinner, baby!” You said, beginning to walk away.
“Whatever you want, doll!”
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blooming-violets · 1 year
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For Inexperienced Smut Prompts
“I can’t believe you’re this innocent…”
With Andrew! Peter Parker x reader ❤️❤️❤️ !!!!!!
Not So Innocent || Inexperienced Smut Prompts
[tasm!Peter Parker x fem!virgin!reader]
Warnings: Alcohol use and depictions of being intoxicated, a lot of dry humping and fingering
A/N: I changed the quote just a tiny bit to “I didn’t know you were so innocent" because it fit better. Same vibes though.
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You weren’t used to being dragged along to parties, especially one’s held in a large penthouse overlooking the city. The host of the party was a friend of a friend of a friend. At least, that’s what your roommate said. She desperately wanted to attend with her boyfriend but was too nervous to go without you. She promised to find you a date so you wouldn’t be third wheeling despite your claims that you’d rather not attend at all. Somehow she had managed to convince you to get dolled up in clothes that weren’t your own and make an appearance. You trailed behind her and her boyfriend as the three of you walked out onto the wrap around terrace. 
The night air was warm and the sounds of the heavy bass booming out of the speakers reverberated inside your heart. You couldn’t even make out what music was playing; it was too loud. You scrunched up your face in distaste, fidgeting with the bottom of the short skirt of your dress, and pushing your way next to your friend. 
“Is this really worth it?” You shouted over to her. 
She either couldn’t hear you over the noise or was choosing to ignore you, “Look! Over there!” 
She grabbed your hand and dragged you over to an elegant, glass table in the middle of the terrace. It was completely covered with different types of alcohol. You weren’t really educated well enough to be able to tell the difference between them all. She poured you something clear and shoved the cup into your hand. 
“Drink this!” She practically forced you to tilt the cup to your lips and held her hand under the bottom while you drained the contents. 
You were sputtering and gagging by the time it was finished, “That was horrible!”” 
“I know, it was pure vodka,” she laughed. “But it will get you loosened up.”
You felt like vomiting. She poured you something else. 
Her boyfriend leaned between the two of you to point over at someone. “Matty is over there. Why don’t you go talk to him?” 
You turned to see where he was pointing. Matt was the guy who was supposed to be your date tonight. He played college football with your roommate's boyfriend. You gave an unenthusiastic smile. That was supposed to be your cue to leave the two of them alone so they could enjoy their night as a couple. You weren’t sure what the point of your coming was. It wasn’t like your friend was planning on actually spending time with you. 
You reluctantly made your way over to Matt and gave him an awkward wave, “You’re Matt, right?” 
He nodded, “Yeah. My friend’s call me Matty, though.” 
“Great,” you replied. You weren’t a friend so you thought you’d stick with Matt. “Uhm, nice to meet you, I guess.” 
He looked you over, overtly eyeing up and down your body. You curled into yourself under his gaze and quickly started drinking whatever was in your cup. It tasted like bleach and lime. You did your very best not to make a face of disgust and keep drinking. 
“You’re supposed to be my date then?” He asked. 
“I guess,” you shuffled the toe of your foot against the ground. “Do you-”
He cut you off, “I was told you were really hot.” 
You laughed at that. It was a self deprecating, uncomfortable laugh. He was already heavily intoxicated, swaying on his feet. You wanted to go home. The forced smile faded from your face as you turned your sights to look out over the city. 
“Sorry to disappoint you,” you stated, feeling like shit. 
Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him shrug, “Nah man. It’s cool. You’re still hot but, like, a prudish kind of hot. Like how the pastor’s daughter is always smokin’ hot but you know she’d never actually go down on you, so you don’t even try to bark up that tree, ‘cause it leads nowhere. Not really fuckable, ya feel me?” 
You didn’t feel him. You felt insulted for some reason. As if being called unfuckable by a drunk stranger was the worst thing you could ever be called. Matt was clearly looking for one thing tonight. He wanted someone easy. He took one look at you, uncomfortable in your roommates clothes, and could instantly tell you weren’t that kind of girl. She could dress you up but she couldn’t change your personality. You were self-conscious and fidgety. Even this dumb jock could see that. Before you could reply, Matt’s attention got pulled away by a group of giggling girls throwing heart eyes at him. He didn’t say a word as he stumbled away, already forgetting your entire existence. 
And, just like that, you were left alone at a party you didn’t want to be at. 
You finished the drink in your hand despite wanting to gag every time it touched your lips. You were already starting to feel the effects of the two drinks. You had never drank in your life so it didn’t take much to make you feel funny. Your skin sort of felt tingly and your thoughts were slow and lazy. Even though you were left on your own, you felt a sudden rush of happiness pushing away the shame. The music was starting to sound less terrible, too. It made you want to dance. You were beginning to feel invincible. Confident. Matty could go fuck himself. You were totally fuckable. You were hot. This dress was super sexy and slutty and short and you were an absolute babe with it on. You could do anything you wanted. You felt like if you stood up on these rooftop railings and jumped, you would simply sore away into the sky like a bird. 
“I didn’t expect to see you here.” 
A vaguely familiar voice popped up behind you before you had time to test your theory of flight. 
You turned around to come face to face with Peter Parker. He was your lab partner for biology. You two usually only ever spoke about class related topics but it was still nice to see a familiar face. You always found him to be very sweet. 
“I wouldn’t expect to see you here, either,” you responded with a big smile. 
Peter laughed, “I guess us nerds don’t usually get invited to rich people’s rooftop parties.” Once the words left his mouth, his eyes widened, afraid that he offended you. He quickly added, “Not that I think you don’t belong here! Or that you’re a nerd. You’re very pretty. Not that nerds can’t be attractive. That’s just a dumb stereotype. I think you’re really smart and you have a nice smile and you look really pretty tonight. Not that you don’t look pretty other days. And not that it matters what you look like. Or…well…I mean…I don’t remember what I was originally talking about…I think I’m drunk.”
The crimson blushing over his cheeks was incredibly endearing. You found yourself leaning in closer. You knew he was always handsome but, tonight, he looked beautiful. Radiant. Mesmerizing. 
You think you might be a little drunk, too. That first cup your friend made you chug was causing your thoughts to swim. The second cup only sealed the deal. 
“Thank you!” It was all that needed to be said. Also, because you sort of forgot what he was saying, too. You got distracted by the way his lips formed each word. They were lovely lips to look at. “I think…” 
His blush deepened and he hid behind the beer bottle in his hand as finished off the contents, “Do, uh, do you want to dance? With me, I mean. Or by yourself is fine too but I’d hope it was with me. That’s why I’m asking. For your hand. Not in marriage! To dance with.” 
You weren’t a dancer but you didn’t think Peter was either. That made you feel more confident in accepting his offer. 
“Okay,” you nodded, laughing at how he managed to out awkward you. 
He took the cup from your hands and put it onto the first table he saw along with his own empty beer. Then, he took your hand and pulled you inside, onto the dance floor that had been set up in the living room cleared of furniture. The feeling of your hand in his, the way he easily maneuvered you through the crowd, sent an excited, pulsating electricity shooting up your spine. Peter found a nice spot off to the edge of the crowd. There, you two could still enjoy the energy without being trampled on by all the sweaty bodies. 
An unspoken tension settled in the air between you and Peter. You were drawn to him. Captivated by him. You’d often spend the two hours of your lab huddled up close to his face while sharing a microscope but this felt different. Stronger. You couldn’t stop staring at the way his body moved. It might be the alcohol talking but he seemed to have a natural flow to his movements. You felt in sync with him. Your eyes shamelessly traveled down his body, much like Matt had done to you earlier. Only instead of feeling nervous like you had, Peter merely smirked, the smile flashing over his lips. Without his usual oversized sweatshirt, you could easily make out the strong muscles of his biceps as they pulled the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his arms. You would have never guessed he was hiding those under there. 
You got lost in the music, loving it a million times more than when you first entered the party. You were moving, swaying, and bouncing along to the beat. Peter was right there with you like he was reading your mind, or reading your body, able to anticipate which way you were swaying and following your lead. The rest of the party faded around you as your eyes locked with Peter’s. It was just the two of you and the unfamiliar sensual tension clouding the air, growing thicker with each passing second. 
You were not a prude. You were not the preacher’s daughter. Matt could go fuck himself. He had no idea what you were like. All he did was take one look at you and thrust his own narrative on your shoulders. Yeah, maybe you were still a virgin, but you gave a guy a blow job. Once. In your senior year of high school. That qualifies you to be a part of a Non-Prude Club. Fucking Matty, that piece of shit. A big giant turd. That’s what he was. His brain had probably been hit one too many times during football anyway. You didn’t even think he was that attractive. Maybe he was the one who wasn’t fuckable? You bet he never thought of that!
Peter didn’t think you were a prude. He thought you were pretty and he wanted to dance with you. That means…well, it doesn’t mean much, but your vodka fueled brain was trying to connect some kind of dots together. Peter wanted to fuck you. That was probably it. Or maybe that was Matt who wanted to do that. Not Peter. You were getting them confused. 
No, no, Matt didn’t want to fuck you. Or he did but he didn’t think you would let him. 
And he was right. You wouldn’t have let him. He was kind of gross. 
But, Peter…
“Am I fuckable?”
His eyes widened, “Excuse me?”
“What?” Did you say that out loud? Shit. “I didn’t say anything!” 
His smile grew. He leaned down to speak directly into your ear, “Yes. You are.” 
Heat flooded your face. Holy shit. A nervous, intoxicated laugh tumbled from your lips. The song changed to a new track and your eyes lit up. 
“I know this one!” You excitedly bounced on the balls of your feet. 
“Everyone knows Britney Spears,” Peter laughed at your enthusiasm as I’m a Slave 4 U blasted out the speakers. 
Someone bumped into you from behind and sent you tumbling into Peter’s chest. He steadied you back onto your feet. Instead of moving away, you embraced the closeness, feeling bold, and wrapping your arms around his neck. His eyebrows raised, slightly taken off guard, but he quickly settled his hands comfortably around your waist. The electricity in the air heightened. You wanted Peter to touch you forever. There was not a single other person in this party except for him. You smiled up at him through hazy eyes. 
“I never drank alcohol before tonight,” you confessed. Something in his eyes felt safe, like you could tell him all your secrets and he wouldn’t tell another soul. He would keep you safe. A protector. “I don’t think I’m too drunk, though. I think I’m just happy. I could still totally drive a car.” 
That was a lie. You didn’t even have your license. It felt pointless when you grew up in the city. 
Peter chuckled. It was a nice sound. 
“I didn’t know you were so innocent,” he teased. “Never had a drop of anything before?”
You feigned a gasp at his comment, “I am not innocent! Why are people always assuming that about me tonight? What vibes am I giving off? My roommate told me these were some of her favorite slut clothes. Apparently they’re doing nothing to help my image.” 
“Oh, trust me, they are,” He nodded with appreciation for her tight fitting outfit. Then added, “You’re at a happy drunk level. Me too…but that might just be because you’re here with me.”
Your stomach tumbled with excited butterflies. With Britney Spears cheering you on, you pushed your body closer, brushing against his. As you swayed to her hypnotic beat, you purposely rubbed your hips into his. The moment you made contact, you felt his arousal. Solid and hard against you. 
You let out a tiny gasp, eyes widening in shock. You hadn’t been expecting that. That was because of you. You had given him that. You. Peter’s eyes had closed and his lips parted when you pushed against him. For a split second, it looked like he was going to let out a moan right there in front of everyone. His eyes shot open when he realized what was happening and a slew of slurred, bashful apologies tumbled out of him. Before he could get too embarrassed, you silenced him by repeating the movement. This time, locking eyes with him with a defiant stare, as you rubbed your pelvis over his erection as if you were daring him to stop you. 
You would show him you weren’t innocent. You would prove him wrong.
He licked his steadily drying lips and swallowed the lump in his throat. He was completely speechless, utterly in awe. This was a new side of you, one you hadn’t even known existed before tonight. A horny, needy side. It only took him until the chorus to snap out of his stunned daze. His hands traveled up your sides, curving around your waist, then traveling back down. He hovered over your butt, watching your reaction to see if you’d object. When all he got a quiet smirk urging him on, his large hands cupped your cheeks. You could feel your dress riding up your thighs as he squeezed you, bunching up the fabric. He pressed you closer, holding you tightly against his erection. You tightented your grip around his neck, smooshing your breasts against his chest, and feeling the flood of wetness rush to your core. 
I’m a slave for you. I cannot hold it, I cannot control it. I’m a slave for you. I won’t deny it, I’m not tryna hide it.
Britney was always right. You really were trying to have him dance up on you. You could not control it and you won’t deny it. Truer words had never been spoken. 
You felt weak. A good kind of weak. Like your knees might give out at any moment and your head was spinning but everything felt wonderful. A happy drunk. That’s what Peter had called it. Or a horny drunk. Maybe both. 
The more you held his gaze, the more attractive he became. You didn’t think that was possible but here you are. The flecks of sparkling light reflected off those beautiful hickory colored eyes. You were lost in them. Lost in his magnetic pull. His lips were centimeters from yours. He wanted to kiss you but he was letting you close the gap, giving you the choice. You took a shuddered breath and smashed your lips together. It might have been a little too eager and aggressive but Peter easily remedied your attack. He softened his lips and gently eased open your mouth with his tongue. The butterflies in your stomach turned to a frenzy at the feeling of his warm tongue gliding across yours. It reminded you of a dance. Much like your bodies were still pressed together and swaying to the music, your tongues were having their own party. 
When your breath became short, you carefully pulled yourself back with a dazed smile. 
Peter’s smile matched your own. The alcohol swam in vision, giving him adorable bleary eyes. He looked more relaxed than you had ever seen him. 
“Have you had your fill of dancing?” He asked once the song ended. 
You had forgotten you were even in a room full of people. You glanced around you, noticing Matt eyeing you from the other side of the room. He looked impressed, wondering if he had gotten the completely wrong impression of you. He raised his drink and winked in your direction as if to apologize for his own mistake. It made you giggle. You flipped him off with a smile. 
You turned back to Peter, the smile still lingering on your face. You were enjoying the tension between the two of you. You liked the dangerous excitement of rubbing up on Peter in the midst of a crowd. You were afraid of the moment ending if you left but your head was spinning and you needed some fresh air. 
“Let’s go back outside,” you offered. “The music is just as loud out there.”
Peter nodded in agreement. You had the feeling he would have gone anywhere you asked him to. He took your hand and tugged you towards the terrace. The entire glass wall opened up to make a seamless transition from the inside of the penthouse to the out. The night air felt cool in your throat. It helped soothe the pounding heartbeat in your chest. A coiled up excitement resided in the pit of your stomach from your adventures on the dancefloor. You wanted more. 
Peter pushed his way to the corner. It was the one place the lights failed to reach. It felt like a very purposeful spot to bring you. He turned around, leaning against the railing, and studying you with burning, passion filled eyes. His gazed forced your own downward, like he was a blazing fire, too bright and hot to stare at for too long. Except now you were now looking directly at what had been pressed against you. 
His dark, skinny jeans left little to the imagination. While the stiff material kept him from achieving his full potential, the bulging outline over his inner thigh was more than enough to get the idea of what he was working with. Truthfully, you had no idea what was considered large or small when it came to dicks. Like with alcohol, your knowledge was limited. But Peter looked quite big to you. He was clearly very excited to be in your presence. That was the nice thing about men. You could always tell when they were attracted to you. You were enjoying the power it made you feel. You felt sexy. Fuckable. 
You had been staring at it for too long. You needed to avert your eyes back to his face. 
When you finally forced your gaze back where it belonged, Peter was smirking at you. He had enjoyed watching you get lost in the sight. He liked knowing that his body was showing you how attractive he found you. He wanted you to know. It wasn’t a secret. Before you could allow yourself to be embarrassed, you twirled around, letting your skirt flare up around your thighs and started dancing again to the music. The perfect distraction. He caught you in his grasp, spinning you away from him, and then pulling you close. He was more suave than you gave him credit for. He might actually have some decent moves. 
You turned around in his hold, leaning your back against his chest. Peter’s arms naturally snaked around your waist to hold you to him. He tightened the hold so your bottom was rubbing once more against his bulge as you lazily swayed back and forth. Your dancing was more of a  gentle rubbing at this point but you didn’t mind. Whatever kept you locked to Peter was okay in your eyes. You wanted to keep him excited. 
His face leaned down, his cheek brushing against your hair, and you heard him inhale the scent of light, floral perfume. You could have sworn you felt his bulge twitch. You had to refrain from squeezing your own thighs together at the thought. Tingly, hot sensations were flooding your core. The need to thrust your hips or rub yourself on something was becoming stronger. 
You swore Peter could sense the subtle change in your breath because, as if he knew how aroused you were getting, his hands started to travel. They slid down your thighs until they reached the bottom of your dress, gliding the material through his fingers. 
“I’ve never seen you wear a dress like this before,” he breathed, voice ragged, in your ear. “I like it.” 
Your ears felt like they were burning, your chest was tight, your toes wanted to curl in your flats. All from the sound of his voice. Of course he had never seen you wear a dress like this. The only other time he saw you was in your early morning lab. He was used to your oversized cardigans, comfy leggings, and a permanent sleepy expression. 
His hand slipped under the loose hem of the dress. He hesitated, testing the waters to see if you’d say something, when no objects came he glided over your underwear to rest on your bare hips. The back of your skirt lifted with his wrists to expose the bottom cheeks of your butt. You could feel him lean back enough to get a quick look. He seemed to like what he saw because he almost immediately ground his hips against you. 
You couldn’t stop the gasping moan that fell from your lips. Your body felt alive. You could feel the jolt of electricity shoot from your nipples down to your clit. You pushed back, grinding your bottom into his erection. You had no idea what had gotten into you but you couldn’t stop. His obvious arousal only fueled your own spreading fire. 
Even your nipples were painfully erect. Your friend had assured you that this dress had a built in bra and you wouldn’t need to wear one. That was a load of bullshit because it was obvious how hard your nipples were poking out. Your breath was becoming labored. You were in the middle of a rooftop party, actively grinding on your lab partner, and drunk on whatever the hell energy Peter was giving off. It wasn’t even the alcohol that was making you act like this. It was all Peter Parker. 
You turned in his grasp, throwing your arms around his neck, and finding his lips. He fell back against the railing with your sudden enthusiasm. He managed to keep himself from falling and slid his leg between yours. Without even thinking about it, you rested your core against his thigh. The wetness seeping into your underwear was now blatantly evident to you. Give it a minute and Peter would surely become aware of it, too. 
His hands roved hungrily over your body without any more hesitation. You opened your mouth, letting in his tongue, as he fervently attacked your lips. You angled your hips downward and thrust them against his jeans. Your aching clit screamed in pleasure at the delicious friction. Peter was back under your skirt and cupping your bottom. He helped push you along, easing the aid of you grinding against his thigh. 
His mouth left yours to leave sloppy, wet kisses along your cheek and down your neck until he found a spot he liked. He suctioned his lips to a pulse point and began sucking and nipping at your soft skin. Your eyes rolled back, mouth parted, at how wonderful it felt. A mix of pain and pleasure. He was bruising your neck, claiming you as his own with a visible mark. You let him dominate you, manipulate you however he pleases. You were his. A slave for Peter Parker. 
When he slowly pulled back from your neck, a trail of saliva connected your skin to his bottom lip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the corner of his lips tugging into a satisfied smile as he admired his work. It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen in your entire life. 
“Do you need a break?” He whispered, his voice hardly heard above the obnoxious techno music now playing. 
You swallowed. You probably should stop. You should probably slow down. You were getting too lost in your own feelings. But you shook your head “no”. You didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want to have to pull yourself away from him. 
“I told you,” you whispered back, resting your forehead against his. “I’m not innocent.” 
“Are you sure about that?” He asked, the amusement coating his voice. “If I dragged you into the nearest coat closet right now, what would you do?” 
You didn’t hesitate in your reply, lust dripping with every syllable, “I would let you touch me however you wanted.” 
That was it.
Peter shoved his way past any person who stood in his way. He lead you through the crowd, swerving and weaving between sweaty bodies. The penthouse was huge. The first door he opened was the bathroom but it left too much probability of someone potentially needing to use it. The next was a guest bedroom. That one was already taken. The three people inside of it weren’t too pleased to see two more show up unannounced. The third was nearest to the elevator. It was a narrow, walk-in closet filled with fancy coats and shoes. 
“Jackpot,” Peter muttered under his breath. 
He pushed you inside and shut the door behind him. It was decently sound proofed in here with all the jackets. The music instantly muffled into the distance. You tugged on a gold chain hanging from the ceiling to flick on a single bulb. It wasn’t much light but it was enough. You turned to face Peter, the spell from outside starting to crack as the nerves set in. You might not have been entirely truthful when you told him you’d let him touch you however he wanted. The thought of losing your virginity in a closet wasn’t exactly how you envisioned it. 
Peter’s smile softened when he caught the apprehensive glint in your eye. He reached out his hand and tugged you close to him as he leaned against the door, making sure no one could enter. He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead. 
“Remember when I told you were fuckable earlier?” He asked. 
You nodded. 
“Well,” he continued. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were nothing more than a quickie in a stranger’s closet. I hope it didn’t come off that way and that was the impression you got. This might have gotten a little out of hand. We might have gotten a bit carried away.” He took a step away from the door so you could leave if you wanted to. “If you want to go, it’s okay, I won’t stop you. I had enough fun tonight to last me a lifetime. Just being able to dance with you made my day.” 
You gave him a light shove, pushing him back in front of the door to act as a human lock, taking back control, “I never said anything about leaving.” You took a deep breath, being brave, and trying to advocate for exactly what you wanted from him. “What I said still stands. You can touch me however you want but just with your hands. Okay?” You trailed a finger down his forearm, grazing over his wrist, and locking fingers with him. “If you want to go, it’s okay, I won’t stop you.”  
His smile grew when you repeated his own sentiment back to him. To help build back up the same electric energy from outside, you pressed closer to him and grazed your breasts against his chest, letting him feel how erect your nipples were. He tenderly cupped your cheeks with his large hands and captured your lips with his.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” he mumbled against your lips. His kiss was slower than the other two like he was really savoring the moment. You felt special. Wanted. Beautiful and sexy all at the same time. The way he worshiped your lips made you feel like the only woman left in the world. Maybe you were. Maybe nothing existed outside of this closet. All that was left was you and Peter. 
“Mmph,” was all you could manage back. Very articulate. 
And, just like that, you were back under the Parker spell. 
His hands made a slow descent away from your cheeks. They traveled down your neck, pausing for his long fingers to gently wrap around it, making you feel small inside his grasp. They brushed over your shoulders, toying with the thin straps to your dress, inching them to the side until they fell down the slope of your arm. The back of his fingers traced over the swell of your breast, letting the hard nub of your nipple feel every bump as he dragged each of his four fingers slowly over it. He was taking his time, carefully watching your every move and listening for every hitch of your breath. He was treating you like a precious piece of art that was meant to be admired and painstakingly inspected under a magnifying glass so as not to miss any precious details. 
The pooling wetness between your thighs caused your soaked through underwear to cling uncomfortably to you. You wished you could remove them but still felt too nervous to make any moves and distract Peter from his work. You stood still as a statue, lids half closed, as he molded his hand to your breast. Your eyes gazed up at him, helpless under his touch, the sounds of your heavy breaths the only thing you were now able to hear. 
A quiet moan whined in your throat when he pinched your nipple through your dress, capturing it between the knuckles of his middle and pointer finger. He shuddered at the sound, giving a sharp inhale. He wanted to hear it again. His free hand wrapped around your thigh to close the miniscule gap between your hips. He thrust his hips forward, rubbing himself against you, as he molded your breast in his hand.
“Can-” he breathed. “Can I?” 
His fingers slipped into cups of your dress, starting to tug them down to imply what he was asking, and pausing to look to you for confirmation. You gave a silent nod. 
Peter nearly stopped breathing as he tugged the top half of your dress down to reveal your naked breasts. His eyes were alive with flames while he took in the new sights. He tenderly cupped under your breast, giving it a gentle squeeze, watching as your flesh melded to his touch. His mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was begging to capture your nipple between his lips, but he stuck to the “only hands” rule, using his thumb to flick over it instead. 
Your hardly audible moans hit his ear. The sound must have awoken something in him because he responded to it with a whimper of his own. You glanced down to his crotch. His erection was thicker than before. It looked painfully locked up behind the confines of his jeans. You wanted to unleash it, let it be free, but you were too scared to take that leap. 
Peter didn’t seem to care about what his cock was feeling. He was too focused on losing himself in your body. He was more of a giver and a taker, you could tell. His hand still gripping onto your hip started to get more daring. You felt him sliding closer to your core. His fingers traced over the elastic band of your underwear, circling around the tiny, ribbon bow adorning the top. If you had known this was how you would end up tonight, you would have bought something sexier. That concern immediately flew from your thoughts as his fingers slipped between your thighs. His palm rested over your mound while the pads of his finger tips traced along the drenched material. His ragged inhale was all you needed to know to understand how turned on that feeling made him. 
“You’re so wet,” he growled in your ear. 
“Mm,” you croaked out, eyes closed. Words were no longer something your brain had access to. 
You bit your bottom lip the harder he pressed your panties against your slit. The thin cotton material was the only thing holding him back from entering you. 
Peter lifted his other hand to brush under your chin. He lifted your head so you were forced to look up at him. You pried your eyes open, staring at him through heavy lids. Your mouth hung open to accommodate your panting breaths. He locked eyes with you, looking into your soul, as he slipped the wet fabric to the side. 
You gave a silent, wide eyed cry when his finger grazed over your bare slit. Your stomach seized, nearly doubling you over, in excitement. You felt your folds open to his touch. His leg resting between yours nudged your ankle, telling you to spread your legs open a little wider for him. You clutched onto the front of his shirt, grabbing a fistful of it into your grasp. Without it, you felt like you might collapse. The look of lust etched into his features caused you to nearly orgasm on the spot. Your body was trembling, craving more, nodding your head as if that would make Peter work faster instead of slowly dragging everything out at a crawling pace. 
He leaned down, whispering in your ear, “I’m going to make you cum for me.” 
That nearly did it. You whimpered, letting your eyes close again. Peter tugged your underwear down your legs. They stopped at your knees, the width at which you were standing not allowing them to go any further. It was enough. His hand cupped between your thighs, rubbing you, teasing you. You grind your hips, thrusting your clit against his palm. He gave a soft chuckle, enjoying how desperate you had become. 
“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he mumbled to himself. 
His long fingers moved gently on you, caressing your wetness, feeling how easily they slid through the slickness you were creating for him. All for him. He continued to simply feel you until you gazed back up at him. He was waiting for your eye contact. Your heart was pounding, waiting for the inevitable, and surrendering yourself over to him. The moment you locked on, he eased his middle finger between your parted lips while his thumb brushed slow circles around your clit. It was the first time a man’s finger had ever touched your sex. You felt the pressure, felt the fear, felt the excitement and the slight searing of pain at how tight you were. You whined as the pain and pleasure mixed to create an intense, swirling storm deep in your sex. Your pussy felt like it was sucking him in, trying to eat him whole, the deeper he sank into you. 
You clung to the front of his shirt, balled up fists, and tears spiking in your eyes. It felt so good. More intense than anything you’d ever felt. You’d touched yourself before but Peter was different. Better. You were sharing the moment, giving up control, and letting someone else learn the intimate details of your body. Your legs were shaking. Your knees felt weak. 
You buried your head into Peter’s neck as he started a steady, slow rhythm of easing his finger half way in and out of you. He focused most of his attention on servicing your throbbing clit. He could tell you were a virgin, he could tell how tight you were squeezing him, and he wanted to go as slow as possible so as not to hurt you. Even a single finger felt like it was filling you up. You were moaning against his neck, whimpering, whining, beginning for more. Your hips worked with each small thrust of his finger, trying to push it deeper. You thrust your clit against his thumb. Your body was taking over as you tumbled towards a climax. 
Peter’s lips were pressed against your ear. He whispered quiet words of encouragement, urging you on, praising you, comforting you. The night was all starting to meld together. The slutty dress, vodka, the obnoxiously loud music, how easily Matt rejected you with nothing more than a few words, finding Peter, dancing together, Britney Spears, the passionate terrace make out, the closet and how sweet Peter had been to quell your obvious fears, the way his finger felt so big inside of you. The entire night was swirling around your thoughts. A tornado building inside your brain. Ready to wipe out anything it touched. 
“That’s it,” Peter whispered over your pathetic whines. “There you go. Cum for me. You’re right there. Let it go. Let it happen.” 
You gave a sharp cry as light exploded in your vision. The tornado tore straight through you, ripping your mind from your body. You were floating in the air. High above everything else. You had no control of the way your body jerked and spasmed, held tightly against Peter’s chest. You’d never experienced an orgasm this powerful. It would have brought you straight to your knees had Peter not been holding you upright. 
He wrapped his arms around you, tracing his fingers over your back and up your neck. He soothed you with a quiet humming until your mind came crashing back down to earth. You were shaking, shivering, eyes glued closed. Peter was your one tether to cling on to. He kept you grounded as you let the tornado fade off into the distance. 
When you finally managed to get your bearings once more, you took a shaky step back from him. He kept his arms outstretched in case he needed to suddenly catch you if you decided to crumble. You shrugged the straps of your dress back up and adjusted the chest so your breasts were back to being concealed. 
Peter had given you a gift you didn’t even know you were looking for. You wanted to repay the favor but you didn’t think your body could handle anything more tonight. Instead, you slipped the underwear still clinging around your knees down to your ankles. You carefully stepped out of them. He watched in a silent curiosity as you closed the gap between you two, stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans. 
“To give you something to remember me by,” you stood on your tippy toes, planting a kiss on his cheek. A sweet, innocent kiss. 
He looked at you with an awe, loved filled gaze as you pushed open the closet door and stumbled into the hallway. 
When he didn’t follow, you glanced over your shoulder with a sly smirk, “Well? Are you coming?” 
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2K notes · View notes
spiderfunkz · 2 months
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✦ CITY OF STARS.
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summary : peter swings you to a perfect late-night date.
word count : 0,6k
warnings : tooth rotting fluff, implied fem!reader, pet names, kisses.
a/n : inspired by this deleted scene!! requests for peter are open if u want to send in ur ideas / prompts ^_^ also kind of inspired by that one scene in atsv where gwen & miles hangout by that tower yk
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"let's get out of here." peter whispers, his voice tickles your skin again as he places another kiss on your nose.
you sigh, cupping his cheek, "i can't peter, i told you." you repeat — which not surprisingly causes peter to pout. "why not?"
"because. i have.. homework." you shrug. it's true though, the pile of papers near your desk is practically calling you to be read or marked.
he pouts, again. but he isn't giving up.
"don't look at me like that." you chuckle, your thumb caressing peter's cheek, running through his freckles.
"like what?"
"with your big brown doe eyes."
peter tries a bit more. the more you make eye contact with him, the harder it is to say no.
"fine. but you seriously have to get blue contacts, peter." you let go of his cheek.
"yes, ma'am." he nods. you couldn't tell if he's joking or not, but it's funny either way.
he gets up and grabs his backpack, it seems heavier than usual. "grab your jacket, bub. it's gonna be cold."
"where are you taking me?"
"secret."
"that doesn't sound creepy at all."
"come on. trust me." peter's waiting near the window. "are you gonna take me on a swing?"
peter puts his beanie on. "does the hat give it away?" he asks, the spiderman crochet beanie in bright red staring right at you.
you smile. "yeah it kinda does."
peter tucks the loose hair behind your ear before helping you out the window, and before you know it you're one with the wind. and also with new york's pollution.
peter's gentle, one hand holding your waist and the other thwip! -ing away at buildings. your hands are wrapped around his neck, face burried in the crook of it. you could smell his cologne, it's the one you like.
you relax at the scent of it. it almost makes you forget that you're meters up in the air.
but then your shoes touch ground.
it was a ledge of a clock tower. it's not steep, it's actually very spacey up here. if you think about it you could probably fit a picnic up here, a small hangout even with a few friends.
"you good?" peter lets go, "yeah. this is cozy." you say, fixing your sweater. "don't you think people will see us here?" you ask.
"no. but. if they do-" peter opens his bag, "i got back up." he reveals a beanie, like the one he's wearing, it's a spiderman one too but with different colours.
it's white with pink outlines.
"we're matching!" peter puts the beanie on you. it fits perfectly, "that's so cute peter. do i get to keep it?" — "of course. made it just for you. besides i don't think people can spot us here unless they really, really, really squint. and now when they do, they'll just see our hats."
you nod. peter gestures for you to sit.
"i got more stuff." he smiles, teeth showing, teasingly.
you roll your eyes at him before sitting next to the empty space beside him.
he pulls out two takeout boxes, followed by the plastic eating utensils, and some water, and some more.
"oh. wow." you say, impressed.
you weren't kidding. you could fit a picnic here.
"what're you waiting for? dig in!" peter passes your takeout. "i got your favorite too."
"aw. thank you, peter." you give him a kiss. "i'll get you ice cream after this. or whenever you feel like ice cream." you give him another kiss.
"thank you!" he gasps, dramatically. "that is everything i have ever wanted." peter replies.
you smile, "this is everything i have ever wanted."
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276 notes · View notes
literaila · 9 months
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still here 
tasm!peter x reader 
summary: there’s an ache in me, put there by the ache in you
(for @elysian-chaos)
warnings: angst, fluff, feeling unworthy, feeling useless, you know, seperation 
a/n: ‘tis the damn season is the best song ever. dont argue 
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*
there's this little thing called stress baking. 
typically, stress baking is referred to as coping by making something delicious to scavenge on, instead of dwelling on the feelings scavenging you. and typically, it's done with a certain type of elegance--one that is made up of chaos. completely insane, yet completely in control. it's a messy dance, but perfectly choreographed. 
stress baking is a very reviving task. filling up the house with muffins and pies is not only good for distracting yourself, but also for making friends when you run out of room. or smiling at the cashier every time you have to go to the store for ingredients. 
it's something you've practiced for years. something you've become somewhat addicted to. 
but then there's baking while stressed. which, you swear, hadn't been your intention. 
brownies from a box were supposed to be easy. they were notoriously easy. a couple of eggs, some oil, and some water. the hardest part of your job was mixing, but you'd done it so many times that you zoned out while doing all of it. 
box brownies were supposed to be non-stress and quick. but when you burn the brownies and batter rises over the top of your glass pan, and the oven is dirty, and the apartment smells like burnt batter and oven cleaner--well, you have to reread the directions. 
you're a good baker. you've been making cookies and cakes for parties for years. you pride yourself on not needing measuring cups because you can eye a recipe by the gram. 
not that these brownies would agree. 
and it's already five-forty-five. peter is going to be home in the next fifteen minutes and this was supposed to be a treat. something good. 
"surprise! i ruined our oven, and now we're going to have to spend the next few nights at your aunt's house in your twin-sized bed until the smell of death goes away!" doesn't typically bring out any smiles.
and peter's been stressed lately, and you've been stressed about him. 
and now you're making brownies from scratch without butter--because you used it all on the last batch, oops--and the number of candles you've lit is a sure fire hazard. 
but if peter would just smile at you, pull you in by your waist and laugh while he kissed you with a chocolate mouth, it would all be fine. 
if there wasn't so much riding on this one (two) pan(s) of brownies. like being able to sleep comfortably tonight. 
you turned the oven down, found a new pan--threw the other one out because it was nothing but a source of disappointment--and cleaned the oven just enough to not draw any suspicions. but you could still feel the failure lurking. 
peter was going to come home to a chaotic house, and it was your fault. 
so you scrubbed at the counters. fixed the stack of bills on the table so that you couldn't see any of the stamps, folded the blankets, and even swept the kitchen floor. 
still, you knew peter would know. because he always knows. and maybe that was why he was acting so weird lately--maybe that's why you were acting so weird. 
the door opened when the timer on the oven went off. 
you'd wanted to watch peter walk through the door--so you could gauge how tired he was, how miserable--but maybe it was better not to know. to let him put on a mask while your back was still turned. 
"hey, baby," he said, as you were pulling the brownies out of the oven, setting his house keys on the counter and sighing. "i'm home." 
you peeked over your shoulder, giving him a hint of a smile--the same type he was giving you. "hey, honey," you said back, "you're home." 
peter walked around the island to stand right behind you, kissing the back of your head and stealing a look over to the stovetop. he clears his throat. "brownies?" 
you shrug. "thought you might like something sweet when you got home." 
you take off the oven mitt, not really wanting to look at him--maybe because you're scared of what you'll see, or maybe just because you can already feel his eyes tearing down your skin. 
but you can feel his breath on your neck as he chuckles. his exhaustion as he leans into your back. 
"i've already got you, though," he whispers one peck at the edge of your jaw, another by your ear. 
you snort and pull away, turning so you can look at him. and then you pretend to throw up. 
he laughs and pokes your forehead.
you're not looking at him and he's not looking at you. 
you turn back to the brownies. 
"did you drop something in the oven?" peter asks, leaning his chin on your shoulder. 
"no," you answer, a bit too defensive. 
"sure?" 
"am i sure that i didn't burn something in the oven, peter? yes." 
there's a beat. "...cause it smells like it." 
you headbutt him. "you smell like it. go shower. you can't eat these yet." 
"yes, ma'am," peter takes a step back, and you look at him again.  you can see the question in his eyes, and see your own reflecting the same question. 
what are you hiding? 
"we have some ice cream, too." 
peter moans, his head back. you roll your eyes at him. 
and you start cutting the brownies, worries, and chocolate chips sticking to the knife, listening to peter's footsteps, feeling his presence sticking to you like sugar, sticky and rich, his eyes keeping you on edge. 
you know you shouldn't feel stupid--peter doesn't actually know what happened, or care--but you do. because he knows, and because even from the split second you looked at him, you could see the strain on his skin, the pressure weighing him down, dragging his feet across the floor. 
you feel stupid just because you don't know what to do. so before he can close the door, you turn around. choosing reaction instead of pretending. 
"peter?" 
he pauses, his head whipping towards you. his eyes are as soft and loving as they always are--his attention remains the same, even when his energy doesn't. like he's wasting himself away just to take care of you. 
he swallows. "yeah?" 
"are you--" you blink, look away, try not to taste burnt brownies. "are you okay? you seem tired. was work… alright? 
peter smiles, shaking his head. "just the usual, bub. work and... work. i think i'll go to bed early tonight?" 
you raise a brow. 
peter clears his throat. "i mean, i think i'll take a nap tonight before i go out." 
you nod. "okay." 
you both stare at each other for a moment. he's far enough away that it's easier. you don't have to feel his emotions as he processes them. don't have to see them from up close. 
you hate yourself for being afraid of him. for being afraid for him. 
“d’ya want to join me?” peter asks, whisper slipping from his mouth, smile taunting from his lips. “we can cuddle and eat brownies.” 
you lick your lips, shaky smile enough. “you sure? i’ve heard i can be a bit distracting…”
peter’s laugh makes his shoulders shake. “you heard correctly,” he says eyes crinkled, “but i don’t mind.” 
you nod. you’re grateful for his ease. the careful reveal of his true face, the peeling of a mask. the admittance that not everything is perfect, no matter how small. 
“go shower. i’ll get the sugar.” 
peter kisses you on the cheek before he goes.
and at least you got a couple of smiles out of him. at least you can feel his kiss lingering on your skin. 
it's not that serious. honestly. 
you hardly even think about it. you're not thinking about it. 
you're not dwelling on the smell of soft skin and the feeling of calloused hands running up and down your back, the tickle of a breath against your neck. 
you're not thinking about it at all. 
and if it's been a week--or a week and a half, or two, or three--since you last spoke, or shared the same space with peter, then it's fine. 
this is something you've grown used to. something you're supposed to be used to. 
peter has obligations. 
he has things he needs to fulfill--not just for himself, but for others, for the guilt that you can see rocking his bones all of the time, the shame in his eyes when he comes home a bit too early. he has places that he needs to be, if only because he won't be able to live with himself if he's not there. 
but then again, you're not sure how to live when he's not here. especially when the sink breaks. 
still, as long as you can feel him pull you into his chest every night, imagine him kissing your forehead before falling asleep, then it's fine. 
you're not thinking about any of it because it's fine. 
but you miss him. if only momentarily. 
he'll come back--you repeat this like a promise, like it's his voice whispering it to you--because he always does. 
space is good for the heart, some part of you swears. though you don't think you could think of peter any fonder than you already do. 
he comes in too late at night and is already gone when you wake up. he texts you updates--because you've talked about communication before--and tells you that he loves you through sweet little notes he sends during the day. 
if the thing he wishes to share about his life is the worm he found in his apple, then you're perfectly happy to listen (read). 
it's normal to miss the person you love most in the world. 
and it's normal for your boyfriend to disappear for fourteen hours each day, just barely cuddling with you for three hours before he's gone again. 
it's normal for you, at least
he’ll come back. 
and so, instead of thinking about peter, and wondering when he might notice the frayed edges of your relationship, you make sure that he doesn't have to worry about anything. 
you clean up after the two of you, running the dishwasher and cleaning the bathroom, and packing him lunch on days you know he'll be gone for the office. making sure there's always something he can eat in the fridge when he gets home late at night, and texting him to know what he wants from the store. 
you make the bed and wash his clothes and hope that maybe it'll keep him from burning out. 
you hope that maybe it will keep you distracted enough to not ask him for anything. like love or support or a five-minute conversation. 
if taking care of him is the only way to keep him going--the only way to keep yourself going--then you'll do it. peter takes care of you enough. 
but even if you're not thinking about it, it's there. 
because you've just fallen asleep--which is extremely rare recently, mostly because you like to wait until you hear the window and then slow your breathing until you feel peter crawl into bed with you--and just woke up. 
woke up with sweaty skin and a headache. it's night ten and you're getting nightmares again. 
it's ridiculous that you can't even last two weeks without peter there. without him kissing you to sleep. 
and when you burst out of bed, you almost fall into him--almost scream because you're sharing the bed with someone else. 
tears are running down your face. your heart feels split open--like your dreams have revealed something inside it. 
but you look over to peter and he's there; he's still here. 
so you take a deep breath--chest caving in, body following--and you rest your head in your hands. 
if there's anything you want right now, it's for peter to wake up. 
it's for him to know all of this. 
you want him to appear next to you, leaning over your back like he's going to shelter from the world if that's what you need. rubbing your back and whispering in your ear. you want him in your house and laughing when you break the shower rod again. 
you want him to cuddle with you before he leaves, and cross his heart when you scold him while he crawls out the window. 
you want him in more than just your memory. 
but peter is snoring next to you, and so you sit there in silence until the tears begin to ease.
*
peter's not supposed to be home. 
he works until five, and then takes the subway home--and you're not expecting to see him anyway. he's been shoving his suit into the bottom of his backpack right as you pull it out of the hamper.
so it's not that unusual for you to be laying in bed, shoes and socks kicked across the floor, hands gripping for some stability, and eyes puffy and red. 
and it's not that unusual for you to squeak when the window opens, and spider-man's head peeks into your room. 
you can feel peter's wide eyes behind the mask. 
you're quick to wipe your face, throw on a clumsy smile. "peter," you say, exhaling. "what're you doing here?"  
a body crawls into the window, dirt and grime on clothes finger-tips reaching out to you. "what's wrong?" he asks, voice only slightly muffled. 
but you take a step back, moving away from him when he lands on the floor, leaving spots for you to vacuum up later. 
"what're you doing here?" you repeat, voice a bit harsher, a bit faded. 
"i need--" he reaches his hand out toward you again, retreating when you do. "i needed some more web fluid. i don't--" he shakes his head. "what happened?" 
"i, um," you wipe traitorous tears away again. "i think there's some more in the closet. i keep moving it when i'm cleaning, sorry." 
"you're crying," peter scolds. like you're being ridiculous. like you're not trying to save him the effort it's going to take to fix this irrational piece of you, these lonely broken bits. 
you bite your lip and look away. 
because although you can't even see his eyes--they are still scolding. they are quick and cruel reminders that you haven't talked to peter in two weeks. 
you turn towards your bedside table, pretending to organize the contents on top. 
you can hear peter moving. 
"what's going on, bub?" he says, soft enough for the words to crawl under your skin. he's taken the mask off. his voice is clear. 
"oh, nothing, you know," you pause, shrugging. "just the usual sad movie type of cry..." peter's hand reaches your back and you flip around, almost knocking over your lamp. 
"c'mon," he whispers to you, far closer than you'd been expecting. 
you try and take a step back, only meeting a dead-end. he's cornered you. "you should go, peter. you were just--" 
"this is more important."
you laugh. "some silly tears are more important than a collapsing building?" 
"you're more important," peter swears, his eyes so focused on yours, "to me." 
you blink and shake your head. gesture back towards the window. "go and save some people. you don't have to help me too." 
peter swallows, brows furrowed. "will you tell me what's wrong?"
"i can take care of myself, peter. you don't need to worry about it." 
"well, i'm going to." 
you roll your eyes. and then you break free of his hold, moving away from the table, from the cage he's built around you. "move along, spider-man." 
peter doesn't move any closer, but his limbs are tense. his face is concerned and hurt--you try and shield that out.
"i'm not leaving you when you're crying."
"i'm not crying anymore." 
peter scowls. "stop deflecting." 
you take a deep breath, throat dry and aching. "i'm not--" you clear your throat, shaking your head and looking away from him. "i'm fine, peter. but some people actually need you. go and save the day," you tell him. "i'll still be here when you come back." 
*
and you are. 
you're sitting on the couch, staring at photos peter took on the wall, wondering how to explain any of it. 
how to explain yourself without digging the two of you any further in this hole. 
you've been trying to prove just how little you need peter--just how useful you could be--and by doing so, you've put yourself in this situation. 
because you do need him. you just hadn't wanted peter to know that. 
so you're sitting on the couch, trying not to flinch every time the air conditioning comes on, or there's a footstep from the apartment above you. you're waiting for peter to climb in through the window, waiting to see how exhausted he is before he has to deal with you. 
and you've bitten your lip raw. completely eliminated any evidence of fingernails you once had. 
your heart stutters with every minute that comes by. 
and when you finally hear peter hop in from the fire escape, your heart stops completely. 
you wonder if he's going to change before he comes and finds you. before the inevitable happens, and you give him another reason to work so late. 
your restlessness must be audible because it only takes peter forty seconds before walking into the living room. he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. 
he's wearing a frown like a well-tailored suit. known and made for him. 
you're trying not to frown back. 
"hey," you say, putting on a smile, voice flighty and an octave too high. "everything okay?" 
"no one got hurt," peter says, the antonym to your tone. 
"good." 
apparently, your tight-lipped smile isn't enough to ease the tension in the room. 
"are you ready to talk?" peter asks, slowly stepping toward you, just barely meeting your eyes. 
you'd scrubbed your face after he left. sobbed in the shower as you washed away any of the shame you hadn't meant for him to see. you'd made sure that your eyes weren't puffy, and your eyelashes were dry before he'd got home. 
so when peter scans your face--as he's doing now--he shouldn't notice anything unusual. 
besides the facade you're putting on. 
you clear your throat, eyebrows lifted like you're unconcerned. "there's not much to talk about." 
peter's sullen face doesn't move an inch. "why were you crying?" 
"i already told you. i watched a sad movie," you wave a hand, "you just came in at the wrong time." 
peter sighs. he sits down on the couch next to you, keeping his distance. "don't lie." 
you frown. "i'm not lying." 
"you've got some pretty obvious tells, you know," peter whispers, giving you a hint of a bittersweet smile. "you don't have to talk to me. but i'd like it if you did. i just want to make sure that you're... okay." 
"i'm fine, peter." 
he looks away. "and if you're not then we'll figure it out. i just want to know." 
"well, you do." 
peter opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. 
he's sitting three feet away from you, but his hands are clasped together, his legs are opposite of yours, and he can't even look at you. 
you can feel it, as you push him away. as you try so desperately to hold him close without touching him. 
"okay," peter says, eyes meeting yours again. "i don't want to push you." 
no, but he should pull you off of this ledge. should keep you from falling any further than you already have. 
you shake your head, laughing. it's not funny. 
"what?" 
you close your eyes. count to ten. forget how to breathe, or how to speak to the person you love most in this world. 
"what?" peter repeats, but softer. 
you open your eyes. 
and then it all crumbles. 
you scoff. "can you stop looking at me like that?" you plead, breaking away, physically distancing yourself from him. 
"like what?" 
it's his fault, really, for coming home so early in the day. 
"like you can't deal with this. like this is exhausting." 
the tears sneak up on you, knocking you out before you even notice that they're there. 
peter's eyes are wide as he stares at you. "you're not--" he swallows, frantically reaching towards you. "this isn't exhausting--i'm not--" a moment, tears beginning to fall. "what do you--" 
you sigh, shaking your head. "you're always gone, and you come home exhausted every night after you think i've fallen asleep, and you only talk to me through text, and even now you just--" you stop, voice breaking. "if you can't do this," you say, softly, "then you should just tell me." 
peter is closer than he was a moment ago. "what?" 
"i know this is a lot of work, okay? and i know that you're already pushing yourself, so it's fine if i'm too much. if--if loving me is too much." 
there's a moment of silence, and you're almost sure that peter has already left. 
but then there's a thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. you can't open your eyes, can't face the reality you've been desperately holding off. 
"you're not too much." 
peter moves closer to you, his leg touching yours, his hands moving so that he can hold you closer. 
you couldn't push him away if you tried. 
"you're not too much," he repeats, the words sinking into your skin, his breath meeting yours. "i can't believe you would think that." 
you half laugh, half sob. peter wipes away those tears too. 
"you're the only thing keeping me going," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "i'm sorry i haven't been there. i didn't realize..." he shakes his head. 
"you shouldn't have to take care of me as much as you do," you whisper. 
peter nudges his head against yours. "hey. you take care of me way more than i take care of you. you clean up after me and stay up with me when i can't sleep. you help fix my suits, and do all of the laundry. and you never complain. you're practically my guardian angel." 
"that's all easy." 
"not for me," peter says, voice lighter than before. 
you shrug. 
"but you do all of that cause you love me," he adds, kissing your forehead again. "or, i hope that's why." 
"it's the sex." 
peter laughs, nuzzling his head into you. "well, at least you're honest. but, it's the same reason that i take care of you. you shouldn't feel... guilty because of that. you're no burden on me." 
"no?" 
"absolutely not." 
you bite your lip. try and believe peter. but honestly, you're most lovesick from how close he's holding you. how you can feel his skin and listen to him speak somewhere that isn't your bed. you're not quite sure that this isn't a dream. 
"hey," peter moves his head so you're looking at him. "we suck." 
you laugh, leaning your forehead against his. 
"i'm sorry it's been so long since we've... anything. it's been a rough couple of weeks." 
"for me too. it's not your fault." 
"you have to tell me if it's not enough, okay? i don't want you to suffer through it by yourself. if you need to talk to me--even for ten minutes--then you have to let me know." 
"okay." 
"do you promise?" 
you nod against him, nose brushing his cheek. "i promise, peter." 
peter smiles, satisfied. he groans, pulling you even closer to him. "i love you, bug. so much." 
you can barely hear him because of how tight he's hugging you. it sort of hurts, but mostly heals. 
"i know," you say back. but peter probably can't hear you, because you say it right into his shirt. 
*
my masterlist here.
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angelfic · 2 years
Text
— CHERRY RED.
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pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader
summary: it's the hottest day of the year, your air conditioning is broken, and all you and your roommate slash best friend slash crush have are a box of cherry flavored popsicles and months of pent up sexual frustration each other
warnings: smut. smut smut smut smut lots of smut and, oh yeah, smut! praise kink, (mild) dom!peter, fingering, (brief) dry humping, ice play? popsicle play? also swearing, no use of a condom because mc is on the pill but use protection y'all. best friends 2 lovers, college roommate au
author’s note: inspired very much so by the sudden increase in weather :) my first time writing smut btw so apologies if it's bad, let me know what u think and happy reading angels! ♡
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“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” you practically yell in the middle of the freezer aisle, wincing when you spot the concerned face of a mother covering the ears of her toddler.
The apologetic look you offer her quickly turns sour when you notice the mother-daughter duo is the reason for your outburst. The reason you’re about to tear off the door to the grocery store freezer and snap it in two like a graham cracker.
They took the last box of lemonade popsicles.
You fight an internal debate, the dehydration from today being the record-breaking hottest day of the year almost swaying your decision not to snatch the box right out of the toddler’s hands, before reluctantly picking up the cherry flavored ones.
Oh well, you think, at least your roommate Peter gets his favorite flavor. It's a little hard to look on the bright side however, when your jeans are sticking to you from perspiration, clinging on like a second skin. Those, and the ill-chosen long sleeve shirt, are the reason you practically run to the self-service checkout counter in a hurry to get home.
You're just about to scan the box of popsicles when your phone dings with a notification.
spiderboy [14:44] bad news
you [14:46] pls don't tell me it has anything to do with our ac
spiderboy [14:46] ...
spiderboy [14:46] ok i won't tell u
you [14:46] parker
spiderboy [14:47] yeah our ac is broken
spiderboy [14:47] can't get a repair guy in til tomorrow
spiderboy [14:47] also we're out of ice
you [14:48] FFS.
you [14:48] i'll get some ice but istg if theres only one bag and that snotty little toddler has it i'm throwing hands
spiderboy [14:48] sorry WHAT.
Grumbling to yourself the whole way, you grab some ice from the thankfully abundant collection in the freezer and get out of there in record time. The ride home is so suffocating that once you get home to your shared apartment you barely spare Peter a glance, tossing him the bag of ice and popsicles.
"Hey," you mutter, having to look away from the sight of him in his black tank top, showcasing his arms. The image of his biceps flexing as he catches the frozen products with his eyes closed - spider-senses obviously - just spurs you to walk even faster to your room.
"Where are you running off to?" he asks, frowning slightly as he gets up to put the stuff in the freezer before they melt in your ac-less apartment. "Come hang out, I'm bored."
Fanning yourself, you laugh at his childish tone. "I need to change out of these clothes. They're like a prison. I only wore them 'cause they made my ass look good this morning."
You see him take a peek at your ass as soon as you say this and you roll your eyes before shutting your bedroom door.
"That they do!" he yells through the door and you slap a hand to your mouth to stop the snorting laughter from being let out, knowing he'll hear the unattractive noise with his heightened senses.
It's times like this, you think as you strip down to only your panties (no way in hell are you wearing a bra in this weather), that you're grateful to be in the know about Peter's biggest secret. Having been his best friend since the early years of middle school, it was only expected he confided in you as soon as he was bitten.
Now you're both in college, he's still Spider-Man and you're still the ordinary human best friend that's hopelessly in love with him.
Yeah, that one may have been a recent revelation, but what can you do! You've always had a little crush on him, but having lived with him for the first two years of college, not only are you even more aware of how insanely attractive he's gotten, but due to his increase in one-night stands since school, you're also aware of your... feelings. Particularly jealousy.
The flirty nature of your friendship definitely does not help matters.
You ponder the fact you've both had dates and flings and the like since high school, strongly alluding to the idea you and Peter will never be a thing, with a sour face as you throw on the least amount of clothing you possibly can - fuck double standards! If men can parade around shirtless in the streets, then you can wear the same tank top and shorts you've had since high school damn it!
Emerging from your room feeling only slightly less like a melted stick of butter, you immediately catch Peter's eye and he chokes on the chilled water he was previously chugging down.
You furrow your brows as he gives you a once over so slowly that you almost regret the outfit choice. And then you remember it's the 21st century.
"Don't give me that look!" you scoff, pointing an accusing finger at him. "If you can wear a tank top without a bra then so can I!"
He swallows and clears his throat, asking you hoarsely, "You're not wearing a bra?"
You raise a brow and fold your arms.
"Is that an issue?"
He splutters and his gaze dips down to your chest for a split second. "No!" he yelps, looking away to stare determinedly at the TV screen. "And stop making me sound like a misogynist, you know I'm all for freeing the nips and all that."
You laugh at the very true statement as you walk over to the freezer, bending over to forage around for the cherry popsicles. Your mouth twitches as you hold back a smile when he goes silent.
"I can feel your eyes on my ass, Peter."
"Wh- I was not looking at your ass!" he insists, and when you turn around to throw him an accusing look - and one of his favorite cherry popsicles - you see that he's scowling. "I wasn't. I was just noticing your shorts."
"And my ass, but whatever," you sing-song under your breath. "What about my shorts?"
Collapsing on the couch right next to Peter, you prop your feet onto the coffee table, facing your roommate to prompt his answer. "Nothing, I just... Aren't they the same ones you would wear 4 years ago in gym class?"
"Precisely, my web-headed friend." Grinning at Peter's growing scowl at the nickname, you unwrap your popsicle, tasting the lip-numbing treat while he does the same. "God, I've been sleeping on these. They may just be as good as the lemonade."
"I think you mean better," says Peter, pointing the bright red stick of ice at you. Sticking your tongue out in response, you snatch his water bottle and it's your turn to scowl when he chuckles. "Your tongue is bright red."
"It's the latest look."
You lean back, pressing the water bottle to your neck and moaning at the cold, frosty relief. The plastic soon becomes warm from the heat of your skin, so you eventually just unscrew the lid and pour tiny amounts of water directly onto your skin.
"Oh my God, that feels so good." Peter shifts in his seat and you glance at him to see his jaw gone slack as he stares the water bottle like it's offending him. You feel heat crawling up your neck and it definitely is not due to the heatwave. "Stop looking at me like that!"
"I literally feel like I'm watching a porno and I don't know if I would rather be the water bottle or you."
His words make your stomach jolt, but you hide it with a scoff, chucking the water bottle at him. Peter may have been bitten by that radioactive spider years ago, but his ability to catch things without even looking still bugs you to this day - pun intended. "Since the other way around is physically impossible, unless your powers allow you to transform into inanimate objects, you can be me."
Shrugging, Peter finishes off his own popsicle and you shudder at the way he bites the ice so quickly. Your own popsicle is still completely intact.
Speaking of your own popsicle, you decide to bring your focus back to that and pointedly ignore his own moans of ecstasy at the chilled water dripping down his neck.
If the heatwave doesn't kill you, this definitely will.
Since the sensitivity of your teeth won't allow you to bite, the artificial red of the popsicle that's bright enough to rival the red of Peter's Spider-Man suit starts dripping down your hand. Too preoccupied with licking the melted juice before it ruins your couch, you barely register the pause in Peter's own ministrations with the water, instead his eyes focusing on the way your tongue pokes out to catch the sticky liquid.
You lick a long stripe up the popsicle and hear a faint groan coming from your best friend. Ceasing your own movements, you try not to blush.
One thing you've noticed in the last few months is that Peter hasn't had a single girl over. Not that you're complaining, but it's surprising since he once confided in you that not only were his senses heightened, but... other things too. Thus, you can't blame him for probably being turned on by you right now.
He never had the same girl over twice, though. You selfishly did not mind this at all. Not that it would make a difference, you think, shaking your head to rid yourself of any ideas and focusing on your slightly disappointing popsicle.
Sighing, you glare at the stick. "This was good for like two minutes, but I'm still hot."
Running his eyes over your body like he did when you first stepped out of your room, Peter cocks his head. "You wanna try something?"
"What?" you ask, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.
He rolls his eyes at your dramatics, plucking your popsicle out of your hand. "Trust me?"
"Well, you are my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man," you point out, pretending think about it.
"Exactly, now shut up and close your eyes."
Doing as he says, you wait in anticipation.
After a good five seconds, you're about to open your eyes and ask Peter what's taking so long when you suddenly feel the icy cold wetness of what you assume is your cherry popsicle, running across the top of your chest.
Gasping at the cool sensation, you don't even have time to properly react before Peter licks the liquid off your chest.
You can't hold back the shudder that contradicts the normal bodily reaction you should be having in the middle of a heatwave, partly due to the fact your best friend just licked you, and partly due to the fact his tongue is surprisingly cold - presumably from the popsicle.
"Oh," you gasp, eyes flying open when the popsicle travels to your neck. Despite knowing what's coming next, you sharply suck in a breath of air, your hand automatically threading into Peter's hair as he laps up the red juice, taking longer this time to bite and suck at a particular spot on your neck. He chuckles when you whimper for a second time, his warm breath scorching your skin. "I-I don't think this skin-to-skin contact is particularly effective. Especially when you run like a radiator even in winter."
"Want me to stop?" Peter mutters, his hand coming up to play with the waistband of your shorts and your brain starts fogging up. That doesn't stop you answering him though.
"Don't you dare," you practically growl and you can feel Peter's smirk against your neck. He pulls away and ignores your noises of protest, but instead of moving away completely, he runs the popsicle across your jaw and up to the side of your mouth.
Painfully slow, Peter licks the trail of liquid from the bottom of your jaw and stops right next to your lips, so close that you can feel his eyelashes tickling your cheekbone. "Peter, please," you moan, breathily, your hand sliding down his neck to grip at his bicep.
"Fuck," he groans under his breath and sits back in his seat, but not without pulling you up and over onto his lap, flush against his chest as he throws the popsicle onto the coffee table. Your lack of bra makes you even more sensitive and it doesn't help that you can feel how hard he is through your shorts.
Your whimper is immediately swallowed by his lips as he seals your mouth with his own, kissing you with enough intensity to literally set you on fire - as if the heatwave wasn't enough.
Peter tugs you closer as he kisses you until you're seated right on top of his clothed erection and then the worst happens. He grips at your hips and pushes his own upwards, making you gasp and he takes this as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.
Continuing his assault on your lower lip as he nibbles and sucks until you're certain it's swollen, you grow more and more frustrated when he's stopped moving. You pull away for breath, feeling lightheaded.
"Why did you stop?" you whisper, still gripping the tops of his shoulders.
Grinning like a kid in a candy store, Peter slides his hands up your legs and annoyingly stops at the top of your inner thighs. "I want you to beg again."
You scoff. "Like hell am I going to beg ag- Holy shit," you whimper, falling forward when he rolls his hips again, just once before stopping. "Okay, please, Peter, please."
"Good girl," he mutters, looking up at you lazily through his eyelashes, but with an intense stare that looks like he wants to eat you. You moan at the nickname and his eyes light up at unlocking this new information before attaching his hands back to your hips and pressing your core against him yet again, until your legs feel like jelly.
"Uh-uh," Peter clicks his tongue, lifting you off of him before you can finish and laying you down on the couch. His hand slides under your tank top and up until it rests just below your breast. "You're not getting off that easily after parading around in those tiny, tiny clothes."
"Oh my God," you groan, arching up into his hand, embarrassingly turned on by him despite no proper physical contact. He leans over you and continues nibbling and sucking on your bottom lip, his tongue swiping over the swollen area every few seconds. "Peter, please."
"Please, what?" he teasingly asks, swiping his thumb across the underside of your breast, but keeping his hand there. "Use your words, princess."
Feeling like you're about to explode, or beat the shit out of your roommate, you tug on his hair in frustration making him groan and chuckle at the same time. The fucker knows exactly what he's doing to you. "Please... touch me already."
"Yes, ma'am." Peter presses his lips to yours again and moves his hand upwards, grabbing a fistful of your breast. You try to stifle your moan but it's impossible when he pinches your hardening nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. "Shirt, off. Now."
He tugs impatiently at the material and it's your turn to laugh at the scowl on his face. You pull the tank top up and over your head in one swoop and Peter doesn't hold back his groan, a tortured expression on his face. "Fuck, you're beautiful."
"Stop," you laugh nervously, shy all of a sudden as you try and hide your warming face.
"No, I mean it," he deadpans. The expression on his face is as serious as can be and he places his hands on either side of your face to make you look at him. "Forget giant lizards, you're the thing that's finally going to kill me."
"As much as I enjoy being compared to giant lizards, please pick up where we left off."
Peter doesn't need to be told twice. However, before he touches you he grabs the almost completely melted popsicle from the coffee table and grins mischievously as he takes a bite of the iced stick of juice. Throwing it back onto the table, Peter leans forward with the red block of ice between his teeth and runs it around your nipple.
"Shit," you gasp as the ice melts almost instantly, leaving only his tongue swirling around the hardened bud instead. At the same time, his hand moves down and fiddles with the waistband of your shorts. "Off, please, take them off."
Taking your direct commands as a sure sign, Peter tugs your shorts down, taking your panties with them. He swallows roughly and looks up at you, pupils blown wide. "You're so fucking pretty. I mean it when I say your pussy is going to be the death of me."
Growing more and more frustrated by Peters fingers wandering around your inner thighs, but not actually touching where you want him to, you frown at him. "You're a whole lot of talk, Parker. When are you actually going to- Oh, fuck."
"What was that?" Peter asks, his lips brushing against your ear as he finally runs a finger up and down your slit, your arousal making it easy. Your breathing gets quicker and when he slips a finger past your folds and you find your hips moving upwards trying to make his movements go faster. "No words, princess?"
Peter inserts a second finger, allowing you to adjust before adding a third and starting to pick up the pace as your moans and whimpers continue to escape you. His fingers get faster and faster, the palm of his hand in exactly the right spot against your clit which makes your eyes prick with tears as you continue to arch into him. "Such a good girl... You gonna cum for me, baby?"
His words spur your climax to approach even quicker and Peter can feel it coming when you start to tighten around his fingers so he speeds up his movements. The feeling that tugs at you in your lower stomach quickly escalates until it snaps, pushing you over the edge and you let out a cry of ecstasy.
It takes you a minute to calm down and you would believe Peter if he told you that you blacked out for a second. "That was- You were- Fuck. I need you now."
Peter curses lowly at your words as you tug off his tank top, revealing his built torso that you've helped him stich up and disinfect a countless number of times. You fumble at his grey sweatpants, trying to pull them down along with his boxers, but his hand stops you right at the waistband. "Wait, wait. Are you sure you wanna do this?"
If it weren't for the fact that you could see how painfully hard he was through his sweatpants, you would think he didn't want you. Trying not to smile at how sweet your best friend is, you quirk a brow. "I'm definitely sure. Are... are you sure?"
"Are you kidding?" he deadpans. "I've literally wanted to fuck you since puberty hit. And I've wanted to kiss you everyday of our lives since we were 11. Like, romantically."
"You- What?" you choke out the the words, shocked at the sudden confession and unable to hold back the smile this time. "Are you serious?"
"We could continue to discuss my embarrassingly obvious crush on you. Or, you could let me show you by finally letting me fuck your brains out before I literally explode."
"I vote option two, please."
"Smart girl," Peter grins, pressing one more searing kiss to your lips and nipping at your bottom lip before tugging off his sweatpants.
And shit, if he isn't the biggest you've ever had.
"You're going to break me," you moan, one hand gripping Peter's bicep and the other flat against his chest. If it wasn't for his super fast healing, you definitely would be leaving scratches. He smirks as he presses the tip of his cock at your entrance, coating himself in your arousal to ready you.
"That's the plan," he says, determined. And before you can say anything else he enters you, slowly filling you up. The short, breathless gasps that leave you combined with how tight you are causes Peter to groan and grip the side of the couch. You barely register the seat cushion ripping from his super strength, instead focusing on the way he starts moving inside you. "Jesus- fuck, you feel amazing."
His constant praise and his now powerful thrusts make literal tears form in your eyes, your arousal coming back even faster than before. You clamp a hand over your mouth to stop your screams, but Peter doesn't allow this and he removes it, leaning over to bury his face in your neck. "I wanna hear every sound coming out of that pretty little mouth of yours as I'm fucking you."
He emphasizes this statement with a particularly powerful thrust, bringing his hand up to circle your clit with his thumb and you can't help letting out a scream, the tears escaping your eyes as you start to babble nonsensical words. "Don't stop, please, please, please."
"Never," he assures you, panting as he continues thrusting into you faster, deeper and harder, your climax building at the same time as Peter's. "Shit, baby, you're gonna make me cum."
"Me too," you whimper, gripping his back to pull him impossibly closer to you as you let go, having to bite his shoulder to stifle your scream. "Peter, oh my God."
"Let go for me, princess," he murmurs, lips moving against your neck as you finish, his own thrusts starting to slow down and he shudders against you, the only sounds being both of you breathing heavily.
You stay like that for a moment, until Peter's body heat smothers you and you're wishing it was the middle of winter so you wouldn't feel relief when he gets up to shrug his sweatpants on. You watch him do so, unable to move and the sight of you makes him grin like an idiot. You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he's thinking; he just gave you the best sex of your life, the little shit.
He leaves your clothes and his own vest discarded on the couch, lifting you up in his arms bridal style with ease and carrying you into his room. Once he sets you on the bed, he collapses down next to you.
"So, you've had an embarrassing crush on me since we were 11, let's talk about that," you say, using every ounce of strength within you not to burst out laughing.
Peter scowls, but his expression doesn't match the way his thumb is rubbing circles in the side of your hip where his hand rests. "I was thinking we could talk about the praise kink you so obviously displayed."
"Shut up," you scoff, but there's no malice in your tone because he's completely right. "If it makes you feel better, I've loved you for the same amount of time."
"I bet I loved you first," he protests softly, kissing your shoulder.
Great, now you're back to feeling like a melted stick of butter.
"Hm, I'll take that bet. What does the winner get?"
"The winner gets to take his girlfriend swinging across the city," he smirks, knowing he's got you there when you gasp in excitement. Peter is way too protective over you when it comes to his Spider-Man life and swinging across the city is a very rare occurrence.
"I lose, you loved me first, now take me swinging!"
"Yeah, let's wait til you can walk again first."
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© angelfic 2022.
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lives-in-midgard · 9 months
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You fall in love with your best friend, Peter Parker who is also spiderman
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astxroiid · 26 days
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new york private life // tasm! peter parker
❥ childhood crush, date nights, vigilantes, apprehension, sweet young love.
wc: 1.5k
navigation ✩ empire state of mind (II) ✩ manhattan longing (III)
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"Hey, um... I'm Peter."
A familiar face stands in front of you, one you've known all your life.
"We went to high school together. I, uh, was wondering if maybe you'd want to maybe hang out sometime." The walls of the college cafeteria seem to be closing in around Peter. His hands twitching nervously as he shifted his feet uneasily.
"Oh!" you're caught a little off guard. "Well, I'm free tomorrow. Where will we be going?"
Peter smiles to himself a little. "There's this sushi place that just opened up a few blocks over... if you like sushi, that is."
The amount of anxiety radiating off this poor boy is so potent you can practically taste it.
"I love it," you grin up at the boy from your seat. "Pick me up at 5:30? we could be there by 6."
"Th-that sounds great!" His eyes light up as an excited smile spreads across his face. He's never gotten a this positive of a response before. This feels good.
"I'll pick you up at 5:30 then. Thank you," he says, trying not to be too happy about this, but he is. Very.
“Sounds like a date to me.” you smile, stand from your seat and kiss his cheek before walking away with a bounce in your step.
A date?! A kiss to his cheek! He's never felt so alive before! His cheeks burn red as you walk away. He can't believe that you said yes.
When 5:30 comes around the next day, you’re waiting by the entrance of your house, ready to meet up with Peter. You’re a bit nervous, but mostly excited. You felt a strange flutter in your stomach, your heart beating fast and body tingling.
When 5:45 comes, you start to worry. Where could Peter be?
5:50. Your heart begins to sink. Was this all a joke?
5:55. Is he... not coming?
6:00. You're officially distraught. Your mind immediately starts running to various conclusions. Is he busy? Did something happen to him? Or did he simply change his mind?
6:15. Maybe he forgot? Maybe he's late? Maybe he lost track of time?
6:30. Your eyes are puffy and red. Tears start to stream down your face as you realize he’s probably not coming.
7:00. Anger replaces sadness. Did he do this on purpose?! What the hell?! What was the point of even asking you out?
8:00. Sadness returns. After all your emotions drained your energy and tears blurred your eyes, you cant help but come back ton the thought: Why did he do this? He can't even have the courtesy to at least call you?
Just as the thought come to mind, your phone rings. It's Peter.
Your eyes widen and you quickly pick up the phone. You desperately hope that this might just change things, but you also can't help and start to feel anxious, afraid of what he might have to say.
"Hey," Your voice cracks as you hold the phone to your ear.
Peter's heart sinks at your tone, immediately feeling at fault. "Hey," he echoes in a small tone. "I'm sorry I didn't show up today..." he says, almost inaudible for a moment. He sounds... shaky. Nervous. "Something came up..."
In what world is that a good excuse for leaving a girl waiting for you for two and a half hours? He mentally cringes, wishing he could explain better. How? 'Hey, sorry I basically ghosted you , I'm Spiderman and I had to stop a robbery?!' it almost sounds made up.
"oh..." the same, tearful tone etched into your voice from before. "it's okay, I guess."
He gulps at the sadness in your voice, feeling worse now, not sure how to handle this situation.
"My aunt called me. She had some things she needed help with," he said, trying his best to avoid giving details. "I lost track of time and only just realized how late it was. I was rushing as fast as I could but I know I missed our date. I'm sorry, I should have at least sent you a text."
“It’s okay.” you sound only slightly more cheerful. “How about you make it up to me come over with some takeout and we watch a movie?”
"Really?" he asks, sounding surprised. After the tense conversation you both just had, he didn't think the night - or relationship for that matter - would be salvageable. "I mean sure," he says, not being able to hide the joy in his voice or the smile on his face. "What kind food do you want?"
“You pick.” You smile “Come over as soon as you can.”
꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦
About 20 minutes later Peter knocks on your door. You open it to reveal the sweetest looking boy with flowers an Thai food in hand, appearing a little guilty but still excited.
You couldn't resist smiling back at him, feeling much less mad about what happened earlier.
"Sorry for the wait," Peter apologizes as he hands you the bouquet of tulips. You gladly take them.
Walking over to the kitchen and filling a vase with water, you call out to Peter, who's still standing in the doorway.  
“You can come in Pete! You can set the food down over there," you gesture to the coffee table, covered in candles and books for your college classes.
Pete?! He smiles warmly as he enters into the living room and he watches you set the flowers in the vase. Peter glances around your apartment, your home is quite cozy.
Dark blue curtains hang around each window, soft lights from the New York night glowing through. Every surface in your home is decorated with mixtures of candles, lamps, books, or cute little trinkets.
The whole place smells like cherries and coffee. The soft music playing in the background bringing the whole mood together.
He goes ahead and sets the food down on the coffee table and he looks around the room. "Your place is nice," he says softly. He loves it. he could get used to spending more time here.
“Why thank you.” You blush, placing the flowers down “Oh! I was thinking about watching some of the Star Wars movies - is that okay?” You plop on the couch, patting next to you for Peter to sit.
"Star Wars is always okay with me," Peter replies, happy that you're not upset anymore. He sits down next to you and he can't help but notice how close you're both sitting next to each other. His heart flutters.
"The Empire Strikes Back is my favorite," Peter replies excitedly, happy to be sharing one of his interests with you.
He smiles, feeling very happy with the current state of things.
"That's my favorite too!" You smile brightly, looking into his eyes.
There was an odd and almost indescribable intimacy between you two, as if your shared love of Star Wars had brought you closer together in some unknown way.
“Really?” Peter asks, feeling thrilled by this coincidence.
You nod, giggling at Peter's excitement.
"What's your favorite character?" Peter asks. He's trying to watch the movie, although it's hard to take his eyes off of you for too long.
"Hmmm..." you place your finger on your chin, feigning deep thought. "Obi Wan, hands down the best in my opinion. What about you?"
"Definitely Han Solo," he replies, smiling. You notice how his cheeks are a bit red right now.
Is he blushing?
"He's cocky and always in the middle of trouble, but so charismatic and charming," Peter adds. He leans closer, getting a little more comfortable on the couch.
"Who's your least favorite?"
You notice him moving closer but don’t mind at all “Kylo Ren, I think. His character is just too underdone - they could’ve done better. What about you, Pete? Who’s your least favorite?” You lean in close to him, placing Your hand on his shoulder.
"Totally agree," Peter says quickly, gulping. "Kylo Ren sucks."
Chills take over Peter's body as your hand rests on his shoulder.
You're sitting awfully close, and the thought of it makes his head rush. He wishes he could take his eyes off of you.
Your heart begins to pound. He's getting so lost in the atmosphere.
You smile and turn your head back to the TV watching along as Han Solo grabs Leia, kissing her deeply. There's an ache in your chest for something similar.
Please kiss me. Peter's mind races and begs. Just go for it! He silently urges himself.
He's dying to turn his head towards you. The closeness is sending him into a spiral of emotion. If only he could find the courage to make a move. As he glances your way, he notices you're not looking at him; your attention is elsewhere. A wave of disappointment washes through him.
Peter looks to his fidgeting hands, now incredibly insecure.
Is he reading the signals wrong? His heart sinks. Does she not feel the same way?
His breath is shaky and he's afraid of ruining the evening.
Peter decides it's best to focus on the movie and not his growing, aching feelings.
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I hope y'all enjoyed my first fic in a loooong time lmao, big thanks to character.ai for helping me come up with this!
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luveline · 5 months
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hiiii jade!!!! could i please request something with peter with reader who’s maybe put on some weight recently and is insecure about it?? (totally not self indulgent at all) i totally get it if you’re not comfortable writing that stuff though so no pressure
hi lovely! ty for requesting. fem, 1k
cw for negative weight talk/ weight gain
Everybody gains weight during the holidays, you think, tracing your figure in the mirror. Though it's not strictly holiday season yet, it's edging toward the end of the year. Maybe my new year's resolution should be losing a few pounds. 
There's a thunk of the bedroom window being yanked open and footsteps across the floor. You tense until your hear Peter panting for breath, likely having swung to you at high speed, or fresh from a fight with an usurped criminal. 
You rush back into your t-shirt, knowing exactly what path he'll walk. He barrels into the bathroom, sees you at the mirror and smiles so wide his cheeks look fit to burst. "Hey," he says, peeling the suit off and exposing his boxers to you without shame, "hey hey hey. Can I persuade you in with me?" He nods toward the shower. 
"Not this time, Pete." 
"Too bad," he laments. 
You look away as he strips out of his underwear. The shower turns on and he takes you by the hips to move you out of his way with a murmured apology, near lost to the drum of the spray. Peter has moments where he doesn't know his own strength, but the majority of the time he treats you like you're something precious. 
"Stay in here!" he demands as he pulls the curtain shut. 
"I'm not going anywhere." You close the toilet and sit on the lid. "Tough day protecting the people?" 
"Apart from tripping into a deceptively large pothole, it was fine. Why won't you come in here with me? I wanna rub your shoulders." 
"You want me to wash your hair." 
"Exactly. So get naked and get in here. Don't make me beg." 
You really don't want to, and you're not going to, but it's not a big problem. Peter doesn't truly mind, he just loves you. "What do you mean, deceptively big? Like, knee height? Higher?" 
"Mid thigh, I'd say. The people of New York are never gonna let me live it down. One guy was recording me and said he was gonna put it on YouTube for the ad money." 
"Anything else?" 
He gives you the rundown, describing what perps he faced and an older man he helped use an ATM machine. You hum distractedly, pinching at the fat where it spreads on your thigh, sitting down as you are. 
He sticks his face through the curtain gap, hair slicked to his cheeks. "What're you doing?" 
"You told me to stay, so I'm staying." 
He's nervous for a split second, glancing back into the shower as though there's an answer there waiting for him before angling himself toward you fully, his naked chest dripping and shining in the bathroom light. "Okay, fine, we need to talk about something. But I want you to know that you forced my hand here. Okay?" 
"Okay." You nibble the inside of your lip, used to his theatrics. "What have I done?" 
"It's not something you've done. It's something you are. I can't even say it. I," —he pulls the curtain in front of his face, moves it aside again– "just need to tell you. Lately it's like you don't even realise how beautiful you are and I'm tired of it. You're radiant. Like, glowing." 
Your recent internal debate must show on your face, that doubt, because he gives you a steadying smile. "Really, really beautiful," he says more seriously.
It's easy to smile at him. "Thank you, Pete." You scoop his suit off of the floor. "I'll go scrub the tetanus out of this in the kitchen sink." 
"Wait–" 
He can't just get out with suds in his hair, giving you the perfect escape plan. You have ten minutes to yourself filling the sink with soapy water and steeping the fabric before he's out of the bedroom in pyjamas, trousers tucked into his socks and hair damp from ferocious towel scrubbing. "You're such a– such a– thing," he decides. "I'm telling you you're beautiful and you walk off so you don't have to hear it? What's wrong with you?" His voice slips into a kinder register. "You do know you're pretty, right? I'm not just saying it to say it." 
"I'm just feeling icky," you confide. 
"About what?" 
You want to tell him, you find. "You know how I've gained weight?" 
He doesn't need any more explanation. Peter knows you've gained weight, you've mentioned it to him, and it's visual, and he can likely tell whenever he decides to flex his strength. "What, and you think that makes you less pretty?" He puts a damp hand behind your neck to bring you forward. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, a little." 
He kisses you. His nose bumps your nose, his lips crushed to your as he holds you in place. Despite this, it isn't an overly rough connection. It's definitely not shy. "You're beautiful," he says in the space between your lips. 
"It doesn't suit me–" 
"It does. It really fucking suits you. Have you seen yourself? You couldn't look better." 
"Even when I was thinner?" 
"You look just as perfect then as you did now." His intensity fades and he encourages you back enough to see your face, his thumb rubbing a short line into your neck. His brows are furrowed, dark eyes darker for it. "Weight isn't a factor." 
"No, but you have to say that." 
"I don't. Not really. I'm sure there are a thousand shitty guys who'd tell you something different, but I'm not– I love you, the whole you. I like you like this." He grins. "Which should be obvious." 
You tsk at him, to his delight, his laughter boyish as he buries his face in your neck with a hug, kissing a messy circle up and into the soft line of your jaw. You trap him there without thinking, chin hooked down, squirming as he blows hot air into your skin. 
"I've been putting it on too," he says. "It's happy weight." 
"It's not happy weight for you, Pete, it's just more muscle." 
"It makes you happy, doesn't it?" he jokes, smiling and kissing and hugging you all at once. "Just like it does on you for me."
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bruisedboys · 1 year
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also also!!!!!! peter x clumsy!reader might be the best pairing. because his spidey senses ugh he’s always catching you before you trip. like an arm around your back and then he dips you down to be dramatic and you get all flustered. and!!! if you’re not in arms reach he definitely shoots a web at you to pull you into his chest before you can do any damage. you both have several heart attacks a day because you’re such a klutz.
I am always on the peter x clumsy reader agenda!! they are so special to me!!! also the thing you said about him catching you and dipping you down omg I could die.
fem!reader 0.7k words
You’re still in the process of patching yourself up when Peter gets home, your knees scraped and a box of big Band-Aids waiting for you on the coffee table. You were hoping to be done by the time he got home, to save him the worry. No such luck. You hear the front door open and you don’t have time to hide your fresh wounds, your evidence of yet another accident.
You’re sure you look quite pathetic when Peter emerges in the doorway.
“Hi, dove! I missed— are you bleeding?” His smile drops and so does his bag. He doesn’t bother taking his jacket off. He strides across the room and gets to his knees in front of you. His hands find your thighs, thumbs just shy of your fresh scrapes.
“Oh, honey,” he coos. He’s not shocked, at least. You think maybe it’s happened so many times it doesn’t phase him anyway more.
His eyebrows pinch together as he scowls at your poor knees, his hands squeezing your thighs. He gives your injuries a once over before lifting his head to look at you sadly. “What happened?”
You frown. “Tripped in the driveway,” you admit moodily. “I’m fine, really. Looks worse than it feels.”
Peter huffs morosely, “I wish I was there when it happened. Could’ve caught you, baby.”
You melt. You’re endeared by his care for you. You smile at him and reach out to push his hair from his forehead, his curls soft under your fingers. You drag your hand down the side of his head, fingers heavy, and let your palm rest over his cheek. Peter’s eyelids flutter under your touch.
“It’s okay, Pete,” you tell him brightly. “You can’t win ‘em all.”
Peter laughs, his smile blinding. “Thanks, babe.” He twists his head so he can kiss your palm, a warm press of his soft, wind-bitten lips. “Let’s get you patched up now, hm?”
Peter patches up your knees, hands gentle as he cleans your wounds and presses Band-Aids over them. He’s a practiced hand, having done this plenty of times, on your legs, elbows, fingers, you name it. Though you must admit, you’re far less prone to accidents with Peter around. He catches you more times than he doesn’t. Today was just bad timing.
When Peter’s done fixing you up he lays a kiss on each of your knees, over your fresh white Band-Aids.
“All fixed,” he says happily, sliding his hand up your thigh to give your hip a squeeze.
You beam and cover his hands with yours. “Thanks, Peter.”
Peter stands and pulls you up with him. Your knees sting, but only a little, and it’s nothing you’re not used to.
“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, head ducked so he can meet your eyes, his hair tumbling into the space between your heads. “I can get you some ice, if you like?”
You shake your head. You’d much rather have him stay this close forever. “I’m okay, Pete.”
Peter still looks unconvinced, a frown tugging at his lips. He thinks for a second, then, “Do you want a hug? ‘Cos I know I do.”
You giggle. You’d kill for a hug right now. “Sure.”
You push your arms under his and he circles you in his strong hold, pulling you as close as he can to his chest. He’s careful to avoid your knees bumping his, legs moving so yours are between his. You push your face into his firm chest and breathe him in, his smells, his cologne and the wind on his clothes and that lovely scent he carries around with him everywhere, like old books and coffee shops.
Peter’s face falls into your neck and he sighs, practically melting into you, latching onto you like glue. He’s warm and he’s soft and he’s Peter. The pain in your knees is completely unnoticeable when he’s holding you like this.
“My poor, clumsy girl,” he says eventually, mostly fond, but there’s a whisper of cheek that you don’t miss.
You scowl into his chest. “M’not clumsy,” you whine, though you definitely are and you both know it. “The pavement is uneven.”
Peter pulls back, his big hands on your upper arms. He’s smiling like an idiot. “It is?”
You nod fervently. “Yeah. S’why I tripped.”
Peter nods slowly like you’re telling the truth, like the pavement in the driveway isn’t perfectly even.
“Stupid pavement,” he says.
You giggle and hide your face in his chest again.
-
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phantomlifes · 7 months
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tasm! Peter and its maybe two three years after Gwen. He just needs someone to pump his anger and sadness into ;))) Finds what he’s needing in his shy neighbor or Roommate (You pick) who obviously has a crush on him- like she’s so bad at hiding it , it’s hilarious
oh god…….you’ve already nailed one of my niches
peter knew you were attracted to him. he just did. it wasn’t exactly like you were good at hiding it, either. you blushed whenever you had your elevator small talk, he knew even in the early days that he moved in. but then he started to get closer, and had his hunch confirmed. the way you’d giggle nervously every time he invited you in, how you’d fidget your hands and play with your hair when you talked to him. it’s not like he was good at this thing, you certainly had that in common, so it took a long time for him to confront you about it. 
one night he couldn’t take it anymore. you guys were hanging out in his apartment, talking as usual.
“and i swear to god, i was so hard.” he shook his head immediately. “no,no — wow, i-i meant it, not…” and you were laughing at him, but you were also bright red. if he focused his senses enough, he could hear your heartbeat hammering in your chest. he just said it.
“are you attracted to me?” he asked, the words flying out of his mouth faster than he can catch them.
“is…is it that obvious?” you looked embarrassed, fully red and eyes trained on the ground. he let his urge to comfort you carry him, sitting next to you on the couch.
“a…a little?” he winced a bit as he told her the truth. “but it’s okay, because…” he put a hand on her shoulder with a small smile and took a deep breath. “i feel the same way about you.”
that’s how you ended up in his bed, well, after practically falling on it with him on top of you, unable to stop kissing him.
“that’s it, bunny.” he rasped, pumping his long, delicate fingers into you, reaching that spot you never could. “why…why bunny?” you asked breathlessly, your brain almost completely forgetting how to form sentences. he rubbed firm circles on your clit and made you whine, squirming under his hold. he leaned in over your face.
“well, you’re shy, and you’re cute…but now you’re whining for me like a little puppy.” his voice was like velvet to you in this moment, your hand gripping his wrist, keeping him in place as you bucked your hips against him. he giggled. “i’m not goin’ anywhere…now that i have you, i might have a hard time letting you go.” he looked into your eyes, and you felt that you losing yourself to the edge, spilling all over his fingers. and when you did, he had the audacity to say “atta girl.”
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cosmal · 1 year
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okay tasm!peter parker thought!!! he’s obsessed with touching your face. like, when you’re talking about something he’ll just randomly grab your face and smoosh your cheeks. he’ll boop or kiss your nose at random times. most importantly, when he’s kissing you he’ll be holding your face, his big hands on your cheeks guiding your head so he can kiss you better. omg
doughnuts
summary you're really excited about doughnuts. peter really wants to kiss you.
content tasm!peterparker x fem!afab!reader
note this is my first time writing for tasm!peter please forgive me if it sucks.
For the first time in a while, you come home after work with enough excitement to light up the entire flat.
Peter's sitting up in his bed reading when you find him. All things soft with rumpled hair, his clothes even worse, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. You're not sure if he really needs them anymore, but he likes to wear them to keep an ounce of normalcy.
"Hi," you chirp when he notices you. He dog-ears his book and puts it down almost immediately. You beam.
"Hi, baby," he seems just as happy to see you as you do him. Though, there's a buzz to you that Pete lacks. You think if you got home twenty minutes later he would've been napping.
You move across his room while pushing your work skirt down your legs. Peter's heart skips when it looks like you might trip and he tries to keep his eyes off your soft thighs. You rifle through his draws to find one of his shirts to wear, unbuttoning your own blouse in the process.
"How was your day?" you ask, holding up a shirt to your nose. You choose it because it smells more like your boyfriend than the others.
Peter crumples his face, trying not to laugh. "It was good. Didn't do much - you?"
You say something while pulling the shirt over your face that Pete can't discern. You all but jump into his lap when you reach him. Hooking your thighs over his lap until you're face to face.
He allows you to get comfy, pushing your knees into his side while he sits up, hands finding their place on your hips. "Hello," he says again, much quieter now that you're in his space. You look adorable in his shirt and your work tights.
"Did you hear me?" you ask, basically pulsing with giddy energy. You push your fingers under the hem of his shirt and he short-circuits for a moment.
He blinks. "You had your face in your shirt."
"Right," you giggle, a girlish sound that Peter wants seared in his brain, "I said, you know the food truck around the block?"
"You'll have to be more specific," he says, squeezing at your hips.
"The one that shut down."
"Oh, right. The Jam Van," he laughs knowingly. You'd moped for almost a month when they closed. You were inconsolable.
"Yeah," you grin, poking his chest, "yeah, they reopened!"
You're smiling so hard Peter worries that you'll get stuck like that. With your eyebrows raised and your cheeks appled. He thinks he needs to hold your face like right now.
He lets his hands leave your hips and raises them to hold your cheeks. Your skin is warm under his touch like he expected. "That's great, baby."
You ignore his hands. "Right? It's amazing."
Peter pushes your cheeks together until your lips pout outwards. He thinks you look extremely cute. Even worse when you try to frown and it just looks like a smooshed mess. He wants to laugh but you look peeved.
"Pete," you try to say. It comes out all mumbled.
"Yeah?" he says, distracted by your puffy face.
You pull your face from his hands and struggle a bit. Holding his arms to his chest you say, "Are you even listening to me?"
"The Jam Van," he says nodding. Smarmy.
"Right," you say, still mildly upset, "they're open right now if you wanna..."
"You wanna go get doughnuts?" he asks with his arms still pinned to his body. His hands wriggle to touch you.
"Can we?" you ask, eyes wide with hope. Peter wishes he had his camera with him.
"Can I kiss you first?" he grins boyishly. You wish you had a better resolve. He's awfully pretty and you really want doughnuts.
You let his arms go, huffing like kissing him is a difficult task. "If you really want." You have to hold back a laugh.
He reaches his hands back up to your cheeks and gives them another squeeze, "Of course, I want to."
You let him guide your face down to meet his lips, huffing into his mouth once they meet. You go lax in his lap when he presses firmer, spreading his fingers over your warming cheeks. He tilts your face upwards so he has better access to slip his tongue in your mouth. You whine when he has you exactly where he wants. Putty in his hold, holding you close by your soft cheeks.
You pull away from his lips, blinking away the dizziness. "Pete," you say panting.
Peter licks his lips, "Yeah?"
You push your face into his neck to hide the way he so obviously makes you feel, holding onto his sleep shirt for dear life. You try to even out your breathing and fail.
"You okay, love?" he asks. There's a hint of smartassery you don't miss. He's awful.
"Yeah," you say a tad breathlessly. "Yeah."
He kisses your shoulder and you shudder. His ego swells tenfold. "You sure?"
You take a moment to compose yourself, hating yourself for being so pliable. You sit back to look him in the eye. "So," you say with a confidence you lack, "Jam Van?"
Peter laughs and catches your face again. You like it much more than the first time. "That felt like coercion ."
"You asked to kiss me!" you say bewildered, pushing at his chest with not enough force than you feel is deserved.
"You tricked me," he laughs with you, letting you paw at his chest. It's quite adorable, really.
"Whatever," you say with more heat than you mean, a smile tugging at your red lips. You untangle yourself from his lap and stand to walk away. "I'll get my own jam doughnuts."
Peter smacks your ass before you can get away and you gasp. "Peter Parker!"
"You can't go out like that."
"I'll do what I like!" you call from the other end of the hallway.
Peter chases you around the flat until he gets you in his arms. The doughnuts wait for a few more hours.
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gatorbites-imagines · 3 months
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Andrew Peter Parker x male Deadpool reader, jus headcanons
TASM Peter Parker x Deadpool male reader
Headcanons
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I always love when Peter is extra spidery. Been a while since I watched the amazing spiderman movies ngl.
I imagine this takes place after Peter comes back home after the No Way Home movie, so he has a deeper understanding of just how broad and different his universe is.
He keeps being spiderman like he’s always been, but at maybe you show up as a coworker at his job, or just during the night when he’s patrolling, but soon you two are spending a lot of time together.
Seeing as Deadpool is conscious about being inside a comic or media, I have the idea that you to some degree know this too, meaning you make jokes about the multiverse, or memes that don’t exist in your universe.
You would crack jokes about Peter having gone to a different dimension too, and make comments about villains that don’t exist in your universe, which would be what really caught Peters attention.
The white and yellow voices you have are all for you flirting with peter, as peter and as spiderman, and it leads to you guys having a relationship kinda like comic spiderman and Deadpool.
In the beginning Peter isn’t really sure what to do about you, especially seeing as you kill people, but you are super friendly, affectionate, and call him your soulmate.
Youd grow on him over time, and Peter would start looking forwards to seeing you around. He would even start getting worried if you don’t show up for a bit, even though he knows you taken contracts as an assassin and a gun for hire.
Cue you guys teaming up more and more, and you killing less when he’s around. You can’t fully stop, it’s just not in your nature, but you’ll try for Peter, which he appreciates.
Patrol always ends up with you guys eating something, sitting on the edge of a building, masks pushed up over your noses as you guys talk about whatever it is you can think of. If you have scars like most versions of Deadpool, Peter would be surprised at first, but would never judge you or look down on you for having them.
It takes Peter a while to realize he’s got feelings for you, as there’s part of him that scared to lose you like he did Gwen. Sure, you could heal from an atomic explosion, but that doesn’t keep the guilt and anxious thoughts from existing.
Your always very verbal about being in love with Peter, as he’s your other half and perfect partner, in your own words. Your flirt with him, bring him gifts, ask him on dates after every patrol, or ask him for a kiss when you’ve gotten hurt even though you’re healing.
Imagine your surprise when one day, after you had gotten impaled by a lamppost or something, you have your mask tucked up over your nose. And when Peter asks if there’s anything else he can help you with, after he’s patched you up, you pucker your lips and tell him he could kiss you better.
And for once, instead of scoffing and laughing, he actually leans in and kisses you. You immediately bluescreen, eyes wide as saucers as he gives a little grin and salute before he swings off into the night.
After that you crank your advances even more, and you guys share many more kisses before anything becomes official. You’re both dancing around the subject, but there are clear sparks and feelings between you.
Peter still struggles with the fear of losing you and not being enough, and deep down you have many insecurities of your own, but at some point you guys finally become official.
That’s also the first time you get to see him without a mask, if you don’t know each other during your day life. You swoon, flopping down on the ground with an arm over your eyes and a hand on your heart, gushing about how handsome he is.
Peter leaves you completely flustered when he compliments you in return when you take your mask off, especially if you have the usual Deadpool scars. Your yellow and white voices both agree Peter was the right choice.
You guys start officially dating, and going out during the day as much as you do during the night.
You shower him in gifts, since you have a lot of money doing your gun for hire job, compared to his job of the moment. You have a much better finance than he does, since you can work whenever you want compared to him trying to work a day job and also be spiderman.
Some of his coworkers, or most honestly, think you’re weird when you stop by his workplace if he forgot his lunch, or to bring him something.
But they can also see just how smitten you guys are. They’re more likely to be jealous, since their own partners won’t look at them with as much look as you do when looking at Peter.
When you guys move in together, it’s in a brand-new apartment. Peters isn’t big enough for the both of you, and people who want you dead know your current address.
The apartment is kind of a mess, with all your different accessories, weapons, webshooters, suits, the likes, all over the place. But its perfect for you two and just what you need.
Theres just some kind of peace to be with someone who knows the others’ secret identity, and someone you don’t have to worry will get hurt because of your hero, or antihero, work.
Peter still struggles to hold a day job, since you are as scatterbrained as him, or since your own schedule is super wack, so you don’t notice if he’s late or missing work. You could easily finance the both of you, but Peter being Peter won’t accept being a freeloader in his eyes.
Sure, you still kill people for money and just because you feel like it, but it’s a lot less than you use too, and there are moments Peter needs to step in and reel you guys’ in. But it doesn’t lessen the love you guys have for each other in any way, and when things get tough, you always have one another when it matters.
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